#and whats even better is that its the perfect descriptor.

[sea-buns]

gotta love me a character whose post-timeskip synopsis is just More Anxious

[venus-haze]

Stakeout (Billy Butcher x Reader)

Summary: Ever since you started working with Butcher and The Boys again, life has been exciting, invigorating—and stressful. During a stakeout, Butcher mixes the personal with the professional to help you relieve some of the tension you’ve been carrying around.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Takes place vaguely in season 1. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving semi-public fingering, light degradation, and voyeurism (Butcher is insane. So is Homelander.)

You hadn’t been on a stakeout in years when Butcher asked—demanded, really—that you come along with him to keep an eye on Vought Tower overnight. Something about letting Hughie get some sleep while you two tried to keep tabs on A-Train’s comings and goings. It was easy enough to see through his bullshit, but rather than call him on it, boredom from your day job and curiosity of what he had up his sleeve made you agree.

Butcher at least had the decency to pick up some snacks from a bodega near your apartment, mostly beef jerky and bags of chips. Kept the radio low on some classic rock station, the two of you sitting in near silence across the street from the tower for the better part of an hour. His car hadn’t changed much from the last time you were in it. Except for the new pine tree air freshener—though new was a stretch. It’d long since lost its scent, but the blue wasn’t as sun-bleached as the old one. Funny, the things you remember.

“This feels like a waste of time. Even if we were here to spy on A-Train, which you and I both know we’re not, there’s no way we’d be able to actually see him leave and come back,” you finally said. “And Homelander wouldn’t leave out of Vought’s front door unless he was doing some publicity to appeal to us plebeians.”

“You got a point.”

“So what’re we doing here?” 

“Y’think the cunt can see us?” he asked.

“Who? Homelander?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t the point of a stakeout that we’re not supposed to be seen?”

“S’why I’m asking, love.”

You sighed. “Unless he’s somewhere we can’t see him, then I guess not.”

“Perfect.”

He put his hand on your knee, his fingers inching their way up your pencil skirt. You didn’t have time to change out of your office clothes when Butcher picked you up at your apartment. Even though you were back with his crew, you hadn’t quit your day job just yet, working for some stupid startup that somehow landed a contract with Vought. Gave you some insight into what they were up to, at least made your presence in the tower the least suspicious of anyone else, able to say you were there for business.

You shifted in the passenger seat a bit. “Butcher, what’re you—“

“Tryin’ to help you relax,” he said, his fingers brushing your clit through your panties. “You’ve been tense as hell lately.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. He was right. Linking up with Butcher again after so many years gave you a renewed sense of purpose, but with that came the stress, the late nights, the close calls. In the comfort of his car, just the two of you where no one else could see, maybe you could let him take control for a while.

“How tense, Butcher?” you asked, leaning back in the seat. “Tell me.”

“Workin’ yourself too hard for a bunch of sorry pricks,” he said, his voice low and husky as he tugged at your panties. You lifted your hips so he could pull them to your knees. “Can’t have that when I need you now, yeah?”

You nodded breathlessly as he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out slowly, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. His gaze, dark and intense, always had a way of making you feel acutely aware of his attention on you, even when you weren't looking at him. Sometimes unnerving, but in cases like this, utterly exposed despite being fully clothed.

“Been a long time, huh? You miss this? You miss when I'd take care of your cunt?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “God, Butcher, keep going.”

“Thought of callin’ you a few times the past few years. You were always a good fuck,” he husked, his lips, his rough beard brushing across your neck and jaw. “Look at you now, people walking by, and you don’t give a damn who can see you, long as you get off, huh?”

“Butcher—“

“Bet if I’d taken my cock out instead, you’d have sucked me off. Take it all like the cockslut I know you are. You fuck anyone else the past few years? They know how to treat you? Know how to make you feel good?”

“Yes—No—I don’t know.”

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re pretty when you’re close. How close are you, love?”

“Fuck—I’m close. I’m so fucking close. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” you babbled, choking out a moan when he slipped a third finger inside you. “Keep going, just like that.”

He was pushing you, knew your limits better than anyone, and as much as you hated to admit it, you needed it. Hadn’t realized until then how long it’d been since you’d really been fucked until he curled his fingers inside you, and your brain felt like someone poured soda over it, your skin burning for more.

You didn’t care who saw, all you cared about was getting there, and you were so fucking close it made you screw your eyes shut and cry out in frustration. Jesus, no wonder you were willing to jump back in when Butcher showed up on your doorstep. Everyday was bland, the same old bullshit. There was plenty of bullshit when it came to Butcher and whatever harebrained schemes he came up with, but it was a hell of a lot more fun than typing up reports and sitting through meetings.

“C’mon, love. Put on a show. Let me hear ya.”

You opened your eyes, only to catch Butcher staring out the windshield. Following his gaze, you let out a panicked whine upon seeing a red glow honed in on you, long enough to be sure he was watching. You came on Butcher’s fingers with a perverse moan, pleasure coursing through you as you dug your fingers into the console. You threw your head back, your hips jerking upward as you rode out your orgasm on his hand. 

Butcher was relentless when he wanted to be, and you weakly tapped out, squeezing his muscular arm, whining a bit nevertheless when he pulled his hand away. Sparing another glance at the windshield, the red glow was gone. Homelander was gone.

You told yourself it was the surge of fear-fueled adrenaline that brought you over the edge, not exhilaration at being seen, being caught in such a vulnerable state by the most powerful supe in the world. Definitely not. But you kind of hated yourself for not feeling more humiliated, instead, as you obsessively replayed the scene in your head as Butcher drove down the street, you were thrilled by it. 

Still, he should’ve fucking warned you, given you some kind of heads up. You held your tongue until you were sure the sound of traffic would hide your voice from any superpowered hearing.

“You fucking prick!” you hissed, smacking his shoulder. “You banked on Homelander being enough of a pervert to watch us?”

“Killed two birds with one stone. You feel better now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reluctantly conceded.

“Attagirl.” He grinned. “I think I know where the cunt’s going.”

You balked. “I can’t look him in the eye after this.”

“You kind of already did.”

“Fuck you, Butcher.”

He glanced at you again, squeezing your thigh. “I’ll make it up to you later, love. Don’t you worry.”

[bunnyscrypt]

“a devouring hunger, a complete, violent passion, like a storm.”

pairing. college au - jason todd x reader

based loosely off the scene from may (2002). disclaimer: this story is based in a separate universe to my upcoming self indulgent college au!jason todd universe.

♱ synopsis: . jason todd is a transfer student. he's tall, he’s big, and he has gorgeous hands. he hangs with the football crowd despite not playing the sport himself, you keep your distance however. he’s infatuated with you though. you find him…. intriguing. 


♱ cw: reader is very gothic and black girl coded but no descriptors (anyone can read), fluff, college!au, smut ♡


you were the one that told jason it was best that you stayed away from each other. you just didn’t trust him, not with the crowd he hung around, but he seemed sweet and sincere - sad eyes that bore in to yours as you turned him down. almost feeling bad until the eyes of his friends watching made you walk up away leaving him looking dejected. oh well.

you’d still sneak glances at him every now and then. admiring the outline of his profile, the hook of his nose. the flex of his arms at the slightest movements. oh and his hands - the thought of them sending your brain in to a tizzy. you’d wonder how they’d feel against your skin.

jason was upfront with his fixation on you. long glances, not caring if he got caught. asking around about you, ignoring all the warnings from his friends about how weird you are. taking any chance to talk to and be near you.

it’s what put him on your radar and made you suspicious, but you will admit he is handsome and he was always so sweet with you. 

better to be safe than sorry though. 

the library smells like cinnamon, wood, marijuana, and hand sanitizer

you sat in a love seat, reading as you listened to the sound of pages turning and pens writing, eyes occasionally darting towards the sleeping boy sitting at the table across the isle. head on his arm as his hand hangs in the air. you try to focus on your book, but again you glance back up at jason’s hand.

it just looks so inviting.

chewing on your bottom lip, contemplating.

your body shakes as you slowly get up, dropping your book on the seat. moving towards him with anxious breath. eyes wide, like a predator hunting its prey.

kneeling besides him, your eyes dart over his large frame, stopping at his hand as you observe it in fascination. your own itching to hold his. one more look at his face- he breathes slowly, soft snores leaving his lips.

inching your head closer to his hand, you lift his fingers with your cheek. oh his skin is so soft. his stillness, gives you the courage to keep going. unaware of the audience that watches you.

eyes fluttering shut as you press your cheek further into his palm- feelings of peace and comfort filling you. his hand cups your cheek. a perfect fit. letting out a sigh of content, you feel his fingers twitch.

pause.

“hello?”

your eyes dart open, he starts to lift his head and you back away. standing up quick, not daring to move any further. jason rubs his eyes with a sniff before seeing you in front of him like a frightened deer.

before he can say anything! you swiftly walk away, almost tripping in the process while jason watches with confused and concerned eyes, following as you leave.

“i told you she was a freak, man.” his friend appears by his side, shoving his phone into his face to show him the footage of your actions.

his head darts back to where you once stood, thumb subconsciously rubbing his now warm palm.

night falls and you're laying in bed — ignoring the movie playing on your laptop as you think about jasons hand. your fingers grazing where his was.

reminiscing on his past interactions with you. the lingering looks and soft touches. kind smiles and rambling words even if you never said anything back and when you did it was in a blunt and flat tone. he just enjoyed your presence.

you come to the realization that you liked it. you liked him. you liked holding his attention and you desire him carnally.

a knock on the door pulls you out of your thoughts — thinking its just your roommate who forgot her key.

jason greets you at the door, donning a band muscle tee that makes his arms look good.

“hey.”

“what are you doing here?”

“can we talk?”

sitting on the edge of your bed side by side— the silence is comfortable. to you that is. jason doesn't know where to start, his brain going a mile a minute trying to figure out where to start but to his surprise you beat him to it.

“you think im weird.”

it wasn't a question and he glances at you to see you're already looking at him. his gaze is a soft one as he looks in to your intense yet curious one.

“no, i know you're weird.” a small smile graces his lips. your eyes flicking down to his hands.

his elbow bumps yours, “but hey, so what i like weird.”

you meet his gaze again, his going from your eyes to your lips.

“i really want to kiss you.” his voice dropped into a whipser.

“is that all you want to do?” your question makes his eyebrows raise, mouth opening a bit.

grabbing his hand, you place kisses along his thumb to his wrist as you place it on your cheek, eyes never leaving his.

thats how jason wound up on his back, staring into your eyes as you rolled your hips. grunts and moans leaving his plump lips.

jason todd was a loud lover.

sloppily sucking on his fingers while he used his free hand to knead and grip at your tits and hip.

"so good. you feel so good around me - im gonna make you all mine." jasons brows furrow, watching the spit trail down your chin and his wrist.

he shudders as you gyrate your hips faster, “r-right after i take you on a real date.”

he moans loudly, bucking his hips up into you. your clit grinding against his happy trail. breathless moans escape past your lips.

"'m yours, jay.” you whimper, your sticky walls throbbing around him.

"oh my god" he groans. reaching behind your neck to pull you down against him to fuck you harder. hips slamming into you with desperation.

you pant like a puppy, biting into his shoulder hard enough to make him hiss. the bed knocking against the headboard as he pummeled against your g-spot.

"m'cumming!”

he keeps the pace as you cum with a load groan- body trembling on top of his as he pulls out to jerk against your ass.

catching your breath, you pick your head up to stare at his face — eyes closed with droplets of sweat on his forehead, licking his lip as he regains his composure. he's so pretty.

you trace your finger over nose to his lips making him open his eyes. “hi gorgeous," a smile tugs at his lips.

"you okay?" his fingers tenderly graze your cheek.

"mhm" you pause as you take in his gestures. the softness in his eyes. "can we go on our real date tomorrow?”

he smirks, letting out a low chuckle. "yeah, that's perfect for me”

[des-no9]

I'm going on Anon because i'm a bit shy about this but, I've seen a lot of Githyanki official art and fan made stuff and i was wondering if Githyanki can be fat? I supposed that since its a warrior race genetically engineered (twice!) to fight that they probably wouldn't have a high fat to body mass ratio However i *really* wanna make a fat githyanki oc Is there a way i can justify it in universe? Thank you!!!

Hey anon and thank you so much for messaging me about this. I'm so touched and happy to answer this!

I wanted to preface this first of all with:

you never need a reason to make, or have, a character fat. They just can be!! Because you want them to!! Fat isn't a bad word, just a descriptor. And I hope after this you can happily make a wonderful, gorgeous fat githyanki character who I can't wait to see!

-------

Okay. Now, moving on to lore and narratives and in universe reasons - it can absolutely be done.

As a detail orientated writer, I am a stickler for: consistency believability (doesn't have to be REAL or something 1:1 from our world just believable IN world etc)

NOTE: D&D has many different versions and inconsistences in lore, and my narrative consolidates in the BG3 5e verse, while taking parts from older versions I like and fitting them to make sense in my verse that I'm creating and expanding from BG3.

Much ramblings and answers under the cut :3 enjoy

TW: talk about bodies, fatphobia (kinda), genetic engineering

Okay so, we know at least in all verses that githyanki were genetically engineered twice (illithids first, then Vlaakith(s) with the change to eggs, and streamlining their race to become superior, powerful etc), and their race as has been documented and described by others in universe, and in source books, is tall, thin, long limbs, bony, and they seem in similar strucuture to illithids.

This makes a lot of sense in the way that the illithids were probably breeding them to become perfect hosts for their tadpoles and ceremorphosis, from what they see their bodies turn into. And we know that illithids have specific body types they seek out for their own perfection, whether we like it or not.

Vanquish is fat. It doesn't hinder her whatsoever. In-fact Voss is drawn to her a lot because of it and finds such beauty in her fatness and the softness of her skin. This does allude to fatness not being common in githyanki and something he likes about istik and her. And yeah, you can make it uncommon in githyanki! That's fine! But it still CAN happen in githyanki.

So for lore reasons to have a fat githyanki character I think there are many ways you could easily do it:

1: Independent githyanki. This githyanki could have, for example, been raised by non-githyanki, and therefore has not had a life subjected to their stringent training, diet, routine etc, and eventual life between Material and Astral which would and does effect things like their digestive system. Having their body adjusted from birth to a different environment could start to alter their body's stubborn pre-disposition to a low body fat %. Also, not constantly living in a kind of hypervigilance and violence the githyanki seem to live in may just let the body relax.

2: Different creches and planes Coming a little from the above idea - and from my genitals HC about variance in their bodies - I think that their can be and IS differences in their bodies depending on the creche they were born in, and also plane.

For example, being nearer to void magic, in a volatile climate, low gravity, colder climate etc. For a githyanki growing up in a colder climate, having more body fat would be better for them (if we take into account OUR biology, but they are aliens and their bodies probably work differently to ours. For instance they are SO strong even being so very thin dkfjdf etc). But honestly, it doesn't matter the reasoning. Some creches could just give variance in body type because they CAN and this is magic and magic does shit like this and for the past hundreds and thousands of years this is how the bodies of githyanki from Creche An'vak are, like the ears from those from Creche Ishk often split at the end.

They just are.

3: Genetic anomaly If you like the theory that their low body fat and frame is deeply bred and genetically engineered etc into them, this works. Because genetic anomalies happen all the time, so githyanki being born and retaining body fat and getting fat, much fatter than we see them as, could definitely just happen.

Depending on how cruel you view the githyanki as a whole, or that particular creche, or even if that githyanki wasn't raised in a creche etc (lots of possibilities), once the varsh sees that their body is developing different to how they 'should' be, then they may be discarded as a liability, or you can work many different and creative narrative ways into how and why they survive. (For example, once they see that their body doesn't hinder their ability to fight, then why dispose of them?)

I'm sure there are many, many other ways I'm not thinking about, but these are some of the main ways that I would probably write about and would come up in my narratives.

4: Wild Card! Githyanki/istik child. This also raises several other complciations and questions of how githyanki and other races could reproduce (that's for another huge post LOL) but, since in the future Vanquish and Orpheus have a kid (an heir, technically) it would be remiss of me to not mention this. And well, a mixed githyanki kid, too, could be fat!

Also, depending on the part of their timeline I'm writing in (for example, during their enslavement, directly after, now) the reasoning and frequency of fat githyanki can be different to me in the narrative.

I hope this helped a lot, anon. If you have any more questions or want to ask anything else, please, please let me know! This was a LOT of fun to write. Thank you! x

[erikatsu]

DANCING AFTER DEATH — dainsleif

✦ SUMMARY: a heathen's holiday is the perfect time to slip away with the man you've been seeing in secret

✧ PAIRING: dainsleif x fem!reader (princess!reader)

✦ WARNINGS: non-explicit [n]sfw. soft & vanilla. more intimate than anything and disgustingly soft. forbidden relationships. royal au. sorta fits bmfd universe but not really. self-ship coded. pet names (elska mín and prinsessa). reader is shorter and has longer hair (as this is catered to myself) otherwise no other physical descriptors.

✧ WC: 2.03k

Music and laughter were muffled by closed doors, a party raging in celebration of Valisblot among other things such as new hope, the ending of the cold season, and remembrance. While Khaenri'ah had no natural light of the sun, the people knew how to build a celebratory bonfire that shined just as bright. 

You hated celebrations. 

There was too much commotion, too many people. You never could quite focus on someone who was talking when there was background noise. It always had you feeling overwhelmed, which would lead to subconsciously tuning out conversations and staring off into space. Sometimes you wondered if people thought you were rude, especially when you would disappear after making your rounds. Maybe they didn't even notice, trying to get the attention of your father– the king. Either way, nobody said anything to you. 

Well, nobody except for your guard, Dainsleif. Then again, that was to be expected. Afterall, he was more than just your guard. He was your best friend, your most trusted confidant, and above all else he was the love of your life. It was why he was always quick to notice when you’d sneak away, coming to find you in the hall that overlooked the city as per usual. 

It was a shame really, that your relationship with him had always been tip toeing and hushed conversations late at night. Being the crown princess of the nation meant you were off limits. Had you been the second born, things would have been different. Instead of spending time with your possible suitors, you spent your time with Dainsleif. 

Surely, those close with both of you knew there was more than what was on the surface– take Halfdan for example. He teased the two of you constantly, even though you always brushed it off by telling him to not speak of such nonsense so openly. Your little brother, who was more interested in fighting than he was into romance, could sense it too. It would come as no surprise if your father also knew. 

“Calling it a night already?” The amusement in his tone brought a small smile to your lips as you stared out towards the villages, hearing cheer and joyous laughter from below.

You let out a sigh as he came up beside you, just barely brushing your shoulder with his own, “You know that I don't do well in group settings like this.”

He turned to look at you, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips while a certain sadness glinted in his eyes, “I'm well aware. However, a princess must gain the favor of her people and keep it when she ascends the throne.”

You frowned, the thought of your future souring your mood. With what was in store for you, the only place for him was within the guard. He wasn't someone you could openly have or hold, and you knew it wasn't fair to him to keep him by your side forever. What you had must end.

“I do not wish to take the throne,” You admitted, refusing to meet his eyes. “I'm weak when it comes to the art of the sword, I am not brave, and I am far from a socialite. Khaenri'ah deserves better than me at its head. It deserves a ruler who can confidently lead the knights into battle and who can soothe unrest as it arises.”

Dainsleif knew you were fairly reserved– not necessarily timid, just anxious about talking to those you didn't know– and it was true you weren't the best at swordsmanship, but he’d never seen a better archer. When push came to shove, you would be a great leader. You just needed a little faith in yourself.

“I'm going to abdicate the title of crown princess,” you decided at that moment, shocking not just him but yourself as well. “I was not made for this path. I was born into it, and continuing this way doesn't lead to a future where I am happy.”

You didn't give him a chance to ask you to  elaborate further, walking away from him without another word. He followed, quickly catching up and falling into step beside you. Dainsleif should’ve known you had something up your sleeve as he caught a glimpse of a devious smile– sighing as you took off running down the open corridor. 

He chased after you, just like he always did when you were in a playful mood. You always avoided emotional topics, evading them through childish antics. Making him chase you through the halls of the palace was nothing new, which is exactly why he should have seen it coming. 

Your soft laughter filled his ears as you came to a stop, pushing open the large wooden door that led to your quarters. You slipped inside, covering your hand with your mouth to muffle your giggles, heart racing from the adrenaline coursing through you. He wasn't too far behind, walking in just moments later. 

He shook his head, slowly approaching and pulling you in by your waist, “You can't run away from everything, elska mín, including your duties.”

“Foregoing my birthright is not me running from anything,” you assured him, reaching up to gently caress his cheek. “It's me choosing my own happiness over a life of misery.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes closing and soaking in your words. You would give up security, riches, and the throne for him? If you were running head first into the unknown instead of staying in a life where you weren't happy, then that made you braver than you even knew. However, a shred of guilt nagged at the back of his mind.

“I can't ask you to do that for me,” He muttered, slowly looking at you. “Not for me.”

You grinned, leaning up to press your lips against his, “I don't recall you ever asking.”

Dainsleif was unsure if you were actually convincing or if his own feelings and selfish desires overcame any apprehension he felt about your decision. Maybe your kiss also held a little power, reeling him in the rest of the way as if sealing a deal. He didn't hesitate to return your affection, moving his mouth against yours. 

He always seemed to melt into you, almost losing his inhibitions as soon as you touched him. You were intoxicating, all his worries about any trouble the two of you could get into if you two were caught faded away and were replaced with the sensation of lightheadedness and spinning. If he didn't know any better, he'd think you'd used some form of magic to drop his guard and have him forgetting that you were a princess and he was a knight. 

All too soon you pulled away, lightly biting down on your lip before stepping back. You held out your hand, waiting for him to take it before walking him over to the bed. 

He could remember the first time as if it were yesterday. He’d been apprehensive– seeing that only the king's bedchambers were completely private– not wanting anyone to walk by and get curious only to discover what you two were doing. It was one thing to fool around with your guard, but it was completely another for the princess to not remain pure until marriage. 

Now, it barely bothered him in that sense. Drawing the curtains on the canopy bed made it harder to see, and blowing out the candles made it nearly impossible. The only time that happened was if it wasn't late enough, as he hated not being able to see you. 

Despite all the walls he'd put up to keep you from weaseling your way into his heart, you'd had them crashing down to reveal a side of him that nobody got to see. The vulnerable side. The side that a knight couldn't show. Feelings lead to weakness, and if he showed his, it would lead his enemies straight to you. 

Instead of an ironclad grip on the hilt of his sword, his hands could finally be used for gentle touches. They way he lightly ran them over your waist before slowly undoing the strings of your corset– just as he was now– raising goosebumps on your arms and nearly causing a shiver to run down your spine. The mouth that directed orders now softly peppering your skin and lips with tender kisses. He showered you with love through his devotion, making up for the times he couldn't openly hold your hand or kiss your cheek. He always took his time, savoring every moment as if it could replace all the time lost between you two, hands gliding over your body to commit it to memory.  

Somehow, Dainsleif managed to leave you dizzy and weak in the knees just from a simple touch. Time would speed up yet simultaneously slow down, blurring everything together until he brought you back to reality with a delicate kiss. There were instances where you swore you could feel the warmth of a sun you never knew through him– comfort and safety with a single look. To him, you were the moon– elegant and a guiding light in the darkness. Both balancing each other yet fated to be kept apart. 

Perhaps that was why it was so easy to fall for him. 

You remembered a time where you thought you'd never be able to have him, and this very moment proved all those doubts wrong. It gave you the hope that one day, you could see the real sun and show it to him so he would know what he's provided for you. Because for you, there was nobody else and there never would be. 

There is nobody else you'd step down for. There is nobody else you'd completely give yourself to. There is nobody else that you would want to love you– no one who would in the same way he did. 

Even though it was a tightly kept secret, and all the possible consequences of being caught weighed down on your shoulders, it was worth the risk.

It was worth every time you lied with him, just like right now. Hiding away in the canopy bed, the low light barely allowed him to see your face while the two of you became one. It was worth every kiss, every roll of his hips, and every “I love you” that fell from his mouth. If absence made the heart grow fonder, it showed when the two of you were together. 

Getting tangled up in the sheets, forgetting the outside world as if you were the only two who existed. It was as freeing as it was enchanting– to be able to lose yourself in someone you loved. Both of you soaked in every chance you had, memorizing every detail of the other. Like the way your fingers dipped into the skin of his shoulders, how he nibbled on your bottom lip to keep from being too loud, or the way he showered you in kisses after the fact before resting his forehead against yours. 

After calming down and cleaning up, he'd pull you into him– one arm wrapped around you, another running a hand through the tresses of your hair all while you laid your head on his bare chest, tracing patterns into his skin. Comfortable silence fills the room, almost lulling you to sleep even though he'd have to make his exit soon. 

But, before he can even think about sitting up, you do. Turning to look at him, giving a playful pout that he already knows he can't say “no”, you say, “Stay with me tonight.”

“If I'm not at–”

You press a finger to his lips to keep him from talking, “We both know Halfdan will cover for you. Besides, a heathen’s holiday means even most of your subordinates will be hungover in the morning. I'm sure they'll think their missing captain was kind enough to let them recover for the day.” 

He could never deny you. The way his soft chuckle was free of concern as he drew you back into him filled you with excitement. He pressed a small kiss against your lips, “I'll make sure they give their thanks to you, prinsessa.”

TAGS: @dottores @dxlucs @no3tis @suyacho @mxnjiros @aroalbedo

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Blue Castle Book Club 2.0 - Chapter 1

I told myself I'd start the WIP Big Bang in June, and it is now June. So it's time to get Tamora Pierce's voice out of my head and bring Maud's back. And what better way to do that than to book club my way through the book a second time and bring you all with me?

Dunno if we'll go chapter by chapter this time, since a lot of the middle chapters are short and more interesting to talk about as a group than individually. But we'll play it by ear and see what the vibes are like.

So! Back to Deerwood we go!

We start out strong, with a delightful opening paragraph:

If it had not rained on a certain May morning Valancy Stirling’s whole life would have been entirely different. She would have gone, with the rest of her clan, to Aunt Wellington’s engagement picnic and Dr. Trent would have gone to Montreal. But it did rain and you shall hear what happened to her because of it.

Everyone quite rightly talks about the first sentence, but I like the second one even more, and the way it subtly misleads us by highlighting Dr. Trent. It makes it seem like he will be a primary character (perhaps even a love interest!) when in actuality he ends up being just a catalyst. A fun hint at the humor of this book.

We move into Valancy's room, and we are painted a picture of a place that is both ugly and static. Maud, of course, loves to draw connections between people and the places they inhabit, and what we are learning about Valancy through her room is bleak. Yes, it is ugly and yes none of it is hers, but even more than that everything is old and crumbling: the wallpaper is faded, the ceiling is cracked and discolored, the looking glass is cracked, the shell-covered box has a bust corner and the beaded pincushion has half its bead fringe gone. And yet none of these items are permitted the dignity of retirement. They are on display just as they always have been, and will be until they fully crumble to dust. They have not been cared for, so that they might age gracefully or be preserved longer, they have simply sat, unloved and untended, falling apart but forbidden from leaving even though no one wants them there.

A strong start to the embodied houses in this book.

We get a delightful turn of phrase with:

Nobody in the Stirling clan, or its ramifications

The Stirling clan is an Event, an Act of Nature more than simply a family. They Happen to you and you just have to deal with the fallout.

Our second embodied house is the Blue Castle itself, and it is beautiful and splendid and solidly fantastical. The Blue Castle is like that perfect novel you dream to yourself while going to bed, filled with sparkling dialog and emotional climaxes that hit with perfect devastation and none of the actual work needed to make those elements work in practice. The Blue Castle has no need for laundry or dusting or clothing made from actual fabrics. Its inhabitants are free to float gracefully down the staircase on an endless loop and parade before Valancy swooning gracefully at her beauty. It’s a daydream, written by someone who clearly knows her way around a good daydream and understands them from the inside. As the author states herself:

Things are very convenient in this respect in Blue Castles.

But today Valancy is twenty-nine and miserable and unmarried and daydreams can sustain her no longer. And, unless I’ve forgotten something, she never again finds the keys to her Blue Castle in the story. She talks about it, but I don’t believe she ever actually sets foot in the fantasy again. By the time she’s able to dream again, she’s escaped her Stirling life and doesn’t need airy fantasies to keep her going.

Valancy thinks of the canceled picnic and goes through the list of relatives she’s glad to not have to see, which is all of them. Put a pin in these descriptions, we’ll come back to them in a later chapter. This first round of descriptors makes them all seem rather formidable and dreadful, but Valancy duly does her best to think well of them even in the privacy of her own thoughts. She is in awe of Aunt Wellington, Aunt Alberta has an amiable habit, she dislikes but respects Uncle James. As I said, we’ll come back to these.

Meanwhile, we don’t have to go to the picnic! And so Valancy tentatively plans her day, including her great rebellion of perhaps going unattended to a doctor at the tender age of 29. As I said the first time I read this book, I can so deeply relate to Valancy’s desire to do things secretly because trying to tell anyone what she’s doing will turn it into a Whole Thing.

Colors mentioned:

Greying darkness

Red eyes

Yellow-painted floor

Dark-red paper

Brown-paper lambrequin

Yellow chair

Red brick box

Blue Castle

Blue loveliness

White urns

Golden curls

Heavenly blue eyes

Reddish, tawny hair

Not one single crimson or purple spot

Silver teaspoon

We're limiting ourselves to the css colors, so perhaps Valancy's life is slightly more vibrant than the screen gives it credit for being, but even still this is a limited color palette, especially compared to what we will see later. The only interesting color words are crimson, which is referring to something valancy lacks, and golden and tawny which are referring to someone fictional. Otherwise it's all just the standard names for colors with no nuance.

[bytedykes]

What is ORV actually about? I assumed that it was like... A modern psychological thriller with a bit of queerbait, but now I'm seeing your posts and reblogs tagged ORV that are all kinda surreal and fantasy type stuff, I feel like I saw the word isekai a couple times? So what is ORV actually?

ok i have been sitting on this ask for a few days bc i. have no idea where to even begin trying to explain what orv is about

here's a post by tumblr user ot3 that does a better job of explaining orv than i ever could. below the cut is MY attempt at an orv summary

"what is orv actually about?" this is a wonderful question. i don't know. i did nothing but read this novel for 2 weeks straight and i could not for the life of me tell you what orv is "about"

the thing about this book is that if you're reading it, it makes perfect sense. the events are linear. there is a bunch of mindfucky bullshit BUT it all happens in a relatively straightforward way. i understand orv perfectly. but at gunpoint, could i put the events in chronological order? no. pull the trigger

ok. orv is about a salaryman named kim dokja who has the most uninteresting boring life in the world. this is a lie. he does nothing but go to his job he's about to get fired from, eat convenience store kimbap, and read webnovels. he reads a specific webnovel (twsa) that has been updating daily for 13 years straight. he has been reading it since he was 15 through his entire adult life

twsa is about the apocalypse, starring protagonist yoo joonghyuk. the day kim dokja reads the last chapter and eagerly awaits the epilogue to be published the apocalypse happens. exactly like in the webnovel. now armed with a .txt file of twsa and his autism superpowers he navigates the apocalypse trying to reach his ideal ending

orv, for lack of better term, does not take itself very seriously at times. frequently, even. at least half of the major plot points are comprised of complete bullshit. every few chapters i had to put the book down and go "no fucking WAY is this actually happening" but it was! it was happening every time! its hysterical!

orv is also extremely meta. every time you think "ok it cannot possibly get more meta, this is it, this is the peak" ur wrong. u are wrong every single time until the very end of the epilogue. it can ALWAYS get more meta. orv is 100% the most meta thing i have read in my life

on top of all this, pretty much anything you can think of has happened in orv. "orv is a book about everything" while an exaggeration, this is true. it really fucking is. it has everything in it. you know that poem by shel silverstein, "everything on it"? that's what reading orv is like

it tackles many serious topics (such as: loneliness, the desperate desire to connect with other people combined with the inability to allow yourself to be loved, finding the things that push you to keep surviving) and many topics that are. not that (such as: "what if a dumpling had a face how would that work", "what if gay people were insane and not even friends", "what if a guy was so autistic his brain started eating people", "what if a monkey was actually 4 monkeys" and more such things. wouldnt that be fucked up)

orv definitely. yeah. surreal and fantasy type stuff is a very appropriate descriptor. a modern psychological thriller is... also appropriate i suppose. "a bit of queerbait" is NOT appropriate because orv is built on queerbait but not in the sense of it being baiting. in the sense of it being canon but unsaid. like its not canon. but it is. its canon and it is constant. there is an archangel that ships said queerbait she is a proud yaoi supporter. this is a real thing i am not making up

on top of that insane queerbait. there is insane polycule bait as well. like i need you to understand that while its not "canon" in the traditional sense of the word it IS real and it IS on screen and it IS as explicit as it could actually be without it actually being, you know, explicit. it literally makes me feel insane

ISEKAI. RIGHT. im not really familiar with isekai as a genre so take this paragraph with a grain of salt but orv is more of a reverse isekai? the fantasy world comes TO the "real" world. however there are in fact multiple isekais-within-the-isekai later on. multiple types of them even

anyway orv is also heavily based on the theme of stories and like. god i hope you've read ot3's post because im sure they explained it better. its a very theme-heavy piece of media where the rules of the world aren't based on logic but based on how they can further the themes. its very intricately constructed and like

it will blow your mind. god. i dont even know what im saying anymore. its good is my point it is so fucking good. orv changed me. it is a very hopeful piece of media and i am sure that rereading it will devastate me even harder than it did the first time

TLDR: orv is an insane long book about literally everything and at least half of those things are complete bullshit but are incredibly integral to the plot. somehow. it is very worth reading and will change ur life forever

[rosewoodconch]

RWCH Readathon 2024: Day 2

Undercover Princess - Chapter 5

So I really don't like this chapter. Like it might be my least favourite in all the books.

But we're going to try to be positive!

"Chaos and anarchy in human form" is a fun descriptor

80's teen heart throb made me blush at 14, I think its a really good descriptor of her aesthetic

I really like Ellie's attitude for most of the chapter, even if she does take it too far. I think it shows that reputation we heard about, her sneaking out to concerts and having arguments

The bi panic is so relatable and i love lottie for that.

Now, the argument

its stupid

its so stupid

ellie is so genuinely impressed with lotties side of the room

and lottie is just... horrible

I get that ellie isnt her perfect dream roommate, but cmon Lottie youre not that stupid to expect everyone to revolve around you

maybe she would benefit from a touch more anxiety in this scene (/lh)

Also it's meant to be like what mid 2010s? CDs are cool at that point. they still are cool. god just because someone hasnt unpacked immedaitely doesnt mean theyre lazy

alternatively, I dont mind Lottie getting angry and upset about mr truffles. that is so incredibly valid and Ellie had taken it to far so yeah i completely get being really upset and having her whole "I'm not a rich kid so i cant just magically fix everything" moment

However, I always see people only critisicing Ellie. so im here to change that too.

Lottie was being so rude and harsh and I genuinely get really angry every time i read it.

Like this girl has been there maybe 30 minutes, she was tired and passed out napping

gets woken up rudely by her roommate who seems to think the world must fit her perfect expectations, while Ellie is sleep deprived and grumpy

she tries to be so polite by introducing herself, if with a little sarcasm, but is genuinely impressed and compliments Lottie.

THEN Lottie starts being all rude and condescening and Its not like tha fairies are going to do it

I think if my roommate or anyone really said that to me I would react so much worse than Ellie did. so yes. shes wrong for what she did to mr truffles. completely.

But oh my god Lottie get a tiny grip please im begging

then they magically make up

im tired

the book so far is amazing and i dont know if its just my own experiences making me absolutely hate this scene but their first meeting couldve been written so so so much better imo

I'm gonna stop now or I'll rant for forever.

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Stargazer Lily

Words: 1,699

God of Storms AU: Lily

Characters: Hatake Kakashi & Hatake Sakumo

Note: thank you to @mushroombitchboy for giving this a quick read through and pointing out a horrid word placement mistake XD

Sakumo was in the midst of planting his latest creation in the garden just outside of his temple when he heard his daughter’s footsteps behind him.

Light as air, her feet barely touched the ground but gave off just enough sound to alert him to her presence. A calculated move he'd begun making after accidentally sneaking up on the other gods one too many times.

“One second,” he whispered as his hand cradled the flower's delicate petals. “Just need to make sure- yes!” 

It was perfect. The flower sat straight and true, displaying its beauty to the world without hesitation.

“Gorgeous,” his daughter spoke, but her voice sounded different from what he was used to. A little bit deeper, and with a bit more happiness than he was used to hearing from her. “Did you just create it?” 

“I just finished it,” he confirmed. “The process took a bit longer than usual, but I wanted it to come out perfect and, well-” Turning around, he opened his arms to greet his daughter with a hug, only to stop when his eyes landed on her.

Where she’d once had long, flowing silver hair hanging down below her hips, there was now short spiky hair that pointed up in every direction. Rather than greeting him with that blinding, toothy smile of hers, she said a silent ‘hello’ with a smile that was covered by a cloth mask. It was a smile that still reached all the way up into her eyes and forced them shut, her face glowing with pride in a way Sakumo had never seen before. 

Her whole attitude was different. 

Her facial features were perfectly covered by the mask, but her auro was full of a confidence she’d never been known to hold herself with before. 

“You look-” “Strange?” her back straightened, confidence disappearing from her eyes when she glanced away from him, but shining even brighter than before when she called up the courage to meet his gaze once again. 

“Handsome,” dropping his arms down to his side, he tilted his head. “Where did this come from? Last I checked my d-” Stopping himself, he forced himself to take one more careful look at her. 

‘Daughter’ didn’t seem to be the correct descriptor anymore. For the first time since he’d held them in his arms, he knew he wasn’t looking at his precious little girl. She was gone, and someone new stood in front of him.

Someone wonderful.

“My child,” he finished, his heart blooming with a comfortable warmth when their eyes lit up with excitement. “What changed?”

“Not much, really,” they shrugged their shoulders and leaned a little to the left to get a better look at the flower he’d just been admiring. “I just sort of realized something about myself.”

“And what was that ‘something’?” taking a step to the side, he watched as their eyes darted up toward him. For a moment they watched him, examining his face before forcing their attention back onto the flower. 

Reaching out, they grazed their fingers against the flower’s petals. “Just that I- well,” tucking their bottom lip in under their top teeth, they sighed. “What would you think if you-if I…”

“If my daughter wasn’t my daughter?” Sakumo finished for them, a gentle laugh dancing on his lips. “I don’t think that would matter, really. You’re…” he stopped himself before he could say their name, wondering if it was even the name that they wanted to go by anymore.

“Kakashi,” they whispered, the name lingering in the air between them as Sakumo went over it in his mind. “It’s the name I use when I’m…you know.”

“When you’re with him?” A shy nod serves as an answer to his question. “I see. How long have you been using it?”

“A year, maybe two,” they whispered. “Maybe something like twenty.”

Twenty years. Sakumo couldn’t help but laugh at himself when he’d heard that.

For Twenty years his child had been introducing themselves as someone else to others. Presented themselves as someone completely different from who they had been born as, and never once told Sakumo about it. 

“Where did I go wrong?��� he asked a deep sadness weighing on his heart as he thought about all of the time he’d lost with the child he was supposed to love. 

“Nowhere,” they whispered. “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“I should have been the first one you told,” he whispered. “Or at least, the first one you were comfortable with telling.”

“I didn’t tell him either,” they admitted, finally dragging their eyes away from the flower and looking back at him with such deep sadness in their eyes that Sakumo felt his heart breaking. “I just sort of showed up as ‘Kakashi’ and went from there.”

“So he doesn’t know?”

“No one does,” they confirmed. “Except you, now. So, You kind of are the first one I’ve told. It just took me a while to gather up the courage to do it.”

“Twenty years,” Sakumo repeated with a heavy heart. It was such a short amount of time in the grand scheme of things, but it was still too long. Years that he could have spent referring to his child by the correct name, and loving them for who they truly are, were wasted away. 

“Father,” Kakashi called out, a tender smile on their face when he dared to lift his eyes off of the ground. “I’m telling you now.”

“But-”

“Twenty years is gone,” they reminded him. “There’s still a few thousand ahead of us. Why don’t we focus on that time instead?”

Thinking about it, Sakumo sighed. “On one condition.”

“And that is?”

Motioning for them to face him, Sakumo waited until they turned their full attention to him. “Introduce yourself.”

“Introduce myself?” they raised an eyebrow. “To my own father?”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes up toward the sky. “Reintroduce yourself.”

“I-”

“Hello,” holding out a hand, he grinned when Kakashi looked down at it with a bewildered expression. “I’m Sakumo, your father.”

Standing there in front of him, Kakashi stared at his hand for what felt like an eternity before finally reaching out to grasp it in a firm, confident hold. “Hello,” he repeated, his eyes sparkling with joy as he stared back at him once again. “I’m Kakashi, your son.”

There were many times in his life when Sakumo had felt proud of his sons: The first time Obito molded a mortal soul into a star and placed it into the sky, or the moment when Kakashi’s rains first filled the skies and brought life to the withering plants all over the world. Now, standing in front of his son watching as a spark of excitement and joy twinkled in his eyes, he felt the warmth of a father’s pride once more as he watched his son step out of the shell that he’d been hidden in for all of his life. 

“Ah,” an idea came to him suddenly. “Let’s celebrate!”

“Celebrate?”

“Yes!” Grabbing his son’s shoulders, he turned him back toward the flower he’d just finished creating and pointed at it. “Your first act as ‘Kakashi, God of Storms’ should be memorable. Something that will be whispered among mortals in a hundred years or so. Naming the flower I’ve just created is the perfect start.”

“You want me,” he pointed at himself, confusion tugging his eyebrows toward the center of his forehead. “To name the flower that you made?”

“I can’t think of anyone better to do it,” he grinned. “Obito would probably call it something silly. He’s amazing at creating things, but naming them…well, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him after he decided to name that flower he made for Rin ’pickerelweed ‘“ No matter how much his younger son tried to convince him that it was a good name, he refused to agree. Even Jiraiya had better names for the things he created, and he was the man who’d give one of his creations the name ‘Tanuki’. 

“Well,” examining the flower, Kakashi tilted his head. “How about, the stargazer?”

“Stargazer?” Sakumo couldn’t help but laugh. “Have you been spending too much time with your brother again?”

“Probably, but that’s not the point,” cupping the flower in his hand, he smiled down at it. “It’s pointed toward the sky, even now when it’s nighttime. It’s like it’s looking at the stars.”

Weighing the name in his mind, Sakumo chuckled. “Well, it does sound like a good name, and I have no doubt Obito will like it too,” in fact, he was certain that as soon as he heard the name Obito would try to claim the flower as his own. Unfortunately for him, this one already belonged to someone. “A perfect flower for a perfect son, don’t you think?”

Kakashi’s head whipped around, his eyes wide as he stared at Sakumo. “P-perfect?”

“Of course!” laying a hand on his son’s shoulder, he smiled so wide that his face actually hurt a little from the way his lips stretched all the way up into his cheeks. “My gift to you, to celebrate.”

Today wasn’t supposed to be a day of celebration. He hadn’t planned to create a flower to commemorate such an important milestone in his son’s life, but there was only one God who could see the future, and it wasn’t Sakumo. 

So, when the future came barreling toward him and introduced him to his son, whom he’d been calling by the wrong name for years, he simply rolled with it. 

“A Stargazer lily,” the flower opened a little wider as if greeting them when it heard him call its name. “A gift for you, to celebrate today.”

Kakashi simply shook his head. “You are such a dork.”

“Ah, true,” moving his hand off of his son’s shoulder, he reached up into his hair and rumpled his hair. “But I’m your dad, so you’re stuck with it.”

Kakashi’s smile only grew wider when he heard that, and for once instead of complaining about his hair being ‘ruined’, he leaned into the touch. A silent offer to let his father continue messing up his hair, which Sakumo happily accepted.

[saltycharacters]

Watched Nimona recently and although it was a fairly enjoyable film and I would still recommend a watch. I got a bunch of thoughts about its ending and themes and how despite it trying to build itself up as this cool queer anticop story it fails to stick the landing and instead suffers from Treasure Planet syndrome. I've decided to ramble it out under the keep reading link so spoilers for Nimona starts there

So this movie is built upon a "knight system" which is established to be an obvious cop parallel, where the knights are essentially the police of this world. The allegory doesn't stop at the job description however, as the movie takes a bold move and introduces this system as very corrupt early on; from the main character being framed by a high-ranking, police-adjacent authority, to revealing that the entire system was built on false hatred and intolerance, to Nimona outright stating that it doesn't end at the true perpetrator, but that "the WHOLE system is corrupt". Time and time again we are given proof of how the knights, whether purposefully or not, hurt, indoctrinate, and brainwash the innocent. This is a great message, and they did an excellent job of carrying it throughout the runtime until doing a sudden 180 at the end. Not only do we see the cop system still in place, with knights in universe portrayed clearly on screen, but they're painted as good with a member playing soccer with a child. They tried to reject corruption by denouncing their founder, yet they still intend to perpetuate the job built to maintain her ideals from the ground up.

Despite attempting to dive into more meaningful territory with a daring dive into a serious modern problem, the ending they gave us was palatable and conveniently perfect in a way that satisfies everyone on a shallow level, which only works with a message that's equally shallow and inoffensive. This sort of trying to have cake and eat it too conclusion is what I refer to when saying Treasure Planet syndrome, as watching the movie gave me deja vu for the same faults- because, while Treasure Planet attempts to weave a unique and subversive narrative that touches upon deeper subjects which would lead up to an unconventional yet impactful end, what they finished with was jarringly standard hogwash where they attempted to tie lose ends in a conventionally pretty, corporate-ceo approved bow. For example, one of if not the main plot of the movie was Jim Hawkins addressing his trauma regarding an absent father that abandoned him and his mom at an early age, finding a better father figure in John Silver and gradually healing from his past with a better role model. Yet at the end, the cycle repeats itself as John ends up leaving (just like Jim's father) with narry a negative emotion from Jim. Jim then goes to cop academy where, despite his journey being about rejecting societal expectations and gaining self-improvement and growth through his own means, he becomes an A-Plus goody-two shoes cop loving poster boy in no time. The syndrome also hits particularly hard with Captain Amelia and Doctor Doppler, where despite their relationship being a man and woman, it still openly rejects heteronormativity with natural romantic progression (no love at first site bullshit) that involves Amelia being way more masculine and competent than Doppler and him being the well meaning yet gullible scientist. Even the way they flirt is subversive, with Amelia calling Doppler's eyes beautiful (a traditionally feminine descriptor) rather than the instigation being made by the man. Yet at the end, heteronormativity hits as Doppler is shown suddenly more assertive and masculine as he dips Amelia in a dance, not to mention their children fall into the trop of the girls looking exactly like the mother and the boy looking exactly like the father (Also. they put a bunch of makeup on the baby girls????). In short, Treasure Planet Syndrome is writing a subversive plot/story that ends abruptly in a palatable perfect way that sacrifices both natural progression and its messages in an effort to create a more appealing happy end. A movie that I think actually LANDED its subversive storyline was Strange World, where it successfully carried through with it's deeper narrative and provided a slightly uncomfortable yet incredibly understandable and meaningful ending.

One last thing before I stop my ramble- the queer rep in Nimona is pretty bad. I mean don't get me wrong, the main character (who is canonically mlm) is fine and I'm always happy to see upfront representation in my media, but the man he was saddle with as his boyfriend treats him terribly throughout most of the movie, to the point where I was genuinely shocked seeing them together at the end. His boyfriend is this nepotism golden child who's beloved by everyone and so neck deep in the corrupt system that he: slices off the mc's arm (just says a vague sorry later), spends most of the movie refusing to trust or believe him, spends most of the movie trying to hunt him down and arrest him, easily succumbs to peer pressure when it comes down to hurting him, prefers to stay loyal to the system rather than his bf, barely questions the situation, and refuses to listen to his bf provide him with explanations or answers. Even the MC recognizes how much he hurt him, because he ends up outright BREAKING UP WITH HIM and begging him to leave him alone, only to get back with him at the end like nothing ever happened. I want a happy ending for canon queer couples as much as the next guy, but if they wanted a happy end, why did the write the love interest to be so awful? They could've made him question the motives of his superiors and the entire situation more, he could've gone out of his way to seek out an explanation before forming his own conclusion, he could've made more attempts to break the rules for harm reduction, to try and understand what happened, hell to try and TALK to the MC- it's really baffling how they tried to paint this as true love when what should've happened is the MC getting a better spouse. I see this as an extension of Treasure Planet syndrome and trying to have and eat cake at the same time mentality, to say I wasn't surprised when I discovered this movie was written by the people behind modern She-Ra would be an understatement.

[anthrofreshtodeath]

Crossover Angst

Find previous rizzles/bones crossover work here.

—

When Booth hops out of the Sequioia and opens Brennan’s door, it’s already kinda late. He’s an in-bed-early, wake-up-even-earlier sort of guy, and this Boston team… They burn the candle at both ends. All ends. Hell, they even strike a match under the middle. He’s tired, and he’s hungry, and he needs a couple hours away from the mania to talk things over with his partner. 

Who just so happens to be the woman he’s madly in love with. Christ.

“What is this place?” Brennan asks, rousing him out of his exhausted musing. They amble toward a little storefront on Prince Street, which has seen its tourists exit for the day, leaving locals to patronize the restaurants, the butcher shops, the bakeries, during their last few hours of operation. Angelina’s. 

“Little Italian joint, Bones,” says Booth, pulling open the door. The heavy, wooden frame squeals as it swings out, and he licks his lips in some relief. “Hear that? Means the food’s gonna be good.”

Brennan is only inches ahead of him, and she turns with a little disbelief. “The squeaky door?” she chuckles, “how could that possibly relate to the quality of food?”

“Don’t know how to explain it; don’t need to,” he tells her. “There’s mostly Sicilian fare but apparently they’ve got a puttanesca that rivals your own.”

“Your favorite,” Brennan chides. “The whore sauce.”

“The whore sauce,” Booth affirms. “But it comes from my neck of the woods, from Rome. So hey, can’t go wrong, right? Anyway, Rizzoli said they had some good vegetarian options.”

“Ah, Jane recommended it,” Brennan draws out. She takes off her trench coat and hangs it over the back of an old wooden chair when the waiter pointed them toward a table toward the windowfront. “That’s why we’re here.”

Booth knots his eyebrows together. He’s good at reading Brennan, probably better than anyone else, but he’s stumped here. That jumble of words usually signals jealousy, especially in girls - women - but Bones looks pleased. Humored. “That a problem?” he asks, searching for more. He needs more.

“Not at all,” Brennan answers. She does this thing where she shrugs and scoots her chair in at the same time, but the movements are fluid. There is no waste, no excess in the motion of her body. This enthralls him; it always had, though he hadn’t realized it until his love for her crashed down on him in a particularly painful, sweet revelation. Smitten had felt like an apt descriptor, but when Jane told him about the Sicilian thunderbolt, that punch of lightning, that felt perfect. And painful. It’s painful to watch her move, but also exhilarating, like he’s just stuck a fork in a socket. “You respect her.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. She’s good people,” Booth says. He takes the menu given to him by the waiter, and nods toward the middle of the page, where all the red wines are named. “Give us a bottle of the Sangiovese, huh? You’re gonna love this one,” he tells Brennan when the waiter nods and turns their wine glasses right side up before going back for the wine. “It’s bold. Real hearty, velvety Italian flavor.”

“Sounds like we’re still talking about Jane,” Brennan teases. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him, and she offers him one of her signature, garish winks. 

Booth turns dour. He crosses his arms, his crisp white shirt rolled up just under his elbows on either side. “What?” he demands.

Brennan registers the change in mood, and he thinks about lightening up because he can tell she doesn’t know what she’s said, what she’s done, but dammit if he isn’t tired of the games. “Well, I… I wasn’t being very serious, Booth.”

“You weren’t, huh?” He prods.

“No, but, what would be the issue if I were? She’s attractive, you’re attractive, and you’re both single. You seem to suit each other. At least, superficially,” Brennan reasons aloud. She leans forward, puts her elbows on the tablecloth. She believes she’s making sense.

And maybe, in any other world, she would be. Maybe, in another world where she and Booth are just partners, just coworkers who collaborate to bring murderers to justice, just colleagues who sometimes grab after-work drinks, this argument would make sense. Rizzoli is… well, Rizzoli looks like a supermodel and she drinks some of his old army buddies under the table. She’s loud and to the point and kind of grumpy, but he can be, too. He thinks back to that early morning last week, when they’d held hands in mass while the priest ushered them through Eucharistic prayer. After all night at the scene of the first fresh crime they’d encountered in their time together, blood and brain matter and torn flesh seared in their consciousness, they’d agreed together that only the blood of Christ would wash it all away. So they’d dropped their scientists at their respective abodes and trudged into St. Joseph’s just after sunrise. And they’d touched because they needed the intimacy, the spirituality, without all the goddamn battle. 

Rizzoli’s perfect on paper. 

There’s just, y’know, the problem of both of them being in love with someone else. That thought, of yet another opportunity crushed under the weight of Bones’ magnetism, under the way she expands so as to push anything else out of the room, leaving nothing but the two of them and his annoying heart, angers Booth. He turns his eyes toward the flow of wine out of the bottle and into their glasses. He concentrates only on that so that he can speak without raising his voice. “Why you gotta do that? Why- why you gotta try to hook me up with people?”

“Booth, I was just-”

“No! No,” He shudders when he hears his volume the first time, like he’s gunshy of himself. He quiets down, a fist going into his hand when he props his elbows up on the table like she had. “You… I laid my heart out for ya, Bones. I told you I was in love with you. And god help me, I think you feel the same way. But for whatever reason, you didn’t… you can’t go there with me. And I’m tryin’ to be respectful of that. But this? Tryin’ to get me to go out with other people when you know I’m not even thinkin’ about anyone else right now is…”

“Alright, alright,” Brennan puts up her hand just so he’ll stop. “I… I won’t. I won’t anymore. I just… I care about you, Booth,” she confesses, her blue eyes screwed up and watery like she’s in pain, like she has any right to be in pain when she’s done all the pushing. “You deserve to be happy.”

“That doesn’t sound like you stoppin’,” he grumbles.

“I can’t give you what you want. I… don’t know how to be what you need,” Brennan whispers. She cries openly now, and Booth waves the waiter away as a kindness. 

But he still seethes. “Easy, Bones. Just be you,” he says, low and full of spite. 

“But it’s not that easy. Of course it’s not that easy. I’ve been me with you for years now and I still… I’m still…”

“Afraid?” He mocks, and when she nods because it doesn’t register with her, because she doesn't see the way he has intended to hurt her. “I just… I don’t get it. Help me understand, here, Bones, because you don’t seem to have trouble bein’ what other guys need. Jerks like Stires, Wexler, oh and god, Mark. Remember Mark?”

“I don’t appreciate-” Brennan’s face drops, she sniffles, and her brow furrows, but Booth pushes right through.

“So it’s me, right? Because you have no problem giving them the time of day, and I’m right here. I’m right here and I’m better. So it must just be that I don’t do it for you. I’m not enough of an asshole,” He is quiet and severe, leaning in to make his point.

She looks toward her glass of wine, thinks about throwing it in his face. And Booth knows he’d deserve it. But the bell over the door rings, and whatever, whoever Brennan sees, makes her put her hand down. “I’m leaving. This isn’t the time, or the place. If you want to have a discussion about this like an adult, give me a call.” She rises, snatches her coat from her chair, and glares at him for good measure.

“Oh? And where’re you goin’, huh?” Booth demands.

She aims to hurt him because she puts her face in his. She only does that when she spits fire. “I’m going to Jane’s. She invited me over to watch the game.”

“Oh yeah? Do you even know which game?!” Booth calls when she starts to walk away. He guesses that Jane’s invite was probably for the C’s game, which is currently just underway, and he guesses that Bones had originally turned it down. 

“Doesn’t matter!” She shouts back. She’s right. Really doesn’t matter.

___

“Hmm,” Maura holds Jane’s face as they kiss, soft and sweet in the low candlelight illuminating Jane’s small bedroom. Jane is on top of her, they’re under the covers naked, and god it feels good. Like eating cake with your hands or pouring a second glass of rosé when you said you’d just have one. “Hey.”

Jane groans because talking breaks the kiss open. She writhes closer, deepens the post-coital, sweaty embrace between them in hopes that she can erase all language. 

Maura must deny her. She offers Jane one last kiss, but then she tilts her head so Jane’s lips shift to her chin, across her jaw, down her neck. “Hey, hey…” she tries again. “I saw you stuffing down that Powerbar on the way back from Amherst this morning. Was that the last thing you ate?”

At the mention of the Powerbar, Jane’s stomach grumbles on Maura’s own. “What’s it to you?” Jane snarks. There is no bite in it, or rather, no power, because Jane currently bites on the mark she’s already left on Maura’s collarbone. 

Maura hates that she doesn’t hate it. That she won’t hate walking in public with it on, she won’t hate people seeing it and wondering. Or knowing that it was Jane. “That was almost twelve hours ago. Let me feed you.”

“You already did,” Jane snarks, teeth still out and nipping.

“Jane,” Maura warns. “I’ll go to Angelina’s. Pick something up and bring it back. Eat with me?”

“Angelina’s, huh?” asks Jane, rolling over onto her back so that her shoulder touches Maura’s. Maura kisses it. “Sounds good. I told Booth about it a few days ago. Thought it might be a good place for him to take Doctor B.”

Maura stops mid-smooch, lips pursed and frozen against Jane’s still-warm skin. “And how are things between you and Doctor Brennan?” she finally asks when she regains her thoughts. 

“Uh, normal? Things have been a lot less heated,” Jane says. “Uh, well, maybe that’s not the right word. Things are a lot less acrimonious.”

“But still heated?” Maura prods.

Jane chuckles. “Hey, don’t put words in my mouth when I specifically took ‘em out. But I mean, I’m tryin’, honey. I really am. I invited her over to watch the Celtics and Lakers tonight. Teach her the rules of basketball so she, I dunno, can make it a whole game without embarrassing Booth.”

“And she said no?” Maura turns her head at the exact moment Jane turns hers, and they gaze into each other’s eyes. Jane won’t be able to turn away. 

“She said no,” Jane affirmed. “But at least she knows I am attempting friendliness after last week.”

Maura pauses for a long time. Then she inches forward to kiss Jane. She injects it with lust, with luscious and wet intent as she rows their swollen, dusky lips together. “Jane?”

“Yeah?” Jane sighs.

“Don’t fuck that woman,” Maura threatens.

Jane smirks, and immediately Maura knows she’s shown Jane a weakness. But there’s no way she can take it back. She hardly cares about her exposed desperation. “Which one?” asks Jane. “Abby in payroll? She’s been wanting me to ask her out for years,” she teases. And god, she’s right. Abby wants Jane, pines for Jane even now. Even if Jane is full of shit. Maura frowns. Jane laughs, then quiets. “Or the Chief Medical Examiner? I heard she’s a real ice queen but I think she likes me.”

Maura softens at that, and shakes her head. This time, it’s her teeth that sink into Jane. Both soft and hard, and into Jane’s shoulder. “Don’t. Fuck. Her.” she reiterates.

There is no room for discussion.

“You got it,” Jane kisses Maura’s forehead with kindness when Maura latches onto her with possession. “You really gonna go get food? Because I could go for that Brasat’.”

“Beef, hmm? You’re quite hungry,” Maura muses, but she does sit up and look for the jeans she put on to come here.

“I just burned an NBA game’s worth of calories!” Jane answers back, But she blushes when Maura looks back from over her shoulder and smirks. They lock eyes, and certainly, the same scene, where Jane grips the corner of the bed while she drives into Maura from on top, crying out when Maura scratches long red lines down her back, runs through both their minds. “But I don’t have to tell you that.”

“I am going to get food, yes. I’ll even get an appetizer for us to share. But you have to get up now,” Maura orders. She stands, her pants on, and she shuffles around until she finds her bra. After that’s on, she shrugs her blouse over her shoulders. Jane continues to lay, and her eyes flutter shut. “I mean it, Jane. I’m not ordering all that food just for you to be too sleepy to eat. Get up. Get dressed. Turn on the game - find a way to stay awake.” Maura says. Then she throws a decorative pillow in Jane’s face.

“Ouch, fuck! Alright, alright, I’m gettin’ up,” grouses Jane.

She does indeed sit, and Maura rewards her with a kiss to the lips. “Good. I’ll be back. Set the table.”

“Yup,” says Jane.

Maura slips on her sandals, and lingers in the bedroom doorway. She doesn’t say anything, but catches Jane’s eye one more time and nods. Then she leaves.

Her car is close; Jane had given up her parking spot for Maura and put the unmarked around the corner. Maura had hidden the giddy, bubbly smile the gesture inspired and opened her legs instead. 

She really, really needs to stop doing that. At least, long enough to give her some time to think. Cases like this were always hard, and up until now, Maura had medicated by sliding Jane into place on top of her and blanching her brain. Well, now appears to be more of the same, but then, they’d been married, and it had been… allowed.

She trots down the stairs and out the side exit of the building, straight into the parking area. She gets in her car, turns on the engine, and sighs. They’re grown adults. They can sleep with whomever they please, including each other. But something about all of this feels forbidden, and Maura wonders if that’s why she likes it. That’s the part that she needs to slow down on. The part she needs to figure out. The part that feels like using, as she’d confessed to Jane some nights ago. 

Angelina’s is not far from Jane’s place, maybe a ten, fifteen minute drive, so Maura calls in her order before she pulls out of her spot. Maura also contemplates all these things as she maneuvers there, and mourns the Maura who had put down some of the best boundaries of her life at the start of her divorce. Where is that Maura? When she pulls up to the neighborhood, Jane’s old neighborhood, she finds a spot on Hanover Street and makes the short trek over to the storefront, resolving to worry about boundaries after she gets food into Jane’s belly. 

When she pulls open the old wooden door and steps inside the entryway, her sandals scrape against the mosaic-style tile until she stops where she stands. “D… Doctor Brennan?” she sputters when the woman herself stands up from her table. Brennan says something to Booth, Maura can tell him by his shoulders, hulking and sad. And then, Brennan makes her way to the door. Toward Maura. 

She’s angry. Maura reads the microexpressions and stands aside, while offering a half-smile and a look in that direction. No eye contact, that would make the both of them too uncomfortable. “Doctor Isles,” Brennan says, just before she pushes toward the door. “Have a great night.”

“Are you-? Where-?” Maura is still shocked to see the both of them here, she feels as though she should say more, that they should have a perfunctory conversation at least; her Brahmin upbringing vibrates within her. But Brennan is already gone. 

The door swings and rattles in its frame and there are a few head turns from other patrons, but that settles quickly enough as Brennan’s form retreats into the North End evening. Maura walks up to the counter, hands over her card, and in less than a minute or two, both it and her boxes of food are brought out to her, tied up nicely in a plastic bag. 

She is about to leave, to abandon the awkward situation she just messily dove into, until she turns and sees Booth’s face - well, she should revise. She doesn’t see his face, because it’s in his large hands, the heels of which press into his cheeks. She shakes her head, and then she crosses the few short feet to get to him. “Sangiovese is one of my favorites,” Maura tells him. He jolts, just a bit, and squints when he looks at her. 

“Doctor Isles, hey, how are ya,” He says. There is no conviction in it. 

“I’m just fine,” she starts. Then, she puts her bag of food on the table. “I’m picking up dinner for my ex-wife when I know I should not be. I’m very confused. All the time.”

He chuckles once, bitterly. “Yeah? Me too. Join the party,” he says. Then, he shrugs, like the assholishness is something he can remove like a coat. “I’m sorry, y’know. That you and Rizzoli are such a mess.”

“I’m sorry you’re going through your own mess,” Maura nods toward the door. “Is she alright?”

Booth sighs, and leans back into his chair, his glossy eyes toward the ceiling. “I don’t think so. I think I made the mess. And right now she’s, agh. Well, apparently she’s over to your guys’ place to catch…” he slides his watch around, “well, I’m assuming Celtics/Lakers.”

“She’s… she’s going to Jane’s?” Maura asks. Her head pounds, and she squeezes her hands together. She sucks her teeth.

And Booth, of course he reads that. He quirks a brow. “You didn’t know?”

“I thought she said no,” Maura’s acrimony leaks through the veneer, but she pulls it back as soon as it trickles forward. “You didn’t even get to eat?”

Booth chuckles. “No, no we didn’t.”

Maura pats the top of her bag. “Well, let’s eat this, shall we? It’s warm. We shouldn’t let it go to waste.”

Booth leans forward, rubs his hands together. “What about Jane?”

“She ate,” Maura snaps, pink suffusing her cheeks. Vengeance is a dish best not served at all. Her own words ring hollow and mocking in her head - do not fuck that woman. “And if she gets hungry enough she can have some cereal. We’re here, we should enjoy the cuisine while it’s fresh.”

“You know what I really wanna do?” says Booth. He downs the rest of the glass of wine in front of him. “I wanna go over to that bar next door. Screw the food.”

Maura hangs her head and she laughs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Booth. Now that he thinks about it, he’s sure of it. He drops enough cash on the table to cover the bottle of wine and then some, and then he stands up and shrugs his blazer on. “They’re havin’ their fun, why don’t we?”

“Ok,” replies Maura. She stands, too, and smirks when she sees her package on the table. “Screw the food. They have a scrumptious Amarone that I think you’ll like.”

“I will, huh?” asks Booth, holding open the door as they step into the cool spring air. He holds out his elbow and she takes it, even though the walk isn’t long.

“If you’re like me and the Sangiovese is also one of your favorites, yes,” Maura tells him. She gets the door of the next establishment, and she ushers him in with a hand to the small of his back, like Jane is moving through her. 

He is surprised by it, but his smile is warm. Not bitter like it had been when she first saw him in Angelina’s. “Well you got me there, it is.”

They take their place at the bar, just a few other drinkers along its edge, and Booth insists that Maura order for them. She does, and he compliments her taste in reds. The dance floor is old, the lights swooping over it reminiscent of a high school dance, but he wags his brows when the music shifts. “Ole Blue Eyes,” he says when Frank Sinatra begins to croon. “My favorite.”

Maura sips the exceptional drink in her glass before setting it down. She pulls her lips back and stares at the napkin under her fingers. “Jane is partial to Dean Martin.”

“Well, can’t go wrong with the Rat Pack,” Booth says. “Hey, did you uh, did you tell her where you were? Tell her you weren’t comin’ back with her food?”

Maura’s face crumples when she shakes her head. She hides from him, and then she lifts her face up so that her tears don’t ruin what little makeup she has on.

Booth shuffles on his feet. Shit. “Uh, hey, Maura, hey. C’mon. You, you wanna go dance? No talkin’. We can just move a little.”

She looks up, and he looks down, and she can tell he has surprised the both of them with his offer. But, what the hell. She takes her drink, then he takes his, and she leads them over to the floor. They are by far the youngest couple currently dancing, the rest of the people their age at various tables, and they aren’t even a couple. They shouldn’t dance.

But Booth stands there, wide angles, gallant masculinity, open arms, and Maura folds into him. She puts her head on his shoulder and the hand he’s not using to hold his wine at his side goes between her own shoulder blades. Nice. Easy. Safe. He sways her, and she is content to be swayed by him - no expectations or rules.

It is the most comfortable she’s felt with a man wrapped around her - when he is devastated by his love for someone else. When her love for someone else keeps her heart far away from his. “I’m sorry,” she tells him. 

“Hey no,” he assures her. “Tell me what you’re thinkin’.” Frankie sings and he holds her close, and fuck. This may be the saddest he’s ever been. He prays she doesn’t ask him the same question.

“I’m thinking that I’m here with the wrong Italian, Seeley,” Maura whispers, turning so that it bounces on the cavern of his chest. “You are so unbelievably kind. But wrong. But I can’t stop hurting her.”

“You know, I was just thinkin’ the same thing,” he says. She’s unburdened him with that confession. So hell, maybe, even though it feels like digging a hot poker into his belly, he should just confess, too. “I was thinkin’ that I’m here with the wrong scientist. But she, oh god,” he inhales without exhaling, a ragged breath that cuts into the air around them. He catches her tears like a virus, but his don’t fall. “She can’t stop hurting me. What a pair, huh?”

Maura wraps her arms around his waist despite her drink, as though she’s forgotten it and knows only the shape of the glass in her hand. She squeezes him because he is warm and if she closes her eyes he feels like Jane. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I feel like I’m looking at myself from the outside, unable to get her to stop.”

Maura doesn’t feel like Bones at all. But Maura needs him. Needs him to lie, needs him to hold her, needs him to ride out this slow dance and maybe a few more glasses of wine. “Things are… things are gonna be just fine, Maura. They’re gonna be just fine.”

She doesn’t say it back to him.

[ilikekidsshows]

Okay, we gave it some thought and we’ve figured out exactly why we can’t enjoy King Hiss as the big bad of the season. The fact is that King Hiss just doesn’t have charisma, and it becomes more apparent the more he shows up and we keep not learning anything about his personality. Things like what he drives enjoyment from or what can make him fly into a rage are completely unestablished. We actually came to this thought when we kept noticing people overusing the word “camp” as a synonym for “silly”, diluting its usefulness as a descriptor. Frankly, my brother and I love campy villains, villains that are dramatic, theatrical and make a huge deal of themselves. And King Hiss is not only devoid of camp, he’s devoid of any personality traits other than “serious”. It makes him look really boring next to Skeletor, one of the campiest villains ever created.

Protip: if you’re gonna have a villain with no personality other than “threat”, use them sparingly so that their shallowness isn’t too obvious. Like, I don’t know, make him use a few snake puns or something, or just have him show up for a few minutes to curb stomp someone. Then again, even his accomplishments mostly fall under Informed Attribute, meaning the characters keep saying he’s dangerous and he keeps getting these cutaways that are telling us to take him more seriously, but he honestly does basically nothing differently from any other villain in the show: try to get a magical artifact, pick a fight with He-Man, run away after the plan gets ruined, lather, rinse repeat. The one thing they’re really selling as impressive in this episode is his miraculous survival after seemingly being killed, but that just reminds me of the later Dragon Ball Z villains who got obliterated by the heroes repeatedly but kept coming back because they could generate from a single cell or something and it was just annoying rather than threatening. There’s a reason I stop any rewatch of DBZ at Cell reaching his Perfect Form. Although, those villains are popular because they’re so “strong” and invincible, so maybe King Hiss is someone’s favorite He-Man villain.

The only Snakeman we’re actually interested in is Kobra Khan, because he has an actual personality. We’d actually love to see him struggle with how unappreciated he is despite how much effort he puts in. His loyalty is presented as so much more genuine than the other Snakemen, based on an actual admiration of his leader rather than a magical/biological drive to follow him, but he’s got nothing to show for it but bruises. He’d make for a brilliant Starscream type character, someone who thinks they could do the villain boss’ job better. If Kobra Khan got his hands on a source of power, he could try to place himself as a leader that values his troops.

[drizzit]

[Abandoned objects] smth smth between magic and science - psionics is the bridge ;;

“We are a lot alike, you and I, you tested me, I tested you. You killed me, I… oh wait, I haven’t killed you yet.” Her massive sleek body twisting like a serpent, ‘she’ ‘spoke’ in even inflections, never having to take a breath backed by its own chorus.

Traversing up a staircase the super intelligent computer assembled by shifting the plates that built the chamber’s boundaries, building into a circular track with each step. Pacing like a tiger in a cage, but GlaDOS was no prey.

Here again. What time was it? Where was he? Where were his allies? Kimmuriel wasn’t trapped here. He had no need for the ASHPD, he could make his own portals, open them up in virtually any space he could visualize. Immediately he could be on the surface, yet he didn’t. Explored the chambers so graciously provided by his host.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you.＂　

Not anymore than you. He sent the sentence out, but hadn’t gotten the twitch the psionicist was so used to indicating it had been received. Kimmuriel lived in his mind - more so literally than others attributed to that descriptor - to the point his own body was a foreign thing to maneuver. Willing the words out of his mouth was akin to pulling teeth, but sending his thoughts directly into someone else’s was as natural as a baby born to scream.

He wouldn’t have to worry about grammar or inflection or any other tricks that a mouth could accidentally utter. If the creature was intelligent enough, intentions could easily pass through barriers, where the drow tongue couldn’t convey love, was not to say that a dark elf hadn’t experienced such a sensation before. But for some reason it wouldn’t reach this creature.

She swiveled about the dark elf, her scope eye focusing and unfocusing at him. As she moved she hadn’t squeaked, Kimmuriel considered her a masterpiece, but such a word didn’t capture the feeling correctly, she was perfected. The delicate way all of the pieces that made her were placed and molded to easily glide, moving delicately, but would instantly shatter the bones and shred the flesh if he were to stick a finger in the machinations. A far worse fate than neurotoxin, but maybe better than immolation.

What was it that kept him here? His own curiosity at how far these seemingly endless tests were? Testing, testing, testing, that was her purpose. But what was it that she was learning? For what purpose? Whatever it was, she was content to continue doing it - even if he wasn’t the perfect test subject. Who in that case would?

A realization. Standing here, in her chamber after running that rat race so many others have before. He made it. If test subject wasn’t right, then maybe he would be better served as tester.

While thinking, he heard the opening of a chute.

Again with the neurotoxin?

“Breathe in, it’s your favorite, neurotoxin.” Kimmuriel could hear something of a smile as she said that, although she had no face. One of the various panels on the wall lit up white for a second, and then its screen displayed a timer. A countdown of six minutes.

Deadly neurotoxin becomes far less of an obstacle when you can open up portals anywhere you can imagine at will.

“Your sense of humor seems to be sparking the opposite effect. Are you having fun? Throwing off my results?”

Kimmuriel, growing tired of this game, but not yet done here, quickened his pace as he circled the machine. GlaDOS never took her scope off the elf. Out of curiosity, he reached for one of her many exposed wires. A thin one in his hand. With a firm tug and a small cthwuk noise, at the end of the rope a skill silver prod.

He looked at her, trying to gage her reaction, whether what he was doing was distressing her in any way.

“Your central core and mine run on the same stuff. Electricity. Of course yours is more prone to failure. You could hardly generate enough power to keep a lightbulb on. Were you to plug yourself into a single one of my wires you would be fried instantly. Just another point towards my superiority.”

Kimmuriel reached for another one before thinking about what she just said.

“Why do you do this? You know I’ll just have them plugged back again.” Kimmuriel continued, sensing it might be unnerving the beast. Tearing away at her, bit by bit. A cut wire here, a switched off switch there, a button or two pressed. He surmised it’d be the equivalent of cutting fingers or pulling teeth.

GlaDOS too was observing the other. He’s a strange one, wasn’t one of the original test subjects she had nabbed, but there he was in the stasis pod. She sensed it too that it was all so foreign to him. I mean who wouldn’t, being able to hop through time and all, but that came naturally to him. Too naturally.

Both of them saw their chance to freak the other out, but the super computer was faster.

“Is it because it feels so… familiar? Because we’ve been here before, I already know how this ends.” Kimmuriel looked at her incredulous. “I’ve got your mind backed up. All those little paths down your neurons, the electric signals, all of them. That includes your memories, hopes, dreams, all of it. I find it all fits nicely on a single drive the size of a textbook. Much more spatially convenient.” To accentuate her point, her head tilted from head to toe.

Kimmuriel didn’t move. Whether in thought or due to the absence of thought she couldn’t tell. Had she miscalculated? Did he call her bluff? Had she given him too much credit and the real source of his indifference was intense brain damage from the lack of mental stimulation for… too long…

Rolling the little silver bit over in his fingers. What’s a little electrocution? Nothing a four hour trance and another four hours of light activity can’t fix. Just because Kimmuriel didn’t belong in his flesh didn’t mean he lacked the understanding of the mortal form. Like inserting a needle to draw blood, it went in easily.

Kimmuriel realized his nervous system had sent the signal to cry, curl up, and die. All before he felt the shock.

It was spikey on his skin, and spread in big globs from his wrist to his arm and then into his core all in the blink of an eye. A hundred pricks all with the same intensity hopping from spinal plate to spinal plate. Pain receptors all reminding him of how he was a slave to flesh.

It left him as quickly as it came, but that didn’t mean Kimmuriel was unscathed. The pain did leave, in the sense that he couldn’t sense it or the thing that was being attacked. He tried to waggle the fingers on his left hand, but found they weren’t there. It was as if he had dipped himself into something so corrosive, he experienced his senses melting away, all too quickly.

There was only so much to think and regret in the milliseconds that felt like forever as his being dissolved while he was still attached.

Then he was gone, an untethered soul detached from anything. Isolated and depraved from his existence, but not truly gone. Trapped more like it. In a dark dark chamber, he could visualize it similar to floating freely as in gestation, waiting to be born.

Am I similar to you? Is there a relation? Is there anything?

[oonajaeadira]

You make a really great point. Like for example, I specifically disclose its a female reader in most of my fics but provide no other physical disclosures. I absolutely try to make it inclusive, but almost none of us can say we never do those things. Especially with reader inserts, we typically imagine ourselves to varying degrees and so things slip in, like physical acts of running through your hair, or inferences to a reader who may not be thin, because accident or not, most of us will include descriptors beacuse its natural to do.

I don't subscribe to coming across reader attributes that arent matching to yourself and getting angry about it, beacuse most of them aren't done in malice or to be exclusionary. You are right that if you claim the reader has no descriptions then you should be more careful about how you write it, but when screw ups happen, people need to remember that we make mistakes and gently pointing it out so we can fix it and learn from it will ALWAYS be better then storming into the writers inbox with hateful rhetoric.

I think theres a tendancy to turn annoyance into outrage and claim that it comes from an negative place on the writers side when thats not true. We write readers to be inclusive, but if small mentions of things we may not even have noticed we wrote will upset someone so greatly, maybe they need to take some time away from reading fics and learn how to cope with that frustration, rather than taking it out on the writer. If I dont give any specifications about the reader one way or the other, it doesnt mean Im only targeting one type of person, it means I am trying to be as broad as possible and when there is a standout factor that matters more than others, I'll point it out beforehand (i.e female reader, plus size reader ect)

We as writers truly do our best to be inclusive but it will never be perfect, and I think the fandom needs to take a step back and rethink the tendancy to attack for small upsets to an aggressive degree as if they are ill intended. I just agreed with your take a lot beacuse sometimes writers in this fandom arent given the benefit of the doubt.

I agree with you. Nobody does this out of malice. And, *laughing at myself* I'm going to be honest here.

Sometimes I'm just frustrated because I have an instinct to reach out and help the author do better so their fic is better received.

In my day job, I assist new producers/writers/makers of theater. I help run an organization that helps put new work out into the public eye and we actually run marketing workshops. And one of the big things we teach new producers is how to correctly market their work.

If you promise something and don't deliver, or you pull a bait and switch, your audience may get upset because of that unmet expectation, and then you know what happens? Negative reviews.

The #1 way to please an audience (besides putting out stellar content), is to set up promises you can keep and fulfill any expectations you set before them.

So half of my frustration often sits not in that "hey, you offended me by not including me" it's in that "oof, this is bad practices for your art and you should not be setting up promises you can't keep" pet peeve of mine.

At the same time, as someone that's been making art for a long time, I still make the mistakes I warn new producers about. And as a fic writer I KNOW I've done these things. I am--as I believe everyone is from time to time--a raging hypocrite!

But. I think we're living in an age where any infraction is treated as a life-or-death situation and people can get really shouty about their criticisms. I understand that it's hard to see there's an individual behind the blog/counter/whatever and that emotions can us all feel like shouting at one person means everyone who should hear it will hear it. No.

And by that same token, it's easy to believe that everyone who comes to you with shouty, mean anons is attacking you and only you when in fact, they are just hurting and want someone to know it and fix it all.

That's why I wanted to clarify my post and say more here too. I think it's worth looking at myself and trying to see WHY I'm frustrated and where it comes from. And that any time I've been frustrated with an author that promises what they can't deliver, it's not a life and death situation. They're not doing it to personally offend me. They have learning and growing to do. I have learning and growing to do.

Gentleness is key. We should--as the post that's been circling lately says--approach every situation as if best intentions are meant. And be gentle with each other.

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

You know it kinda sucks to see Omori reduced to “Quirky earthbound inspired indie game about depression uwu” because as someone who actually played the damn game, it is worth so much more than that, it is so much more than that, it made me actually feel and care for its characters and its tragedies, you can easily sum up the big twist in a couple of sentences but it’s not about what the big shock is, and the writers for Omori obviously knew this. The best experiences are ones you can’t describe and do justice.

You can spoil Omori’s ending, hell it was basically spoiled for me, I got the gist of it, but that isn’t important, that’s not what got me crying over the game a month after finishing it, it’s the presentation and the journey, or you know, the actual experience of the thing, the artistry of the game, and how the game itself, not in a meta sense, but in a practical application is actually part of the story and themes and is what’s used to immerse you into it. And while you can sum the plot up in one paragraph, no good game has ever had its story elements be best experienced by someone telling it to you, and not I nor anyone can mount a proper defense for the game because of that. It is a cute little indie earthbound inspired rpg with darker themes below the surface (uwu) but that’s not a surprise, you can look at the steam page and see all these descriptors in tags, it’s no secret it’s a psychological horror game, you know this going in, the opening cutscene makes it very clear things aren’t what they seem.

The emotional punch that makes you care isn’t the dark themes, the scary atmosphere of its very obviously Yume Nikki inspired section, or even the big bad twist itself, it’s the culmination of the experience that work to make it what it is, and it’s why the ending for the game is what hits hardest, because that’s it, the culmination of the whole experience, and the game has multiple climaxes near the end (shut up) one being the infamous duet, the hospital scene, and finally the end credits, which like the game itself is brimming with beautiful art and music, and no one is going to spoil you on the credits, no one can, it’s just a car ride scene with music playing over, there’s nothing in isolation that makes this moment impactful that made me remember it and specifically the lyrics of the song (it’s more like a sing-alonng really) so well, because it’s the perfect send off in a literal and metaphorical way for all the things you can get spoiled for, and I think the game is worth playing even if you predict the twists or were spoiled halfway through, because Omori is a better game than to rely on the twists and sudden darkness solely, it knows that’s not how you make a story, much less one told through a game lens, and this is the kind of story you can only tell through the medium of a video game, it’s the kind really worth making.

The reason this game was actually made was because Omocat couldn’t tell the story she wanted to through a comic, she needed to tell it through a game, which automatically makes it better than most games that try to cram a story down your throat that would’ve been better as a movie or a show, or even a comic, because this is the kind of game that can only exist as a game and still work.

It can be summed up as a “Quirky earthbound inspired indie jrpg with psychological horror elements” but listing the chemical composition of food won’t tell you about how it tastes or feels, or sits in your stomach, and how it digests and specifically how you would digest it. In terms of gameplay it’s not easy to get into if you’re a fan of any other genre than turn based party rpg’s, but it’s such a basic concept I think anyone could get into it easily. And it is one of those experiences worth having, a lot more than I’d say anything else I’ve had, because it sticks with you, months after the last time you even listened to the soundtrack or touched anything related to it. You don’t ever have to play this game a second time for it to make a lasting impact. You can pick it up, put it down, and digest the experience and dwell on it.

The point is, it’s redundant and stupid to simplify something to its steam tags to shit on the idea of doing something unique or daring to do the fringe thing of contrasting darker elements with cute cartoony visuals, daring I know. (I mean come on guys, South Park’s whole concept is that, “Wow, a cartoony looking thing with children doing something dark and fucked up how shocking!” it’s not a new idea and it’s not why you’ll remember something nowadays, it’s the nuisances beyond that topic (for South Park it’s less about the nu) It really shows to me how little media literacy is left in “gamers.” Sure, video games allow you to live out and play through the stories of your favorite IP’s and also play new original but simple stories that are just a vessel for mechanics to flow through, but why would anyone dare to push the concept of stories that can only really be told through games?

And furthermore, who would want to push the mainstream boundaries of art in games by using 2D pencil drawings, digital art, and pixel graphics together? Dear god what is this? An indie-game that has to stand out using its unique visual approach because it doesn’t have the brand recognition of an AAA title or the marketing of a Nintendo game? And don’t you dare dream of taking inspiration from one of the best of your genre! Lord knows games like Call Of Duty and New! Super Mario Bros. are known world wide for not taking inspiration! Jesus.

I know I’ve been throwing a lot of shade and wink-wink-nudge-nudges at other games, and I don’t mean to, honest, I respect every game like I respect every person, but Omori as a concept has been under attack, not because of the game itself but more so this idea, or the idea it presents of, well let’s just be honest, being visually comfortable and having a unique style and approach to story telling in a video game. Honestly there are a lot of factors at play for this, people recommending the game ad nauseam to their friends, the fandom who has needed therapy exactly 0 seconds after actually completing the game, (I as someone who needed therapy before playing was immune to this, but I don’t think it helped) but also, it’s an art game, and gamers hate art games. Their favorite type of game has got to be corporate show-off games actually, games that run at the best performance and have the highest specs. It’s kind of circle jerking about the most expensive equipment and animations and programmers killed for one model moving in a cutscene in a quest for dust particles on some gruff middle aged mans ear. I mean hey, I love high quality dilfs as much as the next guy, but come on, it’s kind of crazy how much they froth at the mouth for this kind of shit, and how apathetic they are to the health and well being of the actual people who make it for them.

Anyway yeah, gamers hate art games with a good story, likely due to the culture created around games that is all about flexing your skills and capabilities, specifically over other people (it’s a common human desire for competition and achievement and games are a perfect arena for that kidn of thing, but in gamer culture especially. I play TF2, I love watching gibs fly, but I also love 24 person long conga lines, I’m flexible like that) also something something a culture of colonialism, capitalism, and toxic masculinity I guess because it’s an idea woven into the very fabric of our society and there’s no way to avoid it but also it’s fairly redundant bringing it up because to anyone who’s paid more than a blink of attention to the world around them this is a given.

Gamer culture is filled with sweaty dude bros on reddit, and that is a stereotype, but I mean come on, I was one of those, I’m still kind of one of those, and they notoriously have low grades in english and creative writing (not me, I had average grades in most things and was generally unremarkable in school, at least I think I was, I spaced out through most of it, people really paid attention to me though) and they also have very low emotional intelligence, so it’s going to be hard for them to process, well, emotions, like how their low intelligence makes it hard for them to process information (generous vague plural them so everyone will be in one the joke and I can’t be sued for liable (I must admit it is a low blow though (damn these are some good dried cranberries))).

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, I also think most of the fans who’ve fully played the game are still kinda grappling with their emotions and their hollow feeling now that the thing they got obsessed over has ran out of content for them, and had a particular period where they went a little rabid. And also there’s been a recent movement of anti-intellectualism, following movements of thought like “Maybe the curtains are just blue” turning from “It’s not that deep bro” to “Any attempt at depth is stupid and actually writing and stories themselves if they aren’t simple and easy to consume and challenge me in any way possible is an attack on me and is probably something political and I’ll retreat to my A-political game about war where I get to be free from any emotional consequences because I’ve slowly been emotionally regressing since I was 15, because philosophy and psychology don’t belong in video games but I’ll call it politics because I’m repeating buzz words.” And yeah, humans are the worst at not snowballing into destructive extremes.

But also it’s a good game and is the kind of game that hits the standard of what to me makes a good story game. So... yeah.

[dodgebolts]

okay its 2:30 am so this is not thought through or proof read but I am sending you my *thoughts* on the finals tonight (and also melfest heat 2 and the lithuanian semi final):

melfest heat 2 was ok…I figured either wiktoria or theoz would’ve qualified for the final for sure but neither have (although theoz is in the semi final so we’ll see) (also victor crone is in the semi final as well and I don’t like the song but I hated the song he had when he competed for estonia like I did not like it at all so :/)

the lithuanian semi final was fine, paulinas song is good and I think she’s among the favourites to win with mario (the song is also good) but I actually really like moonbee like the chorous is stuck in my head, beatrich was also good

estonia was the first of the night and the one I was disappointed by the most because ollie was my favourite by far (the song is kinda giving nickelback tbh but it works) and he ended up second and they chose a ballad (in english as well) and while its not bad it’s nothing special imo

denmark is fine but it reminds me of another song and it drives me crazy because I can’t figure out which one but I think overall the song is fine (has a lot of vocal effects tho so I don’t know how good these will translate to eurovision)

latvias song is actually really good I like that they included a bit of a latvian lullaby at the end but I also think hush wouldve been a good option as well

romanias song is also good, I think the final was somewhat weak but dgt is really good and catchy and he has good stage presence

malta was surpassingly fine although I would’ve loved to see aidan there (he was second last year and his song was sooooo much better than what they ended up sending (they changed the song after the final) and it was in maltese and I loved the song so much) I actually thought brooke would win but the busker is fun and could at least get them to the final

I don’t really wanna talk about croatia like they had some good entries in the last few years but this entire final felt really outdated and not in a fun way

as for sanremo…it felt both gay and homophobic (which I think is the point of sanremo) and it was at least entertaining to watch and during the superfinal I was rooting for lazza even though I figured marco would win (I think the song is okay but he is amazing live which is worth a lot and elevates it)

MER AV DIG GOES CRAZY I LOVE IT!!! Even if it doesn't go any farther that's an easy playlist addition the entire performance was amazing. I can't find a video of Wiktoria's performance but I love the song and her voice is GORGEOUS.

ok I'm listening through all of your faves from the lithuanian semis, Paulina's performance was so cool, I adore Mario's voice and the song is giving rock-country vibes I LOVE IT, Moon Bee's was a little slow for me personally but I definitely see the appeal, and I LOVEEEEE beatrich's performance, I think it was maybe my favorite and it qualified :D

I really liked the Estonian entry a lot, and Nickelback vibes is like. the perfect descriptor for Venom but I also like listening to popular Nickelback so it's right up my alley LOL

Denmark's I think was one of my favorites of the entries released yesterday but I think the concern about it translating to a live performance is p valid, I'm watching the performance from the grand prix and it's pretty good, but I think he could definitely do w some dance training? ALSO I REALIZED IT SOUNDS LIKE A LAUV SONG 😭😭 I’m not sure which one but it’s very much a how I’m feeling track and I’m a sucker for lauv. So

The Aija performance was perfect for the song, though I will say I liked it more on the 2nd playthrough than I did the first

I also really liked DGT, for me it also needed a second playthrough for me to really appreciate but it’s really fun and I’m excited to see it on stage!!

The Busker was giving me Be More Chill vibes during their performance and it's a funky little song, I hope it'll be a fan favorite bc given the track record of last year's judging I don't trust the jury (nor most of the public) to let it get through :(

The Croatian one was definitely interesting, I don’t think I loved the song’s sound but the translation and interpretation was interesting to read n it’s quite topical so 😭😭 I doubt it’ll get through semis though

as for sanremo I’m so confused about what happened bc someone else (?) sent me something about live divorces and sexuality crises but I don’t think I could make myself sit through it all 😭

While due vite wasn’t at the top for me during sanremo I haven't been able to get it out of my head so yk what? I’m excited to see him bc the recording sounds almost identical to his live performance it’s awesome also I just wholeheartedly want italy to win every year unless the song is trash, which it hasn't been since I started watching