#i love it but i love the version of it i made in my head LMAO

[hotyanderedaddies]

Yandere Puppy Boy Wants to be Your Good Boy

[Yandere! Puppy Boy! Boyfriend x GN Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

You and Evan have been dating for about a year now. You met in freshman year of college, and seemed to hit it off really well. It kind of amazed you at first that you'd managed to snag a total hunk like Evan.

Evan was the epitome of jock bro: Always working out at the gym, goofing off with his fellow jock friends, and watching tons of sports on TV. Meanwhile, you were a skinny nerd who was at the college on an academic scholarship since you practically lived in the library.

Still, Evan proved to be a great boyfriend. He was funny, attentive, loving-- a total catch. Plus, he was muscular AF!

Then one day, you saw an ad online that sparked your interest, and you couldn't resist purchasing the advertised dog collar that was leather with little spikes adorning it. Once it arrived in the mail, you approached Evan in your shared apartment.

He was on the couch in just his boxers, playing video games. He eyed you, seeing the smirk on your face. "What's up, Babe?" he grunted.

You blushed a little bit. "I just wanted to try something tonight... if you're cool with it?" you asked. Your sex life with Evan was not lacking whatsoever, but it was still healthy to spice things up every now and then.

You pulled the dog collar out from behind your back, holding it up.

At first, Evan laughed. "You want me to wear a dog collar?" he snorted.

"If you don't like it, we can take it off," you shrug, walking up to fasten it around his thick, muscular neck.

The way the leather collar with the spikes fit around Evan's neck made him look really tough, but he felt ridiculous at first. His face was bright red.

You thought he looked kind of cute. "Aww," you cooed, "who's a good boy?" You playfully ruffled his hair.

Good boy...

Something clicked in Evan's brain as soon as you uttered that phrase, and he felt his entire wiring being redone, as if every single instinct he possessed was being reshaped.

Evan's face broke out into a smile alight with zeal, and he dropped onto all fours in front of your feet. "Me!" he happily gushed. "I'm a good boy!"

Holy crap!

You were shocked at how quickly Evan's mind had changed. You weren't sure he'd be into it at all, but looking down at him now, he seemed to be having the time of his life. His muscular pecs heaved with excitement as he sat on all fours in front of you, eagerly awaiting a command. His boxers were already tented out too, damn!

"You're my good boy!" you chuckled as you leaned down and gave your boyfriend some head pats.

"Woof! Woof!" Evan excitedly barked.

That night, he showed you that he was a pro at doggy style, even howling when he came inside of you. The collar was definitely $14 well spent, in your opinion.

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Much to your surprise, Evan loved being a good puppy boy for you. Well... "loved" is probably an understatement.

Evan refused to take the dog collar off, even wearing it out whenever the two of you left the apartment for date nights. At first you thought at it was just him exploring his sexual side some more... but as time went on...

Every time you entered the apartment from work or classes, Evan would excitedly bound over to you on all fours, barking happily and begging for head pats and belly rubs. With his massive bulk, he easily pinned you down, refusing to let you move until he got his pets.

Evan would pin you down on the bed, leaning down to kiss you-- but now his versions of kissing were like puppy licks. He'd lap his tongue all over your face, barking with glee despite your annoyed expression.

You'd be sitting on the couch, trying to watch TV when Evan would crawl over to you (he's been constantly walking around on all fours), wearing nothing but his spiked dog collar. He'd mount your leg and start humping it, whimpering as he rutted his hard cock against you like a dog would against its toy. (You had to apologize to your friend, who was visiting, for the awkward sight.)

You'd be trying to fall asleep after a long shift at work feeling so utterly exhausted when Evan would whimper at the foot of the bed. "Whaaaat?" you'd groan.

"Am I a good boy?" he'd whimper, his voice cracking like an injured puppy's.

"...damn it, yes, Evan. You're a good boy," you'd mutter, getting fed up with this quickly.

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Your friends were starting to pick up on your change of mood, seeing that you were more irritable throughout the day, and not wanting to leave work immediately.

Sensing this, they invited you to the bar after work, to which you happily agreed.

You loved Evan, of course, but you were totally over his new puppy persona. And despite how many times you tried to tell him, all he'd do was tune you out, and beg for pets.

You really needed a break.

"Y/N?" your coworker, Joshua asked, noting how you'd practically downed your cocktail in one gulp. "What's up? What's bothering you?"

You didn't want to be one of those people who go to others whenever you had relationship problems, but you felt lost. "It's just Evan..." you muttered.

Joshua, who was actually a genuine friend who just so happened to be a guy, put a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. "I'm sure things will get better," he smiled at you.

A large part of you felt guilty since you were the one who'd purchased the damn dog collar in the first place, but you couldn't stand the thought of Puppy Evan and having to listen to his barking or him chewing on his squeaker toys for one more night.

Before you could say anything else, a low growl made you jerk back.

Evan stomped into the bar, still wearing the studded collar, his eyes narrowed at Joshua as he bared his teeth at him.

"Grrr..." Evan bellowed out a deep growl, all of his large muscles tensed up, making him look big and ferocious.

Joshua immediately retracted his hand from your shoulder, backing away quickly.

"Evan? What are you...?" you try to ask as your puppy boyfriend wraps a large arm around your waist, pulling you roughly into him.

"Mine!" he barked at Joshua, tightening his grip on you.

You were stunned.

He stopped growling when he looked at you, his eyebrows knitting together as he whimpered. "You didn't come home," he whined, nuzzling you. "I had to come find you."

He didn't give you a chance to respond, and instead threw you over his broad shoulder. He puffed out his chest and held his head up with pride, as a dog does whenever they find a cool stick at the park, and carried you all the way home.

You were mortified, wondering how you were going to show your face at work after that. All you could do was seethe with anger as your puppy boyfriend took you home.

Once you were inside, Evan got down on all fours and whined at you. "Wasn't I being a good boy?" he asked. "Why didn't you come home? I missed you all day!"

"Evan, stand up--"

Evan whimpered like a puppy, nuzzling his head against your hand as he asked for head pats.

That was the final straw for you (a small one, but it was like death by a thousand paper cuts).

"I'm done," you finally huff, walking down the hall so that you could pack up some clothes and leave.

"D-done?" Evan yelped, quickly crawling behind you. "But why? Haven't I been a good boy?"

I grabbed your suitcase out of the closet, trying not to look at your puppy boyfriend as he begged in the doorway, perched on his legs with his arms out in front of him, his eyes wide and pleading.

Annoyed, you turned to sneer at him. "No!" you spat. "You've been a bad boy!"

"I'm a bad boy...?" Evan yelped.

You kept your back to him as you packed up your suitcase. Just as you were almost done, you heard that eerie growl again.

"Grrr..."

You quickly turned around and paled when you saw Evan on all fours, standing in front of the door. He was baring his teeth at you and growling deeply, his chest muscles puffed up and making him look all the more menacing. The pissed off glare on his face was akin to a feral dog, and he snarled in your direction.

"E-Evan, please g-get out of the way," you trembled, taking a small step towards the bedroom door so that you could leave.

Evan barked loudly, stomping his hand/paw onto the floor forcefully as he steeled his stance. He continued to snarl at you, lunging forward to scare you.

It worked and you stumbled back, falling onto your ass. You tried to back away from him, but Evan quickly crawled over to you.

He pinned both of your arms down onto the floor above your head, unleashing a loud snarl and he pushed his angry face up close to yours.

"Am I a good boy?" he snarled, baring his sharp teeth at you. "Or am I still a bad boy?"

Your heart raced in your chest. Evan is much stronger than you, and you knew you couldn't fight him off. Plus, the way he bared his teeth at you and the animalistic growl that escaped his throat was much more dog than man, making you shudder.

"Y-yes!" you stuttered. "You're a good boy, Evan!"

Instantly, Evan stopped growling and his broke out into a joyous smile. "I'm a good boy?" he asked, his muscles tensing with with excitement. He still kept you pinned down.

Hell no!

But you didn't want him to maul you or bite out your neck with his teeth. So instead, you slowly nodded.

"You're the bestest boy," you cringed.

Evan's smile grew wider. "'The Bestest'?" he repeated. "I guess if that were true... then you'd never, ever leave. Right?" He narrowed his eyes at you, trying to gauge your reaction.

His chest rumbled as a growl began to form, warning you to answer correctly.

You force a smile onto your face, but it's pained.

"O-of course not," you stammer, your heart falling as you sealed your fate. "You're... my, *gulp, good boy."

Evan smiled widely as leant down to lap at your face as he gave you puppy kisses. "I'm a good boy," he playfully growled as he began to rut his hardening cock against you.

#yandere boyfriend #yandere boy #yandere x reader #yandere x you #obsessive love #yandere daddy #possessive boyfriend #yandere puppy boy #puppy boy #good boy #yandere good boy

[yandere-romanticaa]

I've had a very fun and fruitful conversation with @allfearstofallto and she had some very strong reactions for a story about yandere Diluc and Tartaglia that has been marinating in my mind for a while now. I'll just give you a brief version of my idea.

You and the 11th Fatui Harbinger are to be wed. With your freedom stripped away from you and with your wedding date fast approaching, you are working tirelessly to escape the Harbinger's grasp.

However, even with your freedom stripped away, even if you have no autonomy on your own, there's an inkling in your heart in which you cannot hate your captor. He is far too kind and gentle towards you, the way in which he treats you makes your heart swell with a plethora of emotions.

But enough is enough.

You need to leave. Fast.

One evening, you act sweeter, more submissive than usual. Your fiancee eats it up and is delighted by this change in attitude. His happiness is evident because now things can proceed without a hitch. Don't worry darling, you won't be anywhere near his work. He'll keep you safe, fed and loved.

All he asks in return is to be in your heart. Love him. Love him, please. It's a hard request, a selfish one even, he knows this.

He can make it up to you. He can and he will.

He promises.

You kiss him in bed, telling him that you understand. Your eyes shift towards the hidden suitcase in the corner as you feel the drugs start to kick in. Tartaglia is fast asleep, and you finally taste the sweetness of freedom.

The man wakes up the next morning in a daze. The bed is empty and cold.

His heart shatters into a million pieces. He roars out your name like a wounded animal, his throat sore and bleeding from the pain.

He must find you.

Meanwhile, you made your way towards the City of Freedom.

You settle in, find a job, a place to live in. It's hard but you manage.

You ignore the lingering presence that you feel behind you when you're alone at night. You're making it all up, you keep telling yourself.

No one is following you.

One evening, you enter a cozy tavern. You order a drink and it is prepared by a handsome, albeit stoic bartender. You manage to get him to open up. He introduces himself as Diluc, the owner of the fine establishment in which you sat in.

How neat.

Due to various different factors, after a short while Diluc takes you in. He is patient and strict. It's an improvement.

You don't know about his ever growing obsession with you. You don't know about the endless sea of portraits he has of you. He keeps it all hidden well under wraps.

Regardless, Diluc is still only human. It's only natural that his jealousy would bubble up and rear in its ugly head from time to time.

Dawn Winery is in a way, forced to attend a massive social gathering. Diplomats from the North are everywhere and, of course, Tartaglia spots you in the crowd.

Even if his eyes were to be plucked out, he would always manage to recognize you.

Tensions rise and the danger of bloodlust reeks in the air. Much to his chagrin, Childe cannot simply just kill Diluc and be done with it.

He is being forced to play Mr Nice Diplomat.

Oh the horror, being stuck between these two.

Now, since this has the potential to be long as fuck, I was thinking of making it into a multiple part story. The best name I could come up with it so far was "A Song of Ice and Fire". I'm open to title names, if someone has better ideas. An important note to add would be that this would be a serious commitment for me as I haven't done a story like this in years. Chapter updates would probably take me a long time due to my job and potential lack of energy, but this idea has been in my brain for years now, which is a clear sign that I'm passionate about it. And, my question is - would you like for me to make this story come to life?

#yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #yandere diluc #genshin impact #♥️ girlie says

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 1

Cowboy!Frankie x OFC

Hi!

I'm really excited to post the first chapter of my new fic after posting a little snippet of it almost a month ago! In it we meet a cowboy version of Frankie as he returns to New York to patch things up with his "maybe girlfriend", but he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

No age gap, OFC story, angsty as fuck in parts, some smut, and I'm putting poor Frankie through hell again (I love him, I swear...)

And a big shout out and thank you to @i-own-loki who made the beautiful banner!

Warnings can be found here - contains spoilers but please read if you know certain themes may be upsetting for you. This fic is dark in parts and I don't want to upset anyone.

Series Master List

Main Master list

Prologue

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sank behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’d left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed. 

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks. 

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind that hurtled down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugging at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in. 

He pressed his thumb to the button with her name, the taxi behind him rolling away down the crowded street. The buzz from the intercom added another layer of noise to the assault on his ears. 

He dropped his hand. 

Waited.

Glanced down the street, letting the tall steel and glass buildings pull his gaze upwards, to the thin sliver of dirty gray sky visible above them. With a sigh he dropped his eyes down, towards the end of the long street, where the buildings seemed to merge into one solid wall. He knew he was looking west, could feel it in his bones, in the way his feet wanted to start walking towards it. Towards the tall mountain range behind his home. 

He pressed his thumb against the button with her name on it again, the buzzer grated his skin. He had a way back, nothing stopping him from hailing a cab, climbing back on the Greyhound and heading west again. 

But she was here. If he wanted to make this work, he needed to be here. 

Chapter One

A wall of warm air hit Frankie as he pulled open the door to the bar, chatter spilling out onto the street. His shoulders pulled up to his ears, the environment uncomfortable to him and he stopped just inside the door, scanning the room for something familiar apart from the smell of stale beer in the air. This bar was the first one he saw that looked like it would maybe serve someone like him, a Texas boy, fresh off the bus from Montana. He’s pretty sure he still has horse dung stuck to the bottom of his cowboy boots, his old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

The door behind him opened again, cold air hitting the nape of his neck under the ball cap. 

“You growing roots, old man?” 

The line is followed by a man snorting and a hand on Frankie’s arm, pushing him to the side. He would snap, bite back with a threatening remark, or at the very least fix the man with his most intimidating soldier scowl. But he just took two steps to the side, his shoulders creeping closer to his ears as he tugged at his cap, the movement unintentional, a nervous habit. He knew he was out of place here, a stranger. 

The young man, a yellow backpack slung over his shoulder and long hair pulled into a bun, shoved his way past Frankie, catching the eye of the woman behind the bar. 

“Hey, dickwad! Behave yourself or I’ll have you barred,” she barked, her eyebrows furrowed as she jabbed her finger at the man and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of apology as he sauntered towards the bar. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snarked, heading towards a loud crowd further in, walking away and ignoring the frown from the woman. She turned her attention to Frankie instead and looked him up and down, an appraising look, before meeting his eyes. 

“You coming or going, cowboy?” 

“Uuh..coming,” he managed to press out, picking up his feet and walking to the bar. He felt heat creep up his neck at being so easily pegged as a cowboy, an out of towner, swallowing down the urge to turn on his heel and bolt out the door. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and the woman behind it gave him a smile, setting down a coaster with a flick of her wrist. 

“What can I get you? You look like you’ve traveled far.” 

“Just a beer, thanks,” he said and she gave him a softer smile, pity flashing across her face. 

“This is Brooklyn, cowboy, I’ve got twenty beers on tap and forty in bottles,” she said and he felt fatigue set in, can’t even order a normal fucking beer in this city. He sighed deeply, dropping his head between his shoulders. But the woman just chuckled in a low voice, tapping her hand on the bar just in front of him. 

“Don’t despair, I’m a good bartender, I know what you’ll like.” 

He picked up his head as she stepped away, grabbed a glass, and moved to a tap further down the bar. Shooting him a quick grin, she began to pull the pint, amber liquid filling the glass, topping off with a creamy white head. He watched her from under the bill of his cap, shouldn’t really appraise her, but he couldn't help it. The fitted jeans on her curves, and the faded bar uniform shirt tied at the waist instead of tucking it in, made his eyes drop down over her ass in a way a man trying to save his relationship with another woman should avoid. And she clocked him, checking her out when she turned towards him again, making him snap his eyes to his hands on the bar. Heat crept up his neck as he rubbed the small bullseye tattoo next to his thumb. 

“Amber ale from a local brewery three blocks from here,” she said and placed the pint on the mat in front of him. 

“Thanks,” he replied, watching the bubbles rise to the bottom of the head, “looks good.” 

“One of my favorites, I’ve always had a soft spot for amber ale,” she nodded, picking up a cloth and returning to the never ending duty of cleaning glasses. 

Frankie picked up the glass and took a long sip, humming as the ale slipped down his throat. 

“Damn,” he said, “that’s good, that’s really good.” 

“Told you,” the woman smiled at him and he gave her a quick smile in return before he took another sip. 

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she moved around the bar, clean glasses getting wiped and stacked. Clearly a newcomer to the city, she’d called him ‘cowboy’ and he hadn’t protested, the boots and the duffel bag giving him away, even before she saw his uneasy eyes roam around the bar and his nervous shuffle. She’s used to assessing anyone who stepped in through the door, the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who are only coming to make trouble. 

This man was one of the quiet ones, she doesn’t think he’s loud even when he’s in his own element, surrounded by friends. 

As he took another long drink from his pint, she turned and picked up glass, catching his eyes on her. She smiled warmly at him, wanting to make him feel welcome, at least in this bar. The city outside is usually brutal to newcomers, and this one seemed to carry more of a burden than most. 

“So you’re new to the city?” she asked him, moving back to his side of the bar, pushing long strands of ginger red hair back behind her ears before wiping another glass. 

“Yeah, came in on the bus a few hours ago,” he replied and she nodded. He doesn’t look like he flew into the city, he’s got the tired face of someone who's spent too many hours leaning against a window, watching the Midwest slip past. But underneath the tired eyes there’s a warmth, a softness in the way he gives her a small crooked smile that makes a dimple appear on his right cheek. 

“Spent two fucking days on it,” he sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face before he lifted his cap and swept his thick curls back. She was temporarily mesmerized by how they bounced back around his ears as he squashed the cap back down. 

“Two days? Where did you come from, Texas?” she asked, her eyes widening at the thought of spending two whole days on a bus, but he shook his head. 

“No, I think Texas is like three days, I came from Montana,” he took another long drag of his beer. 

“I’m guessing this isn’t a weekend trip then”, she quipped, putting down the cloth, all the glasses done, and leaned back on the counter behind her. There’s more work to be done but the stranger chuckled softly at her joke and it pulled her in, making her smile in return. 

“No, I’m here to stay with someone, my..ah-a friend, of sorts,” he said, “Gonna see if I can find some work around here, try a different type of life.” 

“What do you do?” she asked, “Maybe I know someone who knows someone, that’s usually how it works here.” 

“Back in Montana I work with horses, on a ranch,” he replied, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on the beer glass, “Before that, I was a mechanic, cars, helicopters, anything really, I can usually fix it.” 

“That’s a pretty handy skill,” she replied, sounding impressed and he gave a little shrug, as if the ability to fix helicopters was something inconsequential, “I’m sure you’ll find work, especially if you can fix old cars, lots of those around here.” 

She turned and grabbed a notepad from next to the till, “What’s your name and number? I’ll keep it on hand and ask around for you.” 

“Really?” He sounded surprised as he sat up a bit straighter, “Uh yeah, I’m Frankie, Frankie Morales.” 

“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” she smiled back at him and slid the notepad across the bar, “Write it down, and your number. I can’t promise anything, and I’m not recommending you to anyone, I’ll just let them know you’re looking for work.” 

“Yeah, sure, of course, but anything helps,” he replied, grabbing the pen and jotting down his information. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, as he passed the notepad back to her. 

“Aisling,” she replied, slipping it in next to the till again. 

“Do you own this place,” he asked, looking around the bar. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head. 

“No, not at all, I’m just the bartender,” she said, “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna serve these guys.”  She gave him a quick smile and headed down the bar to two men who had just sat down. 

Frankie watched her as she took their orders, smiling and laughing easily as she pulled a beer for one of them. The men, her age, are both hanging on to her every word as she makes a joke,  the blonde one clapping the other one on the shoulder with a loud howl. She winked at him and turned, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf to serve the other man. As she stood on her tiptoes, stretching to reach, her shirt rose up, a soft sliver of creamy skin exposed in the dim light of the bar. Frankie couldn’t help but stare at the glimpse black underwear peeking out above the edge of her jeans, a flash of lace, his mouth suddenly dry as his cock reacted. He dipped his head, but couldn't keep his eyes away, she swayed on her tiptoes, refusing to get the stepladder and her breasts pressed against the shirt as it rode up higher. Frankie had an image of her underneath him, all that soft flesh, warm and smooth under his rough palms, sweet smelling and whimpering.  

She managed to slide the bottle off the shelf and grab a glass. Frankie peeled his eyes away, looking down at the now empty pint in his hands, pressed his thumb into the tattoo, forcing his thoughts in another direction. At the end of the bar, Aisling rang up the customers’ order and wiped down the bar before coming back towards him. 

“Do you want another?” she asked, nodding towards the empty glass. Frankie considered it for a beat and then shook his head. He wanted a clear head when he went back to the apartment, he needed to say the right things to save the relationship with the woman who lived there. He already knew that not even in his head could he bring himself to call her ‘girlfriend’, he’s far from sure that’s what she is anymore, not with the way they left it. 

“No, I can’t,” he said, “It was good though, what do I owe you?” 

“Fourteen fifty,” Aisling replied and he tried not to cough at the price as he pulled his wallet from the back of his jeans. 

She took his bills and he left her a tip on the bar that she deposited in the tip jar with a smile. 

“Uhm…tell me,” Frankie said, absentmindedly tugging at his cap, “Do I really look that much like a cowboy?” 

Aisling’s smile softened as she heard his nervous question, “Well…yeah, the cowboy boots are kinda a give away,” she replied, “It doesn’t exactly look like it’s a fashion choice, and the whole jeans, suede jacket, belt buckle look…” She motioned over his body as Frankie’s eyes dropped down to his jeans and belt, hidden from view by the counter. 

“You’re good,” he said, a small chuckle escaping him, “You got all that just from when I came in?” 

“Tricks of the trade,” she replied, “I need to know who steps into the bar and read them quickly.” 

“So you assessed me as soon as I walked in? What else did you pick up on?” He was curious now and leaned forward on the counter as she laughed. 

“Well, I’m cheating because we’ve been talking for a bit now. But you do look ‘new in town’ and I’d say ex-army maybe?”

“I guess the duffel bag gave it away?” Frankie smiled, glancing down at the old bag at his feet. 

“No, they’re ten dollars at the army surplus stores,” Aisling replied, shaking her head, “But you sat down with your back against a corner, and I bet you can tell me exactly where the exits are and how many people are in here and which ones could give you trouble.” 

Frankie raised his eyebrows in surprise at her and she shrugged. 

“You’ve been scanning the room since you walked in.” 

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” he replied, letting his eyes roam across the room again, it’s instinct at this point, inherited from years in the army, “I quit the army years ago but it’s a habit I can’t seem to drop.” 

“What did you do? Mechanic?” Aisling asked and Frankie shook his head. 

“Helicopter pilot, which means I had to be able to fix anything, but mainly I flew things, anything really.” 

Aisling gave him a closer second look and the pieces fell into place, his quiet demeanor, the way he held himself, not exactly folded in on himself, but as if he was  trying to stay unseen and not be noticed unless he wanted to be. A strong, solid body gone slightly soft with age, betrayed by the gray in his beard and hair, small white scars across his knuckles, evidence of old injuries.

“What?” he asked as he noticed her eyes scanning him. 

“Just building the picture,” she said, a small crooked smile, “You know us bartenders, always trying to figure out the story of our patrons.” 

“Not much of a story,” he said, tugging at his cap and hiding his eyes, “just new in town, looking for work.” 

“Everyone has a story, Frankie Morales.” 

He shrugged at that and fumbled for his phone as it began to ring. Aisling gave him a quick smile and stepped away to let him answer in private. 

Frankie’s jaw ticked as he saw the name on the screen, Eva. He’s been expecting her to call since he left her front door. Their front door, maybe. The truth is, he doesn’t know where they stand anymore. They’d met in Florida, after a doomed mission to South America that left so much pain inside him, and a rift between old friends. She’d been a calming presence, someone who seemed to have his back when his mind spiraled out of control. But she hadn’t been enough, being in Florida became oppressive, and it wasn’t just the humid heat. The old haunts from the days he’d spent trying to numb his brain with white powder, bars and venues filled with memories of the friends he’d lost, both those who’d died and those who still lived, it all became claustrophobic. 

When Herb, his sponsor at the NA, first invited him to the ranch in Montana he’d scoffed at the idea. He was a pilot, not a ranch hand. But after a close call, nearly falling back into the habit, he’d taken him up on the offer and gone out there for two weeks. Herb had convinced him by talking about the clear, cool air making it easy to breathe, the open sky making the mind feel less claustrophobic. And he’d been right. The first evening they’d sat on the porch, the mountains at their back, the open prairie in front, and Frankie had looked up at the endless sky and it was almost as if he was back in a cockpit, flying close to the stars. Nothing encroached on his mind, no buzz in his ears, nothing tugged at his memories, just the open sky and an endless horizon. 

The two weeks of hard ranch work, aching muscles, blistered hands, sealed the deal. If he wanted to truly start over, he needed to leave Florida and come here. 

Eva had been enthusiastic at first, pulled in by Frankie’s talk of the horses, a new foal that had just been born, the small cabin they’d live in. He’d shared the pictures he’d taken, all rustic beams, sturdy wood furniture and a hammock on the porch. It looked like a romantic western dream and that’s what they both really thought it would be. And for the first few months they were happy. 

But when Frankie found peace and calm in the solitude of the isolated ranch, felt free and unrestricted, she began to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. The nearest town, a forty-five minute drive away, didn’t offer much of anything. She found work online and began to resent the life he’d trapped her in. That was the word she’d used, trapped. When the fights became a daily occurrence, Frankie felt the familiar itch of wanting to escape come back. Starting, as always, in his feet and crawling up his body until he spent more time out on the ranch than in the cabin. And for every hour he stayed away, Eva resented their life more, resented him more. 

Until eventually, one late evening when he came back after five days on the trails with a group of guests from a neighboring ranch, she’d left. Only a note saying she’d accepted a position in New York with the company she worked for. A line about needing a different type of life, no invitation to come with her, to follow her, just signed /E and that was it. 

He’d called her, spent hours on the phone when she eventually picked up, begged her to come back. Offered to move to a ranch closer to a bigger town, find a compromise where he could still have the peace of the ranch life, but let her live her life too. But she loved New York, after the silent cabin, she craved the noise and the tempo of the city. 

Eventually he agreed to come to New York, to see her new life and maybe find a place in it. But the city was an assault on his senses after so long on the ranch. The peace that his spiraling mind had finally found evaporated as he navigated the city, the metro, her friends, the bars. His feet itched, the skin around his nails was picked raw and he felt on edge, even in the apartment, his mind never getting a chance to be quiet. 

Eva called it his need for control, to always have a plan of escape, a way out. He knew it was the years in the army that had shredded his sense of safety, left his nerves ragged and too exposed to the mundane background noise of a city. Maybe he’d be able to deal with it some day, but now, he needed the silence. 

After two months in Brooklyn, he left. A loose promise from both of them to maybe try to patch things up, to try the long distance thing. But when he sent a text, saying he’d returned safely to the ranch, and she didn’t reply for two days, he knew it was over. And he didn’t miss her. He had loved her at some point, he thinks. But their lives didn’t match, their needs too different. And he saw that he should maybe not be with anyone while he laid down the foundations of a new life in a new place. He needed to find a way to live with himself, in silence, before he considered sharing his darkest sides with someone else. 

And then Eva called. Six weeks after he’d left Brooklyn. He could hear the heavy traffic behind her as she walked down a street somewhere, leaving a clinic that had confirmed what she’d suspected. 

“I’m pregnant, Frankie, and it’s yours.” 

The words floored him, sent a sharp jolt of dread through his system, his feet tingling, then his scalp. A baby. In New York. But his baby, their child. And the dread was replaced by nerves, how would they do this? Would she want to raise the baby in New York or come back to Montana? He had space for a child here, a guest bedroom with a view of the mountains. It would be a perfect nursery, he could paint it, build a crib with Herb’s help, the nearby town was a good place to raise a family when the child was old enough to begin school. Without even stopping to think, he built a new life around the unborn child. 

Or hell, even New York, he’d make himself put up with New York if that was what she wanted. The apartment only had one bedroom but maybe they could move further out, get a bigger place. He could renovate pretty much anything, he was sure of it. Maybe they could find a quiet neighborhood with trees, where his mind could find peace even in the city. Without even stopping, he built another new life around his, their, unborn child. 

“I don’t know if I’m keeping it, but I wanted to tell you.” 

Eva’s voice had been hard, letting him know that she was doing him a favor by telling him, letting him be part of it. 

“I’ll come to New York, I’ll get a bus today,” Frankie pleaded, “Let’s talk this through, a few more days won’t make a difference.” 

She’d conceded, and he’d thrown stuff into the old duffel bag, left a message with Herb, and driven to the crossroads where the Greyhound stopped. 

Now he was here, in a Brooklyn bar, looking down at her name on his phone as he pressed the green button to answer. 

Chapter 2

A/N: And we're off! I'm so nervous, I really hope you all will love this and follow along as I explore this new version of Frankie! I hope to post a new chapter every Sunday so fingers crossed life doesn't get in the way too much!

❤

Tagging the ususal suspects: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @casa-boiardi

#frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier

[emoreemadden]

can u make a gojo fanfic where he like abuseive when he comes home to their apartment bc hes stressed out about a meeting and stuff so like he abiuses the reader while she tries to welcome him home but she starts crying infront of him but tries to hide it and goes back to making dinner then gojo go takes a shower and thinks abt it then feels bad and gets out of the shower and realises the reader made him his favorite meal and feels emevn more bad and goes to apologize also make version with no smut and one with smut pleaseee thankz

😃 oh…

anyways yeah here you go pookie <3

Outline: Gojo isn’t trying to hurt you. It was an accident, swear.

Content Warnings: abuse, fem!reader, gojo hits reader, domestic violence, slight degradation (reader doesn’t enjoy it 😭), gojo yells at reader, use of “baby,” and “my love,” as petnames

Featuring: Gojo Satoru, fem!reader

A/N: this is the non smut one. word count: 743. btw, i don’t condone actual violence or domestic abuse yall 😭 if any of this feels familiar to you, help is available. national domestic violence hotline: [phone].

────────────────────────

You jump up from your seat on the couch as soon as you hear the doorknob jiggle. “You’re home!” you exclaim as your boyfriend opens the door.

You quickly run over to him, an inviting smile on your face, but he just stands at the door with an irritated expression on his face.

“Yep.” He says, tone clipped. You pause a few feet in front of him. “Is something wrong? Do you need a hug?” You ask, carefully stepping toward him.

Satoru stares at you for a good second, his eyes narrowing. “I’m fine.” He mumbles.

“Are you sure?” you pry, about to touch his bicep when he grabs your wrist. “Jesus, could you just give me a moment of peace for once?” He snaps, his grasp on your wrist tightening.

You flinch. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” suddenly, a sharp sting spreads on your cheek. You look at Satoru, feeling your face smarting.

“Shut up, goddamnit!” He yells, roughly letting go of your hand as your eyes begin to tear up. “I swear, you’re trying to get on my nerves. What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

You blink in shock, your cheek reddening from the impact of the slap. Tears begin to fall from your eyes and you hold back a sob. The entire house falls into silence as the two of you stand there.

He watches you try to wipe the tears from your eyes, suddenly feeling the guilt swell in his chest. Why did he do that?

You sniffle, looking away from his gaze and pausing. “I’m sorry.” You whisper. “I’ll go finish making dinner.”

Satoru sighs, calming himself. He reaches to put his hand on your shoulder and calm you down, but you’re turning around and walking to the kitchen before he can apologize.

He can almost feel tears in his eyes, realizing what he’d done to you. Nevertheless, he watches you walk away in complete silence.

The whole scene replays in his head as he walks into the bedroom, hands in his hair and tugging from frustration. You were just trying to help him, and he hurt you like that. Another pang of guilt fills his body.

He’d had a bad day at work, everything was stressing him out. He hadn’t meant to hit you like that. He didn’t think.

Gojo rubs his temples as he strips his clothes and hops in the shower, hoping he could cool off and come back to talk to you later.

About thirty minutes later, Gojo dries himself off and walks into the living room. “Baby?” he calls out. You peek out from the kitchen.

“Toru?” you say softly, blinking at Gojo with a nervous expression. He gives you an apologetic smile.

“You okay?” He asks, walking toward you and stopping just a few feet in front of you. You simply nod a little.

“I made dinner.” You say, looking at the table covered with food. Gojo follows suit, looking over at the meal you made and immediately feeling even more guilt and regret then before.

“You made my favourite?” he asks, looking at you tenderly. You nod meekly again. He sighs.

“I’m sorry, baby.” he spoke quietly, as if afraid he’s scare you at a louder volume. You stayed silent as he stepped closer and placed a hand on your cheek.

Gently, he speaks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just stressed. Work sucked, and I just didn’t think. I’m so so sorry.”

Your eyes tear up just a little bit, but you nod. “I just wanted to help you.” you tell him. He nods understandingly. “I know, baby.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls you close to his chest. “I love you so much.” he whispers against your hair, holding you close.

You don’t move for a second, but ease into it eventually. You bury yourself into his warm embrace as his arms wrap around you protectively.

“I swear, it was an accident. I’ll never do it again.” he promises. He interlaces his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it.

“Okay, I believe you. Do you want to eat now?” You ask, looking up at him with a hopeful glint in your eye.

He grins back. “Of course, my love.” He says, guiding you to the table and sitting you down on his lap.

“And if you’d like, I can have you for desert.”

#jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #romance #dark romance #tw abuse #cw abuse

[marzipanandminutiae]

okay but another thing I like about my favorite movie is the masterful melding of practical effects and CGI

it was made in 2014! they could have CGI'd way more! but instead they BUILT THIS ENTIRE JACOBEAN MANSION INTERIOR ON A SOUNDSTAGE?!

(that shot is from a deleted scene where Thomas was supposed to see one of the ghosts. no, it's never clear which one, at least in the version that got filmed and edited)

the utilities all worked. every single piece of furniture, drapery, wallpaper, artwork...that was all real and physically present in the space

the ghosts were real people in costumes, augmented with CGI afterwards for transparency and such:

(Doug Jones or Javier Botet- I forget which one -in costume as the ghost of Margaret McDermott. who died of massive head trauma, hence the greenscreen skull section)

(Tom Hiddleston in his ghost makeup/costume)

I just. hnnnnng. I love it so much in so many ways, and the fact that so much wasn't CGI- or wasn't JUST CGI at least -makes it feel so much more real, IMO

#crimson peak #gif #but I will forever be pouring one out for the Allerdale Hall set. which was destroyed after filming #should have brought it back to Universal Studios and made it a walk-through museum of the Universal Horror franchise. and yet.

[theminecraftbee]

How do you think Three would feel about season 10?

man so. okay the thing is that by season 10 things have probably butterfly effected so hard off of the beaten path that i have no idea if three would have much season 10 as they know it.

for example: season 10 starts with demise. would three... even have done demise? probably not in its early days of hermitcraft, right, like, that's a game grian would design but that i think three would be a little more hesitant to start up. a game about killing people in a fashion with Rules and Creativity is something three could thrive with, sure, and i like to imagine three takes inspiration from like, cleo's head games to come up with a version of demise it ends up enjoying, maybe? but like, even that element is hard to say WOULD happen.

if we go with "season 10's haunted water is an inherent element of the season", i could fully see three getting wrapped up in the fishing thing, because three is very stubborn and if it gives itself a mission of "fish up a mending book" it WILL do that. it would not try to start a cult about it or build a secret chamber but i think it would make like, a mending book spreadsheet or something equally deranged but in a less "big temple" way and in more of "three is the kind of person who made a family tree of sheep with jimmy" way.

i do think a difference between three and grian is that three just. doesn't strike me as particularly possessable. it wouldn't become obsessed with the ocean in the way grian did i think. i think it would like, fixate on the mending book, get it, go "that was stupid", and... i could SEE three liking fishing a lot actually, but less in a "getting possessed" way and more in a "it's a relatively low-simulation activity and also it gets to kill something" way, lol.

anyway i think a really interesting thing here is that three... would not do the permit office. like three Would Not Understand the bit of being purposefully unhelpful. even many years out from being three, the weapon, and instead being three, the person, i think three never QUITE stops finding it sort of inherently frustrating to intentionally do a task wrong. three tends more towards malicious compliance when it doesn't like doing something, but like, fully would love tedious paperwork. additionally, okay, maybe by season 10 three is a bit more likely to take charge fully, but i sort of suspect cub would end up the permit spearhead, not three. three would love the concept of the structure permits provide! three would not inherently like being the person in charge of the permits.

actually this gets into one of the more fundamental differences in personality between three and grian: grian likes being in charge of things but hates and avoids responsibility. three is a bit uncomfortable being in charge of things, but is perfectly comfortable with responsibility and will even take responsibility for things it technically doesn't have to. and at their CORE grian and three both have this supremely type-a thing going on but they express it in nearly opposite ways and i suspect this would be one of the main ways they'd clash, honestly.

but all of that is to say: three would not do the permit office bit, but WOULD like the permits. they provide a Structure to how shops work that three would appreciate and i think by season ten i could see three having gotten into the art of Ruthless Capitalism because it's sort of like killing people except instead you take their money. (three describes it this way back in season seven after etho takes it under his wing and etho wheezes and tells three to never let go of that. anyway.)

so that's just some of my thoughts on season ten with three this is a FUN QUESTION thank you!

#answered #solving counting sheep talk

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Peapod (The Surprise, Part 6)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: pregnancy times, established relationship, fluff on fluff on fluff, some fairly innocent references to breasts, the most wholesome BAU content, platonic love/found family 4ever Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: You and Emily are finally ready to tell the BAU your good news, so you invite everyone over for a dinner party. Celebrations ensue.

A Note on Timeline: In my head and in this fic, we're forever stuck in the Elite Team era of the BAU (Unit Chief Hotch, Morgan, Rossi, Garcia, JJ, Reid, Emily).

Week 13: The Peapod

“What did you say this was called?” Rossi asked you, dipping a hunk of cornbread into his stew.

Light music played from the record player in the corner, and the sounds of people enjoying good food and good company surrounded you. You and Emily had invited the whole team over for dinner. Emily was dying to tell them about the baby, but she’d wanted you to be there, too. This was, you knew, Emily’s version of sharing the news with her family, especially since her mom hadn’t been very enthusiastic. The BAU was her family, and you were her family, and she loved when her two worlds collided.

“Brunswick stew,” you answered, putting a few pieces of ice in Jack’s and Henry’s bowls as you ladled so that it wouldn’t be too hot.

“Thank you much.” Will nodded at you, grinning. “Been a while since I had Brunswick stew.”

“Us southerners gotta stick together up here, right?” You placed little slices of cornbread at the corner of their bowls. “You and JJ and Henry should come over for brunch sometime. I’ll make you biscuits and gravy.”

“We’d love that,” he said warmly, settling Henry in his seat before taking his own.

“You know, Brunswick stew may have originated in either Brunswick County, Virginia, or Brunswick, Georgia, but nobody knows which one.”

You shook your head. Of course Spencer knew the origins of Brunswick stew.

He kept going, tearing bits of cornbread and sprinkling them on top of his bowl. “Originally the stew would have been made with squirrel, rabbit, or possum meat. It cooks so long that it was ideal for tenderizing wild game.”

The room went silent. You passed behind Spencer carrying your own bowl and patted him on the shoulder.

“No squirrels here, though,” you assured them. “Just pulled pork from Hill Country.”

You settled in your seat next to Emily, Derek on your other side, and looked around for a moment, smiling. You were so thankful for these people. Thankful that they took care of each other so well, that they took care of Emily so well. They did such difficult work, but they got through it together. They really were like family. Overlapping conversations washed over you, and you were content to just listen for a while.

After dinner, everyone sprawled across the apartment, conversing happily. You were standing and talking to Penelope about the new Zelda game when Emily came over and took your hand. It was time. She grinned at you, and there were no nerves, only excitement. You gave her the slightest of nods, and she tapped her wine glass.

The conversation trickled to a stop as everyone looked to Emily.

“So we actually have some news,” she started, looking at you and squeezing your hand. “Y/N and I are, uh… we’re having a baby.”

Jaws dropped and huge smiles broke out.

“What!?” Penelope squealed excitedly, wrapping both of you in a bear hug. She was echoed by the whole team’s congratulations, happy calls of “Wow!” and “Congrats!” and general sounds of happiness, even a few scattered claps.

“Which one of you’s carrying?” Rossi asked.

Spencer answered before you could. “It’s Y/N. You can tell because she’s gained weight around the face and also because her breasts are significantly bigger to prepare for breastfeeding.”

“Spence!” JJ exclaimed, smacking his arm. A happy roar of laughter broke out, and you blushed beet red.

“Reid, can we not talk about my wife’s boobs, please?” Emily chastised, but you could tell she was overjoyed. This was the reaction Emily deserved from her family. You were so glad she was finally getting it.

Hugs were given all around and happy mumblings took over the room as you and Emily were swarmed for conversations and congratulations.

Rossi put his arm around your shoulder and squeezed. “I’m happy for you kids,” he said, placing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Thanks, Dave,” you said, smiling at him.

Penelope swallowed you up in another hug. “I am so excited!” she gushed. “You and Emily are gonna be the best, most kickass moms, and we’ll have another little BAU baby! Have you all been clothes shopping yet!? Can I come!? Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?!”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Well, Emily’s pretty sure it’s a boy, but that’s based purely on her ‘profile,’ so it’s still up in the air.”

“Ugh, profilers, am I right?” Penelope groaned, commiserating with you.

JJ and Will came over to offer their congratulations, too, hugging you tightly.

“It’s the greatest gift,” Will told you. “There’s nothing like it in the world.”

“How far along are you?” JJ asked.

“Thirteen weeks.”

“Second trimester,” she observed, nodding.

“Yeah, thank god,” you said, chuckling. “Morning sickness kicked my ass.”

JJ laughed, then shuddered. “Oh, I remember. Is Emily taking good care of you?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “The best. She’s amazing. I couldn’t do it without her.”

“Well, I’ll try to keep her home as much as I can,” JJ told you with a wink.

“Thanks, JJ.” You squeezed her hand.

“And, you know, if you need anything, we’re here,” she added. “Even if it’s just to call and talk about the shitty parts of being pregnant.”

You groaned, but smiled. “Please. And thank you. Emily’s here and she’s great, but…”

“It’s different when it’s your body.”

“Yeah. It is.”

Reid came to stand awkwardly between you and JJ. You were all silent for a moment before Spencer blurted, “I’m sorry I talked about your breasts.”

You and JJ burst out laughing.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” you assured him, patting his back.

“I’m really happy for you both,” he said, so straightforward, so awkward and sincere. You loved that about him.

You noticed Hotch standing off to the side, waiting his turn to speak with you, and excused yourself to join him.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” he said, smiling softly, wrapping you in a quick hug. Hugs were rare for Hotch, and you felt honored to be a recipient.

“Thank you,” you said, and you really meant it. You stood in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the team gather around Emily, smiling and laughing. You beamed at her. She looked so happy. You loved seeing her happy. You loved seeing her loved as deeply and as well as her team loved her.

“I hope you know,” Hotch ventured, his voice serious. “That I do everything I can to make sure she comes back home to you safely.”

“I know,” you said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Thank you, Hotch.”

The last to approach you was Derek, and he had already known. Emily had told him just a few days earlier, swearing him to secrecy until the dinner party.

He smirked at you, pulling you into him for a hug. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed.

There weren’t any words needed, not with you and Derek. He was Emily’s best friend. He was over for dinner or video games or a movie at least a few times a month. He was like a brother to her. And, therefore, he was like a brother to you, too.

You both watched Emily, who was showing the rest of the team a photo of a peapod to illustrate the baby’s size. Her face was alight, her cheeks tinged pink with joy and probably a little too much wine. God, you loved her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Prentiss so excited.”

“Me neither.”

Derek looked down at you, smiling. “You know she loves you more than anything, right?”

You nodded, feeling so happy you thought you might cry. “I know.”

“She picked good,” he said, his arm around your shoulder.

“Are you gonna be Uncle Derek?” you asked him. You hadn’t talked about it with Emily, but you were sure she’d be on board.

“Girl, I better be Uncle Derek.”

You laughed and rested your hand over your belly, your heart full. This baby was going to be so, so loved.

Later that night, Emily crawled into bed next to you, flopping onto her back and grinning like an idiot.

“Happy?” you asked, eyes shining as you stared at her.

She exhaled deeply, her tongue pushing at her bottom lip then, so quickly it took your breath away, flipped over and kissed you. It was a happy kiss, a light kiss, a kiss that wasn’t quite a kiss because you both were smiling and laughing so much.

“You make me happy,” she said, her hands gently cupping your face. You pecked her on the lips once more before her nose crinkled up in a smile and she fell to your side, wrapping an arm around your waist and laying her head on your chest.

You held her close and kissed the top of her head, running your fingers through her hair. So soft, like it was running water. It wasn’t often that Emily let you hold her, and it was even less often that she initiated it. So you held her tight, taking advantage of the rare and beautiful moment. Maybe it would become less rare, you thought. Maybe the little peapod was making Emily go soft. She already was, of course, but she had a hard time admitting it, showing it.

“You deserve to be happy,” you told her as she drew lazy circles on your stomach with her fingers. “You deserve people who love you.”

She was quiet for a while, and when she finally replied, her voice was barely above a whisper. “You really think so?”

You kissed her head a few more times for good measure. “I do.”

Emily took your hand and kissed your palm, holding onto it and twisting your wedding ring back and forth. Neither you nor Emily said anything else, and you didn’t need to. Everything unsaid had already been said, time and time again, year after year. All the words of love and dedication and admiration–you’d said them so often that sometimes the silence simply spoke for you. And sometimes you just held each other and let it.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #bau team #bau #bau fanfic #bau x fem!reader

[lenetaylor]

John Lennon's collage "for" Paul

I was very curious about the collage image going around tumblr (e.g., here, here, and here) that was identified as being made "for Paul" and titled "I Only Have Eyes for You", and done by John Lennon "at art school". Here it is; I scanned this from Julian Lennon's book Beatles Memorabilia: The Julian Lennon Collection (by Brian Southall and Julian Lennon, 2010)

You can see that Paul has written at the bottom "J.L. Collage - To Julian - love Paul x".

The book caption reads

A distinct and original collage of faces and bodies dedicated to Julian from Paul. It was created by John and given to Paul.

But the first time this previously unseen collage surfaced was in 2000. It was included in a show held by artist Peter Blake at the Tate Liverpool, called About Collage.

An article in The Independent at the time says

A John Lennon collage never seen in public is to feature in an exhibition that opens 30 years ago to the day the Beatles split... Lennon's collage, done at art school in the 1950s, comprises faces and figures cut from magazines, and features a number of eyes and lips pasted on images of girls. Blake said: "The style tied in with my Sgt Pepper's album cover, which was simply a more organised version, with bigger heads." Natalie Rudd, who helped curate the exhibition, said: "No one really knows much about Lennon's collage. … It has no title and is rather dark, with a lot of black and red and we can only guess at what he was trying to say."

In this 2009 Guardian article, Blake says,

By then I knew that Paul McCartney owned a collage that John Lennon had done, so I borrowed that. Paul also made a sound collage of Liverpool, and he made an artwork too.

Another quote from Eye Magazine in 2000:

He hopes to borrow an unseen art school collage by John Lennon, owned by Paul McCartney.

There was a book produced to accompany the show, called Peter Blake: About Collage (2000). The collage is reproduced in the book:

The credit reads "John Lennon 1940-1980, Untitled, late 1950s, Paper collage, 970 x 675mm, Private Collection". It does not have the handwritten note by Paul at the bottom.

Peter Blake's comments say:

I have followed Paul McCartney's career as an artist, so when About Collage emerged, I suggested that he made a collage, perhaps from sound, which he has pursued. John Lennon made a collage at art school during the late 1950s which is included in the show.

Paul did make a sound collage for the show, and released it as an album called Liverpool Sound Collage; some of it is on YouTube. (There used to be a website for it, long gone now, but you can see bits of it at the Internet Archive). Here's his artwork, titled The World, mentioned by Blake above (the central image is a back and white photo of Jerry Lewis):

So, to summarize:

The collage does NOT have an official title. I don't know where the "I Only Have Eyes for You" title came from

It's not clear that the collage was made for Paul specifically, only that it was given to Paul, date unknown

It's not clear if the collage Paul gave to Julian is the original or a copy

It seems unlikely that it was made at art school, as some of the images are of women in classically mid-1960s clothes and hairstyles. The only source for the date of composition seems to be Paul

It's not stated who gave the collage to Paul - it might have been John, but it could easily have been Julia or Yoko (or even Cyn?)

Paul's artwork was NOT made for John

PS. I looked through the book Paul McCartney: Paintings but the collage isn't mentioned.

PPS. I tried doing some image searches on the clearer photos of women in the collage, but got no results. Perhaps someone else will have better luck.

#john lennon #paul mccartney #the beatles #collage

[weaselle]

you know something i love about Terry Pratchett's trolls?

yes they are written very very dumb, for laughs, for instance most trolls can only count as high as "lots" (which is four. Troll counting goes: one, two, many, lots) and we all get a good giggle out of the stupid way they think and talk...

but because of the way he wrote his troll lore, under the right circumstances, trolls are actually far more intelligent than almost anybody else.

And there's something about the way, idk, it's just... i act stupid a lot of the time. Because i get lost in my head and distracted by ten thousand things, and given more than a split second to consider things i'll overthink and second guess my second guesses... but i know that i'm quite smart really.

And there are plenty of people who even more acutely experience some version of being treated like they are dumb while being, in fact, very intelligent if their particular needs are met.

and i just love that these trolls, often the butt of the joke and by far the most comically stupid of Terry Pratchett's fantasy races... when in the circumstances they are made for... turn out to be geniuses. There is something so poetic and cosmically Just, to have that be true. To have them actually be the most intelligent out of everybody if only you put them in the right environment.

#terry pratchett #fantasy #trolls #it's because pratchett's trolls are made of stone and their brains are made of silicon #so if you put them in a freezer or up in the mountains where they evolved the cold turns their brains into super conductors #and they can think at high speed/capacity

[r0-boat]

Ok I've gotta ask. What the hell is "what in hell is bad?"?? I've literally never heard of it til you stated posting stuff about it, and I'm finally breaking down and asking what the fuck it is.

I am so lost y'all I swear

Ok! What in hell is bad is a 18+ otome game made by the same people who made love unholyc

Were your great great peepaw was so sexy that the demons he rizzed up also think you're sexy.

The game has unfortunate English translation, and the plot is pretty much a war against Angels after God disappeared. The Lore and plot is actually pretty interesting until they smack you over the head with horny shit

(which I mean... It's a fucking adult game)

You summon demon husbands it's a tower defense like playstyle.

The game isn't really that serious with lots of dirty jokes a lot of dialogue to make you say "wtf"

The fan base is pretty small at the moment just like in the good old days of obey me and in my personal opinion has a lot of potential.

Here's the website if you want to learn more

The game is on the app store if you want to play however it's censored.

There are other ways to get the uncensored version.

Here's some screenshots.

I really like the character designs of the demons.

The game is like still super new. And it isn't perfect It has flaws... A lot of flaws but I'm having fun so it's my little dumpster fire.

#I streamed the game to a friend of mine at 3:00 a.m. and we got a free unit called John Cena they laughed for 10 minutes #whb #ro.chatting #seriously this game is not for kids #we will jump you #Go away children #The game is funny as fuck #what in hell is bad #I encourage you to check out the tag because my explanation is pretty stupid

[astarionposting]

tell us more about ren she’s so pretty i need lore

Hello anon!! I am so flattered u want to know more about her! Ren is an alternate universe version of my usual Tav. I’m much better at storytelling visually, so I’ll explain some of my visual choices I’ve made for her character, which contains a bit of the lore I have created thus far. (also thank u for the excuse to just create a character dump post for her lol - i spent way too much time on this)

content warnings: mentions of dissection, scarring one's own face, unhealthy obsessions, stalking, religious trauma... just general fucked up Bhaalist things. + spoilers for BG3

EYES

A keypoint in her design are her eyes; Ren has the same eyes as The Dark Urge's Fiend butler, Sceleritas Fel, reflecting her origin as a creation of Bhaal Himself. Similar to other creations like her and Sceleritas, she was made with the purpose of serving and assisting Bhaal's Chosen.

SCARS

The right side of her face is deliberate scarring of her own doing during her priestess "training". Her body scars, however, are the result of the experimentation performed on her in her early training days. These experiments are often done with the purpose of making unnatural "improvements".

HANDS

I really love how Scarlet Witch's fingertips will stain black as a result of her use of the Darkhold's chaos magic spells, so I took that inspiration and headcannon that Ren's hands/arms do something similar from her "training" as a priestess of Bhaal and her use of necromancy/shadow magic and rituals.

For her general aesthetic, I was mainly inspired by the concept art for Bhaal for BG3 and this art of a priestess of Bhaal. She often wears a large dusty cloak over her usual gown. Placed on the top of her cloak, she will also sometimes wear a crown of thorns, mimicking the "spiky" style of common Bhaalist attire. During their time in the temple, before the events of BG3, she often adorned her face with a broken piece of a human skull. Since her coat is quite heavy, she walks a little hunched over… kind of like a creepy gremlin. Additionally, she will wear a small Bhaalist charm at the collar of her cloak.

Underneath, she wears her typical black gown; the top half resembles Orin’s carapace and blends into her skirt, with leg slits for better mobility, of course! When she isn’t wearing her cloak, her hair is loosely tied back and styled into a collection of braids, accessorized with Bhaalist jewelry.

*Keep in mind I am not a lore expert in terms of D&D deities or Bhaalist lore in general. I took some stuff from the forgotten realms wiki but also just made some stuff up lol, so this NOT D&D or BG3 lore accurate.

Also, again, warnings for unhealthy relationships/obsessions, as well as brief mentions of torture but not in detail.

THEY ARE BHAALISTS THEY HAVE ISSUES!!!!

Similarly to Sceleritas Fel, Ren has a lot of "care" for The Dark Urge. She favours him over Orin, and often clashed heads with her... but of course I have to have some doomed yuri content too!!!!!! so maybe they kissed once or twice >:) (but waaay before the events of BG3) Her "training" as a priestess of Bhaal consisted of torture, religious indoctrination, and extreme mental corruption/manipulation, especially by Orin. As implied before, she faced experiments in order to "improve" her usefulness to Bhaal and His Chosen. As a result, she is not the most stable person you'll meet. She is mainly chaotic evil aligned, however, her final loyalties will always lie with The Dark Urge, and she is accepting of his resistance/redemption path, as well as his acceptance/murder hobo path. She is essentially a certified Real One (also doesn't rlly vibe with Bhaal after he kills her evil Dragon boyfriend yk). The tadpole in someway also helped "release" her mind of Bhaal's influence, and while she is still an obsessive and violent girlie, she can be persuaded to not be a total murder hobo and sometimes even decides on her own to go against Bhaal's wishes (she still cool with murder though). As I previously mentioned, Ren was created by Bhaal to assist His Chosen in his duties and leading the temple, as most priestesses/priests of Bhaal do. She is more of a companion and advisor to The Dark Urge, rather than a servant like Sceleritas Fel. She is deeply (obsessed) "in-love" with The Dark Urge, and supports him over Orin. A while before the whole tadpoles, absolute, blah blah blah stuff, her and Orin had a brief history, but it was moreso Orin's jealousy of what Durge had. Her in-game class is a Bhaalist class mod! It is very fun so far, and she just levelled up to level 3 and can now has the ability Verminous Metamorphosis, so she can turn into a… RAAAAT!! 🐀 sorry, Astarion :( However, I see her as a combo of this and a death cleric of Bhaal. In terms of how her story is going in the BG3 campaign, i still haven't fully fleshed anything out yet! I would assume she would have a large impact on Durge's memory loss. Maybe she will have her own gaps in memory, but knows they have a reason to go to Baldur's Gate. As for other durge events, I believe she would be proud of The Dark Urge for such a "beautiful display of gore!" after Alfira night lol. I'm still undecided if I want to do redemption or murder hobo durge... I don't want to kill Isobel so I'm probably going to headcannon that Bhaal tasks The Dark Urge with killing her, as a way to test if he is "losing his way", or if he cares more about the life of a "mere servant of Bhaal" than his own "birthright" as Bhaal's Chosen.

For now I am just going with the flow of the game and doing some fun photo and gif series of Ren and Durge's adventure in my Durgetav playthrough!

Face preset | hair | scar | eyes | makeup + bloody lips | body tattoo & autopsy scar Orin top, arms + legs | dress + accessories | cloak | hood + crown/mask | lingerie

♡ PLAYLIST

dividers made by me with canva; graphics by @/brand314195326 and @/dhtgip. screenshots by me ♡

#oc: Bhaalist Priestess!Ren #my inbox #bg3 #bg3 oc #bg3 tav #sorry im still not great at writing lol #i really like a lot of these photos so ill probably make them their own posts too!!

[k0fii]

Mutual Love and One-Sided Obsession

Love is mutual and that's the fundamental difference of MiziSua and IvanTill. That's what Ivan understood in his final moments - and that's why he said his feelings were shallow.

Prefacing this, not really an analysis but more of a personal connection and overview of the songs of alnst, with a quote from Richard Siken on love.

"If it was unrequited, it wasn't your first love, it was your first desire. You've got all your loves ahead of you. That sounds pretty great to me."

My Clematis; Love and the Significance of a Duet

My Clematis is a song that stands out amidst all other Alien Stage performances. Not only because it's a duet with the intentions of a tie, but also because Mizi and Sua are singing this song to and for each other. Instead of catering to the audience before them, they look to each other. In an act of defiance, they love each other. Sua sings to Mizi, as Mizi sings to Sua and this performance isn't for anyone else but them. It's beautiful, enchanting and Sua's death is made more painful by that love that's so clearly shown to the audience. Even as Sua is taken away from Mizi, nobody can deny the fact that they love each other. That the feeling between them was undeniably love.

Unknown (Till the End...); Idolization

In juxtaposition to My Clematis' heavy focus on the duet between Mizi and Sua, UTTE makes it a point to show how Till takes the spotlight all for himself one-sidedly, not even allowing his opponent to sing. In a way, this represents the extent of Till's idolization - only his feelings, the admiration for this idealized version of Mizi he has in his head are sang and borderline shouted out. The other singer is drowned out in Till's intense voice and declaration of love;

"Ain't nobody but you're the one that I'm feeling it's love"

However, Till fails to realize that the thing he wanted - Mizi's gaze to look back at him too - is rooted in reciprocity. It means allowing the other singer to get their voice out, it means allowing this preconceived notion he has of her in his head to be shattered by the reality of who Mizi truly is. UTTE is a representation of how Till's deluded image of Mizi overpowers the reality he currently lives in, it's a form of escape for someone who has always been shackled by chains.

It's a contradiction present in the song itself;

"I wanna know all about you (ya)"

For all Till sings that he wants to get to know Mizi, he never attempts to get closer to her and always, in his view of her, she's far away like an idol he can't reach. Like a god to a sinner that needs saving. It's the first desire of wanting to be saved, of wanting a saint to reach out their hand to you. And that first desire, as much as Till proclaims it to be love for its intensity, is known as something that's not love, something closer to obsession because of that very same intensity. Because that intensity prevents him from loving who Mizi truly is apart from who she represents in his head - again, it drowns it out.

Black Sorrow; Unrequitedness

Black Sorrow starts off with an admission; Ivan can't reach Till. He'll always follow him, even if he recognizes that all this will end in is tragedy. He constantly speaks of an absence - foreshadowing of Cure perhaps, but also of Till leaving him and turning back, of Till always choosing to not stay by his side, to chase for an unreachable idol. To the viewer, Black Sorrow is a song solely focused on Ivan but we can see in the video that Ivan allows his opponent to sing - a representation of his subservient nature but also perhaps of the fact he sees Till. He allows Till to sing out in deafening roars and sees him for what he is, and admires him for that. In contrast to UTTE's idealistic nature, Black Sorrow is very much rooted in reality. Till is pointedly not awake during this song - once again, he doesn't see Ivan but also he is not woken up to the reality that Ivan forces him to face. If not rooted in love because of the acknowledgement of unrequitedness, then what is Ivan's desire? It's to drown in his chosen black sea of sorrow.

Cure; Obsession and the Significance of a Duet

Ivan and Till both sing to someone who is not listening, they both sing to someone who is not looking at them in contrast to My Clematis.

"Dissolve me in your gaze

...

Please, leave me scars

Please, hurt me so that

Not a single drop of me remains

Let me drown in you"

Till wants to drown in the fantasy he's created for himself - going back to the sinner analogy, he wants everything of him that he views as wrong cleansed by Mizi's saintly presence. For once, Till lacks the same conviction he did before - he's pleading now, and asking as if praying to a dead god. Maybe it's because he thinks Mizi is gone, maybe it's because he thinks he's beyond saving.

"May they linger on your tongue

You can break me apart

...

I'll drown in you"

Ivan remains the same, steadfast in his determination and doubling down on his declarations in Black Sorrow. He doesn't ask - he knows his 'love' is unrequited, but that he will drown in it anyways.

"To this everlasting melody

Face to face we dance

With our story

Lost in forever's embrace"

Despite the lyrics stating that they stand face to face, they don't - one is always looking away. That's why, the story of what they are and what could've came to be is lost in the embrace of a time that's both not there and forever there. What they could've been is not what they are because of that everlasting melody, the obsession the two of them have that is distinctly not love because it's unrequited. Because they will always ask to be consumed in another's gaze instead of simply looking at each other and seeing. Because Till's first desire is to be saved and Ivan's first desire is to drown, the round would have always ended that way.

"Thank you for being the victim of my shallow emotions."

Ivan thought he and Sua were similar at one point. He felt jealous when he realized that the fundamental difference between them was that Sua was loved, and he was not. I think that in his final moments, he recognized this jealousy for what it was - the incessant human need to be loved and to be wanted. And what does that love entail? He sees it in Mizi and Sua, it means loving and being loved in return. That's what love is, and with heartbreaking clarity, he understands that it's not what has driven him or Till this far. A one-sided obsession could never be love, because love is always mutual. To love is to be seen, to be known. Ivan was not the former, Till was not the latter.

He steels himself, he will drown in these shallow emotions, just as he always planned (even if the sacrifice was not). He knows this sacrifice seems hypocritical, but it couldn't be with such a simple yet clear difference.

Compared to the deep grief brought about by the deep and intense emotions of love and loss, the pain he will cause Till will only be as shallow as his own emotions. Because it only reached Ivan, only drowned him and it never seemed to reach Till.

#some other notes that didn't make the cut: #from the first meeting #Mizi breaches the barrier between her and Sua #literally and figuratively #she (or whatever those pink tendrils were) reaches out for Sua #and it manages to break through #But for Ivan and Till #Till watches from behind a barrier #he's fascinated but doesn't reach out #Ivan only looks back for a moment #Despite Ivan's need to be loved and love #He never got the chance to experience it #Because his conviction to drown in his shallow emotions which he could've mistook for love #Didn't allow him to look past the darkness of his sorrow #or simply #he didn't allow himself that love #Mizi idolized Sua too #what made it different was they saw the world of each other #alnst #alnst ivan #alnst mizi #alnst sua #alnst till #ivantill #mizisua

[kyruskumiho27]

Warnings: •Killing • death •fluff •enemies to lovers •idiots to lovers

Summary: a bond is broken. ( you=pink/ Sukuna=red) lot of yapping in this before it gets to the actual fluff. Not related to the other one, had an idea and didn’t like how that one came out so this is a better, newer improved version.

“What a shame…” you muse, gazing at the man with soft eyes. “What a shame we’re not meant to be..”

He grunts, cocking his head at you. He’s made no attempt to approach you, to even attack you for that matter. His warmth radiates off his skin, shoulders squared like they’re prepared for a fight.

“We could be…” He looked so utterly confident in himself, like he couldn’t imagine anything else could possibly be more difficult.

You quirk a brow. “We’ve been at this longer than expected, longer than imagined.” You snort.

“It could be destiny, why not break our chains and-“

“We are enemies, no?” You interrupt, tilting your head. He grins. “Can enemies not love?”

What a joke. A joke and silly game he’s playing to try and weaken me. And what if he’s right.“There is bo rule saying enemies can’t be lovers… in fact, I think you humans romanticize it.”

“Do you love me Sukuna, truly?”

The question causes him to pause, brows furrowed. Love? How could he love someone, him, a curse. The king of curses.

“I care for you.” He says bluntly, unwilling to admit that he might be, maybe in lo-

“Yet you desire to kill me.”

He rolls his eyes. That is not what he was talking about. But yes. He did want to kill you. For centuries on end it’s been this back and forth between you two. An angel of light fighting the King of curses. And yet, no matter how close he gets, you always manage to slip away.

You giggle to yourself. “Maniac.” His eyes widen in amusement. He could listen to your laughs all day.

Your puffs of air as you try not to admit to yourself that you enjoy the Kings company. Why haven’t you killed him yet? The answer slips past your mind, you can never remember. You were made to destroy him, yes. But you never do so when given the chance.

“You are lonely.” You say, staring at Sukuna. He nods.

“It’s a never ending cycle, never ending battle. I catch you but you always manage to escape. We are doomed for eternity.”

“I am right here.”

“You are.”

So close and yet so far. A slight frown appears on his far. “Just out of my reach.” He sniffs, cracking his back as he gazes upon you.

The definition of beauty and grace.

“Why is that? I am right here.” He huffs.

“I am aware.”

You glare at him. He’s avoiding your questions and your starting to get annoyed. “Why?”

He scowls. “You know damn well why.” He snaps, teeth bared in frustration. That is not a straight answer. You stare at him blankly, frowning.

The truth seems just out of your reach. No matter how hard you try to concentrate, it’s never revealed. Strange. “Kuna.” You call softly. He melts a little inside at the name. Only you’re allowed to say it. To refer to him with such endearment in your voice. He’s most definitely in love. He looks at you.

“Kuna, something is wrong.”

Oh how he longs to touch you, to feel you in his grasp.

“Very wrong.” Your brows scrunched up.

He wants to hold you, to caress you as he crushes you. He wants you to die by his hands, and his hands only.

“The bond..” he breathes, he wants to fuck you, he wants to kiss you and love you and make you his.

Mine. All fucking mine.

You stare at him still, he rolls his eyes once again.

“The bond.” He emphasizes, only to realize you have not one clue what he’s referring to. Have you really forgotten?

“A vow, my dear, a vow I promised centuries ago. To not lay a single finger on you…” You nod like you understand. You do not understand. He sighs. Did she really forget? “Unless…”

“Unless?” He smirks.

Like he’s got you trapped.

“Come closer.” He orders. You almost laugh. “Hwhat?” He scowls at you. “Come closer.”

Oh this is rich. This is fucking hilarious. “Closer, to you. No.” He wants to kill you so bad. “This is not a joke little on-“

“Don’t call me that.”

“This is of serious importance and I demand-“

“Why?”

He heaves a big and dramatic sigh. Why must she be so stubborn? Do you not love her because of it?

“I shall tell you the condition, but I need you to come closer.” You hesitate.

Sukuna is not to be trusted. He’s far from keeping promises and for all you know he could be lying. He could be keeping you alive because of his sick little game. To torment you. But it doesn’t explain why you do the same.

You step closer, just an inch.

“Closer.” Again you take another step, your heart pounding out of your chest.

“And closer more.” Your body trust him, why does your body trust him? You’re confused, for sure.

“And closer.” You take another step. You should be careful. So very careful.

“Just once more.” He urges. And you do, till your lips are just centimeters from each other, and you can feel the warmth of your bodies. Mixing, mingling.

“Say something sweet to me, and I shall tell you.” He wants to hear your voice utter even a tiny compliment before you both die. You frown. “Is this the condition?” He shakes his head no. Just once, he wants to hear your voice just once.

“Your beautiful Sukuna.”

He steps closer to you, hands hovering just near your waist. “Kiss me.”

“That was quick.”

“Do you trust me?”

“No.” A scowl. He didn’t know why but he needed you to kiss him. It was a burning desire, deep in his black heart. “Dearest-“

“Don’t.” You knew. You knew something, but you couldn’t quite figure out what. You gazed at his lips, so perfect. “My Kuna…” you mutter, not intending for him to hear you.

“You said you would tell me.” Your gaze is sharp. He inhales. “You need to kiss me…” he murmurs, just a fraction away from where he wanted to be most.

“Are you-“

“Of course.” His voice held some desperation. He couldn’t be without you. Your eyes trail down to his lips, thinking. “And you shall kill me after this?” You ask. What the fuck?

“Yes.” For some reason, you were not afraid. You step closer, connecting your lips together. Nothing happens at first. And then a searing pain stabs you in the heart.

Finally. He thinks, reaching and cupping your head in his hands. He doesn’t break away from the kiss, shutting his eyes tightly. He breathes you in, all of you, and the pain overtakes him to.

Your hearts wind together, merging into each other in painful desperation.

The air in your lungs becomes his, and his knees weaken. Perfect.

Both your bodies heat up, burning burning burning. Until there’s nothing.

You feel the faintest touch in your cheek, soft and gentle. “Kuna?” You call out.

“Yes love.” He answers. His voice is so warm. So soothing. “Where are you?” You reach your hand out blindly, searching for him. Your hands connect.

“Are you there? Do you feel me?” He asked, wrapping his arms around you. “Yes.” He huma, and you feel it through your whole body. It spreads like a wildfire.

“Where are you?” You ask again. You don’t know why, you can feel him, just a little ways from you.

“‘M right here, just right here.” Fingers intertwine with yours. You hum delight.

The darkness begins to fill with light, trees and birds and noise. “My Kuna…”

“My dearest…”

#writing #tumblr fyp #fyp #fyp2024 #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk sukuna #sukuna #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #enemies to lovers #idiots to lovers #toxic? #idk man

[hobiebrownismygod]

Have an angsty snippet of my Hobie Brown x Reader fanfiction lol

This is what I headcanon his backstory is something like

TW: Blood, grief, death, very minor fluff, Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day (not really a trigger but whatever), Hobie's lines are bolded btw

A/N I KNOW GREEN DAY DIDN'T EXIST IN HOBIE'S TIME BUT I LOVE THIS SONG SO LET ME HAVE MY FUN 😭

~2k words

___________________

"Aww Hobes, what are you doing?"

A 9 year-old Hobie Brown looked up at his big brother, his stubby little fingers still attached the chords of the older boy's new guitar. "I'm just looking!" he replied with a cheeky grin, holding the guitar back when his brother tried to grab it.

"Oi, give it back you prick!" The boy laughed, trying to snatch it again. Hobie danced away giggling, holding the guitar over his head. "Come and get-HEY!" The older boy tackled Hobie to the floor and pried the guitar out of his hands, holding it back out of his reach. 

"ABEEE!!" Hobie whined, his arms folded tightly over his chest. "Give it back!"

"You stole it first!" Abe giggled, 

"You're a jerk!"

"Who taught you that word?" Abe asked, wagging his finger at his little brother teasingly. "You're too little to be using mean words like that."

Hobie groaned, turning away from his brother and huffing. After a moment, the older boy sighed and crouched down behind his brother. "Ya want me to show you a couple chords?"

Hobie's face lit up. "Yea!"

Ten minutes later, he was all bundled up in his brother's arms while  he showed him the different  strings. "Alright this one's A." Abe put three fingers on the guitar and strummed it. Hobie nodded along, the side of his head on his brother's chest.

"And this one's A7. This one's A minor, this one's B minor, and this one's B7"

"I can't remember all those!" Hobie groaned.

"Alright, alright!" his brother said with a laugh. "How about I play you a song instead?"

"Okay." Hobie pulled out of his brothers arms to sit back against the old, broken down couch, a smile on his face as he waited for his brother to begin.

The older boy smiled at his little brother, pulling his hair back before resetting the guitar in his lap, fingers pressed against the chords.

He began playing. It wasn't the original song, more of a quiet, sadder, solo version. Hobie closed his eyes with a grin, taking a deep breath in. Even if it wasn't the real deal, he loved listening to his brother sing. His warm voice, the sound of the strums...it made him feel safe.

I walk a lonely road

The only one that I have ever known

Don't know where it goes

But it's home to me, and I walk alone~

His brother hummed to the music, tapping his foot to the ground to follow the beat. Hobie followed, moving his head side to side with every tap, his fingers fidgeting together as he smiled up at Abe.

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one, and I walk alone~

Abe was really all he had left. He used to have a lot of siblings, two sisters and one brother other than Abe. He was the youngest of the five and of course, the rowdiest. His parents had been pretty cool too, his dad worked at a radio station and his mom had been a stay-at-home mom.

I walk alone, I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk alone

His youngest sister had gone first. She was only a year older than Hobie, but she had been less than five pounds as a baby and always had problems with sickness and diseases. After the water had been contaminated by another one of Oscorp's toxic waste dumps...well she had been the first to go. Her and children from nearly every family in the neighborhood.

My shadow's the only one who walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

'Til then, I walk alone~

Then went his mother. She was so grief-stricken by his sister's death that she went into depression. She didn't eat, she didn't sleep, and eventually the water got to her too. They were buried only a few months apart.

I'm walking down the line

That divides me somewhere in my mind

On the borderline

Of the edge, and where I walk alone

His middle brother, three years older than him, went into a rage about the water. He was young, but old enough to do something about it. He went to the station and when they didn't do anything, he made a fuss. He wrote letters to the city board, protested in front of stations and then one day, they took him to jail. He was beat to death two days later, just a few hours before his bail was accepted.

Read between the lines

What's fucked up, and everything's alright

Check my vital signs

To know I'm still alive, and I walk alone

Eventually, the water was fixed. It became, not the cleanest, but better. Babies stopped dying. People were surviving. 

Then the riots started.

People were angry. Everyone hated the police, the officers that patrolled the streets everyday yet did nothing to stop everyday crime. Fights would break out, shots would be fired, and eventually his sister, his oldest sister, got caught in the crossfire.

Someone had stolen her school bag. She asked the police officer nearby if he'd seen who'd taken it. She'd had her hands in her pockets.

He thought she had a gun.

He shot her.

And then there were three.

I walk alone, I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk alone

His father didn't let anything stop him. After his sister's death, he started using his job to make a difference. He spoke out about Osborne on the radio every day. He rallied people together, he told them not to take what was going on in the community.

And then Osborne himself came after him.

He took down his radio station, burnt it to the ground, and threw his father into jail. The poor old man couldn't stand it. He'd lost his wife, most of his kids...the stress was too much. Within months, he'd died too.

It was just Hobie and his brother left.

Him and Abe against the world.

My shadow's the only one who walks beside me

My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

'Til then, I walk alone~

Abe did a lot to take care of him. He sold their old, rackety house for a tiny apartment. He worked odd jobs day and night, trying to provide for Hobie. Instead of taking the risk of sending him to school, Abe taught Hobie at home. Especially math and science, something both of the boys shared a love for.

They grew close. Hobie loved his older brother, more than anything in the world. He looked up to him.

He wanted to be like him.

So of course, when his brother started pasting up punk posters next to the couch, bringing home crazy-looking albums and sporting spiked jackets, Hobie couldn't help but want to follow in his footsteps. 

Even now, while he stared at his brother in such adoration, bundled up in blankets, half-asleep while Abe sang, he wanted to be like him. Tall, strong, always looking forward. A rock. A steady, strong, beautiful rock.

That's what he wanted to be.

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I'm the only one, and I walk alone~

Abe finished, setting the guitar down with a sigh, gaze meeting his little brother's again. "How was that? I've improved, haven't I?"

Hobie practically jumped into his brother's arms to give him a hug. "Can you sing it again?" He asked tentatively, picking up the guitar.

"Aww, Hobes! I'm not doing that all again!" Abe said, shaking his head with a laugh. When he saw his brother's pleading expression though, he rolled his eyes. "Ugh. Fine. Ya little brat." He pushed Hobie off playfully before pulling up the guitar again and grinning a toothy grin.

_________________

10.5 years later

_________________

Hobie woke up with a gasp, sitting up straight. His face was wet, cheeks tearstained. What was that?

Abe...he'd completely forgotten about that memory. Hearing his favorite song for the first time. He held his chest tightly, taking deep, shaky breaths. Where was he?

Knocked out in an alleyway...he barely remembered what'd happened. The last thing he could remember was slamming into the wall, falling to the ground, and completely knocking out.

Except...something else had happened. It was only then when Hobie noticed his suit, which was newly black, with white lines. His jacket had disappeared, and the spikes that had used to be a part of it were attached to his suit instead. He pulled at his mask...but it wouldn't come off. It was stuck.

Shit.

He felt completely disoriented, that dream-no memory, had thrown him off. Of all the times he could've recalled that, it had to be now. Of all the times...

He missed his brother. When he reached his hand up to feel his mask, he felt it was wet. He'd been crying. But he'd also been knocked out.

What the hell?

It had to be the Venom. It was talking to him again...changing him. He couldn't let it take over again. He had to stay strong. Not just for himself, but for you.

He had to be strong.

Just like Abe had been.

_____________________

Full Fanfiction being written here:

#lol felt like crying today #atsv #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spiderman atsv #spiderman #beyond the spiderverse #atsv hobie #across the spider verse #hobie my love #hobie #hobie x reader #hobie x y/n #hobie x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x female reader #astv hobie #hobie my beloved #hobie brown headcanons #hobie spiderverse #spiderverse hobie #spider punk #angst #tw blood #tw death #tw violence

[anim-ttrpgs]

An absolutely incredible review of the beta version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy by review Willy Muffin on youtube, complete with visuals and actual analysis!

I'm going to also add to this post a comment that I left on the video, offering further insight into the design intentions of the game, though the comment might not make as much sense if you haven't watched the video yet.

Hey, lead writer of Eureka here, first of all I wanna say how good and professional this review is, it’s almost indescribable how it feels to see our project taken so seriously and given real analysis, complete with visuals and everything! We would be super impressed and happy with it even if you didn’t like the game—but luckily it sounds like you loved it hahaha

I’d also like to address a few things throughout the video, not as arguments or rebuttals, just further developer insight for everyone

Re: “Urban Fantasy.” “Urban Fantasy” is basically just another term for “modern fantasy”, just a fantasy story that takes place in the 20th or 21st century and deals with the intersection of contemporary life with the supernatural, and it might be an Americanism, or even a Southern-ism, since it has a lot of connections and origins in the living folklore of New Orleans, so I shouldn’t be surprised it isn’t a term everyone is familiar with. Just think of it as the kind of genre where instead of the vampire living in a secluded scary castle, his name is Phil and he’s your roommate haha. What We Do in the Shadows, Shadowrun, and the World of Darkness games are all some other good examples of “urban fantasy.”

Re: Scooby-Doo. Oh we would LOVE for you to run a Scooby-Doo-like wacky mystery with Eureka. Even though the main tone is dark and gritty and noir, we did intentionally build it so that it could run more lighthearted stuff as well! There’s even a few Scooby-Doo references to be found throughout the text, and if we hit a certain stretch goal on the Kickstarter, we’re going to be adding a bunch of Scooby-gang-inspired traits, including the option to play a Talking Dog!

Re: Combat being the largest section, even larger than Investigation. First of all, that’s kind of an illusion that is the result of the game being unfinished. I have a tendency when I write rules to use really long sentences, overexplain things, repeat myself, etc, and that dramatically bloats the rules text and page count, but that’s why we have an editor! She goes through after the fact and trims most of the fat off my bloated writing style to make it flow smoother and read faster, and take up less space. The PDF that was read for this review has had the Investigation chapter copy-edited (and cut down in size by about 25%!), but the editor hasn’t gotten to the combat chapters yet, so they still have a hugely inflated page count. When she’s done with them, you can expect each combat chapter to also be cut down in size by about 25%, so they won’t be nearly so large a chunk of the book.

Secondly, I’ll explain our reasoning for why the combat chapters and advanced combat rules are such a big chunk of the rules text, it’s intentional design which I will now explain. If anyone still doesn’t agree with that design, that’s fair, and that’s why we made the Basic Combat Rules an option.

The reason that the advanced combat rules are the default, and the reason they exist at all, is because it incentivizes and rewards Investigation. If combat is super deadly, it makes Investigation, snooping, and spying more appealing than kicking down the door and getting your head blown off. But of combat is super deadly, it also needs to be very deep and tactical, because if it’s deadly but shallow, then there’s no player agency. “Combat starts, roll some dice, okay your guy is dead.” That’s no fun. So by adding rules and modifiers for cover/elevation, distance, the difference between a pistol and an assault rifle, etc. we make it so that not only is combat its own high-stakes puzzle, but make it so that when the PCs HAVE to engage in combat, all their investigation can really pay off and save their lives. Spying on a building to find out the number of goons stationed there and how they are armed helps you plan and assess risk, stealing the blueprints to the building helps you know how to get the drop on the goons, and know the best places to attack from so that they are stuck out in the open and you are not, etc. and having rules for those things means that all the PCs’ snooping and planning makes a real mechanical difference in whether they live or die.

That’s just my opinion though, and one of the biggest reasons WHY we decided to write the combat with as much depth as we did.

Anyway, thank you again for this review and analysis of our project, our Kickstarter jumped up by about ten more backers in the evening when this video went up after several days of no new backers, and we have to assume we have this video, and all of you watching and reading this, to thank. You’re really making our dreams come true. :)

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is kickstarting from right now until May 10th! Back it while you still can!

If you want to try before you buy, you can download a free demo of the prerelease version from our website or our itch.io page!

If you’re interested in a more updated and improved version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy than the free demo you got from our website, subscribe to our Patreon where we frequently roll our new updates for the prerelease version!

You can also support us on Ko-fi, or by checking out our merchandise!

Join our TTRPG Book Club At the time of writng this, Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is the current game being played in the book club, and anyone who wants to participate in discussion, but can’t afford to make a contribution, will be given the most updated prerelease version for free! Plus it’s just a great place to discuss and play new TTRPGs you might not be able to otherwise!

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

#traveler #willy muffin #monsters #ttrpg #rpg #eureka: investigative urban fantasy #tabletop #eureka #roleplaying #ttrpg community #ttrpg tumblr #dungeonsanddragons #dungeons and dragons #indie rpg #indie ttrpgs #ttrpg design #vampire #monster girl #noir #neo-noir #neo noir #columbo #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop role playing game #tabletop games #roleplaying games #lgbt art #lgbtttrpg #lgbt ttrpg #lgbt creator

[the-enzyme]

I'm done modifying my MYou Bettina's eyes!! I am pleasantly surprised, that the Plastic Putty worked, considering how much larger this head sculpts eyes are, compared to the much tinier Leon's eyes. There are many things that could be improved, as I am just learning and I suck, to h3ll and back. However, I am pretty happy with how he looks now. I am not satisfied with my modifications; I wasn't able to sand the material as smoothly as I would have liked. It just doesn't sand well, sadly. And because this is not meant to do sculptural modifications, it is a bit of a learning curb for me. I am however, going to keep using it for tiny mods. I might change my mind later on and splurge on a tiny amount of Aves Apoxie, only not to ever use even a tenth of the .25z, I believe the product is as a whole. But for now, I am happy I found this works rather well.

I might try with my Mano too, since it's a tiny area that I want to mod (I want to widen his upper lip, so it would just be the outer corners that I would need to add material to). Next, I will try on a few fashion dolls that I've been itching to repaint and mod and will try to smooth out the product before it cures, so that I void needing to sand it, because it's definitely a pain in the gut to actually sand it.

I love my Bettina very much, I just wanted him to have smaller eyes, as those are my personal preference. I do like giant eyes, but I prefer them on hyperstylized cutesy younger dolls. Not so much on "older" characters, and he's supposed to represent my fan-art version of Ken Kaneki, so I wanted his eyes smaller. That's why I went with Bettina, instead of my initial choice of Alan, but I guess I made the wrong choice, as Alan's eyes appear to be much smaller, considering the eyes my Bettina is wearing are his and the iris are half the size of the default Bettina ones. Live and learn, I guess. I do love all the MYou sculpts, however, so I don't mind. I did always wondered if I got sent the wrong sculpt, but none of the Myou tinies, or at least the earlier four, have giant eyes. I wonder if the molds got warped by the time I got mine, and that's why I got a head with much larger eyes? I guess I'll never know. Although, I did need to mod his eyes smaller in the end. Lol! DX

The last photo was taken before I sealed the work, the shininess is due to the acrylic mediums I use; it makes layering multiple extra thin coats of paint, shine bright like the rays of the sun! Kind of like I rubbed oil all over his face! Lol! (:

#ABJD #BJD #AsianBallJointedDoll #BallJointedDoll #Doll #DollRepaint #KenKanekiFanartdoll #FanartDoll #TokyoGhoul #MatureTiny #MYouDoll #MYouBettina