#(<- collects the same book in different languages)

[wyvern-of-whimsy]

It depends on which spellcheck youre using but some of the most popular ones like Grammarly are making LLMs that are colloquially known as generative AI that train off of user data. It's not a database of known words since it also takes in the typos and misspellings. If a misspelling/typo is common enough, it'll start trying to correct *to* that incorrect word instead of correcting that word to the original.

My mobile keyboard, for example, trains off of my most commonly typed words. And i misspell "the" as "teh" often, so it has started suggesting "teh".

And to put my own 2 cents in on @emperor-of-the-hill 's questions:

1. Collages take art from various sources and put them together in order to view the whole alongside its composite parts. But collages also highlight each piece of art used in their collection, and so having even one piece of AI art displayed amongst real, human-made art devalued not only the other art in the piece but also the composition as a whole.

2. Yes, using AI for even the background of a work stains the art (but this one is only my opinion). You could've taken a photograph from elsewhere, had someone else draw the background, or done a simple gradient/pattern background if you didnt want to do it yourself. Then, you have the creative choices still: you choose a photo that complements your foreground, someone else has the creative choices in choosing an artstyle and art that best frames the forground, or you get to choose colors/patterns that work with the foreground. With AI, the creativity is drained out of it.

3. Digital tools with gen ai is a broad category. I like to split it up with this qualifier: does it make something new that wasn't there before? If it does, thats generally not ok in my books. If it only repeats what was already on the canvas, it is acceptable. Let me give you a few examples.

A "background maker" that will repeat background patterns in Photoshop, often used to edit objects out of photos: it doesn't make anything new, so its OK!

A filter that will make a person look like an anime character: not OK. It creates something new on the canvas, that being 2D drawing style.

A smart fill tool on an animation software that will attempt to color an object in all selected frames the same color when it detects that object: A-OK! The color is still chosen by the animator, and the object was made by the animator. All the AI is doing is coloring where the animator tells it to. This tool speeds up the animating process, but it doesnt create new material.

AI is a new and confusing subject, and it's important to educate people on the different uses of AI and the different types. Id recommend researching Large Language Models (LLMs) which is what ChatGPT and other "generative" AIs are.

i literally dont care what your excuse for using AI is. if you didnt put your own effort into making it im not putting my own effort into interacting with it.

[yuurei20]

Hello! I recently got back to twisted wonderland after stopping at Book 5 a long time ago and your videos have been a big help in terms of catching up to the main story!

I have a question in regards to the quotes before the characters use their unique magic, for deuce saying "let's make it even, grit your teeth" before using his unique magic I was just curious if this is referred to as connected to the spell? Or do some characters just don't need to say these outloud?

Hello hello, thank you so much!! And thank you for this question! 🪄

Yes yes, you are correct! Those are the incantations to the characters' unique magics ^^

All incantation for all unique magics have been collected below, but warning for Book 7 and Halloween 2024 spoilers, as screenshots are also provided!

It also lists all incantations across all media (manga/novels/game) including English-language comparisons! Cater, for example, has had his incantation written in four different ways, including two different ways just in the game!

(The Japanese-language incantations are the same across all mediums.)

If you prefer YouTube there is also this video compilation but it is a little outdated, with several characters' incantations being revealed in between when it was posted and now, but it is spoiler free! ^^

[gatheringbones]

[“Trans women are extra. Trans femininity is too much. The first mistake of any trans-inclusive feminism is to confine itself by flattening what makes trans femininity and womanhood different from the generic standard. Championing the inclusion of trans women by saying they are indistinguishable from non-trans women is the product of a scarcity mindset. So, too, is claiming that trans femininity has a stable definition or that trans femininity fits neatly into the trans umbrella, or even the LGBT umbrella. Their assimilation into a whole is always a concession to the fear there isn’t enough to go around, whether it be money, power, language, or even gender. To make trans-feminist demands smaller in unifying through sameness with non-trans women, or with all trans or LGBT people, is a mistake.

In the face of misogyny and the long history of trans-feminization this book has investigated, trans-femininity’s positive value calls for a different accounting. Straight men, gay men, nonbinary people, and non-trans women not only share the world with trans women; they rely on trans femininity to distinguish their genders and sexualities, including through overlap. Gay men’s sexual cultures were forged out of the same historical dynamics and urban spaces as trans womanhood. Non-trans women have long shared experiences of downward mobility under marriage and capitalism with trans women, especially in sex work. Many non-trans women have been disqualified from womanhood on anti-Black or racist grounds in ways that make passing for “cisgender” as laughably irrelevant for them as it is for trans women. Straight men, too, depend on the validation of their desire for trans women’s femininity to consolidate their manhood.

Getting too close to trans femininity, despite its obvious allure, reminds people of their fundamental social interdependence with trans women and trans-feminized people, who have been consigned near to the bottom of most social hierarchies. To hate or dislike trans women, to exclude them, or to attack and scorn trans femininity are all anxious attempts to establish a boundary that violence itself admits never existed in the first place. The trans misogynist constantly confesses her, his, or their inability to escape being in the world with trans women and trans femininity by wishing they could enforce segregation. That’s why trans-misogynist violence is so often cruel or subservient to despotic authority. Trans misogyny must hide its fraudulence through overwhelming force. In truth, trans women are not a discrete, separate group of people. Trans femininity is produced out of the collective social body, and like all manifestations of gender, it cannot be isolated and removed from the whole. For those attempting to avoid that inconvenient truth, not much is left other than to accuse trans women of being exceptions: too feminine, too sexual, and too dangerous to live with everyone else.”]

jules gill-peterson, from a short history of trans misogyny, 2024

[kaymarie-bell]

We have an official announcement for the English translation of the first novel! I'm so excited 💖🌹

[btm-txt]

I gotta confess...

I fucking LOVE slang language from the other side of the world.

It's the little shit, like calling people 'champion' or 'legend' as a casual compliment is everything.

I do something cool, or do a good job, or just fucking exist and I'M a champion? Me? a legend? No waaay~

Slaps harder than any 'you're awesome' or 'you're a rockstar' tenfold swear to god

[vanyafresita]

WWGRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHHH <- it wants to buy a secondhand book that is on sale, but it already has several books to-read right there in its bookshelf

[alexanderwales]

Spells are a non-renewable resource. One a spell has been cast, it can never be cast again.

But thankfully, what counts as a unique spell is permissive, and very early on in the history of wizardry, wizards found many ways to use the arcane language to specify a similar effect even if the wording was different.

And still, spells were a non-renewable resource.

There are only so many ways to call forth a beam of lancing light, only a limited number of methods of purifying food to make it safe to eat. Soon it became necessary for the wizards to start casting spells that weren't quite what they wanted: a beam of light that arced to the left, a purifying spell that added a bitter taste, some changes cosmetic and others very functional.

And still, spells were a non-renewable resource.

Wizardry was divided into ages by the historiographers. The First Age was the age of plenty, when wizards could make minor tweaks to the spells and cast as much as they liked. The Second Age was the age of modification, when wizards were jumping through hoops and using methods with side effects. But the Third Age was the age of decay, when so many spells had been used that only the oddballs were left. It was impossible to cast anything even remotely resembling a fireball, not even one that hooked to the left and exploded with sharp green shards.

It came to be that few wizards could produce a spell on their first attempt. They would try, only to discover that someone else had already taken their idea and the spell does not work. They would try again, only to discover that their second idea had also been taken. Wizard battles, which had once been glorious light shows, were reduced to two wizards standing in a field trying to be the first one to stumble upon a spell that had never been cast before.

~~~~

Here are some plot hooks:

Wizards jealously guard their knowledge, fearful that someone will learn of a "seam" of untapped spells, but they also write down every spell they know to have been cast, to reduce their search space. Obviously this trove of knowledge is highly valuable.

The existence of spell "seams", which are really just collections of spells that work off the same cluster of discrete variations, mean that wizards tend to be very specialized. The Sheep Wizard knows eight hundred ways of turning someone into a sheep, because he's studied that area of the arcane language extensively, as well as historical precedents that have been ruled out. The natural enemy of a Sheep Wizard is, of course, another Sheep Wizard.

During the Second Age, a group of wizards get together to deliberately reduce the spell-space, largely in the hopes of reducing the capacity of wizard-kind for making war. Their work largely consists of sitting around casting as many fireballs as they can, depleting all options for everyone else.

During the Third Age, a group of wizards gets together and in the spirit of mutual cooperation begins to define "spell blocks", a collection of spells that a single wizard is entitled to and all other wizards agree not to use. When you become a wizard, you're given a thousand spells which are thought to still be valid, and will lose your license to practice wizardry if you cast any spells that are outside your block. This is difficult to enforce, rife with accusations and suspicion, but is thought to be better than nothing.

During the Fourth Age, a group of "wizards" (none of whom have ever actually cast a spell) are working on the arcane language in the hopes of a revival. As the age of hoarded knowledge has mostly passed, they're able to get their hands on many books that weren't previously available. One day, they invent a new form of specification that allows hundreds of thousands of new spells, re-igniting wizardry.

[punkshort]

Ice Cold

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: Dave ghosts you, so you get even by dating someone else in the office. That doesn't sit well with Dave.

Warnings: language, angst, jealousy, possessiveness, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, fingering, pussy pronouns, one spank, infidelity, minor violence, office sex, sexual tension

WC: 6.5K

Collection Masterlist

You had become a part of his routine without him even realizing it. Twice a week, minimum, he would seek you out. And it was always on a night when he was doing some work "off the books". Whether it was tailing a target, doing some recon, or actually finishing the job itself, he always found himself driving to your side of town, parking his car a few blocks away, and under the cover of night he would sneak up to your apartment and quietly undo the lock, letting himself inside.

You weren't aware of the pattern. At least, he didn't think you were. The days of the week were always different, but it was always in the middle of the night and he was always dressed in all black.

Hell, maybe you did know. If you did, you never brought it up. Even after his injury, you never asked any questions.

Maybe that was why he kept coming back to you. It was nice having someone who didn't pry, someone he couldn't implicate. You both wanted the same thing - that thing being him fucking you senseless while you babbled his name and clawed at his back, or the sheets, or the wall, or the goddamn floor. He had been seeing you long enough that he had fucked you all over your apartment.

But on that particular night, Dave realized how much he had grown to depend on the release you gave him. How much he thought about coming to see you once his work was done. And more importantly, how much he was growing to care for you.

That wasn't good. When did he become so reckless? One wrong move because he was distracted with thoughts of you and he was dead.

So that was how he found himself staring up at your apartment building, sitting silently in his car. He squinted, searching the rows and rows of windows until he finally saw one with a familiar, small orchid. As if on cue, his cock began to swell. He clenched his jaw and palmed himself through his pants while he weighed his options.

It took every ounce of willpower to start his engine and pull away from the curb.

It had been three weeks since Dave had come to see you and it was driving you insane. You sat right outside his fucking office every single day, watching him go in and out of meetings, chat with executives by the coffee machine, and take phone calls with clients while laughing and resting his feet on top of his desk.

All the while, he hardly spared you a single glance.

That wasn't necessarily new. Ever since this thing you had began, he did his best to keep his distance from you at work. You assumed it was part of the excitement for him: pretending the other didn't exist until a day later he would show up at two in the morning and fuck your brains out.

But something felt different, now. Something was off. And he never, ever, went more than a week without seeing you.

When he stood to speak in meetings, he wouldn't look in your direction whatsoever. If you dropped something off on his desk, he didn't look up. He ignored you when you tried to say hi as he breezed past your desk but if your co-worker on the other side of your cubical said hello to him, he would smile warmly and greet them in return, making your blood boil.

After having your feelings hurt for maybe the fifth time that week, you had just about enough. You snatched a random file folder off your desk and marched up to his office. Your knuckles rapped loudly on the door while your heart did cartwheels in your chest, and when he called out from the other side to enter, you took a deep breath and stepped inside, closing the door quickly behind you.

"What the fuck is your problem?" you seethed. Dave's shoulders stiffened when he heard your voice and slowly turned away from his computer to pin you with a steely glare.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," you said angrily. "What the hell is going on? You're icing me out. What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," he said, tone clipped. "I'm busy."

"Busy?" you repeated mockingly. "You've been busy for three weeks? You can't even look me in the eye most days. What is this? Some weird power trip?"

Dave shook his head and tensed his jaw. "No."

Silence fell between you at that point. You had thought he would have put up more of a fight, argued back, done or said something, but he just fucking... sat there, gaze flickering between you and a spot on the wall behind you.

"So... what?" you asked, voice quieter but still cold. "This is over? You don't want to see me anymore?"

You watched him work his jaw while tapping an expensive looking pen anxiously on a blank pad of paper. His eyes watched the movement while the silence stretched on painfully between you. When the answer became clear based on the way he avoided your eye and refused to speak, your shoulders sagged and you swallowed tightly.

"Right," you said bitterly. Without thinking, you angrily threw the file you were holding at his chest. He jumped and tried to catch it, but gave up when papers fluttered all over his desk and floor.

And he still didn't say a fucking word.

"Could've at least been a man and told me you were done with me to my fucking face," you snarled, then turned on your heel and disappeared back out into the office. You resisted the urge to slam his door behind you, knowing it would have caused a scene, and decided at the last minute to just leave it ajar.

And for the first time possibly ever, when Dave stepped out of his office to leave for the day, you were already gone.

Michael was nice. A little nerdy, a little awkward, but he was relatively good looking and he was sweet. He held doors open for you, always asked questions to get to know you better instead of always talking about himself, and never once pressured you to go home with him, even after you had been out with him several times.

Then again, he was probably too timid to ask you back to his place. Which was fine with you, given you were still struggling to recover from your break up, or... whatever it was that happened between you and Dave.

The week following your outburst in Dave's office, he disappeared for five days. Some people said he was on a business trip, so you chose to believe them. In that time, you had gone on two dates and three lunches with Michael.

He worked in your office, too. He had trained you when you first started and while you hadn't given him a second thought once your training was complete, you caught his gaze lingering on you in the break room the day after your argument with Dave and you made a stupid decision. You flirted with him, asked him if he was seeing anyone, and of course, he asked you to the movies that weekend.

Initially, you had made a rash decision based entirely around making Dave jealous. But when he disappeared for a week and you kept seeing Michael, your attitude shifted a bit. You had decided it was best to move on, and who better to move on with than a nice guy who treated you well?

And it really felt like it was working, too. When you ran into Michael at the water cooler, it gave you butterflies and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling. But in the back of your mind, Dave always lurked. You knew you'd run into him again. It was impossible not to. But when you finally did, it managed to take you completely off guard.

The day it happened, you and Michael were sitting together in the corner of the lunchroom. You had just finished your food and were listening to him tell you a story about a car accident he witnessed on the way into work that morning when you saw movement out of the corner of your eye.

You knew it was Dave before you even saw him. It was like your body just sensed him nearby. Your skin felt flush under the heat of his gaze and your hand began to tremble in your lap when it seemed like he wasn't moving, just frozen and fucking staring. Nervously, you cleared your throat and tossed your hair over your shoulder to glance his way.

His eyes immediately locked with yours. He was gripping a mug of coffee so tightly that you could see the whites of his knuckles even from the opposite side of the room. Michael was still talking, oblivious to the tense moment you were sharing with another man right in front of him.

Another man who, when you were falling asleep at night, still imagined breaking into your apartment while you slept.

Another man who you could still feel inside of you.

Another man who was suddenly crossing the room and making a beeline for your table.

"York," Michael said, sounding surprised when Dave approached. "How was Akron?"

"Fine," Dave said, his eyes never leaving yours. You gulped.

Michael blinked and seemed to remember his manners, introducing you to Dave followed by not sure if you've met.

"We have," Dave replied. He finally tore his eyes away from you to fix Michael with a look that could melt steel when his hand rested nonchalantly on your thigh.

It was under the table, but Dave noticed. He noticed everything.

"She sits right outside my office," Dave reminded him before dragging his gaze back to you.

Michael chuckled and stammered something but you didn't listen. You couldn't. Not with the way your ears were ringing and your pulse thrumming so fast, you thought the whole room could hear.

"Is there something we can do for you?" Michael asked when the awkward silence had gone on too long. Had you even said a word yet? Jesus Christ.

"Yeah," Dave replied, shoving a fist into his pocket. His other hand still tightly gripped his mug and you could tell by the way he bounced a little on his heels and loosened his shoulders that he was trying to come off as relaxed, but you knew better. You knew Dave very well.

"Just wanted to check with you and make sure you're still free for that meeting later?"

It took you at least half a minute to realize Dave was speaking to you.

You straightened your back and crossed your legs under your skirt, forcing yourself to snap out of it.

"Uh, yeah," you mumbled. You had assumed he was just making it up, to fabricate an excuse for him to come over, but then he said, "At four. My office?"

Four. His office.

Your heart was hammering in your chest.

"Y-yeah. Yes."

"Don't keep her too long, York. We're catching dinner tonight, don't wanna be late," Michael said with a sweet, clueless grin in your direction. You tried to mirror him but the best you could do was a shaky smile.

Dave's eyes burned holes into you when he said, "That right? Somewhere nice?"

Michael began to talk about the Italian restaurant he had made reservations for, blabbering on and on about the Sunday sauce and the fucking bread they made in house. Meanwhile, you were wilting under Dave's glare and praying to whatever god was out there that you didn't faint from the pressure.

"Well, I'll do my best," Dave smirked, acknowledging Michael's original concern before swiveling around and disappearing back into the depths of the office.

"Guy's intense," Michael chuckled. You managed to choke out a soft laugh while you shakily cleaned up your lunch. "I didn't know you had meetings with him. What's his deal?"

"Uh, I don't know," you shrugged. "He's alright. Quiet. Keeps to himself."

"I notice he never really talks about himself. Always steers the conversation back to the other person. You ever notice that?"

You frowned and pursed your lips. Did Michael pick up on something between you and Dave?

"I don't think so. We don't talk much."

"When I asked about Akron, for instance, he dodged the question," Michael continued.

"Maybe there's just not much to say about Akron," you shrugged. Who the hell cared? You had bigger things to worry about.

A beat of silence passed between you as Michael walked you back to your desk, but thankfully once you got there, he was back to his usual self once again. He kissed your cheek and said he was looking forward to later, to which you smiled and agreed. But when you turned your back to sit down, Michael's eyes found Dave's from within his office. Michael gave him a terse nod and headed back in the direction of his desk halfway across the massive, open space, leaving you to panic for the next three hours over what the hell Dave really had planned for you at four o'clock.

One minute after four and you found yourself seated across from Dave in his office. You had brought a pad of paper and pen but you had no idea what you would need it for. You triple checked your calendar earlier - there was no meeting at four. So your anxiety just built up all afternoon and was on the verge of boiling over as you watched him calmly scroll through emails while casually pressing the tip of two fingers against his lower lip, giving you the impression he was deep in thought as you squirmed impatiently in your seat.

"You're a lot quieter than the last time you came in here."

Those were the first words he said to you. His gaze still remained fixed on his monitor while you formulated a response.

"What else is there to say?"

His dark eyes flickered over to you and you swore you saw something soft there, but he blinked and suddenly it was gone.

"Guess you're right," he murmured before focusing back on his computer. He waited a minute before adding, "Does he treat you well?"

You glanced at the clock: five after four.

"There's no meeting, is there?" you asked.

"Sure, there is."

Your eyes dropped to his and you swallowed tightly. Fuck, why did he have to look so good? He was just wearing a light blue button down and red tie, but his shoulders looked ready to burst out of the fabric and you kept fantasizing about that goddamn tie dangling in your face as his hands pushed your legs apart to make room for his hips.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, snapping you out of your reverie.

"No," you whispered hoarsely. You cleared your throat but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch and his eyes dart down to catch your thighs pressing together.

"You sure? You look a little warm."

"I'm fine," you hissed.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I know."

Dave sighed and let his hand fall from his computer mouse so he could turn and face you properly.

"Just tell me if he's treating you well, and I'll let it go."

You swallowed again and fixed your gaze on his desk when you said, "Yes. He's nice."

Dave nodded once. "Nicer than me?"

"I thought you said you'd let it go."

He smirked and laced his fingers together on his desk. "I'm finding it harder than I thought to let things go that pertain to you."

Butterflies bloomed in your stomach and you tried your hardest to control your breathing while those goddamn beautiful eyes of his kept staring at you, waiting for an answer.

"It's - I can't compare you to him," you said quietly. His shoulders stilled and you realized he was holding his breath. "It's not exactly apples to apples. He doesn't sneak into my apartment in the middle of the night and you didn't take me to Italian restaurants."

"Is that what you wanted? For me to take you out?" he asked, the vulnerability in his voice surprising you.

"Uh, well, I - I never really-"

A shrill ring pierced the air and the red light on the corner of his desk phone lit up. His hand immediately stretched out to tap a button and he cleared his throat.

"York."

A female voice greeted him on the other end, announcing that he was on speakerphone with a handful of others whose names she rattled off and you realized that there was, in fact, a meeting. Dave tapped another button, presumably the mute button, so he could point to your pen.

"I need you to take notes."

You nodded numbly and slowly picked up your pen, jotting down the date in the corner of a blank page while your mind was reeling. You did your best to write down key phrases and talking points, but your brain was scrambled from the past ten minutes.

"So," Dave said casually, leaning back in his chair. "He's nice, takes you to restaurants-"

Your eyes flickered to the phone, checking to make sure he was still muted.

"-what else?"

Your jaw tensed and you dropped your pen. There was a meeting, sure, but clearly not an important one. It was all a ruse, after all.

"You're the one who stopped coming to see me, remember?" you snapped. His eyebrows twitched but otherwise he didn't move. "Why are you doing this? Why are you asking me all these questions when I'm just trying to move on-"

"You're mad."

"Yes, I'm mad!" you exclaimed, then lowered your voice and rubbed the back of your neck with a sigh.

"And you're tense," he added lowly. You nodded and rolled your head from side to side. Dave's eyes fell to the soft skin of your neck and he licked his lips.

"Yes," you whispered.

He hummed and tented his fingers together, deep in thought.

"Seems like being nice and taking you for expensive dinners doesn't hold up well in bed," he taunted, making your eyes narrow and your nostrils flare.

"Stop it."

"Tell me I'm wrong," Dave pressed, leaning forward again and resting his forearms on the desktop. Your gaze fell to his hands; those thick, skilled fingers and that strong grip. Your legs began to tremble from how hard you were clenching them together. When you didn't answer, he grew impatient.

"Just tell me and I promise I'll let it go."

People walked by Dave's office. You could hear their muffled voices laughing while you sat there, feeling like you were about to combust.

He wouldn't stop. You could tell by the look in his eye, he wasn't ever going to let you leave without admitting it. So, you sighed and crossed your arms.

"We haven't had sex. Happy?"

His face instantly lit up but he tried to hide it with a condescending frown.

"Oh, baby, no wonder you're all worked up," he cooed.

"I'm worked up because you're being an asshole."

Dave shrugged. "Maybe. Either way, I can help you."

You barked out a laugh and rolled your eyes, ignoring the heat that flared between your legs. "How's that? Waking me up in the middle of the night so you can fuck me and disappear?"

Something not unlike regret flickered across his face.

"I didn't realize our arrangement wasn't working for you," he admitted, not a trace of teasing to be found in his voice.

"It wasn't working for you, if I recall," you shot back. You refused to let him confuse you. Did you wonder what it would be like to have a normal relationship with Dave? Sure. But you knew what you signed up for from the beginning, and that was fine. You never said a word otherwise and didn't plan on it.

He was the one who stopped showing up.

"Not true," he said with a shake of his head. "It was working too well. That was the problem." Your eyes widened as you listened to him speak. You had resigned yourself to never getting closure with Dave, but it turned out you were wrong. His fingers tapped nervously on the desk while a man's voice began to filter through the speaker on his phone.

"You were becoming a distraction. And a constant," he continued after a moment. "It was getting too risky for us both, so..."

"So you ghosted me."

Shame passed over his face when he nodded.

"Yeah."

You sniffled and silently stared down at your lap. It made sense. Whatever it was he did at night was dangerous and illegal, that much you knew. You had to imagine many bad people would try to get to Dave at any given time, try to kill him, so he couldn't risk lowering his guard, and he couldn't risk putting you in harm's way.

"You could have just told me that instead of making me feel like shit for weeks," you grumbled. Dave nodded.

"I know. I'm- I'm sorry."

Closure. An apology. Finally.

You sighed and dragged your gaze back up to his.

"Apology accepted."

More muffled voices walked past his office while you stared at one another. The words projection and budget and sales were being said in a monotone voice through his phone, but neither of you absorbed any of it. You were too lost in each other's eyes as the heat that always seemed to crackle between you grew even hotter.

"Are we good now?" you asked, breaking the spell.

"Good?" he repeated while tilting his head to the side.

You swallowed. "Yeah. Good. Can we work together without this being weird?"

Slowly, he nodded, but you could still feel that familiar spark. The one you usually felt in the stillness of your apartment late at night.

The tension was too thick. You had to look somewhere else, anywhere else, so your eyes found the clock behind him. Half past four.

"Something wrong?"

Your eyes shifted back to his face.

"No," you murmured. He shook his sleeve loose and glanced down at his watch.

"Don't worry, I'll get you to your date on time."

You had completely forgotten about your dinner plans with Michael. Something must have given that thought away because Dave smirked and shot you a knowing look.

"That's what you're thinking about, right?" he asked with a teasing edge to his voice. Then his gaze dropped down to your lap where your legs remained pressed tightly together. "Or are you thinking about something else?"

Your pulse fluttered nervously in your throat and you could have sworn Dave saw it, like a predator zeroing in on his prey.

"No," you lied, voice coming out thick and raspy, making your chest flush with embarrassment.

Dave hummed and looked away, pretending to read something in his email while he not so subtly dropped a hand to adjust himself through his black dress pants. You mouth watered at just the mere memory of his thick cock lying heavy across your tongue and you made a soft noise in the back of your throat. Dave focused on you again and grinned.

"You sure you're not thinking about anything else?"

You shook your head, trying to ignore the pull low in your belly when he looked at you like that. But when he leaned forward in his chair and you found your own body drifting forward like a fucking magnet, you knew you were done for.

"Can I tell you what I'm thinking about?" he asked. You gulped and nodded before you even had a chance to think it over. He smirked and ticked his jaw to the side, clocking the way your chest rose twice as fast as normal underneath your blouse.

"I'm thinking about how good that tight little cunt would feel right about now," he said lowly. You whimpered and glanced at the phone again, confirming the mute button was still lit up before looking back at Dave. He was still pinning you with the darkest stare, as if people weren't yapping through the speaker or walking past his office every few minutes.

"She's all wet for me, isn't she?" he goaded from across his desk. With a last ditch attempt at having some dignity, you shook your head, voice long gone and no longer trustworthy. Dave tsked and narrowed his eyes.

"You're lying."

You glanced at the clock again, cheeks flaring with heat under his tense gaze, then cleared your throat and forced yourself to speak.

"I'm not lying."

Even to you, your voice sounded broken and foreign.

"Prove it," he whispered.

Your breath stuttered and you felt a gush of arousal flood your panties, betraying the very words you just spoke. And even though you knew you shouldn't, even though you knew it would undo all the progress you thought you just made, you found yourself murmuring, "Here?"

"Here," he replied firmly, then patted the top of his desk and slowly leaned back in his chair while spreading his legs, waiting for you to make your decision.

You rose to your feet before you even had a chance to think, but that's how it always was with Dave. The things he said and did to you caused your mind to go blank and just give in.

A small chorus of laughter echoed through the phone but neither of you registered it when you rounded his desk and stood between his knees.

To his credit, he kept his eyes on your face, even after you perched on the edge of his desk and propped up a heeled foot on either arm rest of his chair, caging him in. You bunched up the fabric of your skirt, breath coming in excited, shallow pants, before pressing one hand flat onto the desk behind you, holding yourself up. Dave's expression didn't change. He kept staring deep into your eyes throughout it all, but when you hooked your underwear to the side and revealed your glistening cunt underneath your skirt, his eyes finally dropped to take a look.

"Christ," he groaned, tugging at the knot of his tie. You smirked when you finally saw the crack in his armor. His brows pinched together as if he were in pain as he continued to stare between your legs. After what felt like an eternity, he swallowed and met your gaze again.

"You lied."

"I know."

He stood up in a flash, his chair rolling somewhere behind him while your legs dropped to dangle over the edge of the wood. He made a move to grab your thighs but hesitated. Instead, he curled his hands into fists and planted them on either side of you.

"Tell me what you want," he said darkly, lips hovering dangerously close to yours. You shuddered and your eyelids slid closed, breathing in the sweet scent of coffee, mint, and ink. "Tell me what you want and I'll do it," he said more firmly.

That was one of the things that kept you coming back to Dave: when it came to moments like that one, when you felt like you were floating and lost under his spell, he always reminded you who really held the power.

"I want you to fuck me," you whispered. Instantly, your mouths sealed together and his hands grabbed your thighs, pulling them even further apart so he could wedge his hips between them. With a quickness that shocked you, he reached under your skirt and tugged your underwear down your legs with one hand, letting them drop unceremoniously to the floor before his hands were back on you again.

Your tongue slid past his parted lips to find its mate while your hand dropped to his belt. Shaky fingers tugged hastily at the leather while some woman droned on through the phone next to you.

You swallowed down his groan when you made quick work of opening his belt and pants, letting the fabric hang loose so you could reach for what you really wanted. At the same time you wrapped your fist around his smooth, aching cock, his fingers found your slit. He slipped two fingers past your lips and you whimpered into his mouth when you felt your arousal begin to leak out onto his desk.

"Fuck," he groaned before swiping his fingers through your pussy once more. "Fuck, you're so wet. You need me bad, huh?"

"Yeah," you whined, biting at his lower lip once before your mouth drifted down to his jaw. You scooted closer to the edge of his desk and pulled him in, hand still stroking his erection. Dropping your chin to your chest, you looked down between your bodies. He was leaking and rock hard and so fucking close to where you needed him.

With your free hand, you curled your fingers around the back of his neck and pulled his mouth against your throat, moaning when his lips made contact with your pulse point.

"Can't be loud," he panted. The tip of his cock bumped against your pussy and you bit back another moan.

"Y-yeah, okay," you stammered. "Just - please, Dave. Please-"

"I know, I know," he said, and each of you held your breath when he dropped his hips forward to notch at your entrance.

You tried to look him in the eye when he pressed inside, but the feeling of relief was so exquisite that it had you falling forward to bury your face into his neck.

He cursed softly under his breath once he was fully sheathed inside you, but all you could do was press your mouth firmly against his throat, hoping to muffle any noises that slipped past your lips once he began to move.

"Shit," he sighed when he drew himself halfway out just to thrust deep inside your cunt once again. Your eyebrows knit together as you concentrated on not making any noise, but it was a next to impossible task. The way he stretched you and filled you up just right every single time had you completely forgetting where you were.

His big hands found a home on your waist, holding you steady when he began to snap his hips faster. Your ankles hooked around the backs of his legs and your fingers clawed helplessly at his back while he fucked you, wishing you could cry out his name and beg for more.

"This is what you wanted, huh? This what you needed?"

He murmured into your ear as he pounded into you, each knock of his hips taking your breath away. All you could do was nod helplessly and take it.

"Not him. Me," he clarified. When you heard the jealousy in his voice, you smiled into his skin.

"Yes," you whispered.

"Fucking - say it," he grunted.

"Just you, Dave," you gasped. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix and you whimpered, praying it wasn't too loud. His hand shot up to grab your jaw, a thumb and forefinger pushing into each one of your cheeks. Startled, you opened your eyes.

"You're gonna go on your little dinner date," he growled, "and you're gonna have my cum leaking out of you. Every fucking time you move, you're gonna think of me. Right?"

"Yes," you hissed, then yanked your chin out of his grip so you could bend forward and whisper in his ear, "but I was going to be thinking about you either way."

That pleased him. He chuckled and held your hips steady before pulling out of you roughly. You whined and Dave pressed a finger against your lips.

"Turn around."

With a mischievous grin, you slid down from his desk and did as you were told, leaning your forearms on his desk and sticking out your ass. But right when he was ready to enter you again, you both heard his name through the phone.

He paused and reached forward to unmute and your heart sunk.

"Yeah, Kathy?"

You closed your eyes and let your forehead fall to your hands, already anticipating losing the build up of your orgasm, but much to your surprise, you felt the tip of his cock nestle between your folds. Your head snapped up right when he buried himself fully inside you, eyes bugging out of your head and your jaw hung open in a silent scream.

The phone wasn't muted. Kathy was yammering on about quarterly something or others, wanting to get Dave's take on things, while he was already slowly fucking you once again.

"Yeah, so, I think the projections for next month look very positive," Dave was saying while shallowing thrusting in and out of you. Your teeth sunk into the back of your hand and tears burned your eyes, but you remained perfectly quiet. "There's a few big clients we're ready to lock down any day now, and-"

Dave coughed when your cunt clenched around him, stilling his hips and causing him to dig his fingers into your waist.

"Excuse me," he said, voice sounding an octave higher than usual. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he began to fuck into you faster.

"Next quarter looks promising. Fourth quarter always dips below expectations-"

Dave grunted softly when your back arched and your hand reached behind you to grab his wrist. You began to rock your hips, matching his pace and pulsing around him with your lip trapped between your teeth. You were close.

"-we always make up for it the following year," he continued while reaching around, pressing the pad of his finger against your clit.

You gasped, completely forgetting about the phone. Half a second later, you folded your palm across your mouth. The timing was perfect, too, because Dave gave you a sharp smack across the ass as punishment while clearing his throat to cover up the noise.

A man's voice joined in through the phone, but you couldn't process a single word he said. Dave was fucking into you steadily now with a firm finger still drawing tight circles over your clit. Your hips were grinding into the edge of his desk, almost sure to leave bruises the following day, but you didn't care one bit. The pleasure that was mounting between your legs was overpowering every other sensation, and when it finally snapped, throwing you over the edge with a silent scream into your palm, nothing else mattered. Nothing except for Dave.

"Yes, Charles, I agree," he said through clenched teeth. Your climax was still rolling through you, causing your pussy to gush and squeeze around his cock, trying to pull him over the edge and give you what you wanted. What he promised.

Mercifully, Charles took the lead and began to give his own insight. Dave fell forward, chest hovering just over your back, and he slapped the mute button. The little button glowed red and he let out a low groan right next to your ear before he shuddered and then stilled. A moment later, you felt his release flooding your pussy, filling you up more and more with each soft moan that tumbled from his lips until he sighed and dropped his forehead to rest on the back of your shoulder.

"You're gonna get me fired," he murmured into your back. You laughed dryly with your eyes closed.

"Something tells me you'd be just fine."

Dave chuckled and slowly pushed himself up with a groan. One hand held your hip steady so he could pull out, grunting when he abandoned the warmth of your body. Almost instantly, you felt his seed trickle out of you, smearing between your thighs when you pressed them together.

You stood with a wince, legs and hips already aching, and went to fix your skirt when much to your surprise, Dave's hands got there first. He got down on his knees to take you gently by the ankles, guiding each leg through the material of your panties before sliding them back into place. Then his eyes locked with yours when he straightened your skirt, hands lingering on the bare skin of your calves for just a moment. You swallowed tightly, fascinated by the sight of him on his knees for you with such an endearing look across his face.

Behind you, voices in the phone were bidding everyone farewell, snapping Dave out of his trance. He stood and tapped the mute button, mimicked a polite goodbye, then hung up. His eyes drifted to you once again, still frozen in place up against his desk.

"Hope you aren't too late for your dinner."

You glanced at the clock and cursed when you saw it was already a few minutes past five.

"He's probably waiting out there for me," you told him. Dave nodded curtly and you thought that was your cue to leave, so you took one step forward. When his hand shot out to grab your arm, you swiveled back around.

Dave's lips met yours with the sweetest kiss you'd ever shared with him. There was no urgency or messiness or fighting for dominance. It was soft and tender and chaste, making your heart rattle inside your chest. But just as quickly as it started, it was over. He dropped your arm and slumped down tiredly in his chair, effectively dismissing you.

A big part of you wanted to ask if he was going to start coming by your apartment again, but you bit your tongue. What you just shared was probably just one last fuck for him; break up sex, if you were willing to call it a break up, and the last thing you wanted to do was embarrass yourself. So you ran your fingers through your hair and gathered your things before disappearing out into the office, softly shutting the door behind you, the whole time feeling Dave's gaze watching your every move.

Surprisingly, Michael was not at your desk. You didn't think anything of it, just grateful you had a few extra minutes to yourself to breathe and shift gears before having to see him. As you were packing up your things, you saw a pink post-it note stuck to your coffee mug: meet you in the parking ramp.

Okay, so he had been there at some point. It was probably a good thing Dave actually had a conference call at four. It kept you from feeling too paranoid as you switched off your light and pulled on your coat. You hurried to the elevator all alone, the floor almost entirely empty, which was no surprise for a Friday. Right before you stepped onto the elevator, you glanced back once towards Dave's closed door. His light was still on, the bright yellow glow peered out from the crack under his door.

All the way down to the parking garage, you were burdened by the words Dave moaned in your ear and the empty feeling he left inside your leaking pussy. Something about him was so magnetic, it was difficult to think about anything else. It was why you were so distracted walking towards your car in the dark parking garage and didn't hear the soft footsteps of a man sneaking up behind you, hitting you so hard over the head with something heavy and narrow that you passed out immediately.

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[artytaeh]

THEODORE NOTT HAS A LOT OF MONEY. and even though that's a relief that indulges his own impulsive spendings to pamper himself, it still doesn't feel like he properly makes use of it.

the large bookshelf on his bedroom, at the nott mansion, might suggest otherwise.

( what? theodore enjoys special editions; no, it's not silly to want a first edition of one of his older favorites, or a hard cover version with a better illustration, really. much less having paid more for a book on his native language, given that he's in london, a bit too far away from the city he was born, millan. )

but then, ah— there it is! the reason why his family's ridiculous wealth makes sense, now!

because what theodore nott lacks in a few matters, such as communication or spending a lot of time with you, when he needs his time alone, he'll compensate like this.

one might perceive this as a heartless, uncaring way to press bandaids over emotional wounds; believe me, it couldn't be farther than this.

theodore just likes to see you smile, and given that his black card is a means to such an end, well, why not?

things are just things; but things do bring happiness, so yes, you can buy happy feelings!

theodore would love to know if you collect something— mugs? he's bringing a new one for you, now paying extra special attention to crockery themed stores. snowglobes? there's this one he found, with a charm to it! if there's a comic series you like, theodore would discreetly surprise you every week with a new volume.

only for you to go and break his heart, standing in front of his door with his gifts in arms, extending them for theodore to take it back.

cluelessly, and looking a bit like a kicked puppy, theodore frowns. are you angry at him? isn't this the type of thing you like? should you reassure him that your only issue is the excessive money spent on you, theodore feels like a weight left his shoulders.

huff; so, he does know how to please his girlfriend and what she likes!

... but why are you rejecting him? 'hey, bella, don't offend me— this isn't going to empty nott's vault any time soon.'

should his puppy eyes work, well then, you're doomed.

because theodore will use this same excuse over and over again, when he brings another thing that reminds him of you. what? you mentioned that you like coats like these! it's a color you like to wear, and you'll need warm clothes like that in a matter of weeks!

do you not like his gifts? theodore will give you a look that, if you didn't know better about his cynical shenanigans, you'd believe that his heart was being shattered to pieces.

that's the reason why dates at hogsmeade are so dangerous. i'm being serious— you might as well keep your eyes on the road, stare at the snow beneath your feet, because if you spend more than four seconds staring at something inside a shop...

there isn't time to process anything else; theodore's mind works fast. you saw it, you seem to like it, he's buying it. in a blink of an eye, theodore already has his card between his index and middle finger, nonchalantly making his way inside.

'can't a man spoil his girl? goddamn it, dolcezza.'

clothes are almost worse. if he sees something that you're staring at, and likes it, theodore is putting so much (discreet. not so discreet,) effort into convincing you to let him buy it for you.

'you'd look good in it. see, it's a color you like, it would look really good, given your skin tone.' and then, he takes a different approach: 'trying it on doesn't hurt, right?'

a cruel plan, you see, because then you fall in love with this dress, as much as theodore fell in love with the idea of you wearing such pretty clothes.

his arms embrace your waist, like a snake slowly trapping its victim; the fabric feels right under his skin, the dress looking as if it was sketched for you, fitting better than a glove.

theodore rests his chin on your shoulder, holding back a smirk as he sees you mourning the idea of leaving the dress here— it's just so pretty! and theodore's compliments don't help!

🗯️ : but teddy, it's really cold these days. i wouldn't be able to wear it, anyways.

t : and that's why we learned simple warming charms during third year.

🗯️ : sure, but— i don't have where to use it, so it's not worth it if it's just going to look pretty in my dresser.

t : no worries, bambina. i'll think about a perfect date for you to wear this, looking so pretty for me. bellissima, la mia bella ragazza.

NO USE IN ARGUING WITH HIM; theodore nott always wins these rounds. the battle is won, and the war is benefitting his side.

even if you do not let him spoil you with such impulsive thoughts and freedom, theodore would never, for the life of him, let you pay for a single coffee or meal while you're with him.

lunches at hogsmeade are a favorite of his. obviously, he's paying. this slytherin doesn't joke about the topic; will give you the biggest side eye if you take out your wallet.

who do you think he is? his mother raised a man that knows how to treat a girl right, and a good boyfriend! no way in hell is any soul at hogsmeade, scotland, europe— hell, galaxy!— considering that he's not taking care of his amata ragazza properly.

ALL IN ALL, THEODORE FINDS IT SWEET how much you worry over it, and insist that he could spend this same money on things that he likes.

but that's what you fail to understand— what theodore likes, more than a new book with a promising synopsis, or an exquisite astrolobe— is seeing you smile for something that he got you.

﹙★﹚ won't give you gifts to earn his forgiveness earlier, though. he wants his presents to feel like he genuinely thought you'd like it, not as a bargain or bribery.

anyways, i love this man. 🌷

[fanfoolishness]

I like to imagine that in the future, people remember the clones. After Palpatine falls for good on Exegol, imagine an explosion of freedom and knowledge in those days after the final defeat: imagine archaeologists and scholars plumbing the depths of Imperial and First Order records, trying to figure out what had happened so it could never happen again. And through it all they find the clones’ story woven into everything, until a new field emerges of Clone Studies, a loose alliance of military history buffs and research biologists and anthropologists and ethicists.

They catalogue the Kaminoans’ research; they review the clone memorials on Coruscant, on Zeffo, monuments as large as a massive wall or as small as a quiet statue, from people throughout the galaxy who were grateful for what they did. They study the great tragedy and betrayal of the chip, finally understanding the scope of Palpatine’s plans and bringing them out into the open, sharing the truth that the clones never chose to betray the Jedi Order and Republic they had served faithfully. They study old war vids and oral histories from people of long-lived species or whose grandparents remembered the clones; they build, memory by memory, a sense of the culture, the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the loyalty. They collect vids of battle songs and in-jokes and an interior language shared among them, springing up over the years.

They find and list their names, self-chosen or given by their brothers: Rex, Fives, Howzer, Echo, Tup, Gregor, Wolffe, Cody, Boil, Waxer, Cut. They study the clones whose differences defined them and knit them into a family whose ties could not be broken, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair, Omega. They study the discarded who nevertheless still had value - 99, Emerie, the clones who were culled in infancy for being wrong. There are specialists who devote their entire branch of study to the only male unaltered clone and his infamous exploits throughout the galaxy, so alike his father’s. They study the years of the clone rebellion, a fight that paved the way for the next wave of fighters and the next after them.

The clones are gone. That is undisputed. Their kind came for a little while, and then vanished, burning brightly; their tale was a tragedy, but one unique in all its seeming sameness. There are conferences and holovids and books. There are debates and research firing up young scholars about a time only their great-grandparents can remember.

In the future, after all the clones are gone, there are still stories.

[sxgakookie]

Summary: You're an author giving a talk for your newest published work, when you're asked a question about your recent engagement to Kim Namjoon. The question gives you an opportunity to relive the chance meeting and the sweet moments that made you fall for your fiancé. Genre: Fluff, Smut (softdom! and idol!Namjoon x reader) Rating/Warnings: Adults Only (Strong language, oral [male and female receiving], riding and missionary sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms) Word Count: ~5.6k words

“Our conversation is about to wrap, and I know that we have questions from the audience, but there is one more thing I’d like to mention.” The interviewer, Ji-ah, said with a bright, white smile. “Your recent engagement to Kim Namjoon. I just wanted to say congratulations.” 

“Thank you.” You blushed, not expecting your fiancé to come up in the interview. The audience clapped, with smiles, clearly happy to see you happy. 

“I just wanted to ask, what is that story?” Ji-ah asked. “How did the two of you get together?” 

“Well,” You laughed, thinking back to past moments, like flipping pages in your memory book. You look out into the audience, speaking to everyone there with sparkling eyes. “We met in this beautiful city, actually. It was during my first trip here, to Seoul.” 

You stood in your hotel room, slipping on a newly purchased pair of black patent leather heels, perfect for your planned night out. It was something you were looking forward to, after working all day, signing Korean-language copies of your most recent best seller. Ever since landing in Seoul, you had wanted to explore the city, particularly its art scene, as art has always been a love of yours, wherever you traveled. 

After you slipped on the heels, you did a quick check in the mirror, making sure your makeup, hair and dress were to your liking. You threw on a beige coat for the cold, winter winds outside, and made your way down the hall of the hotel, to meet your driver outside. 

Seoul was beautiful at night, especially when the snow was light and fluffy. Flakes collected on the glass of the backseat window, where you watched the buildings pass by. The streets were illuminated by the soft glow of street lights, and, despite the cold temperatures, people were bracing the weather, still out and about. You sent a quick text to your literary agent, to thank her for getting you into this exhibition opening, barely being able to press send before you had arrived. 

The gallery was small and intimate, with bright white walls and dark, black floors, giving it a modern yet still warm feel. When you entered, a polite employee took your coat for you, and offered you a glass of red wine. You accepted with a smile and a ‘thank you’ in your best Korean, before heading off into the crowd. 

If there were anyone there that you knew, you wouldn’t have noticed with the way your eyes latched to the work of Agnes Martin. Beautiful, minimalist works graced the white walls, etches of grids with a human touch. You stood in front of one, its color a deep blue, and allowed yourself to get lost in the work. 

A man, who had been walking the circumference of the room opposite of you, had met you in the middle, at this deep blue piece. He stood next to you, towering over you with his rather tall height and toned body. He raised his own glass of wine to his lips, and caught glimpses of you out of the corner of his eye, noticing you were doing the same. 

“This one is gorgeous, isn't it?” You finally spoke, being the first to break the ice. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, taking another short sip. “It’s so easy to just get lost in her work.” 

“Mhm.” You hummed in agreement. “Like you’re melting into it.” 

The man turned to face you directly, making the size difference even more pronounced. He had sparkling dark eyes, and thick black hair, styled well. He was more casually dressed than many of the people there, and like yourself, one of the younger attendees, though you felt he was a couple years older than you. 

“I’m Namjoon.” He introduced himself with a smile. It was infectious, you noted, as you mimicked with your own smile. Your eyes flashed to his deep dimples on his cheeks. 

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” 

“Y/N… Y/L/N?” Namjoon asked, his eyes widening. “You just published a book here, didn't you?” 

“I did.” You smiled warmly. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to know me here.” 

“Actually, I had read it only like, a day or two after it came out.” Namjoon explained. “Hidden Places, right? Yeah I um, to be honest, I don’t usually read essay collections but your book may have changed my mind.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” You said. “And also, you’re Kim Namjoon, right? The musician?” 

“Yeah.” He flashed his dimples. “It’s hard to be a stranger sometimes, right?” 

“Definitely.” You laughed. “But, it’s ok. I suppose you get used to it. So, you collect her work?” You asked, your head motioning towards the work. 

“Not yet.” Namjoon said. “That’s why I came tonight, seeing if anything stuck out to me.” 

“And?” You asked. “Did it?” 

“Maybe.” He said, looking back at you. You smiled under his gaze, and there was a moment of pause, as Namjoon’s eyes lingered on you for just a bit. “Do you, uh… Do you collect her work?” 

“Not really.” You shook your head. “But I’m a fan. Just haven’t sold that many books yet, you know?” 

“Right.” He nodded. 

“I read Olivia Laing’s essay about her, and I really became a fan of hers through that.” You mentioned, walking to the next piece together. 

“Yeah?” Namjoon said, his brows raised. “Why?” 

“Because it’s amazing to me how a woman with such a complicated and chaotic life, could create work that’s so… still.” You said, as though talking to yourself. “It’s peaceful. Y’know, sometimes, we say that we try to see ourselves in art, but I don’t think that’s true. I think we try to see our ideal version of ourselves in art. So if we live messy, chaotic lives, we’re drawn to something like this. Peaceful. Simple. Because that’s what we’d like our lives to be.” 

Namjoon listened intensely, his focus on your lips, as if he were reading the words you were speaking directly. 

“Is that what you’d like your life to be?” He asked, with another sip of his wine. 

“Maybe.” You shrugged, before realizing how long you’ve talked. “I’m babbling, sorry.” You blushed.

“No, it’s great.” He confessed. “I think you’re right. Maybe that’s why I like her work, too.. I think I’d like my life to be more simple.” 

“Same.” You laughed together, and sipped your wine. 

You continued chatting throughout the night, content to meet a friend in a new city. Namjoon carried himself with a warmth to him that was so genuine, and it radiated throughout the whole room. Many people came up to speak to him, and you couldn’t tell if he knew each one or not, because he spoke to each person as though they had been friends for years. It was nice, you thought, to meet someone so personable in a world that seems so isolated. 

The night was coming to a close, and tipsy patrons were making their way out of the gallery. Namjoon walked out with you, both of you with your hands in your coat pockets. You could see your breath in the cold air, and your driver parked parallel on the street. 

“It was lovely meeting you. Thanks for keeping me company tonight.” You smiled. 

“Any time.” He responded. “Hey, um… How long are you in the city for?” 

“About a week or so,” You said. “I’m here for work, but my nights are free. Next weekend, I’m leaving for some events in Busan.” 

“While you’re here, I was thinking I could show you around.” Namjoon said. “If you’d like to.” 

“Yeah, for sure.” You nodded. “That would be great.” 

You exchanged numbers, and Namjoon gave a promise to call you. He stood on the sidewalk, and watched you run through the falling snow to the black SUV that was waiting for you. When you closed the door, you could see that he was still there, smiling at you and waving you goodbye. 

“Wow.” Ji-ah smiled. “What a chance meeting, right?” 

“It was.” You said gently. “To be honest, I assumed we’d both be too busy and forget to call each other, or I just thought, ‘Hey, I have a new friend in a new city. Sure, he’s cute, but whatever. It’s fine.’” You laughed, and the audience laughed too. 

“But, he obviously did call.” Ji-ah said with a grin. 

“He did.” You nodded. “Just like he said he would, the very next day. And me, being as oblivious as I am, didn’t realize we weren’t just making plans to ‘hang out.’ I never even considered he had more in mind.” 

“You didn’t realize it could’ve been a date?” Ji-ah laughed, alongside you and the audience. 

“No!” You giggled. “I seriously thought he was just my new friend.” 

“So… What happened?” Ji-ah asked. 

Namjoon glanced at the time on his phone, knowing he was early. The reservations weren’t for another fifteen minutes, and as he watched his own breath escape his lips, he cursed his own excitement for bringing him here this early. But, he wanted to make sure you weren’t waiting for him so, here he was, alone and cold in front of the restaurant. 

He watched as people went about their evening, trying to take his mind off the chills he had. Kids across the street laughed as they played in front of the convenience store, where two men in suits ate instant ramen from cheap to-go bowls, seated in front of the window. Namjoon noted their loose ties, and wondered if they worked together, getting food to decompress after a hard day, or if they just found each other in the same place, at the same time. 

“Hey!” You yelled with a wave, snapping Namjoon out of his daze. You were on the other side of the street, waiting for the traffic light to change. He smiled and waved back, and watched how your hair bounced with every fast step you took across the crosswalk. 

“Hey.” He greeted. “How was your day?” 

“Busy.” You smiled. “Yours?” 

“The same.” He said. “I think it’s almost time for our table to be ready. Let’s get you in from the cold.” 

Namjoon opened the door for you, motioning you in with a playfully exaggerated wave of his arm. You giggled at his antics, and entered the warm, dimly lit restaurant. The building was beautiful, clearly upscale, and not a casual “hang out” spot, like you had assumed. 

“Table for Kim Namjoon.” The host smiled politely, gathering a set of menus in his hands. “Right this way, please.” 

Namjoon followed behind you as the two of you made your way to your table; an intimate, private table near the back of the restaurant. Namjoon politely helped you into your seat, before sitting down across from you. You thanked the host, and then began looking over the pages of the menu. Namjoon, however, was looking at you; the woman who had occupied his mind for the last twenty-four hours. 

“I thought about what you said,” Namjoon finally spoke, causing you to glance at him. “About our lives, and if they’re messy and chaotic, we seek out the opposite.” 

“Yeah? You remember my babbling?” You chuckled. 

“I agree with your babbling.” Namjoon corrected with a dimpled smile. “I think, with my own life, I search for peaceful things to try to balance out the chaos.” 

“And are you successful?” You ask. 

Namjoon just smiled warmly, staring at you, wondering how it’s possible for a woman to be that beautiful. “I’m trying.”  He finally answered. 

Throughout the dinner, you were lost in conversation with Namjoon, and Namjoon was struck by just how easy it felt to be with you. The two of you laughed, enjoyed wine and food, and Namjoon knew with his best instincts that you were someone special. Intelligent, personable, beautiful. The ingredients of the girl of his dreams. He knew you were barely an acquaintance, and he cursed himself for always jumping the gun when it came to love. But he also knew how he felt with you, and he couldn’t ignore it. He wanted to get closer. 

“…So, yeah, I have to go to Busan soon.” You said. “I’m sure it’s lovely there, but I have to admit, I just love Seoul so much.” 

“You could come back.” Namjoon suggested, trying to play it off as a nonchalant thought. “When you’re done with work, just come back and spend some more time here.” 

“Maybe.” You smiled at the thought. “I’ll think about it.” 

“And did you think about it?” Ji-ah questioned, leaning in to hear your answer. 

“I did.” You nodded with a laugh. “But, Namjoon isn’t known for his patience, and came to visit me in Busan instead.” 

“Are you serious?” Ji-ah laughed alongside you. “He went all the way there just to see you again?” 

“He really did. I thought he was out of his mind.” You joked, making the crowd laugh too. “But, in all honesty, it was maybe the most romantic gesture I’ve ever had, and it sealed the deal for a first real date.” 

“Excuse me, Ms. Y/L/N, could you sign my book please? I’m a big fan.” 

“Of course!” You said, not looking up at the man in front of the book signing table as you took his paperback copy. “Who can I make it out to?” 

“Did you really forget me that quickly?” 

You furrowed your brows and looked up, to see Namjoon standing at your table with a goofy, shy grin on his face, and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Your own smile grew and your eyes widened in surprise as you took him in. 

“Oh my God, seriously? What are you doing here?” You laughed. 

“I wanted you to sign my book.” Namjoon playfully answered. “I…um, I wanted to surprise you, too.” 

“You really made a trip down here, and stood in line to surprise me? It definitely worked, I’m surprised.” You giggled. “And… you have flowers?” 

“For you.” He said, his nerves showing. “For um… It’s to congratulate you, on your book and everything.” 

“Thank you.” You said softly, standing up to take the flowers. “I don’t know what to say, that’s so sweet of you.”  

“We can chat in a minute?” He suggested. “I think I’ve taken up my time in line, some women behind me are getting upset.” 

“Ok.” You giggled. “Let me sign your book though, you came all this way.” 

Namjoon watched with complete adoration in his brown eyes as you scribbled a note onto the page of the book. 

“I’ll meet you in a little bit, ok?” 

“Ok.” He nodded, and walked to the side of the bookstore to look at your note. 

“To Joonie, the sweetest man I know. Love, Y/N.”  

Namjoon grinned ear to ear like a schoolboy with a crush. He was nervous to come to Busan, worried that it was too much, and that you wouldn’t like the gesture. But with the validation little note and a soft laugh, he knew he did the right thing. He watched as you signed the books of the rest of the people in line, and listened to each of them compliment your work. You handled yourself so gracefully, he let his mind drift into places it rarely goes with anyone. Could he let you into his world? The public, the paparazzi… Could you handle it? He can only protect you from so much, with so many things out of his control. It was a long way to that point, but he thought just maybe, you would be the right one for him.  

When you were finished, you went over to him with a wave, just as you had the night of your dinner together. 

“What did you want to chat about?” You asked with a sweet tone. 

“I know this might be a lot but,” He paused, looking into your eyes as you looked up at him. “I’d really like to take you out. If you want to.” 

Your smile slowly creeped on your face, and blush painted the apples of your cheeks. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I’d like that.” 

“So yeah, I went out with him.” You smiled, recalling the story. “That first date turned into the two of us going out every night that I was in Busan. We would just meet at places in the city, and spend as much time together as we could.” 

“That’s so cute.” Ji-ah cooed. “I still can’t get over that he went all that way just to see you.” 

“Me either.” You laughed. “But I’m thankful every day that he did.”

“So then, how did the two of you finally become a couple?” Ji-ah asked. “You’re running around Busan together, having fun, getting to know each other… and then what?” 

“Well…” You said, blushing brightly at the memories of that night. 

“I think you’ll love this wine.” Namjoon smiled, walking over to you with a bottle in hand while you sat on the sofa. His hotel suite was more like an apartment, with a spacious living room. He asked you to stay over for the night, after you extended your business trip into a personal vacation, just to stay with Namjoon. You knew it would sound crazy to your friends back home, but being with him just felt right to you. It came so naturally. 

“Yeah?” You answered, watching him sit down next to you and pour a glass. “I really love white wines like this.” 

“I know.” He smiled. Namjoon knew so much about you now. Your favorite foods and drinks, the books you liked and the ones you didn’t. He knew details about your family, and the funny stories of your friends. He told you about himself, too, opening up in a way that usually never comes easy to him outside of his music. 

You snuggled into him with a throw blanket tossed across your legs. Namjoon rested his arm on the back of the couch, allowing you easier access to rest on his shoulder. He smiled when you did, and when you looked up at him, he gave you a soft, slow kiss on the lips. 

You had only kissed Namjoon a couple of times. Your first kiss was at the end of your first date, when he walked you back to your room, and asked permission before moving in a little closer. Ever since, he’s stolen kisses from you whenever he could. He was obsessed with your lips, and how he felt connecting them to his own. His heart raced, and every part of him was begging to get closer. 

“Joonie…” You hummed into the kiss. “I’m happy I’m here tonight.” 

“Me too.” He smiled, deepening the kiss. You gently placed your wine glass down on the coffee table in front of you, so that you could rest your hands on his strong chest, over the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. Namjoon reacted to the touch by placing his own hands on your waist, daring to hold you where your shirt raised up just enough where he could directly feel your skin. 

The kiss never broke. But you found yourself growing braver, moving in closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him position you onto his lap to straddle him. You had never felt so close to him, and both of your bodies were pleading for more…more…more…

“Y/N,” He murmured in the kiss. “I hope you know, I’m not expecting anything tonight.” 

“I know.” You said, kissing him again. “But, do you want to?” 

“I do.” He whispered onto your lips. “But only if you’re ready for it. We don’t have to rush.” 

“But I want to.” You whispered back. “I want you. So, why wait?” 

Namjoon responded with a deep breath for his nerves, followed by a passionate kiss. Deeper and stronger than the ones you’ve felt him give you before. He lifted you off the couch, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist as your arms stayed draped around his shoulders. He carried you through the hotel room, into the bedroom, where he laid you down delicately.

He stared down at you, smiling up at him from the bed. Namjoon quickly tossed his sweatshirt off and onto the floor, revealing his toned body, before helping you out of your own shirt. He swooped down and began kissing down your neck and onto the top of your breasts, his large hands cupped them through your bra. “Can I see a little more of you, honey?” 

“Please.” You answered. Namjoon wasted no time unhooking the back of your bra as you raised yourself for him to do so, and pulled the straps from your arms to show your chest. Before you had time to react, Namjoon’s lips were back on your body, licking and kissing your soft breasts, excited to have them to himself. 

“Baby, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispered, in between taking a perky nipple in between his lips. “So… Fucking… Beautiful…” 

“Joonie.” You whimpered. His trail of wet kisses moved down your stomach, until he reached the cotton fabric of your lounge shorts. 

“Can I?” He asked, a finger impatiently on the waistband. You nodded and hummed a ‘mhm’ in consent, lifting your hips to help him reveal just your panties. 

“You’re already so wet for me, honey.” He teased, showing his dimples. Namjoon kissed up your thighs, building anticipation with each soft, wet, slow kiss to your skin. You whined, needing him at your core. He wrapped a strong arm around each thigh, keeping you held down for him. “A little wet mark on your pretty panties, and I’ve barely done anything.” 

“Please.” You whined, and Namjoon pushed the wet fabric to the side, locking eyes with you as he slowly began applying long licks to your opening, before adding pressure and quickening movements of his tongue. You threw your head back onto the bed and let out a gasp, responding to the expert flicks of his tongue by grabbing onto the dark locks of his hair. 

“Joonie… Joonie… Please, baby…” 

He slipped a finger into your opening, breeching you for the first time, as his tongue focused on your clit. Namjoon felt your legs shake, encouraging him to add another finger, listening to the pretty noises leaving your lips. His own length was hard and pressed against the fabric of his sweatpants, aching to be released, but he ignored his own needs. This was about you; the way you gripped the sheets, chanted his name, and tasted so, incredibly sweet. The way you squeezed your eyes shut so tightly when his fingers massaged the places you needed him most, and the way you held his head in place as he gave your sensitive bud loving rolls of his tongue. Namjoon could both feel and hear your orgasm; the heaviness of your breath, the tightening of your opening, the way you dripped on his tongue. 

“That’s my girl.” He praised, nibbling your still trembling legs. He slowly pulled out his long fingers, making you shudder. 

You watched as he stood up to remove his own pants, but before he was able to, you rolled on your tummy to be eye-level with his erection, looking up at his face innocently. Your hands were already at his waistband. 

“Honey, you don’t have to.” 

“But I told you, Joonie. I want you.” You responded, slowly helping him lower his pants, letting them fall to his ankles, followed by his underwear. He kicked them to the side, watching with anticipation as your lips were level with his length. 

You started slow, just content to tease him, and to really feel the size of him. He was large, and you knew he’d fill you well. You began to kiss his sensitive, leaking head, tasting the drops on your tongue. Your lips pressed to him, working a trail down the shaft, then back up again. Namjoon’s large hand was now on your head, not forcing, but gently encouraging you to touch him. His breath was heavy, deep inhales and exhales that were audible as he grew more aroused with how you seemingly worshipped his cock. You looked up at him as you took your time working him into your mouth, your tongue caressing his most sensitive areas. 

“Babygirl… Fuck…” Namjoon’s deep voice groaned, and his hand guiding your movements. A steady back and forth, with your fingers wrapped around his balls, giving him just enough pressure to be pleasurable. “Just like that, baby… Can you go a little further for me?… Good girl.” 

Namjoon had never felt so turned on by a woman before. The way you made eye contact with him, and enthusiastically worked to please him the way that he had you, made him feel so wanted and equally aroused. His eyes flickered back and forth from your lips, watching the way his cock disappeared and reappeared, wet and throbbing, to then looking at your curves. Naked on the bed, he could see the dip of your waist, your hips and soft skin of your bottom. Every inch of you, he wanted to kiss. As he let his thoughts drift, he could feel himself go closer to the edge. 

“Wait, hold on honey.” He stopped you.“You’re gonna make me cum, baby.” 

Namjoon leaned down and gave you a quick kiss before finally meeting you on the bed. He laid down, resting his head on the pillow, and letting you straddle him and touch your lips to his. You could feel his cock pushing up against your opening, and Namjoon sighed feeling your skin on his. 

Keeping your lips close to his, but not quite touching, creating a heavy tension, you gently slid his tip into you, causing both of you to let out a quiet noise at the feeling. You sank down on him, working yourself to his length, and Namjoon held your hips, allowing you to take control and be comfortable. You felt so full, every inch of him filling you perfectly. It was as though your body was made just for him to touch, taste and fuck. 

“Fuck, Y/N…” He breathed out. You raised yourself up, and began moving on his length, switching from bouncing to grinding. Namjoon kept one hand on your hip, and place another between your thighs to touch your clit. 

“Joonie… Oh my God, Joonie… Don’t fucking stop.” You whined loudly, throwing your head back. Your hands rested on his chest to keep yourself steady, but you were coming undone again. Your pace quickened as you unraveled, your hips snapping fast as his cock reached right where you needed him most. As sensitive as you were, you both knew it wouldn’t take long for you to hit another high. 

“Cum for me, angel.” Namjoon’s deep voice dripped with arousal. “I’ve got you, baby. Just let go.” 

Your eyes shut tightly and your lips parted in pleasure, and Namjoon throbbed as you came again. He watched as your breasts bounced with every movement, and took in the feeling of your soft skin on his. As soon as you came down, he gently wrapped you in his arms, and laid you down on the bed, knowing you were almost at your limit. 

“Wanna love you just like this.” He whispered, kissing your neck as he took his place on top, resting in between your legs. His tip brushing against your entrance. “Are you too sensitive, honey? Can you take a little more?” 

“I can take it.” You whispered back, smiling as he continued painting your neck with kisses. 

“That’s my pretty girl.” He praised, sliding himself into you gently, listening for noises of discomfort. But none came, and as he bottomed out into you, he groaned and tucked his face into your neck to mark your skin and whisper in your ear. “Your pussy’s so good, babygirl. So fucking beautiful… so tight and wet just for me, aren’t you?” 

Namjoon learned that night that your neck was particularly sensitive, and you loved being kissed there. As he thrusted into you, he littered your skin with nibbles, licks, kisses and love marks. Each deep, hard hit and mark on your skin was proof that he felt something for you. Was it love? Not quite…at least, not yet. But he was falling, and he was prepared to make love to you throughout the night if that’s what it took to make you understand. You were meant to be his, that much was sure. The way you held him, kissed him, touched him, spoke to him, pleasured him was everything he’s ever wanted in a partner and a lover. 

“So close, angel.” His voice said softly, giving you a gentle kiss. 

“Cum inside me.” You whispered against his lips, deepening the kiss. “Fill me up, Joonie. Don’t fucking stop, want you to cum deep-” 

“Oh… Oh…” He groaned, his length throbbing against your walls. “Y/N…. Y/N, baby…. OH, FUCK… I… Ah…” 

You held his body close to yours as he buried his face in your neck, coming down from his high. His tanned skin was sweaty, his heart pounding and his breath heavy, as was yours. Namjoon couldn’t remember the last time, or any time, he had made love that intensely to anyone. He couldn’t remember any time he had chanted a woman’s name, or felt so desired, or was held so lovingly. It was beyond sex; it was intimacy. 

Afterwards, laying next to you, he pulled you in and the two of you drifted off to sleep as he held you in his arms, as though protective over you. As if, if he were to let go, you’d slip away. So he kept you close, and kept you safe. 

The next morning, sunlight peeked through the drawn curtains of the bedroom, illuminating everything in warmth. Namjoon had woken up before you, choosing to hold you as you slept, playing gently with your hair and occasionally caressing your bare back as you rested on his chest. Namjoon realized he could easily wake up like this, nude under the  covers with you in his arms, forever. 

After a little while, your eyelids fluttered awake. Namjoon pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, and snuggled you closer. 

“Hi.” He whispered delicately. “How do you feel?” 

“Amazing.” You replied in a hushed tone, still coming out of sleep. “Last night was… yeah.” 

“Yeah.” He smiled, his hand absentmindedly tracing your skin. “I’m really happy right now. With you.” 

“I’m happy with you too.” 

You looked up at him, still resting on his chest. Namjoon raised a hand to your face, running a thumb along the outline of your jaw, appreciating how lucky he felt in that moment. Your hair was tousled, you wore no clothes or makeup, and this was the most beautiful he had ever seen you; well rested and happy, after a night of love making. 

“Be with me.” He whispered, the words leaving his lips before he could catch them. 

“Be with you?” You repeated with sparkling eyes, making sure you heard his request correctly. 

“Yeah.” He confirmed. “I think we should be together. What do you think?” 

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I think so, too.” 

Namjoon smiled wide, showing his dimples that you’ve grown to adore so much. He sealed the deal with a soft kiss, hoping it was the first of many together. 

“…So, I spent some time at his hotel, and when we woke up the next morning, we just knew.” You explained, not giving too much information about what happened behind closed doors that night. 

“You just knew.” Ji-ah smiled, clearly giddy with the fairytale love story.

After the interview ended, and the audience had dispersed, the only person waiting for you was Namjoon. He stood in the empty auditorium by the stage where you had spoken just minutes ago, waiting to take you back home. 

“You ready?” You asked, making your way to him. 

“Yeah.” He replied. Namjoon’s eyes were sparkling and warm, filled to the brim with love for you. “Come here.” 

“What?” You smiled, before giggling as he picked you up and gently sat you down on the edge of the stage, where he could stand between your legs and look up at you. “Why’d you do that, Joonie?” You laughed. 

“I just wanted to look at you.” He said softly. You blushed under his adoring gaze. 

Namjoon had been in the audience tonight. It was your first event after the publishing of your most recent book, a essay collection on falling in love. It revealed your relationship to Namjoon to the world, after several years of dating in private. When he proposed to you one night in total surprise, during a private dinner party with all of your friends and his in attendance, that was when you both decided to go public; when you knew for sure that you both were in love for the long haul. 

Listening to you publicly describe the beginnings of your relationship, brought a flood of memories back to his mind. He wouldn’t change anything, and he was so thankful that somehow, he managed to have you for himself. He felt like he wanted to say a million things, but only one sentence seemed to come out. 

“I love you, Y/N.” 

“I love you too, Joonie.” You replied, meeting him halfway to kiss his lips. 

[canmom]

so on royalroad, the english-language serial webnovel website, there's ads created by users for other stories at the top of each chapter - you know, for the common case where you're reading a book and you want to suddenly start reading a different book. (they set it up in a way that's fiddly to block.)

they're kinda fascinating? I almost want to start collecting them. they triangulate into genres with bulletpoints. isekai. cultivation. reincarnation. yes romance. no romance. harem. no harem. some of them use anime-styled art or fantasy concept art (most likely a lot of it either AI-generated or used without permission/attribution, I get the vibe)... but a lot of them are straight up just memes.

hell lemme just refresh the page a bit and see what I get. I'm only a liiiiittle selective here.

...I could keep refreshing but you get the picture.

and sure, it's just the same as the AO3 tagging system with a different set of aesthetic priorities right? people are searching for stories which scratch a very specific itch. but there's something weirdly fascinating in advertising a story based on how formulaic it is. or ads for a novel that look like ads for a mobile game. how so many of them refer to their protagonist as 'MC'.

I assume this like, works, or people wouldn't do it? Same principle as long light novel titles. otaku database theory stuff. I just... don't really get it! who's it for?

[princessbrunette]

hai!!!! just curious, because ik everyone kinda has their own definitions when it comes to different kinds of readers, what do you describe puppy/kitty/bunny/deer!reader as? what makes them them?

anyway, luv ya n all that ya do- ,,^-^,,

ooo fun question !! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ³ ᵔ ꒱ྀིა

BUNNY:

she was born for the soft life. a highly organised system in her closet, and a whole separate closet just for shoes. she’s not bratty, she doesn’t even know what being bratty is or how to do it, but there are of course times she starts thumping her foot, whining and pulling at rafes clothes. this petulant behaviour is often solved by a stern look, a tap on the cheek or a reach under the skirt to tug at her fluffy bunny butt plug. her nose twitches when she’s upset, and has a big toothy grin when she’s happy. she leaves the glitter from her body all over rafe’s clothes, mink eyelash extensions on the sink, tubes of lipgloss in her boyfriends pockets. she’s an r&b / rap girl lover to her core, and a day isn’t complete without bouncing around her room to flo milli or saweetie. bunny doesn’t have an ounce of shame in her body— whether that’s from her skirt riding up in public (as to which rafe has to irritably tug it down again) to pawing at him, begging him for dick infront of his friends. luckily, rafe doesn’t have much shame either.

KITTY:

be careful, she bites! no really, she does — cross her and she’s squinting at you, sinking her teeth into an arm until you yelp. according to jj, anyway. she’s odd, and that’s what he likes about her— collecting horror movie memorabilia and trinkets from the thrift store she thinks might be ‘haunted’. she keeps her nails long, stiletto shaped even — whether that’s from scraping her money together for acrylics or growing them out herself. she has the craziest oral fixation, always needing something to lick, suck or chew on— that something often being her boyfriend jj. despite the black liner in her waterline, she is still a spoilt little priss who needs her pink ribbons tied round anything and everything, requiring the fluffiest of blankets and pillows for her daily nap. unlike bunny, she does work — having a little gig as a bartender/waitress at a beachside restaurant. she gets super huffy and puffy, not enjoying having to speak to so many people — but her boyfriend gaining a linecook job at the same joint makes things better. she’s deftones biggest fan, even owning a pair of panties with their album cover on the front. jj loves seeing them on the floor of his room.

PUPPY:

she’s playful, clingy, and ever so whiny. shes the most energetic of the bunch, firing off into a million topics at once, talking and talking until john b has to interrupt her to tell her to breathe or she will pass out. her signature is her big doe eyes, used as a weapon ready to fire at all times on anyone who dares to upset her. she’s not spoilt, infact she’s very humble and fairly docile unless provoked— she just requires oodles of attention and affection, pats on the head and praise are her love language! she works at the local pet store, often coming home with hilarious stories about handling animals, john b plucking hay out of her hair as she tells them. she has the energy to keep up with all the animals, running around until she arrives home to john b and passes out on his lap for a quick nap before bursting into a fit of energy once more. pup is never seen without her walkman, and can often be found dancing around the empty chateau with 80s pop blaring in her ears, or knocked out with the audio tapes john b had recorded for her to help her sleep.

DEER:

riddled with anxiety, whilst somehow being the most still and unsettling person in the room. deer!reader, much like a real deer is skittish, easily frightened, but ever so curious. she has a different view on the world to most of her peers, a master in people watching and could win any staring competition. she’s often found with her nose in a book, the topic being either of something completely fanatical, or something informative and peculiar. due to her reading habits, much like her boyfriend pope she is a whirlpool of information, constantly quietly spewing facts into his ear (which let’s be real, is practically foreplay for the two of them.) she has a tendency to get into trouble from her prying, exploring and staring — but she doesn’t mean to come across that way, she’s the picture of innocence really! she likes 50s/ 60s music, finding a charming and simple peace to the sound — and is a mass collector of callico critters, sonny angels and blythe dolls. pope finds it adorable.

[innerfare]

Captain Kid Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: A collection of headcanons about being in a relationship with Eustass Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Definitely started as friends with benefits, probably with you as a member of his crew. Whether you joined by choice or because the Kid Pirates raided your village and decided you would make a nice addition to their ranks is up to you. 

Showed up at your door one night with a bottle of whiskey, a raging hard on, and a wicked grin on his face, a man on a mission. Waited a few days after you joined up so you didn’t think that was the only reason he asked you to join, but didn’t make it the full week he had told himself he had to wait before coming on to you. 

If you had a boyfriend or even husband before you met him, he would not have cared less. Kid does not respect a relationship if it’s standing between him and what he wants, and he wants you. He doesn’t respect much of anything, to be honest, but he quickly begins to respect you. There’s just something about you- your manner, your attitude, your voice- that makes him want to protect rather than destroy you. 

That being said, Kid’s idea of playing nice is making fun of you, roughhousing with you, cornering you in a hallway to steal some kisses, etc. He isn’t above using his size against you, though if anyone else ever tries to do the same, he won’t hesitate to knock them out. 

Kid knocking people out causes a lot of fights between the two of you. He gets into a fight in pretty much every bar he walks into, and you often end up patching him up, dealing with little wounds that he wouldn’t have if he could just control his temper. He decides he wants to marry you when he realizes your lectures after these fights are not about the fact that he started a fight, but about how poor his form was. 

Doesn’t really have any notion of PDA. He shows affection when he wants to, and he doesn’t when he doesn’t want to. Sometimes it’s in public, sometimes it’s not. You often have to remind him to keep it in his pants until you can get somewhere private, though this doesn’t always work. What Captain Kid wants, Captain Kid gets. 

The definition of ride or die, basically invented it. Would help you bury a body, would lie to the marines for you- hell, he’d fight the marines for you. And he has on several occasions. Also has bad blood with countless pirates due to their behavior toward you. Even if a pirate propositions you in a way that’s not creepy (they simply don’t know you’re with Kid), that pirate ends up Kid’s blacklist. 

His love language is fixing things for you. You don’t even have to ask, you just mention something isn’t working quite right and he’s pulling it apart to see what’s wrong with it. 

Also makes you things, such as jewelry. Lays claim to some of the shiniest jewels they loot and fashions them into pieces for you to wear. He claims to have sourced the materials himself (technically the truth since he did steal them). Grins like a mad man if you wear a necklace or bracelet he made for you. Made you a bouquet of little metal flowers, too, that he’s very proud of, would be crushed if you ever got rid of them. 

Rarely wraps his arm around your waist. Rather, he drapes it over your shoulder and loops it lazily around your neck, sometimes tightening it when try to pull away. It makes more sense due to the height difference (Kid is a behemoth) but even if you were the same height, he’d probably prefer your neck to your waist. 

Steels the covers. If you want a blanket, you’re going to have to sleep on top of or underneath him. It’s typically not a problem though because he runs so warm that sleeping in the same bed as him is like sharing a bed with a space heater. 

Really enjoys shopping with you. Always picks out outfits for you to wear, has strong opinions on fashion. Also enjoys buying you records, books, whatever it is you’re into. Loves taking you to concerts, will even go to pop concerts if that’s what you’re into. 

More than happy to share his makeup with you, will paint your nails for you if you ask. 

Gets drunk and gives you slobbery kisses, grinning like a fool. 

You’re basically in a throuple with Killer. When Kid gets in that sort of mood where he’s communicating solely by grunting at you, Killer is always there to translate, and when Killer has some extra time on his hands, he’ll make you some food to bring to Kid in his workshop. 

Loves nicknames, but never uses the traditional ones. Calls you things like spider (neither of you know why, he just thinks it sounds right/cute), rice ball (again, makes no sense, but he likes it and that’s that), tulip (when he’s feeling especially soft on you). His favorite thing to call you, though? His.  

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[k0ff1n]

Skully headcanons (both general and relationship stuff)

The parts with the reader are gender neutral, also there is a point that could be considered nsfw I think but it's really just general stuff so nothing much really.

-English isn't my first language so sorry if there are errors and other stuff that simply ain't right and I hope you enjoy :)

+So first of all we know that he isn't from the world that hosts Halloween town, meaning he doesn't dress like that... probably. Personality wise I'd say that he only has energy when he is 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 excited about something, usually a topic that he really likes, but other than that he'd probably be kind of laid back. Like the Kaworu Nagisa type of laid back, he talks and stuff, nods and smiles but doesn't really express emotions in a really... 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘺 (this phrase makes sense in my head please bare with me).

+Now I fully believe that he probably dresses in two ways, no in between. We can have the fancy version of him, probably on those days where he feels motivated enough to wear something nice, and those are the only times where he wears some type of goth outfit, then we have the 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 version of him, the one where he's probably wearing a random cardigan with the most hideous Halloween design anyone's ever seen in their entire live. You know those 90s cardigans, the hand knitted ones with the different patterns randomly sprinkled on the base, yeah, those beauties.

+Now let's be sincere, he's probably autistic. He seems to not really understand "standard" social cues, like when he kisses everyone's hand and they are basically disgusted, also when in Halloween town he hugs grim and Epel(?) just because of how excited he is and they are 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 dying inside but he doesn't even seem to notice lol. Now the most noticeable part is also the one where he only talks about Jack and the related festivity, it literally feels like a special interest, the kind that sticks with you for all your life and you can't really get out of your sistem. Also we know that no one really likes him or talks to him in his real world, which is unfortunately the reality of many neurodivergent people, often considered weird or annoying by others. I mean all the neurodivergent people I've met always had similar experiences, me included so yeah, I mean he also basically states that so.

+With this said I imagine him to be the type of person that tries to keep his interests to himself but fails horribly every time someone gets close enough and he thinks he can finally open himself up. Now we all know how that would end (not in a nice way) , meaning that he probably hides himself in the realities from different books and movies he likes. I firmly believe that the reason he was so happy to finally be in Halloween town was because he imagined so many times to live there without the trouble of other negative people that he felt as if he actually belonged somewhere for once.

+Now since this is getting depressing I'd say that if he had a partner he would probably need someone that either shares the same type of interests as him or simply has enough time to listen to him rant about his hyperfixations. I'd say that the first one would probably still be better because he'd feel as if someone finally understands him and gets why he likes certain things so much.

+Probably collects weird and creepy things, could be old stuff he found in a thrift shop or taxidermies he made himself or bought from some shop on Etsy lol. I see him as the type of guy to yes, love Halloween, but only a certain types of decorations, I mean the old/vintage type would be perfect but if you ever try to get him close to a basic plastic pumpkin (like the basket kind for trick or treat) he would probably start talking in an annoyed and frustrated way about how society ruined the original version of the holiday and stuff like that.

+Type of guy to listen to those long ass YouTube videos with the low quality image as thumbnail that last for more than two hours but include old songs that no one ever listened to, probably including the ones that 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘥 those songs.

+If he actually had a partner he would probably be clingy af, not in an annoying way but like a cat that's always around you way. I don't think that in public he would display that much affection, probably afraid of other people seeing him and judging once again, but when in private he would probably be constantly near you or touching you somehow, be it hugging you when watching a scary movie on the couch or if he's helping cooking something and suddenly you feel him speak in you ear, scaring the shit out of you because he somehow doesn't make any noise when walking.

+Has the worst eye bags you've ever seen in your life, the type that even if you put a red base and then the green and concealer or whatever they 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 fade away. They would probably only make him look good considering that be surely (to me at least so sshhh) wears at least a little eyeliner or eyeshadow. I dont think he was dry lips, even if the og image gives that impression I have a feeling that it's like those cracked type of lipsticks that you put on in layers and stuff.

+One again, if you share interests he would probably sing various tunes with you, be it the songs form the nightmare before Christmas or things like confrontation form the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde musical. I can see him dramatically move around his room while singing a certain part and then looking at you like you hung the starts in the sky when you start singing the next part, even if you suck it doesn't matter really.

+I don't think that he's asexual but at the same time I don't think he'd be really interest in sex stuff anyway, like maybe sometime but more like vanilla things, he doesn't even look like he has the energy to keep up any fancy type of performance let's be fr. Would kiss you and whatever, sometimes make out if you have the time and actually feel like doing something like that, but generally I don't think that he would care much about there things.

+Probably has a pet, not sure which one but the possibilities are: a cat, more cats, rats (named Jack and Sally obvs) or some type of ferret. Not really a dog type of person even if he likes Zero. He probably doesn't have the energy to keep up with an animal like that even if he wants to.

[amberarmedheart]

In Defense of John Watson and the Importance of the Besotted Narrator

Every couple of years, the world as a collective likes to ruminate and come up with a new adaptation of the stories of Sherlock Holmes, every single new one promising to be either "The Ultimate Adaptation" or "Holmes for the New Era", there is no in-between. And it is understandable, this amazement and awe we hold for the beloved mysteries, they are classics for a reason.

And despite that, time and again I see creators of tv shows, pastiches, and movies, neglect the most important aspect in every single Sherlock Holmes' story: the immovable presence of John Watson. Some even going as far as turning Watson into a villain, a caricature of himself, or even erasing him completely from the narrative. "After all, the important one is Holmes, isn't he? He is the genius, and Watson is there just his biographer."

That is the capital omission to me when it comes to any of the adaptations, because it ignores the vital part that Watson plays in Holmes' life. Watson is the companion, he is the bridge between the "normal" world and the genius that is Holmes' deductive brain. He is, for a lack of a better descriptor, the translator between what jumps in judgement and reasoning Holmes' brilliant mind comes up with, and the layman's language.

There is a reason why we as readers come up with the idea that Holmes is smart beyond his quirks and his drug addiction, beyond his ignorance of anything and everything that in his opinion doesn't help him solve the cases that distract him from the boredom of normal life... and that reason is that John Watson is the person narrating the whole thing. We are not introduced to Holmes through an omnipresent, anonymous narrator which is the case with other books. We are thrown in the middle of a mystery from the start the same way that Watson is unexpectedly thrown in 221b.

What we think of Holmes, what we feel for him, it is all because Watson wishes us to experience. The stories themselves carry with them one of the best storytelling devices graciously blended into the narrative, which is the fact that Watson is an incredibly good writer, so much that the public gazes into the spotlight where Holmes is and in most cases ignores that the one shining it down is Watson himself.

Creators who like to ignore Watson and his function in the narrative tend to see Holmes as their own self-insert: a super smart man whose genius cannot compare with the mediocre world population and who can barely tolerate their stupidity, basically a gift to men from god and who has to be worshipped for it... When the reality is that every single thing we perceive from Holmes is because of how Watson sees him.

Watson is our unreliable narrator, his descriptions and impressions of Holmes are the ones that are weaved into the story; even goes as far as giving us a glimpse of Holmes' opinion about it through the way the consultant detective sometimes accuses Watson of adding too many embellishments to his narrations. If we see Holmes as an incredible genius, as someone whose intelligence is above the rest of the world, it is because Watson says so. With every passing story, we come across different characters that every once in a while whose first impression of Holmes has been influenced by what they themselves read in Watson's stories... All in all, the in-universe characters falling under the same influence we, as readers, are.

John Watson's love for Holmes is one of the main plot points in the story, we see its evolution the same way as one normally goes through different stages of falling in love. We see Watson's first infatuation, his interest in what makes Holmes what he is, first in a superficial way and later on with every new story. We see them have misunderstandings, which most of the time end up in a deeper appreciation of Holmes as a person.

All culminating in the incredible rendition of The Final Problem, which could easily be seen, without little effort, as Holmes' planning his own death. By what means we are never completely sure, to be honest, since we can only see it through Watson's deep grief. It is true that Arthur Conan Doyle's plans were to end Holmes' adventures with the short story, but even with the author's motivations being the main recourse behind its inception, there is no doubt when reading the story that the focus of the narrative is Holmes' spending his last moments with Watson.

The subsequent creation of The Empty House and further adventures after that, diluted partially the importance of the whole ordeal, but gave us a different insight of Holmes and Watson's relationship. Through that lens, we as readers witness the evolution of it, the toll that Holmes' fake death had in both his biographer and his own author, adding depth through the strain put by the facade.

E. W. Hornung made one of my favorite homages to Holmes and Watson through his stories of The Gentleman Thief, and put a greater emphasis on the strained relationship between the two characters after the fake death. He gave his besotted narrator another source of turmoil: the fact that while Raffles (our stand-in Holmes) was away living life and even having a romantic interest, Bunny (his Watson) ends up falling in disgrace after being sent to jail.

A.J. Raffles' stories lean on the importance of the unreliable, uselessly enamored narrator, to the point that Hornung didn't shy away from having Bunny refer to Raffles as handsome and attractive in many different instances. He understood how there is no Holmes without a Watson to appreciate him, how their dynamic is the fuel behind the success of the whole series.

And ultimately, that it is impossible to have a good story without a good storyteller.