#I also think there are plenty of series with adults already but I also know Atlus could easily mix both demographics if they tried

[tricksterlatte]

Re: the debate going on again about if Persona should focus more on adult characters, I think it's interesting because i don't have a firm stance either way. There are some plotlines that I think would hit harder if the characters were adults, or plotlines I would pursue more thoroughly if they were. For example, I think the Phantom Thieves as college students would have been amazing, but I don't know how Joker's criminal record would work with that unless he's a dropout, or if you removed the school game mechanic, which is so vital to modern Persona games?

On the other hand, I also think teen/young adult protags hit for such a wide audience because they are struggles the target audience has either already experienced or currently is. It's funny, because I think any character worth their salt will resonate regardless of age or other demographics. I'm no longer a child, but I still want to protect Maiko in P3 due to her retable familial struggle and her inability to understand due to her age, or Zenkichi's division between what is right by the law and what's right in his heart. I don't need a debilitating illness to sympathize or relate to Chidori, an outcast who finds solace in art and the only people who understand her pain.

it's a very nuanced conversation and I just don't see a right or wrong answer, the same way I feel about most anime nowadays. I think a more diverse party in general would be a dream come true (not just for age and gender either, I think it would be amazing to have someone who isn't just Asian or white, or more explicitly LGBT+ characters)! I just wanted to make a long post because the discussion is fascinating and enlightening, and 6, if they did an older cast, wouldn't be the first game to have playable adults either. What are your guys' thoughts?

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

saw ur vents abt dungeon meishi and while I haven’t read the series yet or watched the anime I have seen bits and pieces and already saw the blowup scene where Toshiro attacks Laois and like. even I with zero context didn’t totally hate him. It sucks majorly that it had to happen but like. Toshiro is going through his own shit and plenty of other characters ALSO don’t like Laois! I think people just see that scene and project the amount of times that’s happened to them with someone in real life, which like. I get it. I’m autistic and reading that scene hit like a gut punch bc it was something I had experienced directly in real life: trying to be friends with someone, thinking you are friends, only for them to reveal one day that they couldn’t stand you and hated your guts from day one. You wonder why the fuck they pretended and let you hurt even worse than outright initial rejection. You wonder why they’d put themselves through enduring you. It makes you feel like you can’t trust anyone, makes you feel like utter shit. I 100% get why it bothers people. But you can’t project real life people you experienced onto this character that does not align at all except for this one moment. Also knowing about the author, she probably put that in on purpose as commentary for how autistics in Japan generally have to go through shit like this bc of the way their social culture is. She’s made plenty of autistic commentaries before, I doubt she stuck that scene in there for no good reason. The fact that Toshiro kept quiet and didn’t say anything until he couldn’t take it anymore is VERY indicative to me of the ways Japan’s typical social system is a struggle on all sides. Not to say these are problems unique to Japan, but the nuance needs to be understood. Toshiro isn’t being a dick just for the sake of it. I want to read it sometime so I can better understand the guy, but I don’t want to hate him based on one scene where he was an asshole. Laois is an asshole plenty of times himself, being very overtly written as autistic doesn’t absolve him from the responsibilities of being an adult.

TLDR: People tend to infantilize Laois and demonize Toshiro, which comes down to the prejudices preconceived for both of them: people see Laois, as an autistic man, as an innocent sweet guy who needs to be protected. They see Toshiro, as an Asian man, as someone who should be “polite and honorable” or whatever and are appalled when he acts like a fallible human being and not some appropriation of a fictional romanticized samurai. I understand feeling betrayed and angry seeing a character be a genuine asshole about something (social expectation does not completely absolve Toshiro of his own antagonizations however much of a reason he had) but when it’s so damn one sided, and especially in a series where almost NO one is without complete asshole qualities that round them out, I find it kind of gross that people hate on him for that. Anyway. Just wanted to send a message of support and understanding. Hopefully after I read more I can offer more analysis to corroborate with you on.

100% CORRECT thank you anon

i also understand the people who are sympathizing with laios bc that scene is very easy to relate to for many autistic or otherwise neurodivergent people (i also got a cold sweat when i was watching it bc. like. having someone you thought was a friend straight up tell you there are parts of your behavior that they can't stand is one of the worst things to experience of all time, ESPECIALLY if you were only showing that behavior around them bc you thought they were your friend and you trusted them) but it's so frustrating seeing so many people have such shallow opinions about toshiro bc of it. im on hands and knees begging people to consider the characters in three dimensions and/or develop better reading comprehension because like!! toshiro's official meeting with laios's new group literally leads with 'oh his name is actually toshiro and we never knew bc our leader had a misunderstanding and microaggressed him and he was too polite to correct him' laios is not an innocent party here!! he is not an innocent uwu autistic baby he's a grown adult man with responsibilities, in that whole time he was partied with toshiro he never learned his real name!! plus using toshiro's crush on falin as a reason to hate him, falin's adolescence was spent in a school and a social setting where she was expected to mask + her being a girl also means she is expected to mask by default -> she is better at masking than laios so why are people saying that toshiro hates laios for the same traits in falin bc clearly not?? also saw one person saying 'he only likes falin because she's hot' NO HE DOES NOT HE WOULD NOT RISK HIS LIFE HEALTH AND RETAINERS IN A DUNGEON ON A FOREIGN CONTINENT FOR THE SAKE OF A WOMAN HE ONLY THOUGHT WAS SEXY!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DUNMESHI FANS THINK WITH YOUR BRAAIN

the whole fight he had with laios where laios points out that their party is more serious about finding falin and resolving everything also drives me nuts because i've seen at least one take saying that toshiro doesn't care about falin as much as team laios because of this. which yes the fact that team laios understands the importance of health in pursuit of a goal is very very important but for many cases in east asian culture (and actually any culture with emphasis on capitalism and economic growth) productivity will get valued above all else which leads to neglect of personal health, i.e: what toshiro was doing. so this is just a clown take to begin with

also interesting to me that almost every character in dunmeshi thus far has demonstrated some kind of racial bias/misconceptions (i.e: chilchuck about elves, senshi about half-foots, etcetera etcetera) and laios and falin are no exception. race and racial differences and conflict and coexistence is also one of the underlying themes in dungeon meshi, with the elves of the west being considered a major issue to many dungeon-goers and the mayor hating dwarves and having to contend with those elves, and then marcille's motive for studying black magic and even thistle's motive for being the dungeon keeper. so it's real fucking ironic that the fans are really quick and happy to demote toshiro to 'asshole side character who is bullying our autistic rep' instead of, you know, using nuance and thinking about it

tldr; dungeon meshi has great commentary on what it's like as an autistic person in society. but dungeon meshi fans are too quick to write off toshiro as an asshole japanese guy who is ableist and getting in the way of their white woman yuri, therefore helping to promote this website's enduring legacy as the piss-poor reading comprehension website

[milesdickpic]

His Little Girl | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader P.77

Click here to see the master list

Hello, my lovelies! The long wait is finally (kinda?) over! I am finally posting the next part of the HLG series. I just want to thank everyone who is still here with me and reading my fics. You are all truly the best. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around and to the newbies, WELCOME TO THE FAM! I love you all so much. ❤️ Thank you for this extraordinary journey. Happy reading and enjoy besties! 💕

A/n: The moment we have been waiting for has arrived! It's Bradley's first day back home, but that's not the only reason this day is special! There are so many things that will unload in this chapter! Get ready for another emotional rollercoaster... 🫣🫢

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: crying, cursing, description of injuries and pain, sadness, anxiousness, signs of PTSD, some adult jokes, but also so much love 🥰

Please don't take my work, I will find you. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next couple of days, Bradley was progressing with his mobility and his ability to do things on his own. He still needed plenty of help, but he was doing so well. You walked into his room quietly as he stood at his bed packing things into his duffle bag. His arm was still in a sling to support his healing clavicle and shoulder. You knocked on the for frame and he turned around quickly. “Hey, baby. I didn’t know you were already here.” He chuckled and turned around. “Come and give me a hug, sweetheart.” 

You smiled and went into his embrace. You kissed his scruffy cheek. “You know, I’m liking the facial hair, Brad. You look good.” You raised your brows. 

He shook his head, “You mean this patchy ass beard. Baby, it took me 7 years to perfect this mustache. I think it’ll take me another 7 for this beard.” He chuckled and kissed your head. 

You ran your hand over his facial hair that was coming in. “I think you should let it grow. It’ll look really good on you.” 

He sighed, “I guess I can try, but everyone is going to make fun of how it looks. You know how hard it is for me to grow facial hair.” He laughed and continued to put things into his bag.

“Here, let me help you.” You started to fold his clothes neatly and place them into his bag.  He stood there and watched you. 

“Thank you, baby.” He kissed your temple. He sat on the chair next to the bed and started to put his shoes on. “Is everything ready to go? Can I finally get processed out of here? Can I finally go home to my own privacy and bed?” He chuckled.

You zipped up his bag, “It is, baby. You are all set to come home.” You smiled and turned to him. “Do you know what today is?”

He shook his head and chuckled, “I have no idea what day of the week it is, nor the date honey.”

You walked over to him and rubbed his cheek. You lifted his chin so you could kiss him. “Happy Birthday, baby.” You smiled and pecked his lips again.

He looked at you with wide eyes, “Holy shit, are you serious. I’ve been here for that long? It’s already my birthday, sweetheart?” He started to laugh. “Holy shit.”

You pecked his lips a couple of more times. “Bradley Bradshaw you are one crazy man. I’m glad you get to come home for your birthday.”

He smiled up at you and grabbed your hip, “Thank you, baby.”

You rested your forehead against his, “Show me the way home, honey.” 

You pulled into the driveway of your house. Bradley looked up at the house and sighed happily. “God, I’m so happy to be home.” He was smiling so big. You looked over at him and rubbed his knee. 

“Let’s get you inside, Bradley. Get you situated and comfy.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek. 

He nodded, “I can’t wait to freaking eat. I’m raiding the pantry when we get in that house, baby.” He started to laugh. 

Hangman came out and greeted the both of you. He helped Bradley down from the car and grabbed his duffle from the flat. He hugged Bradley tight, “Welcome home, big boy. You’re looking finer than ever.” He kissed his cheek hard and chuckled.

Bradley leaned his body weight against Hangman so he could help him to the door. “Dude, it feels so good to be home. I hope you cook your famous ribs because I am fucking starving, man.” Bradley laughed. 

“Oh man. You are going to eat good today. I promise, Bradshaw.” Hangman rubbed his back as he helped him onto the porch to the front door. 

You opened the front door and Hangman helped Bradley through the threshold into the house. 

“Surprise!” Everyone yelled to surprise Bradley. He looked up with wide eyes and an even wider smile. 

“Holy shit!” He looked around and greeted everyone that was over to see him. 

A couple of Bradley’s pilots from work were there to celebrate Bradley’s birthday and to welcome him home. Phantom and the other admirals and their families were there, Mav, Austin, Phoenix, and Leia. Bradley was over joyed to see everyone. Everyone took turns welcoming Bradley home and wishing him happy birthday. After Bradley said his hello’s and thank you’s to everyone he came over to you and kissed your cheek. 

“Did you plan this, sweetheart?” He furrowed his brows at you and looked at you in disbelief. 

You looked around and smiled. “I had some help. It wasn’t just me.” You got up onto your tip toes and kissed his scruffy jawline. “Welcome home, baby.”

Mav went and settled all of Bradley’s things in yours and his room. Hangman and Austin helped Bradley up the stairs to the room. You followed behind making sure they were okay.

“Aww man, it smells so good in here. I am so freaking hungry. I’m going to eat everything in sight.” Bradley started to laugh as Austin held him to lower him onto the bed. Bradley sat back as you started to undo his arm sling. He hissed at the pain when his arm weight started to settle down. 

Maverick brought up his medication and some water. Bradley took it as you continued to undress him. 

“All right, well let us know when you are done getting him ready. I’m going to head back down before I start to blush.” Hangman chuckled and grabbed Austin’s shoulder as they exited the room. 

Bradley put his hand on yours, “Sweetheart, I can do it. I have to try.” 

“Brad..” He waved you off. 

“Please. I need to try. If I need you I’ll let you know.” He gave you a smile and you nodded. 

Bradley’s POV

I got up and went into the bathroom. I didn’t want you to see all my wounds. I was nervous and scared for you to see it. I hadn’t even fully seen them yet. Mav assisted me as you waited out on the bed. 

I started to remove my pants and Mav placed his hand on my hips. “You got it, kid?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I got it,” I grunted as I dragged my pants off my legs. “Shit. Can you pull them off my ankles now?” I rested my hand against the sink’s countertop to gain my balance as Mav started to remove the pant legs from around my ankles. 

I took a deep breath as I started to remove my shirt. “Damn. I should just cut myself out this damn thing.” I chuckled as I carefully removed the shirt from my wounded arm. “Ah FUCK!” I looked up at the ceiling and then closed my eyes tightly.

Mav rubbed my back, “Hey it’s okay. Take your time, Brad. No need to rush. It’s gonna take some time. You’re doing great.” He took the shirt from my grasp and put it into the dirty clothes hamper. 

I hadn’t seen myself since before the accident. My breath was shaken. I was scared to look. As Mav was in the closet getting me some clothes, I walked over to the full body mirror on the sliding closet doors. I was looking down at my feet. I could feel my heart rate picking up. I looked up slowly in the mirror to see myself. I started to shake. 

“Holy Shit,” I whispered as I examined the damage. I had a huge slice that was healing across my right thigh. I could see where the staples had been, each little dot of whiter skin in a perfectly lined row. I had minor cuts that were healed but the skin was whiter than rest of my leg and still raised as it continued to heal. I had bruises all over my groin from when the chute hoisted me up before I plummeted to the water. My hips had been bruised up and were healing. My skin looked yellow on them. I looked up my torso. The by far worst part of me. I started to lose my definition. My dad bod was definitely coming in from being bed ridden the last month. My torso was still black and blue from impact. It was so tender to the touch. I traced over the sutures I had near my broken clavicle. It was still sensitive and swollen to the touch. I examined my shoulder. Staples still heavily in it, I could probably set off a metal detector when I walked through it. It was still swollen, covered in dried blood, and bruised. What the fuck. Who the fuck was this. My neck bruises and abrasions were healing and not as noticeable. My face swelling had gone down, but I didn’t look like me. 

I started to feel anxious. I felt sweat break out on my neck. I placed my hand over my eyes and squeezed them as all I could hear was Phoenix yelling for me. I let out a shaky sigh. “Holy fuck.” I whined out. I felt a hand on my back and the door open. 

“Hey, It’s okay, Bradley. Let’s sit you down kid.” Mav helped me over to the bathtub to sit. He held my face in his hands. “Hey breathe with me now, all right?” I nodded in his embrace. We were breathing together. 

“Is he okay?” Your voice full of concern. 

“I’m okay, baby.” I shot you a thumbs up. “I’m okay.” 

“I got him y/n. Why don’t you go down stairs and get the guys. He’ll be ready soon.” Mav shot you a smile as he continued to rub my cheeks in his hands. You nodded and left the room. 

“Bradley, Hey. You okay?” 

I closed my eyes tight and nodded, “I’m pretty banged up, Mav. I didn’t think I was this bad.”

He patted my cheek, “Hey, stop that. You look great. You are doing so well.” I gulped and looked up at him. He nodded. “You’re doing so good, kiddo. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

I nodded. “All I can hear is her yelling at me, Mav.” My lip started to quiver. “How do I make it go away?”

Mav furrowed his brows, “Hear who yelling, Bradley?”

“Phoenix.” I looked around the bathroom. “She was the last person I heard over the radio before I went down. The hurt in her voice.” I took a deep breath, “And Riot, he was in a panic. He ran outta flares.” I looked up at him. “How did you get through it… when it was you and I?”

Mav stood up and started to clean up my staples and stitches. “I just keep thinking about how you’re still here. I think about you being okay. It is hard. I have a lot of dreams about that day. I think of all the different possible outcomes that could have happened if something else didn’t go the way it did. So I know. It’s hard. But the best way to help yourself, well is to talk about it. Remember they are still here. They’re downstairs right now waiting for you.” He started to help me put on my shirt. “They’re here and you’re here. Lean on everyone, Rooster. I promise it’ll get easier. I’ll be here with you every step of the way.” He stood me up to help put some sweatpants on me. 

I gulped, “How’d you do it with dad?” 

He stopped for a minute and sighed. “It was hard. One of the hardest things in my life. I loved your dad more than anything. He was my best friend, you all were all I had left. I had to forgive myself. It took years for me to fully forgive myself for what happened with your dad. But with a lot of help, I was able to cope.” He sat me back down and started to put new socks on me. “It won’t be easy, Rooster. But it does get better.” He patted my cheek and helped me stand up. 

There was a knock on the door. “You decent in there?” Hangman called through the door. 

“Yea, he’s ready!” Mav helped put my sling back on my arm. 

“Thank you, Mav.” I nodded at him.

He smiled at me and strapped my sling. “Hey. I’ll always be here for you, Bradley. No matter what.” 

Hangman and Austin helped me back down the stairs. Everyone was excited when I came back down. Leia came over with her teddy bear. 

“Daddy look! Still has your wings!” She smiled up at me while holding the bear up to me. 

I took the bear and gave it a hug. “My girl, thank you for always keeping them safe.” I leaned down and kissed her head. I gave her back her bear and she gave it a hug. 

“Daddy, I made you a plate of food!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me eagerly over to the table.

“Hey, baby, not so hard with your daddy, please!” You called over to the both of us.

I laughed and shot you a wink, “I’m okay, sweetheart. She’s just excited. It’s okay.” 

Leia pulled out my chair for me and gestured for me to sit. “Here, daddy!” She was so happy.

I chuckled and kissed her head, “Baby, you shouldn’t have to pull my chair out for me, but thank you so much, sweetheart.” I sat down and she tried to push my chair in. I chuckled and I helped scoot in while she pushed.

She got on her tip toes and pulled my shoulder down to kiss my cheek. “I’ll go get your plate, daddy! Sit tight!” She skipped to the kitchen. I had small talk with a couple of the other pilots that were at the house. “Daddy!” Everyone got quiet and brought their attention to Leia. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“Daddy, what do you want to drink?” She looked over and through everyone to make eye contact with me. She was smiling so big. She was the cutest little babe ever. 

I chucked, “I’ll just have some water, sweetheart. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir!” She came over and gave me my plate of food and a cup of water. She kissed my cheek, “There is another plate! I’ll be back!’

“Another plate!?” I was shocked and looked down at the plate already full of food. She placed the second plate of food down and she nestled herself into my arm. 

“Eat up, daddy! We have to get you big and strong again!” She kissed my arm a couple of times. “Do you need help with eating, daddy?” She peered up at me through her lashes. 

I kissed the top of her head and smiled. “I’m okay, baby. You’ve already done enough for me. Thank you so much, my Leia Rey.” 

I leaned down to lay my head on her head when she pulled me down a little further. She pushed her forehead to the side of my head, “If you need anything else, make sure to let me know, Daddy.” She kissed my cheek and disappeared into the crowd of friends. 

Phoenix reached over and grabbed my hand. “I’m glad to have you back home, Bradshaw.” She gave me a smile as we all started to eat. 

After we all ate, I went into the backyard to get some fresh air and enjoy the sunset. I felt someone rub my back. I turned around and saw Riot. 

“Sir.” He gave me a weak smile. 

I patted his shoulder and pulled him under my wing. “Beautiful, isn’t it, Riot?” I was looking out to the sunset. 

“Yes, sir. It’s a beautiful view.” He cleared his throat. “Sir.”

I chuckled. “No need for formalities, we are outside of work, Riot. You can always just call me Rooster.” I patted his shoulder.

He nodded, “Rooster, I hadn’t had the chance to thank you.” He looked at me with sadden eyes. 

“Thank me?”

He stood in front of me with his head down. “I haven’t thanked you properly for saving my life.” He took a deep breath, “You could have let me meet my own faith. I was out of flares… but instead you bit the bullet for me and risked yourself.”

“Riot.” He looked up at me, “You don’t need to thank me. I wasn’t going to leave you out there like that. It wasn’t your fate. I promised myself and you all that I would get you all home safely. At any cost.”

He started to break down, “Sir. I thought I lost you. My heart felt like it was going to explode, knowing that you had your pregnant wife and daughter waiting for you at home.” 

“And you have your family waiting for you at home. Your parents and your boy.” 

He wiped his tears, “Sir, I owe you my life. You saved me when you didn’t have to. And well now you’re here.”

I chuckled. “Here?” I looked up and looked around me, “Riot, I’m alive and here with you, everyone, my family.” I patted his shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up please.”

“But, Rooster.”

I shook my head, “Riot. I’m serious. I’m here. You’re here.”

He nodded. “Thank you for saving my life, Rooster.”

I smiled and pulled him in to hug him, “I’d save your ass any day, kid.” I started to laugh as did he. “Let’s get back in. I think I’m ready for some cake.” I patted his back as we walked back into the house. 

Leia came running to me and grabbed my hand again. “Daddy! It’s time for your cake!” She started to pull me over to the table. “Okay! Okay! I am ready for it, little Leia!” 

I sat down in the chair. “Daddy, is it okay if i sit in your lap? Or will it hurt too much?” She gave me the famous puppy dog eyes. 

I welcomed her into my lap, “Of course you can, sweetheart. I’d be sad if you didn’t.” Leia hopped into my lap and got comfortable. “Daddy, you’re really going to like your cake. I picked it out for you.” She whispered into my ear. 

I placed my hand on her belly and kissed her temple. “Did you, baby? Oh I am definitely going to love it then.”

Mav brought over my cake it was chocolate cake with chocolate shavings all over the sides and chocolate drizzle on top. “Oh my god.” I was mesmerized. It looked so fucking good.

Leia whispered into my ear, “The inside is chocolate too, daddy.” She winked at me.

“Holy shit, Leia Rey. You know me so well, sweetheart.” I kissed her head over and over again. You came over and placed the candles on my cake. 

“Damn, Rooster. One year away from 30.” Hangman laughed at me and held his beer to me. I shook my head at him. 

“Thats one year less than you are.” I chuckled. 

He narrowed his eyes at me, “Watch it, Bradshaw.” He started to laugh as he took a sip of his beer. 

You placed a kiss on my cheek and lit the candles. “I added one for good luck, baby.” You winked at me. “Okay on three! One, two, three!” Everyone started to sing happy birthday to me. I swayed with Leia in my lap and sung it with her. 

After the song was finished she turned to me and kissed my cheek, “Make a wish, daddy.” 

I smiled at her, “How about you make one with me, baby. I have all that I need here.” Her eyes lit up. 

“Okay…” She thought about it. “I wish for you to always be safe, daddy.” She was holding back her tears. I saw her eyes gloss over. “I love you, daddy.”

I kissed her cheek. “I love you, sweetheart.” 

“Ready to blow?” 

“Let’s do it, babe.” We blew the candles out together. 

Everyone was cooing over Leia’s wish. I caught a glimpse of you wiping the tears from your eyes. You started to cut the cake and gave me the first piece, “Happy birthday, honey. I love you, always, Bradley.”

“Thank you baby. I love you, forever.”

Leia and I shared my piece of cake. She fed it to me. It was so good. “Leia Rey, you picked such a good cake. Thank you.”

“Aunt Phoenix and I picked it out for you.” She smiled at me. 

Phoenix came to grab her piece for her and Austin, “You’re welcome, Bradshaw.” She gave me a hug.

I kissed her cheek, “Well thank you Auntie Phoenix and my little Vapor girl. It’s delicious.” 

The party continued for the rest of the night. Everyone started to help clean up around 2000. After cleaning up, they all started to leave one by one. Austin and Hangman helped me up the stairs to our bedroom. 

“You showering tonight, Bradshaw?” Hangman helped me sit on the bed. 

“Yea. I’m gonna shower. Or probably bathe.” I sighed as I started to remove my clothes. 

Hangman chuckled, “Do you need any help? Just don’t blush.” 

I nodded unenthusiastically, “Yea, could you guys lend me a hand.” They started to help me take my clothes off until I was in my briefs. Austin removed my sling. 

“Do you need help getting into the tub, Bradley?” Austin undid my sling and placed it onto the bed. 

I gulped and looked at the bathtub in the bathroom. “I’m embarrassed for you guys to see me fucking naked. But, I do need help getting in. Please.” 

Hangman shook his head, “I’ve seen you naked plenty of times. You think I care?”

I squinted my eyes at him, “You’re making me nervous now.” 

Austin went to go and turn the water on. “We are all guys. No need to be ashamed. I don’t mind helping you out, Brad. I do this for a living.”

Hangman looked at Austin with wide eyes. “You what? You helped grown men get naked and put ‘em in tubs?”

Austin chuckled at Hangman’s analogy. “I’m a caretaker. Back in San Diego, I have patients that I provide at-home care for. I’m used to this.” He tested the water temperature. “It’s ready to go, Bradley. When you’re ready.”

Hangman helped me up and walked me over to the tub. I struggled to pull my briefs down. “Hey. I got you, Roo.” Hangman helped me out of my briefs and they helped me into the tub. I sat down and laid back in the warm water. 

“Holy shit this feels fucking amazing. I haven’t had a proper shower in forever. Just sponge baths.” I laid my head back and relaxed. 

You walked in and giggled. “You all having an after party?” We all turned around quickly to you.

“I- uh. We were…” Hangman was pointing at me and tripping over his words. 

“We were helpin him into the tub, darlin. He wanted to take a proper bath now that he’s home.” Austin chuckled and wrapped his arm over your shoulders. 

You nodded, “Thank you guys.” You looked at Hangman deviously, “You’re blushing, Jake.” 

You started to laugh as he rolled his eyes. “How about you guys go help finish cleaning up. I’ll take it from here.” You smiled at the both of them.

“Hey, no it’s okay, y/n. We can help him out.” Hangman waved you off.

You hugged both of them and started to push them out the door, “I got it from here boys, thank you. Seriously.” 

They left and you came back to me in the tub. “Baby, I can do it. I promise.”

You knelt down by the tub and placed your hand on my cheek. “I know you can, but just let me help, okay?” You kissed my forehead. “Just sit back and relax, Bradley. I’ll get you cleaned up.” 

I sighed and leaned back. “I just need help washing my back, baby. That’s it.”

You giggled, “Just take my help, babe.”

“But you’re already doing so much. And you are SO pregnant.”

You shook your head, “Don’t under estimate me, Bradshaw.” You narrowed your eyes at me.

Mine went wide. “Baby, I would never.”

You grabbed a cup and started to fill it with water to pour onto my hair. It felt so good. You started to massage my scalp with the shampoo and I nearly melted under your touch. I let out a little groan.

“You doing okay, baby? Am I hurting you?” You brought your lips to my ear since you were sitting behind me.

I shook my head, “No, sweetheart. It just feels really nice.” You continued to wash my hair and then you rinsed. You added the conditioner and continued to massage my head. When you started to wash my body you were so gentle. I just wanted to fall asleep in the tub. I didn’t want to get out. 

“You ready to get out, babe?” You smiled at me as you poured water onto me to keep me warm. 

“No, but I know I should get out.” I started to sit up. “Thank you for helping me, sweetheart.” 

You kissed my cheek and patted my face dry, “I’d do anything for you, Bradley.” 

You went and got the guys so they could help me out. After I dried off you help me put my clothes on. You re-bandaged my shoulder and clavicle and helped me into bed. You set up a couple of pillows to help keep me elevated. Mav came in with my medication for the night. While I took my medicine, you went to go and get ready for bed. 

“Leia is already down for bed. I put her down before bringing up his meds.” Mav smiled at you. 

You kissed his cheek and got into bed. “Thank you so much, Mav. Thank you for helping out today.” 

He winked at you and patted my leg, “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

I laid back and looked over at you. “Ready for bed?” 

You smiled and got comfortable, “I am. I’m going to sleep so much better knowing you’re here next to me.” You inched closer to me. 

“Come here. Baby.” I held my arm up and you nestled your self into my side.

“I love you, Bradley. Good night,”

“I love you, sweetheart. Good night.”

Your POV

You heard little mumbles coming from Bradley. You got up and looked at the clock. 1:30 AM. You thought that maybe he was in pain and was just trying to handle it. You sat up and placed your hand on his arm. 

“Baby. Do you need more medicine?”

He started to fidget under your hand. “Riot…. Riot I got you…”

Oh shit. You started to rub his arm. “Baby. Bradley.”

“Fuck….No….I’m sorry…” He started move his head side to side. 

“Bradley.” You turned your bed side light on. His eyes were squeezing and his hand balling into a fist. “Bradley. Honey. It’s okay baby.” You were rubbing his chest as he struggled in his sleep.

“PHOENIX!” He shot up hitting you with his shoulder. He was wincing at the pain he was in. He started to cry slightly as he held his clavicle and his chest. 

You held your hand over your mouth and scooted closer to him. You laid your head on his shoulder and comforted him. “Hey. Hey, I’m here. You cradled his head in your arms. “It’s okay, Bradley. You’re okay baby. Riot and Phoenix are okay.” 

He started to cry in your arms. “I’m so sorry baby. Did I hurt you?” 

You shook your head and cupped his cheeks in your hands. You had tears in your eyes. “No, Bradley. You didn’t hurt me. You don’t have to apologize. You’re okay my love. It’s going to be okay.” You scratched at his head and cradled him against you. “You’re okay baby. It was just a dream. They’re all okay.” You placed kisses on his head over and over again. “I’m here, Bradley. I love you. I promise you are okay.”

He held onto you as he started to calm down. He was still shaking slightly in your arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Shhhh.” You shushed him and comforted him. 

“Don’t apologize, baby. You’re okay. You are all safe, Bradley. I promise.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Babes! We are finally back 🥺 Thank you all for being so patient with me! I hope you are all doing well! Are you excited for Bradley to be back home? 🥹 I am! But he definitely has a long road ahead of him. #InDadlyWeTrust 🫶🏼 I'll see you in the next one, besties! 🫶🏼

The party crew is in the comments 🥳

[copperbadge]

Supposedly, people with Anphantasia don't get scared reading scary stories, or at least not much. Is that true with you if you ever read Horror?

You know, I'd never thought about it, but I suppose it is. To an extent, anyway.

Follows a discussion of my relationship to horror prose and media; if you don't know what aphantasia is, as many people coming to this tumblr don't, I have a tag for it here that may help -- it's basically the lack of a "mind's eye", a visual imagination, so I hear/read things and don't see an image of them in my mind. If you are scoffing right now that nobody actually has a mind's eye, congratulations, you may also have aphantasia. The articles linked in the tag will be useful to you.

I have definitely been scared by prose before but it's very rare, and not much since I was a child, when the stories I found scary were preying on fears I already had. I loved the Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark books, and I think it's not unusual that I found the illustrations more frightening than the prose, but the only story that ever scared me was the one about the vampire who kept trying to grab a kid through a window -- because I had a window over my bed in my childhood bedroom and I was terrified I'd look up to see someone looking down at me through it. Likewise, as an adult, the only content in horror I find scary is what I think of as "mind horror" -- the loss of faculty or the loss of awareness of faculty (think the end scene of the novel Hannibal with the brain). Which is one of my biggest fears.

I don't read much horror because generally I get bored, which has in the past made me feel faintly appalled at myself, but which now makes more sense. Certainly I have no interest in slasher-style gore in prose, because I find it uninteresting and it goes on a really long time, while I don't watch it in movies/TV because the visual is upsetting -- so if I was getting the visual from the prose I might react more emotionally. I am a fan of Stephen King but mostly his early work where he was shorter on suspense, and I was reading it because I liked the ideas and the characters. Carrie is super interesting because of the personalities involved, not because of the violence or the horror aspects. But I've never seen a movie adaptation and I can imagine I would be deeply unsettled if not distraught by certain scenes if depicted visually. Although I didn't find the Hannibal TV series super upsetting (I mostly was put off by how bad I imagined Will smelled) so perhaps body horror just doesn't do it for me.

This may also explain my hard-no on zombie media, because I'm not scared at all of zombies, I just find them boring and gross, and that leaves the post-apocalyptic humans. My hard-no on post-apocalypse anything is an aversion to imagining the end of my world, though, which isn't visual, it's conceptual, and not scary, just upsetting.

Like, people kept suggesting Zombies Run! to me when I was taking up running and -- well, one, I needed the music to keep my pace, I didn't want it interrupted. But two, I didn't see why a bunch of random groaning noises would make me run faster. If you could see zombies chasing you in your head, yeah, that'd probably be more motivating.

It kind of explains too why I haven't written much horror. I used to be very curious about how people worked out what's "scary" in horror prose and I guess part of the curiosity came from not experiencing it myself. It's tough to know how to write a scary story when stories don't scare you.

To be clear, I definitely experience fear. Reading Stephen King's "It" didn't really scare me, but there were scary moments in the film adaptations. I startle at jumpscares. There's plenty of stuff in real life that I'm scared of. And even podcasts -- I don't get mental images during podcasts like apparently most people do, but Magnus Archives got me with the "digging into your pre-existing fears" thing once or twice, and while I didn't finish The Left Right Game (I just got bored) the hitchhiker scene definitely got me. But I think, unless it's playing on something conceptual that already existed, yeah, I don't find prose particularly frightening.

Huh. This feels like the kind of thing that could have a significant impact on my creative output if I could crowbar my way into it. Knowing that I as an aphantic don't need descriptions that other people do has already, I think, impacted my editing process, but this feels like it maybe would somehow have an effect on the whole thing -- the fact that I don't experience emotions when reading in the same way other people do because I don't get the visuals is something to meditate on.

How the fuck did I ever even become a writer. Like what's up with that.

(Ironically it was X-Files fanfic. X-Files, a show that very much did scare me, for which I wrote and read a lot of fanfic, none of which did...yikes. Well, that's something to meditate on for the weekend.)

[comradekatara]

You probably already posted about this but how are you feeling about the next Avatar show? I want to have high hopes but your points about how LOK was ultimately very centrist make me a little hesitant. Centrists are hard to budge in my experience.

Also I’m worried they’re going to give Korra an early death to explain why* the earth avatar show isn’t in some sort of Star Trek era and I don’t want that for her :’)

*I mean for all I know they could be going for a futuristic vibe for this series? I wouldn’t think so though

yeah i mean i’ve ranted about it plenty before (tagged/avatar studios crit) but yeah i don’t think it’ll be good unless the writers’ room is radically different (pspspspspss you wanna hire me so bad bryke….) and i’m also just very sick of their takes on modernization and the inevitability of neoliberalism in general. like, why can’t we have shows about past avatars, like a succession-style show about the imperial court politics and bureaucracy of avatar szeto (okay, this show might only be appealing to me, but still), or even spin-offs centered on side characters, like a show that takes place in the 100 years that aang was frozen, eg, about kanna. it would be a much better use of their misguided desire to franchise atla. i mean, i suppose there are some elements of lok i enjoy, and i quite liked the books and one or two of the comics, but i have very low hopes regarding an adult gaang movie or a post-korra show. like if korra wasn’t such a mess then maybe i’d be excited, but i really think they should just stop trying to capitalize on the lightning in a bottle that was atla because that’s just sad to me. i think we should stop beating a dead horse, and instead honor the horse’s memory, instead of losing faith in the horse with every new wound it acquires. but that’s just me.

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 19/04/2024

i love(d) you

Season 6 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume FF Also on: Now That's What I Call Quality! 3

Ripped by vvsvlogs

Requested by oetaboy and an anonymous reader! @oetaboy (Ask Box)

I'm sure this rip's been a long time coming for many - I know it has for me. I've had i love(d) you sitting in my drafts as far back as in March, but truthfully it's...daunting, to write about. Requested by two readers. Close to 200 thousand views on YouTube, and recently featured prominently in popular Clone Hero YouTuber Acai's "The Quality of SiIvaGunner" series. And the rip itself being an emotional gutpunch in a season filled with them, from a ripper who's already gutpunched me plenty with Wham! Into Dreams and The Paragoomba and the Wiggler. vvsvlogs, Vivi, I ask this with the most sincere gratitude possible - why must you do this to me?

Minecraft as a game has its emotional hooks in at least two generations of people - that much I think we're all aware of. A sandbox filled with endless possibilities, community, friends, individual stories of survival or of great creative endeavors, all wrapped in C418's hauntingly beautiful score, one I've discussed many times before with Fell From a High Place (Reprise), M-O-O-G City and Every Mob Wants To Rule My World. All of these rips are beautiful, yet they're all aiming to play with Minecraft's sound in some way - the former two rips are arrangement of its music with other games' instrumentation, and the latter rip is a melodyswap playing Everybody Wants To Rule The World. They all play on my senses in their own ways, they're all rightfully impressive - but nothing hits quite the same as Minecraft's own music, on its own terms. i love(d) you isn't aiming to impress or amaze - but it lands a full-on critical hit on one's heart through leveraging everything that's kept Subwoofer Lullaby alive for so many years.

I've talked plenty about my musical illiteracy, and so I hope it doesn't come as a surprise that I've never really listened to world-renowed singer Billie Eilish. She's been on the radio, I've heard Bad Guy, but it was never a name I gave much more thought beyond seeing her discussed online from time to time. You can imagine the absolute awe I was in when I clicked on i love(d) you when it first went up, already expecting an emotional hit due to the Minecraft song used, only to get goosebumps from Eilish's vocals alone. i love you is the penultimate song from Eilish's debut studio album, the very same that Bad Guy was featured on - yet compared to that track's bass-heavy, almost seductive energy, i love you feels remarkably personal, with little more than an acoustic guitar and piano accompanying the openly emotional vocal performance. It's sincere in a way I don't hear enough music be, as if a diary translated into song, much the same emotion that Because I Love You conveyed yet with even greater magnitude due to the vocals in play.

i love(d) you, uploaded for 2022's valentines day, wields both of these forms of love - the connections many of us have to one of the most impactful games ever made, and the unfiltered emotion of i love you - to create something unabashedly beautiful. Mashups aren't a novel concept, mashups are nothing new - yet one glance at the comments tells me that I'm not alone in finding this rip in particular to have struck an incredibly sensitive nerve. Because there's a beauty to Minecraft that I think many of us oft forget about. It's a game that we all cherish, yet also one that's very easy to have left behind: we have adult responsibilities, we have school, we have other, shorter, more concise games, we have social media, we have friends, we have blogs...the solemn beauty of playing the game itself is, for many viewers like myself, not much more than a memory, something that can feel ever so difficult to recreate without feeling as if something's wrong.

We...I'm...not a kid anymore.

There was nothing about i love(d) you's concept that necessitated it to be more than just the mashup. There rip had no need for visuals that'd help convey the edit like with Plantasia 2 or Luna, mi Amor, no need to tickle the funnybone like with SUNGORE or the hundreds of other YTPMV rips on the channel. Yet, halfway through the rip, to the tune of Eilish's soothingly reverberating vocals, the background begins to change, not to a bit, not to a reference nor easter egg...but to Minecraft. To where all of this attachment began - to a far-off view of the game's beautiful landscapes as the sun begins to rises. That digital world that looks different for every player, yet the same in everyone's hearts - that place that, no matter how many years pass, how long its been since we last played, we all love. Its impact different to everyone, yet the feeling unanimous. It drives home how well the mashup works not just as a mixture of two deeply emotional songs, but as music tied to a shared experience: all of our Minecraft worlds looked different, all of our personal lives look different, but we've all played the game, and we've all had affection for it.

Every moment I spend thinking about this rip aches in some way. It's been well past two years since it was first uploaded, yet it continues to follow me as the years go on, my mouse drawn to it any time it reappears in my recommendations. In being featured on 2024's Now That's What I Call Quality! 3, I think the team holds much the same sentiment - even as the months pass, i love(d) you is the kind of rip that'll never fall out of favor, never stop meaning things to people. And realizing that it was made by vvsvlogs, the very same vvsvlogs who's already made me far too emotionally vulnerable on here twice before, has only made it mean that extra bit more to me.

I'm not a kid anymore. I know that. But I'll always be grateful to SiIvaGunner, the people behind it, and those who follow it along with me, for being able to bring me back to that state of mind when I least expect it.

Thank you.

[birinboom]

Kirishima Beats No Nut November

Kirishima Eijirou x AFAB Reader

Word count: 2,852 words

Warnings/tags: Adult characters, AFAB reader (no pronouns used), swearing, established relationship, pet names (babe), vanilla smut

A/N: This is based on a series of asks on @willowser’s blog talking about who would (or more like who wouldn’t) make it through No Nut November.

Also, this is the first smut fic I’ve ever posted so don’t expect great things.

18+ FIC, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Smut specific tags and fic under the cut

Smut specific tags: PWP (porn with some miniscule semblance of a plot), biting/marking, oral sex (fem receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex

“You guys want to do the ‘No Nut November’ challenge this year?”

The room fell silent. Eijirou was already excited at the word ‘challenge’. He turned his gaze to Hanta, as did everybody else. Hanta, however, kept his eyes on his phone, scrolling through an article. 

Shouto was the first who spoke. “We can’t eat nuts throughout all of November?”

Next to him, Izuku’s face was so red it almost seemed like he was steaming. “That’s not what it means, Shouto-kun,” he whispered.

His words went unheard as Hanta drowned him out, frowning at Shouto’s question. “Dude, no, it’s talking about not busting a nut.”

“So no cracking our own nuts? Are pre-cracked nuts allowed then?”

A collective sigh swept through the room. 

“You seriously never heard the term ‘busting a nut’ before?” Katsuki drawled. When Shouto shook his head, Katsuki scoffed, mumbling something about Shouto being a sheltered princess.

Denki, however, beamed at Shouto, ready with an explanation. “It’s a euphemism for ejaculation. Y’know, cumming.”

“Ah,” Shouto replied, falling silent once again.

Denki turned back to Hanta. “So no nutting for all of November. Does that mean no masturbation? No sex?”

Hanta shrugged. “I guess you can do both without nutting if you plan on edging yourself all month. But once you nut, you’re out of the challenge.”

“What about wet dreams? Do they count?”

Hanta stayed silent for a moment, looking through the article on his phone. Then he turned his attention back to Denki. “The rules say you get one, then you’re out.”

“Aw, only one?” Denki whined. “If I can’t nut through all November, I don’t think one will be enough.”

Hanta grinned widely at the blonde. “If you don’t make it through, then you can’t participate in ‘Destroy your Dick December’!”

Denki lit up. “What’s that??”

Eijirou stopped paying attention to the conversation, instead focusing on the challenge ahead. No orgasms for 30 days didn’t sound too hard. Surely he had the resolve to get through it. 

“I’m in!” he said, interrupting Hanta and Denki’s discussion about ‘Destroy your Dick December’. 

And once Eijirou was in, hyping everybody else up, the rest of the group decided to partake too.

“You seriously agreed to that?”

Eijirou’s smile started to waver. “C’mon, it’s just one month.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just one month? Ei, you barely make it three days unless you're sick or exhausted from work.”

“I know, babe, but I can do this!” Grabbing you by the waist, he pulled you closer, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “At least… as long as you don’t try to seduce me before December.”

You sighed, raising your hands to run your fingers through his hair. “You guys are so stupid. Fine. I won’t make it harder for you, but I’m not participating!”

Eijirou giggled. “I think it’s gonna be plenty hard without your help, babe. But it’ll make it all the more gratifying once I get to fuck you again.”

The first couple of days went by with little effort. Nothing really changed in Eijirou’s life, he spent his free evenings cuddling with you on the couch, he slept with you in his arms, he got ready in the mornings next to you. He could still kiss you without any issue. He was so sure that he had this challenge in the bag.

But as the month progressed, things got more and more difficult. He often found his mind straying from his goal when you were close by, his sanity slowly slipping. The outline of your breasts visible through your clothes, the curve of your ass when you bent forward to pick something off the floor, your shirt riding up and showing your stomach when you stretched. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. Showering with you became torture. He could barely stand being in the bathroom at the same time, the outline of your naked body taunting him. One particularly cold day had your nipples perking, clearly showing through your shirt. Eijirou’s gaze was only torn away when you rubbed your arms, blocking out his view. He needed a cold shower after that. But he was still too stubborn to give up.

Kissing you slowly became painful. Once he passed the middle of the month, he could barely peck you on the lips without feeling his resolve beginning to crack. He began pretending to fall asleep on the couch in the evenings just to have a valid reason to stay away from your shared bed; just to keep his hands away from your soft, sleep-warm skin. He was sure that if he went to sleep next to you, his iron will would crumble come morning when you’d inevitably roll over and throw your arms around him, pressing your body flush against his under the covers. The soft sighs you let out while waking up always turned him on. He yearned to hear them again. But he couldn’t give up. Not yet. 

He was so close; only 12 more days to go.

One night towards the end of November, he came home unexpectedly early. The soft whimpers that reached his ears made him pause. He knew those sounds. They had him throbbing with need already. And he wasn’t sure that he’d be strong enough to resist.

His feet began moving on their own, leading him towards the bedroom. And there you lay among the sheets, underwear discarded to one side, your pussy on full display as you played with your clit with a toy. The custom-made one, he realized with a jolt, a replica of his own cock. And judging from the sheen on it, you’d already been fucking yourself for a while. 

He stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away, hands clenched around either side of the door frame to keep them from moving as his cock throbbed, straining against his pants, begging to be touched. His nostrils flared, your tantalizing scent thick in the air. He swallowed dryly when your moans became louder and more insistent as you neared your climax.

“Fuck-- Ei!” you whimpered as you came, pussy clenching around nothing.

Crack

Eijirou was torn out of his need by the sudden noise. Turning his head, he saw five finger-shaped marks around the door frame where he’d been clenching it hard enough to break the wood.

“Ei!” he heard you say, surprise heavy in your voice. “What are you doing home so early?!”

He turned back to you, jaw clenching with dismay when he saw you drawing your legs up towards your chest, hiding your sex with your crossed ankles. You were grabbling for the sheets with both hands, trying to cover yourself underneath them.

He didn’t want you to feel like you had to hide your nakedness from him. Not now, not ever. But he knew well that his own idiotic stubbornness had been the cause of this.

“I’m sorry,” he forced out between gritted teeth, turning to move back to the living room.

“Ei, wait!” 

He heard you moving after him, stumbling as you pulled the sheets around you. Keeping his back to you, he turned every time you tried to move around him.

“Why are you mad at me, Ei? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Mad? I’m not--” He let out an exasperated groan, a noise he felt like he’d been holding in for weeks. Sinking onto the couch, he scrubbed at his face. “I’m not mad at you, babe. I’m so fuckin’ frustrated with myself. I should never have agreed to this stupid-ass challenge! I’m so fucking miserable that I can’t touch you without feeling like I’m about to lose it. And then I come home to the best fuckin’ display I’ve ever seen and I CAN’T JOIN BECAUSE OF THIS STUPID CHALLENGE!!” 

Finally, he looked up at you, angry tears brimming at his waterline. “I miss you, babe. ‘S not even the sex as much as the intimacy. I miss kissing you, a-and touching you. I miss sleeping next to you. I miss feeling normal around you.”

You grinned at him. “So you don’t miss the sex? You’re fine with us not banging ever again?”

“Fucking NO I’m not!” Eijirou reached out, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his lap, molding himself around you as much as possible. “Please don’t joke about that,” he whispered against your neck. “I’ve had a stomach ache since, like, November 5th or something from constant blue balls. I want you so bad it feels like I’m about to combust, but I can’t.” 

Pressing a continuous string of kisses to your temple, he apologized, over and over again, for joining No Nut November, and for hurting both you and himself in the process. 

“Never again,” he promised. “I’m never doing such a stupid thing again! I love you so much, babe. I’ll make it up to you come December.”

On the last day of November, Eijirou spent most of the day watching the desk clock in his home office like a hawk. His brain was buzzing with counting down the seconds until midnight. With only half an hour left, he wandered aimlessly into your bedroom, desperate to find something to occupy his mind with. He thought he’d have more time before you finished your bath. But he’d miscalculated. And so he came upon you, fully nude as you searched through your dresser for something to wear for bed.

He broke.

Moving up behind you without fully realizing what he was doing, he let his hands caress your waist, your skin just as soft and warm and supple underneath his fingers as he’d imagined. His lips met your shoulder, and he slowly worked his way up, pausing for a moment to pay extra attention to the junction between your shoulder and neck to nip at your skin, letting his tongue slip over the marks his teeth left behind. One hand moved over your stomach, arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, his other hand moving up to cup your breast, thumb caressing your nipple. The groan you let out had him already teetering on the edge.

“Can’t wait any longer,” he whispered.

You turned in his grip, but as he leaned in to kiss you, you raised one hand, pressing your palm against his mouth to hold him back.

“Ei, wait! You’re so close, you can’t fail now!”

He grinned against your palm. “I don’t plan on failing. But just because I can’t cum until after midnight, doesn’t mean that I can’t make you cum either.”

Lifting one of his own hands, he placed it over yours, pressing it closer to kiss your palm. Then he gently pulled your hand away to kiss your wrist.

“Please, babe,” he mumbled, pressing another kiss to your skin, “I can’t wait to taste you again.”

You watched him silently for a moment, eyes half lidded and mouth open in a pant. Eijirou stuck his tongue out, letting the tip run over the sensitive skin on your wrist. A warm tingle crept up his spine when he felt you shiver.

“Fuck--” you sighed. “Fine, yes!!”

Releasing your wrist, Eijirou brought both hands up to cup your cheeks, kissing you desperately. Pressing his tongue into your mouth, he wound it around yours. Pulling away, he kissed an urgent trail over your jaw and down your neck, only to return to your lips again. 

His hands moved downwards, caressing your waist for a brief moment before they continued down. Breaking the kiss, he grabbed you by the thighs, lifting you enough to allow you to wrap your legs around his hips. He carried you to the bed, crawling over it on his knees until he reached the middle, then gently lowered you, his lips never once leaving your skin.

Frantically pulling his clothes off in as few movements as possible, he returned to you, kissing a trail down between your breasts, pausing for a moment to just inhale the scent of your skin. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed the feeling of your skin against his own. His teeth caught the skin on the curve of one breast. Pressing his lips to the mark, he then sucked a bruise into your skin.

Moving up, he swirled his tongue around your nipple, relishing in the sight and sound of you writhing beneath him. He wanted to drown in the sounds of your moans, but… not yet.

Flicking the bud with his tongue, he then closed his mouth around it, sucking softly. 

He let his lips slide down your stomach until he hovered over your pussy, the heady scent making him dizzy with need.

“Fuck I missed this!” he groaned, finally lowering his head to swirl his tongue around your clit, slipping two fingers into you. Slowly, he built you up, feeling your fingers tug at his hair, your thighs shaking as you neared your climax. Pushing you over the edge, he relished in how tightly you clenched around his fingers when you came.

“Shit, Ei, that--”

“One more,” he interrupted, nipping at your inner thigh. “Gimme one more, babe!”

Eijirou had no idea how long he spent nestled between your thighs, switching between slowly lapping and sucking on your clit, occasionally dipping down to press his tongue into your pussy. He only resurfaced when you started pulling insistently on his hair. 

“Stop, Ei, please! No more!” you whimpered. 

He licked his lips, savoring the last of your taste before he sat up, shooting a quick glance to the clock on his nightstand. 01:23 December 1st. 

Merry fucking Christmas to me he thought as he lifted your legs onto his shoulders. Pressing a kiss to your ankle, he lined himself up, gently pressing the head of his cock against your opening.

“Ready, babe?”

When you nodded, he began pushing in, forcing himself to go slow. He’d almost forgotten how good you felt, how warm and soft you were, how tightly you gripped him. 

“Dunno how long I can -nnhg!- can hold on, babe,” he groaned, “it feels too good, you’re so good to me!”

He kept babbling praise as he thrust shallowly, already close to his climax. Pausing for a moment to shift his position to be closer to you, he began losing control, thrusting harder, deeper, lost in the sensation of your warm embrace.

“Fuck, babe, I-- I can’t-- Fuck!!”

Hips stuttering, he spilled inside of you, trying his best to not collapse at the relief. His head sank down on the pillow next to yours, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I love you, babe. I love you so much.”

Winding your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer. “I love you too, Eijirou.”

He relaxed, pressing slow, gentle kisses to any patch of skin he could reach, enjoying the feel of your fingers gliding through his hair, scratching at his scalp.

Post-nut clarity finally lifting the fog in his mind, he realized that he’d undressed so quickly that he still had one sock half on his foot. The realization made him smile into your neck.

You wiggled in his hold, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I didn’t think you’d be able to manage taking it this slow.”

He chucked weakly. “I wanted to savor it.”

Lifting himself off you, he pressed yet another kiss to your lips, muffling your groan as he slid out of you. Then he reached out to grab some tissues from the box on your nightstand and sat up, ready to wipe you down.

But seeing one month’s worth of cum leaking out between your swollen lips had him hard and throbbing again.

He grinned at you. “On your stomach, babe. Ass in the air.”

“Already?” you groaned before complying. 

Eijirou leaned in to kiss your ass cheek before sinking his teeth into it. “‘M not even close to done. I plan on going all night to make up for lost time.”

“None of you made it??”

Eijirou felt warm, hands balling into fists, his cheeks flushing with exasperation. The lack of sleep from the night before was finally starting to bother him. 

“No one, not a single one of you made it through the month??”

His words were met with shrugs, with eyerolls and crossed arms, with averted gazes. The mood was so tense he felt like he could slice through it with his quirk.

“It was too much,” Izuku finally whispered.

“It was stupid, ‘s what it was,” Katsuki added. “Never wanted to do the fuckin’ thing anyway.”

Denki grinned. “But that’s how you failed, Kacchan, you did the fucking-thing anyway.”

“Guys,” Eijirou said, ignoring the smoke rising from Katsuki’s fists, “we were meant to do this together. It was meant to be a challenge!” When no one replied, he added, “Couldn’t you at least have told me that you were out? Then I coulda bailed too instead of suffering from blue balls for thirty fucking days!” As a chorus of mumbled apologies rose into the air, Eijirou thought to himself that he was NEVER doing something like No Nut November again.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! If you like, you can check out my other works here. Love, Birin 💖

[lookinghalfacorpse]

-c!philza is literally 8k-10k years old. he might be older. he doesn't keep track anymore.

-c!technoblade is about 500 years old, and has been with phil for 450 of them. the first 50 years of his life were hellish. phil helped him get out of there.

-c!dream is... 25 at most.

-phil is baffled by this. what do you Mean dream has lived 1/400th of his life. 0.0025%. this number is Ridiculous and frankly too small to comprehend.  phil doesn't remember being 25. he remembers a series of bad decisions and ambitions he associates with that era, but nothing too specific.

-techno Does remember being 25.  he remembers it very vividly, actually, having entered adulthood during the worst period of his life (if you ask him about it he’ll just start rambling about governments and authority, as he often liked to do).  he remembers feeling like he was all-powerful.  he remembers feeling completely powerless.  he looks at dream and he Gets It

-really!  he gets it!  at 25, you’re not a ‘young adult’ or whatever anymore, you’re a full-fledged adult and you’re kinda new to it, but you’re making a life for yourself and your brain is fully developed and a lot of the Dumb Hormone Shit has stopped.  you’re very different than you were just a few years ago and there’s plenty you don’t know, but you’re strong and you’ve already experienced many hardships and you’re independent

-techno thinks about this as he humors the “”rivalry”” between them.  techno also thinks about this as he carries dream to the water cauldron of Pandora’s Vault, too weak to walk across the cell to get a drink.

-phil searches through old books and journals, but everything from his early adulthood has been lost.  dissolved in floods, destroyed in fire, or buried with old friends.  he ties dream’s hair back for him, and he thinks that he might’ve worn the same style, too, once upon a time.  

-”he’s a child, techno.”  

-“i know.”

-it took techno 20 years to heal.  he wonders how long dream will take. (phil will help him get out of there)

[comphy-and-cozy]

must've made a mistake - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: Suggestive/adult content (18+ recommended), discussions about sex/sexual implications, alcohol use/consumption, even more insanity than last time. Still a medium burn/banter that's basically foreplay but no actual sexy times (sorry I know it hurts me too).

part 1 | series masterlist | nhl masterlist | part 3

August 2023

The dull roar of people chattering surrounds you, speakers lowly playing some top-100 hit with a beat. It’s ignored, just background music amid the dusk sky and twinkle lights strewn among the rafters above you.

It’s August in Detroit, meaning the air is sticky and humid, and everyone is on some form of patio or rooftop drinking on this Friday night. You’re at your favorite local watering hole with a few friends, celebrating the end of another work week. The cowl neck tank you have on is thin, but your skin is still hot beneath the silk fabric. Fortunately, the sangria in your glass is perfect and the very light breeze wafting through the patio feels like heaven.

You’re on your way back from the bathroom when you see the flash of auburn hair. Your heart does a flip, suddenly pulsing faster in your chest, and you slip back to your table with a smile. With a glance back to confirm the ivory skin and thick, russet beard, you feel your heart flutter. Of course you saw he signed with the Red Wings; how could you not? His name was one of the hottest to come out of free agency, all of the chatter and podcasts hosts repeating his name over and over again to make sure you never forgot the time that JT Compher bought you a drink. 

It also brought back memories of the time you drunkenly told JT Compher that you wrote fanfic about him. Smutty fanfiction. And then left him standing helplessly in that Denver bar, running away with your heart pounding in your chest. 

You regretted it as soon as the door shut behind you, the opportunity already vanished like it never existed in the first place. Still, you never forgot a single detail about that night, about the way he gazed at you and the low, sultry purr of his voice; you’re pretty sure if you hadn’t been an absolute coward, it would’ve been one of the best nights of your life, and, quite possibly, the best sex of your life. The thought still brings a dull pulse between your legs, kicking yourself for ruining a literal dream.

But there he is, in the flesh, and for a moment your mind flits to wonder if this could be a second chance. It’s been almost two years since your run-in, an entire championship under his belt in that time. Not only will he surely not remember you, but who knows what’s changed for him—things have certainly changed for you. 

Except your burning desire for him. That has never wavered; if anything, it grew, once you learned what his hot breath felt like against your skin and the way it felt to make him laugh at something you said. Even though your following of the sport diminished due to shifting priorities, you’ve found those warm, hickory eyes appear in your dreams just often enough to ensure that he’s never too far removed from your mind.

Unfortunately, there’s also the regrettable factor that you wrote—with vivid detail—about having sex with him. He’d said he was flattered, but was he just being polite, not wanting to embarrass you? You remember the way his eyes poured into yours, the flash in them when he probed for more details, the way they warmed you from the inside out, and the flicker of hope flashes ever so quickly. He’s here, in Detroit, for five years, you think, so there’s plenty of time to see what might unfold.

You don’t have to wait long to see, for not an hour later he’s sidling up next to you at the bar with a look that tells you he remembers exactly who you are. Like maybe he never forgot a single detail about you, either. 

“You stalking me now?”

A smirk forms on his face at his own joke, and you return a smile, adding smoothly, “I was here first, Compher. So I could ask you the same question.”

He laughs at your quip and shrugs noncommittally. “I plead the fifth.”

“You’re the one who signed in Detroit. Long-term. After I told you where I was from.”

“You caught me,” he says, a faux confession paired with hands held up. But then, his cool demeanor flickers ever so slightly as his third seltzer starts to hit his system. “I’m not—I wasn’t stalking you, but I have been hoping I’d run into you.”

Your heart flutters at his admission. “Is that so?”

He pauses as he debates what he wants to say next, and your eyes are drawn to the way his tongue darts out to run along his bottom lip, a shine remaining even as his tongue disappears back into his mouth. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife, and you can’t remember how you got here. You really can’t remember much outside of the thick, red beard, perfectly manicured, shrouding around his perfect, full lips—

“I found it.” His voice pulls you from your introspection, and you’re thankful and simultaneously hopeful he didn’t notice you staring. 

Stealing one last glance at his lips, you rack your brain to conjure whatever it was that he said to you a moment ago. If he notices your pause, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Found what?”

“Your—what is it called?—your fanfiction.”

Your heart freezes and sinks in an instant, mortification settling into your bones. You weren’t expecting that to come up so quickly into your reunion, foolishly hoping that maybe he’d forgotten about that detail. Surely, you think, he’s about to pull a restraining order out of his pocket and ban you from ever coming to a Red Wings—no, scratch that, any NHL game again. 

JT chuckles; your face must have betrayed your emotion. “Relax. I’m not mad or weirded out or anything.”

“Oh,” is all you can say, your brain entirely short circuiting as he thrives off of your discomfort, leaning in closer until you can feel the whiskers of his beard tickling the shell of your ear. 

“Actually, I thought it was really hot.”

He what?

You swallow, hardly believing what you heard come out of his mouth; in fact, you’re sure that you misheard him, the noise from the patrons around you drowning out his voice. Words have completely slipped from your mind, the ability to speak vanished in an instant. Surely this is all just a horrific prank and he’ll laugh at you for even believing it, hidden cameras ready to embarrass you into oblivion.

But the laughter never comes, nor the cameras, instead a gentle but confident touch to the back of your arm that lights you on fire. It’s only when your breath hitches in your throat that a smile forms on his face, lips curling upward against your ear. 

“You—you did?” you finally manage to choke out, only then realizing that you haven’t actually responded to his admission.

He hums and nods, pulling away as you do your best to gasp for air without it being obvious that your lungs are screaming, heart thumping rapidly against your sternum. “But I do have to say, you got a few things wrong.”

“W–wrong?”

The color of his eyes have turned into the most delicious shade of rich brown, swimming with warmth and no shortage of hunger. He holds your gaze intently, as if he wants you to see, and get the feeling that he’s reading into your soul. It’s unnerving and incredibly sexy, joke or not.

“I would use my fingers and then my mouth to make my girl come,” he says, as smoothly as if he was asking you to pass the salt at the dinner table. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head before he adds, “But you were right that I would make sure my cum is dripping down her leg.”

At that moment, you’re positive that your brain stops working altogether. The drink you’re sipping on goes down the wrong pipe, and suddenly you’re spluttering in shock. JT hardly reacts, just chuckles slightly to himself, almost like he’s expecting your reaction. In fact, he seems to be flourishing under your bewilderment.

A few loud, embarrassing coughs later, all you can manage is, “Oh.”

“And before you ask, it wasn’t necessarily a factor in my signing with Detroit, but I won’t lie that I did think about you afterwards. Wondered if I’d see you again, somewhere.”

A second bullet, straight to your chest, shock blooming in its wake. He had thought about you? He remembered you?

“You’re cute when you’re confused.”

A third bullet. Call the ambulance. Alert the authorities. Cardiac arrest is surely not far away, not if he keeps making admissions that are more shocking than pigs flying. 

Finally, your senses find their way back to you, like a cold splash of water to pull you out of your daze. “Okay, so when does Ashton Kutcher come out?”

He laughs at your Punk’d reference, all teeth and the sound syncing with the beat of your heart. “Why do you think you’re being pranked?”

“Because guys like you… they don’t–” you stutter, gesturing lamely between the two of you in lieu of saying, ‘Guys like you don’t go for girls like me.’

“Why not?” he poses, as if he’s privy to the thoughts in your head, and another wave of embarrassment washes over you as you imagine him reading all of the explicit thoughts running through your mind. “You’re beautiful.”

“Okay, first off, you’re not supposed to have this much rizz,” you say. “It’s not fair.”

Another laugh that cuts at the edges of your soul, simmering the heat in your chest. There’s a beat of silence, a pregnant pause that holds so much more than you can even fathom. 

“You gonna come home with me this time?” he asks. His eyes glitter as he teases you, subtle and comfortable.

“Do you even have a home yet?”

Maybe—okay, definitely—you’re deflecting, but you’re enjoying the banter, liquid courage giving you more confidence to tease him back. Even more than that, you’re enjoying the feeling of making him laugh, prepared to say anything to keep his eyes on you, enveloping you in warmth that you’re pretty sure has nothing to do with the sangria. The look in his eyes makes you shiver, wanting to bathe in the feeling it casts over you.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

You look at him, eyebrow raised, expectantly waiting for more. Then his expression turns bashful, and he says, “Okay, so I’m staying in Larks’ spare bedroom while I wait for my apartment lease to start next month. So technically I didn’t lie.”

“Big bucks Compher can’t cough up the cash to buy a house, huh?”

He snorts into his drink, shaking his head as he laughs. “I don’t know the area outside of Ann Arbor and where I’ve stayed for games. Could use a tour guide, actually.”

The implication is clear, hanging like a big, shiny mistletoe between you. He looks at you hopefully, waiting for you to take the bait.

“And you want me to be your tour guide, I’m guessing?”

JT shrugs, sending you the most innocent look he can muster. “I mean, I’m not going to say no to having a pretty girl show me around my new city.”

You shake your head with a laugh, doing mental gymnastics to come to terms with what he’s saying: he wants to see you again, wants to spend time with you outside of a dimly-lit bar or a sterile, modest fan event. You’re not even going to address him calling you pretty for the second time. 

“I’ll consider it,” you reply in your best nonchalant attempt. Against your better judgment, unable to resist, you ask, “What’s in it for me?”

He smirks, and you can practically see all of the filthy thoughts running through his mind. He holds his cards close to his chest, though, instead tossing the ball back in your court, like he’s testing to see if you’ll play. “What do you want?”

At his question, your mind is surely echoing the same ideas he has: flashes of bare skin, heated kisses, whispers of his name in the darkness. You feel another pulse between your legs at the mental image it draws. “What a loaded question, Compher.”

JT smiles into his drink, debating his next step. There’s a beat while he waits for you to contemplate, but no words come out—you can’t give in, not yet.

“Would it help if I told you something I’m embarrassed to admit too?”

Oh. He’s good. And it would, you admit, help to even the playing field. So you nod, yes, and he smiles in a way that tells you he was hoping you’d agree, that he has something he wants to share with you.

With a dramatic glance around, he leans in closer to you, the scruff of his beard sliding against your cheek. His cologne is the same, that same delicious and woody scent that instantly has moisture pooling between your thighs. It’s the depth of his voice that nearly makes your legs buckle first, and then you’re registering what he said.

“I jerked off to what you wrote.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, belly doing a triple-axle flip before heat courses through your body. The sound of his low chuckle is in your ear, and you realize your hand is gripping his bicep to hold yourself upright. And damn, if it doesn’t feel even better than you expected beneath your fingertips; strong and firm and something you want to see bracketed around your head while he— 

“Can I tell you one more?” he asks, and you’re nodding so fast you want to kick yourself, but you can’t help it. You’re completely under his spell, all willpower marching out the door; you’d jump off a bridge if he asked you to. 

“I thought about you.”

The whimper that leaves your throat is involuntary, stomach lurching, and you can feel the way his lips curl on his face at your reaction. 

“So is that a yes?” he asks. Then his confidence falters slightly, his eyes darting around. “You don’t–you’re not–you’re not seeing someone, are you?”

It takes you a moment to regain the strength of your voice, still completely struck by what he said. How could he possibly behave normally when he’d just flipped your entire world upside down and set it on fire?

“No,” you shake your head after a moment to get your words together. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

JT hums in approval, his hand lingering on your waist even when he pulls away to sip at his drink. The fairy lights on the patio have turned on, glowing in the now-dark sky, and the hue illuminates the gold in his hair. He’s handsome, even more so now than he was before, maybe now that he has the confidence of winning a Stanley Cup. Or maybe it’s just the way he’s looking at you, like he’d devour you right now on the spot if you let him. You would, if he asked. 

Another beat passes before you’re nodding, finally, agreeing wordlessly—to everything. For real this time. “I do have one caveat, though.”

“What’s that?” There’s a flash in his eyes, brief, that says, anything.

“Your tour of Detroit starts tonight, because, no offense to Dylan, I’m not going back to his house to… well. I’m just not.”

He grins, filling in the blanks of your pause, pleased that he’s been successful in his endeavor; you try not to think about the last time you agreed to leave a bar with him. “Deal.”

A little while later, your drink is finished and your heart is beating in your throat at the prospect of the rest of the evening, half expecting him to bail on you, the way you bailed on him. He doesn’t, instead introduces you to the guys he came with, and you smile shyly, hoping that he didn’t tell them everything. The look on Dylan’s face when JT tells him he won’t be home tonight makes you want to hide yourself behind his large frame, allowing the heat in your cheeks to consume you until you melt into the floor. His eyes flick to yours with a knowing smirk, all too pleased that his friend is getting a proper welcome to Detroit.

Your friends react less, a nod and a practiced smile after you give them the code word for, ‘I’m going home with this guy and I’m good.’  You watch Kelly’s eyes flick to JT standing behind you, closing his tab, and she sends you a glance of approval. 

It isn’t long before you’re on the sidewalk, the door closing behind JT in a strange display of finality as the loud chatter from inside the bar gets shut in. Suddenly, standing beside him is so much more intimate in the quiet street, without the other people and noise surrounding you in a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed. 

JT pulls out his phone, seemingly unfazed by the change. “Should I call an Uber?”

“I’m actually only a few blocks away,” you explain. “Besides, you asked me to be your tour guide, didn’t you?”

His phone is pocketed with a smirk, and he gestures for you to lead the way. You’re nervous, more than you were inside, feeling the way he steps into stride beside you. His feet are heavier on the ground than yours, his gait much wider, though he slows his pace to match yours.

Unable to bear the silence—comfortable though it is—you point to the buildings around you, showing him where some of the best restaurants and bars are, briefly touching on some of the history of the city with your explanation. His eyes take in everything you’re showing, listening attentively, and you almost stop dead in your tracks when you feel his hand graze yours, loosely entwining your fingers together. The action nearly makes your heart melt, suddenly faced with an onslaught of not just lustful feelings, but romantic ones as well. 

This bitchy ginger is going to be the death of me.

The rest of the walk back to your apartment is pleasant, nice even, though it affords you the opportunity to fantasize what it’d be like to do this with him every night, his warm hand in yours as he tells you about his day. 

As you step in front of him to badge into the door to your apartment, feeling his gaze on your ass, you remind yourself that there won’t be an every night; there’s only going to be one night, so you better make it one to remember.

Tag list: @somuchf4rstardust @smileysvech @senditcolton @fallinallincurls

[wonderfull-star]

“School for little vampires” fans! Is there any chance at all of reviving this fandom? And I mean not only in terms of popularity but also in terms of the continuation of this show itself. For example, the creation of a film, game, comic book or even anime based on it. And it doesn’t matter if some studio or the fans themselves do it. Since the idea of ​​this animated series itself has enormous potential for popularity. Why do I think so? Okay, here are some facts why:

The main characters are children/teenagers. And this is already the main sign for success. Remember the Disney who decided to cancel the “ Wander over Yonder” not only because of low views but also because the main characters are adults. Well, as we know, in our time, the main success is precisely those cartoons where the main characters are children/teenagers (there are, of course, exceptions, but there are actually quite a few of them). I don’t think it’s worth explaining why these shows are popular because the reason is obvious.

Often, most of the cartoon episodes take place at school. And here is another main bonus to success for the animated series. I think many of us agree that most of the cartoons, films and anime that we all watched were somehow related to school. This has long become a classic. After all, it is in a show about school that most love relationships between characters take place(and this is what we will discuss now)

Love relationships between characters. SHIPS. And there are plenty of them in this cartoon. After all, there is a main couple in this cartoon-Oskar and Sunshine. Well, like in other fandoms, there are various disputes and disagreements over couples, the main ones being OskarXSunshine and OskarXGothetta. That’s it. The presence of a couples in animated series also greatly influences its popularity. Since they are an integral part of discussions in fandom.

Interesting characters with their own personalities. The more the creators of the cartoon show other characters and their character traits, the more interesting the show will be and will attract not only children but also more adult audiences. For example, what I remember most about this cartoon is Stoker and his constant dirty tricks. The show was completely different without him. I can definitely say that Stoker is a REAL troublemaker. I especially like his relationship with Oscar. They often argue and even fight, but I wouldn’t call them enemies either. In a word, they are frenemies✨. And I just love it. There's definitely never a dull moment with Oskar and Stoker! I can say the same about Paulus. Just a real walking comedy. Well, what would a cartoon be without this clumsy old man Van Helsing?? Usually such versatile characters are found in cartoons and anime. After all, it is there that such categories of characters are found: the main character, the quiet one (in this case the main character is the quiet one), the best friend who is secretly in love with the main character, the nerd, the bully, the youngest of all, the oldest of all.

This is a show about vampires. Many people like to read or watch something about vampires. And usually they involve love between a vampire and a human, which is a favorite cliche of many.

In the end, I want to say that this show has great potential for popularity. Well, if you consider that many people like to create anime based on vampires, it’s quite strange that no one decided to just take on the idea of ​​​​creating an anime about vampire children who study at school. What an awesome anime that would be 🤧

[nomadicism]

That previous ask got me thinking. What else do you think would change about VLD if it was written now compared to back then? What are some of the major changes would you make to it? (Know I have plenty of my own, but I'm too much in the TWST fandom to do a fic rewrite of that series.)

Hi there, thank you for the Ask!

I got caught up in overthinking this one, and had to scale back my answer quite a bit. It's a great question and I can easily go off into so many tangents.

For the first part, this might be a cop out, but I think that almost everything about VLD would change if it were written now compared to 2015-2018. Looking back, it really seems like VLD is such a product of its time that it would be very different if written and produced now, even if same writers, producers, show runners, DreamWorks, Studio Mir, etc. There would be a few big changes that have a snowball effect on everything else, and it comes down to target demographics.

Animation for older audiences must be doing well, so I could see that if VLD were made today, it would be written for an older audience (I dunno, like young adults and people who watch “The Boys” or whatever), possibly with slightly older main characters and the story begins with that darker concept—I forget if this was rumor or confirmed—of the Earth already starting off ruined from war with the Galra and Keith, Lance, Pidge, Hunk, Shiro, etc already fighting as soldiers before becoming the paladins. I’m probably getting that confused, but I remember reading something like that as part of the initial concepts for the show.

Or, because it’s DreamWorks, then the audience would be younger, so that the main characters are tweens and young teens (like 11 - 14). I only say that, because that’s closer to what almost everything else DreamWorks makes that isn’t for toddlers, or spinoffs of their movies for children. It’d be something with a more youthful vibe. But that doesn’t mean that it can’t tackle slightly mature themes, such as in Kipo and the Age of the Wonderbeasts, Trollhunters, or The Dragon Prince. In that case, the story would almost entirely revolve around Keith (like way more than it already did).

Now, if there were things that I could change (not that I know anything about getting a show made, but whatever), it would be:

Pick a tone (or genre, or theme) and stick with it;

The main characters are robot pilots, not GI Joe Special Forces in Space (this also means no Blade of Marmora unless they are also piloting robots);

No magic. No caste of sacred Alteans. No space vampires. No space zombies. No fantasy window dressing. Psionic abilities can slot in for magic, and advanced science will often look like magic to those with far less advanced science. If cloning exists, then it can co-exist with psionics to give Zarkon et al immortality;

No shape-shifting Alteans. With psionic abilities they don’t need it;

Pollux exists, and “The Colony” concept remains in the trash where it belongs;

Zarkon and the Galra should not have already conquered the entire universe (which is always expanding and is so impossibly huge that not even 10,000 years would get an entire galaxy conquered, even with "magic");

If I'm going to crib something from Robotech, and that something is protoculture (e.g. quintessence), then I'm going all in and not stopping at the front door

Specific character related stuff is a very long essay, as there is much (perhaps most) things that I wouldn't change, but what I would change requires a lot of thought

[billpottsismygf]

I've been stewing a little over the last few days about the news regarding the Doctor Who airing times and, although there's been a lot of discourse and probably everything has been said already, I just need to get my rant out there anyway.

For the uninitiated or the unsure, the brief rundown is that new episodes will drop online at the same time worldwide before the BBC 1 broadcast. This will be Fridays 7pm US time (EST I think) and Saturdays midnight in the UK. There will also be the usual Saturday evening broadcast on BBC 1, 18 or 19 hours later. Also, the premiere (10th/11th May) will drop the first two episodes of the series at once.

Simultaneous broadcast is pretty cool, and I believe the 60th specials dropped at the same time as the UK evening broadcast, giving an afternoon time for the US. That's great, but it's really messing with me that this new system completely shafts the UK in terms of viewing times. I'm not saying that only the UK has passionate fans, but I am saying that the UK is where Doctor Who is a cultural institution more so than anywhere else in the world, and seeing it prioritise the US is incredibly frustrating.

Moving to the specific fallout, there's the part of me that is upset on my own behalf, as my autistic self is really struggling with the notion that to watch the show ASAP I will now have to do so at midnight (on a Friday night too!). Since I was 9 in 2005, I have only twice gone to bed with a new episode unwatched. Occasionally that has been at stupid times in the early morning because I've been doing things for Saturday night, but generally I have watched the broadcast as much as possible, and often with other people as a community event. As a child it was always with my dad; as an adult it's often with friends!

Ultimately, though, I'll be fine. I'll watch by myself on iplayer at midnight because I am an adult who can make these choices, even if I'm sad that I probably won't get to have the viewing parties I had started to have with friends in recent years. (Though, who knows, we all have weird sleep schedules. Maybe midnight viewing parties are still on the cards.)

However, for all the kids out there I am so incredibly annoyed. I can't imagine if any of the iconic episodes from my childhood had aired the night before and I'd been unable to stay up for them. Blink? The Stolen Earth? Doomsday? I don't wish to overstate the matter, but I truly believe Doctor Who has remained such a cultural institution precisely because of its status as a family show. People are raised on it and then raise their kids on it and so on.

What are kids going to do now? Some might be allowed to stay up for the midnight release, though not many, especially for that double release which will end at like 1:30am. Others might watch it when they get up, but likely without the community aspect of the whole family sitting down for it. Still others might wait for the Saturday evening broadcast, having to dodge spoilers from other kids and adults as they go about whatever Saturday activities they have.

Regarding spoilers, I've seen some snarky comments saying 'just avoid social media lol', but firstly that's quite difficult in this day and age, and secondly it's not just social media. For one, there are all the tabloids that will plaster any new details across the front page, but also I can vividly remember talking about the brand new Doctor Who episodes at school, and how big an aspect that was of the community excitement. My teacher even did an impression of a weeping angel the week Blink aired, moving closer with a scary face when I looked away for a moment. Sure, there won't be school on a Saturday, but plenty of kids will be doing activities with other kids (dance classes, football, drama clubs etc.). What will happen when some kids have been allowed to watch the new episode and others haven't?

It may seem trivial to some, but I don't think it is. Where's the event aspect of it? Where's the community? Sure, I'm biased as an autistic Brit who grew up with the show and doesn't like change, but this new model seems designed to dilute both the excitement and importance of a new Doctor Who episode on a cultural level.

[failedaethercore]

The Missing Messenger

Inspired by @wolfofcelestia's amazing work found here.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

This (my fourth fic ever lol) was written in a fever state to get it out of my system since this had been consuming me all day today while I did my adulting. Please be kind, I know there are likely a lot of mistakes, But I am trying my best to learn and grow as a writer while writing all these fics.

Also I know I wrote something similar in my last fic, but I think I've ironed it out better this time. So bear with me while I work towards a new theme haha

Rafayel x fem!MC/reader, Xavier, Zayne, confessions, fluffy stuff at the end I swear ;;

Please be warned, this is a dark work and is not a good idea to read if you are easily triggered.

CW: torture, depression, allusions to rape, blood, guns, death, please let me know if I need to add any more (can't think of what else, I swear I'm not here to hurt any of you lovely people)

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

Rafayel was laying on his sofa, one arm artfully draped over his eyes as he sighed in defeat. His latest piece was causing him so much trouble, which made him feel like just giving up and moving on to something else. But he was too far along to call it quits just yet, he wanted to see it finished.

So when his phone hummed quietly near his hand, he let out another dramatic groan and picked it up, praying it wasn't Thomas bothering him to find out when the painting would be done. It was just a text. From you.

Y/n: Hey, I saw there's a new cafe down near the plaza, you wanna go when we both have some time? Apparently they have rose flavored milk tea and really good snacks. I really wanna try it!

Rafayel smirked and sent a quick series of replies.

Rafayel: That might be a little difficult, I'm in the middle of my magnum opus and cannot be torn away! Even if it caught fire, I can never leave my studio until my vision reaches fruition!

Rafayel: But maybe you can bring me some when you come visit...perhaps...this afternoon?

He could sense you rolling your eyes as he sees the word “read” next to his texts. He lets himself full on grin, hoping you'll agree.

Y/n: I do have today off...but wouldn't you like a break? You've been cooped up all week, I thought.

Rafayel: Don't you understand y/n? I must see this through! ...But I could use a little break, if you're willing to drop everything right now and bring me an iced latte with soy milk and plenty of brown sugar boba.

Y/n: And a slice of cheesecake?

Rafayel: You know me so well, it's almost like we're friends.

Y/n: Or enemies.

He chuckles to himself, texting you always managed to brighten his foulest moods, despite the aching in his chest when his thoughts lingered too long on how you were unlikely to ever want to be more than that...just friends.

He sighed and waited for a moment, staring at the screen to see if you were going to say anything else. When it had been long enough, he figured you were getting ready to come over, and he slumped back onto the sofa once more, leaving his phone on his chest as he stared up at the blue coming through the skylights in the ceiling.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

He didn't think it would take this long to get ready, but he was patient. He may whine and complain and give you the hardest time for making him wait...but he had already waiting so long for you, what is one more hour? Or two...o-or three...

His phone vibrated again, alerting him of a text messsage. He stopped his idle paint mixing, having wanted something to do while he waited for you, and looked down at his phone set beside him.

Y/n: I love you, Rafayel

His chest suddenly felt full and warm, he could feel his heart beginning to beat quickly, and he swore he could feel his ears redden in the delight that phrase had brought him. He reread it several times, pinched himself, even slapped his face with his free hand, just to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep while waiting for you.

He quickly typed a reply once he had confirmed he wasn't dreaming.

Rafayel: Well it's about time! Thought I would have to be the first one to admit it, at this rate...

But the message wasn't read right away. Maybe you were walking over from the cafe now? And you just wanted to confess before your visit. He had no idea why you were being so honest with yourself (and him), but he was so happy he couldn't care about that right now.

He hums happily for a while, waiting even more impatiently for you to arrive. But now it's been an hour. Then two. He checks his phone. Neither of you had ever agreed on a time to meet, but he didn't think you'd make him wait so long...

Rafayel: Y/n? Are you coming? Are you okay?

His joy started to melt into chilling fear, dripping down his spine as he realizes that his confession was left unread, after all this time. That's when the panic sets in fully. Something is wrong.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

Rafayel is in his trendy sports car before he can even think about what he's doing. Acting on pure instinct alone, he's already across the bridge and meeting the afternoon traffic that Linkon City is known for on a normal Thursday. For a moment he ponders if he should break the law, eyes darting hastily around the intersection before he floors it through a red light, not even bothering to slow down. He was a madman behind the wheel already, notorious for making you white knuckle the armrest whenever you rode with him. But now he was terrified, and determined.

He regains his senses while swerving to avoid a line of slowed cars, and quickly presses a few buttons on the car's touch screen, attempting to call you. Maybe your phone had just died. Please let him be a silly fool who worries over nothing. It rang for a while, before rolling over to voicemail, your standard message of “Hey, this is y/n, sorry I missed your call, leave me a message after the beep! Beep! No, not that one” followed be a giggle and then another beep. “Y/n please be okay, you've been quiet for a while, just starting to worry about my bodyguard here...I'm heading over to see if maybe you just fell asleep, since it's your day off! You better answer your door!”

Before he forgot, he decided to make one more call, pressing another button and starting a call with Thomas.

Thomas sounds elated to hear from Rafayel, thinking he had finally finished the painting and that Thomas could set up a new exhibition around it and the other dozen paintings Rafayel had finished earlier.

“Rafayel! It's about time, do you kno-” Before Thomas can begin nagging Rafayel about making him wait so long for just one painting, Rafayel cuts him off. “Something's wrong with y/n! She won't pick up her phone and I need you to track her down somehow. She's usually not this quiet, you have to help me Thomas!” The man was taken aback, his feet falling off his desk that he had leaned up there confidently at the beginning of the call. He sat upright and had no idea how to respond for a moment, Rafayel never begged for anything. Ever. At least not to him, anyways.

Rafayel waited for Thomas to reply, then shouted at the man. “Thomas! Go find Y/n! I need to know she's okay!” Thomas broke his silence with a stuttered “Y-yeah sure!” before hanging up quickly to make some calls of his own.

Rafayel pressed the gas pedal to the floor, as he sped down the road to come to a screeching halt in front of your apartment complex. He jumped out, not even bothering to make sure the engine was off, but just managing to remember to put the damned thing into park.

He bolted up the stairs, taking each step three at a time, as his long legs screamed at him from the sudden exertion on his usually lazy muscles. He knew your apartment number by heart, knowing exactly where you slept every night, just to occasionally check in and make sure you got home from a hunt okay. Even if he never knocked on the door, he looked up at the window in your apartment until the light came on, and he could see you open the window to let in some fresh air.

He knocked hard on the door, urgency spurring his continued knocks on as he waited impatiently. “Y/n! Hey! You home?!” There was no evidence of tampering that he could detect, the door looked like it always did, so when he had to break it down to get in, he felt a little guilty. Nevermind, he could easily replace it with a better one and the building's manager would be fine with it. He was praying you were just half asleep on your bed and would just scold him for freaking out over nothing.

When he found your apartment empty, not a soul in the place, while the windows were left wide open...his heart, already halfway down to his stomach, finishes it descent into his gut, while tears threaten his eyes. No...this can't be real. He's dreaming, all of this is a lie. He pinches himself again, and again, trying to bring himself out of this nightmare.

When he decides that he is truly not dreaming, he tries to call your phone again, only to hear your phone ringing under the sofa. The song you set as his ringtone would have probably made him chuckle and tease you if this wasn't such a terrifying scenario.

He picks it up from the floor, and looks at it. A photo of him smiling with you while you both pose in front of the camera glows before his eyes. That's when it all starts to blur a little, as tears begin to truly tug at the edges of his sight. He couldn't hold them back anymore, and let out a shout of your name, unable to contain his emotions because he had just found you again.

Moments later, a silver-haired man came barging into the apartment from the balcony, obviously drawn by the commotion from below. When Rafayel saw him, he was immediately on guard, drawing a dagger from behind his back, summoned from a plume of flame in his hand.

The man looked around quickly before drawing his own weapon, a sword borne of light held aloft and pointed at Rafayel. “Where is y/n. What are you doing in her apartment?” Rafayel stares down the weapon with indifference, not even registering the question before he lunges forward, another dagger being summoned to his empty hand as the sound of metal hitting metal fills the space.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

The fight only lasted a few minutes, but both men were so fast, and so evenly matched, they both fell to the floor quickly, panting, covered in cuts and bruises. At some point Rafayel had punched the man in the face, and at another point the man had gotten a good slice into the front of Rafayel's expensive shirt.

While both of them caught their breaths, the man asked another question. “Where is y/n...and who are you?” He had never met a match in battle, and was honestly a little stunned.

“Well who the hell are you? How do you know her name and where she lives?!”

The man slumps his back against the wall near the television, running his hand through his starlit hair. “Xavier...I'm her upstairs neighbor, and her Hunter partner.” Rafayel lets out a sigh and withers at the fact.

“I'm...Rafayel...she's my bodyguard. Did you hear anything in here earlier?” He is immediately brought back to the entire reason he was even here. “Y/n left her phone, she never leaves without it.” Xavier stares as Rafayel holds up your phone, the tiny charm hanging off it indicating it was definitely yours. He had no idea who gave you the tiny red fish charm, but he had always secretly been a little jealous.

“Then...the noises earlier...” Xavier stares down at the floor. “I thought y/n was exercising for some reason, even though it was her day off...I heard some shuffling noises...but I didn't think anything of it because I couldn't sense any Wanderers.” Rafayel's eyes narrow with every word, until his glare can be felt like a radiating heat from the depths of hell. He would bore a hole right through Xavier's head if he could.

Xavier sheepishly looked away, his quiet and sleepy demeanor made meek in that moment as guilt struck him like lightning. “I didn't realize. ...We need to find her.”

Before both men departed your apartment, Rafayel making a call to get your apartment door repaired, Xavier promising to contact your old friend Zayne who works at the nearby hospital, they agreed to exchange numbers and keep in touch. Their expressions grim as they went their separate ways.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

Rafayel's soul had now been shredded, drowned, disintegrated, and finally blown away like sands in the storm. This happened nearly on the daily for him, as every moment of you being missing driving him further into madness.

It had been weeks so far.

Where were you?

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

You had been texting with Rafayel when you had nodded off, meaning to get up and get ready to go get tea and snacks to bring to his studio and spend time with him. You were excited, but work had been draining your energy of late, so you let yourself nod off for a bit. Rafayel could wait, plus you enjoyed his bratty pout when you made him wait a little bit.

You awoke to the shufflling sound of something opening your window from the balcony. Or rather...someone. You realized how late it was in the same moment you realized what was going on. Men in neutral and dark clothes, face coverings, and holding rope and other supplies silently entered your apartment, thinking you were still asleep.

You quickly sent a text, knowing there was no saving you now. You could beat them up, you could take out maybe three of them in your current condition. Your energy still low from that last mission. “I love you, Rafayel” the last thing you send, as you don't know if you're going to come back from this as more figures climb into the room, you can hear their boots quietly touching onto the floor.

You jumped up from your position on the couch and ran to secure your concealed weapon you kept in the kitchen. A firearm for in case a Wanderer got too close to the apartment complex, or something like this happening. Unfortunately for you, one of them had a taser gun, and shot you in the back, taking you down before you can even reach under the counter for the weapon strapped there.

You can't make out much as your senses are blacking out from the pain. But you make out a low chuckle from one of the figures, a man with piercing eyes glowers down at you as he puts his boot on your head and grinds it into the floor a little. “...You're going to regret going for that.”

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

It had been what felt like an eternity. Your figure was chained to the floor, the shackles on your wrists and ankles constantly chafing and making your joints ache from their weight. You were losing your muscles from all the lack of exercise, but that didn't mean you didn't still suffer the brutality of your captors.

Every single day, at some point during the day, the door to the pitch black cell would open, light would pour in, and then it would begin.

The first time, you had let yourself feel a glimmer of hope. Rafayel? Had he found you? But no...it was the man with the piercing eyes, everyone wearing masks still despite clearly being in a safe location. They could never be too cautious, it seemed. “You're going to tell us everything you know about Lemurians and where we can find them.”

Your face went a little slack. You knew very little about them, and only knew maybe...two? Three? One of them...you would never reveal their identity to these monsters. You had just arrived at this point, but the shackles were already hurting you, and the taser to your back still stung and caused your nerves to shiver with what you hoped didn't look like fear.

“Don't worry, you don't have to answer right away. Let's have some fun with this first...” At first your face distorts into disgust, until the man pulls out a blade and you see the cloth mask over his face wrinkle in a way that could only mean he was smiling maliciously. His eyes glint with joy at the prospect of hurting you.

But you never broke. Not once. You swore to yourself that death would be better than letting them know about Rafayel. After everything he had confided in you, after everything he had given to you, you would guard it with your dying breath before this scum found a drop of information. So you didn't struggle, you didn't fight, you let the torture continue for forever, as the outside world spun on without you. You wouldn't let others suffer because of your weakness, your failings.

You blamed yourself for being too lax, being too comfortable in your life, when you knew danger was a constant part of your everyday life. Your vigilance had slipped for a moment, and you were the reason you were in this situation now.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

Once Zayne had been made aware of the situation, he had stopped working for a few days, searching in his own way to find you. The days turned into weeks, before he had to return to his work, guilt riding him on both fronts as he didn't want to give up the search, but he couldn't leave his patients to die.

Xavier had assured him he would be notified as soon as you were located, and Zayne tried his best to take comfort in that, at least. Rafayel was being driven mad, to the point of having barely slept and not eaten for far too long.

He was delirious, laying on the floor of his torn apart studio, as it was too many reminders of you, in some ways. His heart was gone, he felt numb all over, and his mind swam as he stared up at the darkening sky in the ceiling. He had searched through his underworld connections, but couldn't pry anything from anyone. No one knew a thing about it, apparently. But he knew you didn't just vanish into thin air.

So when all felt lost, he decided to try his last resort. You had his heart beating in your chest. From lives lived long ago, you have been reborn with that same heart time and time again. You were breathing because he gave you his everything the first time you had met. And now he had to pull it to him. He struggled for a while to try and tune into whatever frequency it was, he was rusty and hadn't really done anything like this in what felt like centuries.

So when he finally knew he had it, he could sense other Lemurians in Linkon City, he could sense the vast ocean and the creatures that reside there...he could even faintly sense others further still, but not you.

You were a blank space. An empty void stood where your usual place in the universe hung. He didn't realize he had stopped breathing until his lungs screamed for air. He sat up suddenly and gasped, choking on the air briefly before he coughed and started to sob into his hands.

You were gone. Not a trace. Nothing.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

You were bloody and covered in scarring wounds, broken bones and twisted muscles. Today had been burns on your bare flesh, followed by mild drowning in sea water. But they lost interest, saying you probably liked it, since clearly you liked fish and all that.

You were struggling to breathe through your broken ribs, but you tried to keep steady, breathing through your nose slowly as you kept a stoic expression on your bruised and puffy face. Every day had been something new, something awful. But the taste of the deep salt water had hardened your resolve. You didn't know why Rafayel couldn't find you, but you would escape. You would find him and he would keep you safe again. You had to believe that, despite the fear that this was actually some elaborate play to make you loyal or something.

You were given too much time in the darkness by yourself. Your mind would race to horrible scenarios at the drop of a hat already, but now you had concocted a horrible fantasy where Rafayel had been the mastermind behind all of this, and that you were being tested to be sure you were loyal to him no matter what. But that made you more fearful that whoever Rafayel was running from must be even worse than this.

So you steeled yourself every day, when the shuffling of feet could be heard outside your door, you would sit up and just stoically stare at a spot in your vision that did not exist. Grounding your mind in what you had to tell yourself to survive this.

He was looking for you. He would come. As soon as you could make your move, he would find you. Somehow. If he was truly behind this, then Xavier and Zayne would find you. You had been gone far too long for you to not be missed. This was your courage. And you would be doubly damned by the Gods if you let yourself fail now.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

The day finally came. They had become less vigilant, as you had never once made an effort to break free, and the fire had quickly died in your eyes. They were almost ready to just let you go, figuring you didn't know anything. The only things they could ever extract from you were screams and grunts of agony. You had even overheard them talking amongst themselves several times, talking about their personal lives as if it was another day at an office job.

So when you were ready, you had snuck a small thin object, you think it was a broken paperclip, to pick the locks on your shackles. You made quick work in the inky darkness that surrounded you, but left the shackles on, to lure them into your plan.

The shuffling sounds came up again, and you were ready. You waited for them to casually open the door, like they had been doing so recently, as you let your eyes adjust to the change in light. They were chatting as if it were just a Tuesday, while you let yourself sprint to the door, pushing through the armed guards. They had forgotten you were a trained Hunter, apparently. Because you managed to pull one of their guns and shoot the other point blank.

The one whose weapon you had confiscated had fallen to the ground and to be sure he wouldn't follow, you shot him in the leg. You made a run for the stairs, apparently you were deep underground. It explained the lack of windows and fresh air in the cell.

The stairs were narrow, so it made it difficult as more and more guards began to pour down to apprehend you, and you could only climb over so many grasping bodies as they struggled to hold you while their injuries otherwise incapacitated them. Before long you were forced to throw the empty gun aside and take things head-on. You punched and bit and kicked your way as far as you could, every ounce of your being put into surviving and escaping. But before long you were dragged down and pinned to the stairs, a boot holding you firmly in place by the center of your back.

The man with the piercing eyes chuckled darkly. “I see you have more fight in you than we had thought...I like that.” He pulled your head up by your hair, at least what was left of it, and forced you to look at his other boot. “Lick it, peasant.”

You blacked out from exhaustion before you could do anything, and he tsked angrily. “Fucking bitch...she shot so many of these idiots. Now I have to clean this up.” He turned to those of his men who were still standing or able to stand, and began barking orders. “Carry out the wounded, shoot those who won't make it, and put her back in the cell. This time...I won't let her keep this worthless hope she keeps clinging to. I will take her tonight, and break her.”

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

It had been months now, and Rafayel was wallowing in the abyss of life without you again. But this time was different. You had been ripped from him and he couldn't even find your body to bury. Every day he prayed you were alive, but then cursed himself for it, knowing if you were, you were most likely suffering.

The day had come, and he was burying his face in a hoodie you had accidentally left in his studio one time, sobbing uncontrollably as his phone kept ringing in the background. He ignored it, Thomas' frantic motions against the drowning undercurrent of Rafayel's soul would never be enough to save either of them.

So when he felt your presence, he bolted upright, tears staining his otherwise beautiful but now gaunt face, and he stared in the direction of where he felt you. He had checked there. Many times, in fact. He had suspected you were in the N109 zone, but how you had eluded him for so long, he had no clue. But now you were somewhere he could find you. And he would be damned by the ocean once more if he let this chance slip by.

His flashy sports car was in need of a wash, and so was he, but he hopped in, before speeding off to reach your location all the faster, once again a demon behind the wheel.

But no sooner had he gotten oriented enough to know which road to take, you vanished again. But he suspected you were in that general vicinity, and wasted no time to get to his usual spot where he could enter the zone without interference.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

You were reshackled and struggling to breathe as the man with the piercing eyes was holding you by your throat so that you were partly suspended in the air. Your eyes were squeezed shut. Your escape attempt had failed, and now you knew the final thing that could be taken from you, aside from your life, would be ripped from your body forever.

Tears sprang to life in the corners of your eyes as you imagined Rafayel finding your body after all of this, somehow, and how it would break him. You couldn't give in, but despair was gripping your heart harder than the man currently holding your neck.

“I'm going to break you in so my men can each have a turn. After your little stunt, a lot of them need some comfort and closure from what you did.” Your eyes shot open, and you glared up at him with all the defiance you could muster. And it was greater than the will of the Gods themselves, as the man actually stilled for a moment in shock.

His composure resumed quickly, and he took off his mask to reveal a sinister, toothy grin on what might have once upon a time been a handsome face. There were scars and an obviously previously broken nose, but seeing the rest of his face only steeled your resolve. If he wanted to break you, you would put up the fight of your life.

So when the door opened slowly, the faintly brighter light from outside peeking in to drape across a shadowy figure, he snapped up to yell at whoever it was. “Don't you know I'm busy in here?! Wait your turn, ya filthy fucker!” He dropped you to go push the figure outside and shut the door, but before he could reach a hand out to touch the shadow before you both, his hand was sliced off in a blur.

He paused, taking a moment to process what had happened in a fraction of a second. Then he screamed. That's when the shadow stepped into the light filling the cell, and your eyes adjusted enough to see him.

It was Rafayel, covered in soot and blood, a dagger held in his delicate hand as he stared down the man shouting about his hand that was now laying on the floor, blood draining down to the center of the cell, where a drainage grate resided underneath you. Your eyes welled with tears as you stared in shock. He had found you.

Finally. He was here.

His eyes snapped to you, the look of murderous intent softening before he looked over your frail figure. Clearly they were starving you slowly, and all the scarring and blood, filth, everything that they had done to you, rushed into his mind before he snapped back to the man who had finally regained his senses enough to pull out a dagger.

Rafayel slit his throat and turned him to ash before he could so much as aim the thing. The dagger fell to the ground with a clatter, as well as any other metallic accents to his clothes. You gasped as Rafayel's eyes nearly glowed with hate. He would never forgive anyone who so much as glanced upon you in this state. But when he was done, he swiftly softened, his hands finding the shackles and unlocking them in one smooth motion before you register what's going on.

You manage a hoarse, quiet whisper of his name. “Rafayel...” He softly shushes you and picks you up gently, holding you close against his chest as your thin frame drapes across his arms. “You're okay...I've got you, y/n.” You smile, for the first time in a millennia. It hurts so much to smile, and the tears sting your wounds, but you can't stop it. And before long, you're blacking out as Rafayel ascends the stairs slowly, being sure not to jostle you while he tries to still his heart.

It ached so much to see you in this state, but it brought him so much exuberant joy to see you at least still alive. You drew breath, and that meant he could hold your warm hand again, and slowly help you regain your footing after this harrowing experience.

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

He took you to your friend Zayne, since he was a doctor, before anyone else. Xavier was soon notified, and before long you were in your own VIP hospital room. Rafayel never left, even when you were being stripped naked and washed down carefully, and even Zayne had to look away with a blush. Rafayel kept watch, and nearly hissed at a nurse who tried to shoo him out of the ICU room.

Zayne had asked all the staff attending to you to be very careful, and even warned them that Rafayel might not cooperate if asked to leave the room. He had acquiesced to the fact that the purple haired man was going nowhere. Which he secretly couldn't blame him. He remembers the night you were admitted.

When you had been carried into the hospital by Rafayel, Zayne stood still in his tracks when he glanced up to find you looking half dead in his arms. Zayne shouted orders louder and faster than ever, and before long Rafayel was following a gurney into an operating room, despite many personnel pushing against him. He was firm, and unrelenting, so Zayne sighed and made him clean up and put on scrubs to stay sterile.

Rafayel silently watched over the surgery, his eyes looked like he was making a prayer to the last God or Goddess still listening, and asking for the only wish he would ever ask again.

That was a week ago.

You were looked after, and whenever he could, Rafayel held your hand. His sharp eyes kept staring into your soul, praying, willing you to wake once more. He kept his focus on you, unless a nurse came in with a new IV bag, a new drug, then he became vigilant to ensure it was safe. Zayne had given up on assuring him that he would never do you harm, because Rafayel nearly interrogated every nurse that came into the room, even to check your temperature.

But he finally relented to his situation, when he demanded Xavier keep watch while he passed out in the chair next to you, hand still holding yours. Zayne also stood vigil whenever he could spare the time, and a rotating shift of sorts came into being while you were unconscious.

A nurse had taken pity on your hair, as it had been pulled out in places, and shorn in others to shame you. She had done her best to wash it and trim it so that it would look better than it had been (she made sure to do it while Zayne was taking a shift, so she wouldn't have to fight a certain someone over it). Another nurse would bring food for whoever was on shift, though it was usually barely touched. Rafayel especially couldn't bring himself to eat, except when he collapsed once or twice, and Zayne pointed out how guilty you would feel knowing he was starving himself to death.

So after a great deal of staring down from Zayne and Xavier collectively, Rafayel conceded and ate some food. But he never left the room, even then. He thought the food was disgusting, and could barely swallow. But he willed himself to do it, for your sake.

Another week passed, and you were finally making stirrings. Your hand flexed a little in Rafayel's grip, and he sat straight up in that same moment, light returning to his dulled eyes, the numb restless sleep escaping from his form. You stirred, making a groan as the morphine had worn off. “Nnnnh...” Rafayel had to resist tightening his grip on your hand, as your poor fingers had been broken when punching a guard in the dick. If he had known that fact, he would be so proud of you, broken fingers and all.

He hit the nurse call button immediately, and started to shush you as you struggled slightly. “Shhh...y/n, you're safe. You're at the hospital. It's me, Rafayel...I promise...you're okay now...” You heard his voice over the high pitched tinnitus piercing your senses, and you sighed, settling back into the bed as you could barely move anyways. You tried to turn your head to look at him, but your muscles ached even doing that. “It's okay, I'm right here.” He squeezed your palm gently to let you know it was true. “I'm not going anywhere, okay?”

Zayne was notified upon Rafayel's press of the nurse call button, and came rushing in within a few minutes, despite being on the other side of the hospital. He was panting as Rafayel was talking softly to you, as your eyes began to close again. “Did she wake up? Did she say anything?” Rafayel nods then shakes his head, as he strokes your cheek through the bandages, as you fall back into your slumber, this time your muscles relax and you let yourself drift into a dream, instead of the never ending nightmares from before.

It took another two days before you woke up again, but this time you were more coherent, and you managed to sit up with the assistance of the adjustable bed. You stared at Rafayel for a long time before a whisper managed to escape your lips. “...you found me...” Rafayel almost didn't hear you, but he gave you the saddest smile upon realizing your words. “I did...I'm sorry it took me so long...” You tried to shake your head, but it was too much, so you just whispered. “No...you made it just in time...thank you...”

Your voice was hoarse and weak, but your once tight and guarded heart now relaxed and relished in the affection as Rafayel still held your hand, and gently brushed the hair out of your face, or caressed your cheek to comfort you, and many other tiny gestures that melted your heart as he whispered soft words to you. “You're going to be okay, y/n...Zayne is here, and Xavier will be in soon too...everyone missed you so much...” He looks down at his hand holding yours for a moment before he lets out a soft whisper you almost don't hear. “...especially me...”

You give another smile, although it hurts, it is genuine and happy. Hearing that somehow gives you confidence that you were right to trust him. He would never have done this to you, he would have never put you through hell like this just as some sick test. He clearly cared about you, how could you ever have thought those horrible things?

The nurse call button was pressed once more, and soon Zayne came rushing in, while Rafayel was texting Xavier with one hand to do his due diligence and let his new...I guess he'd call him a friend? Know what was going on. Zayne began to check on your wounds, checking every inch of you that he could to make sure you were mending.

“You seem to be doing better, y/n. Do you think you can manage some water?” A tiny nod from you prompts him to step out to hail a nurse, but there's already a crowd of them outside the door, and he sends one to get water for you. You glance at Rafayel as he just smiles warmly at you, his haunted face being pulled into a new expression for the first time in months. “...I want rose milk tea...” You let yourself smirk cheekily as Rafayel gives your hand a quick squeeze. “Soon, y/n...just wait until you can manage something more than water first, okay?” You nod a little and then turn your head slightly when a nurse brings in a pitcher of water, a glass, and a straw on a tray.

You have your first sip of water for the first time in what feels like forever, and you feel refreshed once more in that moment. The cool water slides down your throat and then sinks into your empty stomach, where it suddenly growls loudly in response. “O-oh...” Rafayel chuckles a little, and Zayne clears his throat. “You'll be able to eat solid foods soon, y/n. Just please be patient until we can take care of the bigger problems first.” You nod, and take another sip. You try to take a long, greedy sip, but Rafayel pulls the straw away.

“You're going to choke if you drink too fast...” He chides gently as you pout at him a little. But you understand, as you almost choke on the water you managed to get into your mouth.

Xavier comes in, panting, as he had to push past the mass of nursing staff and hospital personnel outside the door, and leans on the foot of the bed staring at you, mouth agape. “Y/n...you're awake!” You give him a small smile and nod. Your voice is still weak and rough, but you manage a teasing “...and still kicking.”

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

It had been a month since your first day awake, and you had been released from the hospital to your apartment yesterday. You had to hobble around with a cane, as you still suffered from muscular atrophy, and some serious fractures. Bone mending had come a long way since the need for casts or months of recover, but you still had to be careful while you puttered around your apartment, already bored out of your mind.

You got to catch up on some shows yesterday, but that started to bore you, and some of the darker elements brought you flashing back to your time in that cell again. So you'd turn off the tv and stare at the black screen's reflection of you, still thin, weak, and pale. The scars would fade with time, but you also figured it might make you look tougher to other Hunters, so you were almost proud of them.

Your phone buzzed against your thigh, as you looked down. It was Rafayel texting you.

Rafayel: Are you home?

Y/n: Yeah...I'm under house arrest for the foreseeable future...

Rafayel: Good. I'm outside, I can see your light on. Can you meet me at the door?

Y/n: Just wait, I can come unlock it

Before you have a chance to grab your cane, there comes a gentle knock at the door. You grin a little as you slowly make your way to the door, where Rafayel stands behind a large bouquet of...yellow dandelions? How did he know they were your favorite? And don't most people regard them as an annoying weed? You let out a gasp at the display before you. He was wearing his best suit, and had something behind his back, as he beamed a beautiful smile at you.

He had been with you at the hospital the entire time, but he had been eating more, resting more, and spoke more and more like himself once again. So you had watched him come back from the brink of an abyssal spiral into depression he might not have survived, while he watched you come back from the brink of death.

He handed the bouquet to you before gently guiding you back into your apartment. “Come on...I have a treat for you, y/n. I promise you'll love it...” Before you can say anything, he shuts the door behind him and goes to set a large bag of takeout on your small dining table. You let out a weak laugh, as it still aches to strain your ribs too much. But you smile at him as he sets out all the containers on the surface, going to grab some plates and utensils, as you slowly make your way to the chair nearest you.

“Rafayel, you didn't have to do all this...aren't you tired? You barely slept yesterday...”

Rafayel shakes his head adamantly, like a spoiled child being told they had to do something they didn't want to do. “I had to, y/n. If it's for you, nothing is too much...” You blush at his statement, having been reminded recently of the last text you had sent Rafayel before you were sure you were going to be killed.

“O-oh...by the way...Rafayel...y-you can disregard that text from before...y-y'know...that one...”

He stops what he's doing and strides over to you in two long steps. His eyes are piercing through your soul and deep into your heart, exposing every facet of you in a far more embarrassing way than simply baring your naked skin to him. He takes your free hand in both of his and gives your aching knuckles the softest of kisses. “I will never forget that text...” He whispers a breath over your knuckles. You blush more and try to pull it away reflexively. “A-ah...i-it's okay...” He shakes his head and holds your hand against his chest now. “No, y/n. It's not okay...I didn't find you before everything happened to you...” He takes a hand away from yours to gently stroke along your jaw and then run his thumb across your cheek.

“I love you, too, y/n.”

✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩

a/n: this kept me up all last night writing an outline on my phone, so if I didn't finish this I would be upset with myself haha

If you have any requests, please feel free to send an ask, I would love to hear them!

[takeyourcyanide]

Is the DWMA and its Purposeful Control Over the World an Allegory for the US’s Continued Imperialism and Imperialistic Ideals?

(And for how religious groups also have similar ideals in the sense that they’d like to grow in power in order to essentially control the world utilizing their specific religion, and enact punishment on those who fail to submit)

I believe that the DWMA and its continuous fight to maintain power power over the world (essentially acting as its own global government power and military) is an allegory for American imperialism, as well as religious imperialistic and authoritarian ideals (the two often run hand in hand, even since the beginning of the US). Here is why:

Let’s start with the fact that the DWMA is said to be located in Nevada, USA, and that the story itself takes its (nationality wise) American characters around the world.

I think my starting point is rather obvious, they are American. But there is more to it than that.

1. The death scythes and adults employed at the DWMA are stationed in various different countries/continents. Similar to the US military. Many, if not all of the US’s military stations, are a direct result of imperialism and stand as a reminder that the US will continue to fight for world domination, and will remain (/continue to try to remain) in control of that country/have some sort of power over it and in it. Similar to the DWMA. The DWMA sends its students and staff to other countries for the sake of exacting the DWMA’s control. A constant reminder of their power. They take in and accept meisters and weapons from other countries (you can see this when Death the Kid is choosing a weapon for himself, because you can see some of whom are in cultural clothing, and clearly from another country, and you can see this with young Tsubaki who clearly lived in Japan, is Japanese, etc.) and teach them to fight for their ideals. Many of the children don’t even truly know what they are fighting for, they were just taught to fight. You can see them all question this later in the series, beginning with Kid. This is blatant indoctrination, similar to the US, as well as plenty of other countries, of course. Even the school setting makes it even more similar, as school is often used as a tool (especially in the US) to turn the students into perfect cogs in the machine, mindlessly following orders from their supposed “superiors.” Very American. 🦅

2. The fact that kill lists are made of individuals of whom do not adhere to the academy’s rules and ideals, and its students are sent to kill these individuals, of whom are all over the world. This is something of which the US has done countless times over the course of the country’s history. The CIA has killed off, not only American citizens, but leaders and people of plenty of other nations (particularly less powerful nations of which are more defenseless), simply due to those people and leaders not adhering to “American values”. I am sure everyone, especially the non-Americans, knows this already.

3. Death the Kid himself, in both the manga and the anime, admitted that the DWMA truly had no right to essentially act as an authoritative (kind of authoritarian at times) figure over the world. That they have no right to harm those who do not submit/force people of whole do not submit to submit. To govern the world. This is just quintessentially American to me. “We have no true right to dominate the world, we just want to! We are the best! But not truly! :D” What could possibly be more American than that? The DWMA views itself as the superior ruler, those who order to the world, similarly to the US and many Americans. But once you begin questioning the US and the DWMA, you realize that maybe this isn’t the truth. Maybe there is more to it. Who gave us the right to rule anyway? Why are our ideals the superior ideals? Etc., etc.

And with the religious aspect, I think it’s obvious. Many religious groups believe their beliefs are vastly superior to other’s. They believe everyone must have those beliefs. This is often times how your typical traditionalist and fundamentalist religious cult forms. They aim to gain power and control, with the goal that their views and ideals will soon dominate the world. You can see some aspects of this and the what comes of this (punishment for a lack of submission, non-questioning of lifestyle one is fighting for, because this is “simply the way it should be”, etc.)

Hope this made sense.

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters from Watson, catching up

Study In Scarlet part 1: 1880 I’ve been neglecting my correspondence (emails) and decided to start my Holmes reread today, with some good old fashioned deductive speculation and some context, in case anyone else is also reading along a month late. Please bear with me as I neglect to commit to either a Watsonian (these are real people who we can learn biographical data about) or a Doylist (remember this is just a book and we should just relax) point of view. If your mental image of Holmes and Watson are either Robert Downey Junior and Jude law, or Jeremy Brett and David Burke, you will probably be surprised at how young these two probably are.

Preliminary evidence: Our Friends’ ages

- Watson was wounded at the battle of Maiwand, fought July 27 1880, ill for months, plural, and the journey back to england took a month. At the very earliest he started looking for lodgings in November 1880 - He would have been at medical school for at least two, probably three years before finishing in 1878. It is unlikely, though not impossible, that he would have started his course of study significantly before reaching his twenties. For historical comparison, Dr. James Barry, also an army surgeon with a degree from a British medical school, started his course of study at the age of approximately twenty, and became an army surgeon at about 23. (Although Dr. Barry died in 1865 it’s unlikely that there would be a huge difference in how long their courses of study took.) People seem to have gone directly to medical school instead of doing other university courses first.  - While he could be older, could be slightly younger. Watson is probably around twenty five. - Holmes is still taking university courses, erratically, and although we don’t get any timeline of his studies, he’s probably not older than Stamford, who was a surgeon’s assistant when Watson worked with him at St. Bartholemew’s Hospital, and presumably still works there given how much he knows about Holmes’ use of the chemical labs. “Young” Stamford is likely a few years younger than Watson.  - Like Watson Holmes probably started his studies in his very late teens or early twenties. The age of getting a degree could and did vary during the 1800s from our current conception of who’s the right age to be in college (with people somewhat more likely to be sent off to secondary education slightly younger than seventeen or eighteen than they are now, and also plenty of instances of people starting college later than we usually expect from someone who is headed directly there after their childhood studies and before their first adult career) but the important thing here is that Holmes appears to be in charge of his own finances, and the age of majority for Victorian men was 21.  - Holmes has pretty much got to be somewhere between 20 and 25. My money is on him being 22-23 (because he does already have a reputation, as we shall see, he has completed at least a year of study during the time he was friends with Victor Trevor, and because he appears to complete, or give up, his coursework between the end of Study in Scarlet and any other case Watson witnesses) and on Watson being 24-26. - For context, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote this story at age 27 in 1886. It’s not unreasonable to assume that, despite timeline weirdness (He was born in 1859, as Holmes might have been, but he will obviously always set his writing in the past), Holmes and Watson are going to age more or less with him.  - I have only vague memories of the Baring-Gould chronology for this series but I think it agrees with me in that regard. Baring-Gould thinks Holmes is about two or three years older than I think Holmes is, though. 

Conclusion: My sympathies to Mrs. Hudson, these boys are going to be the death of a decent amount of your furniture. 

[sesamestreep]

Nick/Jess, 15!

15. i’ll save you a seat (from this prompt list)

IT’S MILLER’S TIME

The bestselling author of the hit YA series ‘The Pepperwood Chronicles’ opens up about seeing his work adapted for television, his new novel, and becoming a father.

LOS ANGELES - The lunchtime crowd at Gogo’s Tacos in Silver Lake is more plentiful and aggressive than the colleague who recommended the spot for my interview with Nick Miller led me to believe it would be on a weekday, which means I spend the twenty minutes between when I show up (ten minutes early) and when he arrives (ten minutes late and convincingly apologetic about it) fighting off other patrons who are convinced I’m lying about expecting someone and want to steal his seat. His appearance in the busy restaurant is welcome for more reasons than one.

We’re here to discuss the new Netflix adaptation of his bestselling book series, The Pepperwood Chronicles, into a television series. The first season, which drops this Friday on the streaming platform, takes on the Herculean task of adapting the first book in the series (clocking in at 628 pages) into just eight episodes of television. It’s a highly anticipated project for the army of Pepperheads out there, who want to see if Sebastian Stan truly has what it takes to embody the titular grizzled New Orleans detective from Miller’s beloved novels, but it’s not the only project that’s been occupying Miller’s time lately. He’s also got his debut novel for the adult market, the stylishly-titled HoBo, which draws heavily on his childhood in Chicago, coming out in November. But the project he’s most anxious to brag about is one he had—by his own admission—very little to do with, aside from the original idea. The lion’s share of the credit belongs to his wife.

“This is Reggie,” he says, stretching his phone across the table proudly, swiping through dozens of photos of a pleasantly chunky infant in a Chicago Bears onesie. “Oh, and that’s Mario,” he says, when we get to a photo of a dog sniffing the same baby, asleep in a car seat and wearing a hooded jacket with bear ears.

“I know he looks like a funky little alien right now, but my wife says that most babies get really cute around the six month mark,” Miller says, after suddenly remembering that he has tacos he could be eating. He takes an enormous bite of one before making a face. “God, don’t print that. My son is already adorable. I love him.”

We debate whether or not I can actually print that comment (guess who won) for a few minutes before Miller finally allows us to move on. I ask, given his penchant for drawing details from his own life to use in his novels, if this recent development for him means we can expect the next Pepperwood installment to find Julius Pepperwood and his leading lady, Jessica Knight, contemplating parenthood. 

“I don’t know about that,” Miller says, with his mouth full. “It’s not that one-to-one for me. Yes, Pepperwood is based on me in some ways, but in many other ways he isn’t, you know? Same goes for Jessica Knight. She’s based on my wife, definitely, but I’ve never felt constricted by that. I’ve always felt like the characters follow their own path, though they take inspiration from my real life.”

In this answer, Miller has given me both an articulate response and neatly sidestepped giving any confirmation of further Pepperwood installments, which forces me to ask the question directly. His face goes blank for a moment afterwards, and he spends a while chewing before he attempts to answer.

“I’m not saying no,” he finally replies, wiping his hands on a napkin, while looking thoughtfully into the distance. “But I’m also not saying yes. There have been people—and my wife tells me not to read the reviews or the comments, but sometimes, you know, shit happens and you see some stuff—there’s people who think Pepperwood is too happy now. They liked him when he was tortured. Now, he’s got the love of his life by his side, he solved his brother’s murder, he made peace with his father. It’s like, where’s the tension anymore? But at the same time, I don’t want to make him miserable again just to sell more books.”

Miller talks about Pepperwood (and Knight and all of his characters) like they’re real people, a fact he shrugs off when I point it out.

“Of course,” he says. “Of course they’re real to me. It’s important to remember that they’ve been with the readers for six books now, but they’ve been with me for longer than that. And they don’t leave me alone when the book is done, either, like they do for my readers.”

They don’t seem to leave his readers alone after the last page, actually, if the healthy fandom producing fanart and fanfiction online are any indication. Miller, of course, has thoughts.

“I’m pleased about it,” he says, with his usual Chicago-born nonchalance. “It’s always made me happy that my work resonates with people, especially young people. I didn’t see that coming, in the beginning. It wasn’t supposed to be a YA series.”

The origins of The Pepperwood Chronicles are the publishing world’s version of a Cinderella story. Miller initially published the first book in the series himself at the encouragement of his friends, hawking the hand bound (!) copies at local bookstores with the encouragement of his then-girlfriend, as well as his future wife (“Two different women,” he clarifies. “It’s a long story.”) The hefty novel all about the seedy underbelly of New Orleans very quickly found a devoted fan base amongst a surprising audience: teenage girls. Where other authors might have bristled, Miller instead took his unexpected champions in stride.

“Like, there was definitely some initial shock to get over,” he explains. “If I’d known I was writing to teenagers specifically, I would have cut, well, a few things from that manuscript.” He’s referring delicately to some pretty explicit sex scenes and graphic violence, which definitely get toned down in later installments of the series. Confronted with this, Miller shrugs and says only, “That’s show biz!”

Speaking of show biz, how does he feel about the Netflix adaptation of his work?

“It was really interesting,” he offers, thoughtfully. “I’m grateful they didn’t ask me to write it, because it turns out I’m a terrible screenwriter.” Before I can ask him to elaborate on that, he continues, “But the team really did check in with me a lot and they made sure the tone felt right, and the changes they had to make worked with my understanding of the world and the characters. I felt like they really respected Pepperwood, which obviously means a lot to me.”

Miller is being generous, of course, considering he and his wife are both executive producers on the series. When I mention this, however, he waves it off. “They still could have told me to fuck off with my opinions,” he says.

As for working with his wife in that capacity, he’s more than happy to sing her praises. “She’s great. Aside from myself, she’s the person I trust most to get Pepperwood, you know? Like my editors and my agent and everybody, they’re amazing, but if I’m really stuck, Jess is the one I can turn to and be like ‘does this work? Or does it suck?’ And she’ll tell me. She’s always been that person for me. She’s the first person I shared the first draft of the first book with, so her input is invaluable. Or is it valuable?”

“They mean the same thing,” I tell him.

“That’s stupid,” he replies. “I mean, I’m not calling you stupid. The English language is stupid sometimes. My wife’s input is very important to me, is what I’m saying. Her instincts are spot on.”

And they should be, after all. When she’s not producing the Pepperwood TV series with her husband, Jessica Day (yes, you’re reading that right. Miller’s wife and the inspiration for his character Jessica Knight is named Jessica Day. Check the dedication on the first Pepperwood novel if you don’t believe me) works for Scholastic, as a part of their team that handles community outreach to K-12 schools across the country. (Miller’s publishing deal is with an imprint of Simon & Schuster, in case anyone is worried about favoritism.) Before that, she worked briefly in the nonprofit industry and as a middle school teacher and later vice principal. 

“She understands the demographic perfectly,” Miller summarizes, fifteen minutes into an endearing monologue about how great his wife is. “I think the writers for the TV show liked having her around even more than having me. She really knows her stuff.”

When I follow up a few days later with Ms. Day for comment, her husband’s remarks amuse but don’t surprise her. “He’s always giving me too much credit,” she says, humbly.

Does it weird her out at all, to have so many people so intensely invested in the fictionalized version of her love life?

“It’s funny. I know the names are really similar and obviously Nick borrows things here and there from our real life,” she says, “but I really don’t feel like Jessica Knight is me. So I don’t take it personally at all.”

This isn’t the first time this attitude has come up in interviews. Last year, when casting was announced for the Netflix series, Day made headlines for defending the production’s decision to cast British actress Gugu Mbatha-Raw as Jessica Knight after many fans claimed she didn’t match Knight’s description in the books.

“Gugu’s a very talented actress. I’ve seen her screen tests and she will blow you away when you see the show, I promise!” Day took to Twitter to say at the time.

“She capture [sic] JK’s energy perfectly,” she added in a further tweet. “Please welcome her to the Pepperwood family as we have!”

Now, Day is less diplomatic in her response. “It was a small portion of fans who were upset,” she says, “but they were the loudest contingency. It was very upsetting, and honestly tacky. So what if she doesn’t look like me? The character isn’t me, first of all. And the books are set in New Orleans, for God’s sake! It would be stupid if the entire main cast was white people.”

When I accuse her of saying the quiet part loud, as the kids say, Day seems nonplussed. “It’s those new mom hormones, I guess,” she replies, as a baby cries in the background of the phone call as if on cue. “I just don’t give a fu…dge.”

Miller, during our interview, feels similarly. “The team went with the best people for the parts, and we made it clear, my wife and I, that they absolutely weren’t trying to cast our doppelgängers. That wasn’t the point. Honestly, it would have freaked me out if they had.”

So he doesn’t think he and Stan look alike? 

“No, not at all,” he says, automatically. “Do you?”

“He kind of seems like a more Hollywood version of you, yeah.”

Miller takes a long time thinking this over. “That’s…huh…”

In order to distract him from the existential spiral I’ve inadvertently led him down, I switch us over to the topic of his new book, HoBo. It’s made several lists of most anticipated books for this fall (including this publication’s) but there was a while there where Miller feared the manuscript would never see the light of day. 

“The publisher thought it was too dark for the teen market,” he says, without any of the smarmy pride one would expect from the average male author accused of being ‘too dark’ by The Man. “I had no idea! I thought Pepperwood was too dark for teens and they loved it! So, there was a bit there when I was like, ‘okay, so this is the end, I guess.’”

Miller isn’t being melodramatic either. There was a moment, according to him and confirmed by his editor, Merle Streep, where they considered parting ways. Luckily, they came to an understanding once the dust settled and Miller pitched the novel, then titled “Chicago Hobo”, for the adult market. The source of this brilliant solution? You guessed it: Jessica Day.

“My wife’s a genius,” Miller states. “It was so simple and yet none of us could see it. Of course they should market the book to adults, if they thought it was too gritty for teens. Obviously.”

Day, however, downplays her contribution. “The issue with the manuscript came to a head on our wedding day, if you can believe it. On our honeymoon, it was all Nick could talk about. He was worried he’d never publish another book again. I suggested he send the manuscript around to other publishers to see if there was interest, but pitch it as, you know, a book for grownups. I thought it would make him feel better. I had no idea that the minute he did that, his original publisher would come back to him with a deal.”

But that’s exactly what they did. He’s also on the hook for three more books after that, though he’s cagey with details about if those will be HoBo sequels, further Pepperwood adventures, or something else entirely.

“We’re in a really pivotal moment,” Miller says, looking a little bit sweaty as he admits it. “We’ll see how Pepperwood does as a TV show, we’ll see how people feel about HoBo when it comes out.” He pauses to laugh. “We’ll see if being a father completely fries my brain and I never write another coherent sentence ever again.”

Early reviews and chatter are saying that the new novel is every bit as cinematic as The Pepperwood Chronicles, which suggests a screen adaptation is more a matter of “when” than “if.” It is, by Miller’s own admission, even more autobiographical than Pepperwood (the preteen narrator is Travis Tiller, called “Trick” by his friends, so do with that what you will). It’s based, in many ways, on his childhood in Chicago, but it’s also equal parts dystopian speculative fiction and superhero origin story, with a heavy pour of magical realism to wash it down. The cinematic universe practically writes itself.

“We just don’t know,” Miller replies vaguely. No matter what I do, I can’t get him to speculate on bringing this book to the small or big screen. “I don’t want to jinx anything,” he adds, frantically, after many such questions.

Fine. But, as pure speculation, what actor does he think, potentially, has what it takes to bring the eponymous hobo to life on screen?

“Rock Hudson,” he says, after much bullying.

When I inform him that Rock Hudson is dead and has been for more than 30 years, Miller looks crestfallen. What about preteen Trick Tiller, then? Is there anyone Miller would entrust to play his younger self?

“Cate Blanchett,” he replies.

When I point out that she’s both older than him and a different gender, he frowns. “She played Bob Dylan, though,” he counters, confused. I concede that he’s got me there.

We return to the much safer topic of conversation that is the current adaptation of one of his novels. What’s he most looking forward to now that the show is finally premiering?

“Getting to go on a date with my wife,” he says, sincerely, with the dead-eyed stare of a sleep-deprived new parent. “Seriously. We’re getting a sitter to watch the baby, we’re bringing a few of our close friends, who are all getting sitters for their babies. It’s going to be really fun. It’s going to be a classic mess around.”

A what?

“Don’t worry about it,” Miller says.

Is there anyone whose opinion he’s particularly anxious about, when it comes to the TV show? Or even his new novel?

“I’m always worried about what the fans think. I want the Pepperwood fans to like the show. I want them to like the new book, even though it’s not about Pepperwood, you know?”

Does he think there will be crossover?

“Absolutely I do, yes,” he says, emphatically. “The kids who read Pepperwood when it first came out—this is terrifying to say, but—they’re grown up now. They’re in college or they’re young professionals. HoBo is written for their age group now. It will be marketed to them.”

It’s kind of like they’ve grown up with him.

“Don’t say that,” Miller replies, putting his head in his hands dramatically. “I’m gonna have a panic attack. Having an actual biological child is scary enough.”

Speaking of scary, to distract him from another existential crisis, I ask if he’s been starstruck at any part of the process of turning his beloved novels into a TV show, and his answer is surprising to say the least.

“I mean, I was a little bit starstruck meeting Alfred Molina the first time. He was already in costume as Schmith, too, which was an extra level of weird,” he says, referring to the iconic love-to-hate-him villain of the first Pepperwood book and a supporting player in many of the series’s other installments. Still, Miller eventually got used to the idea of Doc Ock himself being in the show. 

“Oh, I know my big starstruck moment,” he adds. “When Taylor Swift tweeted about the trailer. That was like…Woah! Is this really happening?”

That’s right. When the show’s first trailer debuted in March, the Grammy-winning singer took to Twitter to express her excitement.

“I can’t believe how good this looks,” she tweeted with the emoji of the cat making the Home Alone face. “Is it September yet?!?”

Can we take his excitement over this interaction the confirmation we’ve all been waiting for that Nick Miller is a Swiftie? 

“I don’t know what that is, but I like her. She’s really talented. When my wife’s upset, she likes to listen to Taylor Swift and cry while she drinks pink wine,” he says, before taking a troubled pause. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Day laughs when I tell her this anecdote during our phone call and gives me the go-ahead to print it. “It’s true,” she says. “Who cares?”

So, if they had to pick a Swift song to represent Julius Pepperwood and Jessica Knight’s relationship, what would it be?

Miller’s answer is simple: “You should ask my wife.”

Day’s response, on the other hand, is more complex. “I think it evolves over time, you know, from book to book. Probably in the early books, before they get together for real, it’s ‘Out of the Woods’ or ‘Wildest Dreams.’ Maybe even ‘White Horse,’ if you want to go back into her catalog.”

What about for her and Miller?

“That’s easy,” Day says, and the smile is obvious in her voice. “I’ve always thought of ‘Mine’ as our song of hers.”

This conversation mostly just confirms Miller’s assertion that his wife knows his characters just as well as he does. It also begs the important question of whether he’ll use this big moment in his career as leverage to arrange a meeting between Swift and his wife.

“I don’t know,” he says, honestly. “Maybe? I should ask Jess. She might kill me if I pulled that on her with no warning.”

As our meal and interview come to an end, I can’t help asking Miller a question that has been on my mind the whole time: with all this talk of how great and inspiring his wife is, and how integral to his creative process she’s become, does he happen to identify as a Wife Guy?

“I don’t know what that is either. You keep saying these things—I’ve never heard of them before,” he admits. “But I like the sound of it. So, yeah. I guess so. Unless it’s a bad thing. In which case, no. Was that—did I answer your question?”

In this case, just like so many of Nick Miller’s characters before us, we might have to make peace with an ambiguous ending.

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The Pepperwood Chronicles premieres exclusively on Netflix this Friday.