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alpaca-clouds · 17 days

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A measured critique of Love Death + Robots

Okay, let me talk about something I kinda wanted to talk about for quite a while: The Netflix anthology series Love Death + Robots. A show with which I very much have a love-hate relationship.

Because I absolutely love the concept. The idea of turning short stories (a piece of literary media that often gets ignored) into short films (that also tend to get ignored)? Genius! It gives a chance for some authors to shine, that normally do not get that much attention. Same for smaller animation studios/teams. It really is a super cool idea.

And I gotta say, that there were some short films in there, that I really loved. My favorites are:

Three Robots (Just LOVED the humor in both stories)

Sonnie's Edge (I loved the Cyberpunk-Monster mix)

When the Yoghurt Took Over (Again, something that hit my humor nerve right)

Good Hunting (Ken Liu still is among my favorite authors)

Fish Night (Pretty)

Zima Blue (The Artstyle was just super cool)

The Tall Grass (I liked the atmosphere)

Snow in the Desert (I really liked the aesthetic in this one)

The Very Pulse of the Machine ( I mostly liked the main character)

All Through the House (Once more: My type of humor)

Mason's Rats (Because Rats)

You will notice one thing: Most of these are from season 1. Though to be fair: Season 1 had 18 episodes, while seasons 2 and 3 put together only had 17. So generally... Well, there is a few issues I had with season 1. Issues that not only I had. And seasons 2 and 3 did not improve on either.

The one critique you have probably heard quite a few times: A lot of those stories really love to objectify and/or sexualize the female characters. There is a ton of unnecessary sexualization of female characters going on. At times sexualization in a way that is not even precedented by the short stories the movies are based on.

At times this goes as far as some of those short films fetishizing violence against women. Jibaro was the worst example of this, but it is something that happens in quite a few of the short films. And that just leaves a really bitter aftertaste after watching the stories.

Again, I am not the first person to criticize this aspect.

Meanwhile the other criticism I have is one that I barely have seen anyone bring up, even though it is very much connected to that first one: Almost all of the short stories that the short films are based on have been written by men. Of the first season there are two movies based on stories written by women (Sucker of Souls and Helping Hand). Of seasons two and three, not a single short film was based on a story written by a woman. Or to put it differently: Out of the 35 episodes, 33 have been written by men. And, while we are on it, mostly white men.

And... Look, fantasy/scifi already has a big issue when it comes to major novel publishing that often female, queer and non-white authors are overlooked outside of the YA genre. Still, when it comes to the short story magazines, like @uncannymagazine female and otherwise marginalized writers get more of a voice. The same is also true for a lot of anthologies, that are not dependent on "oh, we just will publish a couple of short stories by already known authors". So... Why the hell does Netflix not give those writers a chance to shine in this anthology series?

Like, fuck... This annoys the living hell out of me. Just allow other people some time to shine as well.

#love death and robots #love death + robots #netflix #anthology #anthology series #short films #short stories #misogyny #netflix series #cyberpunk #scifi #science fiction #horror #fantasy

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gladfang · 5 months

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i don't think my fanfiction is lesser than my original work in terms of quality but i definately think i've neglected improving my ability to create my own stories BECAUSE i've been writing more fanficition than original work since i was a teenager. like there was definately a more even balance of the two when i was in highschool but its only in the last couple of years i've gotten back into writing my own stories for my own characters (such as 'as you like' and 'litter') and its a harder transition than i was expecting, which is embarrassing in a way but also i'm still enjoying it and that's what matters. idk. these aren't vent posts really i'm just dumping all my thoughts in one place. maybe i'm focusing too much on trying to write these massive thought-provoking stories when i should start smaller and work up? i like the idea of that

#i looooved writing short stories in highschool i remember i had an original horror 'anthology' series on my old laptop with a seasonal theme #i'm forever upset i had a hashtag self hate artist moment and deleted all my old work because i thought it was cringe. i'd kill for that ba #i remember i had one original story centred on two characters called timber and clark and i actually recovered that story and rewrote-#the opening about 3 years ago to see how i'd improved and the difference was insane. i was so proud of that. maybe i'll do that again #because i'm 90% sure i didn't deleted it again and its just on my google drive SOMEWHERE #bzzt! is this thing on

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haunted-tales-pod · 9 months

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Hello lovely people, we're on tumblr now! So while I figure everything out, why don't you check out our podcast? We've got, as of now, 69 episodes of horror stories for you to listen to, with everything from ancient curses, ghostly hauntings, creepy crawlies and cryptids to many more, as well as last years Halloween 5-parter!

(the link up there will take you to any of the podcast platforms we are on, which is pretty much all of them!)

Thanks <3

#podcast #audio drama #horror #horror podcast #short story #scary stories #creepypasta #creepy #eerie #macabre #anthology series #horror fiction #spotify #podcasting #audio drama sunday #fiction podcast

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aye-of-newt · 2 years

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I had a nightmare.

It began as most of my dreams do, with something mundane that is shifted just to the left, something about the world made odd in a way that doesn’t occur to you as strange until you wake up, like when you somehow know that you’re in your backyard when the vast forest around you looks nothing at all like home. In this dream I was outside in my neighborhood, my real neighborhood (at least as closely as I could tell) walking down a street just a block from home.

What made it odd, made it so clearly a dream world and not my own, was that it was so impossibly dark, darker than the city ever gets, dark like the part of a cave tour where the guides turn off all their flashlights and lamps and your little group of strangers unconsciously draws closer together than you would ever stand above ground, stands shoulder to shoulder in the complete absence of light, and it gets very very quiet, like if you all hold your breath you might somehow be able to see better in the silence, and the cold that didn’t bother you before is all at once heavy with the understanding of what it is to have never been touched by sunlight.

It was so dark I was afraid I would trip on the uneven sidewalk (the stamp in the curb on the corner says it was poured in 1986 and from the cracks and places where the expansion of the earth in winter left it buckled and broken I can easily believe it) so I got down and crawled on my hands and knees. The pavement was rough and cold and damp under my palms.

It really did rain last night. It must have leaked into my sleep.

I was laughing quietly as I crept along, amused at the ridiculousness of my situation, aware even in my sleep how strange it was to willingly touch the pavement that must be crawling with filth that no rain could ever wash away, no matter how clean it smells with spring.

It was without warning that the ground that, even if I couldn’t quite trust, I knew, was familiar, was really mine, suddenly changed. Instead of the concrete I felt rough fabric, my fingers forming fists around a woolen blanket, gritty and stiff with dirt.

I became aware of the presence of someone else, that strange instinctual understanding of another person being nearby registering only just before he grabbed me. Huge hands wrapped around my shoulder and hip and pulled me into his lap like a perversion of a parent catching their runaway toddler before they toppled down the stairs.

There was something like light now but it was no relief. It took away the uncertainty of the dark only to assure me that there were horrors lurking with in it. I could only see glimpses of the world through slits of hazy orange glow, like something cast off by candles, like burning, but there was no source to explain from where it came as far as I could tell.

The man smiled down at me where he pressed me against his chest, like he was blandly amused even as I thrashed against him. I was trying as hard as I could to get away but somehow I could hardly move at all. I think I was crying. I thought that I ought to scream because I knew that we were sitting just at the bottom of the steps to someone’s house, that people were only feet away and if I screamed then they would help me. But nothing would come out of my throat except for the suggestion of a sob so strained even I couldn’t hear it.

The man smiled at me still and held me so easily I might not have been moving at all. His hands were heavy on me, I could feel every finger, every place were his body touched mine as if seeing the chalk-mark outline of his crime mapped on my skin. And yet the grip was not bruising. He was not keeping me there with physical force. I simply could not move.

I stared at him, helpless and afraid. And I realized that there was nothing to him at all. I am sure that my eyes were filled with a pleading desperation to be freed and yet his were empty, his face just a grinning mask of flesh and his body nothing but a means to hold mine down.

He reached out and put his fingers in my open, silent mouth where still no scream could sound. He felt along my teeth like he was inspecting them for something.

I couldn’t bite down.

He reached further. Down my throat. Impossibly far, like he was trying to crawl inside of me, fingers first.

Even with only one of his hands on my wrist I still could not move. Not at all. Not even to weakly struggle as I had when he first snatched me up. I was utterly still. Utterly silent. I don’t even think I blinked.

I just stared at his painted, blank face in the orange light.

Scream, I told myself. There are people just inside, scream and they will hear you.

But it was as if he was holding the words down in my throat, like his hand was there to physically stop them from coming up. It wasn’t to kill me. I could breath still. Or maybe I didn’t need to. His hand was not to take my air but my words, my sound, my voice.

I could feel my heart against my chest as my ribs collapsed inward with the absolute knowledge that I would be trapped there for as long as he wanted, would not be able to move as he reached an arm that could not possibly be so long, it wasn’t that long before, that went all the way down into my chest, that I feared would press further inside of me until he found my racing heart or my lungs or the rest of him followed and I was hollowed out to be his new skin.

I was appalled by the thought of my own surrender, at my helpless inability to fight, to even ask for help if I was too weak to escape alone, and through the debilitating panic I commanded myself to focus, to pour every bit of ability I had into making sound.

It bubbled up inside of me, his hand a stopper to the tension, fighting to hold it down until the pressure built too much, forcing him out, his hand ripping up through my throat harshly, like vomit filled with nails. Finger nails. I remembered seeing them, dirty and torn. Now they tore me inside.

I wonder if they left my teeth bloody. Sometimes in my dreams I see myself, watch myself as if in a play. In this dream I was trapped inside my own body. I did not watch. I felt it. So I do not know what I looked like, can only guess. Maybe it’s a strange hope that I picture the blood there, a desire to look feral and wild and strong. To look like I fought.

The scream finally broke through my lips, louder and deeper than I knew I could sound. I hadn’t finished it, hadn’t stopped, hadn’t seen if anyone did come to help me after all, was still screaming when I at last awoke, the broken half-garbled nothing of my shout fading into the still air of my bedroom.

I moved with the jerking relief of sudden freedom that I couldn’t quite trust, like I was tearing myself away from the clutches of my pillows. I looked around at the fairy lights I’d forgotten to turn off and the rumbled mess of my blankets in a disoriented, clumsy attempt to sort though the logic of what had happened, where I was and what was real. There in the quiet, I knew that what had been so horrifyingly threatening moments ago was logistically ridiculous and I tried to find something in its improbability amusing.

All I came up with was an unsettled awareness that my own mind is oddly disturbing. But there was nothing to do about that at such an hour. There’s hardly anything to be done about it during the day. Beside, I knew this already. Had only momentarily forgotten and was reminded again.

Halfway between these rehashed understandings I spared a half-hearted hope that I hadn’t woken my roommate up if I really did shout. I wasn’t sure if the power of my voice was only as real as the man in the dream, if all that had escaped me in reality was a whisper.

I checked the clock. I’d only slept an hour or so and I only had an hour left to go before my alarm would sound.

Sleep had been difficult for more than one reason that night.

I was cold. Damp from my own terrified sweat, though with the lingering dregs of the storm drizzling down the window, it felt like I had really just come from outside.

I turned over, adjusted my blankets around me and curled up, trying to keep my own warmth close to me.

I went back to sleep.

#anyway #was that fucked up or what?#maybe I have sleep paralysis or something #newt continues the series I never wanted to start where writing down my dreams turns into a short horror anthology #i know it's like standard nightmare stuff #cant move/shout... creepy guy...#still #felt really intense and strange

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panopticon-entertainment · 6 months

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The Last Rest Stop on Earth

Mile ∞ tells the story of an old woman, Eve, who cares for the freeway exit/entrance at the end of the world. From her daily routine to a gift from a god, Eve tells of the pieces of ∞ that led her to greatest accomplishment. The story is told in four parts: “The End of the World is a Freeway Exit.”, “The Last Rest Stop on Earth.”, “The Mile Man.”, and “I Am.”

Listen on Youtube & Spotify - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEMF40m4J4A

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“The Last Rest Stop on Earth is my home. The Rest Stop boasts a beautiful park with a playground and riverside walking path. An R.V. park for the short-timers, the Disgraced, the infinite resides solemnly across a tiny, wooden bridge, at the end of the flowery, road-styled walking path. There is a single restaurant in this lonesome area: a dairy shop with dining in the attic. It is meant for tourists and passer-bys; they do not like bums like us. Bums waiting—sometimes hours, sometimes decades—for our ticket on the Caravan. I do not talk with the neighbors—the other bums. I set my camp chairs facing away from the road hiding me from the foul little community. I despise their culture; I despise their attitudes. So many of them characterize themselves with a hatred for life they had, and even more by a hatred for the natural order. They hate ∞ for in life they refused to believe in her. I have been waiting longer than all of them, and yet I still worship the pantheon that runs our world.

So, I have never discussed with any the specters… the creatures… hauntings that share our home. I am certain they would know of what I speak if I thrust my precocious conversation of the topic on them. Still, I know not what the Resters nor Short-Timers call this dual phantom, nor what they believe them to be. What I do know is no one knows so much as I for on my days off, precisely my Sunday—and many of my evenings—I devote my attention full to these ghouls. These actors… these tales… these Mimes!

The Mimes traverse the walking path. It appears a game of hide and seek—no, a game of cat and mouse—no… See, they smile at each other from time to time. The Walker is not always perceived a threat.

It is a duet. The Walker and the Light. The Walker is truly something frightful on a passing glance. Skin of paper and facial features carved or covered in black tar. Smarmy… commanding. I have no judgment for its image projects too many thoughts and feelings, all of them contradictory. A friend misjudged? A foe sheathed? A villain, a neutral party—I shan’t dwell on it. It invades my mind.

And the Light—the Blur, the Bolt—I have called them by many names. I have settled on Light for they have never given me reason to fear nor moral quandary. Their heart is pure. If this is a vision of death, they enjoyed life.

And what are these voiceless Mimes? I know not.

I have thought them living, but they come too consistently.

I have questioned my mind, my soul, my connection to my body. Are they part of me? I fear it…

I have said I am aged. My living life has far come and gone inasmuch that my memory of what it was like to live is very slight. Being in between all these years has left my mind in a special state. I worry that myself may end up lost. When I started noticing the Mimes, I feared it greatly. Presently, I believe them to be real.

Maybe, I have thought, specters of a life altering event. Either creatures far moved on or stuck with no body but no ticket to ride the Caravan. But what is that event? What are they? This rationale depends on if every night they perform the same dance, but you see, I cannot tell! They spread across the park at odd corners. I cannot keep up. When I catch a clear moment, I log it into my brain. I will watch for it the next night but a different part of the dance that I cannot recall if rehearsed or improvised distracts me away.

The event falls to tragedy—I know that clearly. Although, the fatal blow I have never caught. The Light extinguished on that wooden bridge beneath a single streetlight.

Or, I have considered, they are fragments of reality. Maybe, something from another reality; something past that has become a repeated glitch. This makes them meaningless lines of bugged up intention.

Or even an eternal loop. If, as I have favored, the Walker is the villain, perhaps this loops eternal until the Blur—sorry, the Light—crosses the bridge. Each appearance a new attempt.

What they ARE I find does not matter so much to me as WHO this story befalls. The possibility of meaninglessness has never discouraged my hope a story coincides their blurry and surreal appearances.

Maybe… a young man and an old man. An old man who has taken his advantage over the Light. The Young Man fled the home, or maybe… maybe, changed his way home wary of the strange old man’s stalking eyes, feet, and hands. The Walker, mayhap, fallen mad over love or, more probable, lust driven to unspeakabilities. Ignore the filthy physicality and mayhap just a madly overprotective caretaker. The Young Man while fleeing perhaps prayed to ∞ for a second chance and was answered by A##### instead or a fallen star. Maybe, he lived before ∞ could command her hands leaving the duo glitched.

Maybe, less personal, just a serial killer, or they were just friends and the Light died of a bodily failure. Maybe, they did not know each other at all, and their eternity together is a sick joke by some wanna-be god. A very crummy prank, I say.

I have pondered the idea of just two quirky friends. Short-Timers who’s love for life and the odd kept them here although their bodies ran down I-∞.

I have notebooks and folders and journals of stories of who they may be.

Is the Light scared? If they were enemies, could they have learned to enjoy this existence?

What if they really do tell a different story every time, and I have been too focused on unity? Could they smile together and later fear each other? How many roles do they play; how many can they?

I can make record of them though. The pictures. Yes, the pictures do capture them. The Mimes are blurry to the human eye, but digitally the blur turns to not much more than a haze. They are beautiful.

I have found a piece of ∞.

I love my home at the end of the world.” - ↻

#writing #writeblr #short story #short story series #anthology #part two #mile infinity #og creepypasta #creepypasta #nosleep #no sleep #horror writing #original story #original characters #what if #the what-if room #the last rest stop on earth

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kristipetersenschoonover · 1 year

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New story and essay, novel excerpt AVAILABLE NOW in FREE SIRENS CALL EZINE ISSUE 60!

BIG NEWS!! I’m ecstatic to announce that Sirens Call eZine Issue #60—FREE to download—not only contains my story, “What the Ocean Knows,” but, because they honored me with being featured author, also contains an essay, “Whispers Beneath the Lines: Dark Fiction’s Power to Heal” and a longer excerpt from my novel, Bad Apple! This giant issue also features Continue reading Untitled

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tsdtalks · 1 year

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Posting my old videos on here day 2:

The Storyteller Retold - Part 1

youtube

#short film #web series #the storyteller retold #anthology #supernatural fiction #horror #paranormal #arg #youtube #tsd talks

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babylonburningmadiacenter · 1 year

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Primal Season 2 (2022)

by Genndy Tartakovsky Primal Season 1 https://www.adultswim.com/videos/primal https://www.primevideo.com/detail/Primal/0H95DIIG2VZ7G7VHHUPQETIQXL https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Primal_(TV_series)#Season_2_(2022) Primal (also known as Genndy Tartakovsky’s Primal) is an American adult animated action horror television series created and directed by Genndy Tartakovsky for Cartoon Network‘s late…

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in-search-of-an-exit · 6 months

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Hatchetfield, Continuity, and Eldritch Horror

So, Nerdy Prudes Must Die just came out and it reminded me how much I love the Hatchetfield series and I want to talk about one aspect that makes it so unique and interesting. Continuity.

If you don't know Hatchetfield is a series of stories by Starkid that has three stage musicals and a series called Nightmare Time and a short film. It is a horror anthology series where in every story some different supernatural or other horrible event occurs where characters die or the world ends in different ways. But that is kinda of not true because anthology isn't quite the right word.

The characters stay the same as the inhabitants of the small town of Hatchetfield but each story focuses on different characters at different times and the interesting part is that while certain individuals will act differently because of something related to the horror or supernatural elements mostly they always stick to canonical personalities and histories, and it is heavily implied that the events all actually happen and there is some wider story where there are multiple timelines.

This creates two really cool effects.

One is that you slowly start to learn more about the characters as you encounter them in various stories, and different things come about depending on how the current threat affects them. It also gives more information than any length single timeline would because we get to see what pushes them to different points. From NPMD for example, the story takes place two years after The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals in which the world ends and Paul and Emma fall in love, but we see in NPMD that Paul for the first time gives Emma his number perhaps hinting at what the timeline would be for Paul and Emma's relationship to mature without the intervention of a world ending disaster.

The other thing is about Eldritch Horror. Hatchetfield's core story revolves around the Lords in Black a group of Elder Gods who orchestrate most of the events. In most cases Eldritch Horror has difficulty truly selling the concept of creatures outside of our dimension who are not bound by time and space, and even if they demonstrate their power to the characters, as an audience it doesn't have a huge effect. But with Hatchetfield, because as an audience we are aware of the multiple timelines, we take on the role of the eldritch beings and see the stories from their perspective. In NPMD they make references to other stories implying that it is the same Lords in Black everytime with Tinky talking about having "another Spankofski" for his collection(an episode of Nightmare Time.) They also play with having the audience being the perspective of these Eldritch beings with the stagecraft like in Black Friday where entering the Black and White has the president move in from the audience, or in TGWDLM the ending has the audience clap for the end of the show with Emma screaming for help and unsure why the audience won't help her.

Its a really cool format that I personally have never encountered before and really sells the horror and makes you more invested in the characters.

#starkid #hatchetfield #nerdy prudes must die #nerdy prudes spoilers #the guy who didn't like musicals #the guy who didn't like musicals spoilers #black friday #black friday spoilers #starkid npmd #npmd #npmd spoilers #tgwdlm #nightmare time #hatchetverse

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the-modern-typewriter · 2 months

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Hello hello! I absolutely adore your writing, it just feels so complex and the dialogue is so perfect you don't understand, probably my favorite writer in tumblr ^^

Do you have any favorite books? I'm not really into reading but I want to write my own stories, and English isn't my first language so I always try to read but I don't really continue since most of them aren't really in my taste– but I'm willing to try anything you read or take inspiration from since I'll probably like it since I like your work so much :]

Sorry, hope that made sense, ty <3

So, I'd like to think that while my writing has a consistent *vibe* it also covers quite a few different genres and moods that could be what you are interested in. Let's go.

If you like a book rooted in complex, dysfunctional power dynamics try....Summer Sons by Lee Mandelo, The Last Tale of The Flower Bride by Roshani Chokski, The Invisible Life of Addie La Rue by V.E Schwab, Gone Girl or Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn, Deathless by Catherynne M Valente, If We Were Villains by M.L Rio, The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakovic, Dark Rise by C.S Pascat, Interview with a vampire by Anne Rice, These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever.

(You can see that complex, dysfunctional power dynamics that are central to the story are basically my favourite thing haha. My absolute jam and butter! The dynamics themselves vary. You may root for some and watch others in delighted horror.)

If you like a great, not a romcom, enemies to lovers romantasy, try...Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson, Girl, Serpent, Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust, The Folk of the Air trilogy by Holly Black.

For some fantasy horror vibes, try...Rolling in the Deep by Mira Grant (mermaids!), House of Hollow by Krystal Sutherland, The Hollow Places by T. Kingfisher.

If you want something cute and LGBTQ, try...The House on Cerulean Sea or In the Lives of Puppets by T.J Klune, One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston, Carry on by Rainbow Rowell, anything by F.T Lukens.

For short story collections that make me want to write...Things We Say in the Dark by Kirsty Logan, Salt Slow by Julia Armfield, Through The Woods by Emily Carrol or the multi-author anthology Hag.

And, let's be real, absolutely no one is following me for worldbuilding, but...

For worldbuilding that has stayed with me, try...The Wayward Children series (all stories semi-standalone) by Seanan McGuire, The Belles by Dhonielle Clayton, The Coldest Girl in Coldtown by Holly Black

I know I haven't done superheroes. I just...?? I liked Hench by Natalie Zina Walschotts, but honestly most of them just don't interest me. Sorry.

#i am currently reading Supper Club by Lara Williams #books #reading #if there is a specific vibe y'all know or crave or can pinpoint in my writing I can also see if I can rec a book #and if I can't I suppose I have to forfeit and write another of that vibe haha

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cloveroctobers · 7 months

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OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 1. Luca

PROMPTS from here + here and I’m using: “I really appreciate that you’re getting into the Halloween spirit, but it’s ten in the morning, please turn off the slasher films so I can eat my breakfast in peace.” + “Pumpkin spiced latte, please.”

A/N: so glad Luca was voted for the most on the poll lol because he’s the only one out of the options I started writing for in the drafts! let’s see if I can keep up with making these short this year 🤭! This is nothing but fluff and a smidge of annoyance — reader on Luca’s nerves just a bit really. Mentions of a classic horror film, that I actually need to go back and watch! I think I watched it once before since I won’t lie I usually watch the more updated versions when it comes to that franchise more so,, although I’m not the biggest fan of the series anyways like dear Luca…don’t drag us too much ⚔️!!!

WARNINGS: Reader being a bum for the day? Luca just wants to eat without background noise? + slight language, oh and pumpkin slander!

*GIF BELONGS TO: @wiha-jun !

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。

Luca prefers his mornings to be soothing, not filled with screams that can make anyone’s ear drums bleed or have the neighbors in the cul- de-sac sending the coppers right over. He had just gotten back from his morning run around the city, finding you sleeping down on the couch now compared to your shared bed. Which was humorous that you had the energy to climb out of the bed wrapped in mountains of blankets that you kept stored in a woven basket tucked away in the living space; during his absence just to continue your rest on the pale gray sofa.

You barely budged when he announced he was heading out into the damp morning and also repeated the same motion when he’s back, gently bending down to press a kiss to your edges before disappearing upstairs to shower. You’re awake with lidded eyes once he’s arrived downstairs, smelling of fresh mint soap and Olibanum as you’re messing around with the flatscreen on the entertainment center.

“Are you truly awake for the day darling or is it going to be another two to three business days?” Luca jokes on his way by, not expecting what you were going to set the television on.

You’re mocking him, voice still full of sleep, leaving the taller man to chuckle to himself as he heads into the kitchen, searching the fridge around the corner to ponder over what he can whip up. There’s plenty of possibilities as Luca’s eyes scan over what’s stocked in the fridge, finding that’s something he had to do now that you both shared a home together.

He could do cold smoked salmon…putting the protein to good use along with the radish and watercress…yet you were out of cream cheese. He could always ask his favorite critic, brace yourselves, it’s not Luca himself but rather you, what you were feeling like for breakfast but he knew regardless what he prepared you’d probably eat.

Thinking to himself, fingers tapping against the handle of the open fridge, he decides to go for something simple and more festive if you will. So he decides on homemade maple pancakes, without the walnuts since you were allergic and picks the pecans that your grandfather brought over from his pecan tree back in Georgia earlier this year. He’ll fry up some danish bacon with thyme searing the pan—hoping to bring flavor to the pork—or really to basically get rid of it, although it was a kind gesture from a neighbor who learned Luca was in the culinary field—the both of you were not the biggest fans of Denmark’s bacon.

No disrespect of course.

“Hey, want some of this Risalamande?” Luca calls out as you began to get engaged into the film, that’s probably been on for about twenty minutes since Luca takes more time debating on what to eat at home than when he’s out in the city.

Immediately your nose scrunches up as Luca is diving into the colorful rice pudding, leaning against the doorway that leads to the living room and front of the detached home, “Texture, Luca. Come on!”

Luca snorts with a slight roll of his eyes, “Ah, I see I’m getting picky you this morning, yeah?”

A wag of your finger as if it were a wand goes shooting into the air while you respond, “Sssh!”

“Rude.”

Luca spins back into the kitchen with a shake of his head, downing what most would consider a Christmas dessert but he doesn’t care one bit. He’s a man that enjoys eating and Christmas was more of his holiday anyway.

That holds him over long enough and he’s got the comfort of him whisking the dry ingredients together, focus steady on getting just the right mixture before moving onto the wet ingredients. It’s easy work really, which means Luca doesn’t mind making breakfast more than any other meal. It was similar to his own work, yet pastries were more his speed and he often challenged himself to try out new techniques majority of the time, so it wouldn’t always be easy but it was the pleasure in knowing that this is the starting point of your day, which beats a protein bar any way.

Luca uses his hands everyday and yeah it so happened to surprisingly be his weekend off, he didn’t mind keeping his hands busy when it came to breakfast and serving to the person he truly adores.

He’s at the stove, with minutes passing by at ease, his arched brows raising so often when the tempo of the movie begins to picks up. “What are you watching?”

He can’t help but to ask.

“…The Evil Dead, 1981.” He’s shocked he even gets a response from you since you tend to zone out when it comes to media.

Sometimes it was certainly a bad habit. You were an environmental documentary editor so it wasn’t unusual for you to get wrapped up in screens. Yet Luca couldn’t really blame you for that since he got lost in his craft as well; the both of you were working to get better with turning those habits off when together.

…if you don’t count right now that is! There was nothing wrong with being passionate about your interests but it was also always important to prioritize your partner, especially when work was a good chunk of your lives, yet it wasn’t the only thing that mattered. The both of you understood that.

He hums, finding possession films and gory themes weren’t really his thing. He actually has a weak system when it came to those type of horror films or rather blood (passing out from the mere sight fake or not or simply the stench of it is not something Luca was proud to admit) and let’s just say he was glad to not be in the room with you now. Horror really wasn’t your lane either, you were more into sci-fi films whereas Luca loved a good action film or documentary.

You were both each others test subjects, you with his food and him with your edits on your hybrid schedule.

“Come eat,” Luca says after while, the food steaming and filling the house with a sweet, salty and slightly earthy aroma.

He’s wiping his hands off with a rag, which he steps to the center of the kitchen, balling up the used rag to toss with a swift flick of the wrist into the laundry room up ahead. The rag plunks right on the washer and Luca smirks to himself before heading back to the dining table tucked in the corner by the oven. He always sits with his back to the oven because in a sense it’s brings him placidness. It didn’t make much sense to you since you originally thought Luca just wanted the view of the screened in conservatory all to himself but he flirted that you were enough of a view for him. Nonetheless he didn’t really need to explain it to you, if that’s the spot Luca wanted then so be it. You rarely argued about it simply because you could eat out there if you really wanted. He could keep the meaning of sitting with his back to the oven to himself. Perhaps it was his way of putting it behind him for awhile when engaged with you? Who truly knows but you did think about it a bit once you settled into the shared home.

Luca’s pulling himself up to the table, picking up a fork to start plating and clenched his eyes as more screams fill the home.

“I really appreciate that you’re getting into the Halloween spirit, but it’s ten in the morning, please turn off the slasher film so I can eat my breakfast in peace.” Luca calls out to you, after picking up that you were in a lazy mood and not ready to join him at the table.

The film actually gets lower as Luca shoves the pancake into his mouth, beginning to chew the meal as you say back, “pumpkin spiced latte, please.”

Luca questions with his mouth full, “what was that?”

“I’ll join you if there’s a pumpkin spiced latte waiting for me.”

Luca sits back in his chair and swallows, “you don’t even enjoy pumpkin so what are you on about?”

“But it’s fall, Luca.”

Luca pinches the space in between his skinny brows, “…for fucks sake, you’re quite spoiled you know that?”

“I love you.” You sing out while Luca scoffs.

He comments, “You better.”

So now he’s up on his feet again, messing with the olive espresso machine that you still won’t tell him how much you paid for last Christmas, he’ll use the last bit of maple syrup that he had leftover from the pancakes, there’s no pumpkin spice in the flat since he isn’t a big fan of pumpkin flavor either so he uses: 2 teaspoons cinnamon, 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg, 1/8 teaspoon ginger, and 1/8 teaspoon of ground cloves, yet he brought home some pumpkin purée that one of his fall-loving co-workers gave to him; homemade from her mini pumpkin patch in her backyard, he steams the oat milk, mixes the espresso, puree, syrup, spices, and vanilla all together before combining it with the milk. From there he frothed it just for a few seconds to get some foam and finally tops it off with whipped cream and more cinnamon.

Sitting back down, he slides the drink over to your side of the table and before he can call out to you to inform it’s ready, he’s hearing the shuffle of your feet in those ridiculous hot pink fluffy slippers. Luca glances at you and finds you rather cute still in your cozy pj’s and hair a complete mess.

“Your royalty,” Luca bows towards your drink, making you gasp playfully as you approach him, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, “it’s still hot,” he warns as you reach over for the handle of the mug at the same time but you pick it up with ease.

You peek at the latte and then back at him saying, “Shoo,” you wave your hand making Luca frown up at you.

You and these damn hand movements, you should be a conductor like your older sibling instead.

He soon picks up on what else you want, making yourself comfortable right in his lap, making Luca shake his head at you, tangling around you now so he can finish the breakfast but with you in his lap.

You on the other hand werent much of a breakfast person, although you loved a good brunch moment with your mates! but you hardly turned down much of what Luca prepared. He knew you’d get around to the pancakes if you didn’t start picking at his own plate soon.

“How is it?”

You nod, running your tongue over the top of your lip to get rid of the whipped cream, “hmm, now I kinda see what those pumpkin bitches go crazy over.”

Luca chuckles, “do I get to sample?”

“It’s the least I can do,” you tease as you blow on the steam before tipping the mug towards Luca’s lips.

He ends up blowing on it more before sipping and it’s your turn to watch his own opinion before he says it. You can always tell what direction this may go based on the way his eyebrows and eyes move.

“Not half bad if I do say so myself but a smoked butterscotch latte from Café bønne is actually better. I frankly don’t see the hype with this latte.” Luca shrugged with a pinch of his lips in thought before turning his hand back to the bacon.

You groan, “we haven’t been there in ages! We should go there today.”

“Nope, storms coming in this afternoon actually with a chance of power outages which is why you should eat those pancakes sooner than later, love.” Luca explains before adding, “should have gone running with me this morning. I passed by that route today too.” Luca tells you while you take another sip of the latte.

You weren’t aware of any storm coming in but you had to admit that you fell asleep on the news last night after the show you stayed up to watch with Luca went off. It really amazes you how he can stay up late and get up to function the next day. You on the other hand? Had to follow a routine or else you’ll be no good at work, hybrid schedule or not.

“Fine, I guess the shitty pumpkin makes up for it.”

Luca peeks at you mid chew, “Are you insulting my beverage when you asked for it?”

“Never! This definitely gets a 8.5 across the board. So I’ll shut my spoiled self up, babes.”

“Now that’s the spirit.”

A shove to his shoulder makes Luca wink and grin over at you, poking his lips out for a peck, making you aware that he was only teasing you.

Sighing you lean forward to press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, “thanks for breakfast.”

With his free tatted hand, he runs the pad of his thumb against the childhood scar on your kneecap stating with a smile, “anytime, darling.” He says as he peers at you from underneath his eyelashes before tossing in, “Even when you’re being a picky pain in my arse.”

“Welp! Moment’s ruined.” You hopped off Luca’s lap while he tried to latch onto you with a laugh but you swung your hips out of his reach, however not without plunking up his last pancake to take with you.

See!

Luca huffs, sticking his tongue into the side of his cheek before taking your plate with him to follow you into the living room. You’re seated back on the couch and he sits on the opposite end of it, tangling his limbs with yours as you cover each other with the blankets.

“This pancake is delicious.”

“So are yours,” Luca is smug as he eats from your plate now before glancing at the horror film on screen with disgust, then softening his expression as he sets his eyes back on you.

Which leads to the both of you taking turns eating pancakes and sharing the pumpkin latte, making the feel of autumn in the atmosphere sink in with the warmth of each other.

Hours later…you’re laying cuddled up to Luca’s chest on the couch, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling along with his hands clasped together against the small of your back is enough to almost put you to sleep. The wind has picked up now, whistling through the cloudy skies of Copenhagen followed by a harsh patter of rain that can be heard from the ceiling of the living room.

Which is just enough remedy for the both of you while you rest until you suddenly ask, “what did you think of the evil dead?”

Luca almost grimaces before he states, “…I prefer midsommar.”

“I want to debunk that with you but I also want to go back to sleep.”

Luca laughs before nuzzling his cheek against your head, “Fine by me, we have time to get into it later.”

“Over pancakes?”

“Breakfast for dinner? As long as you promise to actually sit at the table with me?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be…and I also want to hear your thoughts on that film. A true Mukbang starring us two, can’t get any better than that, no?”

A smile curls onto Luca’s lips at your excitement, then he speaks, “who’s the audience then?”

“The entities that maybe lurking around this house.”

Luca pops a eye open, “I really don’t like how you just said that. Especially after you had me watching that horrid fucking film.”

“Hey! A lot of horror lovers will definitely drag you for that but don’t worry, I’ll fight anything and anyone that dares to step to my man and that’s on what?”

Luca shakes his head while pretending to think about it, “period? Or whatever it is you say. You’re still a brat for saying that though. I don’t know if you notice but Halloween isn’t until the end of the month.”

“I’m sorry,” you coo squeezing his shoulder, “but Halloween starts as soon as September hits and don’t you forget it you big baby.” You curl your hand from around Luca’s shoulder to squeeze his cheeks together.

“You’re the…baby.” Luca mimics, his cheeks now appearing like a gapping fish due to your actions, “Taking thirty naps a day and being a massive pain in my bum.”

“NAURR,” you exaggerate making Luca lift his brows in annoyance before you continue, “I’m your favorite headache.”

Luca let’s out a sigh, “you’re not wrong.”

“I never am,” you sass before the room goes quiet a bit more—besides the weather outside until you voice your thoughts out loud, “Midsommar though? Really? I wouldn’t put that and Evil Dead in the same category.”

Now it was Luca’s turn to shush you.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°

Continue along with my October anthology prompts here.

#the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear s2 #the bear hulu #the bear fx #luca the bear #will poulter #october prompts #Luca the bear x reader #will poulter x reader #queued #Spotify

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TransRightsReadathon Sales & Freebies!

I will be collecting books that are reduced or made available for free by authors for the TransRightsReadathon here. Feel free to share any that you know of that I might have missed:

Queeird: A Collection of Unusual Trans Masculine Erotica edited by Max Turner | ebook 2,80 £, paperback 6,30 £

Androids and aliens, werewolves and vampires, furries and… tentacles? This is a collection of unusual, and at times monstrous, erotica featuring trans masculine characters. From the ridiculous to the romantic, expect kinks, quirks and tropes. All the stories feature trans masculine main characters, with a variety of cis, trans female, trans male and non-binary lovers.

Deck the Holes by WrenVLothaire | ebook 0.50$

It’s Yule, a celebration Aloysius is well versed in but never has the time of year been his favorite. But with Malachai, a partner with whom he’s come to love and cherish, this holiday may not be as somber as it’s always been. This time he has a surprise in store. Let’s just hope the owner of the home approves of the decorations. t4t, trans man MC

Tales of Genesis I-III by H.S. Wolfe | ebook free, (the book one that these short stories are based on costs 1.99$)

Out of the Rain by TinyLesbianRobot | ebook 0.50$

Echo interrupts a lazy morning with a strange request of Ender. The first in a series of shorts set in the Genesis universe and can be read as a stand alone without having read In The Garden Of Echo t4t, trans man MC & trans woman MC

The weather has taken a turn, forcing Flax and Lost to rush for shelter. But now that they've found a place to dry off, Lost's drenched clothes are clinging to her, and Flax is finding it difficult to keep from staring... This story is a non-canon short set in the world of my novel 'Messenger': just under ten thousand words of warm, fluffy, robot-on-angel-on-human smut, a cozy and affectionate scene between women who love each other a whole lot. transfemme MC

Rien Gray's Trans Rights Readathon Sale | ebooks 60% off, $6.00 for 2 books

Follow a fellowship of sapphic knights as they’re seduced by witches, queens, goddesses—and each other—in a dark, lush fantasy inspired by Arthurian legend. genderfluid butch MC, agender MC

Valerin the Fair by Rien Gray | ebook free (+ other free sapphic books)

genderfluid butch MC

Our Monsters by Jemma Topaz | ebook 69% off, $1,23

Rosemary Dulahan, answering a strange job posting, arrives in Monstertown – a place inhabited by magical beings from another world. Navigating the politics of sphinxes, lamias, and secrets, she must learn how to get along with her non-human coworkers and maybe romance a few monster girls along the way. There's nothing she wants less than getting caught up in a murder mystery troubling all of Monstertown… but the mystery doesn't care what she wants, and she's about to discover the darker side of her new world. trans woman MC

A.A. Fairviews TransRightsReadathon Bundle | ebook free

In celebration of the second TransRightsReathon you can grab A Doctor's Touch and Peaceful in the Dark for free. Following a trans masc vampire and queer werewolf- these stories are as sweet as they are sensual. transmasc MC

Bury your Gays & Bound in Flesh | ebook free

Anthology of tragic queer horror & anthology of trans body horror by ghoulish books

The Fealty of Monsters by Ladz | ebook free

Winter 1917. After years on the run from a dangerous cult, twenty-three-year-old Sasza and his father have established themselves among the Odonic Empire’s ruling class. But there’s a problem: Sasza is a vampire, and vampires aren’t supposed to get involved in human governance. What the aristocracy doesn’t know, after all, cannot hurt them. Unfortunately, Sasza is far more involved than a stealth vampire should be. Not only does he work to quell the rumors of the vampires’ responsibility for an unsolved massacre, his lover is also the pro-proletariat Ilya, the Empire’s Finance Minister, who tries to recruit Sasza into the same cult hunting him. Then—the Emperor declares war against the Vampire States. Diplomacy has failed. Sasza quickly learns that he will do anything to preserve peace–including giving in to the monstrosity he spent so many years concealing from even himself. nonbinary MC

Trans Readathon by Wicked Witch Writes | ebook 50% off, $5

Your Body is Not Your Body anthology | ebook $1,99

A centaur seeks illicit surgery in an alien bodily modification club. Two medieval monks react to their transformation and demonic pregnancy in very different ways. A resourceful trans teen destroys sports bigots through the power of pluckiness...and abundant body horror. A stellar cathedral crosses galaxies to dump the corpse of God into a star before the mission devolves into a panoply of psychedelic orgies. A doxxed teen falls victim to violent assault and dishes out some harrowing retribution of their own. Over thirty Trans and Gender Nonconforming creators unite to voice their rage, and the rules of conventional Horror go out the f$%&ing window in this collection featuring murderous pleasure-bots; proselytizing zombies; acid-filled alien cops; science run amok; sorcerers, ghouls, cannibals...and that barely scratches the grave-dirt.

Blood from Stone by Bellamy Scott | ebook PWYW

Hitting a deer while driving a country road is unfortunate, but common enough that no one expects it to re-order the fabric of reality as they know it. For Sam, a rogue stag on a summer night takes his husband, his life, and his name in a single blow. As months of grief pass, he things he's begun to get used to his new reality, until an encounter with a childhood friend changes it all over again. BLOOD FROM STONE is a story of an old lady doing good deeds for bloody boys on the side of the road, of poisoned wine, and of a trans man Becoming Real.

Becoming Light by Riley Nash | ebook free

When people meet me, they see a bright faced, happy-go-lucky kindergarten teacher who will do anything to support his friends. Not everyone knows the struggle I’ve faced to become the man I am today. Now it’s finally time for the gender-affirming surgery I’ve been dreaming of for years. But when an emergency leaves me without a caretaker, the only person who can take me in is my best friend’s aloof, reclusive, and incredibly sexy dad. The one who has no bedside manner and struggles to communicate. The one I’ve had a crush on for years. The deeper we see into each other’s worlds, the stronger the attraction gets. I’m not sure either of us can make it through the next four days without giving in. Trans man MC

TransRightsReadathon Sale by Matthew Zakharuk | ebook 50% off, $2.50

a story of trans transhumanism + a dystopian gothic

#not a poll #mod post #free books #books on sale #transrightsreadathon

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