#it would be interesting to explore that angle one day

[firedragon1321]

Hair Symbolism in My Writing the Movie

I know I just made a shitpost version of this but I want to yell about this trope more instead of writing. Fair warning- it turns into an OC rant halfway through.

TW for sexism, child abuse, trauma (in both adults and children). Also TW for a cartoon burn scar (on one OC).

I think Luke Tales of the Abyss flipped a switch in my teenage brain. He flipped a lot of switches, honestly (I have a thing for long haired guys in large part because of him). For people who haven't played the game- uh, play it. But also spoilers for mid-game.

Luke starts the game as a childish noble. The only one he listens to is his swordsmanship teacher, who also happens to be the main villain. Said villain convinces Luke to use his powers to destroy an entire village. Oh, and he also learns he's a "replica" (aka- clone). This is all a huge kick in the pants that forces Luke to re-evaluate his entire psyche. He decides he's going to change his ways, and cuts his hair to symbolize that.

(I still like the long-haired design better but anyway...)

I started rotating the idea of using hair to express a character's personality/development in my writing a lot since then. The "haircut of change" is a common trope (usually for girls- it's also in Final Fantasy IX). But I don't really use that specific trope (when I do, the character's hair usually grows longer, lol).

Traumatic haircuts are my obsession. Especially with guys. The trope is done to death with girls. They are expected to have long hair, so the loss of it is traditionally the loss of femininity, sexuality, or purity. Which by itself is boring and dumb. Give me a legitimate reason for that character's trauma that isn't steeped in sexism. Go into her mind and assign a reason specific to her.

Traumatic haircuts are even more fun when they enforce conformity. Whether that be gender conformity, conscription into the military, the rules of a dystopia- I really don't care. "Everyone has to act the same" symbolized in how they look my beloved. Which is why I think it's more fun with guys. It's a little unexpected unless you marathon read everything I ever wrote.

My main OC Soren is literally terrified of cutting his hair- even for trims- due to a traumatic forced haircut his father orchestrated. His father's abuse in general is one thread of many he has to untangle. The longer I work with the character, the more central that thread becomes. But in-story, he hasn't realized it.

And I don't want the solution to be cutting his hair to shed himself of those memories. I want him to keep his hair long, because it's his head and his father doesn't get to dictate what's on it anymore. Granted, he might do something independently. But the chance of that is pretty low. Honestly, I can't draw him with short hair except for flashbacks because he essentially "stops" me.

Soren isn't an anomaly. I have one character I'm working with who dyes his hair so he doesn't see his parents every time he looks in the mirror (context- they dumped him at a school and don't visit him). I have more than one OC who is of a species that can't cut their hair without losing their abilities, Samson-style. I have another character in an early novel who kept ping-ponging between short and long hair, cutting it short when he wasn't being true to himself.

Really, I could go on all day. But you're probably bored, so here's just one more.

This is Jackie, another main OC who pulled this trope out of nowhere simply by neglecting to notice how long his hair got after multiple traumatic events (he was in a depressive slump, so he didn't notice a lot of things). Unlike most of the others, Jackie settled on a compromise (he cut the bangs so he could see, but the back's still long). Jackie is in an evolving situation and I want to see what he does, so I'm just gonna let him do as characters do.

#writing #tropes #hair symbolism #analysis #tw child abuse #trauma #tw sexism #traumatic haircuts #soren #jackie #and the ocs i didn't name #leo #scarlet #rampion #elly #ocs #the babies #this is a bit of a cis perspective because i am not trans #it would be interesting to explore that angle one day #tw burns #rant #my art

[mrcspectr]

@khonshoe UGH I’M SO SORRY Tumblr ate your ask as I was writing up the response to it, klgjalkgjal anyway the gist of it is the significance of Harrow as the imagined therapist in Marc and Steven’s perception of the Duat.

My friend, I'll be in my apartment just doing mundane stuff like laundry or dishes, and something about those boys will just hit me like a goddamn mac truck, and it ALWAYS BRINGS ME HERE. But thank you, loving them so much makes them easy for me to write about. ❤

Ohhhhh, I haven't actually talked about this yet, but I always found it fascinating how the Duat manifested as a psychiatric hospital with Dr. Harrow as the therapist. I think it speaks for itself that this has a lot to do with Marc's thoughts on his own mental stability, the judgement he's received or expects to receive from his disorder, and his past experiences in therapy (I mean, he had to create that environment from something, right?). But I think the more complex interpretation of it, and the most interesting for me, is the subtle exploration of Steven and Marc's differing perspectives and ideas surrounding the acceptance of help.

We see Marc ask for help a single time prior to this, in front of the Ennead. He completely believes that the only thing capable of saving him is some sort of divine intervention but a council of gods. I mean, the man was more happy about being dead than being "crazy." Actually, it goes further than that, he was relieved. (How many times has he been called crazy or beyond help by someone in a position of authority, I wonder.) And by making Marc and Steven's main antagonist and biggest threat his therapist in the afterlife, it's guaranteed that there will be conflict. Marc's manifested this himself because this is what he truly believes psychiatric help is like: the drugging, the insistence on addressing memories that are painful to him with little to no professional empathy, the restraining, the condescending tone he uses when he talks about Steven.

Steven, on the other hand, is open and honest about his desire to get help. He knows that he's struggling, isn't ashamed to admit it, doesn't fault himself for it. I'm not broken, just need some help, maybe. To Steven, there’s nothing wrong with asking, with leaning on someone. His interaction with Dr. Harrow, before he starts to learn the truth, is more just a conversation, a give and take, explorations of events that Steven's not entirely aware of himself but is discovering and making sense of with Marc in the background. He’s hesitant to talk to him, but not entirely unwilling. A little snarky (Oh, nosey.), but he still listens, still tries. Dr. Harrow is asking Marc to share with Steven, and he does, eventually. It's a better reflection of what professional help should be like. Dr. Harrow seems a little more gentle with Steven, and sure, he's not being entirely genuine and truthful with it, but Steven doesn’t know that yet. Steven just wants help, just wants to be better. This is his manifestation, his reflection.

Eventually, they both realize this is all an illusion, and they can change and shape it how they like. They start to hold a more firm grip on reality, characterized in that last scene (ahhhh the co-fronting scene, my beloved), where they see Harrow’s bleeding feet. Reality is bleeding into the fantasy. The help Steven is so desperate to find, that Marc needs but is too scared to ask for, was right there in each other all along.

#another ask another day ya'll make me comb through asylum again #TYPICAL #also slkgjsdlkgjs sorry buddy this took me awhile and tumblr just did not give a single shit about saving my draft #but your compliment was lovely thank you so much #and thanks for asking me to explore this one i really enjoyed it #holds up a crudely drawn sign in crayon that says 'character analysis is my passion' #khonshoe #asks #mk meta #alsooooo as a lil addition i hope the concept of therapy and processing their trauma in a more controlled setting comes back up again #would be interesting to see it from a different angle

[tripleyeeet]

BLEED YOU DRY (1)

SUMMARY: When you awake to find Astarion attempting to drink your blood, you find yourself making a interesting decision.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 3,273

WARNINGS: Bloodsucking, that's about it?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm aware I'm way ahead of schedule for this Haunted Hoedown thing but I'm going to be gone for a few days in the middle of it so I figured I'd get a headstart now to make sure I get every day done but also to build the hype? Maybe?

Basically this is going to be a little twelve part miniseries based on prompts from this writing challenge. I'll make a masterpost either tonight or tomorrow with all the ones I chose, plus some other stuff, so you guys know what's going on!

The prompt for this particular day was "I want to watch you bleed."

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The squirming tadpole behind your eye is what wakes you up. Its constant movement, wriggling from edge to edge quickly prompts you to groan and palm your eye, attempting to suppress the feeling as you blink through the darkness. It takes a moment to adjust —to feel that twitch of the creature die down— and when it does there’s a sigh of satisfaction that leaves your lips.

Despite how long it’s been, you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the fact that you have a parasite living inside your mind. Even after experiencing the insertion firsthand, you often forget it’s there, looming behind your retinas, awaiting use every time you run into another. Normally it’s so still, barely inching out of place; sitting there, incubating within your thoughts. Tonight though, something’s urging its presence. Keeping it awake as you close your eyes again, scrunching up your face once it moves a second time.

Angrily, you sit up and turn your head, suddenly catching Astarion’s gaze, noticing the open-mouthed grin he offers in response. 

“Shit.”

You narrow your eyes, focusing on his teeth. How bared they are; ready to strike at a moment's notice despite the only food lying around being you. “Were you just about to bite me?” you ask and almost immediately he attempts to play it off as if it were nothing, scoffing and rolling his eyes. 

“I wasn’t going to hurt you if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was only going for a nibble.” 

You can feel your tadpole squirm. He’s telling the truth, albeit for reasons that are more selfish than he lets on. Despite seeming otherwise, he only wants to drink from you for strength —for energy. His desire to kill you is minuscule, lingering in the shadows of his mind for a potentially later day but surprisingly such notions don’t scare you. Astarion may be a bloodthirsty creature but for now, he’s an ally.

“And you didn’t think to just ask first?” You raise a brow at him, watching his expression twist into something bordering between confusion and interest. 

“I’m sorry, just ask?” he parrots, exploring your features and how they remain calm despite the context.  

He was expecting you to be angry. To throw some kind of fit and deny. It’s what any normal person would do, but considering the circumstances, offering up a little blood to build up the strength of someone on the same side is worth more than the annoyance that forms across your face. 

“Yes, like a normal person,” you chastise, taking in the scowl he offers in response. 

His brows furrow at the sound of your words, angling upwards to appear as sinister as possible, and you can’t help but snort. Something about his constant disapproval is almost humorous at this point.

“Normal? Darling, I’m a creature of the night. A blood sucking fiend. A—“

“Vampire, yes, we’re all well aware given the teeth.” You poke at your own canine, tapping the enamel with open lips just as he swallows hard and narrows his eyes. 

“Yes, well, obviously considering such details I thought it inappropriate to ask. People don’t typically agree to such perilous sounding terms,” he says, voice light and airy. Casual, you might say, despite the context. 

“So instead you were just going to go for it?” You raise your brow, a smirk playing across your lips as he rolls his eyes. 

“Seemed like the best possible option… at the time.” 

You offer him a quiet ah, nodding your head as the two of you remain still, watching each other. Trying to gauge how the other is feeling without the use of your tadpoles. 

Based on what you know about Astarion you assume he’s too stubborn to ask. Now that he’s caught, regardless of whether or not he needs the blood, he’ll never find himself in a position to be desperate enough to say those simple little words. Being a man of persuasion, he’ll most likely just talk his way into it —make it seem like the whole thing was your idea in the first place before diving right in. 

It’d be respectable if you weren’t the victim. If it were Wyll or Gale and you were to bear witness to his deceptions, you’d fully support it. Encourage it even if he were to ask your opinion.

Since it’s you though, you can’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Astarion and you have never been particularly friendly. Having only been around each other for a few weeks, all you’ve talked about is the Illithid and how you plan to get rid of it —what you’ll do after it’s gone. But even the latter conversations hardly spark specific details. Mostly they’re just brief mentions of wanting to run away. To become hidden after the war is over. 

You assume someone’s looking for him based on the way he speaks and carries himself. When you’re on the move he hides within the pack, using you all as a shield while he looks around. Always on high alert, his ears twitch at any foreign sound, his eyes dart to meet the faces of anyone you may come across. At night, he’s always the one to keep watch and over time you’ve come to realize it isn’t just because he doesn’t sleep. It’s because he’s looking for someone. 

Even now, as he stands above you, you can see his eyes looking past you to focus on the underbrush. The way they narrow with focus, pushing past your face. He can sense something that you can’t —feel the eyes of some foreign presence staring at the two of you. 

You’re tempted to use the tadpole to find out what exactly it is but quickly refrain once you hear the shuffling of branches behind you followed by Astarion’s breath of relief. 

“You alright?”

His eyes shut for a split second. His chest heaves a single breath and in that moment you’re struck with an odd sense of sympathy. The feeling of pity laces throughout your thoughts as you imagine Astarion’s life before all of this. You imagine it isn’t great. Considering he’s a vampire, there’s probably at least an inkling of trauma there after living, dying and coming back as something other than yourself. No sane person would be the same after that, especially when taking into account all the symptoms. Before his transition, he could do mundane things. Enjoy the pleasantries of life like the sun and sleeping and food. 

Nowadays, all it seems he craves is blood and power. Flesh of whatever he can get his greedy little hands on. The upper hand in any possible argument. Both make what Astarion is on the surface, but looking at him now, wondering what else lies behind that thick, defensive coat of first impressions, you know there are other things. Nicer ones he refuses to showcase. 

They’re the details of his life before everything. Traits reserved only for himself, and for some uncharacteristic reason, you’re tempted to find out what they are. 

“If you need to…” Trailing off, you feel your stomach twist at the realization of what you’re about to offer. The consequences are high, maybe even too high, but perhaps the benefits could be deemed higher. At this point, you’re certain no one else will give him what he needs. They’re all too noble or guarded to allow Astarion, regardless of his current allegiance, to drink. 

They don’t trust him. And even though you find yourself in the same boat, feeling the skepticism of your words start to echo in the back of your mind, you know it’s the most logical thing to do. Sure, it may not be the right one. By a long shot, it’s probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but you know deep down that it’s necessary for your survival. To ensure that, when all this blows over and the potential of you going your separate ways occurs, Astarion doesn’t view you as an enemy.

“If you need to drink, you can.” 

His eyes widen only a bit. Just enough for you to notice the slight shock that spreads across his features. “I can?” 

There’s a reluctance you feel begin to bubble up but instead of acting on it you merely shut it down, nodding your head. “Yes, but only a little. Don’t want you bleeding me dry before this whole thing is all over.” 

Somehow that makes him laugh. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” 

You force yourself not to smirk as he lies through his teeth. Knowing him, he’d suck you dry if it weren’t for the fact that there’s safety in numbers. “Unfortunately for me this isn’t a dream.” 

“Fair point,” he replies, taking a short step forward. After that he slowly begins to crouch towards the ground, watching you closely —focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as his face falls mere inches from yours. “For now though, I promise to do no such thing.”

“And you’re certain you’ll keep it?”  

He hums, a grin pulling at his cheeks. “For now,” he muses. “In the future though…”

He’s so close you can feel his breath. Hot and heavy puffs pushed through a low, far too sultry tone of voice that has you pressing your lips together in a thin line. 

Out of everyone, Astarion’s always been the most intriguing. The one you’ve had this constant back and forth with, debating whether or not to approach or run. Aside from the obvious vampirism, it’s quite obvious that he isn’t like the others. From what you’ve been able to piece together, he doesn’t have a cause. A God or some sort of leader he’s willing to lay down the law for. He’s not noble like Wyll or faithful like Shadowheart. He’s just Astarion. A bloodied wolf all by his lonesome, following the rest of the pack. 

You’re sure he has desires like the rest of them. Wants and needs that’ll inevitably be gifted to him at the end of this —so long as you all survive. Like everyone else, he has a purpose in mind, but what that purpose is is unbeknownst to you thanks to the charm he offers in replacement of the truth. Because of this, he feels almost like a treasure chest. A trove of untold riches kneeling before you, tempting you to open. 

“I’m sure the future will have us far enough away from each other where that doesn’t happen, so I won’t worry.” 

Almost immediately, he can tell you’re fishing for information. The way his brow slightly upturns and the flirtatious grin across his face transitions into more of a smirk. It makes you internally curse, knowing that no matter how hard you try you’ll never beat him at his own game. His way with words is too precise. Too calculated, even for someone like you who grew up convincing people of your lies. 

“You never know. Perhaps after this is all over I’ll follow you. Linger amongst the shadows until the time is right.” 

You can’t tell if he’s kidding. His voice is too convincing to be completely certain, so you merely roll your eyes. “Yes, well, if you do decide to drink me to death, be sure to make it quick.” 

He clicks his tongue, leaning slightly further in. “What would be the fun in that though?”

There’s an unfamiliar ache inside your chest. A rupture of pain that wreaks havoc against your ribcage, pounding. Now that he’s close to you, you can assume it’s always been there but because he’s so good at posing a distraction you weren’t fully aware of it until now. 

“Fair point,” you repeat his words back to him, deeply inhaling just as the tadpole suddenly shifts in tandem with your chest. Ebbing and flowing across your inner eye in time with your shaky breath, you notice Astarion pick up on it, humming knowingly. 

“You fear me, don’t you?” 

Despite the answer being blatantly obvious, your lips remained sealed. Closed off, regardless of the truths the rest of your body spills. 

“It’s quite alright, darling. It’s normal. Creatures of the night are hardly meant to be trifled with.” 

He’s in your face now, a mere hair’s length away, once again baring his teeth. Against your lips, you can feel the movement of his words pushing through the air, coating you in further reluctance as the withheld breath inside you finally releases. As it hits his face, he blinks and pulls away. Ever so slightly giving you the space you need to recollect your thoughts and swallow back the fear. 

He’s terrifying. Even you have to admit that. Unlike Lae’zel he’s more calculated in his intimidation, opting to pull you in —to make you feel comfortable— before he ultimately strikes. Because of this, his threats feel more authentic. Less like simple tactics used to get you to back off. They aren’t words of warning —they’re promises. Declarations of a moment he’s more than willing to make a reality if given the chance.

“Do you want my blood or not, Astarion?”

Your patience is thin. Your chest is in pain and while the tadpole inside unwittingly reaches out to his, driving you both closer as he instructs you to lie back down and get comfortable, all you can feel is temptation. Desire. 

Upon resting your head, you feel the connection between you grow stronger. Inside, your head flashes with icy sensations that trickle down towards your neck. Small tremors of what’s to come as Astarion positions himself around you. 

When he leans down, there’s a moment where you think of retracting. This is all too sudden, you think. A mistake made in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Just moments ago you were made unaware of the full potential of Astarion’s charms, but now that you’re lying beneath him, awaiting the moment he sinks his teeth into your flesh, you can feel the regret begin to build.

“It won’t last.”

Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you look to see him staring over top of you. Both of his arms are planted on either side of your head, bending at the elbow so that he’s low and close. “I’m sorry?”

“The pain. It won’t last long, I promise.”

Strangely enough, he sounds sincere. Not that that means much when a good portion of the words that exit his lips are lies. Still though, instead of returning to that previous headspace you merely breathe and nod, waiting for the moment the tadpole’s connection vibrates with confirmation and Astarion begins to lean in. 

It’s a slow process. Above you, his shoulders shift, pushing his arm to cup the back of your head and expose your neck. Against your skull, Astarion tightens his grip to steady the endless thoughts that race through your mind as you share a glance. It’s small but important. A moment of recognition that tonight is not the night you die at his hand, but merely a preview of what might come if your paths wrongfully cross. 

At the last second, you give him a curt nod and feel him dip, running the tip of his tongue along your jugular before the presence of teeth poke holes through your flesh. At first, it's painful. The blood that’s sucked through your veins pulsates through the open wound in stinging waves as you feign a soft groan. Then Astarion’s grip around your head tightens at the sound, pushing you further into his mouth. Further into the euphoria he takes as the feeling transcends into something numbingly cold. 

Your eyes flutter shut at his continued feed. The feeling in your hands begins to fade even as you somehow find them moving to Astarion’s back, one of them pressing against his shoulder, the other finding purchase in his locks. At that point, you can feel Astarion moan against you, desperation filling his every cell as his teeth shift further into your neck, prompting your eyes to shoot open. 

He’s going to kill you at this rate. To drink you drier than an insect's husk, so, through half-conscious pushes, you tell him to stop. To let go and to keep his promise as you grip the roots of his hair and pull. 

As it happens you see his eyes shift to yours. They’re blown out completely, the whites of his eyes stained red to match his ruby pupils. For a moment, they remain locked to your half-lidded ones, honing in on the way they start to flutter again before you see them tightly close. Then he finds himself ripping away and gasping for air. Coughing through the thick blood that coats his tongue as he stares down at your neck.

The wound is only slightly gaping. Two well-defined puncture wounds sit side by side, but at the moment you can’t feel them. Instead, there’s still only numbness. A space of nothing that lingers between your head and chest, making you shift to sit up and place your hand there, finding more blood. 

“See? Over before you know it, right?” He laughs but all you do is glare. 

“You almost killed me.”

“Ah, yes, but notice the key word being almost.” 

If you weren’t so heavy-headed you’d punch him in the throat. Maybe strangle him if you could get the right angle. “Yes, fine, you’ve had your fun. Now, do you need anything else or am I fine to pass out now?” 

You expect him to say something else. To make some quip about the safety measures of post-bloodsucking, but he doesn’t. Instead, he merely inches closer, staring at you as he reaches for your bloodied hand and pulls it close. 

Once again, your tadpole wriggles against your will. Throughout your skull, it practically dances as Astarion glances down, taking two of your fingers into his mouth with careful precision. If anyone were to see they’d most likely faint at the mere lewdness of it. Frozen in time, your body refuses to move as he laps the blood off your skin, staring at you through hooded eyes that make you want to scream.

You’ve never been in this kind of position before. Sure, you’ve experienced many kinds of intimacy, both sexual and not, but somehow this feels different. Forbidden, in a sense. As if sharing this moment is not only wrong but also against some sort of ethical code. 

At first, you wonder if it’s because blood isn’t necessarily something that’s given. Always taken. In battle, it’s ripped from your skin through the means of injury. Punctured or sliced out of you at the hands of a sword. No bond goes along with it. No mutual agreement that any life will remain once the deed is over. 

But then you begin to think of Astarion. The elven vampire now infected with the Illithid. Like you, he’s been changed. Subtly shifted into something new. Overall, your transformation isn’t nearly as different as his. Before the infection, you could still enjoy the pleasantries of being human, but still, there’s this connection that draws you towards him. It makes its presence known within the tadpole. Throughout the movements that echo in your minds as Astarion cleans the last of the blood away, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I consider this a gift, you know,” he says, dropping your hand, and moving away to stand without so much as a thought. 

You blink back your confusion, trying your best to focus on the genuine-looking smile that appears as he takes a few steps backwards, never breaking eye contact until he telepathically adds I won’t forget it then stalks away. 

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fan fic #bg3 fan fic #haunted hoedown #writing challenge #summer writes

[writing-relatedactivities]

A Very Ask A Manager Thanksgiving

So I love advice blogs (I maintain that comment sections on advice blogs are the best free tool for writers to explore different viewpoints, which really enriches your characterization), and for a few years now, I have had this idea that I want to do a do an Ask A Manager themed dinner, purely to delight myself. Meant to do it as a cookout this summer, but timing never worked out, so I broached the idea of doing it for Thanksgiving. My partner, who is also a nerd and therefore very supportive of my advice blog love even though it is not one of their interests, was down, with their only condition being that I should still make my cider bread with maple butter.

The menu:

Appetizers

Chips with:

Guacamole in honor of Guacamole Bob, of "ordering extra guacamole is wasteful of member dues” fame. (This being on the menu may also have been a factor in Partner being willing to have our holiday take on an Ask A Manager theme, as I once took a community education course on grilling that taught me nothing about its ostensible subject matter but did teach me to make a bomb-ass guacamole. The secret is that your first step should be to pulverize an entire head of garlic into a paste in your mocajete.)

Three store bought salsas, where the trick is to "fold" the salsa to get the best flavor

A bottle of hot sauce so we can get fired after a coworker steals our spicy food

Main Course

"Duck club" sandwiches in honor of the secret office sex club where you get points for sex in different locations, and quacking is involved. (These were very decadent and if anyone's interested in a great duck recipe, I used the Duck with Lemon recipe from A Feast of Ice and Fire.)

Sides

Cheap-ass rolls that I definitely deliberately brought to upstage you, yes you, the person who signed up to bring Hawaiian rolls! It's definitely not an overreaction on your part to declare that "they can all take Santa and stick it up their ass!" You're definitely not getting fired for being wildly hostile! (These are actually homemade rolls, but I weighed "buy actually cheap rolls and be done" or "spend a couple hours adapting a corgi butt roll recipe to a human butt roll," and chose in favor of the pun.)

Dessert

Bribery cupcakes, from that time a letter writer brought some cupcakes over to chat with her neighbor, the son of the Chief of Police, about a disruptive noise issue in her workplace and some commenters decided this constituted bribing a public servant. (The recipe is in the comments on that link; I made the carrot cake version. However, I realized halfway through that I was somehow low on vanilla despite obsessively buying fancy vanilla extract every time I am in a spice shop, along with a bunch of other things I don't need because buying cool spices makes me feel like a wizard. Anyway, half of these had vanilla in the filling/icing, and the other half had cardamom extract.)

A birthday cake that somehow crosses boundaries by...being too fancy? Being paid for a staff person? Not involving the wife in the planning? Anyway, the real answer to the letter writer's question is, "Eh, I don't think it's a big deal" because different offices have different norms around birthdays and it's whatever, but sometimes a low-stakes office norms question hits just right and you get 630 comments of people debating The One True Way to Do Office Birthdays, and whether or not buying a cake means you're angling for an affair. (Okay, not all the comments are about that particular letter. Anyway, I picked up this fancy-ass cake at Marc Heu Patisserie, and appropriately enough, the guy ahead of me in line was picking up a cake for his boss.)

And of course, what Ask A Manager column would be complete without chocolate teapots?

Beverages

Mudslides, because "girls love chocolate." And magic tricks. And being played "You're So Vain" on the piano with a mournful stare. Partner and I are both notorious lightweights but I had been snacking all day as I cooked so I was mostly immune. Partner took one sip of this drink and immediately began loudly telling me how their one colleague doesn't sing enough to his Pre-K students, and "this classroom will do anything if you sing to them!" After dinner, they lay down on the floor and sang the Slippery Fish song.

The full spread:

#ask a manager #askamanager #alison green #thanksgiving #cooking #adventures in nerdery

[echo-bleu]

Day 21: Some post-Angband Maedhros research. Most fics/art set during his recovery have him recover physically quite fast, missing hand notwithstanding, but I want to explore other options.

Disabled characters series

Rambling under the cut, ID in alt.

[Discussion of his canon torture and injuries, going a tiny bit more in depth]

So aside from the previous torture, for which we can invent basically anything, he was hanging from the wrist for 30 years. I'm pretty sure that would kill a human in a matter of hours, but since he survived, in my mind he's got some serious shoulder and spine issues. Those stay for the rest of his life, but with a combination of support garments, elf-PT and just sheer force of will, he does manage to walk again and fight. I don't think he ever gets a great range of motion or much feeling back in his right arm.

This is me making use of one of my weirdest special interests (medical immobilization devices). I have a bunch of different design ideas for braces at other stages of his recovery, and this is just basic research for now. Here he still needs his arm in slight abduction and full support for his spine, and the big metal arm thing is correcting the angle of his shoulder (otherwise it is very dissymmetrical with the other).

In my mind, this is maybe a year after his rescue. 30 years of torture aside, I also headcanon that elves might heal more (as in, they can survive a lot more) than men but they also heal slower in the same way they grow up slower. Not pictured here is the fact that he's still mostly using a wheelchair.

This is a wild mix of pre-50 spine braces, modern shoulder and back braces and pure fantasy, and it's probably the simplest of the designs I have in mind 😅 Design-wise, I was thinking about the fact that it was probably made by Curufin people used to making armour, so it's the same materials (steel and leather) and similar kind of shapes. It would perhaps be more decorated because Noldor but I didn't have time for that today.

#maedhros #injuries tw #silmarillion #tolkien #beautiful art #echo's drawings #digital art #echo's october 2023 #disabled tolkien characters

[samarecharm]

People who really like shuake also seem to write themselves into a corner wrt Akechi and his relationship to Akiras team. Contrary to popular belief, the team, including Haru, does not hate Akechi. At worst, they tolerate him and deal with his attitude. Hes a good teammate and respectable fighter and the team recognizes that at the end of the day, he was a teenager who was manipulated and abused by a man who saw him as disposable. Just about every thief understands this intimately. They have the same mindset wrt adults who take advantage of the people beneath them. Under different circumstances they wouldve been friends. And if u approach it from that angle, it becomes less about Akechi being the sole person who ‘gets’ Akira, and more about the thieves being the only people in the world who ‘get’ Akechi.

When you expand your thoughts to include the thieves as members of his Team and not roadblocks that get in the way of your ideal shipping dynamic, you allow urself to give Akechi and Akira more depth and nuance to their own relationship.

Akira and Akechi are wildcards; both of them struggle with the face they choose to display to the world. Its the first time Akira interacts with someone who is, at a literal, technical level, his ‘equal’. But Akechi is one of many firsts for Akira yeah? Every thief has their bond with Akira thats completely unique and personal. Akechi will never be the person who witnesses Akiras Awakening, hes never the person who watches Akira have his restless nights alone in the attic, and hes never the person who realizes in real time that the teenager hes housing is just Some Kid, not the delinquent hes been warned about. Hes not Ann or Yusuke, or any of the thieves; he doesnt have the time or experience that they have with Akira, and I think its interesting to explore that part of their relationship, shippy or not.

Akechi is someone who is incredibly lonely and self depreciating despite his cockiness and attitude. He has no positive bonds to speak of save for his connection with Sae. To have him see a team that works together and cares for each other, how do you think he would feel? Out of place? Inferior in some way? Angry about how hes been alone for so long in this single minded quest for revenge? Wouldnt that be a point of struggle between the two of them? I think what makes shuake good for me is knowing that Akechi needs alot of time to heal, and the thieves would want to help with that process. They do it bc they care, bc Akira cares, and bc they trust Akiras opinion (and he trusts theirs in return); if Akira feels like Akechi is someone who can be trusted Now after everything thats happened, then the thieves would do their best to help. And how would Akechi feel about that? Angry about the show of pity? That even now, he has no real say in what happens to him? Or begrudgingly grateful that they are cordial with him? Because they do care, he KNOWS they care, they care TOO MUCH actually; but the one thing he values over brawn and wits is honesty- fighting for what you believe in without having to use soft words to justify it.

#chattin #also like. as an aside #my hcs regarding these two is like. they could not date. theyd kill each other lmao #and like TOTALLY by all means i am obsessed w unhealthy dynamics for shipping #let ur boys be toxic. let them be messy and loud and violent. its like crack to me #but just like fandom as a whole; fanon interpretations are prevalent and LOUD #and so trying to interact with it is like pulling teeth #personally. i think too many of them think of Akechi as like. the Rude one of the bunch #when i like to think of Akira as rude and full of himself when its deserved #and man. being able to outwit Akechi makes it Fully deserved #and i like to think Akira would remind him of this when he tries to intimidate or degrade his team #like. i have a short wip i never finished (basic sketches) #of Akira pulling him aside and grilling him #‘youre here because I Want you here. youre here bc i Allow you to be here’ #‘if youre going to stoop low and play petty i can do the same. if theres anyone on my team whos a fucking idiot; its you.’ #‘dont make me reconsider having you on the team.’ #and akechis like okay great does ur dick feel big trying to pull rank on me? #but really hes fuming. hes MAD. like feral dog mad. bc akira is RIGHT. like he is most times as akechi starts to see. #he has enough of a mind to recognize that hes lashing out bc of his own shortcomings; even if he refuses to admit it out loud #its beyond infuriating. its degrading. its a little 😶. #never had to deal w anyone that rivaled his own brawn and wits. and now theres a TEAM of them #just humbling him time and time again. it sucks. he stays bc he cant help himself 😭 #he needs to see more… #also #shuake #for blacklisting

[accio-victuuri]

another interesting angle about wyb’s hat during the GQ event. i looked up both cpf and so/o wardrobe accounts and i didn’t see them identify where the hat came from. everything else tho was chanel, and the suit was dunhill which the brand themselves posted about. we didn’t think too much about it at the time cause we were too busy connecting it to luffy and other things.

now a post from fans & a little bit of detective work tells us where it could possibly come from. a fan posted about a hat store (hat of cain) in raffles hotel where xz stayed and took photos for his ralph’s club event. they look v close to what wyb wore.

if you go back to xzs vlog, there is a cut (p3) where you see downstairs from XZ is. people are saying that it is close to where the shop is. so that was a little clue from them. we have talked about how it appeared out of character for xzs to post a vlog in the midst of all the GQ event noise. they could easily post it the next day or even the weekend so it will go on hot search or better yet, so he won’t be accused of trying to steal the spotlight from other celebrities. no we think we know why. and why he was trying to match ybo’s caption. it’s him ( allegedly ) trying to say that he was responsible for WYB’s fashion accessory of the day. in his own way, showing off the same way that wyb was. 🤍

I’M SORRY XZ & XZS, we didn’t catch up on that hint sooner. We could only do so much investigative work. Lol. We will be better next time 😌😌😌😌

You can visit their IG to compare and see for yourself how similar it is to what WYB wore. I also looked up their website and Raffles Hotel was listed as one of the locations that have their store. You can even see one of their ig posts that talks about their product and a detail inside the hat ( p3 is yibo and p4 is the ig post ) is the same as yibo’s. I’m not an expert so i don’t know if this is a standard when making all hats with the same material but i have to say that the similarity is v interesting.

I mean, what are the chances really???

You have XZ who was recently in Singapore. Very publicly at that and it was not a secret that he stayed at Raffles Hotel. At this time, the theme of GQ MOTY was already set and they have already given the theme of the guest having to walk on land & water and not just your usual red carpet. Maybe XZ picked it cause he knew how much WYB loves hats. It could also be to match what he would be doing for his public event where he is the Guest of Honor.

Then WYB comes in and showed off this hat. We were all thinking it’s One Piece & Luffy coded, which it could be, but we’re now only realizing the deeper meaning. Why he was so attached to it too. YBO released a bts video earlier 12/9 and WYB was joking that he had a hat too like the one rowing, so that means he can also row the boat. Turns out, the style he was wearing is called a boater hat. So it fits. XZ bought it for him as a souvenir that he knew WYB would like, with the thought of the GQ event’s theme.

Maybe XZ wasn’t even implying that WYB wear it that prominently. He just thought of WYB when he saw it and being the person that he is thought that it would be a good accessory for a photoshoot related to WYB’s public event. Maybe he can explore parts of the old town venue and get some shots of him with it. However, much like WYB loves to show off things that XZ gave him, it became his main accessory for the day ( not my words, YBO said that in their caption lol ).

Lastly, I remember one of XZ’s staff was holding a raffles paper bag when they were going home. What’s on it that he had to hold it for safekeeping? If the shop was in the Raffles Boutique, wouldn’t a thing bought from there use the hotel’s paper bag? Wouldn’t you want to hand carry a hat like that in case it gets deformed when shoved in a suitcase?

Anyway, this is all a coincidence 👀👀👀

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do #this is pretty crazy 👀👀👀👀 #i take a short nap and this is what happens

[thepunkmuppet]

thinking about an alternate season 7 wherein instead of every potential slayer being hunted and then activated, every past slayer gets brought back to life. I don’t really like post-chosen content anyway, but when I do read / look at it the whole slayer academy, everyone’s a slayer thing is really stupid to me ngl 💀

previous slayers, though… nikki wood and xin rong interacting with spike, actually finding out about the slayer before buffy, slayers with different backgrounds and situations and personalities, KENDRA?! I just love it so much.

you’d be able to focus on a relatively small cast of slayers, much like the potentials, throughout the season. this would include buffy, faith, kendra, nikki, and some other american slayers from varying time periods with a couple interesting international characters too (maybe a slayer from ancient greece / rome / egypt, or an anglo-saxon one or something). these are all experienced slayers, so no need to focus on training - it would be more about lore, history and their personal character journeys, assimilating them into society (creating some fun bottle episodes, maybe a day out on the town with dawn and a historical slayer) and trying to figure out why they were all brought back. also, if you want to keep the first as the main villain, then it can look like any one of them because they’re all technically dead, which means you can still have that episode with the dead potential revealing herself as the first and all the mistrust that’s threaded throughout the season.

plus with nikki back, there would be no need for the stupid sleeper agent thing with spike or the ridiculous fight between him and robin. all the same ideas (and the flashbacks to spike’s mum) could still be explored, and in a way better way imo.

I reckon the reason they were brought back would probably be the powers that be (tying nicely into angel ofc) trying to defeat the first. and of course the ending would be this huge battle, as all the slayers from around the world come to sunnydale, and maybe to add some drama they would all disappear and die again when the battle’s done as they have fulfilled their purpose (a classic finale knife to the heart that would have everyone sobbing, especially over nikki and kendra).

there’s also the added thing of like,, I appreciate the show was leaning towards a theme of “hope for the future” with the potentials angle, but literally every other aspect of the season is about harkening back to the past. faith, robin, the first taking the form of previous characters, the high school, the slayer origins, etc etc. so I just think this idea would work so much better with the themes of the season, and tie in really nicely.

and the most obvious perk of this concept is kendra! she was forgotten about so quickly, and this season would really give the writers a chance to redeem themselves for the terrible way poc characters have been treated throughout the show (ignoring what they did to robin. FUCK that but that’s another conversation). I think the show really downplayed how much kendra’s death would have affected buffy, and seeing the two of them interact after buffy has changed so much and kendra’s still the same would be amazing. there’s also the interesting concept that, having been brought back from the dead, kendra still be 17, and therefore closer in age to dawn than to buffy, which could make for some really nice interactions between the two of them. also of course the biggest most exciting thing is having buffy, faith and kendra all interact. they all represent places on a spectrum in terms of personality, and I would LOVE to see kendra and faith interact and how much of a unit they would likely become as a trio.

there’s also the theme of buffy feeling (and being) alone in this season that would hopefully go away, as she would now have dozens of people who truly understand her, giving her a proper support system which I would love to see (season 7 scoobies can actually eat shit btw <3)

so. was this born out of my hatred for insufferable kennedy and the annoying potentials? yes absolutely. do I now want them to rewrite and re-film the entire last season 20 years later? yes absolutely I’m so glad you understand

side note wouldn’t it be sick if in the final battle there’s just this one slo-mo shot where buffy stakes a vamp and through the dust she sees the first slayer looking at her from across the battlefield before she disappears amongst the fight. WHAT it would literally be awesome hello?!

also also other side note sorry but Mother(TM) nikki wood would NEVER kick buffy out of her own house. fuck them kids fr

#btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #btvs season 7 #buffy season 7 #btvs s7 #nikki wood #robin wood #kendra young #faith lehane #buffy summers #dawn summers #btvs spike #the first #the first evil #btvs meta #buffyverse meta

[muiitoloko]

Hi I love your Eli fics so much!! Such an underrated character!!

Anywho, if you’re okay with requests I was wondering if you’d be okay writing something where the reader is attracted to his intellect- like listens to him talk about his research and his theories, that being the main attraction towards him. Maybe it could include Eli being like ???? because nobody’s ever showed interest in his research in that level whilst sleeping with him.

Have a good day :)

Title: Smart girl

Summary: He's confused that you appreciate his work, but he also appreciates your intelligence.

Pairing: Eli Michaelson × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, dirty language.

Author's Notes: Hey there! Thanks a bunch for the Eli love! Totally agree, he's definitely a gem of a character! 😊 And hey, your request sounds like a fascinating angle to explore! It's like, who wouldn't be swooning over Eli's intellect, right? I can totally imagine his surprise when someone not only appreciates but actually gets excited about his research and theories. Thanks for the inspiration, and have an awesome day too! 🌟

Also read on Ao3

As Eli sat next to you at the bar, his sharp gaze lingering on you like a predator assessing its prey, he couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation coursing through his veins. You were a beautiful woman, drinking alone at the bar, and Eli knew that he couldn't let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

With his usual charm and confidence, Eli approached you, his demeanor casual yet calculated as he sought to make his move. But to his surprise, you greeted him with an eagerness that caught him off guard, shaking his hand eagerly and expressing your admiration for his research and theories.

Eli blinked in confusion and surprise, his arrogance momentarily faltering in the face of your genuine interest in his work. It wasn't often that he encountered someone, especially a woman, who was genuinely fascinated by his intellect and accomplishments. And yet, here you were, hanging on his every word with a hunger that ignited something primal within him.

"Uh, thank you," Eli replied, his voice betraying his confusion as he struggled to process your unexpected admiration. "I must admit, I'm a bit surprised to find someone who appreciates my work in such... earnest."

You chuckled softly, the sound like music to Eli's ears as he found himself drawn to you in a way that he couldn't explain. "Well, Doctor Michaelson," you replied, a playful glint in your eyes as you leaned closer to him. "I've always had a keen interest in chemistry and the sciences. Your research, in particular, has been a source of inspiration for me."

Eli couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at your words, his chest swelling with a sense of validation that he hadn't felt in years. "Well, I must say, it's refreshing to meet someone who can appreciate the finer points of my work," he admitted, a hint of warmth creeping into his usually aloof demeanor.

As the night wore on, Eli found himself engaged in a lively conversation with you. Shit, you were not only beautiful, but intelligent as well, and if there was one thing Eli appreciated, it was intelligence.

But as Eli continued to engage in conversation with you, his arrogance returned with full force, fueled by the knowledge that he had captured your attention and admiration. He watched with a predatory gleam in his eyes as you absorbed his words like a sponge, hanging on his every syllable with a hunger that ignited something primal within him.

The thought of having you in his bed consumed Eli's thoughts, his imagination running wild with fantasies of you spread out before him, begging for his touch. He could already picture you beneath him, writhing with pleasure as he explored every inch of your body with his hands and mouth, leaving you gasping and moaning in ecstasy.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Eli's lips as he imagined the look of desire in your eyes, the way your body would respond to his every touch, your skin flushed with arousal as he took you to heights of pleasure you had never imagined possible. He could practically hear the sounds of your sighs and moans echoing in his ears, driving him to the brink of madness with desire.

But Eli was no fool; he knew that he couldn't rush things, couldn't afford to scare you off with his aggressive advances. No, he would have to play this game carefully, biding his time until the moment was right to make his move.

"So, Doctor Michaelson," you began, your voice laced with curiosity as you leaned closer to him, "tell me more about your latest research. I'm fascinated by your theories on molecular synthesis and its potential applications in the field of medicine."

Eli's eyes lit up with excitement at your interest, his voice taking on a passionate tone as he launched into an animated explanation of his latest breakthroughs. As he spoke, his gaze never wavered from yours, the intensity of his stare sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

As the conversation between you and Eli continued to flow effortlessly, you found yourself drawn to his intellect and charm in a way that you couldn't explain. Despite his arrogance and self-centered demeanor, there was something undeniably captivating about Eli, something that ignited a spark of desire deep within you.

And as he leaned in closer, his baritone voice washing over you like a warm embrace, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation coursing through your veins. This was it, the moment you had been waiting for, the chance to finally give in to the primal urges that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you met Eli's gaze head-on, a playful glint in your eyes as you leaned in closer to him. "You know, Doctor Michaelson," you murmured, your voice low and sultry, "I've always found intelligence to be the most attractive quality in a man."

Eli's eyes widened in surprise at your bold declaration, his hooked nose twitching slightly as he processed your words. But before he could respond, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips against his in a heated kiss that sent shockwaves of electricity coursing through your veins.

For a moment, the world fell away around you, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate embrace. Eli's hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips with a hunger that left you breathless.

You melted into his touch, the scent of his cologne filling your senses as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment. This was everything you had ever wanted, everything you had been secretly craving for so long, and now it was finally happening.

As Eli broke away from the kiss, a smug grin playing on his lips, he murmured to you in his baritone voice, "My apartment is close by. I could show you some... practical experiments, if you're interested."

You smiled to yourself, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through your veins as you nodded in response. Standing up from your seat at the bar, Eli extended his hand to you, his touch sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. With a coy smile, you accepted his hand, allowing him to lead you out of the bar and onto the bustling streets of the city.

As you walked side by side, Eli's hand lingered on the small of your back, dangerously close to your ass, the fabric of your dress providing a tantalizing barrier between his fingertips and your skin. You couldn't help but feel a flush of heat rising to your cheeks at the intimate contact, the anticipation building with each step you took towards Eli's apartment.

But at some point during your walk, Eli seemed too eager to wait any longer, his patience wearing thin as he pulled you towards him and captured your lips in another heated kiss. The world seemed to fade away around you as you lost yourself in the sensation, the passion between you igniting like a wildfire in the darkness of the night.

It was as if Eli couldn't wait to get you to his apartment, couldn't wait to explore every inch of your body with his hands and mouth. And as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a fierce battle for dominance, you couldn't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through your veins.

With a hunger that bordered on desperation, he pulled you into a nearby alley, pressing you against the cool brick wall with a sense of urgency that left you breathless.

You gasped in surprise at the sudden change in location, but any protest died on your lips as Eli's mouth found yours once again, his lips hungry and demanding as he claimed you with a fervor that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. You melted into his embrace, your body responding instinctively to his touch as he deepened the kiss with a passion that left you dizzy with desire.

But as Eli released your lips to trail kisses along your neck, his movements slow and deliberate, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation building within you. His open-mouthed kisses drew sighs of pleasure from your lips, each touch sending sparks of electricity dancing along your skin as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment.

In that moment, you didn't care about the seedy alley or the prying eyes of passersby. All that mattered was the overwhelming need that burned within you, the need to be touched and claimed by Eli in every way imaginable. And so, with a boldness that surprised even yourself, you begged for him to take you right then and there, to make you his in the most primal sense of the word.

But to your surprise, Eli denied your request, his voice firm but gentle as he pulled away from you with a regretful smile. "No, my dear," he murmured, his baritone voice sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. "A girl as intelligent and beautiful as you deserves so much more than a quick romp in a dirty alley. No, I want to see you spread out on my bed, every inch of your body laid bare before me."

You couldn't help but feel a surge of disappointment at his words, the ache between your legs growing more pronounced with each passing moment. But deep down, you knew that Eli was right, that you deserved more than a hasty encounter in the shadows of the night.

And so, with a reluctant nod, you allowed Eli to lead you out of the alley and back onto the bustling streets of the city, the promise of what was to come fueling the fire of desire that burned within you. You couldn't wait to feel Eli's hands on your body, to experience the pleasure that only he could provide, and as you walked hand in hand towards his apartment, you knew that tonight would be a night to remember.

As you walked hand in hand with Eli towards his apartment, the anticipation building with each step, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. The promise of what was to come hung in the air between you, a tantalizing mix of desire and anticipation that left you breathless with anticipation.

When you finally arrived at Eli's apartment, he wasted no time in leading you inside, his demeanor confident and self-assured as he closed the door behind you with a firm click. The air crackled with tension as Eli turned to face you, his gaze dark with desire as he took in your appearance with hungry eyes.

Without a word, Eli crossed the room in quick strides, his movements purposeful as he closed the distance between you, his hands finding their way to your hips with a possessiveness that sent shivers of anticipation down your spine. You gasped as he pulled you into his arms, his touch electric against your skin as he claimed your lips in a heated kiss.

The kiss was fierce and demanding, a silent declaration of Eli's desire and hunger for you. His tongue tangled with yours in a wild dance of passion, exploring every inch of your mouth with a fervor that left you dizzy with desire. You melted into his embrace, your body responding instinctively to his touch as he backed you towards the nearest surface, pressing you against it with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

With a deftness born of years of experience, Eli's hands began to roam over your body, tracing the curves and contours of your form with a reverence that left you breathless. He explored every inch of your skin with his fingertips, leaving a trail of fire in his wake as he stoked the flames of desire that burned within you.

As his hands found their way to the hem of your dress, Eli paused for a moment, his gaze locking with yours in silent question. With a nod of encouragement, you granted him permission to continue, your heart racing with excitement as he slowly began to inch the fabric upwards, revealing the bare expanse of your skin inch by inch.

With each passing moment, the anticipation grew more pronounced, the ache between your legs becoming almost unbearable as Eli's hands continued their explorations. You could feel the heat of his gaze burning into you, igniting a fire deep within your core as he teased and tantalized you with his touch.

But just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Eli's lips found their way to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he trailed open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. You gasped at the sensation, your head spinning with desire as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of bruised marks in his wake.

Unable to hold back any longer, you reached for the buttons of Eli's shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. With a growl of approval, Eli helped you to remove his shirt, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as he revealed the muscular expanse of his torso beneath.

You couldn't help but admire the sight before you, the play of muscle and sinew beneath his skin sending a surge of desire coursing through your veins. Without a word, you pressed your lips to his chest, trailing kisses along his collarbone and down his abdomen as you explored every inch of his body with your hands and mouth.

Eli's breath hitched in his throat as he felt your lips on his skin, his fingers tangling in your hair as he urged you on with a mixture of desperation and desire. With a fierce determination, you continued your explorations, leaving a trail of fire in your wake as you stoked the flames of passion that burned between you.

And as the heat of the moment threatened to consume you both, Eli's hands found their way to the waistband of your panties, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins as he teased and tantalized you with his fingers. You moaned into his chest, your body arching against his in silent invitation as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming tide of desire that threatened to consume you both.

With a sense of urgency born of desperation, Eli guided you towards the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours as he backed you towards the bed with a hunger that left you breathless. And as you tumbled onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and desire, you knew that tonight would be a night to remember, a night filled with passion and pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.

As Eli helped you take off your high heels, his movements were deliberate and confident, his touch sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. You watched as he sat on the edge of the bed, his hooked nose giving him an air of authority as he removed his own shoes with a swift motion, tossing them aside without a second thought.

Meanwhile, you fumbled with the clasp of your bra, feeling the weight of Eli's gaze burning into you as you struggled to free yourself from the confines of the garment. Sensing your hesitation, Eli moved closer, his thick, rough fingers caressing your spine in a way that made your breath catch in your throat.

With a silent understanding, you turned your back to him, allowing Eli to take matters into his own hands. You felt a surge of excitement as his fingers worked deftly at the clasp of your bra, his touch sending sparks of electricity dancing along your skin as he brushed his lips against your shoulder in a tender kiss.

As the fabric of your bra fell away, revealing your chest to the cool air of the room, you felt a rush of heat pooling between your legs, your nipples hardening in response to Eli's touch. With a low groan of approval, Eli covered your breasts with his large hands, his touch possessive and demanding as he played with your nipples in a way that made you moan with pleasure.

You watched with lust-clouded eyes as Eli's hands moved over your body, his touch sending waves of ecstasy coursing through your veins as he squeezed your breasts almost painfully. But just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he released you, his gaze dark with desire as he turned you onto your back, positioning you just how he wanted.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Eli reached for the belt of his pants, his movements confident and purposeful as he took your hand, wrapping it around the leather strap with a firm grip. Your heart raced with excitement as he bound your wrists together, the sensation of being restrained sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins.

"Say 'red' if you want me to stop," Eli instructed, his voice low and commanding as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. You nodded in response, but Eli wanted to hear you say it, to hear the words fall from your lips like a whispered prayer.

"Repeat after me," he murmured, his tone laced with authority. "I'll say 'red' when I want everything to stop."

You obeyed without hesitation, your voice barely above a whisper as you repeated the words back to him. And as you looked up at Eli, bound and helpless beneath him, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through your veins.

Eli smiled at your compliance, his gaze dark with desire as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a heated kiss. "What a good girl you are," he murmured, his voice dripping with approval. "My smart girl knows how to obey."

You squirm at his words, feeling a rush of excitement and anticipation coursing through your veins as Eli's low baritone voice sends shivers down your spine. His commanding presence only adds to the intensity of the moment, heightening your arousal as he continues to play with the waistband of your panties.

Eli's fingers tease and tantalize you, tracing delicate patterns along the fabric as he savors the anticipation of uncovering the beautiful thing hidden underneath. But he doesn't rush, enjoying the way you squirm beneath his touch, desperate for more but at his mercy.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Eli keeps your legs open for him, relishing in the power he holds over you. He lowers himself onto your legs, his warm breath sending shivers of pleasure racing up your spine as he leans down to place gentle kisses on the inside of your thighs.

You whimper with need as he inches closer to your center, the fabric of your panties the only barrier between his lips and your dripping arousal. With a devilish smirk, Eli presses his mouth against the damp fabric, his tongue teasing at the fabric as he gives you a kitten lick, making you gasp with pleasure.

Unable to contain yourself any longer, you pulled at the belt around your wrists, your hands awkwardly fumbling to grab onto Eli's hair as you pulled him closer. "Fuck, Eli," you moaned, your voice thick with desire. "Don't tease me like this. I need you, now."

But Eli only chuckled darkly in response, his eyes smoldering with desire as he continued to tease and tantalize you with his mouth. "Patience, my dear," he murmured against your skin, his voice sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. "Good things come to those who wait."

With a growl of frustration, you arched your back, pressing yourself against Eli's mouth in silent plea for more. "Please, Eli," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you inside me. I need to feel you."

But instead of relenting, Eli only intensified his ministrations, his tongue dancing against your clit with a fervor that left you breathless. You cried out in ecstasy, the pleasure building to dizzying heights as he worked to drive you wild with desire.

And then, just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Eli finally relented, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric of your panties as he began to peel them away, revealing the wetness that glistened between your thighs. You gasped at the sensation, your body trembling with need as he exposed you to his hungry gaze.

With a predatory glint in his eyes, Eli wasted no time in discarding your panties, tossing them aside without a second thought. And then, finally, he lowered his head once again, his lips hot against your bare skin as he trailed kisses along your inner thighs.

But this time, there was no fabric to hinder him, no barrier between you and the pleasure that awaited. And as Eli's tongue delved deeper, his mouth closing around your clit in a fierce embrace, you couldn't help but cry out in ecstasy, the pleasure overwhelming your senses as he sent you hurtling towards the edge of oblivion.

"Fuck, Eli," you moaned, your voice raw with desire. "Yes, just like that. Don't stop."

But Eli had no intention of stopping; if anything, he only seemed to grow more determined as he worked to drive you to the brink of madness with desire. And as he continued to feast on you with a hunger that bordered on desperation, you felt the tension building within you, the pleasure threatening to consume you entirely.

With a primal growl, you pulled at the belt around your wrists, your hands grasping for purchase as you sought to anchor yourself in the sea of sensation that threatened to overwhelm you. "Eli," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm close. I'm so close."

And then, with a final flick of his tongue, Eli pushed you over the edge, sending you hurtling into the abyss of pleasure with a force that left you breathless. You cried out his name as ecstasy washed over you in a tidal wave of sensation, your body convulsing with the intensity of your release.

But even you lay there, panting and spent, Eli's predatory gaze raked over your naked form, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you come down from the dizzying heights of pleasure. He relished in the sight of you, sprawled out before him, your chest heaving with each ragged breath as you basked in the afterglow of your orgasm.

But even as you lay there, sated and vulnerable, Eli's hunger only seemed to grow, his desire for you burning like a wildfire in the darkness of the night. With a sense of purposeful intent, he moved closer, his fingers trailing along your skin with a possessiveness that left you breathless.

"You're so beautiful like this," Eli murmured, his voice low and husky as he leaned in closer, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek in a tender caress. "Helpless and at my mercy. It's almost too much to resist."

You shivered at the dark promise in his words, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through your veins as Eli's fingers danced along the curve of your hip. With a deftness born of years of experience, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants, slowly inching them downwards to reveal the bulge straining against his underwear.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, thick and hard beneath the fabric, aching to be released from its confines. With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Eli leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a heated kiss as he teased and tantalized you with his mouth.

But he pulled away with a smirk, his gaze smoldering with desire as he reached for the belt still binding your wrists together. With a swift motion, he released you from your restraints, allowing your hands to fall limply to your sides as he moved to position himself between your legs.

You watched with anticipation as Eli shed his underwear, his erection springing free with a sense of urgency that left you breathless. He hovered over you, his body radiating heat as he pressed himself against your trembling form, the head of his cock brushing against your slick folds in a tantalizing tease.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?" Eli murmured, his voice thick with desire as he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked with yours in silent question.

You nodded eagerly, your heart racing with anticipation as you felt Eli's cock pressing against your slick heat. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he began to sink into you, inch by agonizing inch, stretching you to accommodate his girth.

You moaned at the sensation, your walls clenching around him in a tight embrace as he filled you to the hilt. Eli's eyes rolled back in his head, a low growl escaping his lips as he buried himself deep within your core, claiming you as his in every sense of the word.

And then, with a primal rhythm that echoed the beating of your hearts, Eli began to move, his hips rocking against yours in a steady cadence as he drove himself deeper and deeper into your welcoming warmth. You gasped and moaned with each thrust, your body writhing beneath him as pleasure washed over you in relentless waves.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Eli groaned, his voice thick with desire as he pounded into you with a ferocity that left you dizzy with ecstasy. "So tight and wet for me. You're mine, sweetheart. All mine."

You cried out his name as pleasure consumed you, your nails digging into his back as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming tide of sensation. Eli's baritone voice filled the room, a symphony of desire and need as he drove you both towards the edge of oblivion.

And then, Eli's movements became more erratic, his thrusts growing harder and faster as he pursued his own release. With a growl, Eli pressed his mouth against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. "Tell me, my smart girl," he whispered in a husky voice, his baritone rumbling like thunder. "Where do you want me to cum? Inside you? On your tits? Or maybe all over your pretty face?"

You gasped at his words, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through your veins as Eli pressed you to choose quickly. His cock throbbed inside you, the sensation driving you wild with desire as you struggled to form a coherent thought.

"Inside me," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to feel you fill me up."

With a low growl of approval, Eli buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hips slamming against yours with a primal urgency. "Fuck, yes," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "You're gonna take every last drop of me, sweetheart. You're gonna milk me dry."

You moaned at his words, the pleasure building to dizzying heights as Eli's thrusts grew more frantic. Your body tensed with anticipation, the coil of desire tightening with each passing moment as you raced towards the edge of oblivion.

And then, with a guttural roar of ecstasy, Eli finally reached his peak, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled himself deep within your core. You cried out his name as pleasure consumed you, your walls clenching around him in a tight embrace as you rode out the waves of ecstasy together.

As the intensity of your orgasms slowly began to fade, Eli collapsed against you, his body slick with sweat as he pressed his forehead against yours in a tender gesture of affection. You lay there, breathless and spent, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion as you reveled in the feeling of being completely and utterly satisfied.

With a satisfied smirk, Eli pressed a tender kiss against your lips, his hooked nose brushing against yours in a gesture of intimacy. "You were amazing, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "I knew you were something special from the moment I saw you at the bar."

You smiled at his words, feeling a surge of warmth spreading through your chest as you wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. "And you, Eli," you replied, your voice soft and filled with affection. "You're everything I've ever wanted and more."

And as you lay there entwined in each other's arms, the world fell away around you, leaving only the two of you lost in the sweet afterglow of your shared passion. Tonight had been a night to remember, a night filled with pleasure and ecstasy beyond your wildest dreams. And with Eli by your side, you knew that there would be many more nights like this to come.

#eli michaelson x reader #eli michaelson #nobel son #alan rickman x reader #alan rickman

[where-dreamers-go]

I love your Dbh Connor writing 😍 can you please write something (if you'd like) in his pov of him realizing he *feels* for the reader, though he'd likely not know what that entails and what to call it. Just something introspective exploring his inner logic when it comes to his newfound deviancy? Thanks so much ❤️ I hope life treats you well!

“Feelings And Deviancy” Rk800 Connor x Reader

(A/N: Awh! I’m glad you’re enjoying them. Here’s a little something where Connor finds himself in a new routine with feelings he can’t pinpoint just yet. Warnings: Use of (Y/N) for your name. Word Count: 1,072 words)

Detroit held much to be discovered, especially when living was a new concept.

No more demonstrations or frantic humans in the streets.

It was almost quieter.

Connor took up walking to explore the city upon his deviancy. To rediscover the world.

Androids and humans were coexisting again. Nothing was perfect. Never was.

On one of his walking routes he had noticed a change. More life in a small bookstore beside an always popular coffee shop. The display window no longer appeared as a physical advertisement or thumbnail. No longer the attention-seeking images. Lined, stacked, and decorated with air plants were books. Physical books. Yes, there were always tablets for sale, but the display was not leveled. Nothing about it was symmetrical.

He was compelled to enter.

That was two months and two days ago.

Blinking, Connor found himself there again. The colorful bookshop in the shadow of quick service caffeine. He stood in front of the display. New books had been added, angled to show their spines, designed in detail to allude to the story’s tone.

Spying movement from inside, Connor moved to open the door and entered.

Familiar bookcases remained in their usual placements. Each shelf neatly arranged with books categorized by genre, author, and title. The usual.

I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Connor urged himself to search by sight and not scan. To take his time was a skill in need of practicing.

Light display flickering to yellow, he stepped further into the shop. He wasn’t alone inside. Towards the back, a couple of older individuals could be heard in hushed tones. They were regulars, almost every Friday.

He’s probably holding a stack of books for her again.

Connor found himself doing the same; visiting every Wednesday and Friday. Creating another routine.

What interest could a deviated android have in a bookshop?

Connor pondered on that question each day. Every time he would picture you instead of a simple answer. A connection to books, stories, and knowledge. The person responsible for decorating the shop’s window.

He found a particular interest in you, one of the shop’s employees. It started the first day you greeted him with your friendly smile and had yet to be stored away.

“Connor, hi.” Stepping around a table display, you waved to him while balancing three volumes in your other hand.

“Hello (Y/N).” He smiled, feeling something akin to happiness.

“How are you?”

Opening his mouth, ready to respond, Connor said nothing.

What was a truthful answer?

Connor sure wanted to know.

I am functioning properly, Connor thought. I’m not feeling any negative emotions. But they don’t want to hear that.

“I’m well.” He answered. “Thank you for asking.”

“No problem. I’m glad you’re well.”

At your smile, Connor took notice of his thirium pump increasing its speed. Something he was trying to look into over the past few weeks.

“How are you? Do you need help with anything?”

You laughed lightly and shook your head. “I’m pretty good.” Stepping over to the main counter, you added, “I can handle a few books. Just double checking these are in shelves too. Someone’s doing a pickup later. But thank you for asking. Again.” You sent him a teasing smile.

“Oh.” Connor stood still beside the counter, eyes downcast.

Embarrassment, he knew that emotion. Connor knew how it felt and it wasn’t his favorite. Feeling it while around you made him want to reset his system.

Do I ask to help them every time I’m here? Connor thought back to previous encounters and his embarrassment grew. I’m being polite. He urged himself to be more neutral with the fact of him wanting to help you.

Why wouldn’t he want to help you?

You were kind, had a good work ethic, and you made time to talk with him.

Connor appreciated you.

He appreciated other too, but he didn’t find himself trying to consistently learn their interests. That happened when he was with you, asking you handfuls of questions.

The more Connor learned about you, the more he could talk to you. Information one could not find online or in databases. Time one could not simulate.

“So what brings you here today, mister questions?” You inquired as you walked around the counter. Pulling out a tote bag, you placed the books inside one by one.

The corners of Connor’s lips lifted. A jolt of something registered through him. Not physical. An emotion that made him want to remain standing in your presence and perhaps hear you give him another nickname.

“I was wondering…”

You hummed shortly, letting him know you were listening.

“If there was a book you think I should read.”

Your eyes lit up in joyous surprise. “A million times yes.” You rushed out from around the counter and headed between a row of bookshelves.

Connor followed after you without hesitation.

“I don’t think I can just pick one,” you stated with two books in hand already. “So you have some options.”

“That’s great. Thank you.”

You sent him a smile over your shoulder. Then you resumed scanning the shelves, not wanting to miss a book you had in mind for him.

Knowing you already had options for him made Connor smile endlessly.

You thought of him.

They’re thorough. Connor thought as he got lost in watching you search.

Connor had never been around someone who he felt such a variety of emotions for. Deviancy hadn’t lasted long enough for him to name them all.

How could he?

The situation and environments he found himself in was calm and new. Full of books, unique displays, and people going about their business. Seeing you had become a constant. Something he could count on even if each time would be different, lively.

Connor did not have anything in his past to compare his present to.

If I had more context, he thought, I could figure out what I should be doing. I like their company. I know that, but big deal. That doesn’t tell me what to do about besides visiting them twice a week. But…I do like being with them.

Slightly frustrated with himself, he made sure to keep it to himself.

So, Connor remained standing, keeping you company during your shift, and making you laugh. Soon three books purchased and all his own.

What would come from him having feelings for you?

Connor hoped he would find out in his new way in life.

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Detroit Become Human Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

#dbh connor x reader #connor x reader #dbh connor #dbh fanfiction #dbh rk800 #rk800 x reader #requested #where dreamers go #detroit become human

[christiansorrell]

TTRPG Read-Through: Patchwork World

Here is a read-through I did last year (originally posted on Twitter) of one of the most unique PbtA games I've ever read: Patchwork World by Aaron King! - Christian

Credits up first. I know a lot of these folks and they are really cool! Excited to dig into this. I've heard good things, and it's been a while since I've read or played any Powered by the Apocalypse.

This is a cool, strong set up for me. I really like settings that ask characters to face a changing world and either take up change themselves or work to restore the old way of things. It's a headspace I find myself in a lot IRL these days so it's fun to explore.

I'm interested to see how the no stats, no playbooks angle of this game works, considering playbooks are typically such a staple of PbtA games.

Standard three-tired success, mixed success, fail forward resolution for rolls here and questions on the moves determine your bonus to the roll. Easy peasy. +2 is the max bonus.

Other types of rolls are described here. Interested to see how they come into play. I also love clocks and use them in pretty much every game I run so it's nice to see those laid out here too.

We just love a lil guy, don't we folks?

A good chunk of the opening here is spent on laying out a lot of solid foundations of roleplaying generally. It feels like a book (so far) that would work for entirely new players. It doesn't feel essential for me, but I never mind a game that supports varied experience levels.

Character creation is wide open, especially since there aren't playbooks and the text stresses that character creation is very much worldbuilding because of this. Fate-like concepts and tags are in here too which are things I generally enjoy. I like the Drawback mechanic.

Moves are in the playback I set in the other room so I'm gonna go grab those. You get two chosen moves and everyone has access to a number of default moves. You've got three other life/XP things to keep track of too. I'm especially interested in Hex.

There are a lot of moves! They seem quite varied and often very weird, fitting well with the titular patchwork world. You can have a duck's slick soul to dodge more easily or a magical space suit or speak to birds or be good at cartography. Overwhelming, but in an exciting way.

You also choose a community as a party. While PCs all have their original homelands (before the end of the old worlds), you know have a community that gets its own little sheet. This is a cool reshaping of the Gangs from Blades. I also like how the community can change over time.

Coming back to a PbtA game after months of more OSR-minded stuff, I think a lot of what these games contain are things that experienced players would say you could just do in any game at any time that it makes sense in the story, but I do find value in stating what's possible.

Esp since many players come to games with artificial limits on their options (whether that's from video games, more traditional RPGs, etc.). I just think good GMing here requires making sure that the players don't limit themselves just to the bevy of explicit options either.

GM moves (mostly to guide the response to failed rolls). I really think the community aspect of this set up is one of the biggest appeals to me so far. That and the wild list of moves, which I'm sure makes for amazing parties of characters.

I always feel like it's never something I should be in my own writing (for some probably unnecessary reason), but I enjoy the first-person, casual writing style throughout the book. Makes for a very chill read.

Good to see this game employs the Branson Reese style of NPC naming.

Stress acts as a single catch-all health and challenge rating for NPCs. Ideally, I'd hope this would help lead to the PCs approaching encounters with more than just violence.

Sections like this are what I'm referring to when I say this book feels very friendly to new players. It's got little anecdotes and thoughts like this throughout.

Look, it's been a while since I've seen A Christmas Story but... it didn't have ghosts in it right?

There's a sample adventure in the back (which I'll skip for this read-through) plus loads of random tables. Some wonderfully bizarre stuff in the characters and faction tables. Really gives you a good idea for how gonzo you can go with the setting.

Love these two in particular

Optional rules include hard mode (which I just think is kind of funny to see in PbtA, but could be cool if you lean heavy into the post-apoc setting) and some optional moves. I like that some moves focus on romance, something I enjoy IRL but never think to focus on in games.

I was wondering why this was the sixth edition!

That's all for the book itself. Going back to the packet to dig into the things I missed. Some expected bits in here but always one or two unique options I really enjoy. Leaking hex is cool (and could have some troubling cascade effects in certain situations).

I definitely wish, at least in sitting down to read like this, that the contents of the player packet was also in the book itself. I think PbtA has this tendency of leading to loads of pages on the table, but it can make them very easy to pick up and play or to learn as you play.

That element is definitely here, but I think the vast number of wide-ranging moves and the excitement that would drum up in my player group would more than makeup for that initial overwhelming feel of "whoa, that's a lot of papers out on the table".

Overall, it's the most I've wanted to play a game in this style in a while. I like that the base setup for the world is very much up to the players to determine via the characters they make. I like that PCs here will probably feel unlike any other folks have played before.

The community aspect feels like where I'd want to center my story around, as a player. Seeing that shift and change over time feels like it would be very rewarding and would help lean into the "the old world is dead, what do we want the new world to look like?" theme I enjoy.

Because Aaron King is cool and recently hit a lot of Twitter followers, Patchwork Worlds is now Pay-what-you-want over on Itch.

I'm not sure if physical copies are readily available. For full disclosure (guess I should have said this up front), I got this copy for free from Aaron! Not for the purposes of this thread or anything, just for fun a while back.

Thanks for reading more ramblings from me! If you like to do that sort of thing, check out my newsletter - Missives from the MeatCastle. It's got writings on my work, cool stuff I've run across the web in the last month, and exclusive rpg stuff! https://meatcastle.substack.com

#indie ttrpg #ttrpg #ttrpgs #rpg #fantasy #science fiction #pbta #powered by the apocalypse #aaron king #patchworld world #sixth edition #read through

[my-deer-friend]

Hii I have a bit of personal question, if that is alright. I am very interested in the American Revolution but I do not live in America. I would like to become a historian or researcher of that time period one day. As a student do you think it is difficult to be a historian of the American Revolution when you are not American? I get a lot of books and information online, but I do not think it is the same as being in a place? Do you think your school program a good stepping stone to get into an American graduate school? Is that something you want to do one day?

Sorry for all the inquiries, you are just the only person on here who is in a similar situation as myself! Best wishes to you!

Hi Anon! This is a really good question, and I'll do my best to answer it as both a history student and a university professional.

(First, I'll note that my interest personally is not primarily in the American revolution, but rather in the 18th century more broadly. That includes lots of angles that I can pursue in Europe, not least looking at relations in the Atlantic world, the "republic of letters" and the enlightenment, and thematically I'm interested in queer history, which can be studied everywhere. I also have no desire to live in the US. But, yes, let's assume AmRev is the focus.)

There are different considerations for undergrad vs postgrad.

Undergraduate

At undergraduate level, it doesn't matter too much where you study. At this point in your journey, broadly speaking, the focus is on developing your academic skills, learning established content about your topic, and exploring a range of scholarly interests (not just the topic itself, but how to research that topic – i.e. methodologies). As long as your university has a department for American history, or even better a major, you're fine.

While you're busy with your degree, you can supplement your learning about the period in a lot of ways, including:

Using your own library to access books, journal articles and databases (and getting materials through inter-library loans if need be)

Using the vast and ever-growing online resources on American history provided by institutions like the Library of Congress, American universities and libraries (e.g. NYPL)

Where something isn't already available online, contacting the archive that has it and seeing if you can get a copy (I wrote a post about that)

Talk to your history prof about your interest, and they will probably be able to suggest some avenues to pursue. One very useful tool is to look up the AmRev curriculum or syllabus from other univerisities and see what readings and topics they cover (just google: "american revolution" syllabus). Here's one that came up.

And then – and I'll put this point in bold because it's the most important thing I'll say here:

👉✨Attend conferences✨👈

Conferences are where you make invaluable connections with like-minded scholars, hear about new research, find out about opportunities (scholarships, programs, funding, etc.), discover what a career in academia actually looks like, get advice from people already doing the job you want to do, and so on. There are even conferences specifically for undergrad students, or there might be a track at a generalist conference that allows emerging researchers to present on a topic. Lots of these take place online (hence, cheaper), or you might be able to apply for funding from your university to attend (or idk you have a fabulously wealthy great-aunt).

Postgraduate

While undergrad is more about learning, postgrad is more about finding out. The higher up the ladder you go, the narrower your focus becomes, and you start to need more specialised guidance. To get the most out of your learning, you need to go where the experts are, and naturally, many of the most cutting-edge scholars on American history are, well, in America. You'll want to be surrounded by a community of like-minded scholars. And yeah, "being there" can be important not just for better access to primary materials, but also for insights that come from physical, social and cultural proximity.

That said, I don't think it's impossible (or inadvisable) to study the American revolution outside of America; it's just trickier. Doing that successfully comes down to 1) finding the right advisor and 2) choosing the right topic.

By this point, you should know who the leading scholars are in your particular niche of interest. Nobody really studies "the American revolution" writ large; rather, they (and you) will focus on the political or racial or sociocultural or regional or culinary or-- whatever aspect of it. It might just happen that the people in your field are located near you.

You can also approach the topic from a different angle – start from a local point of interest that you can to relate to the AmRev. (Maybe you're Italian, and you know about Italian History Blorbo who went to fight in the war, and there's a story to tell there. Maybe you're Dutch and you have things to say about the intricacies of the financial and political support the Netherlands gave to America. And so on.) This might, in fact, lead to novel insights and perspectives that haven't been explored yet.

Good luck to you!

If anyone wants to share their own experiences, please feel free!

#amrev #american history #gradblr #feel free to send any follow-up questions #as you can see i'm very capable of rambling on about this topic

[the-final-sif]

Baby c!Dream has made a friend! This is great!

He has unlocked: less loneliness! New social skill tree! Ally for dangerous missions! Interesting new snacks!

All of these are very exciting new things, and Dream and Sapnap quickly form a routine, they'll often meet up in the mornings, then they'll run off to find some place to go exploring.

The biggest problem is that unlikely Dream, Sapnap has a much more restrictive guardian. Said guardian was already quite upset that Sapnap ran off to a cave without telling him and wasn't too happy with him running off with an unnamed strange.

This meant that Sapnap had to go home every single night, unlike Dream who could stay out as long as he wanted. He did try to get back to the treehouse to meet XD once a week, but it wasn't really an issue if he couldn't. XD would always find him.

XD never got mad at him for wandering either, he was actually quite proud of little Dream for branching out and working on exploring.

Now, he wasn't happy the first time he found out Dream got hurt (it'd only been a handful of scraps from a recent fall, but the god had found himself unused to how humans bleed. He'd forgotten how fragile they are), but XD calmed himself down and just provided a number of handy potions and medical supplies so Dream could keep himself patched up.

So Dream and Sapnap would have to make sure that Sapnap was home on time, and particularly down in the caves, neither of them was great at keeping track of time.

This lead to Sapnap getting in trouble and not being allowed out for several days. And more importantly, the more it happened, the more Sapnap reported that his guardian wasn't happy to let him wander off with some stranger.

Sapnap had offered several times to bring Dream to meet his guardian, but Dream found himself wary. Sapnap was one thing, he was another child. Dream was even taller than him! So if anything went wrong, clearly Dream could handle it.

From what Sapnap said, Dream was not taller than Sapnap's guardian. He wasn't sure if he could take the man in a fight. So if something went wrong...

XD has also told him to be very careful about talking to other humans. He hadn't said that Dream COULDN'T, but he had said to be careful. What if Bad knew about magic? What if he asked a lot of questions? What if he was loud and got angry?

There were too many unknowns. Far too many for comfort.

So Dream made up excuses and put off meeting Sapnap's guardian for as long as he could.

In the end, he didn't really have a say in it.

See, one of the many things that Dream had learned was that Sapnap was a blaze hybrid. Apparently, it was a creature from the nether, which wasn't where they were now.

Blaze hybrids like Sapnap didn't like water very much. Sapnap could take baths and get wet, but he really didn't like it unless the water was warm. Cold water was bad. It could kill him.

Dream had learned that well over a month ago, but he hadn't paid it much mind until now. Until the ground had given out from underneath the two of them

For a moment, Dream was terrified of the fall. It was only for a moment though, because it turned out it wasn't that far, he just barely had time to grab a breath before his body hit the water.

It was Cold. Bone piercingly cold. Colder than any underground river Dream had been in before.

It was also a river, the current wasn't too strong, but Dream still had to fight to surface once he managed to get his brain back online. The cold sucked, but he managed to shove it to the back of his mind. Dream was good with cold. He could handle this.

Swimming was a bit harder, XD had taught him the basics, but he wasn't as good as Sap-

Oh no.

Dream frantically searched the surface he could see, trying to find his friend.

It was hard in the dark. Ever since the mask he couldn't see as well in the low light. Despite this, he managed to make out what looked like a shape drifting down river.

It wasn't moving.

Shoot.

Without thinking, Dream angled himself and paddled until he managed to reach the shape, kicking his feet to stay afloat as he desperately tried to maneuver the body of his friend upright.

The cold was numbing his hands, but he managed to get Sapnap flipped over so the other's head was up. Dream couldn't tell if he was breathing. He didn't know how to.

What he did know was he needed to get Sapnap out of this river now.

The two of them were drifting down stream, Dream wasn't sure where exactly it lead, but he could see a faint light a ways down and it was the closet thing he had to a direction.

Holding onto Sapnap, he kicked his feet and swam with the current until he was able to see where the light was coming from.

It was an opening above the river, there was a bit of a bank. Not much of one, but enough that Dream was pretty sure he could scrabble up it.

Getting up it with Sapnap would be harder, but Dream needed to. There wasn't another option.

As they came up on the bank, Dream gathered his strength and used one hand to pull himself out of the river and onto the shore.

He was almost pulled right back in as he tried to hold onto Sapnap, but with a tremendous amount of effort he managed to hold on and pull Sapnap up out of the water.

There wasn't enough space to lay Sapnap out or check on him here. So Dream was forced to suppress his shivering, pull Sapnap onto his back and slowly start up the steep bank towards the opening. He used one hand to keep his friend stable and the other to half crawl, half climb up.

As he climbed, he was acutely aware of the fact he couldn't feel any breathing from the figure on his back.

Although in fairness he also couldn't feel his hands anymore and those were bleeding.

It took ages, but he managed to crest the edge of the cave and pull them both out into the crisp autumn air. As soon as he was out, he fell to the ground. Taking deep breaths in as shakes wracked his body.

He needed to get up. Sapnap needed him.

Summoning what will he had left, Dream opened his inventory and pulled out a few of the potions that XD had given him.

Regen was best for anything that wasn't a gash. XD had even given him strength just in case.

Dream got two of the regen potions, one regular and one topical. Sapnap very clearly couldn't drink the potion so it'd need to do.

Breaking the topical potion's bottle, Dream spread it over his friend's face and neck like he'd been taught. The magic pulsed and fizzled, and for a moment Dream was scared it wouldn't take-

But it did. It glowed a bright pink and then absorbed into his skin.

That meant he was still alive. Okay.

Once that was done, Dream quickly chugged the second regen potion and followed it up with the strength.

The regen stopped the blood and while it didn't erase the cold, it did ease the numbness. The strength tore into the exhaustion eating at him and gave him enough strength to push himself to his feet and pick Sapnap back up.

The regen might've saved Sapnap for now, but he wasn't waking up. He needed to get warm again.

They were close to the entrance of the cave, which wasn't too far from Sapnap's nest. Dream could get him there. He had to.

The journey was a slog, even with the potions boosting him, Sapnap was heavy and Dream was tired and cold.

But he did it!!

Dream managed to get to the edge of the clearing where he and Sapnap usually parted, and after a moment. he pushed towards where Sapnap usually went. Down a little trail, he saw a house.

Relief hit him instantly, and then he saw a figure in the window.

The figure- a man? A demon? (He looked like one from Dream's books, but Dream couldn't be sure), saw him and-

Oh. They were coming outside. They looked upset.

XD had given Dream an invisibility potion, and if his fingers weren't numb and tired, Dream would've probably tried to use it in order to escape. But he couldn't.

The demon was out the door and rushing over and talking and it was way too much. All Dream could do was brace himself and hope that he would at least make sure that Sapnap was okay before he got angry.

#c!dream #dreamnap #c!sapnap #c!badboyhalo #dsmp #dream smp #godling c!dream AU #sif speaks #dreamXD #near death tw #hypothermia #kid c!Dream

[pixies-and-poets]

Hello everyone!

Super Mario RPG has been in my life for over 15 years, but it wasn't until the remake came out that I gave it significant space in my brain. Both the absolute joy and love that the remake invokes, as well as the renewed fandom around it, have gotten me obsessed with some of these characters like never before.

Even so, I've been a bit hesitant to write or put some of my ideas out there... it's a very old fandom, one in which I feel so many interesting story ideas and philosophical angles to these characters must have already been explored, since the days of forum roleplays and the heyday of sprite comics which I remember from my earliest years online. It makes it somewhat intimidating for me to write down my own ideas for fear of retreading old ground that I didn't even know had been trod. Or perhaps just not being nearly as interesting as fanon that has existed before.

....But I'm also really obsessed and I need to get some stuff out of my brain. So I'm just gonna try some things! For fun!

And therefore I present to you, my first ever SMRPG writing. Let me know if you like it, and there will be more!

PS: the way I'm resolving the name discrepancy between some of the characters mentioned here, is that I take their remake names to be the names Smithy gave them, and their "original" names to be the names they eventually take for themselves. That just feels right to me. But that is not yet relevant to this story.

So, without further ado...

The Forging

This one wasn’t much to look at. Yet.

Smithy had given this project days of nonstop planning and engineering- then hours upon hours of heating, hammering, grinding, polishing, the bright sparks flying ceaselessly in his workshop, the sound of his hammer ringing out like a song on repeat. Everything was calculated to ensure just the right amount of sturdiness and strength while maintaining a lightweight flexibility. The perfect incarnation of a spear.

But what it all amounted to, as far as an untrained eye could see, was an unassuming wire-frame of spindly limbs, attached to a cauldron-like lower belly for some weight. The inert body lay stretched out on the slab like a stick figure, more like the beginning sketch of a piece of art than its end product.

That was alright. It was only the beginning, after all. He still needed details: the flourishes of red that would bring his design to completion, the cape that would serve as the dramatic curtain to cloak his form. More than anything, of course, he needed life. He needed movement.

Of course, he didn’t have a head yet, and that didn’t help matters.

The head alone had taken Smithy a day in itself. But when finished, it was truly a masterpiece. The long and deadly point gleamed in the light of the forge, the very essence of both elegance and danger; below it, the “cheekbones” were two sharp and threatening downward curves, masterfully forged in their grace and symmetry. In between them, the eyes: open and blank. No thoughts stirred them just yet; but soon, there would be more than enough to animate them. This one was to be a thinker, after all.

He heated up the bottom tip once again, just enough so that it glowed, but didn’t melt - and using his tongs, pressed the final touch up inside what looked like the creature’s open snout. The red fibers of the mustache fused and glued themselves to the inner metal. There- the upward-pointing curves that reflected the downward ones above them, the spot of color- now the whole piece was perfection of both craftsmanship and design.

...And it made him look mature. Dignified. Adult. With Bowyer and Claymorton running around, they could certainly use a bit more of that around the place.

Smithy held the head at arm’s length, to admire it for a moment- and then approached the body on the slab. He slotted the head expertly into the joint where the spine arched back into what became a plume, clicking and snapping it into its place; it was meant to be removable, after all.

As he stood back again, the smith noticed that the yellow eyes had closed. Smithy smiled- there had been some reaction; good. He had not failed in his designs. Now his creation slept its primordial sleep, and would awaken when he commanded.

In the meantime, he would work on those final touches. He turned to his workbench to retrieve the accessories that had been created and set aside in advance. He slid and buckled the belt around the creature’s lower body- an unnecessary accoutrement, but a pleasing one. Two red “socks”- really, more like braces, around his ankles, attaching just so, to provide extra cushioning from leaps. And then- well, why not? He picked up the large red plume, which had been-

A scraping and rattling caught Smithy by surprise. He turned quickly, and saw that the Spear was moving his right hand. The skeletal steel fingers, as yet ungloved, scratched at the slab on which they rested. A drumming, a grasping- as if eager.

Suddenly the creature’s entire arm jolted, as if electrified- and his eyes flew open. As Smithy reached his side, the spear-being blinked, looking around groggily- and then he pulled himself up, resting on his elbows, his thin but supple spine curving into a more upright position. He blinked again, and turned his head- the movements of his eyes had already grown restless, darting around the room. They lit on Smithy, still holding the plume, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Well! You’re here early,” said the blacksmith in amusement. “You aren’t finished yet.” Hungry for life, this one.

The creation pushed himself upwards to a full sitting position. He looked down at his fingers, his shoes, his body… and then back at the other figure in the room.

“Who am I?” were his first words.

Smithy took a moment to respond. In his head, he was reacting to the question, comparing it to the others he had received. “What am I?” Boomer had asked. “Where am I?” was Claymorton’s question. “Who are you?!” was the inquiry from Bowyer, with a nya or two thrown in. And now…

“Your name is Speardovich. You are the sharp and shining spear of my army, who strikes with cleverness and cunning. You are a weapon.”

Feeling a bit silly with the plume in his hands, Smithy took hold of the wire that bent out from behind his creation’s head, and affixed the crest to its place. The activity seemed to startle the newborn being, and when it was done, he shook his head back and forth, feeling out his the new balance. He reached backwards with one of his clawlike hands and ran his fingers through the plume, as one might admire their own luxurious hair. He seemed to like it indeed.

“...What is a weapon?” he asked when he was satisfied with this, looking Smithy in the eyes again, curiously.

“Hmm! Good question.” But this would be easy enough, the blacksmith thought- it was long ago now, but he could still recall the essence of what he had told Boomer.

“A weapon is what we make here- what I make here. My name, by the way, is Smithy- your creator.” He turned back to his table, and came back a moment later with a red glove. He lifted the right wrist of his creation - still limp, weak, confused - and gently slid the hand inside. “Some would say a weapon is an implement designed to cause damage,” he said, as he fitted each finger delicately into its place; surprisingly deft with his own massive hand. “To hurt, to maim, to kill. To destroy.”

He stepped away, and came back with the glove’s left-handed counterpart. “Others would say,” he continued, as he again slid each wiry finger into where it belonged, “That a weapon enables self-defense. To defeat so-called evil, to allow people to live safe and free.”

Finished with the gloving, Smithy held his creation’s smaller hand in his own for just a moment- the one, long-fingered and designed for dexterity, atop the other built for strength. “But either way- a weapon is power. The very idea of power, distilled and manifested into an object. And that, my Speardovich, is what you are. Now- move your hands. Tell me, do those gloves fit well?”

The creation raised his hands, gazing at them, and wiggled and stretched his fingers. He did not answer for a moment.

“So?” prompted the smith. “Is something the matter?”

“I… don’t think it’s the gloves,” said the weapon at last, shaking his head. “It's- it's my hands themselves. They feel… incomplete. They…” he made a grabbing, clutching motion with both of them- he suddenly seemed pitiable, like a child needy for a parent, a role in which Smithy was clearly deficient. “I- I’m sorry, My Lord Smithy. I don’t have the words. I don’t understand-”

“Ah,” said Smithy. “I know what you need. Hold tight.”

He turned yet again to retrieve something, and in a moment returned holding a long rod with a shining steel point at one end. Wrapped near the tip was a bold ribbon of red fabric.

“This is yours,” said the smith. “Of course you yearn for it. It’s part of you.” He stretched out his large hands, presenting the object to his creation.

Said creation’s eyes had grown huge. “My spear,” he said, in awe. He did not need to ask what it was. Not this.

He took it, with desperate swiftness- and closed his eyes. He clutched it across his chest, in both his hands, and something spread across his wiry body, releasing tension he did not even know he had. He did not know the word just yet, but later he would look back and realize it was joy.

Suddenly, in an instinctive movement, he took the spear in his right hand and deftly twirled it, over his head, and to the side of the slab on which he had been born and still sat, pointing it downwards. His eyes opened and he sprang up, his young knees bending like a spring, and he stood upright, pointing and thrusting the spear before him in a series of expert stabs. 

Smithy grinned, giddy and foolish with pride at his work. “Yes!!” he cried. “There you are!! You know who you are, after all!!”

“Indeed,” said Speardovich, looking down from his great height at his creator. His voice had lost the slow, innocent wonder of his early questions- it was now rich and resonant with confidence. “I know who I am.”

“Come down here,” ordered Smithy, and the gangly outline of a figure obeyed, jumping nimbly to the floor. The weaponsmith carried over from the work-table the last accessory, the one that had taken up the vast majority of the space. He took the red-flowing cape and draped it over the back of his newest pride and joy. Speardovich bowed his head, resting the bottom of his spear on the ground, as Smithy proceeded with the cape, buckling the horn-shaped epaulets into the sockets he had forged for them.

“Now, my Spear,” said Smithy, “let us waste no time. I have so much more to tell you- of me, and you, and what you shall do for me. And of course, you will meet your colleagues.”

Speardovich raised himself to his full height- he was taller even than his maker- and hesitated. He tried to suppress his surprise and disappointment- colleagues. Just how many of them were there?? Would they compete for the glory their mutual creator had thus far lavished upon him? Or would they show him the respect and deference he so clearly deserved?

Well, there was only one way to find out- and he would maintain that respect with force, if need be.

He was, after all, a weapon.

“Lead the way, my Lord,” he said with a nod. Then he followed the heavy plod of his creator, his cape and his plume flowing behind him, his spear in his hand, his head held high.

#super mario rpg #smrpg #speardovich #yaridovich #smithy #smrpg smithy

[ncisfranchise-source]

“Tiva” is back. CBS Studios is expanding its ever growing NCIS franchise by bringing back two fan favorite characters from the mothership series, Tony DiNozzo, played by Michael Weatherly, and Ziva David, portrayed by Cote de Pablo, who will reunite on screen for the first time in 10 years. Paramount+ has given a 10-episode series order to the untitled spinoff headlined by Weatherly and de Pablo and written by John McNamara (Trumbo, The Magicians). All three executive produce.

Nicknamed NCIS: Europe, the new action-packed spinoff, set to start production later this year, will follow Tony (Weatherly) and Ziva (de Pablo) as they find themselves on the run across the continent.

NCIS is one of CBS Studios’ most valuable franchises and its expansion has been a goal for the studio. This is one of two new NCIS offshoots greenlighted this year, along with the Young Gibbs prequel series for CBS, NCIS: Origins. It is also the second extension of the NCIS franchise beyond the U.S., following NCIS: Sydney, which has been airing on CBS in the U.S.

After Ziva’s (de Pablo) supposed death, Tony (Weatherly) left the NCIS team to go raise their daughter. Years later, Ziva was discovered alive, leading her to complete one final mission with NCIS before she was reunited with Tony and their daughter in Paris. Since then – and where we find them in the new Paramount+ original series – Tony and Ziva have been raising their daughter, Tali, together. When Tony’s security company is attacked, they must go on the run across Europe, trying to figure out who is after them and maybe even learn to trust each other again so that they can finally have their unconventional happily ever after.

“We’ve been talking about this story for many years, and now with John McNamara at the helm, we are ready,” Weatherly and de Pablo said. “The world of Tony and Ziva (and daughter Tali) promises to be an action-packed roller coaster fueled by love, danger, tears and laughter. We also want to acknowledge and thank the fans from around the world who supported the ‘Tiva’ movement for years. To this day, they say hello in grocery stores and on the street to tell us how much these characters mean to them and ask what Tony and Ziva are up to now. This is for you!” 

Weatherly hinted at a potential ‘Tiva’ reunion last month when his New Year’s tweet, “It’s time to look at time and enjoy the moment!” prompted a fan to respond, “We all would rather look at you and Ziva reuniting.” Weatherly highlighted the comment, adding, “Stay tuned… for this might be an interesting year for such ‘moments’!” He further fueled speculation this week by responding to a fan tweet lamenting about him and de Pablo, “miss the chemistry and magic you both create,” with the cryptic, “the universe works in mysterious ways…”

De Pablo, Weatherly and McNamara executive produce the spinoff series with Laurie Lieser, Christina Strain and Shelley Meals. The series is distributed by Paramount Global Content Distribution.

“I’m incredibly excited to step into the NCIS universe with Cote and Michael and thrilled to explore it from a few new angles,” McNamara said. “Given that the franchise is such a global sensation, I think it’s phenomenal that CBS Studios and Paramount+ have given us the greenlight to shoot in Europe. As to the title of this series, if I told you what it is, I’d be violating the Espionage Act.”

Weatherly, an original NCIS cast member, had been with the series since its launch in 2003. He left after 13 seasons and went on to headline another CBS/CBS Studios drama, Bull. Speculation about his potential return to the NCIS franchise picked up after Bull ended its run last spring. He recently did a surprise cameo in the Ducky tribute episode of the mothership series.

De Pablo joined NCIS in Season 3. She appeared in Seasons 3 through 10 and exited the series early in Season 11. In the Season 13 finale, it was revealed that Ziva apparently had died in an explosion in Israel. She returned three years later in 2019, where it was revealed she was alive and had gone into hiding. She made a surprise unannounced return in the last scene of the season 16 finale, which aired on May 21, 2019, in which Ziva arrives at Gibbs’ basement to warn him that his life is in danger. She later appeared in the first two episodes of the show’s 17th season and in that season’s 10th and 11th episodes as part of her storyline.

Weatherly, repped by Anonymous Content, Verve, and McKuin Frankel Whitehead, and de Pablo, repped by UTA and Entertainment 360, have remained close off-screen. In 2018, they teamed up to executive produce detective drama MIA, which was set up at CBS.

Twenty-one seasons in — currently ranking as the third-longest-running U.S. primetime drama — the mothership NCIS series remains the most watched non-sports program on broadcast. A big global seller, which once ranked as the most watched drama in the world, the venerable procedural has spawned three spinoffs in the U.S., NCIS: Los Angeles, NCIS: New Orleans as well as NCIS: Hawai’i, which kicked off its fourth season. The franchise recently went international with its first non-American offshoot, NCIS: Sydney, which also has done very well in the U.S., ranking as the most watched new series of the fall.

Veteran showrunner McNamara most recently served as an executive producer on the Apple TV+ series Physical and prior to that co-created and executive produced Syfy’s The Magicians.

#ncis #tiva #ncis europe

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

It's time to add batch number 3 of asks and this concludes my little experiment. Unfortunately, it's not the most conclusive one and the analysis is superficial at best (I wish I had this idea when I was feeling better), but I'll try to write a few words.

First, the asks:

I've observed some common themes throughout all the messages I've received.

I think our opinions regarding the topic of dating and what we think of these idols is obviously influenced/determined by our cultural understandings of relationships, our gender politics and relation to our own gender because we interpret and give meaning to what we see through those frames.

Another interesting result was to see how obvious it is now that our rational arguments are so deeply connected to what is actually an emotional response that on the surface, doesn't contain much logic, but then it ends up being used as a logical argument. I would say that the fuckboy allegations about Jungkook are ilustrative of this and I'll try and explain why. Once again, this shouldn't be seen as me being judgemental or pushing my own position at the front, but merely an exploration of that response.

Calling someone a fuckboy without having any actual insight into his dating history is indeed an ilogical reaction that is not based on facts. I find that most likely comes from disappointment and that it is a label used in opposition to ideas of what people understand as commited relationships and partners. In this particular case, JK hugging a woman turned him into a fuckboy for those who used to believe in jikook as a long-term relationship, while those who were not exactly shippers were influenced by their already formed opinion of JK as more of a superficial person.

It doesn't follow a logical train of thought, as it actually translates into frustration, anger, a difference in morals, etc. It's interesting how such words were not really found in some of the asks.

Someone said that a lot of those who sent their messages tried to rationalize their thoughts anyways, instead of focusing on their feelings. It is true, but it's also something that I expected. We tend to do that, not only for those that get to read, but also for ourselves. There is a constant need to make sense of whatever we see, we look for explanations because not knowing might be worse than the actual outcome.

I'd like to go back a bit to the fuckboy label. Would someone think the same if Jungkook was filmed in his house backhugging a man? How do we know that the woman in question was not a long-term partner? How do we know that Jungkook jumps from partner to partner, without caring about their feelings and uses them for his own gratification? Isn't that what the label implies? My point is, we don't know any of these things and yet it is a simple way for some of us to explain our disdain towards what we see. Perhaps the voyeuristic angle (looking at it through a window from outside) has had a significant contribution to these judgements. Then there is also our own bias and other feelings we might have harbored already.

In opposition to that, Jimin gets a pass a lot more which based on the responses I got, shows the difference in the way he is perceived compared to Jungkook or Tae.

As I've mentioned from the beginning, this is just a small glimpse into how we process and express what we feel in connection to some people that we've formed a parasocial relationship with. Amongst the reasons why I said early on that this will be a judgement-free zone is because I find that it is inevitable in most cases to not be affected in any way. A reveal that shows a part of someone that had been kept hidden due to industry practices and behaviors is not something that can be looked at as a mere fact, without anyone being affected by it. The secrecy nature of it can have an effect on all of us, regardless if we're happily married or not, regardless of our gender, age or if our day-to-day happiness is dependent on some idols.

#m thoughts #kpop rumors #kpop dating #kpop shipping