#i have so many crazy substitute stories

[ode-on-a-grecian-butt]

I saw this on quora and thought it was cool and wanted to share it on here.  Its a long read but crazy.  Its from Erik Painter

They did try. And they did capture Navajo men. However, they were unsuccessful in using them to decipher the code. The reason was simple. The Navajo Code was a code that used Navajo. It was not spoken Navajo. To a Navajo speaker, who had not learned the code, a Navajo Code talker sending a message sounds like a string of unconnected Navajo words with no grammar. It was incomprehensible. So, when the Japanese captured a Navajo man named Joe Kieyoomia in the Philippines, he could not really help them even though they tortured him. It was nonsense to him.

The Navajo Code had to be learned and memorized. It was designed to transmit a word by word or letter by letter exact English message. They did not just chat in Navajo. That could have been understood by a Navajo speaker, but more importantly translation is never, ever exact. It would not transmit precise messages. There were about 400 words in the Code.

The first 31 Navajo Marines created the Code with the help of one non-Navajo speaker officer who knew cryptography. The first part of the Code was made to transmit English letters. For each English letter there were three (or sometimes just two) English words that started with that letter and then they were translated into Navajo words. In this way English words could be spelled out with a substitution code. The alternate words were randomly switched around. So, for English B there were the Navajo words for Badger, Bear and Barrel. In Navajo that is: nahashchʼidí, shash, and tóshjeeh. Or the letter A was Red Ant, Axe, or Apple. In Navajo that is: wóláchííʼ, tsénił , or bilasáana. The English letter D was: bįįh=deer, and łééchąąʼí =dog, and chʼįįdii= bad spiritual substance (devil).

For the letter substitution part of the Code the word “bad” could be spelled out a number of ways. To a regular Navajo speaker it would sound like: “Bear, Apple, Dog”. Or other times it could be “ Barrel, Red Ant, Bad Spirit (devil)”. Other times it could be “Badger, Axe, Deer”. As you can see, for just this short English word, “bad” there are many possibilities and to the combination of words used. To a Navajo speaker, all versions are nonsense. It gets worse for a Navajo speaker because normal Navajo conjugates in complex ways (ways an English or Japanese speaker would never dream of). These lists of words have no indicators of how they are connected. It is utterly non-grammatical.

Then to speed it up, and make it even harder to break, they substituted Navajo words for common military words that were often used in short military messages. None were just translations. A few you could figure out. For example, a Lieutenant was “one silver bar” in Navajo. A Major was “Gold Oak Leaf” n Navajo. Other things were less obvious like a Battleship was the word for Whale in Navajo. A Mine Sweeper was the Navajo word for Beaver.

A note here as it seems hard for some people to get this. Navajo is a modern and living language. There are, and were, perfectly useful Navajo words for submarines and battleships and tanks. They did not “make up words because they had no words for modern things”. This is an incorrect story that gets around in the media. There had been Navajo in the military before WWII. The Navajo language is different and perhaps more flexible than English. It is easy to generate new words. They borrow very few words and have words for any modern thing you can imagine. The words for telephone, or train, or nuclear power are all made from Navajo stem roots.

Because the Navajo Marines had memorized the Code there was no code book to capture. There was no machine to capture either. They could transmit it over open radio waves. They could decode it in a few minutes as opposed to the 30 minutes to two hours that other code systems at the time took. And, no Navajo speaker who had not learned the Code could make any sense out of it.

The Japanese had no published texts on Navajo. There was no internationally available description of the language. The Germans had not studied it at the time. The Japanese did suspect it was Navajo. Linguists thought it was in the Athabaskan language family. That would be pretty clear to a linguist. And Navajo had the biggest group of speakers of any Athabaskan language. That is why they tortured Joe Kieyoomia. But, he could not make sense of it. It was just a list of words with no grammar and no meaning.

For Japanese, even writing the language down from the radio broadcasts would be very hard. It has lots of sounds that are not in Japanese or in English. It is hard to tell where some words end or start because the glottal stop is a common consonant. Frequency analysis would have been hard because they did not use a single word for each letter. And some words stood for words instead of for a letter. The task of breaking it was very hard.

Here is an example of a coded message:

béésh łigai naaki joogii gini dibé tsénił áchį́į́h bee ąą ńdítį́hí joogi béésh łóó’ dóó łóóʼtsoh

When translated directly from Navajo into English it is:

“SILVER TWO BLUE JAY CHICKEN HAWK SHEEP AXE NOSE KEY BLUE JAY IRON FISH AND WHALE. “

You can see why a Navajo who did not know the Code would not be able to do much with that. The message above means: “CAPTAIN, THE DIVE BOMBER SANK THE SUBMARINE AND BATTLESHIP.”

“Two silver bars” =captain. Blue jay= the. Chicken hawk= dive bomber. Iron fish = sub. Whale= battleship. “Sheep, Axe Nose Key”=sank. The only normal use of a Navajo word is the word for “and” which is “dóó ”. For the same message the word “sank” would be spelled out another way on a different day. For example, it could be: “snake, apple, needle, kettle”.

Here, below on the video, is a verbal example of how the code sounded. The code sent below sounded to a Navajo speaker who did not know the Code like this: “sheep eyes nose deer destroy tea mouse turkey onion sick horse 362 bear”. To a trained Code Talker, he would write down: “Send demolition team to hill 362 B”. The Navajo Marine Coder Talker then would give it to someone to take the message to the proper person. It only takes a minute or so to code and decode.

#WW2 #Navajo code talkers #war in the pacific #Native Americans #Joe Kieyoomia #history

[bettyfrommars]

don't say you need me (it's understood)

vampire!steve x deliveryDriver!fem!reader

summary: you are a delivery driver who gets extra hazard pay to bring blood to the vampires of Crimson Alley, but this time, you get up the nerve to ask Steve for something you have always wanted. This story has a surprise ending and an appearance from vampire!eddie. Steve is not a typical vampire. Slightly True Blood au. wc:6.3k

18+ONLY, mature themes, Steve is a vampire but he is also something else, reader's first time feeding a vampire, smut, drinking blood, sensitive!steve, lovesick!steve, monsterfucking, doordash delivery for vampires, oral for all, reader wears a sportsbra, unprotected p in v, creampie, self-inflicted knife wound.

author's note: I've had this one in my wip's for a while, and it was going to drive me crazy if I didn't finish it. My Steve fics rarely see the light of day, but I can't stop writing them for some reason. This is my last little detour before I go back to working on my other series. Or, until I get distracted again, which will probably be in two minutes.

Part 2 smut extra Wolf Moon

Part 3 fluff request

The way you earned money lately was not your dream job, but it paid the bills.  Food delivery was a necessary evil with your life being as chaotic as it was.  The particular app you worked for paid better than the rest because of the “hazard pay” you accrued for some of the deliveries that required more “risk”.

The risk in question had you delivering blood to the local vampire population, most of which lived in a particular section of the city called Crimson Alley.  It wasn’t just an alley; there were apartment buildings and a long street full of picket fence houses, all with heavy, black out curtains over them during the day.  

One minute, you’re leaving tofu Pad Thai on someone’s doorstep, and the next—-you’re casually dropping off a grocery bag full of type O.  

It was dark, of course, when you made your final delivery before clocking out.  You took on as many deliveries to Crimson Alley as the app would allow, mostly because you needed the money, but also—you weren’t afraid of death.

Most of the vampire clients who signed up for deliveries on the app were decent, law abiding ghouls, but there had been two noted incidents where the vampire in question only wanted a live human to feed on, and ended up draining the delivery driver before disappearing into the night.

You told yourself they were just rumors, but also, you spent quite a bit of time ruminating on what the sensation of fangs breaking your skin would feel like.

The receipt stapled to the front of the paper bag from the blood bank said Harrington, and you matched it with the information on your phone before making your way up the sidewalk.  It was an old, vintage building with renovated apartments inside, and so you punched in the alarm code from the notes in your phone, waited for the beep, and then made your way up to C5.

Two female vampires were just leaving as you stepped into the foyer, and they seemed to be dressed for a night on the town.  You jumped back to make room for them, and they excused themselves with a laugh and a wave, fangs exposed, as if they were any other living humans going out for drinks. That was the great thing about vampire specific blood banks and the recently invented blood substitutes; fed vampires, for the most part, were happy vampires.  Sure, there were those who still lusted after the chase and the thrill of the kill, but most of the newer vampires were surprisingly chill.  

The customer requested that you hand the delivery directly to them, which meant you had to knock instead of just dropping it at the door and bolting.  

But, as your finger rose to touch the doorbell, the door opened, yanking back into the apartment so fast, and you scrambled back, startled, testing the handle of the bag with your vise grip.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” the vampire said, smiling around his fangs, wearing Wayfarer sunglasses even though it was dark outside.  “I didn’t mean to scare you, my bad.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you stiffened, shaking your head, hoping that was the correct answer, since the customer is always right.  

In the next few heartbeats, the two of you looked over each other.  Your vampire customer had a full head of lush, dark hair, just long enough to tuck behind his ears, and a solid, muscular frame.  He had on a white shirt that was of little contrast to his pale skin, rolled up to the elbows and unbuttoned to expose a swatch of chest hair, black pants that made it look like he was getting ready to go somewhere fancy, and a pinky ring with what looked like a skull on it.  He smelled like sandalwood and vanilla tobacco, and your mouth produced an overabundance of saliva that made you swallow and choke a bit.

Steve liked what he saw so much that he didn’t want to remove his sunglasses, so that he could continue to look you over without you seeing his eyes move.  But, eventually, he did, sliding them up on top of his head, clearing his throat.

“Harrington,” he said, leaning against the door frame, forgetting why he was about to leave the apartment in the first place. “That’s me, I’m Steve.”

You introduced yourself, and then lifted the bag up in the space between the two of you. “Would you like me to set this by the door, or—?”

“Oh, damn, yeah, of course,” he chuckled fondly to himself, as if remembering a private joke.  “I can—yeah, sure, here—I’ll take it.”

You passed it off and he opened it to look inside as if he didn’t know what he’d ordered.  

“Alright,” you backed up, offering a low wave.  “I guess I’ll be going,then? As long as everything looks okay.”

“Sure,” Steve said, uncertain, still staring into the bag.  You turned on your heel to head for the stairs. “But, wait—” he called after you.

You spun around to face him, rubbing your lips together, wondering if you were crazy, or if the vampire was trying to flirt with you.

Steve held the bag with one hand and let it fall to his side while his other hand shoved into his front pocket, smirking at you in a way that screamed trouble.  “Would you like to meet up later? After your shift? For a drink, or something?”

Or something.

This wasn’t a good idea, you told yourself, as you turned around to accept his invitation.  

“I’m free right now,” you told him.

—-------

Steve didn’t have a plan; he just knew he didn’t want you to go.

“Were you about to leave?” You asked, gesturing to his outfit as you accepted his invitation inside the apartment.  

“Nowhere…special,” Steve looked you up and down again, forgetting that his sunglasses weren’t covering his eyes.   He was about to go and meet up with his friend Eddie, but he’d shoot him a text real quick and let him know he got “caught up”.  Eddie had canceled on him at the last minute more times than he could count, so his conscience was clear.  

Steve had eclectic taste, and the first thing you noticed was the Depeche Mode poster on the wall, along with some original art, oil abstracts, and there was a retro sense to the place: a boombox from the 80’s, a panasonic tv/vcr combo on a stand in the corner and a 1960’s wicker rattan chair with a big, dark blue cushion.  He had a large collection of vinyl in vintage, wood apple crates stacked up the wall, and a yellow kitchen table set that looked like it was right out of the 1950’s.  

You turned to ask him a question, but he was right there on your heels, and your chests pressed into each other, your noses almost bumping, and that was when you took a closer look at his fangs.  They weren’t long, obnoxious fangs like in the movies, and could almost pass for normal, albeit extra sharp incisors, but for the way they extended down further than the rest of his perfect teeth.  

“Do you ever accidentally—” you motioned to your own tooth, tapping it.

“Bite my own lip? All the time,” he gave a snort.  “My tongue too, and it fucking sucks.”

He offered you a beverage and you were surprised to find out he had human food there.  

“I have several human friends. I cook for them sometimes too,” he assured you from the kitchen which was around the corner. He carried the grocery bag of blood in to pour some out for himself, and then you heard the top pop off a beer.  But then he peeked his head around the corner, raising his eyebrows at you. “Did you think all vampires were hermits that just hung out with each other in a cave somewhere? Like in The Lost Boys?”

You put your hands in your back pockets and went over to take a closer look at the bat with nail spikes through it that was mounted like a trophy above his stereo system.  He came out carrying a wine glass full of a deep claret liquid, and handed you the beer, gesturing to the futon with his elbow.

He’d only known you for a few minutes and he already wanted to kiss you.  He could see the heartbeat in your throat from where he sat, and he wanted to take a sip from your lifeforce and then kiss you with his bloody lips, smearing it down your chin.  He couldn’t smell any other man or partner on you, but he also couldn’t let you walk out and be with someone else; he was actively attaching to the scent of your blood, and if you stayed any longer, he’d have to do something about it.  

You took a few gulps of your beer, thinking that if you didn’t make you move, you’d lose your nerve.  A chance to be consensually bitten by a vampire did not come around as often as people would think.  Especially for the modern vamps of today who’d been following a set of rules for decades.  Most vampires had specific humans they “bonded” with, be it a familiar or a partner, or they ingested a specific type from the blood bank or blood substitute.  Vampires were very finicky creatures, and the blood had to taste good in order for them to want to ingest it.  The way it tasted had to do with a certain mix of hormones and chemistry, you really had no clue.

After a bit of small talk about where you came from, and how long Steve had been a vampire—he was turned in 1996 by an ex he didn’t want to talk about—you set your empty beer down on the rectangular wood coffee table and sat back.

“So,” you bobbed your head a few times.  “Here we are.”

“Yes,” he inclined his glass to you, taking the last sip of his Type O claret. “Cheers to us.”

And then, there was silence, but for the sound of people chatting out in the hall, the low hum of the Depeche Mode song It’s no Good, and your heartbeat in your ears.

But then, you just blurted it out, and Steve started to talk at the same time.

“How would you feel if I asked you to—”

“I have to confess that I—”

You licked your lips.  “You go first,” you said on a nervous exhale, fiddling with the arm of the futon.

“No, you—please,” Steve sank down and rested his head on the back of the cushion, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your cheeks hot.  You couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his pants was abnormally large even though it wasn’t even erect.

This was crazy, what were you even doing in his apartment? Your friends would be screaming obscenities at  you if they knew, telling you to pull out your colloidal silver mace spray and run.  But yet, all of  your blood seemed to be tickling at the surface of your skin, wanting to escape.

You turned in your seat and Steve’s eyes followed your movements, watching how you bent your knee up and scooted towards him..

“Here’s the thing,” you cleared your throat, finding your words.  “I’ve never been bitten before, by, you know, a vampire, but I’d really love to know what it feels like.  I fantasize about it, sometimes.”

In an unexpected turn of events, Steve abruptly got to his feet, mumbling, “not another one,” as he put his back to you and rolled his head from side to side, walking away.

“Wait,” you stood up too. “What do you mean, ‘not another one’? Do delivery drivers normally show up here asking you to bite them?”

When he faced you, his eyes were full of weary disappointment.  “I’m not turning you, okay? I will never turn anyone as long as I exist,” and then he rounded the corner into the kitchen and you heard the wine glass drop into the sink.  

“Hold on,” you followed, coming up behind him as he bent forward to brace his hands on the countertop.  He appeared so suddenly distraught, your hand hovered at his lower back for a while, wondering if you should touch him, and then you finally did—feeling his cold skin through his shirt like winter marble.  

You made a few comforting circles with your palm, and he let you, secretly closing his eyes at the soothing nature of your touch.  

“Hey,” you whispered.  “I don’t want to be a vampire.  And even if I did, I would never want to put that on you, a complete stranger.”

This admission made him stand, and you watched the way the ends of his hair caught on the collar of his shirt, shoulder blades flexing under the material.

You rested your hip by the sink, eyeing his back muscles.  “I’m kind of embarrassed now, that I admitted that to you,” you laughed a little then, at yourself, at the situation, looking down at your nails.  Could you have fucked this up any harder? 

You barely had time to register that he had turned around and was coming toward you, it all happened in a human blink. But then he had your back pressed flush against the wall by the fridge, one hand cupped your throat while the other pinned your hip.  It knocked the air out of you, but it also turned you on, and he returned your stare with a flicker of uncertainty.  Silky brown eyes that seemed to go ink black as the pupils expanded.

He brought his cheek down, rubbing it against yours, inhaling the scent of your hair, his words a tight whisper at your ear.  “Why do you want me to hurt you?”

“I-I don’t want that,” you stammered, knees wobbling as he sniffed along the side of your face and down your neck; his skin was cold and it made  your nipples hard.  “I just want to know what it feels like to be…needed like that.”

Steve snapped his head up to look at you; brows clenched, cherry lips parted.  The urge to taste you, to feast on you, had him questioning almost a decade of sobriety from using his fangs to feed.  His teeth ached, his stomach growled.  The light in the kitchen was on, and aside from a lamp in the living room and the street lights from outside, the rest of the apartment was dark.

Steve nudged your nose with his; lips an inch or two away from yours.  “Maybe…just a taste.”

You lifted your chin to kiss his pouty lips, but he pulled back.  “We can’t do that, though.  We can’t kiss.”

You searched his eyes, confused.  

Steve released your throat, and the tension of the moment subsided.  “It’s too…intimate.  I can’t risk an attachment to a complete stranger.” You could tell he was using your words against you, and you wondered why that description bothered him so much.  You were both, indeed, strangers, and you didn't know how else to categorize him.

“I want it to be a good experience, though,” he hushed, taking your hand, guiding you back out to the living room. “It’s the least I can do.”

He told you to wait there while he got a towel from the closet; he didn’t want blood on his new futon.  If only you knew how many offers like this he’d turned down in his life; if only you knew how nervous he was to break this seal with you.

“Should I lay down or sit up?” You asked.  Your mind was having a hard time registering that this was actually happening.  

Steve came back and plopped down onto the squishy futon.  His shirt was off, and your eyes locked on the patch of chest hair over his milk white skin.  “It’s less messy this way,” he gestured to his bare chest, and then he raised an eyebrow, his face serious.  “Are you comfortable straddling my lap?”

“Facing you?” 

Steve dropped his shoulders, giving you a look, and then he patted the cushion on either side of him.

You were about to drop your knee down to do as he suggested.  

“Oh wait,” he stopped you, giving you an open, earnest expression.  “Do you want to take your shirt off?  It might get blood on it. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

You looked down at your shirt.  It was a vintage concert tee, and you didn’t want to risk it. “Um, yeah, okay,” you had a sports bra on underneath, so this was fine.  

Steve watched you remove your shirt with a hitch in his chest, but then looked down when you finished and tossed it over the chair.  

You climbed on top of him, bracing your hands on his shoulders.  “You’re so cold,” you observed.  “You make me want to get you a blanket.”

“You’re all the warmth I need,” he muttered, shifting as your core settled above his cock, his hands tentative at your hips. 

“Listen, it’s probably going to sting, or hurt, even,” he coached, watching the plump artery in your throat.  “But once I start drinking, your endorphins take over and it should feel…good, in a way.”

You nodded, pushing your shoulders back.

“Now, come forward,” he continued, pulling you close so that the two of you were skin on skin, his fingers spread out on your back.  “And tilt your head to the side, just like that.”

Steve’s mouth watered as he took in the sight of your neck so exposed to him, like an offering.  It reminded him of way back when he used to confuse the gift of blood as a form of love.  Back when he was naive and bursting with wet dreams about a home and a family and one love forever.

A few seconds passed and your chin rested on the cool muscles of his shoulder.  You could feel his breath on your skin, tingly like wintermint gum.  

“Should I count down?” He asked.

“No, I’m fine,” you returned with an edge of irritation. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You adjusted yourself in his lap and it made his cock throb, and now he was nervous that you could tell how aroused he was.  It’s been a while since he drank from someone he wasn’t in love with, and his cock assumed it was its turn to get involved too.

You felt his lips tremble on your flesh as he brushed over the spot. 

“Okay, here we go,” he mumbled. Steve’s stomach growled again as he made “O” with his mouth over your big, thumping artery, swiping his tongue a few times over your salty barrier.

But then his teeth broke the surface, making you choke and clutch his arm.

It did hurt, in the same way thorns from a rose bush hurt, and your adrenaline surged, preparing your body for fight or flight, but Steve’s arms were strong, and now they had you caged in a vice grip.

The sweet hesitancy of consent was gone now that he knew the honey nectar in your veins.

Now, his animal urges made him growl as he drank from you; whimpering, even, when he felt you ease into it, shifting to be closer to him.

There were only a few seconds of that sharp pain, but then as he sucked, you felt your pussy flutter and bloom—a reaction that you had not expected.  You closed your eyes, vibrating, leaning into each pull, turned on more and more by his wanton need for you. A trickle of blood trailed down along your breast and it made your skin raise with gooseflesh.  

Steve jerked his mouth away with a gasp after about a minute, breathless.  He looked at the dripping fang marks in your neck, and then, without thinking, he kissed you there. He released his double arm lock on you and held your upper arms, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” be breathed.  “That was so good.” 

“You can have…more,” you whispered, keeping your head tilted to the side.  

Steve swallowed hard: the temptation was real. “I can’t,” he managed.  “I’m afraid I’ll take too much.”

You wanted to cry out in disappointment, to beg for more.  But then, Steve picked up the towel and started wiping you off. He pricked his finger to heal the fang holes with his blood and you felt a sizzle as they closed up and vanished.

You couldn’t look at him right away, but when you finally did—you saw the trickles of your life force in the corners of his mouth and the strawberry wine tinted hue of his lips. His cinnamon brown eyes that had somehow turned hazel  Your need was too great, and before you could stop yourself, you were leaning forward to flick your tongue out to taste the evidence of his feast.

Steve turned his head and that was when you remembered the rule: no kissing.  He was the Julia Roberts Pretty Woman version of vampires.  

But a  twitch of his cock against your inner thigh from inside his jeans betrayed him. 

“Oh, fuck it,” he hissed, acquiescing to his own desires, holding the back of your head to find your mouth.  He kissed you deep, without any hesitation.  It was innocent and urgent, like a man who had been starving in many different ways for a long time.

The taste of your blood in his mouth had your eyes rolling back in your head.  There was something about the closeness of it; the way he received nourishment from you.  You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back, not paying any attention to the way your hips were grinding into him.

“Wait,” there was a smacking noise as Steve pulled his mouth away. He ran the back of his fingers down your cheek.  “Do you want this? Do you want…me?”

Your lips throbbed and felt bruised, and you nodded, unable to form words.

Steve would regret this the next day, he knew he would.  He wasn’t one of those people who could do casual intimacy like Eddie and Argyle.  He wondered if he was hypnotized by your blood, wondered if maybe he’d see clearer in the morning.  But right then, he didn’t care.

You crossed your arms over yourself and pulled your sports bra off, watching Steve’s breath catch at the sight of your nipples. He took one in his mouth, swirling his tongue, moaning as he did so, and you flexed your hips against him. His sucking popped off as your mouth went to his neck; you didn’t kiss him, you just planted your lips there and said:

“I love knowing my blood is inside of you.”

And for some reason—that was it for Steve.  

He gasped, clamping his hands onto your thighs, locking you in place. “Wait…fuck…oh shit—”

You felt him tremble and arch his pelvis up, his hips stuttered, and then his head dropped to your arm with a strangled cry.  

“Hold on…did you just?”

“I’m afraid so,” Steve admitted with a tight, aggravated sigh.  “Excuse me while I—”

He motioned for you to move out of his lap, but you stayed there, lowering your head to find his eyes.  “Can I clean you up?”

Steve shifted, feeling embarrassed and a little uncomfortable, about to decline your offer, but then you were sliding down between his legs, pushing them wider with your shoulders.  Your attention went to unbuckling his belt and zipper, but then your eyes flicked up to meet him, hovering there.

“What are you doing?” He asked softly, lifting his hips when you needed to scoot his jeans and red boxers down.  You saw the wet spot where his tip had exploded and the dark hair around the base of his cock.  You grabbed onto his length to bring it out of hiding and Steve shivered.

“You don’t have to—” but your lips were already on the fat, sticky tip, licking down the vein and the excess that dribbled down his shaft.  His cum didn’t really have a taste—it reminded you of something with a clear flavor, like glycerine.  He was semi-hard now; caught between being done and getting excited again.  He threw his head back onto the couch, exposing his throat to the ceiling, Adam’s apple jerking as he swallowed back a whimper.

His hips bucked up when you took the tip to the back of your throat, and Steve’s fingers dug into the couch, wondering if he should touch you.  “Do you like the way I taste?” He asked in a hush.

You nodded, meeting his gaze again, kissing the head of his cock.  “I want more.”

Steve leaned down to grab your face with both hands and coaxed you back up into his lap for another depraved kiss; moaning into each dive of your tongue.

“It’s my turn,” he said with a crooked grin, rubbing his nose on yours, and then he flipped you over with surprising strength.  You pushed your jeans down as he pulled them, yanking the denim all the way off your feet.  They landed inside out in a crumpled pile nearby.   He kissed down your breasts, your stomach, flicking his devilish tongue along the soft curve of your hip.  

Your legs stretched out to meet the width of his strong shoulders, cursing when his tongue licked a stripe up and down your slit a few times. When his mouth pulled away, there was a string of saliva connecting you to his chin, and he found your eyes before he moved to taste you again.

He lifted your thighs up off the couch—god, he was so strong—and licked down even further, until his tongue fluttered at your tight muscle back there, making both holes clench.  Your torso was almost bent in half when he looked up at you over your pussy.  “Do you like that?”

“Don’t stop Steve, please,” you gushed.

He took that as a yes, smiling to himself, continuing to work you over in that spot.

He lowered you and moved up to suck your clit and sank two fingers in a little too fast, making you tighten up for a moment.  “Shit, your fingers are so big.”

He made a guttural growl, staring at the way his fingers stretched you, and it sounded so unlike the noises he made thus far, it made your eyes snap open.

“More,” you gasped, taking his head in your hands.  Your fingers threaded through his hair that was a bit crunchy from styling product.

He slipped a third finger in and your cunt pulsed around him, making his cock get stiff and leaky again. “Fuck, you’re going to take my cock so good.”

The throb of the artery in your inner thigh caught his attention and so—that was all he could think about.

His fingers went in to the last knuckle, and twisted them a few times.

Your jaw went slack with a moan.  You watched his mouth lift off an inch so that he could stare at the spot just below the curve of your hip.  You could almost hear his thoughts, they were so loud, and the thought of him feeding on you again made  your cunt tighten like a fist.  

“Fuck, Steve, please do it,” you whined, squirming.  “Take more of my blood.”

Steve felt like a man out of control. Like the vehicle had already flown off the cliff, but he was still trying to work the break and steer.  There was no hope for him now—he might as well release his grip on the wheel.

His fingers curled up inside you as his fangs nipped at your tender flesh, toying with you.  When his his sharp teeth finally sank in, he didn’t give a shit about staining the couch or his clothes—he didn’t care if you could tell how much he fucking loved this.

When his mouth locked onto you, your pussy clenched around his fingers, and you were whimpering, clutching the back of his head, encouraging him, “moremoremore.” 

Steve had to push himself off of you with all of his strength, sending the couch sliding back a few inches with you on it, knocking over a table and a lamp that went crashing to the ground.  Your flesh was still leaking as he stumbled back, breathing quick and heavy, mouth and chin wet from his meal. His jeans were still down his hips a bit and his cock curved angry and sticky against his belly.

“Cover it,” he braced his hands behind him on the carpet, gesturing to your inner thigh, but you weren’t quick enough.  “Cover it now!” He barked, wincing, baring his teeth.  

You reached over for the towel and did as he asked, wrapping it around your thigh, securing it with your hand, watching whatever struggle he seemed to be having with himself.  It looked almost as if Steve was…changing? The hair on his chest and arms seemed to grow thicker right before your eyes and his jaw muscles strained as if making room for more teeth.

Once he caught his breath, his eyes locked on your cunt—so open and ready for him—and another animal growl escaped his chest.  You watched his cock twitch a few times, a sticky strand of precum connecting to his stomach.

No words were needed as he grabbed you by the crook of your knees and yanked you off the couch.  You yelped only because his movements were so fast and your lower back skidded on the rug, but you were equally opening yourself up wider for him, spreading your knees out.  

He knelt before you, chest hairier than ever, and his eyes flicked red for a moment.  He stretched his thick cock down along your slick and with one thrust, buried himself to the hilt, making you both throw your heads back with a cry.  

“Fuck,” you wanted him deeper, you wanted all of it.  Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the size.  He put one hand at your shoulder and one at the crease of your thigh and began to pound you onto his cock as if you were a toy.  Your breasts bounced and you kept eye contact with him as your jaw went slack, feeling a mounting orgasm already teasing in your core.

Steve’s hands no longer resembled the hands of a man; they were completely covered in hair now with curved claws. Honey brown fur covered his flesh entirely, and his nose was more of a snout as his eyes bore into you, burning an orange red.  His mouth was wider, teeth bigger and sharper as he revealed them to you in a sneer; his tongue lolling out thick and sharp.

You were not afraid though, and he could see it in the way you regarded him, as if the change had not taken place at all.   Your curiosity was piqued, but you were not disgusted, nor did you look away.

The curse, it was real.  He had not dared to tempt it for so long, thought maybe he had outrun it, but now he was mating you and he didn’t know how to stop.

You didn’t want him to stop. You wondered if maybe this was what happened when some vampires had sex—you’d never tried it before.

His strong, animal hips slammed against you; muscular, hairy legs splitting his jeans open so the seams ripped to accommodate his size.

“Steve, I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, brushing your fingers over your clit.

Monster Steve’s movements sped up and got erratic as you screamed his name again and the fire in your belly swelled to your entire body, exploding like firecrackers behind your eyes.  

Steve barked and locked you up against him, balls deep, as his cock pumped everything he had inside of you; body tensing, muscles straining.   

You were both panting when your eyes found each other again.  He searched your face with his feral eyes as his cock jumped a few times inside of you.  You wondered if he had lost the ability to speak since he hadn’t said a word since the transformation. 

He unhooked his hand from your shoulder and ran a claw down your face, gently, parting your lips with it, and then drawing down your throat.

There was a knock at the door, and somewhere in the deeply muffled civilized part of Steve’s brain he thought: “Shit, I forgot to text Eddie.”

You looked around, wondering what to do, wanting to cover yourself up, and Steve pulled out of you, savoring one last look at his cum leaking out before he bolted to the fire escape window on all fours and then crouched there.  

“Steve?” Another man’s voice came from the other side of the door.  “Yo Steve man, what gives? I waited at the bar for like two hours.”  He knocked on the door again, and then tried the knob.  “I’m going to use my spare key if you don’t answer, man.  It’s not like you not to text.”

Monster Steve growled low, staring across the room at the door, snarling like a dog.  

Getting the hint that maybe Steve didn’t want anyone to see him like that, you jumped up to find your clothes when you heard the key in the door.  You had your shirt on and were struggling to button your jeans when the door opened.  

You rushed over to greet whoever it was and found yourself face to face with another vampire, but this one had long, dark messy hair, and bangs that were too long, and a leather jacket over his Alice in Chains tee shirt.  

“Hey,” he paused, offering a confused smile to expose his fangs.  “I’m Eddie.  Is Steve here? We were supposed to meet me but he—-”

That was when Eddie caught sight of the huge, hairy monster dropping from Steve’s fire escape and into the street.

“Shit!” Eddie cursed, pushing passed you, yelling for Steve.  

You both made it to the window in time to see monster Steve bounce over the hoods of several cars like something out of a DC comic, and then bolt down an alleyway on all fours before climbing up the next building.  

Eddie turned to you, the only human in the vicinity, and cursed.  “You let him drink your blood, didn’t you?”

“Well I—” you stammered, trying to catch sight of Steve from the window again, but he was long gone.  “I-I didn’t know that vampires couldn’t—”

“Most can,” Eddie sucked in his bottom lip and put his hands on his hips, looking around.  “But not Steve.  He was already a werewolf when he was bitten and turned into a vampire, and if hybrids drink blood directly from a human, they turn into a beast, like what you saw.”  Eddie glanced down at how your jeans were unzipped, and then he quickly looked out the window again.  “Especially if there is some type of sexual act involved.”

Eddie paced back and forth in a line for a minute, wondering what he should do—-who he should call. 

You swallowed so hard there was a click in the back of your throat.  “How long will he…be like that?”

Eddie scratched his forehead, parting his bangs.  “It’s really hard to say.  Could be hours, could be weeks.  But the problem is—” Eddie trailed off, thinking about the last time this happened.  “----he’s out there all alone and there’s no way to find him or catch him.  He’s stronger than any vampire or a werewolf now.”

You told Eddie a little bit about who you were as you collected your things and went out in the hall with him so he could lock the apartment back up.  You told him that you didn’t mind waiting there, until Steve came back.  Maybe he just went for a run to stretch his monster legs?”

“That’s way too dangerous,” Eddie promised.  “Once Steve is back to Steve again, he’ll want to know I kept you away from him, that I kept you from danger,” he walked you out of the complex and down to your car.  “The smartest thing you can do right now, sweetheart, is go home and wait for things to go back to normal.  I’m sure he’ll call you when he returns to himself.”

You thanked him and shook his hand, even though you knew Steve didn’t have your number.

You had a plan you thought might work even better.

Once you got back to your place, you showered, cleaned up the sticky trail of Steve’s cum down your inner thigh, and then wrapped a towel around you and went to the kitchen to find a sharp knife.

You went out to your modest balcony on the 6th floor of your building, and blinked against the breeze as a hand-shaped cloud circled the moon.  The stars were bright and the air smelled of honeysuckle, and you held the blade of the knife tight before yanking it through your grip.

It slit the flesh of your palm like butter, and you bit your lip against the pain.  You squeezed your fist in the air—a summoning on the wind—and watched the dark red flow trickle down your forearm.

You let it drip onto the railing, all along the cement ledge, and then left the sliding door open and made a trail of droplets on the floor to your bedroom.

And then, you waited.  

#vampire!steve #Steve Harrington #vampires #monsterfucking #monsterfucker #monster!steve #Steeb #monster lover #vampire steve harrington #stranger things fic #Steve Harrington fic #Steve Harrington smut #steve smut #steve harrington one shot #Spotify

[seat-safety-switch]

When the fires finally got put out, the reporters were there. This was odd to me at the time, as I was convinced in this timeline that "reporters" were obsolete. These folks, such as they were, were in fact contractors, eking out their precarious pseudo-employment by selling tasty nuggets of news to the omnipresent media sentiences that decided which of them we got to see on TV. Er, the other thing, not TV.

Better people than myself have complained about the decline of journalism, especially local, human-interest stories like the one I was now at the epicentre of. What's important here is that the story was so exciting, so salacious, so profitable, that I was swarmed like toddlers playing soccer. A million questions were shouted at me. Near-infrared beams scanned the contours of my skull to see if I was perhaps some kind of wanted criminal or previous-generation internet celebrity. One of the firefighters even stopped, mid-dousing, to see what all the hubbub was about.

Here now is the story I couldn't give them then. It was Lobsterfest at Red Lobster. For those of you unaware of the tradition, it is a period of time in which Red Lobster gets a little cooped-up and starts making crazy, experimental dishes for cheap.

Where this becomes a must-visit event for me is that Red Lobster corporate is historically very bad at pricing, especially when a short-term promotion is being forced on untrained management. Someone with a devious enough mind and absolutely no shame about arguing the minutiae of the menu can easily combine the cost of two meals into enough lobster to fill a bathtub.

I have many great memories of Lobsterfests past, which lured the entire Safety-Switch clan out of their various hibernations in an attempt to do what we did best: exploit legal loopholes in restaurant promotions. When I was 14, my uncle got shanked by a waitress at the former place off Halton when he asked for a sixth refill on his "bottomless" shrimp cocktail. He still ate another full one before collapsing at the table from blood loss. My dad covered the bill, half out of shock and half out of awe.

Well, Uncle Disconnect was going to be really proud of me this year. It's just as well, because I didn't have time to buy him a Christmas present while he was in jail and all (his attorney stresses I must tell you it was for an unrelated matter.)

Still, "driving a line manager insane enough with special requests for substitutions that he tries to burn his own kitchen down with a homemade Molotov Sizzler®" is the gift that keeps on giving all year.

[tweeterwilbury]

Okay I’m curious, what exactly is the story of George Harrison at Woodstock?

I will try to be brief.

Ok, so in 1968, right after the white album was released, George was invited to go to woodstock for the thanksgiving. As he said on I Me Mine; "I was invited there by The Band. It was Thanksgiving time and I'd just finished producing a Jackie Lomax album, directly after the Beatles 'White' Album."

He also mentions in an interview — I think it's for Musician, in 1987? — that he thinks he was invited there by Robbie Robertson.

Robbie mentions the visit in his memoir, Testimony, and he says that he had to convince Albert Grossman to let George stay at his house, and also that "Bob [Dylan] was keeping a very low profile, and when I asked him if he wanted to see George while he was in town, he too was a little iffy at first."

It's a very known fact that George was a big fan of Bob Dylan — he mentioned that in a lot of interviews, and everyone around him mentioned that too, besides the fact that he was always quoting Bob —, and during that time in Woodstock, he wrote two songs with Bob.

The first one is I'd have you anytime:

I have a post about the unused lyrics for that song that might be interesting for now.

George mentions in I Me Mine that "He [Bob] seemed very nervous, and I felt a little uncomfortable — it seemed strange, especially as he was in his own house.", and he also says that the song was written in the third day there. Later, Olivia mentioned that, when George wrote the lines 'Let me in here, I know I've been here, Let me into your heart', he was "directly talking to Bob".

The second song that they wrote together was...

One thing about this song: it wasn't finished. There are only demos of it. But it still is a very interesting song... in the lyrics on I Me Mine, there is this unused part:

That was substituted with "I get tired of being Beatle Jeff" / "I get tired of being Beatle Ted".

One fun fact about that song is that it had different names through the years. This was mentioned the George Harrison website: "Nowhere To Go was a collaboration between George and Dylan from their 1968 Thanksgiving visit that also yielded ‘I’d Have You Anytime’. It was first called ‘Thingymubob’, then ‘When Everybody Comes to Town’. ‘I Get Tired’ was also a working title and finally, by the time of the All Things Must Pass sessions, it is titled ‘Nowhere To Go’."

George mentioned the song using the title 'Thingymubob' in a letter to Bob, where he wrote the chords of the song.

Going back to The Band, Robbie said this, on testimony: "I was very curious about recording techniques the Beatles had discovered. George described their process as extremely experimental and sometimes accidental. I could definitely relate to that. When George inquired about the Band’s recording methods, I could barely keep up with him. For every question I posed to him, he asked me two about [Music From] Big Pink and The Basement Tapes [...]"

He also said this: "But George was one of the most open people I’d ever met, and Pattie was one of the prettiest and sweetest. George spoke incredibly candidly about the problems within the Beatles. John, he said, was far out on a limb, testing his balance. “Kinda crazy,” he laughed. And our dear Ringo was following in the tradition of many a hard-drinking Brit—apparently he had threatened to quit the band at one point. George was quick to admit there were serious tensions between Paul and him. 'Whenever I present a tune, the Lennon and McCartney songwriting team will ignore it as long as they can,' he said. 'Sometimes I even have to fight for my guitar parts. Paul has such a clear idea of how the song should go that he tells me what to play, or he wants to play it himself.'"

Two very interesting things here: the fact that George was talking about the problems in the Beatles, and also the fact that he was very interested in asking about the band records.

From I Me Mine; "When I wrote 'All Things Must Pass', I was trying to do a Robbie Robertson-Band sort of tune and that is what it turned into." He also mentioned that, while writing the song, he always thought about Levon singing it. (I'm not sure about where he mentioned that, tho.)

There are some songs that Bob showed to George on that time and he played later — for example, I threw it all away, a song that was released on Nashville Skyline, was played by George during the get back sessions, in january 1969, even before Bob recorded his version, and also I don't want to do it, that was released by George in 1985 —, and that travel was basically the start of a long collaboration in music, between George and Bob.

Also, George talking about the problems in the Beatles during that travel makes Nowhere to Go have even more sense. And then, when the beatles got together to record an album, it was on the get back/let it be sessions.... when he famously quit the beatles for some days.

Well, i think I've talked a lot, but that's basically the story. George also gave a guitar to Bob, but I'm not sure about when that happened — especially because he used that guitar during the get back/let it be sessions, and then on the abbey road sessions...

Anyway, here are two pictures; in the first, Bob and George, and in the second, Robbie and George.

AND THAT'S IT! i think. Sorry if this wasn't brief at all. It took me one hour and a half to write all this, so i think i probably got lost somewhere and maybe i am forgetting something.

#anon ask #long post #i feel like im forgetting something really important.

[rom-e-o]

“Show Me How Much You Missed Me” - Ebenezer/OC (NSFW)

After spending a month away in New York to spend time with her mother, Constance DoGoode returns to her new home in London. She returns to a very eager Ebenezer, who missed his fiancée dearly, and is more than willing to show her how much he missed her.

This is an 18+ story. Minors DNI. Full story below the cut!

The past four weeks had been grueling for Ebenezer Scrooge.

Firstly, he was short one employee at the counting house, which created additional work and craziness across all fronts. Normally, this would have been only a minor annoyance. After all, he had worked alone as many individuals’ sole financial counsel after Jacob Marley had passed. Since then, Bob had filled the seat expertly. So, even without a clerk, they were hardly left wanting.

Now, it was more so that the counting house clerk happened to also be his fiancée…and he missed her dearly.

Constance DoGoode, said clerk and wife-to-be, had been away for a month to visit her mother in New York.

The lady had expressed guilt at the idea of going, but Ebenezer wouldn’t hear it.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me leaving?” she’d asked. “I understand if you…”

“Nonsense! Go see your mother, Love,” he had urged, kissing her forehead. “Know that I will miss you and will eagerly await your return.”

He’d meant that. Since her departure, not a single night had passed where he hadn’t dreamed of her, or where his body didn’t long to embrace her.

As days turned to weeks, Ebenezer’s desires intensified, and he found it impossible to control himself once the sun set and the house assumed a discomforting stillness.

Sometimes, he’d even wake up sweating with his trousers urgently tented, a very pleasant dream interrupted by the chime of the nearby clock tower’s morning summons. Other times, when he could, he’d take himself in his hand and imagine Constance was beside him, stroking him and bringing him to blissful ruin with her body and mouth.

Needless to say, the man eagerly tracked the days remaining until her boat arrived back in port, praying all the while for her safety and happiness along the way.

Secondly, with Constance gone, the house was…vacant. Lonely. The presence of Magda during working hours helped cure some of the loneliness, but stars above, the man couldn’t imagine how he’d lived alone for so long with only Prudence to keep him company. Not the London’s finest lady was sour company by any means, but it was hardly a substitute for human interaction.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this type of ache, like a chamber was missing from his heart. In fact, he recalled with a grimace the days following Isabel’s departure where Jacob had rolled his eyes at his moping.

He’d said, “Come on, you’re wound up tighter than one of those little soldier toys! Go down to the docks, find some chit, and shag it out of your system!”

It was one of the rare times Ebenezer had not followed his elder’s advice, having seen no point in it. Even now, he felt the same. It would be purposeless if it wasn’t the person he cared for. In fact, the idea of being with anyone he didn’t have that attachment to made him uncomfortably itchy and nauseous.

The unsettling suggestion had even crossed him mind occasionally at work, as Bob had commented multiple times that he caught the man’s eye spontaneously twitching, seemingly without reason.

When the day finally came for her scheduled return, the man all but raced from the counting house and to the London Docks to meet her.

It was springtime, so he didn’t bother with a heavy coat, only donning his hat and jacket that laid crisply over his waistcoat.

“I’m heading out early, Bob,” he called over his shoulder, Prudence galloping to his side as he stood in the open doorway.

Bob glanced up knowingly, offering his business partner a wink. “Ah, is our clerk returning to British soil?”

“Finally,” he said, then blushed at the slip. Bob let out a laugh, waving away the other man’s embarrassment as if it was a fly buzzing about their office.

“Go on, I can hold down the fort,” he promised.

“Or lock up early and go home to your family,” Scrooge offered.

The redhead blinked back at him. “O-Oh. Are you serious?”

“I’m quite serious,” he replied with a grin, “In fact, take an extended weekend! You must!”

He certainly intended to tell Constance that they would be doing the same. Business could wait, he thought.

Bob didn’t have time to reply before Scrooge was out the door, nearly running down London’s moist cobblestone streets toward his destination.

<><><> 

Thankfully, the docks weren’t far from Thames Street.

That gave the man plenty of time to make sure he was at the proper port and waiting in the proper location for the boat to unload its passengers.

All seemed calm upon his arrival, which eased his mind quite a bit.

No talk of ice blockages or other perils stalling the boat’s path greeted him, which served as a great relief, considering that the path of travel she took was perilously close to Canadian waters, which were known to be minefields of icebergs and strong, freezing winds.

Prudence eagerly awaited at his side, her tail pounding the pavement as it wagged anxiously. Pleased by her happiness, he reached into his pocket and brandished a dog biscuit for her. As she eagerly munched the cookie down, the silver-haired gent patted her large head fondly.

“Are you excited too, girl?”

After she finished chewing, she let out a bark of agreement, the sound sending crumbs skittering across the stones below.

He laughed, scratching under her chin expertly. After their many years together, he knew her preferences. “Well said.”

Minutes passed, and more individuals began to gather in anticipation of the boat rolling into the port. Some individuals were elders, while other included women and their children, likely waiting for their husbands to return from business trips. As people anxiously began to gather, he checked his pocket watch.

The hands read 4:15 p.m. It wouldn’t be long. Unconsciously, a grin spread across his face, and he bounced on his heels for the first time in his life that he could remember.

By the time he’d slipped the instrument back into his pocket, he heard the distant sound of a horn. Squinting, he saw a small, dark dot appear on the horizon. The children around him made the same observation and cheered, noting that the ship carrying their loved one would be rolling in shortly. Relief immediately washed over him. She’d made it.

After what felt like an eternity, the boat finally docked and he saw the crew moving about expertly, preparing the passengers to safely disembark. A large gangplank was extended between one of the boats many side doors. After a few routine protocols were recited by the vessel’s captain, passengers were allowed to get off.

Almost immediately, as if she’d been waiting near the door, a familiar redhead exited with a small ground of other passengers.

Her cobalt dress, the boning svelte and the skirt flaring at the knees to sweep the ground, was easy to notice amidst a sea of beige, brown, and pale-yellow garments. Its velvet material captured the shimmering light of the sun like starlit algae in an ethereal glade. He couldn’t help but chuckle excitedly at both the sight of her, but also her appearance. Even when faced with the threat of arduous sea travel, the woman always tried to look put together. A leftover habit from her days as a socialite, she’d told him.

He didn’t even have time to yell out to her, for she saw him the second she stepped on dry land. Even in a crowd of thousands, her eyes sought his instantly, as if he was the only person in the whole city she saw.

A smile lit up her face instantly, and she flew down the gangplank and across the dock. “Ebenezer!”

One look was all it took for his heart to begin feeling full for the first time in weeks. He surged forward to meet her in the middle, Prudence following close behind her papa’s footsteps.

Dropping her small suitcase part of the way, Constance rushed to him and threw her arms around him. He caught her easily, the momentum sending them spinning as their lips locked in a passionate kiss.

Although public displays of affection were largely frowned upon across the city, it was a sort of unspoken rule that even the most prude individuals turned the other cheek when it came to couples reuniting on the docks after being separated by the sea. As a result, Ebenezer and Constance were merely one of many happy couples kissing on the bustling pier.

Even after Connie’s feet touched the ground again, their lips remained joined in a deep kiss, noses mashed against each other’s cheeks and faces angled to allow as much closeness as possible.

“I missed you so much,” Constance whispered against his lips, and his heart soared even more. He dared to hope that she had thought of him as much as he had thought of her.

Before he could reply, she kissed him again, causing him to laugh before tightening his embrace and hauling her even closer to him.

Only when they parted for air did he cup her reddened face in his warm hands and reply.

“I missed you too,” he whispered into the spring air, her lake-colored eyes captivating him. “I swear, London was darker and colder without you here with me.”

When her face reddened, the green hue of her eyes stood out even more, shifting to the color of a tropical ocean.

Backtracking to grab her suitcase, Constance bent to greet Prudence, who had patiently waited for the couple to finish their reunion before giving the woman her own onslaught of kisses.

“Aw, Prudie, I missed you too!” Constance said, laughing as the dog’s tongue lapped eagerly as her face. She held a large, bread loaf-sized paw in each hand as she smooched her right on the cold nose.  “Did you take good care of your daddy while I was gone? You kept him in line, right?”

She barked in affirmation and Constance hugged the mastiff like she was a teddy bear. “Good girl!”

Linking arms, the couple left the docks and began to saunter their way back to Ebenezer’s house back on Lime Street in Cornhill. Along the way, the man asked a myriad of questions about her trip, urging to tell him everything about her visit. Specifically, he asked about her mother Theresea, whom was the main motivating force behind her visit home.

“How is your mother, my dear?” he inquired, carrying her bag with ease while Constance nested both her hands in the crook of his elbow. “I do hope she’s well. I know you wanted to check in on her.”

“She is,” Constance said, the relief palpable in her voice and on her face. “She’s got a lot of projects going on right now, but she’s pacing herself.”

“That must be stressful, to start so many passionate endeavors only to also juggle a doctor’s advice.”

“The tachycardia seems to be under control for now…they believe it was stress related. I wouldn’t be surprised. This new philanthropic project in Chelsea is a large undertaking, even for her!”

Ebenezer squeezed her hands gingerly. “You’re a very good daughter, going to check in on her. I hope you two were able to spend some time together and bond between the doctor’s visits?”

“Oh, yes!” she said gaily. “Some bohemians had set up a stage in Central Park and were performing the works of Shakespeare for audiences! They were aspiring actors, of course, looking to be discovered, but they were quite good. Oh, and I also took her to the public library, and to the sea. The ocean air does miracles, and it seemed to boost her spirits! We picnicked on the shore and played in the waves, just like we used to do when I was a little girl! Oh, Ebenezer, it was wonderful!”

Just watching her enthusiasm about spending time with her mother made the man’s heart swell with fondness. Ye gods, he loved watching her talk and talk about topics and people she was passionate about. He could listen to her for hours, never needing to interject a single word, because of how effective her words were at filling the voice of space. Listening to her talk was like listening to an entertainer or professional storyteller. It captivated him into blissful silence.

“Oh, do you need to stop by the office? I didn’t know if we had work.”

“Sod work. I fully intend on giving you a very warm welcome.”

One of her rose-colored brows lofted in obvious interest. “Oh? The lovely kiss we shared on the docks was already like something out of a romance novel, my love! Y-You needn’t spoil me further.”

“Yes, I absolutely should,” he said, the timbre of his voice thickening as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “One kiss is hardly enough to convey how much I missed you.”

She gave him a look of anticipation, her cheeks glowing, and he only chuckled in response. “You’ll see. Look, we’re almost home.”

Sure enough, they were but a few blocks away from the man’s impressive manor when his comments prompted her to pay attention to their surroundings.

He keyed in and led her inside, Prudence jogging in behind them.

Upon stepping in, the familiar scent of balsam and fir filled her lungs, and the glow of candles filled the enchanting space with orbs of warm light.

After over a month away from the home, she looked around the mansion with a wide grin upon her face. While others commented that the house appeared intimidating from the outside or that the interior’s paint was too dark and the halls too cavernous, to her, it was the warmest and safest place in all of London.

No sooner had the door shut did the sound of hurried footsteps and joyful Hungarian exclamations reach her ears. Sure enough, Magda rounded the corner moments later in an excited flurry of lace skirts and ribbons.

“You’re back, darling!” she said, throwing her arms around Constance and squeezing as tightly as if she was hugging a daughter. “I’m so glad to see you, dear! How was your trip? Good, I hope! Your cheeks look a little hollowed…did you eat properly? Do you have scurvy?”

While Constance blushed and attempted to ease the older woman’s quickly mounting concerns, Ebenezer took it upon himself to make sure he grabbed her suitcase to take upstairs to her room.

“Magda, please take Constance to the kitchen,” he said, then nodded to his wife softly. “I’ll be down in a moment, Love.”

Enchanted by the softness of his expression, she could only nod and allow herself to be whisked away by the maid and pushed into the adjacent kitchen. Prudence, meanwhile, trotted over to one of her many toys scattered near the house’s roaring fireplace, the fragrant birch wood chips giving off the nostalgic and comforting aroma of aftershave.

“You must be famished, dear,” the maid said. “Here, Mr. Scrooge made some food for you.”

Constance turned to Magda in astonishment. “What? Ebenezer made—oh! Oh my.”

The woman’s astonished sentiment was interrupted yet again by the sight of a full dinner already prepared. “I set the table to make sure everything stayed fresh, but yes. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect for your return, so he learned to make your favorites.”

Surely enough, the table was filled with treats like prawn vindaloo, bread with pumpkin seeds, honeyed brie and, of course, raspberry tarts. A bouquet of calla lilies sat in the middle of the table, the snow-white petals bursting forth from the crystal vase in an explosion of freshly scented glory. Next to the vase sat an amber-colored bottle of orange cognac with a label she recognized as being from a very prestigious seller in the city.

“He learned to make all this?” Constance asked in amazement, taking in the sight with a slow sway of her head.

“I did.”

When she turned to face Magda, she found that Ebenezer had returned to fill the vacancy at her side again. He slid an arm around her and offered a lopsided grin that was almost boyish in appearance. “I, um, hope you like them. I’ll admit I’m not much of a cook, but I had help from Magda and Bob in trying out a few recipes, and I—”

His sentence was interrupted by Constance flying into his arms and kissing him gratefully, enveloping his body in waves of her skirts and a cloud of golden-red hair. He sank into the embrace willingly, the lily and pear perfume filling his nostrils and providing more sensory proof that her appearance before him was reality and not some cruel illusion.

This kiss was slightly deeper than the last, so both took glory in savoring the moment. The feeling of each other’s lips, the sensation of the other’s eyelashes fluttering against their cheeks, even the scrubbing of Ebenezer’s facial hair against her jaw. It all coalesced into a magical connection that, had they not needed oxygen, would have persisted for many more minutes uninterrupted. Even the tangle of arms created brought pleasure, the comfort he felt in her embrace bringing him more relief than he thought any bed could offer.

Although they had broken apart for oxygen sooner, it was ultimately the sound of Magda clearing her throat a beat later that snapped them out of their rosy haze.

“Mr. Scrooge, I’ll be taking my leave for the evening,” Magda said with a curtsey. “Do you require me for anything else on this night, my lord?

The man straightened his cravat shyly before reassuming a somewhat professional persona, as if he hadn’t just been spotted savoring a kiss form his beloved fiancée. The façade brought a knowing smirk to the woman’s face.

“Um, no,” he stated, his brow straight and posture proper. “No, thank you. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“Of course. As promised, please take the night as well as the weekend off. I’ve already told Bob to do the same, so things should remain low-key around here.”

“What of your appointments, sir?”

“I should have none, but if visitors ring your home asking for me, send them my way. There will be no doorman, but the knocker should suffice.”

“Will you actually answer the door if they knock?”

A smirk graced his visage. “That, I cannot promise.”

She chuckled fondly, eyes crinkling joyfully. “Very good, sir.”

“Oh, and do give Errol my regards as well.”

The woman dipped her head again before bidding Constance one last farewell. “Do enjoy your time together, you two! Remember, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. But if you do … remember to close the curtains.”

She gave the couple a knowing wink from behind her bottle-thick glasses, which did nothing to calm the flush that was already making Ebenezer’s cheeks bloom a rather lovely shade of peach.

While Ebenezer escorted the maid to the door, Constance remained awestruck by both of Ebenezer’s acts of service to the women.

Not that he was a greedy or cruel individual normally (at least, now while she had known him), but Magda had been intentionally hired to help fill the gaps where the man realized he had shortcomings. Specifically, this included tasks like housework and cooking. Things that, previously, he’d done the bare minimum needed for survival and decent hygiene. Many days, he’d given more attention to Prudence to himself.

By the time he returned from bidding the woman farewell and making sure she had made it to her next-door abode safely, he’s also shed his day jacket and hung it on a hook near the front door. The result left him in just a white, starched shirt with suspenders linked to his nicely fitting trousers. He’d even pushed up his sleeves – and action he was very aware she appreciated.

Without missing a beat, the couple jumped back into conversation.

“Goodness gracious, an entire weekend off?” she gushed, sinking into the seat that Ebenezer pulled out for her. “That’s wonderful. Magda deserves the break.”

“Indeed, she does,” he said, nudging her up to the table before reaching for the cognac. “I offered Bob the same guidance, so the counting house will be closed as well.”

“I heard you say as much. So, no work, then?”

After a quick pour, she gratefully accepted an amber-filled goblet from him. He then went to fill his own.

“Indeed. I figured you could use some time to unwind after your travels rather than jumping right back into clerical work.”

“Well, I’m very grateful for that!” she said. “Traveling isn’t as taxing as work, but it was hardly a leisure trip. Seeing my mother was wonderful, but weeks at sea? Blech.”

He laughed in sympathy.

She angled her eyes up at them, her expression shifting from joyfulness to almost coquettish knowing. “So, you’re saying we’ll be alone in the house for the next few days?”

His eyes practically glinted at the words, rendering the need for any verbal confirmation moot. When both glasses were filled, he remained at her side as he raised his glass in celebratory regard.

“A toast.”

“You hate toasts,” she teased, but raised her glass anyway. After all, she adored them.

“I hate belabored, self-congratulatory blabbering,” he explained, “But this toast is simple, my Love.”

He raised his glass, his smile as warm as the liqueur that swirled in the crystal. “To your mother’s health, and to your safe return.”

Glowing, she clinked the rim of her glass against his.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice catching for a second. “It is wonderful…to be home.”

<><><> 

Dinner commenced on schedule, with Constance repeatedly cooing about the deliciousness of the food and Ebenezer blushing at each and every compliment she issued.

The meal was peppered with lively conversation, with him asking her questions about the city and her happily providing answers. They discussed everything from the weather (it had been balmy but chilly) to what the ladies had done each day. She also disclosed that she had visited her father’s grave to pay her respects, then reached across the table to take her fiancé’s hand.

“By the way, the flowers you sent to the hotel were amazing,” she said, almost tearing up again at the memory. “When I told mama that you’d sent one bouquet for her, one for me, and one for papa, do you know what she said? ‘He’s a keeper, Connie! Hold on to that one tight.’”

His gaze softened. “D-Did she really?”

“Yes. She said it was incredibly thoughtful of you. I think so too.”

Upon hearing that the gift had been so positively received, he heaved a heavy sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I was hoping it would be in good taste. They sent a telegraph letting me know that I’d contacted them far enough in advance for the arrangements, but I was still skeptical. You know how things happen sometimes. I’ll have to send my regards to the florist.”

With their meal long-since concluded by this point, Constance moved her chair closer to Ebenezer’s, longing to share space with the man she had been apart from for so long.

“You…were so sweet to go through all that trouble.”

“It was no trouble,” he assured, gripping her hands tightly. He laced their fingers, and she was happy to give him a ginger squeeze in return.

“Ebenezer…” she whispered. Her voice sank to an appropriate whisper, her tone matching the fading glow of the candles that had begun to burn down to the bottoms of their wicks. “I…”

“Yes?”

“I missed you so much,” she said.

“You said that earlier, Sunflower,” he teased, lifting a hand so his fingers could skim her jaw. In particular, the pad of his thumb kneaded her plush bottom lip.

“I know…but it’s true,” she sighed, leaning gradually into his touch. She felt practically magnetized to him, longing only to drift closer and closer. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved seeing my mother. I love her so dearly, and she is precious to me. Two years ago, she was really the only family I felt I had left. However, a month is the longest we’ve been apart from each other since our courtship.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, voice husky as his gaze dropped to hers. “There were many lonely days and nights without you.”

“Truly?”

“Life simply wasn’t the same,” he continued, hands falling to her waist and gently tugging her forward. She followed his silent command inch by inch before realizing she’d been lured onto his lap. Hardly minding this turn of events, she lifted a knee onto the cushion of the chair, then another, and settled comfortably upon his hips.

“Really?” she asked, her words light. Was it the cognac? No, she’s only had a small glass with food. It was him; it was always him.

“Oh, most definitely, my Sunflower.”

“Tell me how.”

Her palms sought the meat of his pectorals. Both flattened in eager unison against his chest before sliding upwards to cup his wide shoulders. Meanwhile, his touch ambled down her back, teasing at the buttons and ribbons of her dress.

“Every day at the counting house was so unearthly quiet, and each evening unbelievably dull,” he said with a heaviness, as if recalling those moments caused him physical discomfort. “And the nights…ye gods, how I writhed for you.”

Her breath hitched, making the cords of her throat jump. “You did?”

“Every night, my dear,” he swore, his hands continuing to move downward as he spoke. Eventually, they came to rest on her bum. “I would roll over to your side of the bed and just breathe in the scent of your perfume and body from your pillow. I pretended every touch of my own hand was yours instead, and every night, it still wasn’t enough.

“It was never enough. I ached for you. Not just your touch, but your laugh. Your voice. Your bloody, beautiful smile that could light all the lamps of London for a century.”

With an impish grin, he gave both cheeks a firm squeeze. While the teasing would have normally made Constance yelp, this time, their time apart had amplified her desire for any touch of his to a boiling point. Instead of merely gasping, she moaned and rolled her hips against his, seeking the tented hardness she knew was concealed by his flat-lay trousers and the skirt of her dress.

Even with the multiple fabric barriers between them, Ebenezer’s eyes sparked like flint at her reaction. In an instant, passion was magnified further. Breaths came harder; blushes burned deeper.

Then, she pleaded, “Please, show me how much you missed me.”

Flashpoint.

“Make love to me,” she gasped, gripping him, “Please.”

An insistent tug was all it took to get her to angle her head and bring their faces back together, lips crashing and arms tangling. He leaned back in the chair to help them maintain balance, his long legs keeping them sturdy even as the heat of her kiss threatened to sweep him right off his feet and into a dream.

His arms wound around her waist until their bellies were flush against each other. He felt the heat and weight of her ample bosom against his chest, which was a heavenly blessing that warred directly with the pleasure of having her lips upon his, her pink tongue sweeping over his teeth and her little gasps and moans sweetening each touch even more.

After a few more swaps of her beautiful hips, he felt a telltale stirring between his legs. The heat turned to pressure and, as he continued to melt into him, further discomfort. With a growl, he unwound one arm from her waist to snake it under her lips. Lips still clumsily meeting, he hoisted her up like a groom carrying a bride over the threshold.

He stood for the table, leaving the dishes for the morning as he carried her up the mansion’s stairs. Even with the added weight, he took them two at a time.

It was a short trip to his bedroom in no small part due to his quick haste. A swift kick opened the door to the room easily. He crossed the room and deposited her body upon his four-posted bed, chuckling in delight against her lips as he felt her body meet the mattress then bounce back up into his.

Unfortunately, a glance at the bedroom’s fireplace in his peripheral vision reminded him of an obligatory task he needed to do before they could fully savor each other’s company.

He groaned in physical pain as he pulled away.

“I…need to put out the fire,” he gasped, hands pushing her hand into the bed. “I’ll be back up in a jiffy.”

She nodded, her face wreathed in a coppery halo of hair. “Of course. I will most certainly be here.”

After a smirk and one more kiss, he immediately turned and left. The woman couldn’t resist chuckling proudly at how loud and quick his footsteps were. To be able to get such a rise out of someone many had previously deemed cold and untouchable…gods, it made her feel so wonderfully special. Also, a little dangerous.

While he was gone, Constance used the opportunity to freshen up. She dashed to the bathroom to rinse her mouth, brush her hair, and check her make-up. She would have liked to reapply her lipstick, but it would have been smudged off anyway. Instead, she fluffed her hair, undid a few buttons on her dress, and smiled giddily. He always made her feel as giggly as a schoolgirl when they were together.

She returned to the bed and, after a few more moments of waiting (which mostly included drumming her feet against the floor), decided to assist the process of coupling by shedding her dress.

Just as she removed her jacket and got started with unlacing her corset, she heard the door creak. She looked up and saw him standing there, his chest heaving from making such a quick journey, the smell of ash following him. In the rays of the sunset that glowed from the windows behind her, she saw him lit like a radiant god.

She noted the silver shine of his hair, the chiseled features of his face, and the top of his furred chest that peeked out from just beneath the open sliver of shirt.

“Beautiful,” she gasped.

He must have heard her, because he began to strut toward the bed until he stood between her knees, which she spaciously parted beneath her dress.

“Says you, goddess,” he replied, and her cheeks turned raspberry.

She watched as his chest inflated with slow, deliberate breaths, widening his already impressive frame.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered.

A smirk graced his lips as he noted her prone position, legs open and breasts swelling against the confines of the boned garment.

“Eager, are we?”

“Very much so,” she responded, batting her lashes up at him. “Um, could you assist me with…”

He needed no further prompting. With an eye-rolling level of enthusiasm, he took to tugging the tautness out of the laces until the panels became lax and fell away. As they did, Constance sighed in relief as heavy breasts was allowed to fall, allowing her bosom to slope naturally beneath the thin, lace-trimmed undershirt.

Ebenezer laid the untied corset off to the side and went to cup the generous mounds, his fingers stroking her nipples through the thin fabric. They hardened quickly against his touch, recognizing the fingertips that touched them and responding eagerly.

Constance leaned back against his broad chest, moaning in contentment as he bent his head to shower her freckled shoulders in kisses.

“Mm…I missed this,” she purred. An arm lofted up and over her shoulder to stroke his starlight-colored hair.

“Missed what, Sunflower?”

“You. Me. This.”

He hummed in agreement, trailing his kisses to the other shoulder and then to the nape of her neck.

“When I was over in New York, I…slept by myself in my hotel room, and it was so odd,” she admitted. Then, more softly, “You know…I took one of your cravats from the laundry before I went. I hope you didn’t miss it too much.”

That prompted sincere surprise from the man. He hadn’t noticed, likely because he was (ironically) too distracted by her being gone for a cravat to breach his attention threshold.

“Did you? Which one?”

“The pale yellow one with a soft brocade pattern.”

“Ah. Why did you take it? Obviously, you’re welcome to any of my clothes, but…”

She smiled, adjusting her head in his arms to meet his gaze. “It smelled like you. Your cologne. Your aftershave. Your…everything. I slept with it like a stuffed animal, and it helped me relax. It felt normal.”

He inhaled shakily at the admission. The mental image of her curled in a foreign bed, windows open to the sights and sounds of a crisp Manhattan night, his cravat wound around her slender fingers, pressed to her soft lips as she slept … ye gods, it made his heart soft as freshly made taffy.

“Constance…”

“Y-You may not want to wear it out again immediately, I didn’t just sleep with it,” she admitted, and he felt his heart lurch and trousers tighten in anticipation of the confession that was to come.

“No?”

She moaned as she felt his grip tighten on her breasts, his fingers returning to re-harden her pert nipples. A swallow and leather-light moan met his ears. “I…missed you so much. On night when I couldn’t bear it, I pressed the cravat to my face and used my other hand on myself…to try and pretend it was you. I stuffed it in my mouth, threaded it between my legs…”

F—uck, that made him hard.

“It wasn’t the same…” she continued with a sigh. Then, she inhaled sharply as she felt the creep of his fingers against the top of her thigh. She shivered through the sensation, a plea stuttering in her throat as he stroked the skin of her leg with maddening slowness.

“Continue, dear,” he beseeched, his voice velvety against the shell of her ear.

As the pads of his fingers trekked a path toward the delta of her thighs.

“M-My fingers aren’t as big as yours, s-so I couldn’t go as d-deep,” she stammered, struggling to maintain focus as he sought the short hem of her slip. He found it with ease, all while his lips continued to ravish the column of her neck, savoring the map of pulsepoints he knew so well by touch that he could navigate the plane of her flesh blindly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he teased with a little laugh.

“I guess I’m just, ah, not as skilled with my f-fingers as you,” she said, her words becoming choppy as he slipped his fingers beneath the slip. He found the swatch of fabric at the apex of her thighs and stroked it with the length of his fingers. In response, her hips rolled into his hand softly, and she let out a mewl of need.

He could already feel the warmth rolling onto his fingers, and with just a light touch – fuck – she was wet for him too. Drawing a steady breath between his teeth, he slipped his hand into her smalls and caressed her folds. Even the light touch, not even penetrating, made her gasp for him. Her spine arced against his chest, and she continued to keep her fist tightly curled in his hair.

Although they had been apart for a month, this was hardly their first song and dance. Ebenezer knew damn well what Constance wanted and what she liked. What spots were the most pleasurable, what movements drove her wild the quickest, etcetera. After the woman had just admitted she’d tried to get herself off with her own hands in his absence (all while sniffing an article of his clothing, like she was some pining woman in a romance novel) he was absolutely going to give her the foreplay she wanted and deserved.

“It feels like you’re already a bit worked up, love,” he whispered, circling the tips of his fingers lazily through the dusting of auburn coils between her legs. Her hips bucked and swayed in accordance with even the smallest flicker of movement, giving credence to his knowledge of her. Electricity arced between them, Constance panting into the dark air of the bedroom as Ebenezer ravished her with his fingers.

“Ah…hah…mmm…more,” she pleaded softly.

He sped up his movements, feeling the area grow slicker and warmer by the second. A few more swipes led him to the little bundle of nerves that would eventually help him bring her to the edge of bliss. The gem poked out from its pink hood, eagerly seeking attention and stimulation.

Each and every time he gave the gave the bud a nudge or swipe, Constance’s body tensed and arced in his arms. She would nudge her hips forward, eagerly seeking friction on the sweet spot. Yet, he teasingly lightened the pressure of moved his fingers away a few times, which earned him delicious pleas for his hands.

“Oh, E-Ebenezer, please…” she whispered, voice vacillating. “I-I want…”

“What do you want, dear?” he husked, teeth grazing her bare skin.

Her thighs bounced from strain as she opened them firmer, the edge of her slip riding completely up to her belly.

“Gods, I want you to touch me,” she said, her head lolling back until it rested on his shoulder. “Mm, I want your hands, your mouth…”

Unable to resist, he swiveled his head to place a kiss upon her cheek, savoring the softness of her profile and smoothness of her cheek against his thin lips.

Another whimper. “Mm! Y-Your cock too.”

His own hips jutted forward at his, tenting obviously against the swell of her bum. Feeling this emboldened the redhead, and she teasingly rolled her ass back and hard into the bulge. He hissed out a swear and looked up to see Constance grinning cheekily back at him.

“Two can play the teasing game,” she said with a giggle. “Now, Mr. Scrooge…why don’t you tell me how much you missed me? Or, even better, show me.”

That was it.

Turning her around in his lap, he easily found the hem of her slip and pulled the garment up and over her head. She aided the effort by raising her slender arms, glowing golden-orange from the rays of sunset streaming through the tall windows, and fluffed her strawberry waves after it was removed. Scrooge stared for a moment, transfixed at how she seemed to glow in the light, her hair bright as copper and eyes like twin stars.

Stunned, his hands inched up to cup her face, as if to truly test if she was real or not. To make sure this all wasn’t one of his many vivid, red-blooded dreams that came to him on lonely nights. When she smiled, her ruby-red lips splitting his face with a grin that could have made angels sing, he sighed in relief.

As if reading his mind, she reached up and curled her fingers around each of his wrists.

“I’m real,” she whispered. “I’m back.”

He pressed his forehead to hers and sighed shakily.

Tasting the remnants of her own arousal as his fingers brushed her lips, she opened her mouth and prompted him to slide them into her mouth. He obeyed, his steely eyes blowing wide as her ruby-lips closed around his fingers and sucked, puckering around his long digits, and togue swiping across and tasting her slick on his calloused fingertips.

With a pop, she released the fingers and watched as he, without breaking eye-contact for a millisecond, snaked the saliva-drenched fingers between her legs and slipped them inside.

Constance’s eyes fluttered briefly at the entry, before her lips formed a smile. Watching her breasts bounce as another ragged breath shot through her lungs made his hips ache sharply, straining against the restraint of his trousers.

“M-May I…”

“Lean back, please,” Ebenezer begged, nodding eagerly. “Relax while I pleasure you.”

He hungrily descended upon the velvety skin of her inner thigh, and she threw her head back in rapture. His mouth worked her flesh pleasantly, biting and sucking until it turned a pleasant shade of purple, before moving on to a fresh spot.

“E-Ebenezer!” she cried, panting. “Mmm…oh, oh my gods…”

He smirked against her skin, her pretty vulva now deliciously close to his lips. With one swipe of his tongue, he’d be there. He’d be able to taste the woman he’d been deprived of for a month. A month too long.

“Have you missed this, Love?” he asked knowingly.

At a loss for words, all she could do was nod, her back arching and lips parted as her breath became to come faster and faster.

All the while, his eyes savored the pleasant bobbing motion of her breasts and the snapping of her ample hips. Her core muscles flexed as she moved hard against him, seeking friction and heat.

Sinking back upon the impressive width of their master bedroom’s mattress, he crooked his fingers inside her with a ‘come hither’ motion that he knew would stroke the spongy g-spot at the back of her trembling sheath. It took a few thrusts to find the right angle, but once he did, her response was glorious.

“Oh, fuck, yeees!” she screamed, close to panting.

“That’s my girl,” he seethed in satisfaction. “That’s the reaction I want.”

“Mmm, right there,” she moaned, her head thrashing back and forth. “Oh, please don’t stop. Please!”

So, he kept up his pace, arcing his fingers up and hard into her quivering body. With each jump of her hips, a moan of excitement escaped her. The more he touched, the more eagerly the sounds came. Haste became the norm, but he never let up his teasing pace, opting instead to keep her dangerously perched on the edge for as long as he could.

“What do you want?” he asked in a low whisper. Even as his fingers plunged in and out of her, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her beautifully broken expression as her restraint began to splinter and crack.

“Fuck me, please,” she sobbed, sweat beading at her brow. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

Repeating her pleas like a mantra for him, it was a sure sign. She was getting closer and closer.

“An interesting proposition,” Scrooge teased, pulling his fingers free to circle her clit before plunging them back in. “A proposition I’m eager to fulfill.”

“S-So…”

“Ah ah ah, not so fast,” he teased, chuckling at the way nearly growled at his playful delay. “I’m a diligent man after all, and you deserve the best. So, tell me how you want to fucked, and I’ll be damned sure to make it happen.”

Tossing her head, she stared at him with desperate, wet eyes.

“Slowly, softly, hard, I don’t care how,” she said, raising shaky thighs to wrap around his waist to yank him close. “Just please, get those bloody pants off and fill me up, please!”

Ebenezer hissed in pleasure. As if swearing wasn’t rare enough of an occurrence for the woman, her adopting the London accent was even more rare – and even more of a turn-on.

He broke away from her briefly, but only to rid himself of his remaining clothes.

“Bloody hell, I’ve waited an entire month to be with you like this again,” he seethed, hands racing to undo his trousers. After disrobing and casting his skivvies aside faster than he could ever recall doing, he followed her down with equal haste.

Caging her smaller form in his arms, he dipped his head to kiss her again, swallowing each moan eagerly and savoring the sultry taste of her mouth and feminine musk. Fuck, if he could bottle the adrenaline he felt every time they kissed, he’d eagerly spend the rest of his days inebriated.

After his pants dropped, his cock bobbed in relief, arcing proudly toward his navel from a groomed batch of dark hair. The phallus was swollen a shade of deep red, almost purple, the color accentuated only by the pattern of raised veins that traveled of the sides of his impressive cock.

Already leaking precum from their foreplay, he gave himself a few experimental pumps to lube himself. His erection pounded with such ferocity that even the light touches were enough to make his eyes flutter. When his steely eyes opened to refocus on her, the pale color of his irises accentuating the flush that spread up across the proud column of his neck and across his cheeks.

She swallowed thickly at the sight of her handsome fiancé standing over her, his body bared for her, his furred chest toned and puffed slightly, and his expression…gods, he looked enraptured.

“Constance,” he said, his voice no louder than a whisper. The sound was so brittle, it almost sounded as it if could shatter in the thin air. “D-Do you want…”

“No, I’m already ready,” she quivered, almost begging, “I just want to touch you. Feel you inside me.”

Unable to bear separation from him for another moment, she surged toward him and pulled him into another hard kiss. Falling in a tangle upon the mattress, she aligned her hips with the pillow and he poised himself between her thighs. Hands on her knees, he parted her legs eagerly, her folds dripping for him in yearning.

With an enthusiastic nod, he slid into her.

Rolling his hips softly at first, he advanced one inch. Then another.

“A-Ah, oh y—eeeeees,” she moaned, tipping her head back, a waterfall of strawberry blonde hair pooling beneath her. “E-Ebenezer! Yes!”

Constance arched her back, sinking against the weight of his body and kinking her spine to allow better access. It worked, and with one last euphoric nudge, he was sheathed to the hilt on her, his sac heavy against her perineum and his cock filling her snugly.

“Holy shite, Love, you’re so tight…” he huffed,” Even tighter than I remember…”

She sucked her lip between her teeth and laughed. “It’s only been a month.”

He adjusted his hips again and heard her moan vaguely beneath him.

“Ah—are you alright?”

“Gods, yes,” she gasped, her ample bosom heaving with frantic breaths. “You feel so, so good, my Adonis. So big and perfect…”

Writhing in need, she locked her ankles around his narrow hips and ground her dripping cunt hard against his pelvis. “P-Please start moving.”

He obeyed instantaneously, human desire blending seamlessly with animalistic lust. The action created a pleasant, buzzing friction between them. The scrub of his public hair on her sensitive, engorged clit only amplified the pleasure she felt. It only took a handful of thrusts before her mouth fell ajar and incoherent platitudes began to drift. Each hard thrust shook her, causing sweat to begin to bead at her brow and on her stomach, which was pressed against Ebenezer’s so snugly that even the breadth of a hair could not pass between them.

It took the couple only a minute to fall into a familiar rhythm, and he slid in and out of her easily, arcing up into her to jab the same spot deep inside her that he’d pounded with his fingers before.

Whimpering in arousal, she clung to him as tightly as possible as he reached a punishing pace and maintained it.

The sound of skin slapping skin, always something that embarrassed him to think about after the romp was over, only spurred him on in that instance.

With each thrust, both moaned in unison, until Ebenezer felt the telltale pressure in his lower abdomen begin to build. “F-Fuck, sweetheart, I’m close…”

When they locked eyes in the next instant, an apricot blush illuminated her face, making her glow like a rosy blossom on a stained-glass fresco at down.

She urged him, kissing the tip of his nose. She prompted him to grip the headboard over her so she could wrap her arms around his torso and hold on. He only held on his one hand, as he used the other to drift down between her open legs and stimulate her engorged clit with added presses. He knew her body so well that he could have found her pleasure points if he was blindfolded and strung upside-down.

Magnetized to her core, his hands easily found the center of her pleasure, and molten heat caressed his fingertips. The gesture immediately changed the expression on Constance’s face from bliss to ecstasy as her voice began to climb. The movements of her hips became more frenzied, and he matched it.

Holding onto his torso with her face buried in his shoulder, she gasped and writhed against him. The precipice of glory was so, so close.

Ebenezer pressed hard into her, the pressure and heat intense. With piston-like precision and force, he continued to plow her beautiful both onto the bed’s mattress. Gentlemanly pride long-since out the window, he growled and whimpered with each breathless movement.

Then, right when the tension became unbearable, his orgasm crashed forward.

Pulling out quickly, his squeezed his shaft and pumped heavy ropes of semen across her heavy breasts and her concave stomach.

The fluid speckled across her sweat-sheened flesh like dew on leaves; an irreplaceable, organic beauty that was only rivaled by the state of her flushed face. Ruby lips, rosy cheeks, reddish hair, all beautifully harmonious. It all coalesced into an image that could rival painting of Aphrodite, or any of Botticelli’s angels.

Not one to be distracted, he quickly suppressed the initial waves of the orgasm to continue his pace in bringing her to the edge of bliss. He could tell by the rigidity of her limbs that she was close, and the way her voice nearly vibrated with tension and her head rolled back and forth, he’d seen it all before. Yet, he never grew any less stunned by it.

“Let go, goddess,” he said, his weeping cock still dripping hot seed upon her flesh. “Let do, good girl. Please.”

The last surge of praise did her in.

“E-Ebenezer! Ah, ah, AHHH!”

Her whole body reached as she curled in upon herself, then bloomed outward as strong pulses of warm, tingling relief flooded every sinew of her.

“Good, good girl…” he praised, and she whimpered loudly in return.

“Augh, gods! Oh, oh…”

Every wave of her orgasm elicited fresh sounds of blush from her, and Ebenezer watched in delight as she experienced the entire rush of her orgasm in his arms.

When the sensations subsided, her body hit the mattress with a light bounce, lungs pumping furiously beneath her chest.

After a few steadying breaths, she lifted her head to stare down at her spunk-coated body, then beamed. “Hah…wow…”

Blush returning to his face, the man went to cup her cheek. “I-I most definitely missed you, um, if you couldn’t tell.”

Tipping her head back and letting out a belly-laugh, she found the strength to use the pillow to prop herself up on the pillows to better glimpse his expression. Bringing a hand to her cheek, she gave him a bemused stare as his hands continued to trace the outline of her body.

“I certainly enjoyed that you showed me,” she teased, sliding her fingers through the spunk, testing the slick texture of it against her skin.

At this, a think brow lofted. “Enjoyed? Past tense?”

“Oh? You mean…”

With a grin, the man descended upon her again, kissing a trail up her belly until he reached her lips again, the taste of their lips and arousal blending together. When he did pull away moments later, his eyes glinted with mischief.

“Oh, there is still much more to enjoy,” he promised. “I told you, I missed you dearly, and I intend to show you just how much.”

The sentiment made her heart soar more than her favorite Italian espresso. Constance was so happy that she wanted to jump up, spin in circles, flip tables and yell her excitement from the rooftops of London. She wanted to brag to the city that the glorious Adonis of a man she called her husband wasn’t only the love of her life, but also showered her in so much love and affection that no other love could compare.

Yet, in that moment, she settled for twining her fingers at the base of his neck.

“Well, let’s not waste another moment.”

She pulled him into another kiss, and as always, he loyally followed.

<><><>

@quill-pen @crimson-phantom-designs​ One of the fics previewed before is finally finished!

#scrooge 2022 #scrooge netflix #scrooge: a christmas carol #scrooge x oc #oc constance dogoode

[luliaka]

Headcanon A:  realistic

Dick is a world-class athlete, arguably one of the top 5 (non-meta) hand-to-hand fighters in the world, a math genius, speaks at least 12 languages (this is canon! See the Ric Grayson arc), etc., etc. As a teen raised by Batman he was insecure and felt like he had to prove himself constantly by letting everyone know how awesome he is. Now that he’s older, in his mid-to-late twenties, he’s low-key embarrassed about it and usually doesn’t mention his skills. Jason knows, because when he was first adopted Dick was at his most insecure and show-offy, but Tim and his other siblings (and the younger heroes) have no idea of what he’s capable of. Every once in a while he’ll do something (like beat Batman in a fight, thanks Gotham Wars!) that shocks them and makes them wonder what else he’s hiding. Damian isn’t surprised, though. He knows that Grayson is acceptably competent as Batman or Nightwing.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Between Gotham, Bludhaven, his many teams, Spyral, solo time, etc., Dick has had an insane amount of crazy adventures, and everyone knows a different set. So when he gets together with a group and they start to reminisce, everyone thinks everyone else is just making the stories up. (Example: Bruce: “You were such a difficult teen. Remember when you ran away and joined ISIS?” Dick: “We’ve had this conversation, B, that was all CIA propaganda, we were just freedom fighters.” Batfamily: WTF) (Another example: Donna: “So, you know how Dick is a Kazakhstani folk hero?” Other Titans: WTF)

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

Bruce loves all his kids, for a given value of love, but Dick is absolutely his favorite. Partly because he raised him from the youngest age, but mainly because Dick has always been able to read him so well and accommodate himself to whatever Bruce needs in a given moment. Dick understands what Bruce is feeling and will bend over backwards to be whatever he needs: a cheerful supporter, a scapegoat, a competent partner, etc. Also, Bruce knows that whatever mistake he makes, Dick will always forgive him without him having to apologize. Because he cares so much about Dick, he views him much more as an extension of himself than he does with the other batkids. That’s why he’s so harsh, critical and demanding with him: because that’s also how Bruce acts toward himself.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

I know it’s not canon, but ever since I read the fic “Declensions,” I firmly believe in my heart that Dick’s first language is Turkmen.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #headcanon

[leviathangourmet]

A series of government reports have documented how much of the trillions of dollars purportedly spent on “Covid relief” went to waste — ranging from the hundreds of billions in fraud (i.e., the “Great Grift”) to extravagant local government expenditures (e.g., renovating a minor league baseball stadium and replacing irrigation systems at golf courses).

But out of all that waste, most Americans would consider money spent on countering pandemic learning loss a legitimate use of government resources. (Mind you, many Americans, including this one, would question why public school unions insisted on keeping schools closed for endless periods of time, but that’s a separate story.) 

Now several new data points suggest that much of this money has likewise been frittered away, leaving a generation of American students far worse off.

Wasteful School Spending

An in-depth investigation by the education organization The 74 demonstrated that much of the $190 billion in federal funds has gone to projects that often will not directly help students learn. A series of public records requests discovered just some of the ways districts spent their federal relief dollars.

To begin, in Colorado, a charter school network “spent about $70,000 for an exterior fence at its Aurora campus so students and staff could eat outside despite concerns about proximity to the community’s rising homeless population.” While this expenditure says much about social policy in Colorado, it has practically nothing to do with reversing learning losses.

In California, Oakland’s school district used $1.6 million for a payment on a $100 million loan the district took out from the state of California in 2003 — well before the coronavirus hit. What’s more, the district in Stockton, California, “spent over $2 million on high-level central office positions, like a facilities director.”

Youngstown, Ohio, frittered away $5 million on equipment and supplies to provide free WiFi from utility poles — a project the district could never implement because the city didn’t own all of the utility poles in question.

And in Utah, the Granite Public Schools spent $86,000 on “accommodations” for a conference held at — wait for it — Caesars Palace in Las Vegas.

Call me crazy, but when the federal government gave out money to help public schools, I don’t think that sending a bunch of administrators to meet Donny Osmond was at the front of most taxpayers’ minds. What’s more, the school district publicly advertised and bragged about this extravagant expenditure of government funds, which demonstrates that public school employees need some lessons in political science — either that or they just don’t care.

In some respects, it’s a miracle that The 74 could even compile these examples of wasteful public school spending. In many states and districts, citizens can’t even track where districts’ share of the $190 billion in federal funding went — let alone how (if at all) it is countering the effects of pandemic learning loss. 

As one Fairfax County, Virginia, parent noted, districts’ reports on their spending are often “full of jargon and gobbledygook.”

Poor Quality Teaching

An even more troubling sign came in the form of another recent report, this one by the Center for Reinventing Public Education. Its study focused on in-depth interviews with leaders at five public school districts and found that even in districts that have dedicated resources toward stemming Covid-related learning loss, teachers and administrators faced an uphill battle to regain lost ground.

Broadly speaking, the report indicated that districts cannot keep up with the current curriculum, let alone try to undo the effects of Covid closures. Many teachers have left, substitutes and replacements remain scarce, skills have atrophied, and administrators lacked the time or ability to supervise teachers’ instructional methods until very recently.

Consider the following quotes from the report:

“$500,000 for tutoring, basically. Are you kidding me? That’s a lot of money. And nothing to show for it [in terms of impact on student learning].”

“We spent a lot of money on retention bonuses and ‘please stay’ payments. … You might as well burn that money because it didn’t bear out. People left anyway.”

“All these [tutoring] companies … accelerated their hiring and probably didn’t have time to appropriately train people up or go in and coach people on the job. They’re just placing people. And so we’re probably getting some B Team members.”

“I do think the first and foremost issue is ‘Do we have enough high quality teachers in our schools to do this work?’ And the answer is no right now for us.”

“There’s been a lot of protectivist [attitudes among district staff], like we can’t ask teachers to do anything else.”

“[We have teachers who lack] expectations for kids; that kids can be excellent.”

A demoralized workforce that cannot keep pace, and in many cases lacks the initiative to demand high standards of either its students or itself — that’s what $190 billion in federal funds has bought the American people.

Of course, teachers unions have no one but themselves to blame for the problems in public education post-Covid, having lobbied extensively to keep schools closed for most (if not all) of the pandemic. But the next generation of Americans deserves far better from their educational system. 

Some are getting it, even if they have to go outside the traditional public school system to do so. Here’s hoping that states will continue to expand school choice — a far better investment of taxpayer resources — to give people more options other than a sclerotic, wasteful, and ineffective public school bureaucracy.

#article #covid19 #coronavirus #education #government spending #money laundering #public schools #public education

[thattimdrakeguy]

Tim Drake: Robin is probably not going to be very good.

OH HOLY GOODNESS. GREAT GARGOYLE. SWEEET SUNDAY AFTERNOON, GOODNESS GRACIOUS. ALL THAT.

Hi, you may know me from such motion pictures as, ‘I stole this from the Simpsons’ and ‘Being Self Aware Isn’t Always Funny, But It Hasn’t Stopped Me So Far’ 

I think this comic is a train wreck. I think we have a problem here, I’m sorry, but mmm mmm mmm. This is looking like the deep south side of elevation.

But we can learn from this. We can we can, trust me, we can. While also being kind of upset that this is Tim’s first major comic in over a decade, because I’m not going to be timid. I’ll say it, I’ll go ahead, it fucking sucks.

It does. But why? Someone probably saw this post and went “What the hell is he going on about...?” and...well.

Look I’m just going to be blunt, so let’s not make this difficult...but...imagine I’m sighing or something, make this melodramatic for no actually good reason, but this preview they gave is a damn train wreck.

I am going to give my reasons for why, but let me just get my not really critical thoughts on what’s presented and just my general thoughts on what I’m seeing so far if that makes any sense.

To say that, I am freaking SOOOOOOO upset that this is Tim’s big comeback comic. This is a pile of pages that shouldn’t have to be paid for to see it legally.

I’m pretty sure they advertised Tim Drake as the World’s Favorite Robin or something like that, and beyond the fact that you know damn well given that there’s 5 different Robins simply in the main universe alone, that people are going to be snapping back at that like crazy.

But with this as the comic they’re presenting it is laughable.

And believe me when I say I am feeling the exact opposite of pleasure by saying that.

Because this isn’t even a comic about Tim Drake. This is a below average fan fiction, that’d barely get past 100 views on AO3, except if you want to legally see it, you have to pay for it. All while this is the first ongoing solo Tim has had in over a decade, and this is a really crappy way to get into that.

This is all from a preview. But I am not saying anything that is not a legitimate critique. And I wouldn’t be sitting up out of my coffin to say any of this unless I genuinely felt worried. I am not doing this out of hate, we don’t have enough time to hate unless it’s justified, and I’m not crazy enough to say I hate this in mean it. I just also think that it’s the opposite of good.

So let me get into this step by step:

Okay, step one, I’m going to just speak as if I’m talking to you, okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, this is not a two way post, you can hear me, I can’t hear you, sorry how awkward that is. Anyways.

You’re writing a comic about a character. A very specific character. A character that used to be super popular, but still has a devoted fan base, that’s had to go through so many random character changes and dips in quality through the last 20 years especially that people have seen him gone from DC’s most popular teen superhero, selling only second in that department to SUPERMAN AS A TEENAGE BOY. Which says quite a lot. To a character deemed irrelevant because I hardly feel like they get anyone to write him that knows how to write a decent story with him.

And now we got six pages out of a...what, 20 page thing?

LET’S REALLY GET THIS ROLLING I AM TAKING UP TOO MUCH TIME.

But here’s how these six pages are already awful in genuinely, what shouldn’t be controversial reasons, because this is just how a story is made, all right.

1. Six pages, and not a single one of them gives you anything that identifies this black haired skeleton as Tim Drake besides the fact you know he is supposed to be Tim Drake.

You write a character...you gotta make sure it’s an actual character. This black haired skeleton says nothing that gives him a personality, or anything that resembles who Tim is as a person, and instead--let me blunt here.

Yes, it is kind of cute, but that’s not an actual excuse or substitute for character writing. I am talking about this from a writing perspective not if I think it’s cute enough. If you like it, I’m happy for you. I am not.

A very generic character, who’s dialogue and thoughts you could give to about near any character. He has no interesting POV anymore, there’s nothing you can relate to with him, no specific voice for him. ETC ETC. (Yes, I only showed two pages, but trust me, it does not get better.) Things that made him work, also hahaha I know people think he has no personality, but I’m not an idiot, and I am fully aware that he does have a personality, I am sorry for having better reading comprehension, folks that think that, I really really am.

Six pages of nothing that makes this drawing Tim Drake. And since he is the star of this show this is freaking awful. This is horrendous. Your job as a writer is to let people know who this guy is, why you should like him, what some of his flaws are, and put him in situations where you can learn how he is. You have to make him feel like he’s worth reading on his own. You do, you really really do.

That is the basics of character work. The fact that this is a preview means nothing, because this is what people are supposed to read to know if they want to read this comic.

2. This art is, I betchu, so perfect...for another series. Where it will bring you some honestly whimsical imagery for a specific story. Any refined art style is beautiful...in the right context. And this art style sadly does not fit this character in anyway. 

Also the fact that are drawing Bernard to look more feminine, and give him mannerisms that are not mannerisms Bernard has is also just fucking patronizing and I hate it. If you’re telling people Bernard is in the comic, you’re supposed to draw Bernard, but sadly he is no where to be found.

He’s never exactly been a beacon of pure testosterone, but he’s clearly not supposed to be like this. He’s obviously not meant to be feminine, he’s a bit masculine if anything, unless you’re going to be weird and call longer hair a sign that he’s feminine, which...it is not. They’re now just making him a stereotype and that’s freaking horrendous of them to do.

3. What character work they give you is stuff you can get for free on Tumblr, Twitter, and about near everywhere. Because it’s just taking stuff you see for free on websites and putting it in a comic for easy fan praise, when really is lazy as could be.

They have Bernard saying conspiracy theories, this is a part of him, a lot of us know it, a lot of like this, so do I, so why am I being negative?

Because this doesn’t actually tell me anything about him that lets me know what he’s like or who he is. It tells me one superficial trope. How am I supposed to know what he’d do in any situation like this? Stuff I should probably be able to tell to get myself invested in him.

One of the biggest complaints about him right now is that he’s so bland. And not making him feel like a real person isn’t helping. You can have him say conspiracy theories, while also feeling like a real person.

Remember, this is a product you have to pay to legally see. This isn’t just a fan fiction someone made for free. The standards are a bit different. Keep that in mind when I’m saying all of this. ‘Cause I wouldn’t bother saying any of that for a fan fiction. I don’t want to kill people’s fun, I’m just trying to be honest here.

The original Bernard introduction shows you he thinks highly of himself or at least wants others to think that, shows he’s a big smug, likes to show off to people, and sees something he can relate to and is intrigued by in our main protagonist.

They accomplished that I believe in a single page or two.

It also shows just how horribly they’ve written, drawn, and overall portrayed Bernard. Because while I wouldn’t call the run of Robin he came from overly good, in fact some parts are straight up bad, this introduction is in the end, a really good character introduction.

Take the established names off of this and post it online, and you have a very cute gay boyfriends comic that I’m sure people are going to love, because then it’s in the right place, and fits where it is.

Sadly this is a Tim Drake comic, and nothing about this has anything to do with who Tim Drake is.

“I need to found out who I am” ��Can I call him my boyfriend” “I moved ‘cause I needed to find myself”

Bad character work besides the boyfriend line. Why? ‘Cause that’s telling you how comfortable he is in his sexuality right now. He just came out. This is a logical progression in Tim Drake’s story. Sadly, we still need more than that, we need to know who Tim Drake is.

They also settle for having Tim Drake describe the characters generically, instead of giving us any interesting scenes with them to show us what they are. They are telling, not showing. Bad bad writing. It’s one panel, and it’s all described, you can barely identify them truly. They’re all immediately washed away as none important. Maybe some will eventually, but for a first issue this is not the way to debut these people if you expect anything significant.

In technical terms, for those that do not know. There’s a many view out there, it’s okay. There’s many writers in the making that can learn a lesson here.

But the technical term for this is:

Lazy fucking writing.

Unless you have an audience that is really willing to try super hard, you are not going to get anybody attached to the characters this way. You need to see them be them, doing themselves. If you’re a writer you need to do stuff that the reader can identify this character with.

For fucks sake there’s a scene that should in theory show us some of Tim’s new neighbors. Which, by the way, the fact he moved is ridiculous, because we don’t even know Tim’s personal life where he was. Making all of this pointless, except for the writer to go straight into their own desires. Which is also bad, because then you’re missing viable parts of things to make it work.

Tim was fine, then a new writer comes along, he’s in a crisis, couple more appearances, nothing really showing that this move is a natural progression. There for lady's, gents, nonbinary homies, what does that make it? Unnatural. Yes, forced. That’s bad. You want it to be natural so that you aren’t catching your audience off guard in a bad way by wondering “Why the fuck?” all the damn time, okay? There’s another writing type for you, and if you’re struggling with this, read back your work in the perspective of, you’re someone who has no idea who these characters are, and why this is happening. If you’re left just accepting crap ‘cause it’s said for the most part, your audience is going to suffer a bit.

Now anyways, we see these neighbors, they’re a bit frantic, why? Because oh my gosh people are trying to evict them! That’s terrible! People can relate to that! It’s real. Likely happening to some of the readers!

There you go, you have your moment to really make people care beyond a superficial.

And well, Bernard calls them weird. That’s it. Okay, the moments gone, that doesn’t really fit after that, he comes off as insensitive, the line about capitalist fat cats is embarrassingly unnatural, and this is already being printed. Lost opportunity. Nothing but a plot point and somebody saying that who I presume is their mom is pushy.

Like portraying people as genuinely worried about if they’re going to be able to stay where they live, and saying their weird, is some freaking weird writing. It’s trying to be quirky by force.

Again though, with the characters they’re saying, not showing. Sometimes you do need to say stuff. You show everything and your pacing is destroyed. But who characters are is so undoubtedly something that needs to be shown.

The characters who people SAY stuff about in the stories are the characters people DON’T care about. One offs, characters that are about to die, unimportant side characters needed for a plot if needed, but eh, who really cares.

Bad bad bad bad bad. You’re failing, oh my gosh, things are dropping. What’s dropping? I’m sorry but the quality is dropping, dear goodness, dear goodness. Okay, this isn’t good. But STOP.

Calm down, unless like what’s actually what’s happening, you’re already calm. I’m happy for you. I’m mostly just having fun typing this don’t worry about me if you’ve even made this far.

OOooooooooooooof.

Oh dear...this is worse, okay maybe get your guard up. More opportunity for learning.

You definitely shouldn’t have this be so far the only thing establishing your main character, especially this early in when we’re supposed to be learning about them. If you’ve wasted this much time, you are doing a bad job at writing your characters.

This means nothing.

This is what people make fun of Riverdale for, but you actually put it in your story. Bad, this doesn’t actually say shit about them first of all. Weird? Weird? Well, what’s normal? See, we don’t know, because that’s a shit way to establish their relationship. More saying, not seeing, and what you’re saying is vague, BAD BAD BAD WRITER BAD.

But it’s okay.

We can all learn. If you stop trying to learn you stop learning. You stop learning, you ain’t getting better. If you’re a writer yourself this isn’t time to start being sad ‘cause you do this too. Because by fucking goodness, you’re going to be better than this, you now know why you shouldn’t do this. And that is good, I am proud of you, you are evolving, you are learning, you are being better by just processing some of this. I’m so fucking happy for you right now, my tears could burst if that’s a saying that means anything, I am not sure. I just said ain’t, and ain’t isn’t a word.

They just kept doing this. What page are we on now? PAGE 5?? OUT OF A 20 PAGE FORMAT?? oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

Well what’s the next page of this preview, OH MOTHER OF NEPTUNE, THIS IS WHERE THEY ACTUALLY LEAVE THE CHARACTER WORK HANGING, as far as we know. (I am being a bit melodramatic for fun here. Don’t take these frantic moments too seriously. I’d just rather have fun than be depressed and talk about why something was bad.)

I mean cool, it sets up the location, but that means jack shit, we have to know the people better than this first. Set up a reason they’re all together, maybe even just have Tim pop through. Few panels showing what the people are like in their natural climate, there you go, it’s not much but it’s much better than just telling us crap.

AND THE MESSED UP THING IS, so far, we know the least about Tim, because ‘weird’ isn’t a damn personality.

Within six pages, we should know more about Tim Drake than he’s vaguely weird according to himself, that he has apparently weird neighbors...when they seem to just be average people, and that a plot point is that a rich kid’s neighbors might be evicted.

You’re wasting page space if this is all you’ve done.

Yes, this is a pre-established character, but that isn’t an excuse for being lazy. You have to assure people you know what you’re writing, and going off everything except for one story that came out over a year ago now, they don’t know what they’re doing.

They had the perverted character be excited 20 years ago, but when they mention it they have that one act traumatized.

They had a character that was actually pretty calm and average about his attraction to woman, and had them say something sexist.

They had a character that left because of how stressful the life of being a super hero is, as well as the fact their abusive mother forced them into it be just an awful awful thing, and had the character say that all her friends are toxic.

They couldn’t even get a villain right, and had to use fandom crap to fill in places, and didn’t use any of the stuff that might be accurate.

There’s giving people a chance to impress you with their cooking, and then there’s people still saying that as they spilled hot fucking soup all over your crotch 5 fucking times now every time they try to give you something, months passing by.

And I’m not somebody who gives people the benefit of the doubt after a while. But that doesn’t make who wrote this a bad person. I wouldn’t treat them as such. Criticism can be awful, but I’m trying to make it as constructive as possible, because I don’t want to see people fail unless they’re evil, and trying to provide people entertainment isn’t evil.

It’s just awful to me that there’s this character I love who’s getting his first real time to shine in over a decade, and I was someone who hated the last comic even then, and have it be that it’s still not going to be good.

I love Tim Drake, my favorite character, I know such much about him, and at one point I was fortunate enough to be considered a very reliable source of Tim information, before I decided waiting for another good comic wasn’t a very good use of my time, and dealing with seeing people, lying, being toxic, exaggerate, spreading false information just wasn’t helping my already decrepit depression issues.

Hence all of this, but all I can hope for is at least somebody learns something about it.

Because, really, I don’t have time to not be honest about how I feel about a comic, just because I got attached to who’s supposed to  be the lead character. There’s not enough time in life to waste by pretending to enjoy something for such a superficial reason.

But fuck it, I can’t help but be curious.

This is what people are supposed to read to see if they’re even interested in the character to an extent. This isn’t nitpicking, this is basic writing.

And it’s not going well.

Wake me up out of my coffin when we finally get a comic starring Tim that actually feels like it’s about Tim.

For now, I’ll only be waking from my slumber only periodically for the next Titans United: Bloodpact issue to see if they can keep up the good work. Now that comic had a shockingly good Tim, and plus character work.

Be more like that when it comes to what made it work.

#Tim Drake #Robin #Bernard Dowd #DC Comics #Timber #Timbern #Comic Review #Review #Comic Books #So forth and all that

[emyluwinter]

In connection with the latest news about the June schedule

Firstly. The card of THE BEAUTIFUL QUEEN. THANKS. I ALMOST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS WHEN I SAW HIS CARD. Please do not check your phone when you are on the move on the stairs, it will not end well. Don't be as clumsy Vil simp as San. And I also screamed very much, cried internally and cursed in my own language so harshly that it was already scary how I knew so many words. Ahahah. Yes, the fact is that I have only 11 attempts for this handsome….Please Beautiful Queen come, I couldn't knock out your card with a broom..spare the poor woman.

You know, I really love the fans of the game and the fans of Vil Because we've been shown his ankles and we're screaming like innocent Victorians.Ahahaha.

Then there will be a stream of thoughts.

Soooooooooo

As far as I see a lot…No, not like that… QUITE A FEW fans of the game are very upset by the fact that this map will have no history, only furniture for the guest room. Many even left the game or left the fandom.I understand their frustration and frustration in places.

And you know, I understand well why the SSR Vil card will not have a personal history of the card this time. Also! There will be no role in the rerun of the event.

My dear, do you understand what a crazy and busy schedule it must be for the creators?

How long has it been since the previous plot update? A month?A MONTH GUYS.Just think about it! Here we don't have a big break like between the 4th and the fifth chapter. Or breaks as in the same 5th or 6th chapter. I may be wrong with the time frame.

The developers very much want to reward all those fans who have been waiting with trepidation for the arch of Diasomnia. The hostel and the characters, which is literally the final cherry and the knot of the web that weaves the whole plot as a whole. The story is nearing its end, from which much is expected and longed for. (And I pray and hold on only to the thought that we will have Chapter 8, which will blow everyone to pieces)

And that's why their deadlines are burning so much. They have a choice to cram everything into one update and do it not so well, or take a short break and break an impressive part of the plot into two updates and take more time to improve. The choice seems obvious to me.

In order to do all this, it will take quite a lot of time. From the point of view of an artist-writer- and a creative person in general, I am somewhat horrified by the ability to work and the TWST schedule at times.

Let's start with a simple one. For the plot, we need to write a script, make drafts that SATISFY ALL INSTANCES in development. Because what? Without a good story, everything will go to hell, no matter how good the cover is. Like an empty candy or a wrapper without a yummy. Let me remind you that they also most likely need to coordinate everything with Disney, because copyrights and so on. (Add here the pressure of expectation and the bar that they cannot lower)

The script needs to be written in sufficient detail to link certain lines of characters, leave riddles or omit information to reveal it later, character development, their inner world, leave room for the thoughts of the reader / viewer / player… I won't burden you with a writer's structure, my dear. BUT, without a clear understanding of what should be in the story and any respite at one time or another, you will frankly not be interested in following all this. This is a very difficult puzzle or puzzle that you need to come up with from scratch.

It is necessary to transfer materials for 2D game models that need to be drawn and animated. Record the voices of sayu or the actors of the sounds, edit the sound tracks, substitute the desired music. Draw backgrounds, make sure that there are no errors or bugs in the game. We add that all employees can have their own schedule, and voice actors can be busy with various projects for months ahead.

And now remember that for the development of costume designs, characters, their stories, the script is mostly responsible for Toboso, which in turn works with a team that I hope simplifies all this work load. And Toboso leads two projects. The Dark Butler, a manga that is still coming out!

And the TWST game to everything else. And we didn't have time for a full hiatus, but there were months of calm, so then preparing larger-scale events filled with the ent of the game, personal stories, new clothes for the characters and so on.

They need to fill in the gap between the events of the main story. To prepare a new event in such a short time is a direct way to overload. Therefore, in order to keep the attention of fans at least for a while longer, they add new cards without personal stories. But with the addition of furniture for the playroom. Well, ordinary commerce is also partly involved here.

Please understand me correctly, the developers and authors of the game are trying and investing in their project. Now is the peak of the most anticipated chapter of all the others. But their schedule is very busy and attention from fans adds pressure from expectations and other things.

I can't say if they have breaks and respite, but I know only one thing that they have plenty of work. So we just need to wait a little. If you are disappointed or don't want to be in the fandom anymore, this is your right. If you want to take a break, do it. If you want to come back later, no one is judging you.

Besides, I'm not the devil's advocate or anything like that. I just want to clarify a little for fans who don't quite understand why TWST started to go in such a way of cards without personal stories. We have voice cues, from which you can get a lot or not so much for information, furniture for a guest room with a cute animation of a particular character. Voiceover of voice cues in the guest room. Yes, there is no personal history, but at least they try to compensate for it to others. Or they could just fucking send us

Remember the previous chapters. We didn't have additional cards like Cerberus Ortho or the upcoming General Lilia card, anyway they give us something new and fresh, trying not to repeat and not to lose the attention of fans.

I hope my verbal cocktail didn't confuse you too much.

Have a nice day, my dear.

#twst #twst thoughts #san talk #twst news #twst spoilers

[galactic-pirates]

Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

How do you come up with fic titles? What's the one you're most proud of?

Thanks for the ask! :) :)

19) Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it. Part of me wants to skip this and substitute another question but I am working on some art for the Librarians exchange at the moment. That has to be secret but I don't think it's too much of a #Spoiler to do one line like

"Librarians win with what they know - not magic!"

36) How do you come up with fic titles? What's the one you're most proud of?

I'm quite fond of song titles to be honest. Not usually lyrics, or not formatted as such anyway.

Another place I have looked for titles are episode titles. Not for the show I am writing for usually, but from any show I have watched and liked. I used to keep a text file with a list of titles I had seen that I liked, and when titling a fic I checked that list first to see if anything fit.

Sometimes there is a line in the fic, or the prompt that inspired the story, that just demands a certain title.

As for the one I'm most proud of? Monstrare, Monere perhaps. A Warehouse 13 oneshot. The actual fic itself I am a bit meh about after all this time, but the title and summary I am like "I wrote that?" I also really like and the Sins of Atlantis. Totally self-indulgent ridiculous fic which I enjoy more than I should. It uses the same episode title structure as the Librarians show (I did that for all my prompt month fics that year, which I loved). I particularly like this one though as I feel like there's so many layers to it. Sins - so evocative, so many questions. Atlantis - how? why? I don't know. It was fun.

(Under the cut for the writing advice because despite making myself stick to just one point, I still went on a lot. Oops.)

28) Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing? Ooooh boy ok. The answer is both lots, and nothing, because writing is very individual. I can advise based on what works for me but it's so much a YMMV situation. I always feel like any writing advice needs to be prefaced with this.

So I don't write an essay (and I probably will anyway) but I will stick with just one point so it's not thousands of words. It's actually something I read once and no it isn't the classic "I can fix a bad page not a blank page" (which is also good advice btw). It's actually a point I super hated for a long time and that is probably why I have forgotten where I read it, so I apologise for the lack of attribution. The quote was something like - "Write what you want to have written, not what you want to write." Now that's crazy talk right? Well yeah, and I hated it, but I see the wisdom in it now.

Now a personal anecdote to illustrate the point. Writing fanfic brought me joy. I loved the plots coming together, how I could sneak in references. I don't know if this is egotistical to admit but I still re-read my old fic sometimes - I was my own intended audience - and I love it. However, I have original novel ideas. I have a dream of publishing. It's a future that I would like to build. Possibly just a fantasy but it's a dream that I've held for decades and it scares the hell out of me. Writing novels is hard. It's facing the fear of never being good enough every day, and making myself do the work anyway. Writing fanfic is so much easier and (for me) it became a way to self-sabotage.

Now I owe fanfic a tremendous debt because it has broken through writers block, it has given me soooooo many ideas that I have mutated into something else entirely. Don't ever think I don't respect fanfic but I'm chronically ill and I only have a limited amount of spoons. I have written novel-length fanfic and pouring weeks/months into a fanfic, was weeks/months I wasn't spending on my original work and I hated myself for that. I was writing something that I really wanted to write but even in the middle of the process I was sometimes like "what am I doing???" and questioning my life choices. I love my fanfic ideas and I get so nostalgic sometimes for the ones on my list that I never got round to writing.

Fanfic was something I desperately wanted to write, but it was not what I wished to have written. It brought me short-term joy for long-term anguish if you like.

So my point - my writing advice - is essentially a riff off "life is short". Be damn sure before you invest so much of yourself creatively in a story (whatever that story might be), that you won't get hit by regret later. It's so easy with fandom events: exchanges, bingos, prompt months etc. to get bursts of inspiration and giddy FOMO, only to get months down the road and wish you hadn't happened that earlier WIP.

We all have a story to tell right? So don't write what you think will get you kudos/comments. Write what is in your heart to write. Not some surface level impulse, but what you will be proud to have committed to a year down the road.

I can't bring myself to regret any of my fanfics. Hell as I said I enjoy reading them. But I had to stop so my energy could be focused in a direction that brought my longer-term peace, rather than short-term joy.

Fandom can be a fickle place, and also playing in someone else's sandbox can turn to ash. When a show has gone in a direction I can't follow, or when there's drama in the fandom, it has stolen my joy. I suppose what I'm really get is with writing, it's a creative journey, it's pouring so much of your soul into something. Protect your mental health. Invest yourself wisely.

Write with joy.

#I answer things #sam talks writing

[lesbianslovebts]

I'm looking forward to your reviews on their individual albums/music etc

Okay, I will tell you as long as everyone promises to be nice!

First, I want to be upfront with the fact that I do not have the technical knowledge required to critique their individual singing or songwriting skills in depth, so this is not that kind of review. However, I believe that people should actively engage with art, be it music, painting, or writing, at whatever level of expertise they may have, rather than consume it mindlessly. The following are my personal opinions and observations as a fan since 2015. I will focus mainly on their Chapter Two individual works, but I will also reference their previous solo and group work. And as a friendly reminder, the members of BTS are not above criticism as artists or as people.

"Indigo" by RM

If I had to use one word to describe this album, I would use "growth." More specifically, I would classify the transition from "RM" to "mono." as linear growth, and the transition from "mono." to "Indigo" as exponential growth. This is a project that Namjoon worked on for several years, which is apparent by the way each song is like a chapter of the same overarching story. The diverse genres and moods depict the ups and downs of life really well, and listening to the entire album in one sitting is a cathartic experience for me.

When I first saw the tracklist and noticed how many other artists were featured, I was nervous because a lot of BTS' collaborations feel like forcing a puzzle piece into a spot where it doesn't fit. What I mean by that is, they either cut out a chunk of the original song or insert a blank space and then fill it with a clipping of what sounds like an entirely different song. A substitution rather than a collaboration, if you will. However, that was not the case here. I think Namjoon did an excellent job of blending his own sound, style, and emotion with that of the other artists.

The only thing that I actively disliked on this album is the beat in "Change pt.2" from about 0:49 to 1:00. It's grating on the ear, which might have been intentional given the content of the song, but it isn't pleasant to listen to, and I cringe every time I hear it. As for a favorite, I can't really choose, but I think the objective number of replays would point to "Lonely."

"The Astronaut" by Jin

This one is an outlier because it's only one song, but I will discuss it just the same. I really liked Seokjin's voice in this one. I don't know the official terms, but it's lower and less breathy than usual. To me, that makes his voice sound warmer. Overall, this was a soothing song that left me wanting more when he gets back. I am waiting (im)patiently.

P.S. I know people tend to love or hate Coldplay. I don't listen to them or know anything about them as people, so the fact that this was cowritten by them doesn't really factor into my opinion of the song, if that makes sense.

"D-DAY" by Agust D

The amount of money I spent to see him live in Chicago should tell you how much I liked this album. Similar to what I said about Namjoon above, there's tangible growth from his mixtapes "Agust D" and "D-2" to his studio album "D-DAY." It's to be expected that experience will improve the craft, of course, but I still have to say it.

Yoongi is my favorite composer of BTS, by far. "Interlude: Dawn" and "Snooze" give me goosebumps every time I listen time them. Also, I love it when he uses traditional instruments like the haegeum. There's just something about the emotions he conveys in his tone, lyrics and melody that made this album a nonstop repeat for me.

My complaints are few and small. The autotune gets to be too much in the song "D-Day," and I'm not crazy about "People Pt. 2." Personally, I am not a fan of IU's voice. I have nothing against her, by any means, and I know she can sing, but I prefer women with deep, husky voices. And for the life of me, I can't figure out what her part means. I'm guessing this was a direct translation from Korean that didn't really...well, translate.

"Jack in the Box" by j-hope

When I first watched the MV for "More," I stimmed for joy. I was rocking, flapping, and squealing. I braved Lollapalooza as an autistic person, surrounded by a hundred thousand people in the summer heat, wearing the denim jacket I painted and an N95 mask to hear this man live. Hoseok's personality shone through in the concept, the MVs, the music, and the lyrics. He burst out of the box to show who he is as an artist. Perhaps I am (Hobi-)biased, but I don't have much else to say other than that I love this album, and I'm excited to hear more from him in the future.

"FACE" by Jimin

"Set Me Free Pt. 2" was the first single that was released, and it thoroughly crushed my hopes for the rest of the mini album. Though I liked the melody of the chorus, the 9 repetitions of "set me free-e-e" left a lot to be desired lyrically. I think he was trying to portray the desperation he felt by repeating the phrase, but his voice didn't show a progression in emotion as he continued through the chorus. For comparison, in Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the Name Of," the last line "fuck you, I won't do what you tell me" is repeated 16 times, but the way it starts as a murmur and builds up to a scream is powerful; it hits you in the chest. "Set Me Free Pt. 2" didn't have that effect. Also, the autotune in the middle when he "raps" is awful. I saw people on here reaching to explain why the autotune wasn't actually that bad, but...it just doesn't sound good. And him saying "fuck all your opps"? Yikes.

The other single "Like Crazy" was much better and more in line with what I was expecting. Rarely do I like any of the excessive remixes they put out, but the deep house one is actually good. I liked the music video, too. But unfortunately, the mud on his hand after all that bathroom imagery was a...shitty decision. Overall, I don't go out of my way to listen to any of the songs but "Like Crazy" and "Letter," which is my favorite.

"Layo(v)er" by V

I was underwhelmed by this mini album. I expected R&B and jazz from him, and I think his voice suits those genres well, but none of the songs had a particularly strong impact on me. I would say I like "Love Me Again" the most, but it doesn't even compare to "Singularity" and "Stigma" for me. I have to be in a specific mood to listen to slow music in general, so the odds were stacked against this album from the beginning.

"Golden" by Jung Kook

This album was the biggest disappointment I have ever felt as a fan. Honestly, I didn't think it could get any worse than "Permission to Dance," but I was wrong. Before I continue, I feel like I need to offer some context on my general opinion of BTS' music from 2020 onward before I get too deep into the weeds. So let me start with that.

A lot of people think BTS peaked before or during the "Wings" era and sold out with the release of "DNA." I am not one of those people. Most of my favorite BTS songs come from the "Love Yourself" and the "Map of the Soul" eras. There are songs that tug on my heartstrings, songs that give me energy, and songs that are inextricably tied to certain memories from college and my first job. This was when I felt like I was changing and growing in a positive way thanks to BTS' message and music.

That changed with Covid-19. I loved "Map of the Soul: 7" and had tickets to see BTS in Chicago, but then the concert was postponed. Later, it was canceled. Half a year into the pandemic, BTS released "Dynamite" as a fun summer song to lift everyone's spirits. It was their first all-English song, which might've had more global appeal due to the number of people who speak English as a first language, second language, or lingua franca. Personally, I don't hate "Dynamite," but I do hate what it led to.

This was their first Billboard #1. It succeeded far beyond anyone's expectations, and I was proud of them for that. I was glad that more people were checking out their music because BTS is one of my main special interests. However, a lot of what followed felt like an attempt to recreate the success of "Dynamite" rather than an effort to grow as artists. Whether that desire for numbers came from the company or from BTS themselves, I'll never know. All I can say is, I'm glad DynaButterPTD did not get a Grammy. Let's continue.

"BE" came next, and if I had to describe it in a word, I would say "homemade." BTS were more involved in this album than any other, including the concept, the album design, the photoshoots, the music video, and the songs. Because of that, the overall vibe was different, and combined with the effects of the pandemic, the album gave me the feeling that the members of BTS were struggling with who they were as a group, as artists, and as people.

This continued into "Butter" and "PTD," two more all-English songs, and various collaborations of the puzzle-piece-that-doesn't-fit variety I mentioned above. It was an identity crisis. I can't think of another way to describe it. Eventually, BTS decided for themselves that they had to take a step back, spend some time alone, and regroup later. I was both sad and relieved to hear the news. Releasing "PROOF" was a good way to look back on what they'd accomplished so far and put an end to Chapter 1.

That brings us to Chapter 2. More specifically, "Golden." Now, I love Jungkook. Spend 5 minutes scrolling through my blog, and that much will be obvious. But this album was not it for me. First, I want to make it clear that the members of BTS can sing in whatever language they so choose. Having said that, I do tend to prefer their songs that are entirely in Korean or are a mixture of Korean and English. Why? Emotion.

BTS' all-English songs tend to be written by other people, and those people tend to be the ones who write the same bland, unoriginal songs for overrated American/Canadian/British pop singers. Although Jungkook sings the English lyrics of this album with excellent pronunciation and technique, it doesn't have the magnitude of emotion in songs that he participated in writing, such as "Your Eyes Tell," which is in Japanese and English.

I don't know a lot about song credits, but I've noticed the following pattern: the more the members' names show up in the credits, the more I like the song. Looking at the credits for Golden? Jungkook's name isn't listed on a single song. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. A lot of wonderful singers all around the world can take a song that is given to them and make it their own by contributing their own talent, their own voice. But frankly, Jungkook didn't do that with these songs. I didn't want to say it, but...these are Justin Bieber songs. Especially "Too Sad to Dance," which is nearly indistinguishable from Justin Bieber's "Love Yourself."

On episode 21 of Suchwita, Jungkook said he recorded five songs in a week, which amounted to one song per day in a 3-hour session, give or take. Yoongi said that was a sign of unbelievable growth, and for comparison, Taehyung said it takes him 3 days to record one song. If I remember correctly, Namjoon worked on "Indigo" for 3 years. So, it's really no wonder why this album is the music equivalent of fast fashion.

I've already talked about how much I hated "Seven" (the song and the MV) in other posts, I can't do it again. Jack Harlow's part in "3D" makes me gag. I can't take the lyrics for "Shotglass of Tears" seriously. I mean, "she the life of the party...42 in her body...tell me, am I ever gon' feel again?" Yikes! "Closer" is generic runway music. "Yes or No" is tolerable. The only song I really liked is "Standing Next to You." I'm just disappointed. I don't have anything else to say.

#llbtsanswer #llbtspost

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-pokemon-fan]

Oops, forgot to post my early review of Violet

I found this just chilling in the drafts of my main blog, so I'm gonna post my initial review of Pokémon Violet here, then follow up on it with thoughts now that I'm on my seventh playthrough (sixth Nuzlocke, third Hardcore Nuzlocke).

When I was in the midst of catching Pokémon and progressing the story of Violet, it hit me that I was having some of the most fun I’ve ever had playing Pokémon. The fact that the game runs so abysmally is all the more tragic because other than that, I’m tempted to say this is one of the best games in the franchise. I grew up on Platinum, and White/White 2 are my overall favorites, but Violet is creeping real close. Performance aside, I think the biggest weakness is one that most open world games suffer from—a fragmented story. It’s eerily similar to Breath of the Wild in that sense. The story that’s there is really good, but the world design leads to a loose execution. Compared to Skyward Sword and Pokémon Gen 5, which are suffocatingly linear but deliver a tightly executed story that hits all the right beats at all the right points.

That’s the crazy thing about Violet, too. The story isn’t just good because of the characterizations and themes. The dialogue is just straight up good. It feels like you’re talking to real people and not video game npcs, or at least the most like it we’ve gotten in Pokémon. The localization was clearly done by people who are young and/or in touch. There are so many little gems. A gym leader who is a streamer and tells her audience to smash the subscribe button? The earnest but out of touch school headmaster asking you what “cheugy” means? It’s so good.

I’m surprised with how well the three-prong story fits and comes all together in the end. The gym challenge in your standard Pokémon romp and is fun but honestly the least interesting of the three. Arven and Team Star’s stories are genuinely well-written and touching. They both start kind of weird and forced, but they grew on me really fast.

Alright, and the music is fucking fantastic. Pokémon has always had great music. That’s probably the coldest take in this post. But there are some serious hits in this score. The East Province themes, Team Star themes, and very spoiler-heavy, late-game songs are so, so good. They made a great choice bringing Toby Fox in for more tracks.

In terms of the game design though, I’m a huge fan. Terastylizing is probably the most interesting battle gimmick since double battles introduced in Gen 3. The regional Pokédex is a nice balance of mons from every generation and sits at a very respectable number of 400 Pokémon. I just caught myself a whole living dex up thru Gen 6, so for this playthrough I chose to only use new (Gen 8 and 9) Pokémon. Still, I came into it knowing I wanted to catch every mon I can. I was struck by just how much encounter variety there is. On a second playthrough where I allow mons from Gen 7 and earlier, I can see myself using a completely different team.

Ah, my team. My companions for this adventures were as follows: Zaza the Meowscarada, Li’l Buddy the Pawmot, Blaze the Ceruledge, False Knees the Corviknight, Honey Bun the Dachsbun, Connie the Frosmoth, and the late substitution for False Knees to cover my crippling weakness to fire-types: Norm the Veluza. I can and will go in depth into this team and what I love about it, but suffice it to say that Weed Cat was a great starter.

I do think I’ll need a second playthrough a while down the road before I can say if I love this game, but it’s easily one of my favorites in the series. Again, that’s why it’s poor performance sucks so much. I really, really like Violet, but it can be miserable to play sometimes. I know it can be so much better then it is. So let’s get to the elephant in the room.

Gamefreak needs to slow down. From what I saw of Sword and Shield (I skipped these ones), there are points where you can tell corners had to be cut. The problem became obvious with Legends Arceus. I love the gameplay, music, art direction, and all the little experiments the designers took, but holy Arceus above, the game looks like ass. If the devs were given more time, it could have looked so much better. And now we’re here with Scarlet and Violet. The art direction is strong but it’s obvious in one look that the devs were rushed. The only parts of the game that don’t consistently drop frames are the Tera raid battles. I’m sure there are countless people listing every performance issue, so I’ll stop there.

The devs need more time to put out their best work, and the Gamefreak and Pokémon Company execs know that. But. Their main audience is children. As a former child myself, I know that children have no taste or sense of quality. Unless the game is literally unplayable and crashes every other minute, kids will not notice the myriad performance issues. So they will continue to ask their parents to buy them the games, and the games will continue being purchased. The share of Pokémon fans who are A) adults, and B) concerned with the state of the games and franchise, is tiny compared to the primary audience. So unless the next game is so rushed that it actually sells as terribly as it runs, things will never change.

So,,, yeah. I give it a 6/10. Fix the performance and I’d give it a 9.5/10. Good game. They gave me a weed cat.

~~~~~~

Alright, that was the review I wrote on December 31st, six days after I got the game. I had just finished my vanilla playthrough of the game. I'm even more conflicted on the score now than I was before. I think I'll itemize it then revisit the overall score.

Music: Easy 10/10. Banger after banger here. Battle themes, boss themes, town themes, area themes, oh man. Almost everything is great. There are some tracks I aren't the biggest fan of, namely the West Province theme and variants. But the sheer quantity of songs I like, and the phenomenal use of adaptive music makes up for it.

Story: 8/10. Easily the strongest story of the series in terms of writing quality and dialogue. I don't have much more to say than what I wrote in December. It loses points on having that weaker execution than Black and White, and if I'm being honest, it still doesn't compare to the better-written non-Pokémon games I've played. Halo 4 or Undertale, anyone?

Trainer/Boss Battles: 7/10. Where are the healing items? Where are the switch-ins? Random trainer battles aren't always easy, granted. The trainers with black dialogue boxes (the strongest trainer of each area) are no joke, especially in Nuzlockes. Boss battles though. Thematically, always reserving their ace for last then Terastallizing works very well. It makes the battles much more predictable. I can definitely feel the lack of healing items, which reduces the amount of strategizing needed. I also dock points for removing set mode. That was legitimately the only form of a difficulty option in this game and they turned it into another input and a time loss every time you KO an opponent's Pokémon. It's especially frustrating when I return to Violet after playing earlier games that have the option. Overall enjoyable though.

Wild Pokémon Battles: 10/10. Phenomenal. Perfect, even. Continuing the mapping of Pokéballs to the X button instead of needing to go into the bag is perfect. Makes catching smoother. Pokéball animations are much faster. Roaming encounters are such a welcome change from random encounters. The only problem with them is that they complicate Nuzlockes, but that's really not the designers' fault.

Accessibility: 1/10. Abysmal. Disclaimer that I almost never use any accessibility options in games because I don't need them. But there's no options for disabling or toning down animations. No button remapping. No color blindness options. No text options beside changing the speed. Forgive me if I forgot some. Again, I don't use them so I don't usually think consciously about it. Besides, GameFreak forgot all of them. I give one point because falling of cliffs is made harder by a buffer, and you can warp back up if you do fall. Nintendo-published games need to have more accessibility options and I can't believe they keep getting away with their absence of options.

Presentation: 4/10. Oh, this is rough. Character and Pokémon models are fantastic, manmade structures are great, but almost everything natural looks terrible. I don't see any anti-aliasing. It's terribly optimized. Performance issues abound. And what's with the pace of battles? The higher ups needed to let the devs and QA teams cook. Damn.

Overall: ... 8/10. In some ways, ScarVio knocks it out of the park. In others, it falls flat on its face. But the most important part to me personally is whether the game is fun. And I stand by my previous take. It's some of the most fun I've had in Pokémon game. If my seven playthroughs (four complete, two Nuzlocke wipes, one in progress) are any indication, I like this game quite a lot.

#pokemon #pokemon sv #pokemon scarlet and violet #my review #woof that's a long one

[nalyra-dreaming]

@bark-han replied to your post “I have a pretty crazy theory, stay with me. What...”:

I was thinking more: Marius finds him as they think Armand is gone, but either way works for me. Also why he would try to go into the sun while he is still with Daniel is a question

​That would be an interesting twist as well!!

And the whole Armand-going-into-the-sun deal will depend heavily IF and how they take on Memnoch... obviously the religion change is a massive "obstacle" (for the story...) here, afaik Veronica's veil does not hold significance in Islam?!

Since they have already taken stuff from the book though... well. This show does its homework, and so I wouldn't put it past them to find a way.

And as per Daniel - I think Daniel wanting the blood led to a lot of bitterness between them, a lot of discussions. Maybe the break apart would have been longer...

So yes, interesting concept, and it would open up a lot to play with for the show.

I have said before that I think that they won't be able to bring everyone in, there's just too many characters in the end to keep track of for the show - it might be a very clever way to "substitute" the Sybille and Benji part indeed.

#bark-han #amc iwtv #iwtv #hope you don't mind me pulling this up the reply got too long #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire #iwtv speculation #future season speculation #armand #marius de romanus #daniel molloy

[fandom-susceptible]

Supernatural Rewatch S1E6 Skin

Is the color balancing this bad for the whole series or is it just the site I'm watching it on? Everything's so washed out.

*wheezing* oh my god I forgot Sam being like "oh I'm an innocent college student just like you but Dean's totally a cop" to convince his friend Becky they could help. Like these two really just spout off the most insane stories about each other to strangers and the other one just rolls with it.

It hurts me watching Sam try so hard to maintain friendships outside of hunting and Dean be convinced he shouldn't. Because Dean couldn't.

The random leanings into animals being aware of the paranormal is kinda hilarious in this show with it being so inconsistent. Like right here, this one dog's aware of Shit Going Down with the murder. But this only comes up at random intervals.

"That's not like any camera flare I've ever seen" Sam says. Have you looked at much video, Sammy? It's. This is random eye shine.

Okay but fr what ARE they doing there at 5:30 in the morning? Also, can Sam stop bitch facing for two seconds and answer the question instead of dragging everything out?

What made them think the ambulance going by had anything to do with their case?? This is in a city. Ambulances go by all the time, unfortunately, for good reasons and bad.

Why do these two keep having conversations about their cases in broad daylight in public? It's a wonder they weren't caught more often than they were. Or were the cops just over there like "yk what we don't get paid to go after the crazies that we don't have a current crime connected to." Also why didn't they get in worlds of trouble opening a manhole cover, again in broad daylight on a busy city street right next to a crime scene?

Can Sam quit bitching and just acknowledge that Dean's right about the lying to his friends bit and how bad it can go?

Sam can't see shit apparently, and also can't aim.

Again, these two should be in worlds of trouble for fucking around with manholes in busy public areas.

Sam walking around trying real hard not to tip anybody off, meanwhile Dean just runs down the street with a gun in hand. How many times has he been arrested?

Ok props to Sam for calling the shapeshifter on his shit so quickly, but also be a little more decisive bro this is how we end up in shitty situations.

Jensen's acting is phenomenal. I also think it's interesting how the shapeshifter (from Dean's POV, speaking from Dean's memories) says "I know I'm a freak." The stress pattern there on just the first "I", as if it isn't that Sam's actually different - it's that Sam doesn't know, refuses to know, that he's also a freak. And it's that ignorance that lets him have that shot at a normal life, it's that ignorance that Dean's jealous of. Then we get into Dean's abandonment issues, straight into the deep end, the shapeshifter pretty much confirming that Dean's sluttiness is a substitute for the real connection he wants but isn't getting from anybody.

What the hell was the yell back there when she screamed, Jensen? It wasn't even like, a Menacing Roar noise, he just fuckin yelled the same way lmao, it's so funny

why is the makeup identical on every woman the shapeshifter's attacked this episode. I could swear every single one has had the bandage wrapped around the head, bruising on the cheeks, three lines of blood dripping down the right shoulder, hair caked in the same spot . . .

I remember the shapeshifting scene really hitting me in the creepy feelings the first time I watched this but this time I was just fascinated by how much Jensen's changed over the years. He packed on so much more muscle over the next four years alone.

They really just like tying these men up don't they? And Dean is so much more relaxed about it than Sam is, and there's so many fun headcanons you could pack into that. Is it angst? Was he just trained to it? Or does he just Like It?

"Did Jessica know?" "No, she didn't." Yeah, because you weren't. doing it then. Sam. "What can I do, it's my family" you're literally only back because you've got it out for Jessica's killer, it's still about you, mfer. Why do you try to pretend it's for Dean?

Do they ever go back to St. Louis? I could swear they do. Shouldn't it come up more that Dean's wanted for murder there? They had the one season where the FBI were hot on their tails but then the angels started getting involved and we suddenly got a whole lot less of the consequences of the boys' actions.

#supernatural #supernatural rewatch #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn s1 #supernatural skin #spn season 1 episode 6 #spn 1X06

[katnissgirlsmakedo]

CAN YOU PLEASEEEEE PLEASE PLEASE ELABORATE ON ALINA GENYA KIT TY ARTHUR LANCELOT.....

well see the thing is that alina loved genya but WAS forced to marry another man…. both in the sense that she’s engaged to nikolai and in the sense that she has that weird soulmate shit with mal… and you know i LOVE alina and mal. it’s just that i also love alina and genya. like what if i loved you just because you were kind and you were there for me at my lowest points and even after you betrayed me i still loved you and forgave you because i understood you so deeply that you could never really do anything that wrong in my eyes. and then with genya it’s like what if i knew i could never have you and i knew i was hurting you but i still loved you because for my entire life i’ve been an object to be used and mocked and you’re the only one who ever cared to see me as a person but i still wanted more and i had to betray you to get it but i hated doing it because you were the first one who ever really loved me and i was stupid and didn’t think that was enough….. ok i have to stop now i’m normal about those women. 😐 anyway also we know that alina is just like king arthur so it was only right to put them next to each other. actually alina and genya are in the video three times but the third is next to lancelot and arthur which is what we’re talking about…. and yeah basically those men were in love but couldn’t do anything about it and arthur had to marry guinevere for politics and lancelot had an affair with her because he couldn’t have arthur (common triangulation of desire L tbh). and of course there are many perfectly acceptable ways to interpret arthurian legend and the relationship between these three but this is my second favorite so. you could also say that lancelot was in love with guinevere and arthur was in love with lancelot and had to marry someone so he chose her as a proxy for him. which is my favorite. because i am normal!! and then also that happened to kit… when he kissed livvy on the beach because she asked and he was viewing her as a substitute for her brother… ok gayass!! and the insane miscommunication that one stupid moment resulted in with ty believing that kit was in love with livvy and kit not knowing ty thought that and ty pushing away his own feelings for kit because he thinks that if kit was in love with livvy he’ll want to help him bring her back, and he would have rather had his sister back than know kit had been in love with HIM the whole time. it’s so insane actually. cassie deserves a little jail time for it i think. not to support the american prison system. what the hell was i supposed to be talking about. oh yeah well i hesitate to say that ty is lancelot in the general Comparing The Characters Of The Wicked Powers To Arthurian Characters thing because he’s not really and i actually view him as more of an outsider to the rest of them and the sort of wild card character that throws the story into motion. but in a certain way yeah he’s the lancelot to kit’s arthur and livvy is like their guinevere to balance out the crazy trio. but as we all know. livvy is the lady of the lake. not guinevere. it’s really complicated actually there are multiple themes at play….

#it’s also true that in a certain sense dru is lancelot but actually i do prefer to think of her as gawain. it’s a whole thing #asks #timeless video

[enasallavellan]

So, as some of y'all know I've started a new job substitute teaching and I LOVE it. I taught middle grades ELA and SS for seven years and Ioved it, but with my bipolar disorder and ADHD battling it out on which is going to mess my day up every night, it just became too stressful. I tried daycare for awhile but with the same issue. I needed too many days off when episodes arrived and I just couldn't function with only weekends.

So after a visit to the crazy house some of you might remember, I entered the workforce at a fast food joint. They were really good about working with me and my needs.

But I freaking missed kids. I've always been the group mom wherever I go and I wanted to be a teacher since I was a little girl.

So substitute teaching it is!

I get to still work with kids, much better pay, benefits, and I can make my own schedule. Having an episode? Just mark myself as unavailable and don't pick up jobs. Have a class that I love? Write it down. Have a class that we do NOT jive well? Wash my hands and not deal with them again. No grading, no lesson plan, no meetings.

So, I thought I'd share some stories.

I've recently found myself working at a special needs highschool (the more PC term is Exceptional Children, but the general population isn't super aware of that). It's kind of become my school - a lot of substitute teachers are not comfortable working in that environment but I've worked with a lot of kids like that in the past and Iove it.

Now, I was working as a one-on-one. So, just a kid who in the class needs one person with a them at all times for a variety of reasons. We won't get into that, of course, but he was a sweet kid. Toward the end of the day, I was starting to get a migrane and I guess I made a face because he asked if I was okay. I told him I was just getting a little headache but I would drink some water and be fine (lies!). He got up and patted me on my head a little too hard and asked, "Better?"

My heart melted and I told him it was all gone. He beamed the rest of the day and told everyone he saw.

#not dragon age #lacy explains it all #substitute teacher #exceptional children #special needs #mental illness #bipolar disorder #adhd #substitute teaching stories