#still figuring out when to post and how to structure

[mik0rin]

the first picture has mentions of blood and the word die btw

im writing, see !!!!!!!!! the one on the right is coming close to being finished and then the one on the left, idk where to cut the parts so i’m still working on that

[wildstar25]

G'raha looked so serious while he pleaded his case to venture into the World of Darkness with the Warrior of Light. The sudden conviction in his tone had Arsay at a loss for words. Still, she did not hesitate to meet his request with an accepting nod. He was an important friend and in the passing moons that they'd come to know each other, a strong fondness for him had taken hold of her. The prospect of helping G'raha find the truth behind his mysterious inheritance made Arsay's heart pound. It was the perfect venture for them to embark on. The first of many, she hoped. The two turned towards the impossibly tall spire that dared to pierce the heavens above. Arsay's resolve strengthened in its presence. When they next find themselves gazing at the tower -with their quest completed and the world no longer under threat of total destruction- she'll properly ask G'raha to be a companion in her travels. A grin crept its way onto her face as her gaze shifted to him. If Arsay could find it within herself to bare her heart to others so readily just as he does… perhaps their future adventures will find them together, hand in hand.

[mad-hunts]

i'm sure y'all already know how petty barton is because i feel like i talk about it all the time... but allow me to ramble about one of the pettiest things he has arguably ever done to someone else, and that is that whenever barton is feeling quirky — you know, just a bit silly — he likes to call into the GCPD and make up complaints about jim gordon in different voices even though he knows he likely isn't going to get fired for it. barton just HATES him that much, and he thinks it's funny, so i can guarantee y'all that every single time after he makes one of these calls he cackles like a damn hyena 💀 and then he'll go on with his life as if he wasn't trying to ruin someone else's... like, if he wasn't evil, then i think he might just have made a good comedy actor BAHAHA

[dontwanderoff]

sometimes i think i'd be better at lesson planning if i wasn't trying to plan at a big school for 5 different classes

[arolesbianism]

Also let it be known I have made several rainworld ocs already and have like 3 full campaigns in my head for them mapped out in my head

[emo-batboy]

Battinson on SNL

Idk how popular Saturday Night Live is outside of the US so there will be some links for context. That said, as a New Jersey native, I think Battinson would totally watch the show. And since he's a celebrity...👀

SO

To promote WE’s newest charity fund, Alfred signs Bruce up to be a guest host on SNL (à la this post) The announcement is made, and everyone’s like “oh this is going to be a disaster. That man can’t even hold eye contact or speak a full sentence without crying.”

But oh, that’s why it’s so funny.

Now, hear me out. Bruce’s strengths are displayed best when he’s himself. That’s why he’s so popular in Gotham. That’s why the internet calls him Relatable TM and a Disaster (Affectionate) and “Poor Little Meow Meow.” It’s his ✨ essence ✨

But he tends to get overwhelmed or self-conscious onstage, right? Because he can’t be Himself himself if he has time to overthink something. So after a few meetings with Bruce, the writers of SNL figure out the perfect way to keep Bruce from getting anxious.

They decide to load this episode with as many skits where Bruce plays different caricature-like versions of himself as possible. The objective? Make him break character and laugh so he doesn’t overthink. And if he breaks character, he’ll still technically be in character because he’s playing himself, you know? Genius.

So that’s how they go about structuring the show. During the few days they have to write, they decide to take everything about Bruce’s public image and either ramp it up to 11 or turn it on its head.

He speaks quietly? Turn it into a running gag. He dresses in all black? Make him emo. He tips well? Add that in too. He’s “depressed” and “sad?” Literally, all he does on screen is laugh and break character. What’s not to love?

Of course, Bruce also gets to decide what skits are in each episode as well. (Refer to this if you have no idea how SNL works.) He loves the idea, though, and he has a surprisingly dark sense of humor which bleeds into some of the sketches. They add in a few skits without him, and they’ve got their lineup.

It’s the wildest episode of the season. Here are the highlights:

OPENING MONOLOGUE

It’s the big night, everyone’s excited to see Bruce Wayne hosting a live sketch comedy show with no idea how it will turn out.

To begin his monologue, Bruce walks on, opens his mouth to start talking, and immediately two cast members appear as stagehands to set up six microphones in front of him. He is already struggling to keep himself together.

Bruce: “You may be wondering why I’m host- Cast Member: *adds one more tiny microphone to his chest* Bruce: “You may be wondering why I’m hosting tonight.”

It’s working. The audience loves it.

Halfway through, Kate McKinnon comes out in a dark cloak with a chalice. “Your sustenance, my lord.” *sees camera* “Oh. Sorry. Carry on.” And she shambles off. Bruce has to take a second before continuing.

Bruce knows when (most of) the jokes come. It’s literally on the cue cards, but he still falls into a fit of giggles.

There are a few more gags, including Lex Luthor peeking out from behind the band set-up, all teasing the show to come.

Overall, an amazing way to set the tone for the episode. Expectations have been set. Then the skits begin!

(Oh but before I forget: During every single live skit with Bruce, the writers have scheduled for one of the cast members to run in dressed as a stagehand and put an extra mic on him. They do not tell him when it will happen.)

SKIT #1

Between the monologue and the first skit, he has to do a really fast quick change, but to everyone’s surprise, Bruce is a natural. (Huh, wonder why.)

The skit is called Gotham PTA Meeting. We open in a meeting room full of stereotypical PTA moms setting down baked goods and gossiping. And apparently, there is a new PTA member attending today 👀

Right as the meeting starts, he enters. Bruce walks in wearing the most emo get-up imaginable. He’s got a Nirvana shirt, a comical amount of eyeliner, black skinny jeans, chain accessories, metal rings, AND a clip-in extension to give him fringe.

Someone immediately runs in and puts another mic on him.

PTA Mom: “Oh, Bruce! You made it! Did you bring a snack?” Bruce: “I brought lemon bars.” PTA Mom: “Why are they black?” Bruce: “They match my soul…they’re also vegan.”

He talks like a moody teenager. HE CONSTANTLY has to brush the fringe off to the side to read the cue cards. And because there’s so much eyeliner and he’s sweating a bit from the lights, it starts running everywhere.

PTA Mom: “Bruce, you’re a little quiet. What are your thoughts on increasing the school lunch budget?” Bruce: *eyeliner dripping down his chin* “I think it’s a great idea.”

SKIT #2

For a pre-filmed skit, they bring back the Chad character with Pete Davidson.

It’s 2 am, and Chad is working at a 24hr drug store in Gotham. He’s reading Twilight (the book is upside down) when the lights begin to flicker.

He turns around and tries the light switch, turns back around, and JUMPSCARE it’s Bruce dressed as Edward from Twilight.

Yes, he IS sparkly.

Bruce is awkwardly holding a bunch of items, all concerning. He plops down a few knives, several raw meats, Sudafed. Chad: “Oh hey.” Bruce: O_O “I’d like to check out please.” Chad: “Lit.”

Chad’s “No Fucks Given” energy and Bruce’s “Please Do Not Perceive Me” energy clash like titans. The whole skit centers around it.

Bruce: *sweating bullets* “Oh. You’re reading Twilight?” Chad: “Just the title.” Bruce: *throws the book through the window at lightning speed* “It’s not very good. You should probably read something else.” Chad: *shrugs* “Okay.”

Chad: “ID?” Bruce: “ID? For what?” Chad: “Sudafed.” Bruce: “Oh. I don’t really need that, actually.” Chad: “Already scanned it.” Bruce: “Haha. Of course.” *awkwardly produces a scroll from his pocket that says Bruce Wayne DOB: 1901* Chad: “Okay.”

Bruce checks out, Chad picks up a porno mag or something, and we see Bruce turn into a bat and fly off through the window behind him.

SKIT #3

The next skit they have is Celebrity Family Feud: Billionaires Edition. Again, Bruce plays himself, but he’s more of a background character. Instead, the skit makes fun of billionaires as a whole.

Bruce’s team consists of Kylie Jenner, Lex Luthor, and Oliver Queen. So just imagine three Lucille Bluths standing beside one another. 

Bruce’s bit? He just keeps handing cash to Steve Harvey every time he breathes in his direction.

Host: "We got the richest man in the world: Bruce Wayne!" Bruce: *hands him a roll of cash* Host: "Oh, what’s this for?" Bruce: "It’s your tip. I always tip." Host: "Oh, Mr. Wayne, you don’t usually tip the show host. I’m also a millionaire myself." Lex Luthor: *snatches it* "Well, if you’re not going to use it, I will…for charity, of course." Host: "Uh huh, whatever helps you sleep at night."

Just a ton of fun quips, the usual.

At some point, Harvey says, “That’s batty.” Bruce: *ducks* “Where?!” Host: “Oh, I don’t mean Batman. He’s not here.” Bruce: “You don’t know that.”

This time, the mic bit is a bit different.

Host: “We asked 100 billionaires: How much does a loaf of bread cost? Top three answers are on the board.” Bruce: *hits buzzer* Host: Bruce, your answer is? Cast Member: *runs in with a megaphone and holds it in front of Bruce* Bruce: “TEN DOLLARS?”

Board dings! That was the #1 answer

Brucie Wayne for the win

SKIT #4

Next is a skit that dares to ask Gotham, “Why would anyone live here?”

The skit begins with someone opening a press conference for Wayne Enterprises. “And now presenting: Bruce Wayne!” Bruce walks in…

But it’s not him. Instead, it’s one of the cast members dressed in a black suit with horribly gelled brown hair.

Everyone in the audience is wondering where the actual Bruce is before another cast member runs onstage crying, “Help! Help! I’ve just been robbed! Somebody call Batman!”

A mini version of the bat-signal lights up…

We hear some generic hero music play…

And there he is: Bruce Wayne dressed in a horribly cheap Batman costume

(They got the cowl ALL wrong btw)

Bruce puts his hands on his hips in a weird superhero pose. Bruce: “I’m Batm-” Cast Member: *runs out to attach another mic to his costume* Bruce: “….I’m Batman!”

Cue all of the gags and digs against Batman. The fake Bruce faints then starts crying under a table. Someone calls Batman a furry. Bruce is barely keeping it together the whole time. Lord help him, but he asked for it. He approved the skit.

Bruce: “Looks like a job for my bat taser!” Cast Member: “Isn’t that just a taser with a bat on it?” Bruce: *whispers* “You shut your mouth.”

He saves the day, the police take the thief into custody, then Batman myStErioUsly disappears. Bruce: “Look over there!” *runs off* Cast Member: “Oh my gooood, how did he do that?”

CLOSING SEGMENT

Finally, they have the Weekend Update where Bruce comes on as himself for the final time.

Since they got his permission, the writers switch out some of Bruce’s jokes last minute. (Think Bill Hader’s Stefon which notoriously caused him to break character because the writers would mess with his cue cards.)

News Anchor: “Here to promote his newest humanitarian project: Bruce Wayne!” “Mr. Wayne, what a pleasure to see you today.” Bruce: “Thank you. This is probably the longest I’ve been out of the house.” News Anchor: “Since the Riddler catastrophe?” Bruce: “Since ever.”

News Anchor: “So Mr. Wayne! Before you make your announcement, any life updates?” Bruce: “Yes, actually. Just a few days ago, I adopted five- *starts losing it* five more children.” News Anchor: “Wow, really? So you have eight kids now.” Bruce: “Uh huh. *tears streaming down his face* One more orphan and I get the tenth one free.”

News Anchor: “So where can people find you online?” Bruce: “Well, I don’t have social media because I’m afraid of people, but sometimes I’m on Twitter.” News Anchor: “What about a phone call?” Bruce: “Oh no, phone calls- *giggle* phone calls give me fainting spells.”

It’s a great way of finishing the show, with the most genuine version of Bruce. Then, he gets to what’s really important!

News Anchor: “So if they can’t reach you on social media or on the phone, what else can our viewers do, Mr. Wayne?” Bruce: “They can donate to the Wayne Foundation’s newest charity called The Arts Initiative. It funds programs for the arts in underdeveloped school districts nationwide. I’ve already donated $30 million, and I’ve pledged to match every dollar donated within the next week.”

And that’s what he’s here for :) They share a link for where and how to donate. The anchors praise him for his charity, which he deflects because he can definitely afford this, and the 90-minute broadcast is over.

The camera pans away with the whole cast waving goodbye, and Bruce is seen keeling over with laughter.

Along with some of the other skits, these four specifically go viral. WE raises a fuck ton of money, and everyone loves Bruce.

THE END

LOVE YOU ALL!! Let me know what you think :D

[shdysders]

a cold table

pairing: vada cavell & reader

summary: in which your anniversary with vada didn't turn out like it was supposed to.

word count: 4.8k

author’s note: proof reading this honestly just makes me throw a tantrum bc it’s ridiculously bad in my view. but i’m posting this in hopes of you liking it.

You and Vada were the epitome of "opposites attract."

On the surface, it seemed almost impossible that you two would end up together, let alone be the type of couple that made people smile just by looking at you.

Vada was the kind of girl who looked like she just grabbed her dad's clothes from the laundry basket and made it work. Putting together outfits that made no sense to anyone but her.

Oversized flannel shirts, baggy jeans and sneakers that had seen better days—she wore it all with an air of confidence that dared anyone to question her choices.

She didn't care about trends, and you couldn't imagine her spending more than five minutes deciding what to wear.

You however, were the opposite—always put together, wearing clothes that you knew looked good on you because you liked feeling confident and in control.

When it came to school, Vada was effortlessly good at everything she tried.

She could ace a test without studying, participate in class debates with barely any preparation, and somehow still find time to be the laid-back, carefree person everyone admired.

She had a mind that worked faster than most, but she didn't flaunt it.

You, on the other hand, had to work hard for your grades. School didn't come easily to you, but you cared enough to put in the effort.

You stayed up late studying, agonized over assignments, and took pride in every hard-earned B+ you received. Your determination was something Vada admired, even if she never said it out loud.

Although she would tease you about how seriously you took school, but when it came down to it, she'd show up for study sessions, sometimes even surprising you by actually helping.

And even though you weren't a natural at school, you made sure she didn't slack off too much, reminding her about deadlines and sometimes dragging her to the library when she'd rather be anywhere else.

Everyone at school saw how different you and Vada were. Some people were surprised when you first started dating, while others seemed to have seen it coming from a mile away.

Vada had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when you were surrounded by people.

She listened to you, really listened, like your thoughts were the most important thing in the world. When you talked about your day, no matter how mundane, she would look at you with those deep, thoughtful eyes and nod along.

And you were always there for her, too. Vada might have been the laid-back one, but she had her moments of doubt, and you were the first person she'd turn to.

People noticed how you two balanced each other out. You didn't try to change one another, but you definitely influenced each other in subtle ways.

You brought some structure into Vada's life, and she taught you how to loosen up a bit. You didn't make a show of your relationship, but the way you naturally gravitated toward each other said a lot.

Everyone could see that, even if you didn't make a big deal out of it, you were good for each other.

And even though people didn't really talk about you and Vada much—there wasn't any drama, no on-again, off-again stuff.

You were just there, solid and steady, the kind of couple everyone figured would last. It was easy to imagine you two growing old together, the high school sweethearts who actually made it.

You thought so, too. For the longest time, it just felt like you and Vada were meant to be, that nothing could really shake what you had.

But that was before you started to doubt everything the two of you had.

Before the incident.

You were in the library that day, tucked away in a corner with your books spread out in front of you. Vada had class, and you were trying to focus on an assignment due the next day. It was just another ordinary afternoon, where everything felt routine and predictable.

Then, out of nowhere, you heard it—a loud, sharp sound that made you freeze.

At first, you couldn't quite place it, but then it happened again, and suddenly the room around you shifted.

The quiet murmur of students working turned into panicked whispers, and then, in what felt like seconds, chaos erupted.

Gunshots.

The next thing you knew, people were scrambling, and you were being pulled down to the floor by someone you didn't even know. Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. You could barely think, your mind racing with fear and confusion.

Meanwhile, Vada had been in the bathroom, just down the hall from where the first shots were fired. She wasn't alone—Mia, the popular girl everyone knew but no one really knew anything about, was there too.

When the first gunshot echoed through the halls, they both froze, their eyes wide with terror. Without a word, they rushed into the nearest stall together, instinctively pulling their feet up onto the toilet seat to stay hidden.

In the days that followed, everything felt like a blur.

The school was closed, news crews swarmed the area, and you were left trying to process what had happened. You tried to be there for Vada, but it was hard to know how.

She was different—quieter, more withdrawn, like she was lost in her own head. You wanted to help, to say something that would make it better, but nothing felt right. It was like a wall had gone up between you, and no matter what you did, you couldn't get through to her.

Vada barely talked about what happened in the bathroom with Mia.

When she did, her voice was flat, detached, like she was telling a story that had happened to someone else. She wouldn't look you in the eye, and that scared you more than anything.

You could see the fear and anger simmering under the surface, but she wouldn't let it out. She tried to act like everything was fine, but you could see the cracks forming.

You knew she was probably feeling a million things—guilt, fear, anger, maybe even shame for surviving when others hadn't. But she didn't talk about it, and you didn't know how to bring it up without making her shut down more.

Every time you reached out, it felt like she was slipping further away, retreating into a place you couldn't follow.

The carefree attitude that used to define her was gone, replaced by a tension that never seemed to leave. You noticed how she avoided certain hallways, how she liked to be alone now, and how she wouldn't talk about it. It was like she was trying to hold it all together, to not fall apart, but you could see how much it was costing her.

Vada didn't go back to school for a long time.

But eventually, you did go back due your parents forcing you. It wasn't easy, and you felt guilty every day.

The hallways felt different, quieter, like everyone was holding their breath. You went through the motions, trying to keep up with classes and pretending things were normal, but they weren't.

Not for you, and definitely not for Vada. It was hard walking into school every day, knowing she was at home, struggling with things you couldn't fully understand.

You tried to keep things normal, to talk about school, or movies, or anything that wasn't about what happened. But even then, you could feel the distance growing.

At first, the way Vada acted—or didn't act—around you didn't really matter. You understood she was going through something unimaginable.

You were patient, giving her the space she seemed to need, even when she seemed distant or didn't respond much.

What really caught you off guard wasn't the silence or the way she sometimes snapped at you, which you could understand given everything she was dealing with.

What hurt more was when Vada started disappearing.

You'd try to check in on her, but she was often unreachable, and you had this sinking feeling she wasn't just avoiding you—she was spending time with someone else.

You'd seen Mia post something on social media, little hints that made it clear Vada had been with her. It wasn't like you blamed her for needing someone who understood what she'd been through, but it stung all the same.

The fact that she was turning to Mia instead of you made the distance between you feel even wider, and that's when the doubt started to creep in. You knew she was hurting, but you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of something you weren't prepared to face.

And as the days went on, Vada started staying out late, not telling you where she was or who she was with. The first time it happened, you tried not to worry too much, but it kept happening.

You wanted to talk to her, to see how she was really doing, but every time you tried, she seemed to slip further away.

Then, one night, you decided to go over to her house, hoping to finally have that conversation.

When she opened the door, you could immediately tell something was off. She was unsteady on her feet, her eyes a little glazed over, and you could smell the alcohol on her breath.

She was drunk, and it had shook you more than you expected. This wasn't like her at all.

You tried to ask her what was going on, why she was drinking, but she just brushed you off, slurring something about needing to forget for a while.

It worried you, seeing her like this, knowing that she was hurting so much that she felt the need to numb it with alcohol. You wanted to help her, to pull her back before she fell too deep, but she wasn't letting you in.

Even with everything going on, you held onto the hope that Vada wouldn't forget about your three-year anniversary. It was the one thing you thought might still matter, even with all the changes and distance between you.

Every year, you and Vada had always done something special to mark the day. It was your tradition—whether it was a simple picnic in the park or watching the stars from the roof of your house, it was always something that brought you closer together.

You thought that this anniversary might be a turning point, a chance for both of you to reconnect and maybe find some of what had been lost in the chaos.

You knew things weren't the same as before, but you hoped that this day would remind Vada of what you had, of how much you meant to each other.

You spent weeks planning something small but meaningful. Nothing too extravagant, just something that would show her you still cared deeply and that you wanted to make this work.

You spent weeks planning something small but meaningful. Nothing too extravagant, just something that would show her you still cared deeply and that you wanted to make this work.

You had arranged everything perfectly. After some careful planning, you talked to Vada's parents about your idea, suggesting that they and her little sister Amelia spend the night at Vada's grandmother's house.

You knew your own parents would never approve of the two of you having the house to yourselves on a school night, but Vada's parents were different.

They saw how much you meant to each other and, more importantly, how much Vada needed something to remind her of the good things in her life. They agreed without hesitation, eager to give you both the space you needed.

With the house to yourselves, you planned to cook dinner for her—nothing fancy, just her favorite comfort foods, something that would make her feel safe and loved.

You'd set the table in the dining room with candles, making it feel cozy and intimate.

After dinner, you were going to to watch the movie you saw on your first date. It was your way of trying to bring things back to the beginning, to remind her of who you both were before everything got so complicated.

You wanted the night to be perfect, not in some grand, over-the-top way, but in a way that would show Vada that you still believed in what you had together. This was your chance to reconnect, to pull her back from the distance that had grown between you, and you were determined to make it happen.

As the day got closer, you tried not to let your anxiety get the best of you. Vada had been distant, but you convinced yourself that she wouldn't let this day slip by.

This was your day, after all—the one day you could both take a break from everything else and just focus on each other. You were counting on it, needing it to bring you back together, at least for a little while.

The day finally came, and you had everything set up just the way you imagined.

You spent hours in the kitchen, carefully preparing all of Vada's favorite dishes. The table was set with candles, the lights dimmed just right to create that warm, intimate atmosphere. Everything was perfect, down to the last detail.

The whole thing was meant to be a surprise—you hadn't told Vada anything, just that she should come straight home after whatever she had planned for the day. You imagined her walking through the door, seeing the setup, and maybe, just maybe, something in her would shift back to how it used to be.

But as the minutes turned into hours, the excitement started to fade, replaced by a growing sense of worry.

Vada wasn't coming home.

You waited and waited, watching the food grow cold on the table. You tried calling her, messaging her, hoping for some kind of response, but there was nothing. Each time your phone stayed silent, your heart sank a little deeper.

You knew deep down that just waiting around probably wasn't the smartest idea. Maybe you should've told her, given her a heads-up so she could be sure to come home.

The hours passed and the house stayed empty, you couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. The night you'd planned so carefully, the night that was supposed to bring you closer, was slipping away, and with it, the hope you'd been clinging to.

You kept glancing at the clock, the numbers glowing dimly in the quiet room. It was nearly 11, and you were clinging to the hope that she'd come through the door any minute.

If she did, you'd just reheat the food, relight the candles, and try to salvage the night. It wasn't ideal, but you were ready to make the best of it.

Then, the front door creaked open, and Vada walked in. You jumped up immediately, eager to greet her.

When she saw you, her expression was a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. She looked at you weirdly, as if you were weird for being there.

She seemed off—her steps were unsteady, and there was a distant look in her eyes that made you worry.

"What... What are you doing here, Y/N?" she mumbled, her voice slurring slightly. She seemed distant, making you worry even more.

You tried to smile, but it felt stiff and uncertain. "Today's our three-year anniversary," you said, your voice filled with hesitation. "I was hoping we could spend some time together. You know, like we always do."

Vada let out a scoff and began to walk toward her room, her steps slow and uneven. She glanced at you with a weariness in her eyes, as if the effort to respond was too much. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, and she seemed to be struggling to focus on you.

"Do we really still care about this?"

It hit you harder than you expected. You tried to hold onto your initial excitement and positivity, but her tone made it hard to ignore the distance growing between you.

As she took those two steps toward her room, you felt a mix of disappointment and confusion, unsure how to reach out or fix what seemed to be slipping away.

Vada walked closer, and you could smell the strong scent of alcohol on her breath.

As she moved into the light, you noticed her eyes were red and puffy, and it was hard to tell if it was from crying or something else.

You hoped it was tears—something you could understand and help with. The thought of it being anything worse made your heart sink. You stood there, struggling to reconcile the image of her pain with the reality of what was happening.

You took a hesitant step forward and asked, "Are you drunk?"

Vada's face reddened with anger. "Are you seriously judging me right now?" she snapped.

You were taken aback by her reaction, and a wave of nervousness washed over you.

The fact that she was drunk only seemed to make everything worse.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady, said, "No, I was just wondering where you've been. Have you been drinking alone?" Your words trailed off, unsure how to continue as you watched her closely, hoping she'd open up.

Vada's anger seemed to wane as she noticed your genuine concern. "I was with Mia," she said simply, her voice a bit softer.

You hesitated for a moment before asking, "Have you done drugs?"

Vada's face flushed with anger as she spun around, muttering, "Oh my god." She shot you a fierce look, clearly irritated.

You quickly followed her, trying to explain yourself. "I was just worried because you've been spending a lot of time with Mia, and I was just wondering what you two were up to. I didn't mean to... I just wanted to know." You felt yourself rambling, hoping she'd understand your concern.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "I just need to know if there's something more going on between you and Mia."

You knew the question was direct and might come off as rude, but you were desperate to understand what was happening.

You needed to know if this was the end for you both, if there was something significant you were missing.

Vada's eyes widened in surprise, her face flushing with a mix of anger and guilt. For a moment, she looked taken aback, as if the question had cut through a fog of confusion. Her response was immediate but hesitant,

"What are you talking about? There's nothing between us." But her tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty, leaving you more unsettled than before.

Your curiosity was driven by the fear that everything you had might be unraveling, and you were grasping at any answers that could provide clarity.

You were grasping for understanding, your voice trembling. "I don't know. It feels like you've just—"

Vada cut you off, voice loud enough to make you flinch. "Why do you always have to question everything?" she slurred, her speech thick and unsteady. "Just because we're dating doesn't mean you need to know everything I'm doing or feeling! I'm so fucking tired of you prying into every little thing!"

Her movements were uncoordinated; she stumbled slightly as she spoke, her balance wavering.

The alcohol and possibly drugs made her seem disconnected, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She swayed slightly as she continued, her anger barely masking the haze of her intoxication.

You struggled to keep calm, knowing her anger was intensified by the substances she'd consumed. "I didn't mean to pry," you said, your voice trembling. "I just wanted to understand what's happening with us."

Vada glared at you, her frustration still evident. "What, do you expect me to lay out every detail of my life for you?" she snapped, her voice laced with bitterness.

"Do you want me to explain my feelings all the time, like it's some kind of control?"

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you quietly replied, "No, that's not what I meant." Her words and actions seemed disjointed from what you were trying to address. Vada's gaze remained fixed on you, her anger unyielding and her eyes burning with frustration.

Her words and actions seemed disjointed from what you were trying to address.

You had only been seeking clarity about your relationship, not demanding control or constant explanations. Her response felt out of touch with your intentions, leaving you confused and hurt as you tried to make sense of her accusations.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest, and asked, "What did you guys do?"

You didn't expect anything shocking or out of the ordinary. You just hoped she'd tell you they hung out, talked, maybe drank a little—nothing more.

You weren't trying to accuse her of anything; you just wanted to make sure they hadn't done something reckless or dangerous.

The thought of her putting herself in a risky situation was what really worried you.

That's why you asked—to ease the growing unease in your chest, to hear something that would put your mind at rest, and to reassure yourself that everything was still okay.

Vada's eyes flashed with irritation as she responded, "Nothing."

Her tone was dismissive, but you couldn't ignore the gnawing doubt inside you. You glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. "Vada, it's almost 11 a.m. You've been with her all night. Of course, you did something."

The air was thick with tension, almost suffocating. Vada's posture stiffened, her shoulders tensing as she tried to process your words. You could see her face flush, her mind clearly racing as she grappled with the confrontation.

She had always hated these kinds of direct confrontations, and it was evident she was struggling to come up with a believable excuse.

For a moment, there was a charged silence. You watched as Vada's gaze darted around, her eyes betraying her panic.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, her face a mixture of frustration and fear as she searched for a way to deflect or minimize the situation.

Her hands fidgeted at her sides, clenching and unclenching in a futile attempt to steady herself.

The silence dragged on, and you could almost see her internal struggle as she failed to come up with a satisfactory answer.

Her frustration began to bubble over, and her composure started to crack under the pressure. Finally, with a sharp intake of breath, she snapped.

"Fuck it," she burst out, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

"I smoked weed with Mia, got high and I slept with her, alright? Is that what you'd like to hear?"

Her admission was blunt and raw, a revelation that she hadn't intended to make but couldn't hold back any longer. The anger in her eyes and the way her voice wavered revealed the depth of her frustration and the extent of her emotional turmoil.

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

Her confession hit you like a punch to the gut. The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and you could feel the room closing in around you.

The shock made it hard to breathe. You tried to stay calm but struggled to process what she'd just admitted. "You slept with her?" you repeated quietly, your voice trembling.

For a split second, you saw a flash of regret in Vada's eyes, as if she realized the weight of what she'd said.

Although that look quickly faded, replaced by her defensive stance.

The moment of vulnerability was brief, almost as if she was trying to erase it before you could fully grasp it. You were left reeling, trying to make sense of her sudden, raw honesty and what it meant for both of you.

Did she actually sleep with her? Or did she just say it out of anger or because she was under influence?

Mia had always been someone you thought was a friend to Vada, someone who was there for her in ways you couldn't be after everything that happened.

You never saw her as a threat, never imagined that Vada's connection with her could be something more than just two people sharing their trauma.

But after every late night that Vada seemed to spend with her,  the doubt had tightened its grip.

You thought you had tried so hard to be there for Vada, to break through the walls she had built up, but now it felt like those walls were never meant to let you in. They were meant to keep you out, while Mia was welcomed in.

The realization that Mia, the girl Vada used to mock for her obsession with popularity and appearances, could have become something more to her, stung.

Vada had always rolled her eyes at the way Mia cared about what people thought, about how she looked. It was something that made you believe Vada and Mia could never be more than friends.

But now, you couldn't help but wonder if all that bashing was just a cover, a way to hide the truth even from herself.

Had Vada's complaints been a way to deflect from feelings she didn't want to admit?

You could feel the tears welling up, your lips trembling uncontrollably. You didn't try to hide it, but it felt irrelevant since Vada seemed to look right through you.

Her gaze was unfocused, her pupils dilated, wide and glassy, as if she was barely seeing you. Her mouth was twisted into a slight, almost mocking smile that made your heart sink even further.

You hoped and prayed that she didn't actually found this funny.

You tried to convince yourself that she would regret this later, that she'd understand the pain she was causing, and that the real Vada—without the haze of alcohol and anger—would recognize how deeply she had hurt you.

But not even your hopes seemed to be on your side as Vada let out a heavy sigh, the anger seeming to drain from her as she suddenly looked exhausted.

"I'm going to bed," she mumbled, her voice still slurred, but now quieter, almost as if the fight had taken all the energy she had left.

She turned on her heel, swaying slightly as she started to walk away.

But then she paused, her hand gripping the edge of the wall for balance, and looked back at you with a cold, detached expression.

"And clean this shit up before my parents get home," she snapped, her voice filled with disgust as she gestured vaguely at the table where the dinner you had so carefully prepared now sat untouched, cold.

"It looks fucking ridiculous." She spat out, her words like shards of glass cutting through you.

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling the sting as you glanced back at the table.

Her words echoed in your mind, and as you looked at the half-heartedly arranged candles and the untouched dinner, you had to admit—maybe she was right.

It did look ridiculous.

Without waiting for a response, Vada turned away, her frustration palpable as she stormed off toward her room. The silence that followed was heavy, the flickering candles casting long shadows that seemed to mock the effort you had put in.

You stood there, feeling like a stranger in a house you had once felt so welcomed in, like an outsider in a place you had imagined as your second home.

As you cleaned up like she told you to, the weight of what had just transpired settled heavily on your shoulders.

You packed the leftover food into containers, trying to salvage what you could for Vada's parents. Each movement felt mechanical, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind was consumed by a torrent of thoughts.

You sobbed quietly, tears falling onto the remnants of a dinner that was meant to celebrate love and commitment, that was meant to fix what you guys had.

It wasn't a formal breakup, but the reality was clear.

Vada's behavior, whether from being drunk or high, had made it clear that things between you were over, even if no formal words had been spoken.

There was so much left unsaid, so many questions swirling in your mind.

Although as you walked out the door of the Cavell house, you knew the answers no longer mattered.

[knuppitalism-with-ue]

Something that has both fascinated me and frustrated me to no end as of late are the lacrimal crests of allosauroids and other such theropods. No living theropods, to my knowledge, possess such structures. The closest analog I could find were Geese. I'm being driven up a wall trying to figure out what they would have been covered with in life. How would they have been incorporated into the face of the theropod? What display structures could they support? Air sacs, keratin, or caruncles? How pneumatized were they? Were they even for display? Most paleoartists just reconstruct them as odd stones sitting on top of the animals head, or say they were just for shading the eyes, but that can't be it, right? It feels like something is missing.

As a Paleoartist, is there anything you can say on this? Because I don't know nearly enough.

Oh boi, this is a tricky one.

Cranial ornaments come in all kinds of shapes, sizes and surface textures. For Allosaurus it seems likely that they simply had keratin sheets on top of the lacrinal crests, at least that's what the rough surface and striations suggest. However it also seems like air sacs were reaching up from the antorbital fenestra

This is how I would reconstruct that part of Allosaurus in the moment.

There could have been more though, you can see in this photo of the skull of Big Al II that this animal had large opening behind the lacrinal crests, so there could have been other structures involved.

Maybe even better to look at is this 3d scan of Arkhane, from Brussels.

This could have been related to theroregulation, more display structures or simply further weight reduction.

There is quite a bit of wiggle room when it comes to the interpretation of dinosaur facial features and there is way too much already published and at the same time too little to put it all into a single blog post.

Also not all dinosaurus follow this patters, the cranial crests of oviraptorosaurs show no good indication for keratin crests for example. So it's better to say good bye to cassowary interpretations of these animals and instead cover them in skin and/or inflatable sacs, because these hollow chambers appear to be extensions of the sinuses. (my version of Corythoraptor on the right, Citipati from Wikipedia on the left.)

And then again in other theropods like Abelisaurs we see very rugose skull tops but without the striations you see on the lacrinals of Allosaurus, potentially indicating large scales. Here my, slightly over the top, interpretation of Skorpiovenator. And even then: within abelisaurus you have stuff like Carnotaurus which shows clear signs of keratin sheets on its horns.

This all has been complicated in recent years with new methods in bone histology, because as it turns out the internal structure of a bone can tell us stuff about it's outside, that's how we for example found out that Amargosaurus neck spines were no horns and probably conected with soft tissue, or that the osteoderms of notosuchians were covered by skin like in leatherback turtles.

Going back to Allosaurus and other allosauroids. Keratin sheets, scales, air sacs, all these were probably present in these animals, but their exact distribution is still a question of debate.

Here a paper from a few years back that maps para-nasal sinuses in extent and extinct archosaurus which gives you a little idea how complex their internal anatomy could get

https://anatomypubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdfdirect/10.1002/ar.20794

[soularsss]

Drawing Likeness: with Tem!

okaay since a few people actually showed interest in me sharing a bit of what I've been doing to figure out how to really capture likeness, specifically Temuera Morrison, I figured id do my best to write it out

I am also going to entice you with some of my recent clone art! (oooh some of it is unreleaaasedd)

I am putting the whole thing under the cut because I have a feeling its going to be long:

Read more!!!

a couple disclaimers before we start

-This is not some definite post about how everyone should be drawing clones, nor is it in any way claiming that this is the right way. This is just my musings as I stare at a mans face for way too long and try to replicate it

-I am inexperienced. As kind as you all are to me, drawing real people is relatively new to me, capturing a persons identity through their features is difficult for anybody, and I am no different. I have watched many a video on likeness and had my share of classes, but If im being honest, i rarely put it into practice successfully. So there'll probably be errors in this post or things i will come back to in a few months and wish I had said/done differently

ANYWAYs you guys get my vibe im just here to ramble and today we are rambling about mr copy paste. I am doing this for Law, my clone boy, because I plan on delving further into oc fanart and I want to put effort into representing him correctly!

SO LETS BEGIN

Before even deciding what specific pose of a person I want to draw, I tend to grab a bunch of references and compile them like so

(all of these can be found on my pinterest)

Why so many? Well, we are about to delve into facial features, so when we are dealing with photos we have to take into account that there are an abundance of circumstances that will influence how a persons face will appear, some of these include:

focal length: All of these are taken on different devices, and focal length can play a big part in distorting faces

age will play a part, your face changes a bunch throughout your life!

lighting, while not as major, can muddy the waters and make it difficult to interpret facial planes and features

SO, to make sure we get a proper grasp of what's really going on, I like to make sure we have lots of options to compare and contrast with.

Next up! What I like to do is block out the main facial features with colour on different layers, the features I block out usually are the general face shape, eyebrows, eyes, nose and lips. But what you are looking for is the defining features of a person, so that could include other things! Maybe a scar, or some particularly prominent cheekbones.

I dont have any rhyme or reason when it comes to picking my colours, all that matters is you can see all the shapes clearly.

Now I may be biased, because Ive been staring at these for 4 hours, but notice how it still looks like Tem? :D

Anyways, now we can break these parts down, and you'll see what I mean about compare and contrast:

We'll start with isolating the facial shape, putting all these next to eachother you'll notice they arent exactly the same (partly because of my shoddy work) But the distinguishing features run through each shape! Namely the very soft rectangular shape I sketched out in the bottom right there. Along with his soft, wide jaw structure.

I did the same for the rest of his features!

You'll notice I highlight the prominent shapes and ratios,

When drawing anything, it is important to start from the very base shapes and build up.

When drawing something you want to look like someone, those shapes relative to other shapes is what makes it look like them.

I didnt use the same technique with his eyes and lips, but I wrote out some helpful info for them! More importantly for his eyes.

When drawing eyes, I find the most important part is where exactly I draw the creases, (along with the overall shape of the eye itself) it is important to understand where those will present themselves with hooded eyes.

NOW, with an understanding of his facial features in place, lets take a detour to colours:

before I start, a couple things to note:

-Temuera morrison versus the clone troopers in the animated shows:

While I love the animated shows they don't exactly stay close to their source material. Im going to link here to an excellent post discussing whitewashing specifically in relation to the clones.

Temuera is Māori, of Te Arawa (Ngāti Whakaue) and Tainui (Ngāti Maniapoto, Ngāti Rarua) whakapapa, and also has Scottish and Irish ancestry.

The Māori people are the indigenous Polynesian people of mainland New Zealand (Aotearoa). Māori originated with settlers from East Polynesia. Māori people often vary in skin tone, Skin colour doesn't determine ethnicity. There's often a correlation but it's not a requirement.

But that is a tangent! What we are aiming for is to stay true to Temuera.

Bringing back my reference photos from before, Ive colour picked a buncha values and theyre all over the place. Why doesnt this work?

Similarly to earlier, you have to take into account the photos themselves. Many things like lighting, colour grading (when it comes to filmography) and makeup, can alter how a skin colour presents in photo.

You can attempt to get true to life by swatching from certain places on the face. Here I've tried to pick some photos with good lighting, and I've also tried to avoid overly lit/shaded areas.

Tem has a very warm, tan skin tone, Instead of colour picking I tend to try and replicate it myself, but I do often bring in references to make sure Im staying true to the source!

a brief intermission to talk about colour theory, something I myself struggle with alot. Often, when putting in flat colours without a background, I will forget to make sure the colours i intend to use will work with the skin tone i have picked! (something that is apparent in older works of mine, not just in relation to clones, but in general, the colours I end up with stray largely from their original sources and it is something I am doing my best to keep in mind and improve in! Although I don't think i am nearly experienced enough in the topic to say I have succeeded yet lol.)

anyways back to Tem :))

Now we can put all of that into practice! Things to keep in mind when drawing out a piece next to a reference like this:

the distance between the eyebrows? how far down his face does his nose go? Basically just, in relation to eachother, where do all those shapes we found earlier, sit?

The screenshot above is from before I did it myself, but instead of directly tracing from the reference, a handy trick I use it to complete your sketch first, and then overlay a traced version to see where your inconsistencies are! Alternatively, you could move your sketch over the image, but I didnt do it that way so!! uh!! im sure it works exactly the same!!!!

When it comes to a final illustration, or any sketch that isnt a direct study, of course you can push and pull and stylise! You'll see below that I'm not exactly 1:1 to my reference photo either.

The important thing with stylisation, or at least my own personal understanding of stylisation is that you need to thoroughly understand the thing you are stylizing! "You need to know the rules to break them" and all that. While shapes, lines and rendering can change, when it comes to drawing someone, and making it look like them, you have to make sure to keep their core features true to source. Caricature can capture a persons vibe whilst drastically exaggerating features, but it will only look like them if you KEEP THOSE FEATURES!!!! SHAPES!!! AHHH!!

But that is just my perspective on the discussion of style versus realism, please dont take is as Law, I dont know what Im on about half the time!!

anyways, after fixing your sketch, add local colours!

I rexified him because why tf not! But this is where you can go crazy with that clone personalization!

And then here is a very very barely rendered version (if you guys want me to explain how i RENDER that would need to be a completely different post, and I havent had anyone ask about it yet so who knows! maybe one day) But I digress, hopefully you learnt something new through my ramblings! It has certainly helped me organize my thoughts and I have also found some areas I would like to focus more on in the future to improve my own art!

TLDR: In order to understand an object, be it a face or a building or literally anything, you have to break it down to its simplest forms, understanding LARGER shapes will help you immensely in the long run

If you guys like this sorta content do let me know! I'd be down to do similar things for armor/anything really, I am very anti gatekeep so really anything at all you want to know! Send me an ask :))

also if you see a spelling mistake.. i don’t know how that got there

[slickchickchocolatier]

Little Red Riding Hood - Part One

Pairings: Jake X fem!y/n

Warnings: Werewolf Jake, there will be smut in his werewolf form, knotting, CNC smut, non/dub-con, kidnapping, Jake is Yandere in this one. Based off the fairytale. This is part one.

Authors note: Hello my lovely readers! Finally had some time to post part one, will be posting part two tonight. Please note that I have not had any time to go over and fix the structure or grammar, I wanted to but that would have furthered delayed in posting the parts and I just didn’t know when I’d get the time to do that. So please ignore any mistakes as this is not at all proofread. But I’m excited to write for you guys again! Enjoy! ♥️

“Y/n! Don’t forget the basket of fruit.”

Your mother trails behind, hand delivering the goods as you enter the uber. “Oh! Thanks mom. I’ll be back later.”

She nods. “Okay, have fun with granny!” waving goodbye, she sees you off as your driver pulls out of the driveway. The ride was silent, at least up until he entered the back road. “Visiting grandma’s house, huh?” he presents, attempting to make conversation. You nod. “Mmhmm.”

You take a moment to respond to unanswered texts, losing track of the value of time as the driver takes a backroad. It went unnoticed until you looked up the window and failed to recognize the scenery. “Um…sir? Which road is this?”

“Oh, just a shortcut. It will cut our trip in half this way.” Your brows frowned. Your grandma wasn’t far at all, only five miles down from the main road. The robust driver continued to travel along the long windy path, which ultimately surpassed the length of time it would normally take to reach your grandmother’s home. “Sir, please drop me off here.” You spoke sternly as you felt uneasy by the driver's response. His caucasian features presented a stoic countenance as he kept flashing a perverse gaze through the rearview mirror, making eye contact.

“Sir, I said drop me off here!” you demanded, yet all it did was make him chuckle laconically. “And leave a pretty girl like you stranded?”

You hissed. “I’m calling the police. Either you drop me off here, or I’m giving them your information.” A sudden turn of the vehicle gives you some relief, until he spoke out. “Fine, I'll drop you off.”

You quickly exit the vehicle. He berated and demanded extra payment for the inconvenience of the trip, in which you scolded him. “You have got to be kidding me! You’re the one who took me out here! I am nowhere near my destination, just what were your intentions? You sicko!”

After a spat that continued to go back and forth, you figured that this pathetic man was only trying to buy time and continue to view you from his mirror. It was the only sensible explanation, seeing as how he didn’t pose a greater threat other than lashing cursings and insults. Finally, with you dialing the number to the police yet again, the driver darts off, seeing that you weren’t bluffing. “Idiot.” you hissed as you watched the car disappear in the distance.

You attempted to make a phone call to your mother, but the call never went through. Figures. Being out here in the country, it seemed that the entire region was undeveloped. Your best chance was to walk on foot and knock at the first house you see. Carrying the basket, you start your journey and head in the direction of where you last saw the vehicle.

The windy breeze began picking up, fluttering the hem of your short sundress. An idea pops in your head and you remove the protective cover of the basket–a long red sash. Wrapping it around your body, it was wide enough to cloak your bodice and mid thigh. The length provided enough material for you to tie loosely around your waist as it draped over your hair, just as if it were really a cloak. “Perfect!” you whisper.

About a quarter of a mile out, and still there was no sign of any inhabitants. You can’t wait to get back home and report that driver to the head of the company. “He should be fired.” you huffed as you continued to walk. The sun started to set, which escalated your fear of not being able to make it back in time before nightfall. The massive forestry arching the road didn't make it easier. You looked back repeatedly to see if a car would come by. You’re not one to hitchhike, but there’s a first time for everything, you guess.

Your low heeled shoes started to feel uncomfortable as you reached a full mile. You wondered if turning back and heading in the opposite direction was a better option at this point. Just as you were reconsidering your approach, a lone vehicle pulls up from behind. It was black, and a luxury brand. Counting your lucky stars, you instantly greet the driver as the window pulls down.

“Hello, are you lost?”

From the angle you stood, you could only view the man’s lips and his seated position. He was finely dressed, and had on an intricate designed leather glove that partially decorated his left hand. “Yes! Could you please give me a lift to the next town?”

You watch as his lips give off a half smile, and the clicking of the locking feature puts you at ease when he reaches over the center console and opens the door for you. “Hop in.”

You settle yourself in the fine leather seating and then it hits you internally.

‘Whoa…’

The man presents a hand initiating the formal manners of introduction as he bids you to shake his. “I’m Jake.”

You gently take his hand with your fingertips and give a subtle shake. “I’m y/n.” The man was too handsome. His wide glasses gave him a classic appeal, while his lengthy hair enhanced it all as it swooped over the side. He looked as smooth as aged liquor, and as fine as fresh silk. Given the luxury of his attire and car, you figured he either came from a wealthy family or made his own fortune, which proposed the bigger question in what he was doing driving on this lonesome road. There was absolutely nothing industrious about this entire place, what could a fashionable man possibly be doing here?

You figured it would be too rude to inquire, so you merely relaxed and made conversation instead. “Thank you for giving me a ride. My uber driver had left me stranded and i am unfamiliar with this part of town.”

He kept his eyes on the road, relaxed in his seat as he steered the vehicle with one hand. His suit outlined his lean muscle and broad chest. You’ve never seen such an incredible looking man before. “Left you stranded, huh? That wasn’t nice of him.”

His voice was deep and equally as smooth as his looks. “Where was he taking you?” he inquires softly. You answer, which propelled him to continue on. “Your grandmother’s house is this far out?”

“No.” you respond. “He took this route while I was on my phone and I’m not sure why. I started to feel uneasy so I told him to drop me off here. I figured it was better to take chances on foot than it was to stay inside the car with him.”

“And what was he driving?”

You were somewhat confused at his inquiry of the driver's vehicle, yet it somehow made you flattered that the man appeared to indicate that he was going to take action against the rude driver. “It was a white car, I can't remember the make or model but its on my uber app.”

He nods. “I see. I suppose you want me to take you to the police station?”

You shook your head and asked if he wouldn’t mind bringing you to your grandmother’s home, to which he agreed. He gently taps on the wide screen on the dashboard. “You can put in the address.”

Once the gps feature was set, you frowned and internally cursed the uber driver in seeing that you were thirty minutes out from where your grandmother’s house was located. Feeling terrible that man, Jake, had to go out of his way to bring you there, you offered to pay him gas money, to which he declined. “Its alright. No need.”

As much as you hated the fact that you were so far out, you found yourself grateful at the fact that you had so much time to spend talking with Jake. His voice was so light and airy, yet deep with a lustful bravado. His features were perfect, and you had to keep reminding yourself to avoid staring.

Finally, you reach your destination as he pulls up to your grandmother’s mailbox. “We’re here.” A man of few words, yet somehow that just made him more attractive. You thanked him as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “One moment.” You halt your movements at the sound of his voice, and watch as he leans in. His chest hovering over the center console as he delicately unbuckles your seatbelt for you. With his face close to yours, you slightly blush and clear your throat as the smell of his cologne dances in your nostrils. He smirks as he unravels the seatbelt and lets it free from his grip. “Let me get the door for you.”

You watch through the windshield as he walks around the front of the car. Hand in pocket, his frame and stature in full sight was equally as impressive as his profile. God this man was so sexy.

He opens the door and helps you out. “Oh…thank you.” you softly express your gratitude while he takes your hand and stabilizes your posture as you hold onto the hem of your dress while getting out. His smooth tone had a faint–a very faint chuckle as he responded. “Hmph. No problem.”

The sunset fired the sky with an orange red hue. “Looks like it's going to be a full moon tonight.”

You chuckled. Confused by his deduction, you sought clarification. “What makes you think so?”

He remains staring at the sky and you feel his thumb stroking the back of your palm while your hand remains resting in his. You feel the heat of bloodrush as he continues to do so before gently releasing your hand at your side. “Just by the way the sun is setting. The color and direction can tell you these things.”

You look up to view the sky before he says goodbye. “It was nice meeting you. Please be careful. I would have someone else drive you home tonight.”

He was so kind. The fact that he had considered your safety made you fall for him, more so than what is considered normal considering you didn’t know this man. Still, how can someone be so beautiful inside and out? “Thank you…Jake.”

He flashes a smile–a real one this time. His teeth were pearly white and straight, enhancing the dashing value of his appeal. “Take care, y/n.”

He drives off after seeing you reach the front door. You sigh as sadness settles in your heart and soul watching him go. “I wish I could see you again…Jake.”

Entering the house, you announce your presence aloud, hoping that your grandma wouldn’t be startled as you let yourself in. Noticing the lack of response, you venture in and explore the house, and see no one was home. It figures. Your grandmother spent a lot of time at one of the neighbors' homes. She probably assumed you weren’t coming and went to spend time with some friends. You reached into the basket and noticed that your phone was not inside. “Oh no–my phone…my phone!”

Since your dress didn’t have any pockets, you had it nestled in the basket during the drive. It must have fallen out on the ride here, which posed another dilemma. You pick up the landline and dial your mother’s phone number, when a stagnant tone indicates that the line was busy or unresponsive.

After a few minutes of pondering, you figured it was best to take your grandmother's car and head back home. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind.

You make your way out and head to the main road, when construction signs indicated that all routes to the path were blocked. With your phone in Jake’s car and no GPS feature in your grandmother’s older vehicle, you had no choice but to head back the way you came in—the backroad. At least this time you had a car and didn’t have to face traveling by foot anymore.

Driving the same route, you turn the bright lights on as night falls. It wasn’t long before you saw red flashing beams blurring up around the bend. You make the curve and rest your eyes on a vehicle stalled to the side. The blinking lights continue to flicker on a steady tempo as you slowly pull from behind. The driver was nowhere to be seen, yet the door remained ajar. You felt uneasy, but you couldn’t leave without confirming that the passenger was unharmed. You place the car in park directly behind and call out–but no answer. You check your surroundings before breaching the driver side and peeking in–a sight that sends shivers down your spine. The windshield was stained with the words “she’s mine” all in blood. The bright red color combined with the ongoing dripping indicated that it was fresh. It only got worse as you continued to look around.

“Polaroids?”

A stack of small prints laid sporadically on the seats and floorboard–some were smeared with hints of blood. Looking closely at the photos, your breath paused as you squint in confusion. You pick up one of the prints and gasp in horror.

“This is–”

You held the photo in a pinched grip as your heartbeat escalated. The photos all were images of you during the uber ride. The angle of the camera was primarily pointed under the skirt of your dress, while others captured the fleshy softness of your cleavage, your defined collarbone, and delicate shoulders. Your hair draping over your bosom with your side profile reflecting your thoughtful gaze as you stared through the window. Everything became clear as you recognized the vehicle and its interior.

The Uber driver…

Part two coming soon…

[noaestheticacademic]

On the Identity of "Chat"

Like all the linguistics folks on Tumblr, I've been sent the "chat is a fourth person pronoun" post by a bunch of well-meaning people and and I've been thinking waaay too much about it. @hbmmaster made a wonderful post explaining exactly why "chat" ISN'T a fourth person pronoun, and after reading it I wanted to go a little deeper on what it might actually be doing linguistically, because it is a really interesting phenomenon. Here's a little proposal on what might be going on, with the caveat that it's not backed up by a sociolinguistic survey (which would be fun but more than I could throw together this morning).

On Pronouns

Studying linguistics has been really beneficial for me because understanding that language is constantly changing helped me to become comfortable with using they/them pronouns for myself. I've since done a decent amount of work with pronouns, and here are some basic ideas.

A basic substitution test shows that "chat" is not syntactically a pronoun: it can't be replaced with a pronoun in a sentence.

"Chat, what do we think about that?"

"He*, what do we think about that?" (* = ungrammatical, a native speaker of English would think it sounds wrong)

Linguists identify pronouns as bundles of features identifying the speaker, addressee, and/or someone outside the current discourse. So, a first person pronoun refers to the speaker, a second person pronoun refers to the addressee, and a third person pronoun refers to someone who is neither the speaker nor the addressee (but who is still known to the speaker and addressee). This configuration doesn't leave a lot of room for a "fourth" person. But the intuition people have that "chat" refers to something external to the discourse is worth exploring.

Hypothesis 1: Chat is a fourth-person pronoun.

We've knocked this one right out.

Hypothesis 2: Chat is an address term.

So what's an address term? These are words like "dude, bro, girl, sir" that we use to talk to people. In the original context where "chat" appears - streamers addressing their viewers - it is absolutely an address term. We can easily replace "chat" with any of these address terms in the example sentence above. It's clear that the speaker is referring to a specific group (viewers) who are observing and commenting on (but not fully participating in) the discourse of the stream. The distinction between OBSERVATION and PARTICIPATION is a secret tool that will come in handy later.

But when a student in a classroom says "wow chat, I hate this," is that student referring to their peers as a chat? In other words, is the student expecting any sort of participation or observation by the other students of their utterance? Could "chat" be replaced with "guys" in this instance and retain its nuance? My intuition as a zillenial (which could be way off, please drop your intuitions in the comments) is that the relationship between a streamer and chat is not exactly what the speaker in this case expects out of their peers. Which brings me to...

Hypothesis 3: chat is a stylistic index.

What's an index in linguistics? To put it very simply, it's anything that has acquired a social meaning based on the context in which it's said. In its original streaming context, it's an address term. But it can be used in contexts where there is not a chat, or even any group of people that could be abstracted into being a chat. Instead, people use this linguistic structure to explicitly mimic the style which streamers use.

And that much seems obvious, right? Of course people are mimicking streamers. It doesn't take a graduate degree to figure that out. What's interesting to me is why people choose to employ streaming language in certain scenarios. How is it different from the same sentence, minus the streamer style?

This all comes down to the indexicality, or social meaning, of streamer speak. This is where I ask you all to take over: what sorts of attitudes and qualities do you associate with that kind of person and that kind of speech? I think it has to do with (here it comes!) the PARTICIPANT/OBSERVER distinction. By framing speech as having observers, a speaker takes on the persona of someone who is observed - a self-styled celebrity. To use "chat" is to position oneself as a celebrity, and in some cases even to mock the notion of such a position. We can see a logical path from how streamers use "chat" as an address term to how it is co-opted to reference streamer culture and that celebrity/observer relationship in non-streaming mediated discourse. If we think about it that way, then it's easy to see why the "fourth person pronoun" post is so appealing. It highlights a discourse relationship that is being invoked wherein "chat" is not a group but a style.

[tryslora]

On Writing Combat and Sex Scenes

Today I want to talk about writing sex and combat (and no, I do not mean combative sex). This post is inspired by a few recent events:

Once, a long time ago, I read a blog post that said “if you can write a combat scene, you can write a sex scene” and that was mind-blowing for me because while I was well-versed in writing erotica, I couldn’t write combat to save my life.

More recently, at Boskone, I participated on a panel about writing combat, and the research involved there-in.

Even more recently, I had someone look at me say, “You’re not a gay guy. How do you write gay sex scenes?”

So. Let’s begin.

I get it—sex and combat aren’t interchangeable. But at their core, they have some strong similarities which can be leveraged while writing. Both are intense, high drama, and can involve a lot of anxiety and quick thought. Both tend to narrow focus down to the moment and the current feeling and action. Both are heightened emotion and physical reaction. Both can involve actions that lie outside the author’s personal experience.

I started writing erotica when I was a freshman in college. I posted it online (does anyone remember rec.arts.erotica?) and was surprised (and pleased) by the compliments I received. Turned out my readers were not expecting the idea of emotion being entangled in their erotica. They were invested emotionally in how the stories went, and how my characters felt. Since I was writing from the point of view that made sense to me at the time, they were het stories from a female perspective, and they were very focused on the emotional connections and how the physical events heightened those emotions.

Male readers were surprised by the intensity of the feelings that these stories gave them (as opposed to pure arousal). It got me thinking about how I wrote, and why I wrote, and I tried to talk about it some at the time. I was eighteen. I was still a new writer. The internet itself was new. I wasn’t entirely certain how to frame it, but I remember getting one comment where a guy was surprised at how struck he’d been by the moment in the scene where everything shuddered to a halt due to an event in the story that interrupted the action, and I replied that that was because I wasn’t writing about the sex. I was writing about the character’s reaction to the sex.

Which has always been how I write. At the time, that was my only tool: put myself in the character’s mind, and write what they feel. If that’s affection and attraction and physical reaction, write that. Tangle it up, and hope the reader feels that entanglement.

Now, fast forward several years, and take a little side trip onto a tangent wherein I learned something very important about writing craft.

I was reading Syne Mitchell’s End in Fire, I think it was, and I kept having panic attacks. Now, I did most of my reading late, often when I woke in the middle of the night due to stress, or just because my brain refused to rest. I was in a rough place in life in general, with a lot of external work stuff going on and very small children. I wasn’t sleeping well. And it took me some time to figure out why I was struggling to read a book which I actually loved (and when I read it later in life, I enjoyed it greatly).

It was the sentence structure.

In order to induce the emotion of the scene, the sentences were short. Sharp. Quick. There was no time for the reader to breathe, much like there was no time for the heroine to do anything but act. The reader was caught up in the rising tension, to the point where my anxious, sleep-deprived brain, caught a panic attack from it.

The technique was brilliant.

Now back to our original timeline, wherein I read a post about how if you can write combat, you can write sex scenes. This post assumed that more people felt comfortable writing violence than sex. I was the reverse. I’d been writing about sex for over a decade when I saw this post, and it made a light bulb go off in my brain.

If writing sex was like writing combat… was the reverse also true? Could I improve my skills at writing battles by analyzing what worked when I wrote erotica?

So I tried doing just that. Back then, I found combat overwhelming. There was so much going on, and I was trying so hard to write good description that I lost all of the intensity. I was focusing on everything that was going on at the same time.

Thinking about how sex scenes were all intense emotion and narrowed focus, I applied that to my combat scenes. I wrote only what the point of view character experienced, and tied everything to their actions and reactions. I thought about how they breathed, how they moved, how they thought. I used those short, sharp sentences as they processed the scene. 

That doesn’t mean I forgot about everything else going on in the scene. That’s impossible. After all, in any story the things the character doesn’t pay attention to might be as important as the things they do focus on. Stuff still happens, and there is still fallout. I needed to know what else was happening so that if the character moved from one place to another, or did something that put them in the path of a different part of the action, I could have them start processing it.

But it also meant that on the page, out of sight was out of mind. Everything narrowed down to the now. The immediacy. Suddenly my combat scenes snapped into focus.

During the panel at Boskone, all of the panelists had experience with different fighting styles (fencing, street combat, and of course, me with taekwondo). I spoke about how for me, that narrow focus is very real when I spar. I know there are some people who naturally see a move or two ahead while fighting; I don’t. I am stuck in act and react mode. Can I kick them now? Can I attempt a head shot? Oh, no, circle back and away or they’re going to hit me… that’s how my brain works during a sparring match.

It’s not like a total blackout—there should be a vague awareness of things around the character. Sounds in particular, or sometimes flashes of movement. Something distracting can catch the attention of the fighter, but the personal fight will always pull the character back.

Combat feels easy when I’m writing like that.

Of course, there’s still the question of writing about something if I’ve never experienced it. As someone did point out to me: I am not a gay man, so how does that affect writing sex scenes? I’ve also never fought with a sword. Brawled. Fought from horseback. I have, however, held a blade, shot a gun, shot an arrow, rode a horse. I have a vague idea of how these things work, much like I have a working knowledge of sex in general.

So yes, research gets involved. Sometimes research is observational, sometimes it’s reading (there’s so much good stuff out there). I highly recommend video for combat scenes—find things that have the feel that you’re going for, then put yourself in the place of the character you want to write about. Practice. Work through the ideas of how things fit together, and what your character will (and will not!) know during the fight.

If you need to, stand up and block the scene by thinking about how you would experience it. What can you see, and what is out of sight? If someone is coming at you with a blade, what are your options? How do height differences affect you? Yes, I have asked friends and husband to help me block scenes. 

“Stand right there and show me what it looks like if you punch me. Okay, so if I do this then…” Yeah. It’s a thing. But it works.

When doing your research, remember that movie fighting (and hell, movie sex scenes) isn’t realistic. It’s meant to look good. For combat, if you can find re-enactments, or sparring videos, I highly recommend taking a look at those. 

Anyway, the point is: I don’t have to have shot someone, and I don’t have to have had gay sex in order to write about them. What I do need to know is how it feels emotionally to do those things, and I can extrapolate that from what I do know. I need to know enough about the details so I can get it right, and that’s where research will help me. Also, use language to create emotion. Because emotions are where we grab the reader, and how we pull them into the scene.

Combat and sex aren’t so different when it comes to writing, and the personal experience. Now, go forth and write!

[billcyp-her]

Blog Guide

i'm going to pin this so all of my posts are here, in case you're looking for something specific :) {last updated 05/20/24}

beginner

I think I want to get into witchcraft, what do i do? - a guide for where to start research/practice

witchcraft tips for poor people - witchcraft tips that dont require money

my personal experience with Pyromancy/how i do pyromancy

witchcraft book recommendations

housekeeping in general - please make sure you're cleaning your house correctly

the core 5 basics document - banishing/warding etc...

low effort witchcraft - small things you can do without using a lot of energy

digital grimoire and associations -a good place to look if you ever need to figure out associations of things

learning to cook like a witch: the absolute beginning - kitchen witchcraft!!

beginner witch resource list - masterlist of a bunch of resources including podcasts and books

resources to help you fact check what you see/read/hear - make sure you know if you're being fed propaganda

how to incorporate spirituality into daily life

the thing about dreams (not a guide) - commentary/info post about dreams

witchcraft tools - common tools used in witchcraft

associating demons as negative spirits (not a guide, just some commentary)

coffee in witchcraft - how to incorporate coffee into magic

little bits of herbal magic - how to use herbs/plants in magic

what witchcraft wont do (informative)

commentary on gut feelings

use things you already own for witchcraft

brief explanation on elements (images)

witchy self care and mindfulness (images)

a short guide to pyromancy

plants and their correspondences masterlist

The structure of pagan prayer

Ways to connect with Gods without an atlar

Subtle deity worship master list

Sköll and Hati

Consumerism and witchcraft

intermediate

spirit work basics

basic spirit contact etiquette

working in graveyards and graveyard etiquette

dark moon protective barrier

correspondences for death

want help making spells?

all about Baphomet

The magical girl guide to faerie witchcraft

Deity interactions

not witchcraft but still worth the read

not everything is a sign

love war and disability (Hephaestus, Ares, and Aphrodite)

joan of arc is trans history

hating Nazis vs loving Jewish people

how to stream media for free (guide)

PSA about the R slur

why we don't like it when children hit us back

purity culture and sex

The seven deadly sins are christian bs

You don't have to worship deities to interact with them

Don't cry, much love

_______________________________

i will keep updating this as a post/reblog more things.

[rynwritesreid]

Kiss it away| Spencer Reid

A/N:This is my first time writing a sub Spencer, so it may not be as good as my other smut pieces. But I still hope you enjoy. This is also partially requested as someone wanted a sub!Spencer. Please tell me if you want more sub! Spencer. I’ve also started writing the first chapter of Mind Games, and honestly I’m really looking forward to posting it on here.

Summary: Spencer is suffering with a migraine, you find a natural way to help relieve his pain, with some natural analgesics.

Content: Smut and fluff. Fem!reader. Dom!reader. Sub!Spencer. established relationship/dynamic Praise kink. Handjob (M!receiving). Oral(M!receiving). Vaginal penetration (P in V). Cream-pie. No mentions of contraception. Pet names (Good boy. Sweet boy). Migraines/pain. A tiny mention of Spencers addiction(literally in passing/referencing why he wouldn’t want medication). Vulnerability. Caring reader. Use of Y/N. Suggestive ending. 18*

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

Spencer, the man known for talking people’s heads off and giving everyone unwanted statistics, was being unusually quiet. In fact he didn’t really seem to be all there. He kept rubbing his head and couldn’t seem to be in bright rooms for prolonged periods of time.

 

Even when you two were at home together, he wouldn’t talk much to you. Instead, he would shut himself in the spare room with the lights turned off and the curtains drawn. You didn’t know what to do, or how to help. You knew he wouldn’t want any medication, so all you could do was try and offer a helping hand.

 

Before going to work one morning, you decided to ask him if he was okay to go to work. You were sure that everyone would understand him wanting to stay home if was feeling this ill.

 

“Hey, Spencer. Are you okay? You’ve being acting off lately. Are you sure you want to go into work today? We’ve not been called out into the field or anything.”

 

Spencer looked up from his coffee, his eyes bloodshot and distant. He gave a weak smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

 

"I appreciate your concern," he murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "But I can't stay home. I need to keep my mind occupied, even if it feels like it's tearing me apart."

 

You watched him closely, the worry etching deeper lines upon your face. Spencer had always been a man of routine, finding solace in the structure and predictability of his work. But now, there was something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface.

 

"Spencer, please," you pleaded softly, taking a step closer to him. "You don't have to suffer alone. We can figure this out together. Maybe it's time to seek some help."

 

“I’ve already being to the doctors; they couldn’t see anything wrong. So, please let me go into work.” Though his voice barely crept above a whisper, you could sense the anger.

 

You sighed, feeling the weight of his frustration and desperation. You knew how much he valued his work, how it gave him purpose and stability. But seeing him like this, so lost and distant, it tore at your heart.

 

“I’m going to call in sick, handsome. Please join me in staying home today, let me take care of you.”

 

Spencer's eyes flickered with uncertainty, a mixture of gratitude and resistance fighting within him. He seemed torn between his desire to protect you from the darkness that plagued him and his fear of burdening you with his own struggles.

 

"I don't want to hold you back," he whispered, his voice trembling with vulnerability. "You deserve someone who can give you the happiness you deserve."

 

Your heart ached at his selfless words, for they only made you love him more. You reached out and gently cupped his face, your touch tender and full of reassurance.

 

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice laced with determination. "Happiness is not something I seek outside of us. It is in being with you, in trying to help shoulder your burden. Let me be here for you."

 

His eyes searched yours, tears shimmering in their depths. Slowly, he nodded, relinquishing the weight he had been carrying alone for far too long.

 

“Okay.” He whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of relief and vulnerability. "Okay, maybe staying home with you today wouldn't be such a bad idea."

You called Hotch, who was very understanding, and told him that you were both taking the day off work.

 

You closed all the curtains and kept only a little lamp on and told him to make himself as comfortable as possible. His sat down on the sofa, with his cup of coffee in hand. You decided to do some research, to see what possible ways you could help ease his pain.

 

Through your research, you saw that orgasms can help, as they act as a natural analgesic. You didn’t know if that was something Spencer would be willing to try, but you knew it was worth a shot.

 

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nervousness and determination as you approached Spencer. Sitting down beside him on the sofa, you gently placed a hand on his thigh.

 

"Spencer," you began softly, trying to find the right words amidst the heaviness in the room. "I've been doing some research, and I came across something that might help... It's a bit unconventional, but... orgasms can actually act as a natural analgesic. They release endorphins that can alleviate pain and promote relaxation."

 

Spencer blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes as he processed your words. You could see the wariness and scepticism etched across his face, but there was also a glimmer of hope.

 

“Would you like to try it; you don’t need to do anything. I’m going to do all the work.” Spencer's gaze met yours, his apprehension slowly fading as a small spark of curiosity ignited within him. He knew the pain that haunted him was not physical, but if there was a chance that this unconventional method could provide even a momentary respite from the torment in his mind, he was willing to give it a try.

 

"I trust you," he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability and gratitude. "If there's a chance it might help, then let's give it a shot."

 

“Now that’s my good boy. I’m going to make you feel better, okay?” Your voice was light, soft and caring.

 

You led him into the bedroom, making sure that he would be comfortable. You slowly took of his clothes, making sure to be delicate.  You could feel the tension and anticipation building between you as each article of clothing was removed. Spencer stood before you, his naked body exposed and vulnerable. You took a moment to appreciate the sight before you, the way his gaze met yours with a mix of trust and longing.

 

With gentle hands, you guided him to lie down on the bed, his body sinking into the soft sheets. The dim light cast a warm glow across the room, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt like a sanctuary from the outside world.

 

You positioned yourself beside him, your fingers trailing delicately along his skin. Every touch was deliberate, filled with tenderness and a desire to ease his pain. Slowly, you let your hand travel lower, caressing the sensitive skin just below his belly button.

 

Spencer's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with measured anticipation. His eyes never left yours, as if seeking reassurance that this act of intimacy was meant to heal rather than exploit.

 

“I love you, my sweet boy. I would do anything to help you. Do you understand?”

 

Spencer nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you too," he replied, his words filled with gratitude and vulnerability. He trusted you implicitly, knowing that your intentions were pure and genuine.

 

As you continued your gentle caresses, your fingers slowly descended further, tracing the outline of his growing arousal. The weight of his pain seemed to lift slightly as pleasure began to replace it, inch by inch. Your touch was delicate and purposeful, seeking to provide comfort and relief rather than raw desire.

 

Spencer's breath hitched again, a soft gasp escaping his lips as your fingertips brushed over the sensitive head of his penis. His eyes fluttered closed momentarily, his body relaxing into your touch as you continued to stroke him with soothing care.

 

With each stroke, the tension in his body seemed to dissipate further. His muscles softened beneath your touch, the knots of anguish gradually unravelling as pleasure washed over him in waves. In this moment of intimacy and vulnerability, he allowed himself to let go of the weight he had been carrying. The pain that had consumed him for so long began to fade into the background, replaced by a newfound sense of relief and release.

 

You watched the transformation unfold, your heart swelling with both love and pride. This was more than just physical pleasure; it was a catharsis, a moment of respite amidst the storm that raged within Spencer's mind.

 

As you continued to stroke him, your movements became more purposeful, more focused on unlocking the pleasure hidden beneath the layers of his pain. You could feel his body responding to your touch, his breath quickening and his muscles tensing with anticipation.

 

"Let go, Spencer," you whispered, your voice laced with both tenderness and command. "Surrender to the pleasure, let it wash over you and carry away the darkness."

 

His eyes snapped open, meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and trust. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he allowed himself to fully surrender to the pleasure that enveloped him. The heaviness in his mind melted away, replaced by a blissful ecstasy that radiated through his body.

 

You continued to stroke him, your movements steady and sure, attuned to his every response. The room was filled with the sounds of his gasps and moans, mingling with the soft rhythm of your touch. With each stroke, the tension in his body unravelled further, making room for a profound sense of release and relief.

 

Spencer's muscles twitched beneath your fingertips, his body trembling on the precipice of something powerful. His breath hitched as he teetered on the edge of climax, teetered on the edge of being released from the chains of his pain. And then, with a shuddering groan, he let go.

 

His whole body convulsed as an intense wave of pleasure coursed through him, washing away the thoughts that tormented him.

 

“Oh, my sweet handsome boy, look at the mess you’ve made. I guess I better clean it up, huh? Would you like that?”

 

Spencer didn’t answer for a while, he was still coming down. As he caught his breath, he let out a “yes”. You lowered your head, making sure to give him a trail of kisses.

 

You lowered your head, pressing soft kisses along his abdomen as you made your way down to his spent cock. The taste of him was familiar and comforting, a reminder of the intimate connection you shared. With each gentle lick and suck, you cleaned him up, taking care to savour every drop.

 

Spencer's body relaxed further against the bed, his muscles loosening as a blissful satisfaction settled over him. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, the weight of his pain replaced by a gentle calmness that washed over him.

 

“You don’t we’ve finished yet though. Do you?”

 

Spencer's eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting yours as a flicker of anticipation danced in his eyes. The words hung heavy in the air, a promise of continued pleasure and release. He shook his head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

 

"No, I don't think we're finished," he replied, his voice filled with a newfound sense of confidence and desire. "I want to keep going."

 

You smiled back at him, a mix of adoration and mischief dancing in your eyes. Your hand gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

 

"Good boy," you murmured, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "Let's see just how far we can take this."

With a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, you leaned down and captured Spencer's lips in a searing kiss. Your hands roamed over his bare skin, tracing every dip and curve, as desire coursed through your veins.

 

Spencer's body responded eagerly to your touch, his hands gripping the sheets as he arched into your caress. His kisses grew hungrier, more desperate, as if he sought solace not only from his pain but from the world itself. There was an unspoken understanding between you, an unquenchable hunger that demanded to be sated.

 

You slowly lowered yourself back to his cock. As you worked your mouth up and down his length, your hand stroked his thigh, adding to the sensations coursing through him. Spencer's moans grew louder and more desperate with each passing moment, his body arching off the bed as he surrendered to the ecstasy that washed over him.

 

You could feel the tension building in him once again, his breath quickening, his muscles tightening. With a final stroke of your tongue, you brought him to the edge once more, guiding him over it with expert precision.

 

His release was explosive, his body convulsing in waves of pleasure. You swallowed every drop, savouring the taste as if it were a decadent treat.

 

“Do you think you can give me another?” He slowly nodded your head, as he found himself unable to speak.

 

You moved off the bed so you could undress yourself. Spencer’s eyes scanning your body, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. With each piece of clothing that fell to the floor, Spencer's anticipation grew. He watched you undress, soaking in the sight of your bare skin, the contours of your body that held a promise of pleasure. The desire in his eyes mirrored your own, a hunger that demanded to be satisfied.

 

As you climbed back onto the bed, naked and eager, Spencer's hands reached out instinctively to touch you. Each caress was filled with longing and need, his fingertips tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every curve.

 

Your skin tingled under his touch, and you couldn't help but gasp at the electricity that coursed through your veins. It was as if every nerve ending in your body had awakened, craving the pleasure that only Spencer could provide.

 

With a gentle push, you urged Spencer to lie back on the bed, his body surrendering to your desires. Your lips sought out his with an urgency born from months of pent-up longing and anticipation. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and need.

 

“You haven’t been able to cum yet. Please let me help you out?” His voice was cracking, his eyes pleading for you to let him do anything.

 

“My sweet boy, I told you I was going to be doing all the work. Just relax.”

 

Spencer nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and desire. He allowed himself to sink into the mattress, surrendering control over his pleasure to you completely. You straddled him, positioning yourself just above his aching need, teasing him with the anticipation of what was to come.

 

You began to slowly grind against him, the friction between your bodies sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to build the tension and desire that simmered just beneath the surface. Spencer's hands grasped at your hips, pulling you closer, desperate for more contact.

 

But you kept your pace torturously slow, denying him the release he yearned for. Each time he tried to thrust upwards, seeking more contact, you gently but firmly held him down, reminding him who was in control.

 

"You're doing so well," you whispered as you leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. "Just a little longer. I promise it'll be worth the wait."

 

Spencer's body trembled beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought against the overwhelming need for release. His eyes were glazed with desire, his lips parted in a silent plea for more. The intensity of his desire mirrored your own, and you reveled in the power you held over him.

 

With each tantalizing movement of your hips, you could feel yourself growing wet and swollen, your own need begging to be satisfied. But this moment was about Spencer, about giving him the pleasure, he so desperately craved. You would have your turn soon enough.

 

His moans grew louder, more desperate, filling the room with their raw intensity. With each passing second, Spencer edged closer to the brink of ecstasy. But you were not ready to let him go just yet. Your movements quickened, but only slightly, teasing him with the promise of release while denying him its full realization.

 

"Please," he begged, his voice thick with desperation. "I need to cum, please."

 

You smiled down at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of affection and dominance. You knew he was on the edge, his body trembling with need. But you wanted to push him even further, to take him to a place of ecstasy he had never experienced before.

 

"Patience, my love," you whispered, your voice silkily smooth. "I want to make you feel so good."

 

With those words, you increased the tempo of your movements, grinding against him with a relentless rhythm. The pleasure intensified, threatening to break through the dam of control that Spencer had managed to maintain. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body writhing beneath yours as he fought against the mounting pleasure.

 

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss that swallowed his moans and pleas for release. Your tongue danced with his, an erotic ballet that mirrored the movements of your bodies. The taste of him mingled with your own desire, intoxicating and addictive.

 

With a final thrust, you felt Spencer's body tense beneath you, his release imminent. The grip of his fingers on your hips grew tighter as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure that washed over him. His moans filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy that reverberated in your ears.

 

As he climaxed, you continued to move against him, prolonging his pleasure until he couldn't take any more. Wave after wave of intense sensation coursed through his body, leaving him gasping for breath, his limbs limp and sated.

 

You slowly eased yourself off him, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of your lips. The sight of Spencer lying there, spent, and thoroughly pleasured, made your heart swell with pride and delight. You had taken him to new heights of pleasure, pushed boundaries and explored desires you had only dared to whisper about.

 

“When you’re feeling better, I think you should reward me for taking such good care of you. Don’t you?”

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~Taglist~

@iluvreid @nomajdetective @drspencieee @katieeeee314 @evvy96 @oliviah-25 @starkid024 @emalynvtgtgfhvgg @krokietino @xohoneybun @spencerreidwifeee @purplepistachi0 @pleasantwitchgarden @bitchassbecky691 @piperb400 @queermaxwooo @gemofthenight @topguncultleader @luvpiercethekaty @anna-belle-xd

[moonastro]

your fs's cute habits

pick a picture

left to right(top)-> 1,2,3

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑how to choose an image? take a deep breath, close your eyes, RELAX, and let your intuition do the rest.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑remember, you can be drawn to more than one picture!!

°DO NOT take this as literal, take everything with a grain of salt as this is purely and intendedly for entertainment purposes.

°Don't be afraid to give feedback and opinions about this post (as i would entirely appreciate it).

° This is a GENERAL reading, take what resonates and leave and pass on what does not!

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pile one

they might have a smirk to their smile, or have this instinctive smile that they do that is unique to them. i don't know, it feels very cute though. like i see them doing it whenever they get shy or get suddenly happy. Also, along with that will be their laugh. they may have a distinctive laugh that they do. they may hit (in a friendly way) when laughing or they may get weak and pretend fall, and so on. i do see them being dramatic with it though😅. your person may randomly say what's on their mind without any context. like it will become so normal to you guys that you will either go with it or just ignore it. by random i mean like continuing a conversation you guys had 30 minutes ago and they add to it, or they purely just bring up the time when they were a kid and such. in public, i feel like they will be quite shy, they may unintentionally hide behind you especially if you are talking with someone or walk slightly behind. they may be a slow walker too, its not because they are slow but they get distracted easily. by the nature, the birds, the cars, the buildings etc etc. very much new soul vibes, taking in everything around them. they can be a collector and have a collection of little figures and items. it is their possessions and they will protect their collection with all their heart and take time to correct their positions and such when accidently moved.

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pile two

awk, this is too cute, so your partner may blush quite often. it may be from embarrassment, anger, stress, or getting put in the spotlight. you may find it cute because it can make you love them even more and it may make you feel like they are like more genuine?? anyway, they may space out quite often, probably just blanking out and staring into abyss. this may be a habit and they may have a nickname given from spacing out so much 😅. like for example, you may ask them a question and they reply with mumbles and when you say 'did you even hear what i said' they come back and go 'huh' or 'no, sorry'. you may laugh at it because you find the way they look doing it cute. you may find it cute when they get mad. they may have a face that they do or do a gesture that you notice each time. its giving me every time when they're angry you cant take them seriously and then they get even more mad. the way they eat/chew may be significant, so they may pout/ make a cute face when eating.

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pile three

okay, so pile 3, your person is giving very much clueless energy. i feel like most of the time they may not know what you may be talking about but they still contribute to the conversation so you wont feel upset about it. but i feel like you will always ask them if they know what you mean and then they'll admit that they don't! but i do see you laughing it off and telling them that they can admit if they don't get it. oh, they are really into structure and have really organised drawers, closets, shoe racks and so forth. you may find it cute how they keep it VERY organised and are serious about it too. you may find their concentrated face cute lol. they do portray this youthful energy so they might express those characteristics through their actions. they definitely don't like to argue and will let you win every single time which may feel frustrating sometimes but they just avoid it at all cost and feel there is no need for it. it can make you feel guilty about it though and make you want to take care of them. at the end of they day you laugh it off and find it cute. they may have trouble with their vision and may squint a lot- you can tend to make fun of them cutely for it. like, every minute of they day you see they squinting at EVERYTHING and that can catch you off guard and make you laugh by their cuteness. this is a very fun/ laughter couple so there is a lot of laughing and giggling involved.

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thank you dear soul for reading this!! it is greatly appreciated, and i hope you all are doing well and enjoyed this post🤍.

[stickandthorn]

I was thinking about that post about redemption I just reblogged, and I think it’s worth pointing out just how difficult and time consuming it would to de-radicalize or “redeem” Lilliana. And I think Essek’s redemption in campaign 2 is actually a really good example of what I’m talking about.

First of all, what the Nein did to redeem Essek was not slowly and politely talk him through why what he did was wrong. They didn’t even know he did anything wrong. What they did was continually reach out to him and give him a support system of friends he did not have before. Notably, friends who he could be comfortable sharing his worldview around: he was an atheist* in a theocratic society who had to hide his worldview in order to have any social, academic, or governmental standing. The mighty nein were probably the first people he could be himself around, and creating a change in his personal life is what led to a change in his ideology. Notably, he did most of the actual deconstructing of his ideology on his own, some before the big betrayal reveal and a lot after. The Nein helped with that directly a little, but the main thing they did was offer him a personal connection he had stakes in, and a people in his life with different world views he hadn’t seen up close before.

This is pretty true to life, in the real world, most people who leave radical or bigoted groups leave at least partially because of a change in their personal life. Even if they do leave because of someone directly challenging their worldview, it’s usually someone they care about who challenges them in a non-aggressive way. It’s still personal.

Secondly, this took a lot of time. I can’t remember exactly how long they spent in the Dynasty, but they befriended Essek over a really long period of in game and out of game time. The cast spent actual real world hours talking pretty much one on one with Essek, and the party spent weeks, maybe even months slowly getting to know him and bringing this support structure into his life. Essek spent even longer actually thinking through and deconstructing on his own. The change in his worldview between the ship and the outpost really shows this, he did a lot of the thinking that led him to change by himself over a lot of time we weren’t there for. They could not have gotten him to actually change his mindset, fully realize what he did was wrong of his own free will, in anything approaching a short amount of time. This was a time consuming process.

All this to say: this is the kind of effort it would take to legitimately de-radicalize Lilliana. She has been in the Vanguard for ~25 years, she most likely joined when she was in her early to mid 20s, and she gave up all personal connections, even her daughter and her husband to join. Not only has her entire ideology been built around this being the right thing to do, her entire personal life is contained within the Vanguard. It’s most likely where she gets any housing or money or really anything from. It is her whole life, and she believes wholeheartedly in it. The level of time and effort it took to get Essek to organically change his mind is most likely the level it would take to get Lilliana to change hers, if not more.

And they don’t have that time. Lilliana is actively doing harm now, she is helping the Vanguard release Predathos right now, they simply do not have the time to redeem her. It sucks, but pragmatically speaking, it is simply not worth the time and effort. Essek gave away the beacons in the past, but also, the Nein did not know he did that for their early friendship. If the Nein had known, they probably would not have put in all the work it took to get him to change. They probably couldn’t have. Lilliana might be able to be redeemed in theory, but so can a lot of people who do very bad things. Focusing on that redemption process is prioritizing Imogen’s complicated feelings over the harsh reality that this is a war, and Lilliana is a key figure in that war doing a great deal of harm. It sucks, but I do think it’s time to move on, and I think Imogen is now leaning that way.

*atheist is a loose term here, it’s hard to be an atheist in a world where gods are proven to exist, but it gets the point across