#I seriously thought imagination was like a metaphor

[thesweetestsupervillains]

Blog Update

// Okay, so, since my accounts are spread out, I'm going to consolidate them here, I think, since I have a community for Gina.

That means that I'll be adding Kara Killgrave as a main muse here, and I think I'll probably also add Beelzebub as one, possibly?

And then I'll have some side muses that I use occasionally.

The main issue is that right now, neither Gina nor Kara have enough interest from people in terms of writing threads to make having separate blogs worth it.

So Gina isn't going anywhere, I'm just going to add to this account.

[hecksupremechips]

Shinjiro Aragaki 🤝 Rebecca Gales

Mom friends who constantly try telling others how they should live their lives and believe they know what’s best for everyone else who would explode and die if anyone did the same to them

[solxamber]

How to Handle Your Diva || Vil Schoenheit

You’re the unofficial Vil Schoenheit handler, a role you assumed when you started dating him. Whether it’s calming his temper or redirecting his wrath, you’ve become the only one capable of keeping poor midguided souls from biting the dust.

aka the 7 times you save someone from getting poisoned or worse.

Instance 1: Chaos Duo

The serene backdrop of NRC’s gardens frames Vil Schoenheit like a painting come to life. Dressed in flowing silks and adorned with the perfect balance of sunlight and shadow, he’s mid-pose when—

“Yo, Vil! Say cheese!”

Ace and Deuce leap into the frame, pulling the most exaggerated faces imaginable. Deuce’s eyes are practically crossed, and Ace looks like he’s mid-sneeze. The photographer audibly chokes on his spit.

Vil freezes. The air goes cold. The birds stop singing. Somewhere in the distance, a withering rose drops a petal.

“What,” Vil says, so quiet it’s terrifying, “was that?”

“It was Ace’s idea!” Deuce blurts immediately, shoving Ace under the metaphorical bus.

“Thanks a lot, traitor!” Ace snaps back.

Vil’s eyes narrow. “You,” he hisses, voice dripping with venom, “have the audacity to ruin my shoot?”

By the time you arrive, the photographer is hiding behind a bush, and Ace and Deuce are sweating under Vil’s glare. The two freshmen look like they’re seconds away from turning into frogs—or corpses.

“Vil, sweetie,” you interrupt, stepping between them and the storm cloud forming above his head, “what’s going on?”

“These plebeians,” Vil says, gesturing at Ace and Deuce like they’re bacteria under a microscope, “thought it would be funny to sabotage my art!”

“They’re idiots,” you agree, shooting the freshmen a glare. “But let’s think about this. What if... this makes your shoot even better?”

Vil arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “Better?”

“Yeah!” you say, channeling all your persuasive powers. “When people see this, they’ll notice how your beauty shines even in the presence of—” you gesture vaguely at Ace and Deuce, “—mediocrity.”

“Mediocrity?” Ace repeats indignantly.

“Shut up,” you snap before turning back to Vil. “Think about it. They’ll see your grace, your poise, and how you completely outshine everyone around you. It’s contrast, Vil. Art loves contrast.”

Vil strokes his chin, considering. “You may have a point...”

“Totally! And, like, who would take them seriously anyway? Look at Deuce’s face. He looks like a confused pigeon.”

“Hey!” Deuce protests, but Ace is already nodding.

“Yeah, yeah! Vil, this just makes you look even cooler! Like, people will see this and be like, ‘Wow, he’s untouchable, even next to these losers.’”

Vil finally exhales, his wrath ebbing. “Very well,” he says, smoothing his silks. “I’ll allow it. But only because the juxtaposition highlights my perfection.”

Ace and Deuce sag in relief, clearly missing the word “juxtaposition.”

Later, Trey finds you in the hallway. “I heard what happened,” he says, looking both exasperated and grateful. “Thank you for stopping Vil from poisoning them. Again.”

You shrug. “All in a day’s work.”

Instance 2: Just Leona.

The group is gathered in the cafeteria, the usual buzz of conversation swirling around. Vil sits at the head of the table, eating his meticulously prepared salad—a work of art with perfect symmetry, vibrant greens, and an edible flower garnish.

Leona slouches in his chair nearby, tearing into a steak with all the grace of a feral lion. He pauses mid-bite, glances at Vil's plate, and snorts loud enough to turn heads.

"What's that, Schoenheit? Rabbit food?"

The air grows thick. Vil’s fork stops mid-air, his gaze snapping to Leona like a hawk spotting prey. "Excuse me?" he says, in that icy tone that sends chills down spines.

Leona smirks, undeterred. "You heard me. All those leaves and petals—looks like something I’d feed to the herbivores back home."

There’s a collective oh no from everyone nearby. Jack visibly stiffens, eyes darting between the two like he’s watching a live-action disaster. You’re pretty sure Grim just whispered, “This is gonna be good,” from somewhere behind you.

"It’s called maintaining one’s figure," Vil snaps, placing his fork down with calculated grace. “You wouldn’t understand, considering your diet seems to consist entirely of undercooked meat and mediocrity.”

Leona leans back, looking as smug as a cat in a sunbeam. “At least I eat like a king. Meanwhile, you’re over there grazing like the royal gardener.”

The tension escalates. Vil’s hand twitches toward his fork, and you’re suddenly very sure he’s planning to plant it somewhere deeply unfortunate on Leona.

Time to intervene.

“Vil,” you cut in smoothly, leaning closer to him, “can I just say, you look amazing today? Honestly, I don’t think anyone else could pull off a salad with such elegance.”

Vil blinks, momentarily startled, before his lips curve into a faintly smug smile. “Well,” he says, primly dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, “I do have a certain flair for refinement. It’s not something just anyone can achieve.”

“No, it’s not,” you say firmly, throwing Leona a warning glance. “And anyone who doesn’t see that is clearly just... jealous.”

Leona snorts again but doesn’t push further, clearly uninterested in escalating now that Vil’s focus is on being praised rather than plotting homicide.

Jack gives you a subtle, grateful nod, visibly relieved that he won’t have to referee another dorm-versus-dorm war.

As Vil returns to his salad with renewed dignity, you sit back with a sigh, silently adding prevented cafeteria murder to your list of daily accomplishments.

Instance 3: Theatre Club Madness

It starts, as all things do, with Floyd and his unique brand of chaos. This time, it’s a priceless antique vase from Pomefiore’s lounge that met its tragic end because Floyd “wanted to see if it could fly.”

Spoiler: it couldn’t.

Vil, who witnessed the entire ordeal, was seconds away from summoning a storm of consequences when Floyd, in a rare flash of survival instinct, promised to repay the debt.

“I’ll help with your little drama thing,” Floyd had said with a grin too wide to trust.

That promise didn’t even make it a full day.

By the time Azul appears in Ramshackle, wringing his hands, you already know something’s gone terribly wrong.

“Vil asked Floyd to star in some action scenes for his theater production,” Azul says, clearly on edge. “But Floyd... Well, he’s Floyd.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Let me guess. He skipped?”

“Skipped, vanished, and laughed about it,” Azul confirms. “Vil is furious. I fear he might—”

“Poison the Lounge’s water?” you finish for him.

Azul nods gravely.

Which is how you find yourself in Pomefiore’s theater, holding a script titled The Tragic Tale of Honor and Glory and wearing an outfit that feels heavier than your life choices.

Vil sits in the audience, arms crossed, as you nervously adjust the overly ornate shoulder pads. “Darling, I adore you,” he says smoothly, “but if you ruin my vision, we will have words.”

“Right,” you mutter. “No pressure or anything.”

Rook, of course, is thrilled. “What a magnifique turn of events! A real-life romance brought to life on stage!” he says, twirling a prop sword before handing it to you.

You glance at the script and immediately regret every decision that’s led you here. Floyd’s role isn’t just action-heavy—it’s absurd. You’re supposed to fend off imaginary enemies, deliver heartfelt speeches, and somehow “leap gracefully” across a prop chasm.

“Are we sure this isn’t a punishment?” you whisper to Rook.

“Every great artist suffers for their craft!” he replies, as unhinged as ever.

Rehearsals are... an experience. Vil critiques your sword stance, your dramatic pauses, and even the way you hold the fake shield. “You’re not a barbarian,” he snaps at one point. “This is a knightly role. Show some dignity!”

The only thing keeping you sane is the occasional glimpse of Vil’s smile when you nail a scene. He’s still your Vil—meticulous, demanding, and, beneath it all, proud of you.

By the end of the day, you’re exhausted, but no one’s been poisoned, and Vil is satisfied.

“Darling,” he says as you collapse into a chair, “you might just be a natural.”

You groan in response, but secretly, you’re glad. If starring in a play keeps the peace and earns you a proud smile from your perfectionist boyfriend, it’s worth every ridiculous leap and over-the-top speech.

You're not letting Floyd off the hook though, he now owes you a blood debt.

Instance 4: Runway Disaster

It happens in slow motion. Kalim, with his usual sunshine energy, bounds over to greet Vil during a fitting for his latest custom runway outfit. In one hand, he holds a crystal goblet of bright red juice.

“Kalim, no—” Jamil tries to intervene, but he’s too late.

One excited gesture later, the goblet tilts. The juice spills. And Vil’s pristine white couture ensemble is suddenly dyed a tragic, splotchy crimson.

For a moment, the room is deathly silent. Kalim freezes, his smile faltering as Vil’s expression shifts from shock to something that resembles a villainous Disney queen summoning her final form.

“Oh no,” Jamil mutters, stepping back like a man who knows better than to get involved in an impending disaster.

Vil’s fingers twitch, and actual poison gas starts to swirl faintly around him.

“You…” he begins, voice deadly calm, eyes narrowed at Kalim, who looks like he’s considering whether running or apologizing is the better survival tactic.

Before Vil can unleash his fury (or toxins), you jump in, grabbing his arm like a brave but foolish hero.

“Wait! Think of the headlines,” you blurt. “The great Vil Schoenheit doesn’t panic when disaster strikes. He innovates. He adapts. He turns accidents into opportunities!”

Vil pauses, glancing at you with an arched brow. “Go on.”

“This isn’t a catastrophe—it’s a creative challenge,” you say, channeling your best salesperson energy. “You can redesign the outfit on the fly, show off your genius in real time, and prove why you’re the best.”

Jamil, who’s still lurking near the door, lets out a faint groan. “Don’t drag me into this—”

“Perfect!” you cut him off, pointing dramatically. “Jamil, help us. You’re good with details. Kalim, you’re... great at handing over fabric?”

“I am?” Kalim perks up, always happy to help, even when he’s the source of the problem.

Vil exhales sharply but lowers his hands, the faint poison clouds dissipating. He turns to you, his lips twitching upward in something resembling reluctant approval. “At least someone here recognizes talent when they see it.”

Half an hour later, Jamil is threading needles with the speed of a man who just wants this ordeal to end, Kalim is cheerfully sorting through fabric swatches, and Vil is in full designer mode, issuing commands and adjusting details.

You’re stuck holding a pin cushion and occasionally offering words of encouragement, but hey, no one’s been poisoned, and Vil’s outfit is somehow looking even better than before.

When it’s finished, Vil studies the revamped ensemble with a critical eye, then turns to you.

“Not bad,” he says, which, coming from Vil, is practically a standing ovation.

Kalim beams. “This was fun! Let’s spill juice more often!”

Jamil groans audibly, and Vil rolls his eyes, muttering something about how his brilliance is wasted on “uncultured chaos.” But when he glances at you, there’s a soft glimmer of gratitude.

Maybe you won’t have to stop a literal poison attack every day, but you’re definitely earning your stripes as the official Vil Schoenheit Disaster Manager™.

Instance 5: Epel, why?

Epel’s first mistake is thinking he can sneak a greasy burger into the Pomefiore lounge. His second mistake is sitting right in front of Vil to eat it.

The moment Vil spots the offensive food item, his entire posture stiffens. Slowly, he sets down the teacup he was holding, a faint air of menace radiating from him.

“Epel,” Vil says, voice dangerously calm, “are you seriously eating... that in my presence?”

Epel freezes mid-bite, the burger hovering inches from his mouth. “Uh, I mean... it’s just a quick snack—”

“It’s processed garbage,” Vil snaps, his tone sharp enough to cut diamonds. “Do you even know what’s in it? Chemicals, preservatives, and enough grease to clog your arteries by the time you’re twenty-five!”

You can almost see the poison aura starting to swirl, and your instincts kick in. There’s only one way to de-escalate this. Compliments. Lots of them.

“You know, Vil,” you interject brightly, sidling closer to him, “I’ve been meaning to tell you how absolutely flawless your skin looks today. Did you do something different? A new serum, maybe?”

Vil blinks, momentarily thrown off. “I did switch to a more concentrated vitamin C serum this morning.”

“Wow,” you gush, “it’s really working. You’re practically glowing! Honestly, you look like you just stepped off the cover of a magazine.”

Vil preens slightly, his focus shifting from Epel to himself. Epel catches your subtle hand signal—Run, you fool, run while you still can!—and starts to edge toward the door, burger clutched tightly in his hands.

Rook, who has been lurking silently nearby as usual, suddenly claps his hands together, eyes sparkling. “Ah, mon cher ami, how touching! Such devotion, such cleverness, to save our dear Epel from the wrath of Monsieur Vil! Truly, a love as radiant as the sun itself!”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, then at you, clearly aware of what you’ve just pulled. For a second, you think he might ignore your distraction entirely and summon some ancient Pomefiore curse to turn Epel into a cautionary tale.

But then he sighs and shakes his head. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, though there’s a faint, reluctant smile on his lips.

Later, as Rook waxes poetic about your “unwavering dedication,” Vil leans in close and murmurs, “I hope you know that if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have let this slide.”

“I know,” you say, grinning.

“And you owe me a handmade, organic, non-processed dinner tonight,” he adds, though his tone is more affectionate than demanding.

Fair enough. You’ve just saved Epel from doom and earned yourself a little more of Vil’s soft spot in the process. Not a bad trade-off.

Instance 6: Housewarden meeting

It all starts when Idia mutters the fatal words under his breath at the housewarden meeting.

“Skincare’s just a corporate scam for gullible people, anyway.”

The air goes still. A deathly quiet spreads across the room, save for the faint thump of a pen dropping somewhere in the background. You look up in horror, eyes darting to Vil, who has frozen mid-reading. Slowly, methodically, Vil sets the paper down with the poise of a storm brewing on the horizon.

“Excuse me?” Vil’s voice is icy, his gaze locking onto Idia with the precision of a predator that has just spotted its prey.

Idia, realizing his monumental mistake, turns pale. His flaming hair flickers nervously. “Uh—uh—wait, no, I didn’t mean—uh, you know, for other people, not you! Definitely not you, You’re obviously an exception—uh, outlier—uh—uhhhhh...”

You can see it in Vil’s eyes: hexes. Hexes upon hexes. Idia’s social credit is about to go into the negatives, and it’s up to you to stop this trainwreck before it derails completely.

“Vil, darling,” you say quickly, sliding up beside him and placing a calming hand on his arm, “why waste your brilliance on people who clearly don’t understand skincare? They’re the ones missing out. Why not show them how effective it really is instead?”

Vil’s brow raises, his attention turning to you. “Show them?”

You nod earnestly. “Absolutely. A real-world demonstration. I’ll be your model. You can prove to the entire campus how flawless your methods are by working your magic on me.”

Idia, still rooted to his chair, looks at you with wide, desperate eyes, mouthing, Thank you, oh my god.

Vil considers this for a moment, the dangerous glint in his eyes dimming slightly. “Hm. That does have potential. It’s true that nothing speaks louder than results...” He narrows his gaze at you. “But don’t think this will be easy. You’re going to follow my instructions exactly.”

“Of course,” you say, internally praying you don’t end up with a ten-step skincare routine involving rare herbs and unicorn tears.

Three hours later, you’re sitting in Vil’s dorm room with half your face slathered in a gold-infused sheet mask, while he critiques the lighting for your before-and-after photos. Idia has not only escaped with his life but is actively hiding in Ignihyde, no doubt sobbing into his console for letting this happen.

The next morning, Ortho drops off a neatly wrapped package with a note:

"Thank you for keeping Big Brother from turning into a toad. This is our thank you. Please use it wisely. - Ortho"

Inside is a supply of snacks that Vil would never allow, soda and a very generous gift card.

At least your skin has never looked better

Instance 7: Fashion Show Debate

It happens during the final stages of Vil’s meticulously planned fashion show rehearsal in Pomefiore’s grand hall. The decorators are frantically running around, while Vil oversees every detail with the precision of a hawk. It’s flawless—until Sebek’s voice booms through the air like a thunderclap.

“FASHION IS A POINTLESS PURSUIT WHEN COMPARED TO THE NOBLE ART OF SWORDSMANSHIP!”

Every head swivels toward Sebek, who stands tall, arms crossed, utterly convinced of his own wisdom. He continues, undeterred by the growing silence. “Who cares what you wear when you’re on the battlefield?! True strength lies not in silks and satins, but in the heart of a warrior!”

Vil freezes mid-step, his clipboard trembling in his hand. Slowly, he turns, and you swear you see the faintest shimmer of poison green pooling in his eyes. His glare could cut through steel.

“Excuse me?” Vil says, each syllable sharp and measured.

Sebek, being Sebek, barrels on, entirely oblivious to the danger he’s wading into. “Clothing is irrelevant when facing an opponent of true skill! A warrior’s resolve is their most valuable armor!”

Lilia, lounging nearby, starts wheezing with laughter, clearly finding the whole ordeal the height of entertainment. “Oh, this is delightful. Do go on, Sebek!”

You, however, sense disaster brewing. The tension in Vil’s jaw could snap diamonds, and Sebek’s volume seems to be increasing with every word. If this isn’t diffused soon, you’re going to witness Sebek walking the runway in a cursed tutu and heels.

Thinking quickly, you stride over to Sebek and place a firm hand over his mouth. “Sebek, remember the gargoyle incident?” you say in a low voice.

Sebek freezes, his face going pale. You lean in closer for effect.

“You know,” you continue casually, “the time you spent twenty minutes praising a gargoyle in the castle courtyard because you thought it was Malleus in the dark? Magnificent presence were your exact words, I believe?”

Sebek’s eyes widen in pure panic.

“When you finally realized your mistake,” you add, voice dripping with mock sympathy, “you begged me to swear on my life that I wouldn’t tell Malleus. Do you think he’d laugh? I think he’d laugh.”

Sebek emits a muffled noise beneath your hand, his entire posture deflating. He waves his arms frantically in surrender. You let go, and he turns stiffly to Vil, bowing his head. “My apologies. I spoke out of turn.”

Vil raises a perfectly arched eyebrow but seems satisfied with the reluctant apology. “As you should be. Now, be silent, or I’ll personally ensure you end in heels forever.”

Crisis averted, you glance at Lilia, who gives you an approving wink. Sebek, meanwhile, retreats to the shadows, muttering under his breath about unfair tactics and treacherous secrets.

As the models resume their walk, Vil brushes past you with a quiet, “Good work, darling. Though I’ll admit, I wouldn’t have minded seeing him in heels.”

It’s one of those rare, quiet evenings where the world outside seems to hum in stillness. You’re sprawled on the bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, savoring the precious downtime. The soft creak of the floorboards is your only warning before Vil’s hands are gently pulling you into his arms.

Startled, you set your phone aside and look up at him. “What’s up?”

Vil doesn’t answer immediately. He sits on the edge of the bed, arms encircling you as if shielding you from the entire universe. His expression is unusually soft, his gaze tracing over your features like he’s memorizing every detail.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says at last, his voice quieter than you’re used to. “You do so much for me. More than I deserve sometimes.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What are you talking about? You deserve the world, Vil.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips, but there’s something vulnerable in the way he looks away for a moment. “I know I’m... a little demanding.”

You snort, which earns you a mock glare. “Okay, fine, maybe a little more than a little." You laugh “But it’s not like I mind.”

“You should. Most people would,” he counters, but his tone is softer now, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve been working so hard to keep up with me, to make me happy, even when I’m being a diva.”

That makes you laugh, and the sound seems to melt the last of his hesitation. You cup his cheek, thumb brushing lightly against his flawless skin. “Vil, it’s not hard work. It’s a labor of love.”

His eyes widen just a fraction, and then his smile blooms—gentle, radiant, and so genuinely Vil. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re impossible,” he murmurs, but the affection in his voice betrays him.

“And yet you love me anyway,” you quip, grinning.

Vil huffs a laugh, his arms tightening around you as he pulls you into a proper embrace. “Hopelessly.”

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in the warmth of each other, the world outside forgotten. It’s just you and Vil, caught in a moment that feels like love personified—sweet, steady, and infinite.

(this is kinda a spiritual successor to the how to tame your dragon malleus fic)

Masterlist

[thelovehypothesis]

You ramble, but it's adorable

Ollie Bearman x fem!reader

From this request 

+1k words

a/n's: this was requested on my old account which I accidentally deleted but, hope this fic finds the person that requested it!

warnings: fluff!

summary: lost in your latest obsession, and he's completely captivated by your every word—because to Ollie, every ramble is just another reason to fall in love.

Ollie had always found it easy to get lost in the small moments—those quiet pauses between races, when the world slowed down just enough for him to savour the simplicity of life. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the way he felt right now, watching you animatedly explain your latest obsession.

You were sitting on the couch, knees tucked under you, eyes sparkling as you tried to unpack the complex universe that Taylor Swift had created with her "folklore" album. Your hands moved in quick gestures as you traced out what you called "the love triangle of all love triangles" between Betty, James, and August. Ollie leaned against the backrest, listening with a quiet smile, his eyes never leaving your face. 

"And then—" you continued, your voice slightly higher in pitch with excitement, "in 'Cardigan,' Betty is talking about how she loved James even after he messed everything up. But, and here's the crazy part, 'August' is from the perspective of the girl James cheated on her with!" You waved your hands in a dramatic arc. "It’s so genius because it’s like each song is a different piece of the same story. I mean, can you even imagine the emotional depth it takes to create something like that?"

Ollie chuckled softly, shaking his head just enough for you to notice but not enough to interrupt you. You barely paused, too deep in your passionate analysis of the music to stop. 

"But wait, I’m not done!" You looked at him, eyes wide. "You’ve got 'Betty' next, which is James' apology song. He’s basically trying to get Betty back after messing around with August, but you can tell he’s just a stupid kid who didn’t know what he had until he lost it!" You sighed dramatically, clutching a pillow to your chest. "It’s heartbreaking, but also like... I can't stop listening to it on repeat."

Ollie couldn't help it; his heart swelled at how much you cared about all these tiny details, how you put your whole soul into explaining it to him. He loved how your face lit up with excitement, how your voice carried the melody of your thoughts so effortlessly. And he especially loved how you didn’t care whether he knew every little detail or not—you just wanted to share it with him.

"You’re adorable, you know that?" Ollie said softly, his voice cutting through your rambling just enough to make you pause.

You blinked, thrown off for a second. "What?" 

"You ramble, but it's adorable," he repeated, this time with that signature Ollie grin that made your stomach flip. He reached out, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered near your cheek, warm and soft.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. "I’m not rambling… am I?"

"You absolutely are," Ollie teased, leaning forward so that his face was inches from yours. "But don’t stop. I like it when you talk about stuff like this. It’s like... I can see how much it means to you, and I love seeing you so happy."

You playfully swatted his arm, but your heart was beating faster, the tender warmth of his words melting away any embarrassment. "Fine," you said, narrowing your eyes in mock seriousness, "but don’t complain when I start talking about the metaphors behind the lyrics."

"I wouldn’t dream of it." He pulled you closer, his arm slipping around your waist. His eyes softened as they held yours, and for a moment, the world outside your little bubble disappeared.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush of affection. But then Ollie deepened it, his hand cupping the side of your face as he pulled you impossibly closer, his lips warm and insistent, making your heart race even faster. 

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, you couldn’t help but grin at him. "I think that was just a tactic to stop me from talking."

Ollie smirked, the mischievous glint in his eyes impossible to ignore. "Maybe," he admitted, his thumb grazing your lower lip, "but it worked, didn’t it?"

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny that you were already melting under his touch. He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing you in as if you were the most precious thing in the world. 

"Seriously though," Ollie murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I love listening to you talk. About Taylor Swift, about racing, about whatever it is that’s on your mind. You’re just so… passionate about everything, and it makes me love you even more."

The way he said it, so effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made your heart skip a beat. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close again, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

"You’re too sweet, Ollie," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

He chuckled lightly, his arms tightening around you. "Only for you."

For a while, you both stayed like that—curled up in each other’s arms, the TV flickering in the background, the weight of the world outside fading away. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, but you didn’t care. All you knew was that this moment, with him holding you so gently, was exactly where you wanted to be.

After a while, you shifted slightly, tilting your head up to look at him again. "Okay, but I’m serious about that love triangle. You have to admit it’s pretty genius, right?"

Ollie smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before nodding. "It’s genius," he agreed, even though he barely understood half of what you were saying. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way your eyes lit up, the way your voice danced with excitement. And if listening to Taylor Swift conspiracies made you this happy, then he would listen to every single one.

"Thanks for putting up with my rambling," you said, your voice softening.

Ollie smiled, brushing his lips against yours once more. "It’s not putting up with anything. I love it, and I love you."

And with that, he kissed you again—soft, sweet, and full of love. The kind of kiss that felt like home. The kind that made you feel like no matter what you rambled about, he would always be there to listen, to smile, and to love you through it all.

---The End---

-Lots of love, Em.

[iz-star]

Zayne: Hidden Motive - The hidden meaning behind these two images and other thoughts about this card.

Warnings: NSFW talk, personal interpretation about this card, some analysis (probably overanalyzing lol).

I've already mentioned this quickly over twitter, tho I have to admit that I hate to write down my thoughts over there cause it's already difficult for me to put my ideas in order, let alone writing them in threads (and not even in my native language, my brain can't do so much). So I'm going to try to explain this here better, especially cause I've seen a lot of people not so sure of what happened in this card, if what Zayne and MC did was straight up dry humping or if it was all just the movement of the chair without actually touching each other.

Of course, this card was wild just for the already suggestive (let alone, stimulating?) work of the camera when MC is on top of Zayne, but this game is not even rated +18 so they have to be careful about what they show. Sex isn't anything new to this game, however it all depends on the way it is portrayed and showcased. Most of the times, sex is always implied; there are spicy moments but it has never been anything overly explicit, most cases the sexy scenes are more like foreplay, what leads to actual intercourse/sex, the last part being left to the imagination. If they were going to be wild with this card, they had to be soft at portraying it, unironically. In order to do that, they had to resort to certain storytelling resources, in this case: the rocking chair, the leaf and the fabric over the couch.

The rocking chair's purpose I think it's quite obvious and it was to not to blatantly show MC and Zayne rocking against each other, it was like the perfect excuse to put them on such a situation without the characters doing it willingly, or so so cause it's already too much to know that MC is sitting on top of Zayne, however this is not new to the game, right? MC sitting on top of Zayne's lap is actually quite normal, she's done it several times; here they just had to give them an excuse to move and when Zayne pulled MC towars him, everything started. I seriously praise the masterminds behind this scene cause they literally gave us Zayne and MC starting to dry hump in front of our very eyes in a very subtle way.

Again, the camera direction is the most risky thing they had done to showcase a sexual act so far, and I'm not mentioning this to downplay any other sexy scenes from Zayne or the other LIs, it's simply bc the bouncing movement it's too explicit and induces quite strong sexual ideas related to it, to go further seemed to be impossible at this point, however it also looked like they wanted us to be sure of what was happening here somehow, that it wasn't only the rocking chair making us seeing things, so in order to confirm what our minds were thinking and it wasn't only the sound of Zayne's kisses filling the room, they resorted to metaphors: the leaf and the fabric over the couch.

Maybe this is my dirty mind speaking, but is so suggestive the way this image was showed right after Zayne asked MC "Do I look like I can work right now?" with all the movement of the camera going wild and he resuming to kiss/suck MC's neck. It literally started to rain in this very moment, and the drop running down the leaf seems to be a metaphor of MC's arousal. Yes, she was getting wet down there. For this one, I think that the reference is quite easy to understand and there's no need to explain more, except to say that I actually loved the subtle yet beautiful/elegant way to refer to her arousal.

But what about the fabric over the couch?

If the image of the leaf was a reference to MC, then this one is a reference of Zayne's own arousal. What this image has is a disheveled fabric that's hanging from the edge of the couch, so there's two things:

The couch → Zayne's thighs/legs (isn't it a common joke within the fandom that Zayne is MC's favorite chair due to all the times she sits on his lap, anyway?)

The fabric → Zayne's robe.

Did you notice that among the four LIs, it was Zayne's robe the only one with the loosest tie and both sides of his robe do not even cross? like this thing it's barely keeping together somehow.

Which is genuinely surprising coming from Zayne, the Zayne whose towel outfit has the safest tie, the Zayne whose workout outfit covers his body from head to toe, the same Zayne who has dressed five (or was it six?) layers of clothes in the past (Master of Fate), the same Zayne who is always wearing long coats and suits and literally the one who makes us feel like victorian man seeing a woman's ankles for the first time lol.

I definitely think they did this on purpose. Give him easier access? Hell yeah. What this image is intending to say is that he was already opening his robe down there, making the contact with MC's wetness closer? Maybe that's why after this, she told him not to be too intense? Hmm...

Now, this probably is my overanalysis, it's up to you if you choose to believe this or not. For some people, media is about what is explicitly told, but narrative resources say a lot most part of the time, it helps the writers to give the readers hints about certain foreshadowing or, in this case, to reference to certain things that are impossible to address due to censorship.

Personally, I loved this card so much, but at the same time, it leaves me with a sense of dread. Did you notice how emotional, bittersweet or even sad/nostalgic was Zayne's bgm during his kindle? I saw some people uploaded the recording of his kindle without the bgm just to appreciate the naughty sounds (no blame here cause I did too ngl ahaha), but it made me want to listen to the music alone and good lord, the music made me so emotional. After watching the kindle with the music on again, I realized of how emotional this moment becomes when the bgm is playing. It gives vibes of something so intense yet so fragile. Go listen and appreciate it alone, you'll see what I'm talking about:

I noticed that they used two new songs for these cards, one was this one and the other was used in Rafayel's kindle, for Xavier and Sylus' kindles, they used bgm that was previously used in other memories. It's also interesting that the art direction of Zayne and Rafayel's kindles has a bit of a somber mood to them, like even their scenarios make sure to use cold colors and emotional backgrounds, while Xavier and Sylus' use more warm and romantic colors, (tho at least Xaviers bgm music was also intense even if the song is not new).

I feel like the bgm wanted to give a sensual yet emotional feeling to most scenes (except Sylus' since this one was the most chill, which is normal considering that he's new), however, we can't deny that Zayne's song feels like something is about to break somehow, idk how to explain. Someone in the comments section of the video said that it was angsty and beautiful just like Zayne is...

I've been feeling like Zayne's latest cards have been really emotional an intense. In Snowy Serenity is Zayne the one who is in danger, in Hidden Motive, it's MC the one in danger and both cards showcase how far are they willing to get in order to secure each other's safety (and also how much they lie to each other about their own safety lol).

In Snowy Serenity, Zayne and MC get emotionally closer, in Hidden Motive they get physically closer and yet both cards have a bit of both themes too, emotional and physical intimacy on another level.

In Snowy Serenity, Zayne knew that he might not be back so he asked MC to see him off the airport and gave her a hug, even if he never said goodbye, and in Hidden Motive, he tells her that she's not allowed to leave him without saying goodbye. Then he tells her he'll like her as long as she's alive and well. We also have the Adventure above the clouds chapters where they talk about ther lifes in 50 years in the future and how they'll be together still relying on each other. In Dawnbreaker's anecdotes, MC gets to celebrate Zayne's birthday with him and tells him that from now on, she'll always celebrate his birthday with him.

It feels like they're starting to look into the future a little too much, like making promises too soon, it feels too perfect... as if something bad is about to happen and rob us from that bright future, you know?

Do you know who made promises before a tragedy?

I've been thinking about this since I finished Hidden Motive cause... my first thought was... Now what can top this? A lot of us got really surprised by Zayne's card cause the spice was unexpected and I think it's needless to say this, but even the kindle felt a bit different from what we are used to see normally, even some ppl said the kindle was a bit longer than normal. Why would they feed us so much good/emotional/intense content of Zayne lately? And how are they going to keep it up? My brain tells me that something sexual being released too soon after this might feel repetitive so in order to create a bigger impact after this they'll resort to angst. I don't think they'll make Zayne's bday event sad, however, they also announced that more main story branches are going to be added from September to December and Zayne's probably gonna be the first to return, since he was the first one to disappear from the main story.

I just can't help thinking about this, I have this bad feeling that I hope is just my stupid brain overthinking and that we will have happy sweet memories with Zayne from now on even tho the story seems to keep hinting that something bad is going to happen, ugh.

Anyway, sorry for my rant, I actually have a lot of thoughts about this card that I don't know if I'll get to write cause I've been really busy with work lately, however I wanted to at least get this out of my chest.

[dadsbongos]

do u think u could write some of ur own personal headcanons for laios? i love the way u write him, it seems almost canon!

anon you dont know what fire youre messing with

also thank yew hehe :>

general headcanons:

Laios likes babysitting but does NOT want to be a real papa, he adores the idea of being the Cool And Strange Uncle but just imagining having to raise a whole person from scratch terrifies him

Usually conks out as soon as his head hits the pillow and he’s a damn heavy sleeper, he strikes me as someone that gets the dad snore when he’s a bit older

Likes doing physical activity in the moment, maintaining his stamina/strength n whatnot. But HAAATES the aftermath, he will not stop bitching about how gross he feels when sweaty

People scare him but I think men specifically scare him more than women because he mainly associates “men” with his old boarding school and military peers and his dad. Meanwhile the most callous woman he’s personally dealt with is like. his mom… who wasn’t particularly menacing and he doesn’t seem to resent her as much as he does his father

Most definitely called Chilchuck “chil” in their early days together and got his nuts sacked for the unintentional disrespect

Doesn’t drink often because the taste bugs him but when he does decide to, he drinks to get drunk. So it has to be a special occasion

The type of older brother to tell Falin food fills up your body from your feet to your head and when you’re full to your head you die

modern headcanons:

Definitely the type to unironically use little emoticons like :) or :] but his favorites are the cute ones like :3 , ^.^ , and :0

Would’ve played barbies with Falin as a kid and enjoyed it more than Falin did lol

If he were out with the group (marcille would have to threaten his life though, he would HATE “going out”) and Marcille or Falin deferred to him to deal with creepy men he’d feel like a superhero about it

Borderline mandated to have a high impact phone case by Falin because he’s GOT to be dropping that shit all the time. I just know it (projecting)

Would probably dislike resident evil as a series but thinks the premises are cool

Bouncing off that: he’s a big Undertale and Deltarune fan (definitely had a thing for Toriel at some point and probably thought sans was kind of overrated). Has ambivalent feelings towards fear & hunger, likes the atmosphere and item preservation and monsters but the assault scenes and overt brutalism ick him out from recommending it

Would go his whole life without an autism diagnosis until eventually held at metaphorical gunpoint by his friends, just for his parents to go “oh yeah we had you tested as a kid but didn’t want you using it as a crutch”

If monsters weren’t real he’d be cryptid autistic just so everyone’s on the same page

Cryptids major and ocean creatures minor type autism

I don’t think he’s straight by any measure but before he has the Realization, he’s the epitome of the girls gays and coleman meme

Segue omg: he has no desire to think more about his sexuality or gender than “i feel x” or “i choose y”. I think he identifies as Man(TM) but in a “its harder to explain i want to be a bog” way. If you referred to him with feminine pronouns or called him “girl” he seriously wouldn’t give a shit 

nsfw(?) headcanons:

Could never do casual, you would have to be committed or only know each other VERY distantly and only do it once. His ass wouldn’t know how to read your relationship if you were trying to do friends with benefits (he’s also very concerned with hurting people’s feelings so just the notion of accidentally doing that to someone he’s intimate with would kill him)

May seem strange coming from a bitch always talkin about fucking him, but I think Laios would actually have kind of a lower sex drive. Like he maybe doesn’t get needy very often but also isn’t NOT in the mood, so if you proposition him and he’s into you he’ll be like “okie :3”

That being said, when he does feel needy he’s NEEDY. It’s debilitating, he genuinely can’t do or think of anything else until his poor wee is taken care of :( poor guy aww

I can see him being a virgin until his early-mid 20s and having no shame about it (good for him go king, virginity is nothing to be ashamed of it literally doesn’t matter)

Also by virgin i mean rice purity test score of like 97

Swears he doesn’t like having his cock worshipped (says its weird and embarrassing) but he’s so flustered n drooly and babbles the whole time

Biter 

[vaguely-concerned]

I have so many thoughts I (ironically) can't put into words yet about the use of heightened and ritualized poetic language and phrases in connection to magic in Nevarra (or possibly within the mourn watch?). they don't default to an ancient language for it like tevinter predictably seem to, and while they do have a whole scholarly language for the academic side of it -- when they're actually casting it and interacting with the dead, they speak in common but through poetry and metaphor in ways we haven't seen any other culture do. maybe the avvar, as the closest, just in a different literary tradition. they speak to the dead, but in a living language. ingellvar rook gets a bit defensive and even reproachful during emmrich's recruitment quest when the other companion makes some sort of comment to question it. 'it's watcher tradition! >:('

'Open your hearts to the final day, companion of all the ages'. even a rook who doesn't take the almost religious element of the role of watcher as seriously knows that one by heart no matter what you make them say during walking the graves. when myrna in so many words says that the necropolis is still rook's home, the way they agree with her is simply to quote 'A home in life, a berth in death...' and her smoothly finishing the thought with 'a house of many mansions'. there are several times with emmrich where rook answers something he says just by quoting from some watcher text they both clearly know well. (if you do this to weasel out of answering when he asks if you're afraid of dying, he is understandably peeved you're quoting watcher 101 stuff at him, and rook clearly knows exactly what they're doing.) this shared base of literature -- and more than that a kind of oral tradition, it sounds like? it's just What You Say when you do certain things, do you think half of this is even written down anywhere? this shared inheritance of language making for a feeling of belonging and continuity is beautiful and moving in a way but also. a bit cold and distant, all mind and no body connection. which I feel might be a running theme around the necropolis haha they mainly seem to have interest in bodies once life has vacated them, they don't give that much thought to what makes it feel good to be in one while you're here. we can only imagine the psychological effects of growing up a crypt baby in this particular cultural milieu.

you know what it reminds me of a little bit in places, actually? the way the qun uses language and set phrases to convey layers of meaning. the qunari are an oddly poetic bunch. and I think there's also something here about like... cultures whose religious side are more about philosophy and the language used than an idea of the divine as such. yeah nevarra is technically andrastian, at least on the surface, probably largely for reasons of 'ugh it would be SO inconvenient to have an exalted march called on us :/ some of us have real shit to get on with you know this body isn't going to mummify itself. sure tell orlais we'll join their dumb club or whatever'. but within and beneath that the syncretism with and survival of much older traditions are still so obviously (and double ironically!) alive. how much does your average watcher believe in god, and how much and how immediately do they believe in the grand necropolis, and in their duty to what has been, what is and what will come after them -- the quest for knowledge? memento mori ass culture to the point of absent-mindedly forgetting about everything else including god (affectionate). maybe the maker exists, but he's just not that relevant down here. he may take the souls, but we still tend the graves. render unto the chantry what's the chantry's, and unto the watcher what is theirs!!! really is the whole thing huh

[glorious-spoon]

ship: eddie/buck prompt: couch

hi, and thank you! this got longer than i was planning, lol. buck/eddie; 700 words; unsubtle metaphors and first kisses

-

Eddie opens his eyes to the dim flickering light of the TV, turned down low but not quite muted on one of those Ninja Warrior things that Buck loves. He's tilted sideways, cheek pillowed against the outside of Buck's arm, and he's apparently been drooling a little, which would be more embarrassing if it were the first or even the twentieth time it's happened.

"Sorry," he mumbles, peeling his face away to flop back against the couch and muffle a yawn into the back of his hand. "Time's it?"

"Like ten. You were wiped."

"Haven't been sleeping great lately."

"Good thing I picked out a comfortable couch this time around, huh?"

Eddie laughs softly, rolls his shoulders until they give a couple of satisfying pops, then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He glances up to see Buck watching him fondly, his face lit up in the glow of the screen, his eyes sleepy and soft.

"Yeah," he says. "Good thing."

Buck huffs a little, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Eddie imagines tracing the shape of it with his fingers, or maybe with his lips. It's a thought he's become more settled with in the past month or so, after Buck ended things with Tommy, or Tommy ended things with him—Eddie never actually got a detailed post-mortem on what went down there, from either of them, and he's not sure he wants one. They're both single now. Buck likes men. Eddie could just kiss him and see where it leads.

Instead, he slouches back against the couch. On the screen, a petite but muscular woman is slamming her way up a salmon ladder while the crowd shrieks, nearly muted, and the timer speeds ahead. 

"God, she's so good. I bet she could kick my ass."

"That's your type, huh?" Eddie asks, and Buck ducks his head, laughing. 

"I don't know. Maybe."

Eddie hums. He's remembering a night in Buck's kitchen, years ago—you wanna go for the title?—and a tension he can name more easily now than he could back then. For himself, anyway. Sometimes Buck looks at him the way he is now, and he thinks—but he doesn't know. Not for sure.

"Hey, Eddie?"

He didn't even realize his eyes had slid shut again. He blinks, rubbing at them, then rolls his head over to look at Buck. "Yeah?"

Buck hesitates, his lips parted. His eyes flicker over Eddie's face for a moment, and then he scoffs a little and turns his face away. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Oh, no, come on. Now you gotta tell me."

"It's nothing. Seriously."

"Buck."

Buck holds out for a moment, but Eddie can see the moment he gives in, his shoulders sagging, because he's never been any better at saying no to Eddie than Eddie is at saying no to him. It's comforting, the way they both have that problem. Buck rubs at his lower lip, then shrugs a little, then says, without looking at Eddie, "Do you ever… did you ever think that you and me, that we could be…" He glances over, quick and nervous, and Eddie wishes like hell that he knew what his face was doing or how to control it. Buck smears his hand over his mouth a little more roughly, then says, "Seriously, forget it."

"Buck," Eddie whispers. He straightens up on the couch, fully awake now.

"Eddie, I—I don't—"

"Hey," Eddie says, and he reaches up and touches Buck's cheek. Warm skin, stubble just starting to come in. Buck's eyelashes fluttering, his shaky breath. And it's easy from there, to let that guide him: to lean in and press a kiss to Buck's mouth.

It lingers in the stillness for a moment. Then Buck's hand comes up to cup his cheek, and his lips move against Eddie's, kissing him back.

It's soft, and they part just as softly. Buck's eyes are closed, but after a moment he opens them. He breathes out shakily, then laughs a little. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eddie whispers. His hand is still on Buck's cheek, and he wants to kiss him again, and he thinks maybe he gets to do that now. "Yeah, I think we could."

[forestdeath1]

Canon Sirius through quotes

Part 3. Harshness and toughness (and how Sirius Black differs from James Potter). It's long. Really long.

Sirius isn't a soft crybaby. His harshness (and even cruelty) goes beyond the silly teenage pranks we usually see in fanfiction. Sirius is often either whitewashed by newer fans or overly demonized by anti-Marauders fans. Sirius has a tough exterior but a heart of gold. He's not childish and had to grow up early, though he can still be quite fun.

‘Do you know, I still have trouble believing it,’ said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. ‘Of all the people to go over to the Dark side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought ... .’

"Of all the people to go over to the Dark side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought" – this shouldn't be taken literally. Rosmerta saw many others regularly, Dumbledore, Lily, Remus, and many others, and out of all of them, Sirius Black was the last who could turn to the Dark side? Seriously? Did Sirius walk around with a halo and angel wings?

One trait that is always emphasized in his appearance is his haughty, bored look.

Rosmerta speaks metaphorically, not literally. She saw Sirius once a month or two when they went out to Hogsmeade to have fun and drink. In those moments, Sirius was lively, funny and noisy (especially lively after running away from home), and perhaps he even flirted with Rosmerta in a childish manner, melting the heart of the adult woman.

Sirius can be funny, although his humor is always edging towards dark:

"Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose.’ 

Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset. 

‘Sirius!’ she said reproachfully. ‘Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher, I’m sure he’d respond. After all, you are the only member of his family he’s got left, and Professor Dumbledore said –’ 

‘So, what are Umbridge’s lessons like?’ Sirius interrupted. ‘Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?’

Moreover, he interrupts Hermione, not letting her finish her point. He sharply outlines if he doesn't want to listen.

"the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards"

Dark humor.

‘Kreacher is cleaning,’ the elf repeated. ‘Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black –’ 

‘And it’s getting blacker every day, it’s filthy,’ said Sirius.

Here he responds with a clear "Black" shade. His mother also loved to talk about filth.

‘Sirius – it’s me ... it’s Peter ... your friend ... you wouldn’t ...’ Black kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled. ‘There’s enough filth on my robes without you touching them,’ said Black.

And again. And here’s his mother:

‘Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers –’ 

‘Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth ...’

Sirius desperately wants to be unlike the Blacks, but he is still Sirius Black.

‘I thought it was the perfect plan ... a bluff ... Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you ... it must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.’

Sirius's humor isn't the only harsh thing about him. Even though here he has a reason – after Azkaban he met James's traitor – his way of speaking reflects his overall personality. The way one speaks is a mirror of personality, even if Sirius has PTSD, it only exposes even more vividly what he might control in a calm state.

‘Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.’ (Peeves)

At the same time, yes, he can be cheerful and infect everyone around him with his cheerfulness. If he's in a sombre mood, he creates a quite oppressive atmosphere around him that everyone feels. Just as with a good mood – everyone feels it.

Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. 

-

Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak’s room, singing ‘God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs’ at the top of his voice. 

-

Sirius’s delight at having the house full again, and especially at having Harry back, was infectious. He was no longer their sullen host of the summer; now he seemed determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more than they would have done at Hogwarts, and he worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help.

But the ability to be cheerful is in no way connected to being very harshn at the same time. This is precisely the case with Sirius.

Of all the Marauders, only Sirius is really harsh and can be truly dangerous (the author wrote about him, “The best-looking, most rebellious, most dangerous of the four marauders”). James was also a bully, but he's not harsh, despite the fact that it was he who pulled down Snape's trousers. Why? I think Sirius was already aware of what they were doing. James – not. Without awareness, it's too early to speak of any harshness and cruelty. Sirius had this awareness and still continued to do it.

Let's consider the reactions of Sirius and James in comparison.

‘Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?’ 

Sirius did not smile. ‘My whole family have been in Slytherin,’ he said.

‘Blimey,’ said James, ‘and I thought you seemed all right!’ 

Sirius grinned. ‘Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?’

A small note: Sirius didn't even react to James's "I'd leave", even though he knew his whole family was from Slytherin, and he was likely to go there too.

James lifted an invisible sword. ‘“Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!” Like my dad.’ Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him.

‘Got a problem with that?’ ‘No,’ said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. ‘If you’d rather be brawny than brainy –’

It was Snape who starts the confrontation on a personal level. James in his insults in this memory refers to moral qualities. "Who wants to be in Slytherin?" Only bad people. He is prejudiced against Slytherin because Slytherin is evil. Voldemort is gaining momentum. The first Muggle-born Minister was recently ousted. Attacks are happening here and there. Dark forces are growing. More and more of the pure-blood society talks about "Mudbloods" not belonging in this world. And "amazingly", they all turn out to be from Slytherin. James sees himself as a noble knight "James lifted an invisible sword", and he is against Slytherin not so much personally as against the moral component of Slytherin.

‘Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?’ interjected Sirius.

James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike.

Sirius immediately strikes at Snape's personality. Sirius is sharp-tongued, self-assured, and likely accustomed to considering others below himself. He probably assessed James as his equal right away. Brave, cheerful, sincere.

'Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment.'

'Oooooo...'

James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.

'See ya, Snivellus!' a voice called, as the compartment door slammed...

James tried to trip Snape. James most often uses physical/magical force. He trips Snape, he pulls down Snape's trousers, he uses most of the spells on Snape in SWM. But it's Sirius who goes after Snape's personality. It looks like James has concocted a "noble justification" for his behavior and attitude and punishes Snape for existing just as he is.

Sirius, on the other hand, hardly uses magical/physical force in memories; he finds painful points in Snape's personality – from character to appearance, intentionally demeaning his personal traits.

Moreover, it was Sirius who focused on Snape's appearance. No one, except him, places such an emphasis on Snape's unattractive appearance and his untidiness.

'Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was,'

Very vivid epithets. Sirius is very eloquent when it comes to demeaning someone he dislikes.

Moreover, it's James who's the attention seeker. It's James who plays with the snitch, drawing attention, glancing at the girls by the lake, and ruffling his hair to show everyone how cool, strong, brave, and awesome he is.

After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn’t tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. Harry noticed that his father had a habit of rumpling up his hair as though to keep it from getting too tidy, and he also kept looking over at the girls by the water’s edge.

While Sirius, likely, isn't much interested in societal validation. Sirius is more reserved, with firmer boundaries, he's not as interested in public adoration as James might be.

Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so.

This is a typical expression for Sirius – bored and haughty. He spent nearly five full years in Gryffindor alongside James, and the bored and haughty expression is still with him. It's not just a random trait in his character – it's one of the pillars of his personality, reflecting his attitude towards random people around him.

‘Put that away, will you,’ said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer, ‘before Wormtail wets himself with excitement.’

As I've said, Sirius cuts with his words without a knife. They've been studying together for five years, been friends with Peter, and he jokes about Peter like this. I think they all joked about each other in the same way, just James's "jokes" are blunt and probably he just says whatever comes to mind, whereas Sirius's are more subtle and hurtful.

Moreover, when people say this is the only episode we know of bullying by James and Sirius and that it's the worst in their history, that's not correct. This episode is the worst in Snape's life. And not because they pulled down his trousers. But because he lost Lily forever that day. This episode, likely, was quite typical for the Marauders. They were in a good mood, had finished exams, Snape just happened to pass by, there were no obvious reasons for this bullying. Harry sifted through their detention records, and there were many, very many, and how many more when they weren't caught?

Sirius got bored, and there they decided to "have some fun."

‘I’m bored,’ said Sirius. ‘Wish it was full moon.’ 

‘You might,’ said Lupin darkly from behind his book. ‘We’ve still got Transfiguration, if you’re bored you could test me. Here ...’ and he held out his book. 

But Sirius snorted. ‘I don’t need to look at that rubbish, I know it all.’

I won't discuss The Prank here, many have written about it. In general, Sirius doesn't show empathy in everyday interactions even with Remus. Sirius has a heart of gold, but his shell, especially as a teenager – tough, harsh, sharp, and cutting. The grown-up Sirius interacts with close people much more politely, though he still occasionally shows his harshness (for example, with Hermione).

‘This’ll liven you up, Padfoot,’ said James quietly. ‘Look who it is ...’ 

Sirius’s head turned. He became very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit. 

‘Excellent,’ he said softly. ‘Snivellus.’

I don't want to justify Sirius and James, but for context – Snape is fascinated by the Dark Arts, hangs out with future Death Eaters (= fascist), and they have mutual dislike from the first year. No, the act is immature, but James justifies it in his head exactly like this – Snape is bad for him, so anything goes, and anyway, "so what?" Sirius doesn't need justifications. He's just bored.

Even when James uses all the spells on Snape, he still glances at the lake:

Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands raised, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water’s edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

Why look at the girls by the lake when you're humiliating someone, if you know you're doing something really bad? James genuinely sees himself as a noble knight, deserving of admiration. Moreover, many do admire him (''Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had got to their feet and were edging nearer. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained. Several people watching laughed''), and Lupin mentioned several times that James was popular at school.

‘How’d the exam go, Snivelly?’ said James. 

‘I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment,’ said Sirius viciously. ‘There’ll be great grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word.’ 

Again, Sirius harshly targets Snape's personal traits, including his appearance.

‘You – wait,’ he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing, ‘you – wait!’ 

‘Wait for what?’ said Sirius coolly. ‘What’re you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?’ 

And again – Sirius strikes with words.

Snape let out a stream of mixed swear words and hexes, but with his wand ten feet away nothing happened.

‘Wash out your mouth,’ said James coldly. ‘Scourgify!’

And James responds with a spell to what? Snape's insults. He says ‘Wash out your mouth.’ He appeals to the moral side of the issue.

‘I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!’

‘Apologise to Evans!’ James roared at Snape, his wand pointed  threateningly at him. ‘I don’t want you to make him apologise,’ Lily shouted, rounding on James. ‘You’re as bad as he is.’ ‘What?’ yelped James. ‘I’d NEVER call you a – you-know-what!’

This also proves that James is sure he's doing everything right. James is like a volunteer in the allies' army against the fascists, a brave Gryffindor, and his sword is to cast spells on anyone he deems not fitting his moral standards.

‘Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can – I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.’

And from the outside, it looked like this.

‘What is it with her?’ said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him. 

‘Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,’ said Sirius.

And Sirius understands it all too well. Who he is, who James is, and what Lily thinks about it all. Sirius knows about James's crush on Lily and finds it even funny that she rejects him. Likely because Sirius understands that they often cross the line. I don’t think Sirius could have stopped Potter. I don't even think Sirius wanted to stop Potter. He found it all funny. Azkaban, on the other hand, softened Sirius in his interactions with others. It knocked down his pride and arrogance. Showed him that life can be unfair and you don't need to act like a haughty jerk who thinks the world revolves around them.

At school, Sirius was more about psychological bullying, while James was about the physical. Given that James and Sirius were very popular at school and within their house, their bullying was likely directed mostly at Slytherins or at arrogant jerks like themselves who they just "didn't like."

And the adult Sirius understands that they were “arrogant little berks.” And he’s “not proud of it,” but his next words speak for themselves:

“ I think James was everything Snape wanted to be – he was popular, he was good at Quidditch – good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, and James – whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry – always hated the Dark Arts.”

Sirius justifies James while simultaneously praising him. Justifications always imply a partial denial of guilt. Someone fully aware of their guilt doesn’t seek to justify or be justified. Of course, Sirius said this for Harry's sake too. To ensure Harry didn’t think his father was just a bully for no reason. His father was actually “on the side of good,” is what Sirius wants to convey. About himself, he remains silent. But he doesn't miss the chance to insult Snape again “little oddball.”

Even Remus, as an adult, sincerely justifies James.

‘She started going out with him in seventh year,’ said Lupin. 

‘Once James had deflated his head a bit,’ said Sirius. ‘And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,’ said Lupin.

 ‘Even Snape?’ said Harry. ‘Well,’ said Lupin slowly, ‘Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn’t really expect James to take that lying down, could you?’ 

‘And my mum was OK with that?’ 

‘She didn’t know too much about it, to tell you the truth,’ said Sirius. ‘I mean, James didn’t take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?’

Lupin finds a genuine justification for James. The concept of “violence in any form is bad” isn’t fully grasped by them. They follow an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Lupin even was ready to kill Peter, and he insisted that war is not a playground and that killing is sometimes necessary in war. Remus, though gentler and kinder, and preferring not to engage in conflict, genuinely wished Sirius and James hadn't bullied anyone at school, but yet, he still reconciles with all they do and even justifies James.

In Sirius's mind, James may have acted like a fool, but Sirius doesn’t genuinely condemn it. He just thinks they were too arrogant. And Sirius’s behavior after Azkaban (how he became gentler with others) indicates he truly realized – you don't need to belittle everyone you dislike or even like. Yet, Sirius’s harshness, even after Azkaban, didn’t disappear; it was just redirected towards what he genuinely hates.

‘Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons ... you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me –’ 

Black made a derisive noise. 

‘It served him right,’ he sneered. ‘Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to ... hoping he could get us expelled ...’

Remus's reactions are much softer, but Sirius’s reaction, even years later, is harsh and even a bit cruel. ‘It served him right.’ Because it's an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

However, Sirius’s harshness still occasionally breaks through even towards his close ones when he slightly loses control over himself after Azkaban.

‘You’re less like your father than I thought,’ he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. ‘The risk would’ve been what made it fun for James.’ 

‘Well, I’d better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,’ said Sirius, but Harry was sure he was lying. ‘I’ll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?’

Sirius calls themselves “arrogant little berks,” but the peculiarity of Sirius’s arrogance is that it's due to his personal qualities, not external “glamour”.

 ‘I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter – I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you?’

He despises Peter for groveling, for weakness, for the same reasons he despises Regulus, considering him a soft idiot. Sirius’s arrogance was never built on finances or blood purity, on popularity, on playing Quidditch, not on his name, although the family dynamics undoubtedly influenced his pride. But overall, his arrogance is of a different level – that of a rebellious spirit, a very strong person, not like the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy is intentionally depicted as the complete opposite of Sirius Black (in character – the most rebellious of their pure-blood circle and the most sycophantic, and in appearance – black and white).

Sirius and Kreacher's story demonstrates that Sirius does not forgive those he hated and can carry hatred through the years. People usually soften over time, but Sirius has an excuse – Azkaban. Nonetheless, the behavioral pattern remains unchanged. Azkaban does not change the essence of people, it makes certain traits more vivid and pronounced. Sirius became calmer towards the people around him who help fight against evil, he toned down his arrogance and pride (even towards Snape, he no longer hurls insults first, it’s Snape who insults Sirius first), but Sirius became even harsher towards those he hates.

‘Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, and it’s no good looking like that, you know it’s true. I’ve said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did ... and so did Sirius.’

Harry had no retort. As he watched Kreacher sobbing on the floor, he remembered what Dumbledore had said to him, mere hours after Sirius’s death: I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human’s ...

And he himself demonstrates this repeatedly:

At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione’s protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room.

Dumbledore believes Sirius showed cruelty to Kreacher through his indifference and neglect. That is, Sirius could shut off his empathy towards a being, despite generally being friendly towards house-elves.

‘He (Sirius) regarded him (Kreacher) as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike… Sirius was not a cruel man, he was kind to house-elves in general. He had no love for Kreacher, because Kreacher was a living reminder of the home Sirius had hated.’

Sirius was not evil. But the neglect emanating from him was very cruel, harsh, and cold. Sirius can shut away all the good within him towards anyone he despised – “And whatever Kreacher’s faults, it must be admitted that Sirius did nothing to make Kreacher’s lot easier –”

‘– comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he’s back, they say he’s a murderer too –’

‘Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!’ said Sirius irritably as he slammed the door shut on the elf.

However, Sirius likely never killed anyone, even while serving in the "Order."

Regarding his family and even Regulus, Sirius is also harsh. Even if he, like any child, deep down loved his family, it doesn’t matter because his real words and actions are very harsh and aimed at severing ties. The possible love for them deep down only further highlights his harshness and readiness for confrontation.

“I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal ... my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them”

Likely, he’s ashamed of them, and his hatred also builds a wall between them and himself.

‘Does it matter if she’s my cousin?’ snapped Sirius. ‘As far as I’m concerned, they’re not my family. She’s certainly not my family. I haven’t seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban. D’you think I’m proud of having a relative like her?’

And at the same time Dumbledore about James:

‘I knew your father very well, both at Hogwarts and later, Harry,’ he said gently. ‘He would have saved Pettigrew too, I am sure of it.’

I don’t know how true this is (though likely, the author speaks through Dumbledore here), but considering that Harry himself is a character whose main traits include the ability to understand and forgive others, perhaps James had this to some extent too. But Sirius lacks the ability to forgive, and this is deliberately shown in the book – that he suffered precisely because of his excessive harshness.

In conclusion, Sirius's harshness and toughness is not just teenage arrogance; it's directly a trait of his personality, something that cannot be overlooked when talking about the canonical Sirius, not his sugar-coated substitute in fandom. Sirius had to grow up very early, and all this left its mark on him.

Of all the Marauders, only Sirius is really harsh and can be truly dangerous.

But Sirius was not cruel in a moral-ethical sense, or more precisely – ideologically. There's no reason to believe Sirius is constantly drawn to the dark side or that he's amoral. His constant fight against his family suggests instead that he formed high ideals within himself. No, Sirius is not amoral; he has difficulty with empathy (especially in childhood), a tendency towards aggression and cruelty (mostly in childhood, he controls himself quite well as an adult. Well, for Sirius Black quite well), arrogance, but he very well understands what is right and what is wrong.

‘She’s got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.’

[raointean]

Funniest responses* to the "What does "Blorbo" mean?" question

(In reference to my silmarillion fandom linguistics project, the results of which you can find in my "survey says" tag)

*not necessarily the full response, some are just fragments from longer responses. Also, I'm not filtering by "correct" or "incorrect" responses

Special Little Guy (gender neutral)

Lmao. That's like, my special little guy. He takes up my brain space. I'm rotating him.

you know how lilo from lilo and stitch has that doll she made, complete with backstory? basically like that

one's blorbo is a character one cares a lot about. it kind of has like... condescending or woobifying connotations? like expressing that Maedhros is your blorbo is sort of uh... one imagines like, a chibi Maedhros. cute, not scary. but it doesn't necessarily imply the speaker has distorted perception of the character in general, just a sort of fondness

The character a person wants to use as a doll/stuffed animal

A character who the author loves too much (and knows it)

"OMG Blorbo was in the new trailer for 5 seconds!" is a common statement

which often provokes... strange thoughts at 11pm.

Beloved character who you think about entirely too much and also enjoy putting in Situations

It implies some degress of being pathetic as well.

No relation to Blorbo Baggins.

The character you put under a microscope, put through the cheese grater, put into the salad spinner, and squeeze like a plushie.

A beloved character whom you want to both stick in a microwave and protect with all you have

character one fangirls* over (*gender neutral)

Just a little guy, whom I am deeply enamored of and just want to squish on the head and see what happens.

Favourive character, often pathetic, someone to pity as much as love

obsessed. baby. Will run my mouth off about them

the word "favorite" wasn't enough to encapsulate "the exact kind of character made specifically for me in the lab" either. my friendgroup started calling those types of characters "callouts" because they were calling you out by existing Exactly To Your Tastes

(not necessarily in a way that condones their actions, but deeply beloved nonetheless)

The "cinnamon roll" kind. Idk I love Namo but I'd never call him a blorbo, it just wouldn't feel right.

??

dear?

My personal favourite character, whom I want to adopt even if he's a dark lord

A particularly beloved (or beloathed-in-a-positive-way) character.

Generally seem to be problematic favs.

I think it was originally meant to be somewhat mocking, but it was wholeheartedly adopted and is now used unironically.

A favored character that usually is subjected to great amounts of trauma and or fluff.

A favourite character, usually male

The obsession character

Feanor/character you are unreasonably attached to esp. if they are a Bad Person TM

The character who is most special and beloved to you (and often that means you're gonna put them through The Horrors)

a character that makes you chew on the bars of your enclosure

Special little character from my shows(tm)

usually having an aura of kicked wet puppy (brimby)

You'd build a shrine to them

Idk, ask the children 😹. Er. Hot character you like? I'm sure people have very complex definitions explaining why they like the hot character but I don't take fandom that seriously.

Your guy (gender neutral), not a comfort character, but perhaps a character you would like to see experience the worst situations possible (affectionate)

occasionally blorbo from my floor (my cat)

Just a widdle pathetic guy 🥺😈

A favourite character, thuogh usually one you squash like a stress ball or squeaky toy rather than put gently on a shelf

Ungoliant

Guy (gender neutral) who I hold in my hand like a neat rock and look at

character whom i will put in a glass and shake

character you are putting in the metaphorical salad spinner

A favourite character, often a war criminal treated like they did nothing wrong, they are a little kitty

(character you're particularly attached to and usually put in physically and/or mentally torturous situations for fun)

A character you’ve imprinted on and like seeing in misery. They’re your wet cat you enjoy pouring water on but also toweling off

Your favorite character, to whom no harm may come (except in the service of angst)

my guy. my friend my buddy. the person

Literally your favourite ever character, but not like you want to f*ck them, more like "how much can i let them suffer?"

Your favouritest character from media that you like to put in all kinds of situations, but is not morally problematic.

favourite character you want to bully

a fictional character that you like to an obsessive amount, typically more than other favourite characters; your specialist little guy; someone you are unwell about; you don’t always have to like your blorbo per day but they must take up constant thought space

[scarletwinterxx]

je ne sais quoi - jaehyun

this man posted on ig and suddenly i'm here writing😅 srsly like he's sooooooooo boyf material it's making me mad hahah anyways hope you like this one.

this can be a part 2 of this scenario, someone commented for a p2 so here you go😅🤍

if you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

: a bit suggestive, fluff, whipped jaehyun

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2023 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"Babe, what's your 2024 goal?"

You hear your boyfriend ask from beside you, letting out a chuckle before answering him. Something he might not expect to hear

"Be pregnant"

It was almost comical, the way his head turned towards you in a slowmo manner like he did not just hear those words right.

"What?" you asked, blinking innocently back at him. When he kept on staring at you, you couldn't help but burst out laughing. Leaning over rest your head on his chest.

You feel him kiss the top of your head, "I mean if that's what you want, I'm sure I can make it happen"

Snickering at his words, you know he's smirking right now without even looking at him. "Is that what they mean when they say fuck around and find out"

He laughs, pulling you even closer to him. Doesn't matter the rest of the couch is vacant, he wants you always as near to him as possible. After the surprise you gave him on his birthday, the man's practically (and sometimes literally) on his knees for you. Jaehyun wasted no time to ask you to be officially his. And even though the two of you started out on a casual relationship, you were elated to finally call the fine young man your boyfriend.

And it's been a fairytale ever since. If Jaehyun was lowkey before, it definitely changed now. Any time the two of you are in public, best believe he will find a way to stick by your side the entire time. His eyes stay on you and only you.

"But like really? is that your goal for next year?"

"Why? Do you not want kids?"

"I want kids with you, that's the only correct answer for me"

His words got you folding, ready to give him all. If he said he wants to have your kids then who are you to say no.

"You can't tell me that when I have the worst baby fever, like seriously. Just imagine our kid in cute outfits this time around oh my god"

"I mean if we get to it right now I'm sure we'll have a baby by Christmas next year"

You don't know if he's being serious or just indulging you right now. But the very thought of a baby that looks just like Jaehyun is enough to make your ovaries explode metaphorically.

"Shut up, now you're just teasing me" you hit him on the chest

"Babe, you would definitely know if I'm teasing you"

"Are you like serious though, no fucking around. Do you want to have kids? maybe not now but in the future something like that" you mumble

He smiles while listening to you. It's like you have no idea how precious you are to him, you can ask him for anything and he'll always do your bidding. You can ask him for the stars, he'll map out the entire universe for you.

"Yes, and I was being serious. In the future, I want to have kids with you. I'm in it for the long run baby. I don't really see anyone else being the mother of my children"

"Children, so as in plural" you giggle

"Yea, but it's up to you. How many you want, that's how may I want to"

You look up at him, smiling so big it almost hurts. "Do you have any idea what you do to me, Jeong Jaehyun?" you whisper

"As you do, my love. I don't even understand it sometimes, all I know is you're on my mind always" he said looking straight in your eyes

He holds the back of your neck, pulling your face towards his until your lips are against his. He can feel you smile against the kiss, making him do the same. You move from sitting beside him to sitting on his lap, his other hand holding your hip in place.

The two of you get lost in each other's touch, kiss until you run out of breath. He kisses your face, down your neck until he finds the spot only he knows about. The one that makes you squirm and make all the pretty noises he's crazy about.

"At this rate, you're going to give me a child before new year comes" you breathed out. Hugging his head against you. You can feel his lips continue on doing the magic, it will definitely leave a mark you thought.

"Should I start calling you daddy now?" you rasped out, vou feel him stop what he was doing,

"Oh you're definitely getting it now" he says before standing up, lifting you along. Hands under your thigh's as he carries you towards the bedroom, your giggles echoing down the halls.

[magicians-abode]

(This is my first time writing NSFW, and a over 2k words, so I'm excited to see if you guys like this)

"Hungry Love. Let us Feast"

[Laios Touden x gn!reader]

Warnings: NSFW content below - long fic? - mentions of reader having AFAB genitalia - mentions of cannibalism (nothing gory don't worry)

Laios liked monsters. And he liked eating them. He had an... odd fascination with them, but who were you to judge, when you liked the idea of cannibalism as an analogy for love? Exactly, you were in no position to judge your partner.

You hadn't told him that, though. That you liked the idea of "consuming each other", or that you wanted him to bite each other as you were in bed, treating each other like a fine dish.

—Is everything okay, love?— Laios placed a gentle hand over (y/n)'s shoulder, stirring them away from their thoughts.

They nodded, smiling up at him softly.— Yeah, just thinking— he sat by their side, crossing his legs. He had taken off his armor, wearing the clothes from underneath. They couldn't help their eyes traveling down towards the v-neck of their shirt, the strings loose for comfort.

—Thinking of what?— he asked curiously.

—Just...— should they tell him? No...— about us— they kept their soft smile as they talked for a while about different topics, relating one with another, love, food, monsters. Ugh, monsters. Don't eat them, eat me (y/n) thought to themselves, unable to hide the expression of slight annoyance on their face as the topic was brought up.

He noticed this and mid-rant stopped— Are you alright? Are you tired? We've been walking a lot today, maybe you should rest— if there was something he liked more than talking about monsters in this world, that would be you. He cared about (y/n) more than anyone could imagine or describe.

—Ah, yes... well— they hesitated, looking at their hands, then at his face, and then back at their hands as they fidgeted with their fingers in an attempt to calm their nerves.

They wanted to say how much they wanted to be... consumed, devoured. But would it be weird? Maybe for Laios not too much?

—I've. .. wanted to tell you something for a long time— they mumble— I– It's nothing bad... I think— they waved their hands as they tried to not scare him with their seriousness. Laios looked at (y/n), silently waiting for them to speak.— Have you ever heard of cannibalism as a metaphor or analogy for... love? Or sex even?— they closed their eyes as they said that, bracing for something bad that never came.

Laios put a finger to his chin in thought— Well if I'm being honest, I think I heard of it once or twice, when I was younger and studying literature, but I never delved in much deeper than the fact that it's a thing— he answered with their usual tone.— Why do you ask?— Laios looked at them for an explanation, curiosity clearly sparked in his honey eyes.

(y/n) gulped, trying to ignore how their cheeks started to burn with an incoming blush. Were they really gonna talk about this? They had already told Laios and piqued his curiosity, and he probably would try to pick up the subject sooner than later if they decided to just leave it at this. So gathering courage, they spoke.— I would like for us to– uh– how do I put it?— (y/n) searched for the right words to voice their ideas— to treat each other like a meal when we have intimacy— they blurted, trying to finish the sentence as soon as possible.

—Treat each other... like a meal...— he echoed, raising an eyebrow— so you mean you want me to eat you?— he concluded.

—Ah– well, yes and no, I mean it not in the literal sense, but in a figurative one obviously— they explained— you see, I'd love it if you spoke to me more...no– I...— they sighed again. Gods above was this difficult.— I want you to describe or treat me like a meal. I want us to enjoy ourselves as if we were... "feasting on each other"—.

Soon enough their explanations worked their way into Laios's brain, and he understood exactly what (y/n) was asking for. He smiled, already coming up in his brain with a few ideas. He'd have to think more about the subject though, after all, he always wanted the best for you.

That night, when everyone had gone to sleep in the rooms of the abandoned house they had chosen to pass the night in, Laios approached (y/n) from behind as they were getting into bed.

—Sleepy?— he whispered in their ear, their strong arms hugging them by the waist. They froze at the sudden interaction and slowly relaxed.

—Not really, but we need the rest, don't we?— they smiled, trying to turn around to hug them back, but Laios didn't budge in their hold. —Uh, dear?— they mumbled, this time trying to look behind them.

That's when they felt his lips softly spread kisses on their shoulders, going to the back of their neck and ending their path under their ear. His breath was warm as he spoke— I'm hungry...— he mumbled against their skin. His voice didn't sound like it usually did. This time it sounded... dominant almost.

(y/n)'s breath hitched at this, suddenly feeling themselves grow hot in the cold of the night.

—Should I see if Senshi has any leftovers?— they asked despite their nerves.

—What for? I've got a whole meal right in my hands already...— he let his hands wander, one going down to grip and squeeze at their thigh. The other one traced its way over their neck and up to touch their lower lip.— It would be a waste if I didn't eat you, don't you think? ...so much to delight myself with—.

He let go of them and guided (y/n) to lie down on the bed. They obliged, excitement and pleasure already cursing through their veins as Laios crawled and watched from on top of them how they looked at him with a shy expression, their hair all messy over the soft pillow, a few strands on their face.— Oh how beautiful you are...— Laios whispers, licking his lips and moving the strands of hair away from their pretty face. His lips softly collided with (y/n)'s, who returned the kiss as they tangled their fingers at the back of his honey haired head.

Licking at their bottom lip, silently asking for permission, (y/n) parts their lips, allowing their tongues to dance lovingly. One of his hands stays by the side of their head to keep himself up, while the other moves the spread their legs a bit further, allowing him to come closer, his chest now pressing against theirs.

A string of saliva connects their lips when they break the kiss, and they're both left already panting, thinking about what's next. Laios stutters for a moment as his fingertips touch slightly under (y/n)'s shirt— May I?— he looks up at them through lidded, yet soft eyes.— I'm dying to discover what my meal is for tonight— he let's his hand further under their shirt once (y/n) gives them the okay to go ahead.

His big and somewhat calloused hands cup one of their breasts, massaging it for a moment, his index finger reaching for their nipple and flicking lightly at it. —Mhh... you're so perfectly soft, my love— he uttered, peppering kisses all over their collarbone.

(y/n) sighed, a hand coming up to their lips to contain the moan that wanted to escape from their lips, caused by all the attention they were suddenly receiving.

—Don't...— Laios said firmly, looking up at them from their collarbone.— I want to feast your flesh, and I want to listen to the way you feel when I'm devouring you. So don't— his hand traveled slowly down from their chest to the hem of their pants, feeling the goosebumps on their skin.

Laios felt his erection twitch in the captivity of his own pants, but he bit his lip, focusing once again on the task at hand. Eating.

He slid their pants off easily, underwear gone along with them, taking the opportunity to get rid of his own shirt as well. His breath already agitated, he gulped down the sudden urge to just dive in between their legs and taste them without a word. He continued to gently massage one of their breasts and kissing their neck. Lips starting to trail downwards, he pinched softly at one of their nipples, kissing his way down towards the other breast and sticking his tongue out to play with the nipple of the other.

When their legs twitched, threatening to close in the slightest around him, he moved his hand to hold their thighs open with a strong grip. It wasn't enough to hurt, no. But it was strong enough to let them know, without a word, that it was not happening under his watch.— Can't have a feast without the main course, can we?— he chuckled, trailing kisses down their body and finally positioning his face in between their legs. (y/n) looked away, but quickly looked right back down at him, embarrassment and excitement mixing in their stomach.

He slid a finger over the slick of the entrance, watching mesmerized at their juices as he heard a soft gasp of surprise come from their lips.

Kissing both of their thighs for a few moments first, he looked up to them and whispered— Thank you for the meal, my love— and closing his eyes, his tongue stuck out to lick in an upward motion, testing the waters. Once he heard another gasp, accompanied of a soft whimper, he pressed his face right into their cunt, tongue lapping at the juices as his nose pressed against the soft bundle of nerves slightly above.— Gods, I've been starving— he mumbled against their clit, his warm breath making them shiver.

Sticking his tongue inside of them, then swirling it around their clit, their flavor stuck to Laios's tongue and lips, smearing itself around part of his cheeks and nose as he hummed eagerly against their pussy.

It went on for a while, a long while. And he seemed thrilled at their reactions. What if he licked like this? What if he bit their thighs? What if he raised their legs and pressed his face as much as he could into the sweet liquor of their pussy? What if he held your hips in place with enough strength to make you unable to stop yourself from being completely devoured by him?

He shifted his gaze up towards their face— Gods you sound divine. You're so perfect— lidded eyes looked at them, as one of his hands moved towards the entrance his tongue was just exploring.— Can I?— always so polite, he asks for permission to keep exploring more.

— You shouldn't play with your food— (y/n) says in a breathless whisper. Looking back down at him— but... I'll allow it— Laios smiled softly at their words.

His finger teased the clit first, procuring they were even more wet than before as he slowly pressed kisses all the way back up their abdomen and across their chest until they reached their lips.

Gently teasing the entrance and then pushing his middle finger in, he was met with the warmth and the tightness of their insides as they moaned into his mouth.

—Relax sweetheart...— he whispered near (y/n)'s ear, moving to press a kiss on the space between their ear and their jawline— We're going to be here a while. I like taking my time to enjoy a good banquet— his finger pumped in and out of their pussy beautifully, their slick only providing them with lewd sounds everytime he dipped his finger back in or out. Laios bit down onto their neck, procuring to leave a hickey that everyone was most probably going to be able to see in the morning, and (y/n)'s hips stuttered upwards against his fingers.— You sound so delicious sweetheart— he praised, moving a second finger up to their entrance and penetrating them with both now, eliciting a rather loud moan to escape from them.—Take your time, I'm not stopping until I get to taste your sweet release— Laios mumbled against their jaw.

Gods was that night going to be a beautifully long one.

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXI // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) While on assignment at another glamorous event, Quinn takes the opportunity to have some fun. Though it doesn't quite go the way she'd hoped.

Chapter Word Count: 8K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes, tones of jealousy and possessiveness, fake event, op-ed excerpts contain graphic imagery. Quinn back at it again with her nightmarish antics. Readers must be 18+

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Julia would bounce her knee when she sat at her desk; one leg crossed over the other, the heel of her Louboutin slingback clinking against the table leg with an irritating rhythm. You were sitting across from her as she read your final draft, your gaze focused on the blood red sole of her shoe, the remnants of the discount sticker she hadn’t fully peeled off. 

She placed the papers on the desk and cleared her throat. You looked up at her, only then realising you’d been making a face; eyes narrowed, lip curled disdainfully. It wasn’t intentional, your face just settled that way sometimes. So you softened your edges, rounding your eyes and relaxing your jaw as you waited for her to speak.

“Quinn…” she sighed.

Your thorns quickly returned; lids turning heavy with indignation as you rolled your shoulders and pressed your back into the chair.

“You know what I’m going to say,” she continued with a patronising smile. “It’s well written, there’s no denying that, but it’s not going in the mag.”

“Why not?” you asked bluntly. 

She picked up the papers and licked her thumb, using it to flick to the second page where she began to read aloud. “I just wanted those men to stop looking at me. I wanted to erase myself, piece by piece, I imagined my face sloughing away, then my arms, my breasts, until there was nothing left but a pool of flesh and marrow where I’d once stood. But then, I thought, would they even care? Or would they still find pleasure in my remains; dig their hands into the slurry and let it slip between their fingers. And that scared me more than disappearing altogether...”

You blinked at her, waiting for her to explain the problem. But the way she was looking at you made it seem like you should have already known. 

“It’s quite graphic,” she said.

“It’s a metaphor.” 

“Yes, obviously I understand that. But it’s not the most pleasant of visuals, is it? Really, the topic of the op ed on a whole, it’s- It’s dark, heavy-”

“It’s about gender, sex, inequality, how I’ve learned to navigate society as a woman, it’s not meant to be all bubblegum and rainbows. And it’s not like the magazine hasn’t shed light on these kinds of topics before.” You shrugged.

“Yes but not this… Brutally.” 

You furrowed your brow. 

She sighed, flicking to another page. “I thought sex was supposed to make me human, make me whole. But in the end, he was just a prop, an object. They all were. I could always tell they wanted me to love them, and they thought I might if they gave me everything. But nothing ever seemed worth taking.” She looked at me. “You can’t seriously think Draft would publish this?”

“It’s an op ed,” you said, your tone growing snippy. “It’s supposed to be personal, subjective, opinionated-”

“But there’s a fine line, Quinn, between sharing your views and experiences on important topics and oversharing to the point where it becomes disturbing and completely indigestible for readers.”

“Disturbing?” You breathed out a laugh. “So this, a woman’s real, lived experience of men and sexuality and emotional connection is ‘disturbing’, but the piece we let that dick head comedian write back in August where he said Hitler ‘wasn’t such a bad guy’ was okay?” 

“It was a joke he made in poor taste and a retraction was published almost immediately.”

“Still made it to print though.” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “Look, I’m not saying this isn’t a good piece of writing. Because it is. I know you’ve been working on it for months and it shows. It’s important and it’s relevant, I get that. But we have to give readers balance; some escapism, y’know. And that’s the job of our staff writers, to uplift the magazine with stories about celebrities and fashion and lifestyle and-” She sighed. “We have the hard hitting stuff covered. What we need from you is-”

“Fluff.” You inhaled sharply through your nose and crossed your arms over your chest. “I just thought after the Benedict Cumberbatch interview and how well it was received I might finally get to write something with more… substance.” 

She let out a single, clipped laugh, shaking her head at you condescendingly. “Quinn, one feature on a big name celeb doesn’t fast track you to serious journalism. You wrote about his films, his love life, what he does in his spare time. It wasn’t exactly an exposé.” 

You bit back a retort, crossing one leg over the other and glancing out at the office through the glass wall. “What did Ellen Ford say about it? The op ed.”

“I haven’t shown her. And I’m not going to.”

“Julia-”

“I’m not having this conversation anymore, Quinn. I was given this position permanently because I know what I’m doing. Ellen trusts my judgement and my judgement is that this piece is a no go. If you want to write something for the next issue then you can cover the London Arts and Culture Gala tonight. Kate was supposed to be going but she just called to say she’s sick.”

You groaned, pressing your fingers into your eyes. “Why do you keep sending me to fucking galas?” 

She tutted sarcastically, pushing out her bottom lip. “Getting dressed up to have free food and drink while rubbing shoulders with celebrities all night, how evil of me.” 

You glared at her. 

“I hear Benedict Cumberbatch is on the guest list,” she said, a slight snarkiness in her tone. “Maybe you can cosy up to him, get yourself a follow up interview. Not exactly Pullitzer material but hey, it’s another step towards those doors you’re so desperate to open.” 

You already knew Ben was going to be there. You wanted to tell her that you knew; that he’d told you about it as you lay together in bed last night - still not having sex, to your utter dismay - and that you’d scoffed when he asked if you were covering it for the magazine. You wanted to punch her for suggesting you cosy up to him, as though he was nothing more than a rung in the ladder of your career. 

“The last editorial assistant that suggested I get ‘cosy’ for a story ended up escorted out of here by security,” you said with a cold, flat smile.

She held your gaze, her foot bouncing more quickly now. “I know you like to think the world’s against you, Quinn. But I actually think you’re a good journalist. Hence why I keep sending you to fucking galas…” 

You paused a moment before finally giving in and standing up with a huff. “Can I get another dress?” 

 “I’m sure you have something at the back of your wardrobe you could wear.” 

You rolled your eyes, leaning over and snatching your papers off the desk before turning to leave her office. 

The back of your wardrobe had provided you two options: the first was a short, bright chartreuse dress with a boned bodice and sparkly straps. It was awful. So awful that you grimaced when you pulled it out, wondering what kind of fugue state you’d been in when you bought it. But then you noticed the tag was still attached, realising you must have come to your senses and decided to never let it touch your body or see the light of day again. 

The second option was plain, black, high neck and sleeveless. It hugged your figure like a second skin, skimming just above your ankles as you stood on your tiptoes in front of the mirror. You wondered why you’d never worn it before. Then you remembered you’d bought it for a funeral, only to get it home and realise your dead uncle’s family probably wouldn’t appreciate being able to see the outline of your arse at his wake. 

You put your hair up and did your makeup, feeling pangs of excitement in your stomach at the thought of seeing Ben’s face when you arrived. You hadn’t told him you were coming, much preferring the idea of him spotting you from across a crowded room, having to hide his surprise and keep his cool, to pretend he barely remembered your name. You slipped into a pair of heels, stuffing your ticket and press pass into your bag alongside a notepad and pen, your fully charged phone and the perfume he always complimented. 

When you arrived at the Claridge’s hotel, you stepped out of the cab to a mob of flashing cameras lining the carpeted entrance. There was something humbling about being unimportant, being able to weave through a sea of celebrities and influential figures like a ghost as paparazzi screamed for them to stop and pose for photos. It was comforting, almost, to be overlooked. 

You made your way inside, the grand hall warmly lit with ornate chandeliers, large round tables covered in pristine tablecloths and floral centrepieces. The room buzzed with the sound of clinking glasses and reserved conversation, servers weaving between guests with trays of champagne and dainty canapés. You took a glass from a waiter with the most dazzling smile you’d ever seen, unable to resist a glance at his backside as he walked away. 

The press table was at the other end of the hall. You took a large swig of champagne and began the long walk, meandering through tables and crowds of famous faces you never got used to seeing in person. Olivia Colman was at a table to your left, close enough for you to reach out and touch her - and you thought about it, just for a moment - but you resisted. 

You hadn’t been watching where you were going, an elbow almost knocking the drink from your hand as you walked right into it. You looked up to see an actor you recognised but couldn’t remember the name of, his surprise softening to a friendly laugh as he placed his hands on your arms to steady you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sorry,” you said. “I was distracted by Olivia Colman.” 

“Ah, we’ve all been there,” he replied. 

He was tall, smartly dressed, with a crooked smile and reddish hair. He’d been in a TV show you watched. Or was it a movie? God, what the hell was his name? 

You gave an awkward laugh. “Sorry again.” 

He waved his hand, as if telling you not to worry. You smiled appreciatively and turned to walk away, but his voice suddenly made you halt.

“Benedict! How’ve you been, man?” 

You glanced back over your shoulder to see him pulling another tall, suited man into a hug, the pair smacking each other hard on the back in that weird way only men ever seemed to do. The corner of your mouth curled, threatening a smirk when you saw the side of Ben’s face.

You tilted your head, waiting for him to notice you. And when he did, it was as delicious as you’d imagined it would be. It began with a flicker of recognition, followed by the slow widening of realisation, his expression changing so subtly that only someone who knew him as well as you did would notice.

He composed himself quickly, giving the man he’d been hugging a final, firm pat on the back before stepping away with a slight smile. You kept your face neutral as you stood in his eyeline, as if seeing him was no big deal, as if you hadn’t spent the majority of your evening fantasising about this very moment; the way his eyes travelled down your body, his jaw clenching as he lingered on your curves. You brought the glass to your lips, taking a slow sip of champagne, never looking away from him as he tried to engage in polite conversation. 

It didn’t take long for him to excuse himself, squeezing the man’s shoulder as he stepped around him and made his way towards you, his long strides closing the distance far too quickly. You’d wanted to make the moment last, to savour it, make him sweat a little while longer.

“Quinn,” he said, his voice low and warm as he came to a stop in front of you. 

“Benedict,” you replied coolly, giving a slight nod.

He glanced around before returning his gaze to you. “You said you weren’t coming.”

You smiled, giving a casual shrug. “Didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

He gave you a look, one that told you he wasn’t buying it. Then his eyes flitted down again, taking you in once more. “You…” He trailed off, his gaze returning to your face, and for a second you thought he might lose his composure. “You look… Nice.”

“Nice?” you repeated, feigning offence. 

His mouth twitched, his voice darkening. “Very nice.”

You could feel his restraint, the effort it was taking for him not to touch you, to close the distance between you.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “I take it you’re here for the magazine?” 

You rolled your eyes dramatically, taking another sip of champagne. “Mhm. Julia, the editorial assistant, completely shat all over my piece, decided I was more useful rubbing shoulders than writing anything of actual substance.” 

His brows came together for a moment with a sympathetic smile. “Well clearly she’s an idiot.”

“Tell her that.” 

He leaned in slightly. “I’ll tell her, if you want.” 

You laughed and rolled your eyes again. “Yeah, that’ll go down well; getting the guy I’m fucking- sorry, not fucking, to pull strings for me at work.” 

He smirked, dropping his head and fixing the cuff of his blazer. “Just say the word.”

“Stop it,” you laughed, holding back the urge to push him playfully in the chest. 

“Well I suppose there’s worse assignments you could’ve ended up with.” 

“Yeah.” You looked around at the glitzy hall, the man he’d been talking to finding his seat at a table. “Oh my god, what’s his name by the way? It’s been driving me mad.” 

He looked over to where you’d pointed before turning back and opening his mouth to speak. But before he could, a sudden presence appeared at his side. 

“Benedict, good to see you again!”

You recognised Leo McGrath immediately. He was a documentary filmmaker, award winner, known philanthropist. Yet it was his recent appearance at the Oscars that had shot him to sudden, unexpected internet fame. You wondered what it must feel like, to be so unbelievably attractive that just standing there on a red carpet could send the whole world into a frenzy. To have millions of people suddenly know you, not because of your work, but because they fancied you. 

It was true, he was undeniably stunning; green eyes framed by masses of dark lashes, full lips and thick wavy hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. When he smiled, his cheeks dimpled, his imperfect teeth giving him a charm that made it hard not to swoon, even just for a second. 

“Ah, Leo,” said Ben as he shook his hand. “It’s good to see you too. How’ve you been?” 

“Good, yeah, it’s been… intense.” He breathed out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. 

“I can imagine.” 

“Well I suppose you don’t need to imagine, you’ve been there too. What did they call you? The Internet’s Boyfriend?” 

Ben rolled his eyes, nodding with a laugh.

Leo’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes lighting up as if he hadn’t noticed you until now. “Sorry, I’m so rude!” he said, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Oh, of course, sorry. Leo, this is Quinn Armitage. She’s a writer for Draft.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Quinn,” he said, looking you up and down, far less subtly than Ben had.

You shook his hand with a smile, catching a fleck of irritation on Ben’s face. “Likewise. And congratulations on your Oscar win.” 

“Ah, thank you very much.” He took a step back, his eyes bouncing between the two of you. “So are you here together, or?” 

“No,” Ben replied, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the speed of his response. “Quinn wrote a piece on me at the end of last year. We were just catching up.”  

“Oh right.” He seemed pleased to learn you were there alone, his interest in you piquing, attention lingering on your face. “So you’re here for work then?”

You nodded, watching Ben’s jaw tighten from the corner of your eye, like he was grinding his teeth. You held back a grin; the sight of him ruffled was a rarity, and you couldn’t help but take some pleasure in it.

“Well you should join me at my table,” said Leo. “It’s near the front, a much better spot for you to get some good material.” 

You glanced up at Ben, the slight flush in his cheeks, how hard he was having to work to stay calm. He was jealous. You liked it. 

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “That sounds good, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He gestured for you to follow him, and you did, meeting Ben’s gaze as you stepped aside and began to walk away. You couldn’t hold back the smirk as you watched his eyes darken, a silent warning etched on his stony, unamused face. 

You followed Leo to his table, the weight of Ben’s eyes heavy on the back of your neck. You couldn’t help but feel excited, perhaps even satisfied; Leo’s sudden interest in you was undeniably flattering, and Ben’s barely contained jealousy made it all the more enjoyable.

He pulled out a chair for you and you thanked him as you sat down. The view was indeed better from here; the stage only feet away, every guest visible with the turn of your head. He took a seat beside you, getting comfortable as he chatted casually to the other people around the table. 

Then he turned to you, snatching you out of a daze.

 “So is this what you do for Draft then?” he asked. “Report on parties and events and stuff?” 

“Well I’m a staff writer, so I pretty much just do what I’m told,” you said, your voice laced with cynicism. 

He smiled. “I sense some… unrest.” 

“You could say that.” You drank down the dregs of your champagne, twirling the stem of the flute between your fingers.

He leaned back in his chair, cocking his head as he looked at you with narrowed eyes, an amused smirk creating a deep dimple in his cheek. “Let me guess, you’re trying to work your way into serious journalism, but all they’re giving you is celebrity gossip and… listicles.” 

You pressed your lips together, exhaling a laugh through your nose. “I wrote this piece - it’s my best work to date - put it forward for an op ed but they weren’t interested. Sent me here instead.”

“Y’know, this industry is… brutal. You fight to be heard, to have your work taken seriously, amplified, given the platform you know it deserves. Then you finally get recognised for that work after years and years of graft, and yet somehow it still ends up overshadowed by how fuckable women on the internet think you are.”

“You are quite fuckable though, to be fair,” you replied bluntly.

He dropped his head to disguise a laugh, before composing himself again, lifting his head to meet your gaze. He stretched his arm along the back of your chair to lean in closer, speaking quietly. “What I’m saying is that no one in this industry gets anything without going over heads and stepping on toes. It’s a fight. And even when you get to the top, you have to claw at it if you want to stay there. It’s like… the Hunger Games but for losers who watched the news too much as kids.”

You gave a slight smile, allowing a quick glance over your shoulder to Ben’s table where he sat fidgeting with his hands, watching you beneath a heavy brow. You looked down at Leo’s arm draped behind you, your smile quickly turning into a smirk. 

You leaned in closer to Leo, mirroring the intensity of his gaze. “So you’re saying the only way I’m going to transition to serious journalism is if I… play dirty?” 

“Exactly,” he replied in a low, husky voice.

“How do you suggest I do that?” 

He thought for a moment, running his tongue across his top teeth. “When I first started making docs, I got turned down by every production company, every channel and network. No one would give me a penny, wouldn’t even agree to broadcast. So I said fuck it, went out there with my camera, whatever money I had in my account and I made them anyway. Then when these companies saw that people actually gave a shit about the things I was documenting, they came running to me.”

“So you’re saying I just go rogue?”

“Potentially.” 

“Hm. There’s just one problem with that; there’s this thing called rent, and erm… needing to eat…” you said sarcastically.

He laughed. “I’m not saying you go and quit Draft and start a fucking blog or something. I’m saying… check out. Quietly quit, as they say. Attend the fancy events, write the fluffy articles, do whatever you need to do to keep your affiliation with the magazine and use it to your advantage.” He reached up and took your chin between his finger and thumb, turning your head towards the sea of tables behind you. “See all of these people? Actors, producers, investors. You have direct access to them all right now. You could charm and persuade and get numbers in your phone and your name on people’s radars. And all you have to do in exchange is write a silly little article about their clothes and how they spend their evening.” 

You turned your head back to him slowly; his insight like an epiphany, turning the banality of your surroundings to an abundance of possibility. Ten minutes ago this man was a stranger, yet now here he was with his face inches from yours, giving you the best advice you’d ever heard.

“Let me interview you,” you said.

He leaned back, brow furrowed in curiosity. 

“What? I’ve made a connection and I’m using it to my advantage.” You shrugged. “Isn’t that what you told me to do?” 

The corner of his mouth curved into a smile. “Fair play. Though, an interview… with Draft…” He scrunched his nose with scepticism.

“I won’t write anything about your looks. Won’t ask a single question about anything other than your work.” 

“It’s tempting,” he replied with a hum. 

The lights of the hall dimmed as a single, bright spotlight illuminated the stage. A woman stepped up to the microphone holding a stack of cue cards and clearing her throat. Leo turned away from you to listen, and you felt your chest heave with a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. He was intense. Beguiling, even. 

“Welcome everybody,” said the woman, her voice creating a screech of feedback through the speaker. She took a step away from the mic with an embarrassed laugh. “Thank you so much for coming…” 

Your phone buzzed inside the clutch bag on your lap as the woman continued to speak. You dug it out and opened the message waiting on the screen. 

I know what you’re doing. 

You subtly turned your head, giving Ben a mischievous wink from across the dark hall. 

What am I doing? you replied. 

Flirting. Stop it. Now. 

Your stomach fluttered as you pictured the tension in his fingers as he typed each word, the firmness of his jaw as he grit his teeth.

Flirting??? 

Quinn. I’m serious.

Not my fault he fancies me. I’m actually quite enjoying the attention. 

As if on cue, Leo turned his attention back to you, leaning in to speak directly into your ear. “What’s so interesting on your phone?” His breath was warm against your skin, his hushed tone filled with playful curiosity. 

You looked over at Ben again, smiling as you put the phone face down on the table, turning your attention back to Leo. “Nothing.” 

“Good. I’d hate to think I was losing your attention so soon.”

The woman on stage continued her speech, her words fading to a muffled hum as you lost yourself in the game you couldn’t resist playing. 

“You haven’t lost my attention,” you said, keeping your voice low. “I still want that interview.”

He chuckled. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” He leaned in again, his lips almost brushing your ear. “But I don’t think a formal interview is what you really want from me…”

Your heart began to race, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. You could sense the shift in his demeanour, the hunger in his eyes. If this had been a year earlier, you were sure you’d have ended up in Leo’s bed by the end of the night. But instead, you found yourself more thrilled by the idea of Ben watching you; the power you wielded to make his blood boil from across a crowded room.   

“What else could I possibly want?” you murmured, tilting your head slightly towards Leo, your lips nearly grazing his cheek. 

He let out a low, throaty laugh, his hand sliding from the back of your chair to your thigh. You wondered how far you could take things before your actions became indefensible, before the flirting verged beyond a game and evolved into something less playful.

“I have a feeling there’s a lot of things you want.” His touch was soft yet bold, his fingers tracing swirls that tickled, even through the material of your dress. “Some I might be able to… help you with.” 

You bit your lip, unable to hold back a smirk, before leaning in close. “And here I was, thinking you invited me to sit at your table because you wanted to do a good deed for a struggling journalist.” You pressed your lips to his ear. “Turns out you just wanted to fuck me.” 

He turned his head to look at you, his face so close you could feel his breath. “Can I not want both?” 

“You can,” you replied simply. “Doesn’t mean you’re going to get it though.” 

The room erupted with applause, quelling the tension between you as you turned your attention to the stage. A young woman made her way to the microphone with a guitar in hand. She smiled shyly as she waited for the clapping to fade, before pressing her fingers to the strings and beginning to play. 

Your palms were beginning to itch; every speech and performance receiving a lengthier round of applause than the last. You had no choice but to join in with it, no matter how boring or mediocre you thought it was, putting down your little notebook and pen with a quiet groan to bring your hands together in feigned appreciation.    

You’d been nursing your second glass of champagne for most of the evening, knowing it was your last and taking small sips to savour it. Julia warned you not to get drunk, and you’d taken offence to the insinuation that you couldn’t be trusted to stay professional. But when you realised Leo’s arm was still draped along the back of your chair, you thought perhaps she’d had a point.

The last wave of applause rippled across the room as the host made her way offstage; the spotlight dimming, chandeliers regaining their warm glow as the atmosphere began to relax, the hum of conversation drifting through the air like a sigh of relief. You skimmed over the pages in your book, trying to decipher the chaotic notes you’d scrawled in the dark when Leo turned to look at you. 

“Get everything you need?” he asked, nodding to your notebook.

“Eh, I’ll probably have to employ some creative writing here and there,” you replied as you looked up at him. 

He smirked. “You weren’t paying attention to any of it, were you.”  

“More than I would have if I were back there at the press table.” 

“Well it’s a good job I had a spare seat.”

“Mm.” You allowed your gaze to flit from his eyes to his lips and back again, just enough to keep him interested. “I better do a few rounds, get some quotes from people before they start to leave.” 

Mingling had never been your thing, the idea of approaching strangers or interrupting conversations creating a pit of dread in your stomach that made your skin clammy and your mouth dry. Usually you came with someone else; dragged Nick along or found yourself on assignment with another writer who would do most of the talking. This time, you had no choice. . 

You moved around the hall, weaving through a maze of tables as you searched for targets. And with each interaction, it became easier. You took quotes from a table of theatre directors, had surreal conversations with celebrities, and when you finally plucked up the courage to speak to Olivia Colman, the only thing you managed to write down was ‘aaahhhh’. 

You took a moment to breathe, scanning the room to see Ben still at his table, deep in conversation with another actor you vaguely recognised. You watched him for a moment, noticing how his usually easy smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, how he kept brushing the tips of his fingers over his bottom lip. To anyone else, he seemed happy, comfortable. But to you, it was clear he wasn’t nearly as composed as he appeared.

You made your way over, navigating the scattered chairs and waiters topping up champagne until you were close enough to hear their voices. 

“...and everyone I’ve spoken to about it has said I should do it,” the other man was saying. “But it’s just such a big commitment.”

Ben nodded, his eyes flickering in your direction for just a moment. “It is a lot. But you’ve just got to weigh up the pros and cons…” 

He trailed off as you finally made it to their table, turning his attention to you as though he hadn’t known you were coming. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” you said as you cleared your throat and held up your notebook. “My name’s Quinn, I’m a writer for Draft Magazine. I was hoping I could steal you for a second to ask a few questions?”

His eyes stayed on you for a moment before returning to the actor beside him. “Sorry.” 

“Ah no worries, duty calls.”  

“But if you want my honest opinion, I think you should go for it.” 

The man smiled appreciatively as he rose to his feet, raising his glass in a mock salute before walking away.

You quickly sat in his place; the seat was still warm, turned towards Ben at an awkward angle. You shifted it further to face him, leaning back with the notebook in your lap. 

“Hi,” you finally said, holding back a smile.

“Hi,” he replied, his face calm, tone unreadable.

“So, the question I have for you is…” you flicked to another page. “Do you have any thoughts on how we as a society, and as individuals, can foster the arts in ways that don’t involve funding or monetary-”  

“What the fuck was that?” he interrupted quietly, gesturing subtly towards Leo’s table across the hall. 

“What was what?” you replied casually, defiantly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he mirrored your posture, leaning back in his chair and lowering his chin slightly, his eyes darkening beneath the shadow of his brow. “His hands were all over you…” 

“So?”

“So you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Your stomach fluttered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. You cocked your head, widening your eyes to feign innocence. “What was I doing?” 

“Trying to piss me off.” 

You pushed out your bottom lip. “Are you jealous?” 

“Jealous-?” He exhaled a laugh through his nose. But there was no amusement in it. Then he lowered his voice. “I was jealous when I saw him eyeing you up. I was jealous when he invited you to sit at his table. But now? I’m not jealous, I’m furious.” 

You regarded him for a moment, taking undeniable pleasure in his silent rage. But when you finally opened your mouth to speak, a hand on your shoulder made you still. 

You looked up to see Leo standing at your side, glancing down at both of you with a charming smile.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he said. “Quinn, my team and I are heading to an afterparty at the Edition. I wondered if you wanted to join me?” 

“Oh, I…” you looked at Ben, then back up to Leo. “Thanks, but I can’t. I’m still working.”

“Your boss doesn’t have to know…” 

You breathed out a laugh. “No really, I think I’m going to be good for once and actually do my job.” 

“Or you could come with me to the afterparty and start being good tomorrow…” 

“She said no,” Ben interjected firmly. 

It caught you off guard, raising the hairs on your arms and sending a shiver down your spine. It was his unexpected harshness paired with a friendly smile, the restraint it was clearly taking him to keep his cool. 

Leo seemed taken aback too, turning to him with raised brows and parted lips, like he wanted to speak but had no idea what to say. He eventually gave up with an understanding nod, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card. 

“Give me a call some time,” he said as he handed it to you. “If you want, of course.” 

You took it with a smile, waiting for him to walk away before turning your attention back to Ben. 

“That was rude of you,” you said.

“Sorry… Rude of me?”  

You rolled your eyes and slid the card between the pages of your notebook. 

“Are you really keeping that?” Ben asked. 

“He’s a documentary maker, I’m a journalist. It might come in handy.” 

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he continued to glare at you. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, you weren’t joking when you said you were furious…” 

 “No. I wasn’t. I told you the mind games and manipulation wouldn’t fly with me. I told you that.” 

“You are taking this way too seriously.”  

He leaned forward suddenly, his movement sharp, teeth clenched. “Too-” But he stopped himself, pressing his lips together and looking around the bustling hall as he slowly reclined again. “We’re leaving.” 

You furrowed your brow as you watched him stand up. “Did you not hear what I just said? I’m working, I can’t leave yet.”  

“I said we’re going.” 

You hadn’t seen him like this since the first night you met. You’d almost forgotten he was capable of it; the hard angles and stern tone, the dominance of his demand sending a flutter through your core. The thrill of it was undeniable, but his anger was palpable, making you stutter as you tried to speak. 

“Ben, I’m- I’m not-”

“Now.” 

You yielded with a sigh, shoving everything into your bag and tucking it under your arm as you rose to your feet. Your heart was pounding as you began to follow him, almost tripping over the leg of your chair as you went. He didn’t speak as he made his way to the exit of the hall, his fist opening and closing at his side in a steady rhythm, face brightening with a polite smile whenever someone greeted him as he passed. 

He gripped your wrist as you neared the exit, leading you out into the large, echoing foyer. The indelicacy of his touch surprised you, flooding you with a fleeting rush of panic, like a child preparing to be scolded once their parents got them home. 

Your heels clicked against the marble floor, your quick, uneven footsteps struggling to keep up with his long strides as he walked you towards a quiet, hidden corner.

“Don’t you need to tell people you’re leaving?” you asked. “Like your publicist or whoever you came with?” 

“I came alone,” he replied, stopping once you were out of sight.

“Really? Why?” 

“Because I drove here.” He glanced over his shoulder, assessing the paparazzi as they waited outside. “You’re going to go and wait for me by the car. I’ll follow in a couple of minutes.” 

You did as you were told, emerging into the mild spring night and slipping through the chaos with ease. When you got to Ben’s car, you waited with your arms folded over your chest, watching from a distance as an explosion of camera flashes illuminated the darkness like fireworks. 

You pressed your lips into a straight lined smile when he finally reached you, hurrying around to the driver’s side without a word. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t been followed. You raised onto your tiptoes to look at him over the top of the car, breathing out a laugh when he almost scowled back. 

“Are you seriously still annoyed with me?” you asked. 

“Of course I am,” he replied. “I can barely look at you right now.” 

He slipped into the car and pulled the door closed. You paused for a moment before deciding to climb into the back seat instead.

He looked at you in the rearview mirror, brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing?” 

“You said you didn’t want to look at me,” you replied brattishly. “You don’t have to if I’m back here.” 

He rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. “Get in the front.” 

You thought about defying his demand, but you quickly gave in; choosing to clamber arduously over the centre console instead of getting out, purely to annoy him that little bit more. You settled into the front passenger seat, turning to look at him as you dragged the seatbelt across your chest. 

He drove in silence at first, the journey ebbing and flowing between heavy traffic and dark, deserted streets. You’d been waiting for him to speak, but with each silent wait at a red light, you found yourself growing impatient. He turned his head towards you, and you glanced back at him hopefully, only to realise he was looking past you, checking the road was clear before driving across it. 

You huffed. “Fine, you win, I apologise for flirting with the sexy man, alright? Can you stop acting like I slapped your mum now?” 

“You really don’t get why I’m pissed off, do you.” 

“He was just giving me career advice-”

“Career advice? What career advice requires him to touch you like that? To whisper in your ear, run his hand up your thigh?” 

You couldn’t resist; the old Quinn taking over with a shrug and a surly glare. “I was just having a bit of fun-”

A deep growl rumbled in his throat, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. “Nothing about that was fun.” 

“Maybe not for you…” 

“Quinn. I swear to god.”

 You threw your head back and let out a groan. “It was flirting, Ben. He clearly fancied me and I took the opportunity to tease you, wind you up-”

“Oh yeah, and I’m sure you got no pleasure out of it whatsoever,” he quipped cynically. 

“Oh I’m so sorry,” you said sarcastically. “Y’know, it’s almost like I haven’t gone the past four months without sex because the man I’m seeing refuses to touch me anywhere below the fucking neck. I mean, Jesus, I’ve been masturbating so much I could give a teenage boy a run for his money; forgive me for indulging in a bit of physical affection for one night.” 

“So you did like him then...”  

“No, Ben-” You stopped yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose and letting out an exasperated breath. But when you composed yourself again, your brows came together in sudden realisation. “Actually, what if I did?” 

He took his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at you in confusion.

“What right would you have to tell me I couldn’t flirt with him? Couldn’t let him touch me?” You sat up straighter, turning your body towards him. “What if I wanted him to do that? What if I enjoyed sitting with him and decided I wanted to go to that afterparty? What authority would you have to tell me I couldn’t?”  

He rolled his eyes.

“What if I went with him? Danced, drank, let him take me home, undress me, kiss me…” 

Your words were getting to him; crawling under his skin, making him roll his shoulders like he was trying to shrug the image away. 

“I mean, you said it yourself to whatshisface back at the gala; I’m just Quinn, the journalist you met once back in November. Why would you care who else I fuck?” 

He turned the wheel sharply, pulling the car into a layby with a sudden stop. It was dark, void of streetlights, thick trees lining both sides of the road. You jerked forward as he broke, the seatbelt pressing firmly against your chest. 

“Jesus Christ, Ben.” 

He shut off the engine and turned in his seat to face you. “You know full well that neither of us want people to know about this. You don’t get to use it against me to justify flirting with someone else.” 

“I flirted with him to annoy you. Clearly it worked… A bit too well.” 

“But why? Why would you think I’d find that amusing?” His voice was raised, his hands moving in time with his words.

“I didn’t. I thought I’d find it amusing.” 

He growled, letting out a hot angry breath through his nose. “You are the most infuriating fucking person.” 

“Then why have you stuck around for this long?” 

“Why have you? If taking it slow and doing things right has been such a fucking chore for you then why are you still bothering?” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he didn’t give you the chance, unclipping his seatbelt to lean in closer.

“I’ll tell you why. It’s because you know I’m the only man who’s ever been able to handle you. Who sees you for who you really are and likes it.” 

Your heart began to race, your back pressing against the passenger door. He was right, and you hated it. 

“Because even though I haven’t touched you in four months, you still aren’t bored of me.” His voice was dangerously soft now, his eyes fixed on yours. “Because even as another man threw himself at you tonight, you still found yourself looking for me.”

“So if that’s what you think, why do you care that I let him touch me?” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Because I don’t like watching someone else touch what’s mine.” 

You swallowed hard, your defiance faltering as his words sank in. He was so close now, one arm outstretched along the back of your seat, the other holding back the urge to reach out and touch you. 

Your eyes flitted from his face to his crotch then back again. “You want to fuck me right now, don’t you…”

His gaze flickered with something dark, primal. He exhaled slowly, the angles of his face sharp with anger, partly with you, but mostly with himself. 

A rush of excitement flooded through you as he reached out to cup your face, pulling you into a sudden, intense kiss. You could feel his possessiveness; the way his lips moved with a firm pressure, tongue sweeping impatiently into your mouth. 

You fumbled for your seatbelt, unfastening it quickly and letting it snap back against the door, your hands immediately snaking around the back of his neck, pulling yourself into him. His hand dropped to your side, his touch rough, almost painful as he pressed and squeezed his fingertips into your waist. You felt him pulling you closer, his body radiating a heat that almost made it hard to breathe. His hand travelled lower, pushing up the material of your dress and allowing his fingers to graze the bare skin of your thighs. He ran his palm over the place Leo had touched, as though he was cleansing you of it, wiping it away and replacing it with his own. 

You’d been starved for so long that even his hand on your thigh made you tremble, a soft moan escaping your parted lips as he kissed you. The sound stirred something in him, and in moments you found yourself straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. 

He was hard. You could feel it straining beneath his trousers, pressing against your centre as you tangled your fingers in his hair, your breaths hot and heavy, anger and lust fogging the windows like steam. You rolled your hips, the steering wheel letting out a short, loud beep as your backside knocked against it. But neither of you paid it any attention, giving in to the fevered, passionate release you’d been denying yourselves for so long. 

His hands settled on your hips, gripping you firmly as he pushed himself against you, the friction drawing a satisfied groan from his throat. You’d missed those sounds, the way it felt to have him desperate to fill you. But you knew he was losing himself, intoxicated by his own frustration. You were in a car, parked on the side of a quiet, winding road. This wasn’t how he wanted it to be, and you weren’t sure it was how you wanted it to be either.

You broke away, letting your head fall back as he began traipsing hot, hungry kisses down your neck. “Ben,” you whispered breathlessly. “If we go any further I won’t be able to stop.” 

You felt him pause, his lips still, breath tickling your skin. 

“This isn’t how you wanted it to be,” you said softly, masking your disappointment. “We need to stop.” 

He lowered his forehead to rest on your collarbone, letting out a quiet sigh. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, thick with lust. 

He pulled away from you, his hand lingering on your waist for a second longer before finally letting go. He sat back, his head tilting against the headrest as he closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. 

You slid off his lap, climbing back into the passenger seat and fixing your dress. You looked over at him, watching him in silence, fearful of what awaited you when he finally opened his eyes. You’d spent four months wanting nothing more than to see him break, to give in to you, and if it were anyone else, you would have taken full advantage of this lapse in judgement. But you couldn’t. 

The silence was awkward, moonlight casting a soft glow through the steamy windows, your slowing breaths providing the only sound. When he finally looked at you, there was a clarity in his expression; his jaw softening, eyes rounding. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

There was something about the way he said it, like your restraint had renewed his faith in you, shifted something inside him.

You nodded slightly, reaching behind you for your seatbelt.

He nodded back, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment longer before finally starting the car again. The engine rumbled and he leaned forward to wipe the windshield, using his sleeve to clear it. 

The tension remained as he drove, but it was different now. He was no longer angry, and you no longer cared to push his buttons. After a while, you gathered he was taking you to his house, and it filled you with a sense of relief you couldn’t quite explain. 

The road was empty, quiet, yet still the traffic light turned red. He slowed to a stop, resting his hand on the gearstick as he waited for it to change. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “About Leo. I really was just teasing you. I never would have-”

He reached out and took your hand in his without a word, giving it a gentle squeeze. You relaxed back into your seat, looking down at your intertwined fingers as they rested in your lap.

*Reader Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @druggedbyfiction @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby @diabaroxa @stllbrln @thealleydog @cakesandtom @irisbutterfly @coffeebeing @lexlexigogh @mun7on @svntnpldis @belan-the-dilf-hunter @blxckdragonfly @detective-sherlocked @xdelulu @nicoletk @filmlock @bensherstrange @midnightramyeoncravings @coldnique @dearwatson @scailedandisolated @aphroditesdilemma @bergararyans @txylorrvelasco @classicrebound @hthrevr @happybunnyclumsyduck @c00letha @j3mj3rrica @ironstrange1991 @vi0letdaze @theothersideofthescreen @alessandra-cumberbatch @indiefilmfatale

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY ISABELA - REMARKS AND COMMENTS *  assorted combat dialogue and other remarks from dragon age II

someone needs a good spanking!

you're leaving? just like that? what about sex?

if you're not going to get drunk with me, i'm afraid i can't take you seriously.

you thought i was going to say something dirty.

i feel i should say... something.

family's not just the people you're related to by blood. there are other people who care about you.

i'm sorry, i don't speak "never-gets-sex-again."

looking for a ditch to lay face down in? i can recommend one.

i think i need a bath. do you think i need a bath?

your death toll is approaching natural disaster.

if we kill them, we get their stuff!

trust me, it's better this way.

now this needs to be convincing. and you'll need to get creative.

come on, haven't you ever wanted to slap me? just a little?

the more the merrier, i suppose!

now you're making me nervous.

you know what they say about men like that, don't you?

i'm too far away! what do you want me to do, shout at them?

i'll make you cry for your mother!

watch out for the squirrels. they can be vicious little bastards.

something about this place is unsettling. it's like... underwear that never quite sits right.

need a hand? why yes! yes i do!

oh look at them! they're like kittens who want to eat you.

you hit like my grandmother.

i need a good, long sleep when i get home.

we had a short-lived drinking game based on how many enemies you have. it killed a man.

nothing like a near-death experience to get the blood pumping.

oh... i need a drink.

your hair looks funny in this light.

you're like an itch i can't scratch. or something. i'm not good at metaphors.

what's that foul smell? is that you?

being close to death is very bad for my morale.

i'm going to need to catch my breath!

and they say drinking never solves anything!

i need a stiff one... and a drink.

smells like smoke, burning metal, and aeons of misery.

you take me to all the nice places.

shall i give it a go?

time for a drink!

don't you die on me!

don't mind me, it's just a flesh wound.

ah, i'm all right. who needs kidneys anyways?

oh, let's not do that again.

can you imagine how sore you'd be if it was your job to bury all of these idiots?

[guardian5tiger3]

Tarot pick a group ....

Anything that comes up.

1. 2. 3.

One

You guys are what people call lovers of life. A lot of you are really into some form or forms of art. A lot of you are really wise, open minded , really psychedelic type of individuals know it or not. You have a fresh way of looking at things a lot of the time and other people may feel that way about you all. You're definitely something a lot of people and really what the world needs . It's like you would be something missing and things would be incomplete without your uniqueness. :)

Oddly I got something about fried food maybe some of you work in a restaurant but really I'm getting the energy that you should treat yourself like you love yourself and fuel yourself with love when it comes to anything you take in and just generally the energy you put yourself in and feel. I'm picking up a really light nice energy. So I'm getting a quote from Alan Watts . Oddly I can't find the quote I'm thinking of .. but I saw one that said " waking up to who you are requires letting go of who you imagine yourself to be. "

I seriously can't find the quote some of you should look into Alan Watts and what he talks about. Generally, though, I'm getting you're searching for something maybe consciously or unconsciously and the universe wants to motivate you to continue to do that and I'm feeling a lot of refreshing energy, so if you open yourself up and allow any energy the universe is trying to gift you that. I heard "a peace of mind" and felt in my third eye really calm. And I see a bird with its wings open now. So there's some information or knowledge or wisdom or something and you will find it just stay on the path that you're on and focus on any good vibes around and within you. Spring time also is looking good for you guys a few of you might be moving also seeing about someone adopting a dog if you thought about that this is saying you should or maybe you already know you're gonna idk. For most of you though look forward to spring I see seeds you planted growing metaphorically which is totally with the season, and good surprises and just really good happy fun light energy. Especially!!! If the winter was kind of rough. Even if you just didn't have fun with the weather if you live where it snows. Or any personal struggles with that being a metaphor for that, I saw a heavy snowstorm, so , yeah. :)

Two

I've been getting a lot of weather symbolism so far and I saw like a rain storm for you all. I also got two cards about conflict, in general. So if you can relate to any tense , irritating energy, anything negative going on this is for you . Even just negative vibes especially with other people or for some living situations even for someone something to do with a kid in your life so it really depends and of course is gonna be specific for everyone what it might be. Seems like you've been trying to stay stable and "hold your own" best you can while also trying to go with the flow in terms of regulating your emotions according to the situation at hand. I just got three nines in a row, 999. That can tell you this is all coming to an end around this time or soon ok. Really picking up queen energy too ..? This is kind of strange but I'm picking up on the energy of treasure like you'll have a surprise or gift or something good from the universe like a present cause of this stuff and just y'all being good people thru this stuff and everything as best you can and being very stable for the circumstances or in general, but I initially got it worded and presented like, treasure. Like pirates or something which is funny cuz I just got a pirate sword tattoo haha. I'm also channeling old cartoons for some reason, like Tom and Jerry specifically, the old ones, like when you were a kid chilling Sunday morning watching the cartoons with your bowl of cereal or whatever. That's a vibe a lot of people share having to be able to experience. I rocked with wacky races and Scooby Doo lol. Among others ..Maybe something you're manifesting now goes all the way back to your childhood, somehow that's a hint. I'm also getting candy and heard sweettooth y'all better be careful with all that or find alternatives so to not damage your teeth ok. And if any of you are eating cuz you're bored ok straight up I heavily got play video games lol. I can relate to that. Also going for walks. Some of you need to drink cold water and make sure you're focusing on hygiene in any way. And for anyone feeling like life is bleak or boring or whatever or unexcited I would say stick to a routine and keep yourself busy for now, things always change no matter what that's a rule of life, and something might come to you one day that's a good idea for something to do, a new adventure, hobby, maybe you volunteer somewhere cool or anything really, it seems like you'll just have an idea eventually.

Three

39, 41,14,13 ,15 all might be significant. Maybe something about math and how math works.....? Wtf... Ok....y'all might talk about the matrix or get references to that. Also a lot about nature especially.... During the day. Also about camping. And ....parks? Depends on who you are. Andddd 16. Right I don't know if this all adds up to something or what I've never been super great at math so... Or maybe something is straight up building up to something ...? Lol. Lot of riddle like energy in this. I got humpty Dumpty . Y'all WTF is this . ? This is so specific and doesn't make a lot of sense to me but what I just channeled was like a group of people or at least two chilling like campfire vibes and sharing something to smoke and just hanging out kinda..... Idk if you want a time like that you can manifest it or some of you already have vibed like that idk. Cuz I saw multiple instances around a campfire and not but mainly at night or in the afternoon ,also sitting on steps outside. I guess you guys in your lives right now it's a lot about synchronicities and ... Going with the flow...? I keep picking up on Dora. The explorer. Anyway y'all seem like ok if your lives are all stories at the end of the day and you're in the middle of your journey but it's like a dope journey ,like embrace whatever adventures you're on and all the obstacles you face cause you have a destiny at the end of it. And by end I don't mean the end end I mean once you meet the ending of this your life will go on, after the happy ending (didn't mean to say happy ending but I added happy. :) . ).... Are you guys just confused in life cause I couldn't tell you what any of this means but hey if it resonates than I guess this is your confirmation youre on the right path.

I'm really picking up that the amount of fun you have at this point in your life at any given moment is mostly up to you. I think there's some points in time in the past and future that are destined to be certain vibes. Like looking at the stars or you have a altercation with someone or whatever you know but , I heard "in the meantime" like, for most of the time you can kind of decide to have fun, make things fun, you're free to do whatever you want. Some of you need to hear and absorb that. You are free. So make the most of that. Whatever you feel in any given moment.

Also , in the meantime is a song by spacehog, me being me I'd say listen to the whole album it has a few of my favorite songs on there personally, but yeah that's a great song so I do personally recommend it , too. Also I heard space song, space, traveler. Maybe I'm picking up on song names and don't know. I know space song is obviously a song but idk about traveler or space so idk. If you know a song like with those words it's significant. For some reason I wanna say, have a good day, lol. I hope this makes sense if it was meant for you. :) . Y'all definitely get a happy ending. So worry less and enjoy the moment it couldn't be more clear to me if you resonate with any of this, you definitely get a happy ending and it'll all be more than ok. Just roll with it. ;) 💗

[eri-pl]

Another ficlet. Finrod, Feanor, a natural history lesson in the Halls of Mandos. Not a part of the calendar, this ficlet just happened.

Warnings: nature-documentary-levels of violence (insects dying in awful ways, it may be triggering), discussion of animal reproduction, discussion of death and suffering. Not graphical, but still evocative. And idk how to phrase it, but: don't read if you have triggers around pregnancy. Seriously.

Also, fig trees are weird. Like, really weird. They are irl. If the idea of a cool, metaphorical tree from the Bible (or: a cool tree with fruit that you do eat) being somewhat eldritch triggers you, don't read (and don't google the detailed biology of anything form the genus Ficus)

“And you're showing me all this, because…?”

Finrod saw himself in Feanor's old studio, the host impatiently paced back and forth as he used to. The image was much more detailed than his own memories: the smell of wax and ink, the rustling of papers moved by the warm wind that entered through the window, even the slight aftertaste of coffee.

He missed being alive, more than ever. And yet…

“Lord Námo said it may be helpful,” he replied.

“Helpful for them, to convince me to forfeit my heart, which I don't even have anymore?” Feanor scoffed at him, and a wave of bitterness washed over Finrod. “Or helpful to you, to have someone congratulate you for all your dubious philosophical speculations? Or maybe for helping a Man steal what is not his?”

“This he did not say, but I came to you, uncle—”

“Half-uncle.”

It did not matter much and Finrod didn't hide this feeling. “—to help you lessen your pain, even if only by a little.”

“How graceful. Truely, a son of Arafinwë. Speaking of which, why didn't you crawl back to the Valar with him?” Even in a dream of the dead, Feanor's voice was full of melody and emotion. How was his memory and imagination so detailed?

“I'm not sure. I thought that I could change something, that I could — and have to — protect my father's people. And I was curious about Middle Earth. This too.”

“I see that you have grown up somewhat. Good. So, tell me, Findaráto, has your curiosity been satisfied?”

“Partially. Mostly— no, not mostly. But as much as it could be, I suppose.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the rustling of the leaves outside, and an occasional bird call. Feanor was shielded, almost unpresent, hiding behind the image. He didn't even bother to make the vision of him breathe.

Eventually, he returned and gestured at the alabaster vase, filled with fig branches, which hadn't been there before. “Tell me, do you know how those bear fruit?”

What did it have to do with anything? But Finrod knew better than to argue with his uncle.

“Half-uncle. And no: I don't care that you did not show me yourself saying this. As long as you keep it open, I consider it said. But back to my question.”

Just like Lord Námo, but quicker to get upset. Of course, from his uncle— half-uncle — Finrod could close part of his thoughts. But there had been enough distance between them already, and that would only increase it.

How did fig trees bear fruit? They grew hidden flowers, enclosed in growths that looked like smaller figs and matured into them. The Men believed that those plants, unlike all others, didn't produce flowers or need pollination, but this was of course false.

“And what does pollinate them?” Feanor spoke like a teacher, and Finrod realized that in the vision they shared he was now a child. Should he try to contest it? But he had come to his half-uncle to console him, not to argue. If Feanor would have him as a child, so be it.

He came closer to the branches. Some of them had mature fruit, some young, and some had the small figs that goats ate. “I don't know, I have never thought of that before. I suppose they pollinate themselves— but no, it would make no sense if they had no other tree to mate with. And they do need those small figs nearby… So I would assume those are sources of the pollen and some kind of small creature — an insect or arachnid — pollinates them.”

Feanor nodded and poked one of the maturing small figs with his finger. A group of tiny flies emerged from it — no, not flies, their bodies were built like very small wasps. Some had wings, some crawled on their bellies — and those were dying.

“Look at the females closely,” said Feanor, pulling Finrod’s attention to the winged wasps. Each of them had tiny specks of pollen on her body. They took flight, and landed on the immature figs — some on the small ones, and one on the big that looked like it could mature into an edible fruit.

“They will each crawl inside an enclosed flower — more like a garden actually. Inside each of those goat figs there are many flowers, now the male ones aren't mature yet, but the female ones will be pollinated by what the wasps brought. And in some of them the insect will lay her eggs, preventing growth of the fruit — the tiny actual fruit, not what the ignorants call a fruit — the others shall grow. And when the eggs mature, the new wasps will emerge into the inside of the fig, and mate, and take the pollen from the now-ready male flowers. Then the male wasps will dig a tunnel out and die. And the females will fly out, and enter more unripe figs, tearing off their antennae and wings in the agonizing process, pollinate, lay eggs and die soon after.”

Finrod looked up at his half-uncle's face. “And what do they do here, in Aman? I suppose—”

Feanor smiled and his eyes glistened with fire, but there was no mirth in it. “Where do you think I studied them?”

They stood in silence and pain. No death in the Undying Lands, except when there is. But for the Fruit-Giver the trees had always been more important than things that moved, weren't they?

Finrod shook it off — those weren't his thoughts — but didn't close himself out. He looked at the dying insects and at Feanor. “Once, I would try to comfort you by saying that the figs are beautiful, or that the new wasps are born and fly… But it hurts. Dying. It hurts so much. I'm sorry.”

“You have grown somewhat, indeed. Yes, the new wasps grow… but it's not even the whole of it. We haven't talked about the sweet figs yet.”

Finrod listened.

Feanor poked the ripe sweet fig, but no insect came out. “When a wasp enters the sweet fig,” he said slowly, “she has no place to lay her eggs. The flowers are shaped differently. She pollinates them, and dies — broken, useless, discarded — and the plant digests her until there's nothing left. Just the sweet fruit, for the joy of the Eldar and more glory of the Valar. Tell me, my little philosopher, what do you think: do figs pity wasps? Do they even think about them?”

Finrod forced himself to stay open despite the pain and anger pouring onto him. “They don't know the pain of death, so how could they pity it?”

“Yet, how could they not? How can they expect— and not even care —” Feanor's voice shook, the wasps quivered in agony, the room trembled. Words and feelings roared around like a storm. Slowly, it calmed down and Feanor resumed: “And yet, they do expect. They gave nothing to me, and yet I'm supposed to give everything, and why? Because only I can do that? Because I'm the biggest wasp that they have in their cage? Nobody else is asked for something like this.

“I'm supposed to tear out my heart, and get nothing out of it, and everyone else shall be happy, and I shall be — gone, not even a trace left, digested into the sweetness of a fig. Yes, I know this would be noble of me. I do not care. I do not want to be noble, I've tried being noble already and it didn't work. I want, for a change, to be happy. And I won't take anything less than that.”

The vision blurred, they were in the room, and they were the wasps crawling into a fig, and they were dead bodies lying under the brilliant light that they had helped recover… Finrod took control, dreaming then into his studio, back in Nargothrond. The figs were still there, but now in a simpler, Man-made vase.

“What's this?” Feanor pointed to an empty, unimagined place where a door should be.

Oh. This. Finrod would rather not delve into the whole Celegorm and Curufin situation. “Not very relevant. Two of your sons learned that I was planning to help Beren and, well, we had a disagreement. They took control of the city for some time, but we did not fight. Just argued.”

“What else would you expect them to do?” Feanor stood behind Finrod’s desk in his regal robes, hands behind back, scanning the studio. It was a messy room, compared to his.

“What else would you expect me to do?”

“Not— Oh, I see. You could have mentioned more clearly that you have also been bound by an oath. At least now you understand.” It should have been a question, but wasn't.

“I didn't kill anyone for it.”

“Not with your own hands, no. I appreciate you not murdering my sons for protecting our property. It was more than I would expect with your Telerin heritage.”

Finrod looked him in the eye — now as they were in his imagination, he wasn't a child anymore. “Why are you trying to provoke me? What is this really about? Do you want me to say that we shouldn't have the Trees back if the cost is so high? That we shouldn't have figs or happiness or whatever the metaphor is— I don't know! I trust in the Valar knowing what they're doing, even if they cannot understand how much it takes, but that's just it: trust. And I cannot understand it fully either. Even now. Nobody can, because we aren't you! What do you expect me to say?”

Feanor shrugged lightly. “Honestly? I expected you to say something sanctimonious, a multitude of pretty words about the greater good, sacrifice, and how the wasp dies happy and cheerful, because she knows that it will give joy to everyone else.”

Had Finrod really been like this? Simplistic, blunt, and certain about the things he had no experience with? Maybe. Probably.

“Definitely,” said Feanor, surprised. “You didn't know. How ironic.”

“I apologize. I— I don't think anyone has the right to expect from others something he had not gone through himself. And even now…” The shadows deepened around them, and the air smelled of wolves. Not too much, not out of control anymore, but it was noticeable. “I do not know how I managed to. I'm not who I had thought myself to be; I was terrified, and weak, and lost, and yet… it was enough, somehow. Just enough to do what I had to do. Not to tell anyone else what he should do. To know, yes. But not to claim any authority. Not to try to push you… I'm not making much sense, am I?”

Feanor stepped closer to him, emanating warmth, and the shadows moved back from the light of the fire that was his spirit. The vision was now equally imagined by both of them: a shadowed room blending various memories, unripe figs on the table blazing with light. Pieces of broken marble. Tapestries on the walls. Noticeable lack of blood on the floor. Smell of the sea, or maybe of tears.

“You are both the wasp and the fruit,” Finrod said warmly, looking at the gobelins. They were beautiful.

“I never asked to be a fig! I never—.”

“I know. Nobody asks for it, I suppose. I'm certain Beren didn't either. And yet, if I were to make that choice again, I'd make it all the same.”

Feanor traced the pattern of the tapestry with his finger. “You had a choice.”

“That is true. But does it change much?”

“I don't know.” He started to fade, and with him the tapestry and parts of the room.

“Wait.”

Feanor's presence returned. “There's nothing more to say. You can't convince me—”

“I don't intend to.” Finrod smiled. “Nor do I have anything wise to say to you. But we can simply be here. I miss you.”

“Soon you will go, I can feel life calling to you, your mind longing for its senses. As does mine. The only difference is that you are free to follow. But if you want to dream with me for a while more, I won't forbid you.”

“Thank you, uncle.”

Feanor didn't reply and they sat together, the wasps buzzing around them— or maybe they were moths? Something winged and surprisingly fragile, of that Finrod was certain.