#yes that is the grey's dialogue

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

my greatest achievement in DA2 is maxing out Carver's friendship

and all it took was begrudgingly kissing a little templar ass in act 1 because Carver didn't want to plan a prison break if my Hawke got his ass arrested for being stupid.

[signalnext]

"What are you doing New Year's Eve?"

"I'm watching one of my all-time favorite episodes of a TV show!"

"Oh that's nice. I know you love shows with lovely locations - where is this one set?"

"Manchester."

"Ah, so there's wintry snow? Idyllic river locations?"

"Er it's Manchester, England, not New Hampshire. No snow in this one. No river shown. I don't think? I don't know, it was pretty dark in the outdoor night shots."

"Does it takes place at a traditional New Year's setting? Restaurant? Cozy home? Fireplace? Families and friends?"

"Er...well it takes place in a self-storage building."

"..."

"And...there are parties going on, outside, but people are trapped inside."

"Inside the self-storage building."

"Yeah."

"Is it a festive self-storage building?"

"Well, there are still Christmas decorations in the lobby. Otherwise, just...your typical warehouse spaces? An old elevator? Flight of stairs? Loading dock? Long hallways to the self-storage units?"

"Is it...about them having their own renegade party on their own, then?"

"Er, well they're being hunted by killer robots before it's midnight."

"Inside the self-storage building."

"Yeah."

"I thought you didn't like violent shows?"

"Er, well normally I don't, but...this is a special case. The killer robot violence isn't like, graphic or anything, it's more like family-friendly sci-fi."

"Family-friendly where they're being hunted down by killer robots."

"Yeah. And there's also a Groundhog Day parallel where they're in a time loop. So er, they actually keep getting killed over and over."

"Inside the self-storage building."

"Yeah. But, er, I'm making it sound so bleak, but it's more fun than it sounds. It's funny. Sometimes it's self-consciously funny. There are expected moments, but there's also a few unexpected ones. There's a lovely scene that's lovelier in the setup of the time loop effect. The music soundtrack is done well too. And...there's a major reveal for my favorite character. That's really the main thing for me. Every time I watch it, I sort of have to pinch myself that it's happening. There's a happy ending. Mostly. And there're fireworks."

"So, it makes you happy?"

"Yeah. It does."

"Ah well, there you go. That's the important thing, then. I hope you enjoy it and I hope it makes you happy again."

"I hope so, too."

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

[Part 2] | [More original works]

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)." 

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock. 

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message. 

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

 It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

 "There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days. 

 You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows. 

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?" 

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window. 

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?" 

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied: 

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake. 

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else." 

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing. 

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat. 

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport. 

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks. 

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society. 

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation. 

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly. 

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail." 

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary. 

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment? 

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously. 

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology. 

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa. 

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport. 

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead. 

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment. 

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans. 

Just you."

[hayatheauthor]

Blog Posts Masterlist

Here are all the blogs I've written sorted according to six categories and a lot of sub categories.

Post Writing (Publishing):

Querying/Getting Published

How To Get Published As A Minor—A Step-By-Step Guide

How To Get Out Of The Slush Pile And Make Your Agent Say Yes

How To Answer Some Common Literary Agent Questions

The Rejection Checklist: Manuscript Pitfalls to Avoid

Editing

Everything You Need To Know Before Editing Your Manuscript

How To Eliminate Passive Voice From Your Manuscript

Pre Writing:

WIP building

Ten Dos And Don'ts Of Worldbuilding

How To Name Your Characters

A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline

How to Pick The Perfect Weapon For Your Characters

Writing tools

How To Hook Your Readers With Your Chapter's Starting And Ending

How To Write And Create A Sub Plot

How To Immerse Your Readers With Indirect Characterisation

First or Third Person? How To Choose The Right POV for Your Story

Genre-Based Advice:

Fantasy

How To Build A Realistic Magic System

Things To Consider When Writing With Mythologies

Tips To Consider When Writing A Fantasy Religious Story

Horror/Thriller

How To Get Away With Murder...As An Author

How To Get Away With Murder Part Two: Writing Murder Mysteries

How To Build Tension And Make Your Readers Feel Scared

Romance

Crafting Asexual Romance: Navigating Emotional Intimacy in Fiction

Character-Based Advice:

How To Write An Antagonist

How To Create Realistic Book Characters

How To Write A Compelling Character Arc

How To Create A Morally Grey Character

How To Write A Plot Device Character

How To Develop A Memorable Antagonist

Writing Believable Teenage Characters: Dos and Don'ts

Crafting Character Voices And Distinct Dialogue

Crafting Authentic Child Characters: From Toddlers to Tweens

How To Create And Execute Unreliable Narrators

How To Write Immortal Characters in Fiction

Creatures/Monsters

How To Write Mythical Creatures Without Sounding Redundant

How To Write Vampires With An Original Twist

'Sensitive' character topics:

How To Write POC Characters Without Seeming Racist

How To Write A Disabled Character: Ten Dos And Don'ts

How To Write And Research Mental Illnesses

Resources And Advice For Writing Abusive Parents

Scene-Based Advice:

How To Build Tension And Make Your Readers Feel Scared

Four Tips On How To Make Your Plot Twist Work

How To Set The Scene Without Info Dumping

Writing A Creepy Setting: Tips And Examples

The Dos and Don'ts of Writing Flashbacks in Fiction

Crafting Realistic Car Accidents in Fiction: A Writer's Guide

Writing Rage: How To Make Your Characters Seem Angry

Crafting Sad Scenes: Writing Tears and Emotional Depth

Fights, poison, pain

How To Accurately Describe Pain In Writing

How To Create A Well-Written Fight Scene

The Ultimate Guide To Writing Persuasive Arguments

Forgining Epic Battles: Techniques For Writing Gripping War Scenes

The Writer's Guide to Authentic Wounds and Fatalities

Ink And Venom: A Writer’s Guide To Poisonous Prose

Everything You Need To Know About Writing Stab Wounds

Everything You Need to Know About Writing Burns

Everything You Need To Know About Writing Gunshot Wounds

Everything You Need To Know About Writing Bruises

Recommendations:

Websites And Writing Apps Every Author Needs in 2023

Seven Blogs You Need To Read As An Author

Ten Websites Every Author Should Know In 2024

Series

Writing Wounds

Writing Mythical Creatures With A Unique Twist

Writing Emotions

[lomlhwa]

roadtrip (c.s)

pairing: bf!san x gf!reader

preview: idk it's a long roadtrip and san needs to let out some pent up energy

tags/warnings: fem reader, oral (m.receiving), kinda subby san idk there's not a lot of dialogue, road head can i get a wahoo, head while driving (don't do that), he's wearing grey sweatpants (yes that's a tag), you take your seatbelt off to give him head (WEAR YOUR SEATBELT), dacryphilia, pet names (baby, pretty girl), cum eating

trigger warnings: n/a

wc: 833

song recs for this fic: let's! by hoppipola

a/n: dedicated to one of the biggest san stans i know (you know who you are)

you look up to check the clock on the car display and groan. 4:00pm. you’ve been on the road for at least 4 hours now. you know your destination is far but there’s only so much gazing out the window that one person can do.

at least you have the best view on the planet sitting next to you. your boyfriend, san, always looks so much more attractive while he’s driving. one hand on the wheel and one hand gripping the plush skin of your thigh. his eyes are stuck on the road, his head swaying from side to side to the beat of the music filling the otherwise silent car. 

you rest your head on the window, debating dozing off. that is, until you hear the sound of san’s clothes shuffling around on his seat. you turn your head to find that he’s adjusting his hips in his seat, seeming uncomfortable.

“you okay, sannie?” you ask, feeling concerned. could he have a stomach ache? was a pit stop imminent? he nods, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. you can tell from his facial expression that it’s an empty motion.

“just tell me what’s wrong. if you need to stop we can-” you cut yourself off once your eyes finally travel down to his lap. you finally spot his…. problem. it’s clear to you now why he was shifting around in his seat.

“oh, that’s what’s wrong,” you cross your ankles together, debating how to go about it. you’re about to suggest pulling over but when you look at him, you think you might explode if you don’t do something immediately. he looks at you with wide, teary eyes that beg you to touch him.

“aww sannie, do you want my help?” you lean towards him and you can tell he’s really struggling to keep his eyes on the road. “please, baby. it hurts,” he takes his hand off your thigh to pull at his grey sweatpants. you can’t help but lick your lips in anticipation.

“eyes on the road or i’ll stop,” you instruct as you help him shimmy his pants and underwear halfway down his thighs. he’s harder than you think you’ve ever seen him in your entire relationship. what could have even had him like this?

you unlock your seatbelt to lay your torso over the center console. not the most comfortable position but you could not care less right now. you keep your arms free so you can wrap your hands around his cock. you pump him a few times, using his pre-cum as lube. 

you shoot one glance up at him to make sure he’s looking at the road. his cute face is scrunched, trying to keep from looking down at his pretty girlfriend. you can see tears slowly streaming down his face out of desperation.

you finally wrap your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around it. a small squeak comes from your boyfriend at finally getting what he wanted. san grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. you bob your head up and down, doing your best to not accidentally knock into his arm. 

his hips buck up slightly, his tip jabbing the back of your throat. you gag, saliva pouring out of your mouth. he takes one hand off the wheel and tangles his fingers in your hair. his other hand still holds a death grip on the steering wheel.

“pretty girl,” san says, his hips continuing to rock up. he sniffles before adding to his sentence. “let me use your mouth, i need it,” he pleads, his voice cracking. you can’t help but feel like his crying is only spurring you on. 

you pull your mouth off him only to respond. “go ahead, just make sure you keep driving,” you assure him before taking him back into your mouth. he strengthens his grip on your hair before guiding your head manually. 

you place your hand on his thigh, digging your nails into it to try and ignore your gag reflex. you can’t help but gag though, considering the sheer size. shoving the whole thing down your throat is guaranteed to trigger your reflexes. 

“oh my pretty girl, i’m gonna cum,” he announces, shoving your head all the way down and holding you there. all your muscles tense as you hold your breath, waiting for him to fill your throat. in only a mere few seconds, your throat is full of his cum.

he finally lets go of your hair and lets you come up for air. some of his release slips out of your mouth and your fingers scramble to shove it back in. you swallow it all to the best of your abilities. 

you wipe the tears off his face and look at him lovingly. “feel better, sannie?” you ask and he nods. you can tell he means it this time. “i do, but i’m pulling the fuck over because i can’t leave you high and dry.”

© lomlhwa 2024

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 16

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

best friend, baby by @ghosttotheparty*

“You— You make me feel so… good,” he finishes lamely, his head void of any words that could describe it, because how can Will describe the peace he finds in Nico’s presence, or the way he feels like he can finally breathe whenever Nico looks into his eyes? “You’re my favourite person,” he breathes. “My best friend.”

hooooooo boy the intimacy tag was NOT joking. i was gagged. yall tell me all the time how high u value will angst and like....this one DEVASTATED me for him??? like do yall ever think about how the first dialogue we hear from will in nico's perspective is self-loathing. yall ever think about how nico has always known him hating himself. well this author did. "i know you hate yourself but just because you hate yourself doesnt mean everyone else does too" hey what if we FOUGHT. also im going back in to all my FRFs to star my FAVE FAVE FAVE fics bc this is one of them LET ME TELL YOU.

2. just a dumb game by @ghosttotheparty

Nico di Angelo is not a party person. But Will Solace is going to be there. So.

they are SO FUCKING GAY and SO FUCKING IN LOVE and SO FUCKING STUPID. god i love them so fucking bad like they are inherently down bad obsessed with each other and this is how they should be. this is the way of the world.

3. even in the silver light by @ghosttotheparty

Nico is back. Will is still smitten.

first of all. latino and nb will. thank you. second of all. i am (obviously) obsessed with this author bc they KILLLLLL w burning intimacy. like you have no idea they write them like there is a twice burning fire only alive within them it's CRAZZZYYY. i also fckn LOVE that this is like. okay so the author says its plotless and it is kind of 45k of plotless, yes, but idk theres something to be said of love as a plot?? of learning and loving each other as a storyline.

4. splash by @ghosttotheparty

Annabeth is reading her favourite book. Someone walks directly into her.

yeah okay i think this is another one author week. sue me. this fic made me GRIN okay. it was so fucking cute and sweet and soft and autistic annabeth my beloved!! my love and light!! they are so in love in every universe fr and i fckn LOVE them dude i am OBSESSED. when this author writes people together it's as if you can hear them click.

5. isnt she lovely by @ghosttotheparty

Their eyes always meet in the halls. Her eyes are grey and shiny, and they make Percy think of stormy skies and marble sculptures. (She could be a marble sculpture, in the entrance of a museum, surrounded by scholars and artists and mesmerised passersby. Fucking beautiful in a way that only art ever is.) - - - Percy has had a crush on Annabeth since eighth grade. (He doesn’t know she likes him too.)

percy hitting the ground when annabeth kisses him 😭😭 HES SO REAL. i just recced this fic on instagram and i am here reccing it again bc it is EXCELLENT. i rly rly love to see pjotv percabeth in fic like i DO. theyre so fucking cute. and i LOVE how this author writes autistic annabeth!! it is so important to me!!! and this one is so CUTE like percy had such a huge crush on him.....like not just he liked her he had a CRUSH on her. god. i am melting.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

I admire your patience with those readers who need you to spoon feed them the story. Everything is in the comics but they still manage to go pass it. I can't help but feel a bit sad for them? Do they not understand what they read? Are they not attentive when reading it? I'm legitimately concerned because I function so differently I can't fathom this. If you like a story, isn't it normal to make your best to grasp it's essence and reflect on it? I know I project a lot about this, everyone works and registers things differentely of course but sometimes it's very frustrating to see people consume any media and just completely miss all the important messages in it, or even just fail to get the scenario sometimes, and it feels like it's very common now... Idk I just wanted maybe to have your perspective on this? Sorry for the long post (Been here for a few years now and your a true inspiration to me. All my luv to you! ❤️)

You know, I'm gonna be honest. I used to stress out about this... a LOT.

As a story-brained person, this is definitely something that comes naturally to me, and perhaps to you, and to many other people who are wired similarly. To us, following the path of a story in an analytic, highly detail-motivated manner and unwrapping the themes can be as exciting as lifting up a rock to see the bugs underneath. It's an exciting mental activity that's stimulating and feels effortless.

And yes, as an author who spends literally 60% of my day thinking about this comic and how to draw it, panel it, script it, make it better (I script and panel in my head constantly)........ I have trouble realizing/dealing with the fact that some people are just here to CASUALLY enjoy the story that I am lowkey obsessed with.

But I've come to realize that... that's NORMAL! And healthy.

People have different attention spans for different things.

People have varied ways to read a story and engage with it.

People have unique interests.

People don't have the same amounts of energy to devote to reading!

Maybe someone missed a detail I lovingly and painstakingly put into the dialogue because they're reading the update late at night after a long shift at work. And maybe someone scrolled past the dialogue completely and just got the gist from looking at the art, because they're in a hurry to get to practice at their favorite sportsball.

And maybe someone just had a really bad day with a really bad encounter, and they're reading the update in a terrible mood and instead of seeing MY grey-morality narrative, they're focusing on all the negative points and misread the vibes because of their own biases that stem from places of hurt.

The thing is, I have to be okay with that as an author, because I will NEVER be able to get into my audience's heads and read this comic 'correctly' for my own sake.

They will always have a slightly different interpretation of things, and they will always misunderstand details and miss clues. And sometimes, they will be wrong about the way they read a character's motivations... and sometimes maybe they won't be! That's just a part of communication. That's a part of telling a story.

An imperfect delivery, and an imperfect reception should, in my opinion, be a natural and accepted part of storytelling. We're human, and we all have a different lived experience, and we will ALL have different takes on a comic, even if it's so close that we THINK we are both getting the exact same thing. That small human interpretation variation is a home-made touch that makes it feel more organic.

In short.... Not all light particles make it here from the sun, but damn the result is stunning anyway.

[cupcakeslushie]

Do you have any tips on for people starting a comic and wanting to post to tumblr? Like pacing ect. Or well any experience you’ve had with your comics? Love your content as well ❤️

If it’s simply for fun, and you’re just trying to gain experience, my biggest advice would be to just START. Don’t worry about it looking perfect. Don’t worry about comparing it to other’s comics. Just try something, and if you find it’s not working, you can always change things up. I have gone through several styles and page layouts since starting. Do I wish those first pages of EW looked just like what I’m doing now? Yes, but if I’d waited around for perfection I would have never started. And I wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun creating it! If people like it, that’s great, but your art is for you. If you’re growing and learning and having fun, then you’ve accomplished something!

Now for some less preachy advice 😂…

—If your comic is gonna be hosted on Tumblr specifically, I would say, make sure you keep the 10 image limit in the back of your mind when you’re pacing things. That can definitely cause some headaches down the line. If you don’t plan ahead, and end up hitting it, you’ll have a sudden cut in your flow. This last update I knew it was gonna be long, so while I did plan, but I could’ve planned better.

—Variety is key!!!!!

Composition changes keep your viewers from getting bored. Sometimes I’ll find myself falling back into the bad habit of just doing the simple back and forth with two characters talking straight on, but changing the camera angle, making establishing shots when you change locations, and over the shoulder shots, etc etc…All these will make for a more interesting viewing. You may think a character needs to be in every single panel to make it interesting, but if you have a lot of dialogue, a simple plain shot—either in top of a solid background, or just over something boring, like a glance at the set, etc—this will let people focus on the words rather than splitting their focus.

Variety applies to shading as well—whether you’re using color or black/white. Variety in values are SO important for comics. You’re shoving a ton of information in a limited space, so try to keep your values different for items that are close together….it can make things very confusing and turn your line work into indistinguishable blobs if you shade without this in mind.

(Using this panel as an example….)

The top two panels have a variety of darker values and a halftone background—so the next two with Venus, I kept rather simple. I could’ve colored the buildings behind her, but then, she might’ve gotten lost amidst all the grey. There’s not really any trick or solid rule to this, but once you develop your creative eye, you’ll make these choices without even thinking about it.

A few links to helpful tools (they’re all procreate centered I’m afraid 😅)

Outline brush — a free tutorial for Procreate users. This brush kinda mimics the CPS feature that lets you create panels with a nice black outline. I used this brush very often, and it really gives your panels a professional look. Fair warning, it can be glitchy, but it’s free…

Manero Comic Bubbles and sfx — These brushes are not free, so I would recommend maybe getting in your groove before you try them out. They’re by no means necessary, but I’ve just started using them, and they save me so much time. There’s a HUGE selection of shapes, and they go on with a solid white background, so you don’t have to worry about coloring around your dialogue balloons.

[frokkie21]

thining abt joker once again

in all his dialogue options hes either being absolutely lazy asf. shifting responsibility to someone else. flirting with someone else (yes even the boys hes so bisexual coded). teasing someone. being the epitome of normal ass teenage boy that is not normal. or living up to his title the joker

he comes up with ripping mask off shadows by himself. no one told him that!!! he thought of that BY HIMSELF???????????????????? (the twins say its incredibly violent to rip off a mask off a shadow bc itll cause them to loose their sense of self or smthn for a lil bit and is hella disorientating). his persona summon lines are deranged like he says ravage them with such force. hes a show off at heart but also he sleeps in all fucking day and the only reason he has a normal sleep schedule and that he actually takes care of himself is bc morgana will beat him up otherwise.

like hes so not normal its hilarious how much he tries to be normal. the glasses are fake so he can blend in. somehow hes always reflecting shit off his glasses too. he is always entirley grey scale. like deadass if you put him in another peice of media you will. not find out where he is. at all. i love him

[bbnibini]

You, Over the World (Solomon)

So, I wasn't satisfied with the “snow” entry in the 9days of Solomon challenge and always intended to write another fic in the challenge outside of the continuing narrative I was working on, but life had plans and I ran out of time so I dedicate this oneshot to its wonderful organiser @impish-ivy. I switched out “humanity” for “the world” in the repeating dialogues cause it sounded more dramatic lol but this should have been an entry for ‘humanity’.  If the vibes are familiar, I was thinking a lot about Frieren while writing this. :))

“Would you choose the world over me?”

He mutters a yes over the verdant foliage, amongst the spring flowers that bloomed over melted snow. He says it again as he traced the petals with his fingers, his memories simmering in the past—your understanding eyes, smiling and unwavering, as if he were waiting for you to say something else. 

He held his breath,

“Would you choose the world over me?”

…and he says yes again under the shade of an umbrella overlooking the horizon. He squints his eyes against the hot air blowing on his face. The unchanging view he once saw with you became unrecognisable. The sky was blue as always; the summer sun, hot and cruel as he buried his feet under the warm sand—he strained his ears to listen to your stories, but even a whisper of them had been lost in time—the weight of his choice carried away by the thrashing waves. The world over you. “The greater good”. The “logical” choice that even you understood that he had to make. He thinks this over and over until the cicadas had stopped crying, and the punishing heat of the sun hid itself away to welcome a cool, moonless sky. 

With nothing but his thoughts to occupy him, he walks towards the ocean again. Aimlessly, almost dragging his feet, until he heard the currents, the salty air welcoming him as his feet touched the seawater. He hated everything about it, but he couldn't get you it off his mind–he should not even care anymore. He never cared. Everything that carried a piece of you is seafoam dissolving in the tides, and your memories were nothing but a ghost haunting him in the night.

“Would you choose the world over me?”

He was at a loss for words as he remembered the question again when a leaf fell on his face, waking him up from an unplanned nap. He was never the earliest riser. Mornings to him were nothing but extra hours of sleep, but he found himself there again despite the absence of…everything. The busy crowds haggling for bargains—cinnamon and nutmeg and the falling leaves. Your hands were on his face, slapping him gently on his cheeks to rouse him from his slumber. Your voice was admonishing yet sweet.

It's gone too, I suppose. 

He thought to himself as he waited for a flea market in the forgotten park, with nothing but the dents on the pavement and fading paint telling him that it was actually there. Years ago, maybe. Relocated somewhere else. Why didn't he bother to know? He did remember a stall there that he frequented with you. A kind stranger told him they have a whole chain of restaurants now; sold to a big company after the original owner’s passing. The orange leaves crunched beneath him as he left to take another train, waiting for hours on the queue to be seated.

He ordered your favourite.

But it didn't taste anything like it. 

The texture was off. Something was wrong with the taste. It was too hot and too cold at the same time. That couldn't be right, so he tried again and ordered his usual but it tasted even weirder: an amalgamation of textures and flavours that barely paid homage to its humble roots. And he wasn't even much of a gourmet. 

He left, letting his eyes linger on the seated crowd: their blissful faces obviously enjoying their meal. He sighs.

“Would you choose the world over me?”

Everything was grey; the orange and yellows and reds were being buried in the cold drafts. He asks you to close the door, only to be reminded that Cocytus Hall was nothing but ruins now; earth and dust. Rotting foundations and leaking ceilings. Seen better days. 

“Why have you chosen the world over me?”

He didn't know. What should he have answered you? The more time passed, the more it felt as if the hours had gotten slower and slower. His youthful face was a painful reminder of an eternity waiting for him. There was an aching that lingered in his chest that never went away. The view from outside was pure white. A light fog formed on the window as he breathed out and drew faces. He had many thoughts, but most were barely comprehensible, mangling into static noise. He stared into the distance. 

It must be a beautiful day. It was warmer than a usual December, and the view from outside was breathtaking. Didn't he just  make a breakthrough in his research? The Demon Prince and his butler are set to arrive in a day to honour his contributions…or something like that. He wasn't sure. It was a feat that his academic peers envied greatly, for he had yet again proven why he was called “The Wise”. 

.

.

.

.

.

Never “The Heartful.” Not even discerning. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. There, he saw you. 

“Cheer up, Solomon!”

A gloved hand that took his own. There was a question lingering in his mind as you walked through the thick snow. 

“Would you let me choose the world over you?”

He couldn't remember your face. He had imagined the scenes in his head so many times, and it only worsened every cold winter he had to spend on his own.

But he had no choice.

Company was all but warm bodies that didn't seep into his soul. They laced fingers with him and whispered sweet words, but he was a phantom whose presence they couldn't even touch. 

He was barely there or anywhere. See-through and paper-thin; deaf to kindness even in the face of sincerity. He remembered caring more, maybe a century ago, when he could still count the numbers of your fading presence with his fingers. But now…

…he saw you walking away again, so he pulled you back into his arms where you fit perfectly.

Where dreams were his only comfort. Where centuries and aeons felt like minutes ago, and the entire world that remained at your loss had any semblance of meaning. He held your face and pressed your lips on his, hoping all of what he couldn't say would reach you, 

“I wish I didn't.”

…even if it's too late.

[flusteredtuna]

YES, CHEF!

Carmen Berzzato“The Bear” x !fem! reader

Contains: ( 18+ Mature Only ) praise, first kiss, head, and x-men movie.

Words: 2k+

Summary: Carmen, a good friend, shows up unexpectedly at your door late at night. Tipsy. And things obviously take a turn as he sobers up and you learn the true nature of his visit. ( no under the influence… do not fret )

I used a scene from Netflix’s series ‘Good Girls’ season 4 episode 6, as a main plot point and used the begging dialogue. I won’t name the scene as to not spoil the show ( it’s not a big plot point and the fanfic does not spoil it either. ) you can watch the clip here.

This was written for a friend 💕 ( and i had to repost due to an error ) This is also the second fan-fiction I have ever completed, so enjoy.

It’s a relaxing Saturday evening in your quaint charming little apartment on the third floor. Warm lighting, antique cabinet, quilted blanket covering your lap, and a warm homemade mug of Earl Grey tea in your hand as you read your book.

knock. knock. KNOCK.

A heavy and lazy hand knocks on your landlord’s special white front door. It’s 10 p.m., who could be knocking on the door? You un-tuck yourself from your spot on the couch and with tea in hand, you head toward the door and open it.

It’s Carmen. You’ve been friends for about a year now, friends with feelings for half that time. You met through a mutual friend, one who works at his restaurant. The relationship between you two is close and has only gotten closer with having the same friend group. But even with the tension in the room during every group hangout, he’s never made a move. And neither have you. Maybe it’s because of his girlfriend. Who didn’t show up to game nights.

And yet here he is, making an unexpected visit to your apartment.

“This isn’t my house,” he says. He smells of beer and is definitely not sober. Both his arms hold his body up as he leans in your doorframe.

“Hey yourself…” your face is twisted with confusion. Carmy never came over, at least not by himself. “Are you…tipsy? Fried? any other word for not sober?” You try to figure him out enough to make him go away before it turns into something else.

He chuckles a bit, “Just a bit buzzed”.

“Why are you in my doorway, Carmen?” You lean against the open door.

“I was at the bar, with friends. Karaoke bar.” He huffs as he finishes his sentence which seems hard to get out of his mouth.

“I don’t even know who to feel sorry for there” you respond. A look of worry mixed in with your confusion.

You stare at each other for what feels like the longest five seconds of your life. His mouth hung open a little.

“I can’t be with her anymore” You wince at his words and your heart drops to your toes. Did he just say that? Has he told her?

“You should go home,” trying to prevent something from progressing.

“I don’t want to go home” he quickly responds

“Then you should go somewhere else” You grab the door leaning away, ready to close it on him. Although you don’t want to, you know you should.

“Can I uh- just please come in?” Starting to close the door he pushes back a bit “No, Carmy. Please trust me, just go home.” He places a firm hand on the door and abruptly says, “I think I’m gonna crap myself.”

You stop and look at him. It’s unbelievable that this is what made you stop. You swing the door open and do the same with your other arm, gesturing to him to enter. He walks in, and heads for the bathroom.

Setting your tea down you sit on the couch waiting for him to come back, you try to think of anything else other than the fact that Carmen is in your home. Possibly with the intention of cheating on his girlfriend with you. Attempting to stare at the patchy rug to find some sort of escape. The goal now was to just make sure he didn’t do anything crass.

He walks out of the bathroom and immediately slumps himself on the floor against the couch right next to you. “I wouldn’t go in there for at least 30 minutes.”

Raising your brows and giggling, “Feeling any better?”

Carmen doesn’t even look at you, he just looks straight on. “Not really.” He rubs his hands together.

“I broke up with Sarah.” He says quietly. Yet another string of words that makes your heart drop.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You try to be reassuring but you’re not sure how to be in this situation. “Do you want to talk about it?” Carmen looks at you, his eyes glossy from his buzz.

“Nah.” You tilt your head at him and then look over at the TV, catching the slight reflection of your two figures lounging on the comfy yellow couch. “Do you want to watch something?”

Carmen’s nods face towards the black screen of the TV, and you reach for the remote to turn something on. “X-men?” you suggest as he gets up and sits on the other end of the couch. One person’s width away from you.

“X-Men it is.” He slurs his words a bit as he gestures to the TV with a hand and flops it back down in his lap. Turning on the movie, you make yourself comfortable by shifting your legs to bend and your feet resting on the middle cushion, pulling the blanket over you. Even with him sitting glued to the arm of the other end, you both are still somehow too close.

As the movie passes, the tension stands. Seeing each other glancing out of the corner of their eyes now and then doesn’t help. Finally, Carmey opens up a bit and starts to comment on the movie, “You know, I don’t know why they cast Evan Peters for this when he plays that other guy in that Wanda show. Fuckin’ stupid.” He sounds more like himself now, which eases the tension, making this situation a little more comfortable.

“Yeah I think there’s a theory about that,” You both continue to talk throughout the movie, he seems to sober up. It’s nice hanging out with him like this. Although the circumstances aren’t 100% preferred, you don’t seem to mind it anymore.

The movie ended with you both laughing at a conversation completely unrelated. Whatever it was it was something way more entertaining to both of you. So long of a conversation that the credits end. You both look over to the screen again. A prompt asking “How would you rate this film?”.

“Well, I guess it ended.” You chuckle a bit but look over at him, seemingly back in his head again. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

Now sitting up against the arm of the couch and crossing your legs, you feel like you should say something.

“You know the best wa-“ he interrupts you “I broke up with her so I could see you.”

Your eyes meet as he looks over to you, now sitting up a bit more. “Carmy I-“ interrupting you again “Y/N, I don’t want you to feel guilty or anything. I know this is a lot,” he puts a hand to his temple and starts to get a little more passionate in his speech. Almost defensive. “Shit. I just couldn’t see you without leaving and not feel fuckin’ guilty!” His hand gestures around as he speaks, like he’s in the kitchen talking to his staff.

“Carmen!” You try to steer the conversation away from him getting louder, “Why would you feel guilty?” You know the answer to that.

He rests a hand on his lap and his other on his temple again. Releasing a deep exhale, he looks at you. “Maybe I wanted to uh-,” he hesitates for a moment to look you up and down. “Feel something…else.”

You can feel the flush rushing to your cheeks so quickly after he says this. With wide eyes and raised brows, you try to pull out your best response, “Feel what? Pressed about…Marvel casting?”

He chuckles and moves a smidge towards you, putting a bent leg up on the couch, “No no no. no. Jesus. That, that’s ridiculous.” You smile a bit at his amusement, “Then what is it, Carmy?”

Rubbing his face and letting out another huff, he sounds like he’s holding back. And you aren’t sure if you want him to keep it bottled or release it.

Continuing to look at you with starry eyes, he rests an arm on the back of the couch. “Fuck. Look. I don’t want to be too forward and I definitely don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” You press your lips together in anticipation of what he’s about to say, “It’s something that I’ve felt for a while and I’ve been fucking ignoring it.” He pauses again and takes another huff, taking a look at the door. “I should just go.”

As he gets up you grab his wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Carmy,” his eyes soften as he looks at you, “you don’t need to leave.”

As you let go of his wrist he sits next to you, closer. “It’s kind of obvious.” You chuckle a bit through your words. It is obvious. You’ve noticed this tension for a while now, he’s only just confirming it.

“What is? That I like you?” His tone is almost defensive like he was caught. A smile creeps on your face, “I mean…Marcus has noticed it too.” He raises his brows, surprised. “He said the tension is thicker than his dark chocolate mousse.” Carmen laughs at this, and so do you. It’s a sweet moment.

He pushes his hair back from falling more in his face, “I uh, I’m sorry I showed up like this.”

“If you mean showing up drunk at my door to use my bathroom and then sobering up while watching X-men with me…” You make it sound like a bigger deal than it is just to tease him.

“No yea, shit. I’m sorry I-”

“Then it’s more than fine.” Laughing again, like you are the only two people in the world. You both exchange a smile looking deeper into each other’s eyes.

“You’ve always had a nice laugh.” He says putting his arm back on the couch, and leaning in a bit.

“You do too.” It all feels like a dream. The fact that he’s here, making a move on you.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, so effortlessly, that you wish you could stay in that moment forever.

You look away for a moment, clearly a bit flustered, “Are you sure you aren’t still tipsy?” turning back you notice he’s gotten a little closer.

“I’m positive I’m sober.” He chuckles again.

You start to lean in a bit, not realizing that you have until your noses are about five inches apart from one another. His hand was still near your face, resting on the back of the couch beside you.

Looking at your lips he begins to say, “I uh. Just-”. He doesn’t even finish his thought. He’s too distracted by his lips on yours.

It was a soft kiss, one you’ve been waiting for, for the longest time. Pulling back you find his hand on your cheek caressing it. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” He says, with a breath of relief that the hard part was over.

Jaw dropped, you look at his mouth again. He catches this and charges at you for another kiss, this time more intense. You hold both of his cheeks in hopes of him staying put. He almost hovers over you as you both continue to make out.

Soft and quiet moans escape your mouth as he reaches down one of his hands to feel the sides of your arms. Then tracing back up to your cheek. He pulls back. Your lips burn with sensation.

“Carmen,” the words escape your mouth through heavy breathing, “are you sure this is okay.”

He puts a hand to your chin, “Yes.” he kisses your cheek. “I wanna take care of you.” Your brain swarms with ideas of what he could mean.

You smile in approval while taking his free hand and putting it to your breast. He smirks as he follows his hand and where it landed. “Then take care of me.”

With a firm squeeze, he touches you through your shirt, while he moves his face towards your neck and kisses it. He takes his time reaching under your shirt to explore you with more satisfaction.

Caressing your nipple with his pointer and his thumb, already making you weak. And he watches as your face curls in pleasure.

Carmen then lifts your shirt to sit just above your breasts and kisses the center, making his way over the hill of your other breast and biting the peak. It makes you gasp. He puts a hand under the curve of your other breast and messages it.

Your soft moans only make him want you more.

He moves away for a moment, and you open your eyes to watch him, “wha- what is it.” He smirks and lifts the blanket you’re under, just enough to reach his arm in to place a hand on the side of your thigh. Scooting closer he leans over you now slouched on the couch.

Suddenly you’re kissing again, passionately. He feels your thigh up and down gripping it, then moving to the inside. Parting your legs he reaches a hand up from the bottom of your shorts, under your panties to grab your hip. Like it’s his. Then firmly and slowly sliding it back out.

“Take… them off.” You whisper through kisses. Pulling away he smiles and looks at your drowsy eyes. Without saying anything he lifts the blanket further and now using both his hands he tugs on your waistband, taking away the sleep boxers you had been wearing.

Touching you again in that spot that’s so sensitive, he teases you. Denying the pleasure of having the fabric between you and his fingers, out of the way. Your moans continue, still soft, as he caresses you further. The intensity builds as your lips meet again.

Backing away, he lifts the blanket once more, but now going in head first. Your heart drops, you know exactly what he has in mind.

With his head between your thighs he kisses your soft spot, and then taking both his hands on either side of your drawers, he pulls them off revealing you.

Carmen uses his fingers to carefully open you up like a flower, kissing the bud. He’s so gentle that you do feel like you’re being taken care of.

But then you suddenly feel another sensation. His tongue is on you. Swirling around. It makes you moan louder as your back arches. Ribs reaching for the sky. You grab onto the couch to try and ground yourself, but it doesn’t help much.

“You’re so wet for me.” He feasts upon you and now takes two of his fingers and plays with your entrance, spreading your wetness around like butter on a hot skillet. His free arm is wrapped around your thigh, holding on tight to keep you steady.

As he tastes you more and more. The finest dish. You lift your end of the blanket with the small strength you have and watch his head back away from your clit to look at you as he puts two fingers inside you. He starts to push them in and out of you and you throw your head back moaning in absolute hot delight.

“Look at me.” His demand is so dominating. Again, sounding like he’s in the kitchen.

“Make me.” You say through a heavy moan. He pulls his fingers out making you gasp grabbing your chin and pulling your face down to meet his eyes. “Yes, Chef”. He chuckles a bit, letting you get away with that one. You knew he might be thinking about that during his next shift.

You watch as he goes back down, shoving his fingers back inside. Gripping the couch once again louder moans escape your mouth. Picking up his pace you can feel him hitting your walls in the best way. “Fuck, Carmy…” You manage to moan out.

The closer you get the more you surrender to his pace as it gets faster. Your body clenches around him, making it tighter and tighter for him. “Cum for me.”

You nod your head rapidly as you’re too stimulated by the pleasure. Your back arches even further and you become stiff in your position as he hits the spot so perfectly. This is what you’ve been waiting for. The peak of your gratification inches closer and closer.

Finally…you gasp in ecstasy, his fingers still inside you pounding. “That’s it.” He whispers moving away from eating you out, to just using his fingers. Watching you as you finish on them.

Carmen pulls his fingers out slowly, watching your overstimulated body heave heavy breaths. He scoots your legs to the side to lie beside you on the couch. Between catching up with your lungs you manage to speak. “Carmen, you…” You take a clarifying breath as he props himself up on his arm, looking at you as he lays beside you. “You’re really good at that.”

He chuckles, “Of course I am, I eat for a living.” He tucks your hair away behind your ear, and you both take a moment to be present as your tummy buzzes with butterflies.

[nights-at-crystarium]

You know what, I assume that people always read my pinned, or notice the pointer "new reader? start here" in every new Fragments' episode. I might be deluding myself. So hi hello lemme TALK ABOUT MY COMIC.

Before I get too rambly (and I mean RAMBLY), here's a quick intro. Fragments is a comic focused on feels and slice of life, made by a queer guy, aiming to ~character study~ the main cast (Vivi, Raha, Alisaie, Feo Ul) and fill in the gaps in canon (or linger in canon moments that needed more air imo), the tone ranging from angst to fluff to meme. Good punches require a good windup, so please don't expect angst anytime soon :3c

The story's segmented (fragmented, heh) into episodes. Episodes 1-11 take place in ARR, you can enjoy them with no worry about spoilers. Episode 12 onward is ShB, with all the spoilers and lorebending.

My storytelling style assumes you haven't only played through ShB, but know it like the back of your hand, i.e. it's for nerds and thinkers. Of course there's plenty of silly moments that don't require any deep knowledge, but the overarching story does. Often I skip canon events, only hinting that they took place, simply because I don't wanna retell the msq 1:1, I've got plenty of original scenes waiting to be drawn. You're in for a treat if you like obsessing over emotional and moral implications of things. And, yes, this's a story about a morally grey mc. Don't expect to be spoon-fed "and this's why that thing's bad, kids".

Currently I've outlined all the main story beats up until post EW, so it's like, not being winged as I go. Yes I refine things here and there, but I know where I'm going. I'm going ham!!!! With the lorebending post ShB. Initially I didn't plan to, but the more I learned about Vivi and personally grew as a writer, the more courage I got to "divorce" from canon. The general xiv story may still be good wherever it's headed, but it's not suited for an established wolgraha, so I'm making food for myself.

Everyone imagines the lil scenes from their wol's life, I'm taking that a tiiiiiny step further. Fragments tells a cohesive story that's looking to be the longest project at least in our corner. I can and will hyperfixate on this for years.

I started out just like many others, being hit with ShB like a truck, I wanted to put a catboy under a microscope and rotate him forever. Although I'd already been drawing for decades, I didn't have the comic-making skills yet, or eloquence to write the dialogue, so I spent the first half of 2022 self-studying, just because I needed a mouth to be able to scream about my ship.

Vivi didn't exist prior to my obsession with Exarch. He was made for this, he started out as a reagent (or a foil, now that I know fancy writing terms) for a rich and fun chemistry, and keep myself entertained for years, first and foremost.

Me, a fool: okay let's make a guy that falls in love with Exarch in this particular moment, what kinda life must he have led to- Me: ....oh no

The chemistry quickly bubbled up and exploded in my face, involving not only Exarch, but other characters (first as a means to subtly tell about Vivi, then they also demanded their own screentime), and here I am, sitting with a massive script on my hands, drawing my blorbos every day. Thanks for enabling that btw.

I care about characters a lot. I ask a lot of whys and hows. I'm critical-minded and burned on many bad stories that did their characters dirty, and I wanna be an opposing example. What I'm doing is extremely ambitious and risky, yes, but I can only invite you to tag along and see if I stick to my word.

The internet's a cruel and unforgiving place nowadays, and here I am, pitting my passion against what feels like decaying humanity. I'm making this comic to keep myself happy above all else, being sincere and cringe because life's too short to be anything else.

Thanks for reading this, and if you haven't yet, read Fragments here!

[orderforbrian]

a collection of very serious lonelyeyes comics 😌 the last one is forever my favorite tma thing of all time

[Start ID: Three comics of Elias and Peter from the Magnus Archives. Elias has slicked back hair and wears dangly earrings with a closed eye at the end. He also wears a suit with a vest and tie. Peter has short hair pulled back into a ponytail and wears a sea captain's coat along with a turtleneck sweater. He has a full beard.

1st comic: Peter looks at Elias with a serious expression and says, "Elias, I'm not budging on this. You can't claim CO2 canisters as work expenses.". In the next panel, Elias hums, clearly displeased. In the next panel, Elias takes out a planner and a pen, and says "Pardon me one moment.". In the next panel he looks up at Peter with disdain and scribbles into the planner. In the last panel, Peter looks on in worry with a small blush and asks, "Wh - What are you crossing out? Elias...". We can view Elias' schedule within his planner that is as follows:

0900: Behold

1030: Meeting with Peter

1100: Lunch with Peter

The times are cut off the rest but the next line states "Give Peter a blowjob" and this is actively being crossed out. The next line says "Behold" which is what he intended to do after the previous line.

2nd comic: In the first panel, Elias is handing a document envelope to Jon's hand, stating "Here are those new statements, Archivist.". Jon accepts them and says "Yes, thank you.". In the next panel, Jon begins to take out the statements from the envelope, saying "Huh - lighter than usual...". Jon has short curly hair and wears rectangular glasses. In the next panel, Jon looks down in horror as what he pulls out is a photograph addressed "To Elias" with a heart next to it. Jon stutters "I-". In the next panel, Elias looks at the photo with comically large eyes that have red in the pupils and an even more horrified expression than Jon's. From the view of the photograph, it appears to be Peter in nothing but a hat. In the next panel, Elias dramatically snatches the photograph out of Jon's hands with an angry expression. In the next panel, Elias holds up a different document envelope with an embarrassed expression, sweating and shaking profusely, he says "Apologies. It seems I mislabeled some files. This one is correct.". In the final panel, there is a box with the word "Later" in it. Next to it, Elias' face is blurred from motion and his hands are outstretched towards Peter ready to strangle him. Elias has a red slit for an eye and has a few disembodied red eyes behind him. Peter stands in front of him blissfully unaware and asks with a blush, "Hey, did you like those pictures-?".

3rd comic: In the first panel, Elias is frothing mad, his teeth sharp and grey steam coming off him. He angrily demands, "Peter. Give me the alimony check now." In the next panel, Peter's disembodied hand holds up a check that Elias looks at furiously in the background. Peter asks, "Oh, this check?". Elias is growling in the background. In the next panel, Peter waves the check with an amuses expression, saying "You have to be quicker than that, Elias". His sentence is punctuated with a heart. In the next panel, Peter holds the check out to the side at an arm's length with a smile. He thinks to himself, "Oh man. Heh, heh. He looks furious.". Elias is not in the panel but his gradual scream is represented by several lowercase a's followed by several uppercase A's. At the rightmost side of the panel, there is a large dialogue bubble where Elias screams, "Peter!!!". In the last panel, Peter has turned semi-transparent with clouds of fog around him. There is a loud crash and an Elias shaped hole is in the wall behind his arm, several cracks are coming off the hole as well. Peter laughs, "Holy shit, haha." in all caps.

End ID.]

[sydsaint]

My dorky British man!! I love u <3

Summary: The reader and Will continue to share some flirty dialogue and grow closer. Something that piques Don's interest the more that he see's the pair interact.

The hotel lobby is bustling with people checking in and out of their rooms. You file into the lobby with, Hobbs, Konosuke, Kyle, and Will behind you. Don is off on some business and won't be back with the group until next week in a new city. And Callis has left you in charge of the group in his absence.

"Okay! Dynamite is at eight, like usual." You glance down at your watch briefly. "So I want everyone in the arena and ready for the show by 6:30 by the latest. Got it?" You take the time to look at each man in front of you. "Other than that? I don't care what y'all get up to. Me personally? I'm headed up to my room to relax for a few hours."

"I'm putting my bags away then hitting the gym." Hobbs is the first one to speak up.

"Yeah, me too." Konosuke agrees.

Kyle looks up from his phone, a sly grin on his face. "I've got a date with my girl in an hour." He explains.

You nod and watch Will and Konosuke walk off since the two of them are sharing a room. Kyle goes back to texting on his phone and walks off as well, which leaves you with Will.

"What about you, Will?" You turn to Ospreay. "No gym before the show?" You ask him.

"Nah, I hit the gym before the plane ride." Will shakes his head. "Hanging out in the hotel room sounds lovely though. Care for some company?" He grins cheekily at you.

You roll your eyes playfully and pick your bag back off up the floor by your feet. "Sure, why not." You shrug. "You're buying me lunch though. Because I am starving." You joke with a laugh.

"Of course!" Will grins and grabs his bags as well. "My pleasure, love. What are you in the mood for?" He asks as the two of you head to the elevator.

You shrug again and step into the elevator while brainstorming lunch idea's. You and Will go your separate ways for a few minutes to put your bags away in your rooms. You head into your room and set down your bags before taking a seat on the edge of your bed and checking your phone. You promised that you'd give Don a call once everyone landed and made it to the hotel.

"Don? Hey, yeah we made it to the hotel." You dial Don's number and don't have to wait long for him to answer.

"YN!" Don is quick to reply. "Good to hear! And what is everyone up to before the show?" He asks you.

You hold your phone against your ear with your shoulder and pull off your shoes. "Umm, Konosuke and Will are headed to the gym." You explain. "And Kyle has a date with his girlfriend." You add.

"Okay." Don replies. "And what about Ospreay?" He asks you.

You get your shoes off and go back to holding your phone normally when a knock sounds at the door. "Oh! That should be him right now!" You perk up and head for the door. "Will and I are getting lunch and resting up before the show."

"Just you and Ospreay?" Don coughs, suspicion in his tone. "Alone in your hotel room all afternoon?" He questions you.

"Yes, Don." You roll your eyes and answer the door. "Hey, Will. I'm just checking in with Don, make yourself at home." You let Ospreay inside the room and shut the door behind him. "I've got it all under control, Don. Okay?" You assure him. "I'll call you again before the show and check in."

Don goes to make another comments, but you hang up the phone and toss it onto your bed. Your phone bounces around before you jump after it and settle onto your bed. Will takes a seat at the edge of the bed and scoots up so he's sitting next to where you're lounging.

"Did the princess decide what she'd like for lunch?" Will looks down at you with a goofy smile.

"I'm kind of feeling a good burger? What about you?" You suggest and prop yourself up onto an elbow.

Will nods and fishes his phone out of the pocket of his grey sweats. "Sounds good. Got any place in mind?" He asks you.

You bite the inside of your cheek in thought and remember a really good burger place in the city that you've eaten at before. "Oh! I know a really good place downtown!" You reach forward with your free hand and pluck Will's phone out of his hand.

"Hey!" Will whines as his phone slips out of his hand.

"Here it is!" You stick your tongue out at Will playfully before quickly looking up the burger joint on his phone. "This is the place!" You hand his phone back to him.

Will takes his phone back and scrolls through the website menu for a minute. "Oh, this all looks good, yeah." He nods his head. "What do you want?" He asks you and pulls up the order page on the site.

You rattle off your order and Will types it in before picking something for himself. He places the order before discarding his phone on the bed next to him.

"Delivery says 20 minutes, give or take of course." Will informs you. "So. What are we going to spend our afternoon doing then?" He turns toward you with a suggestive smile.

"Well I plan on enjoying a meal then catching up on some work emails." You reply with a laugh. "Feel free to lounge around and look pretty though." You wink at Will playfully.

Will chuckles and scoots closer to you. "Oh, so you think I'm pretty then, do ya, love?" He teases you.

"You're pretty easy on the eyes, yeah." You giggle. "But I'm sure that you're more than aware of that." You add.

Will shrugs, a playful smile still playing on his face. "A little, maybe." He laughs with you. "I bet that we'd make one hell of a power couple. Wouldn't we?" He asks you.

You laugh at Will's statement, remembering Don's words a few weeks ago. "You know? Don said the same thing to me a few weeks ago." You shake your head.

"Did he now?" Will perks up. "Does that mean Callis is giving us his blessing then?" He asks you.

"His blessing?" You reply. "Will, sweetie. I don't need permission from anyone when it comes to my love life." You set a hand on his chest.

Will's gaze flits down to your hand on his chest before it returns to your face. You notice his eyes linger on your lips before he starts to slowly lean in toward you.

Before Will can close the gap, someone knocks on the door. Will lets out a groan and you laugh as he slips off the bed and trudges across the room to answer the door.

"Yeah, mate?" Will answers the door in a grumpy tone.

"I have an order here for Will?" A deliver guy stands on the other side of the door with a large bag in his hand.

Will nods and reaches into his sweats pocket for his wallet. He hands a few bills over for a tip and takes the bag from the delivery guy. You slide off the bed and walk over to the small table set up in the room. Will shuts the door behind him after muttering a quick thanks and walks the food over to you at the table.

You take the bag from Will who then sits down next to you. You divvy up the food and dig into your meal. The burger and fries are just as good as the last time you ordered from this place. A bit messier than a normal burger, but delicious nonetheless. And despite his poutiness from his earlier interruption, Will seems to enjoy his meal as well.

"Wow." You muse after you've finished eating. "That was just as good as last time. Maybe even a bit better if I'm being honest." You admit and begin cleaning up your napkins and wrappers in front of you.

"This was really good, yeah." Will agrees, also finishing up his meal. "You've got a little something right in the corner of your mouth though." He points to his own mouth for reference.

You reach up with a napkin and attempt to clean yourself up. But your attempt only earns a chuckle from Will. "What?" You narrow your eyes at him.

"Here, let me." Will reaches forward with a napkin in hand and swipes your bottom lip gently with it. "There." He smiles to himself, his gaze once again fixed on your lips.

Your heart skips a beat as Will attempts to lean in and close the gap between the two of you again. But this time there's no pesky delivery man to get in his way.

Ospreay closes the gap between the two of you, his hand delicately holding your chin as he presses his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. You pull back from him after a moment and shake your head.

"What's wrong?" A look of worry crosses Will's face as he realizes that he might have just made a huge mistake.

"I hate it when Don is right. Smug bastard." You laugh to yourself before leaning back toward Will.

Will chuckles to hide the relief written all over his face and grabs your arm gently. Ospreay pulls you gently out of your seat and swiftly into his lap. You giggle and card your hands through his mess of curly as his hands run up your back, your shirt riding up with them.

Ospreay kisses your hard, pulling your body into his as much as he can with you straddling him in this cheap dining chair. Neither of you hear the knock at the door, or it opening seconds later when no-one answers it.

"Hey, YN, I was meaning to ask you-OH!" Kyle comes through the door with a shocked look on his face. "Nevermind. I can came back later. Carry on." He is quick to turn right back around and shut the door behind him.

You lean back in Will's lap, his hands on your back keeping you from tipping back out of the chair. You laugh, hands set on Will's shoulders. "Whoops." You muse. "How long before you think he's on the phone with Don snitching on us?" You joke with Will.

"Oh, he's most definitely on the phone right now." Will laughs with you before leaning up for another kiss. "Now. Why don't we move this to someplace a little more comfortable?" He suggests as he rises to his feet with you in his arms.

"I could use a change of scenery, yeah." You giggle and wrap your legs around his waist. "You should probably lock the door though. I'm not to keen on being interrupted again. Are you?"

Will cracks a larger-than-life smile and drops you onto your back. You fall back onto your bed and watch him sprint toward the door and lock it before turning back to you. Will grins and pulls his shirt over his head as he stalks back over to you.

You can only imagine the I-told-you-so that you are going to get from Don the next time you talk with him. But damn will it have been worth it.

[hooked-on-elvis]

ELVIS interviewed during filming of 'Change of Habit'

— AMONG OTHER THINGS, YOU'LL LEARN ABOUT HOW ELVIS DID SOME IMPROVISATION IN HIS LINES FOR THE MOVIES AND HOW SELF CONSCIOUS HE WAS ABOUT HIS OWN FILMS

Filmed on location in the Los Angeles area and at Universal Studios during March and April 1969, Change of Habit was released in the United States on November 10, 1969.

Elvis Presley On Set: You Won’t ask Elvis Anything Too Deep?

Elvis talks, but he doesn't say much

BY WILLIAM OTTERBURN-HALL HOLLYWOOD – The notice outside the big grey double-doors was simple and to the point. SET CLOSED, ABSOLUTELY NO ADMITTANCE. You find notices like this outside a lot of film studios, and they tend to have a certain elasticity. This one, outside what looked like an aircraft hangar but was actually Stage D at Universal Studios, meant it. Inside, Elvis Presley was filming. And where Elvis goes, the barriers go up as if some sinister germ warfare experiment were being carried on within. Like a suckling infant, he is swathed and coddled against the realities of the world outside, as if he were made of rare porcelain rather than hewn from good old-fashioned Tennessee stock. But this day he was on show. I had been given the magic formula. The secret open-sesame known only by its brand name of “Colonel Parker’s Okay” had been handed me. The doors swung wide, and I was in. They say Colonel Parker is the man who built Elvis from the erotic gyrating days of the swiveling Pelvis through 14 long and fruitful summers to his present status, by pushing and pulling his protege through the tricky cross-currents of pop music taste. I wouldn’t know. I had asked to see him, this onetime Texas fairground barker, to thank him for the green light. But he was always somewhere else. In his office at Universal, over at Metro, down in Palm Springs, in Las Vegas to lay the trail for the next live show... always somewhere else. No matter. Who needed Colonel Parker when Elvis himself was alive and well and filming? The Publicity Man who escorted me as close as if he were handcuffed said proudly: “I’d like to work with him again, he’s so sweet and uncomplicated. I was surprised you got through – no one’s talked to him yet, you know. There must have been a good breeze blowing.” The good breeze continued to blow as far as the set. A mauve-walled pad with kitchen adjacent and a king-size bed visible through half-drawn yellow curtains. Elvis sat at a table, staring at his hands, while three mini-skirted girls, Mary Tyler Moore, Barbara McNair and Jane Elliott, scurried around with trays of food.

L-R: Mary Tyler Moore, Jane Elliott and Barbara McNair.

The film is about three nuns who pose as nurses to “identify with the people” in a Negro ghetto in New York. The title is Change of Habit (yes, it is) and stars Elvis as a medic who falls for one of the nuns. Elvis is wearing a paint-stained blue denim shirt and tight blue jeans. He looks relaxed and affable and rather meatier around the jaw-line than one remembers from previous films. Marriage (back in May 1967 to Priscilla Beaulieu) is obviously agreeing with him. His eyes have that smoky slow-burn of the old-time movie vamp. He seizes a guitar and strums a few chords. It’s the last week of shooting, and like the good days between exams and the end of term.

The atmosphere on the set is hip and loose, full of leather-clad youth and clever in-talk. The director is thin and intense, wears a check shirt and gym shoes, and is called Billy Graham, which is going to look interesting on the posters of a swinging nun. Elvis produces some dialogue. He is never likely to win an award as an actor, but he knows what the kids want and he gives it to them. The girls are talking about a party. The cameras turn. Elvis says: “You get a lot of people down here on a Saturday night, and all the old hates come out. Before you know it they’re bombed out of their skulls and you’ve got World War III on your hands.”

The scene is this one below. NO, it was not cut out during the editing of this movie.

Earth-quaking stuff. But this simple homespun philosophy is off-key. “Bombed out of their skulls” wasn’t in the script. And the director isn’t too happy about it. “It’s a good line,” says Elvis. “Okay, okay,” says Billy Graham. The line stays. Maybe it will come out in the cutting room, but it’s there for now. “The whole thing is downhill,” says a technician. “He don’t talk to anyone, except his own friends.” There is no sign of tension, but then Elvis has nothing to be tense about. He can go on churning out the same thing for another decade, and they’ll still queue to see it. If he’s over the top, as some unkindly souls occasionally try to make out, he doesn’t seem bothered. He is 34 . . . Raised in Memphis . . . Once a truck-driver, stumbled into records, took the world by storm as the original snake-hips . . . Now lives in cloistered seclusion in a colonial mansion near Nashville, with a Rolls, a solid gold Cadillac, a wife, a daughter (Lisa Marie, aged one) and several bodyguards for company . . . Has made 29 films, grossing 220 million dollars at the box office, and sold more than 200 million records.

Elvis Presley and director William A. Graham on the set of Change Of Habit (Universal 1969) between takes.

Elvis heads for his trailer in the far corner. A group of friends (known in some quarters as the Memphis Mafia) close around him like a football scrum after a loose ball. The code-word is given. I am beckoned over. The good breeze was still blowing. “You won’t probe too deep, will you?” The Publicity Man asks anxiously. “This is just an informal chat, that’s the deal. So keep it light and airy, okay?” Well . . . okay. I checked my notes. Does Elvis fly high on acid trips? Does he see himself as a prophet for the new generation? Does he think his style is too square? Does he have any sexual hang-ups? His marriage altered his attitude to life in any way? Does he kick his cat? Does he have a cat to kick? What are his views on pop, religion, hippies, demonstrators, Vietnam? Stuff like that. No, I wasn’t going to probe too deep. In the dressing room Elvis shakes hands in a firm grip. “This is Charlie, this is Doc.” Two small, burly men light leather jackets and open-neck shirts rise and shine briefly and subside again. The trailer feels a bit crowded.

Elvis Presley on the set of Change Of Habit (Universal 1969). Mary Tyler Moore, Elvis and director William A. Graham share a joke between takes.

Elvis talks. He speaks slowly and carefully, and puts a lot of space between his words. “The film? Uh, well . . . it’s a change of pace for me, yeah. It’s more serious than my usual movies, but it don’t mean I’m aiming for a big dramatic acting scene, no sir. The way I’m headed, I want to try something different now, but not too different. I did this film because the script was good, and I guess I know by now what the public goes for." “Most of the scripts that come my way are all the same. They’ve all got a load of songs in them, but I just did a Western called 'Charro', which hasn’t any songs ‘cepting the title tune. It did have a couple of nude scenes, but they’ve been cut. Anyhow, can you imagine a dramatic Western where the hero breaks out into song all the time?” He has said plenty, and now he leaps to his feet, hands flashing to imaginary holsters, and sings in a deep drawl: “Go for your guns . . . you’ve got ’til sundown to get outa town . . . ” It could be the start of a promising sketch. The others follow suit, singing, clowning, all on their feet. If this is the Memphis Mafia, they’re a friendly bunch.

Elvis on set of 'Change of Habit' (Universal 1969) talking to fans.

Elvis sits down, and everyone stops singing. He eyes himself in the dressing room mirror. “I don’t plan too far ahead, but I’m real busy for a while now. I’ve got a date in Vegas, and maybe another film after that. Then I’m going to try to get to Europe, because I’ve always promised I would and I’ve got some good, faithful fans over there.” Slow-talking Elvis may be. But he certainly isn’t the slow-witted hick from the backwoods his detractors make out. If he is, then he’s a better actor than they give him credit for. Get through to him, and you find a pleasant, honest, not-too-articulate hometown boy who has been protected for his own good from the hysterical periphery of his present world. The party was warming up. Elvis cracked a gag. Charlie cracked a gag. There was a call from the door. Elvis was wanted, and the good breeze was still blowing as he made for the set, one hand on my shoulder. Charlie and Doc were all smiles.

Elvis and his manager, Colonel Parker, on set of 'Change of Habit' (Universal 1969).

“Okay?” said the P.M. “You did real fine.” "Well . . . not quite." I said. "This Colonel Parker, would he be around for a word later?" Elvis stopped in his tracks. The P.M. went a whiter shade of pale, and whispered something to a friend. The friend nodded in sympathy. “I must tell you about an experience I had like that once,” he said, eyeing me as if I’d just crawled out of the woodwork. Elvis said: “I think he’s in Palm Springs. I’m not sure...” He hurried off. The P.M. said: “Don’t let’s push our luck any more. We never trouble him for too long a time. You should be very happy. You had more than anyone’s had in years.” Somewhere along the line, unaccountably, the good breeze had dropped. This story is from the July 12th, 1969 issue of Rolling Stone.

Source: www.rollingstone.com

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 HORROPEDIA - "night terrors"

Horropedia x Reader. 2.3 words. fluff, comfort Everyone knows better than to intrude on Horropedia's all-nighters and horror film marathons - even so, he doesn't mind interruptions, not if it's you. Maybe these movies can wait.

writing for Horropedia is the real nightmare bc all I wanna do is expand on little headcanons I have about him, so I end up losing the entire plot and reason I started the oneshot in the first place

EITHER WAY its done <3 another one for the sleepytime saga

The clock reads 3:00 AM - the witching hour begins now.

The weather outside seems to agree with him. Darkness falls over the wilderness that surrounds the house, with thick, grey clouds above and just the right amount of rain and wind. Enough to set a proper atmosphere for a horror movie marathon, but not as to distract him with the constant banging of windows and doors being closed shut.

Horropedia feels around the table for his snacks, eyes glued to the screen in front of him, the only source of light in his room. He's chosen one of his favorite films to begin with and ease himself into a long list of terrible B-movie slashers.

It's hard to eat popcorn when all he can focus on is reciting the dialogue from memory, in perfect harmony with the characters. Some kernels fall to the ground, entirely forgotten. The title drops with a bright, bloody font and the music swells up. He feels right at home.

But then, he hears it.

Faint steps. A gentle knock on his door.

Is this it? Is this the moment he waited for all these years? To live through some unusual and inexplicable event? Oh, but it's not even his birthday!

Horropedia pauses the movie and clears his throat. "Yes? Who is it?"

The door slowly creaks open. He swears it was locked.

There's no one outside in the empty hallway.

Silence settles in and his mind begins to race. It's too late for any of his usual guests - neither Tooth Fairy nor Blonney would go out of their way to find him at this hour. By now, everyone should be asleep. Even the more rebellious and nocturnal guests preferred to mind their business as soon as the night came.

The smile on Horropedia's face widens at this. He doesn't know who could be out there at this ungodly hour, trying to lure him outside, but he wanted to find out badly.

All he needs to do is follow the script. Oh, but what sort of protagonist could he play? There was a big difference between an innocent question like "Who's out there?" and a demand like "Show yourself!"

Full of giddy energy, Horropedia opens his mouth, ready to deliver his best performance, when a small voice interrupts him.

"Oh, thank fuck, you're actually awake."

A familiar head peeks out from the door frame - it's you, his partner in crime! The disappointment on his face must be visible even in this light, because he hears you huff in immediate protest. Horropedia sighs, long and hard, feeling his soul leave his body.

"Hey, come on. Can I come in or not?"

"You already know the answer to that," Horropedia crawls back onto the sofa, dropping face down onto the pillows and blankets with loud thud. First you make his heart leap in vain, and now you want to ask unnecessary questions?

Perhaps he wasn't clear enough in previous interactions with you - but as his partner in crime and closest confidant, you should know better. This is an exclusive privilege he bestowed upon you and only you: to come and go as you please and treat his room like your own.

When he speaks again, it comes out muffled and defeated. "Mwake fure to cwose the dwoor..."

"...What?"

Horropedia raises his head from the pillow, glasses crooked and hairpins all over his head, doing a poor job at keeping the hair out of his eyes.

"Door!" And then he plops back down.

He knows its silly and irrational to get so worked up over something like this, a small interruption, just a little setback in his carefully scheduled night. All he needs to do is count and breathe.

One, two, three. It's not that bad, he can simply rewind the movie and start from the beginning. Besides, now he has you here! The perfect companion for a marathon. Four, five, six. It's hard to breathe properly when all he's getting is a lungful of couch, but soon, that frustration in his chest dissipates. Seven, eight, nine...Ten.

Horropedia turns his head to look at you, standing in front of him after locking the door.

"So, to what do I owe this visi- OW?!" He yelps in surprise once you pinch his leg, and he recoils and sits up on instinct, rubbing that sore spot. "Hey! That was uncalled for! What happened to our peace treaty?"

"Yeah, but now I get to sit down, so it's a win."

There's something off in the way you speak - it's your tone, lower and raspier than usual. Horropedia leans closer to you, squinting. Something else catches his eye, other than the way you avoid looking at him.

"Why are your eyes red and puffy?"

Even though all he has is the faint light of the TV screen, he sees it. The red marks in your eyes, the dried tears across your cheeks - you should've known by now, it's impossible to hide anything from his watchful and attentive eyes.

Horropedia's initial thoughts are allergies, but it seems unlikely in a closed space like this house. He remains still as a statue as your expression turns into one of shock, the question catching you entirely off-guard. When you fully turn away from him to rub your eyes, he knows something is wrong.

"On second thought, that was a very dumb question. Allow me to rectify - why were you crying?" He receives no response, and so he settles for finding an answer himself.

There's the uneven rise and fall of your chest, as if you were trying very hard to hold in a second wave of tears. Your hands have turned into trembling fists on your lap, and your shoulders are tense. Did you argue with someone? No, there's no one awake at this hour. In the stillness of the night, everyone would've heard it, anyway. For you to be in such a state, seeking him out this late at night...

"Ah," Horropedia's eyes soften as it all clicks into place. "Another dumb question. But third time's the charm, my friend! May I try again?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. His hand slides into your own, gently forcing you to stop clenching your fists and interlocking your fingers and his together with ease. Like this, he can hold you steady and ground you back to reality.

"Was it a very scary nightmare?"

The way Horropedia speaks is often louder than what is commonly expected, rarely changing from that perpetual matter-of-factly, cheeky tone he's known for. But now? He's gentle, endeared by the way you stubbornly continue to hide from him.

There's a nod, and you finally turn to face him. It's a heartbreaking sight, with your face tilted down, looking up at him like you've done something wrong. You allow your hair to fall over your eyes in one last effort to conceal this vulnerable moment, but Horropedia won't allow it.

Now that he's older, Horropedia finds it difficult and, at times, stupid to cry over things he knows aren't real - those nonsensical dreams caused by watching too many horror movies, reading scary stories before bedtime or any lingering events from his daily routine. But when he was just a child waking up in the middle of the night, tears streaming down his eyes, his first instinct was the same: to run as fast as he could into his grandfather's arms, the one person who could chase away all those night terrors.

Tonight is the night he steps up to reverse those roles. Horropedia wants nothing more than to offer you that same feeling of safety.

"There's three things we can do right now. One, we can pretend nothing happened and you can join me to watch movies until the sun rises or until we pass out from exhaustion, whichever comes first. Two, we can go raid the kitchen right now for some comfort food - lucky for you, I know where everyone hides their favorite snacks."

He pauses just enough to pique your interest, giving you one of his mysterious, cheeky smiles. "Three, you lay down with me and tell me all about this nightmare you had, so I can judge and nitpick all the scary elements in it."

That earns a little chuckle from you, a massive improvement from your pitiful expression back then - that's enough to seal your fate.

Horropedia slowly takes off his glasses and sets them on the table, before pulling you into a hug and falling onto the plush cushions. He makes sure to lay by the edge of the couch with you nestled safely inside, his body fully shielding you from the light of the TV screen. There's just enough space to lay down together like this, as long as you remain pressed up against his chest.

This is a first for him, for someone who struggles with this type of contact and rarely initiates it, and yet it feels as natural as breathing when it comes to you. It feels right, and he guesses he must be doing something right when you nuzzle and curl up into him, content and comfortable.

There's no trace of that fear from before. That tense atmosphere is fully gone, replaced with something that feels just like home - it's like he's 13 again, staying up late at night, having fun and doing things that the Foundation would never approve of, those illicit sleepovers under the safety of his blanket. But this time, he has you by his side.

Horropedia is painfully aware of his lack of skill when it comes to romance - he still pets your head the same way one would pet a dog rather than a person - but he can't bring himself to care in the slightest about all these rules and guidelines when he hears you laugh and complain about his cold hands on the small of your back. Then, he feels you poke at his monster slippers with your foot.

"You're still wearing these?" Before he can reply, you kick them off and they fall unceremoniously onto the floor. "They're so lame."

Horropedia deadpans. "You literally have a matching pair."

"Yeah, some nerdy nerd gave them to me."

He realizes you're joking when you avoid his eyes in an attempt to hide that smug grin, choosing to trace the colorful patterns and slasher killers depicted on his shirt instead. Somehow, he feels his heart skip a beat at this.

"Hey! I don't recall giving you the fourth option of making fun of me all night! Now, will you share that nightmare you had, or should we wait until I die from the suspense?"

This time, you're the one who catches him off-guard by cupping his face and planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. Feeling the warmth rise from his neck to the tip of his ears, Horropedia is left momentarily speechless. Perhaps he still needs a little more time to ease into this whole physical touch thing. Nonetheless, he remains docile under your touch, especially when you begin to play with his hair.

"It's funny," you begin speaking, carefully untangling the hairclips out of that mess of brown hair, undoing his ponytail. "I can't even remember what it was about, at least not all of it. It just feels... Like it was something very dumb, even if it made me cry. I guess it's that whole thing you keep saying, about how psychological horror is scarier because there's no actual tangible monster or creature or whatever to blame for everything."

"Thank you! Finally, someone who thinks alike! The whole fear factor is greatly reduced when you can see the origin of all these supernatural or scary, inexplicable events. Humanity's biggest enemy is their own mind, and to us arcanists is our emotions. That's why, to some people, ghosts are scarier than robbers - which makes sense, despite being entirely illogical at the same time..."

It's hard to stop once he gets going, and so Horropedia continues talking, so immersed in his own thoughts and theories that he doesn't even register the way you've wrapped both arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest and breathing him in.

Every so often, you give him a weak, drowsy reply and he only realizes you've fallen asleep when all he hears is your gentle snoring. The movie continues to play in the background, but all of his senses are focused on you.

Had it been anyone else, Horropedia would've been offended. But it's you we're talking about. One of the very few people who pay attention to what he says, who cares enough to sit through hours of ramblings and to debate him on things he might've missed or overlooked. Who would never think of changing the way he is.

There's stars in his eyes when he looks down at your sleeping form, absolutely mesmerized. Usually, you're the one helping him through the tedious social interactions, to understand when he might be overstepping or acting rudely. In a sea of blank, emotionless and confusing faces, yours is the one he looks for guidance and solace. When nothing makes sense and he's lost in an abundance of unspoken rules of conduct, discipline and etiquette, your voice is the one that rises above all.

He may not know how to show it, he may not even realize it himself, but his appreciation for you runs deeper than his love for horror. Horropedia is honored to know that, just this once, he was able to help you. That he's the first one you sought out at your most vulnerable.

Horropedia presses his lips to the top of your head - a gentle, feathery kiss as to not disturb your sleep. And he remains there, your anchor to reality, as his eyelids feel heavier and heavier. The last thing he remembers before sleep takes over is your voice, not quite awake and not quite asleep, thanking him.

What are you even thanking him for, silly? Have you forgotten already? It's fine, because Horropedia will always be there to remind you: you can always count on him, no matter what.