#I want to translate this into different languages

[juniperskye]

You’re…intimidating.

Based on the following ask: For Hotch x reader, could I please request charming witty reader who Hotch has an obvioussss crush on and he's trying to flirt but he's out of practice and she's pretty extroverted, confident so she just doesn't register he's interested and he's getting grief from the team for being all puppy dog eyes at her? Pref non-BAU reader but maybe she works in a different FBI dept or she's a lawyer/consultant they work with often and Hotch is always the first to suggest working with her so he's not being subtle in wanting to spend time with her lol. Feel free to adapt!! Thanks!! ❤️Okay pookie!!! I’ve been thinking about this one and it might end up pretty self-indulgent and for that I am sorry – girlie works for cybercrimes (but transfers to the BAU – sorry it felt right) and she’s the best of the best like Penelope worships her…she’s a little alternative so Hotch admires her from afar because she’s not his usual type just PURE FLUFF

Aaron Hotchner x FBI! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 2674

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Aaron is 45), some explicit language, not an OC but reader is described to have some tattoos and piercings (nothing specific though), reader works for cybercrimes and is SUPER tech savvy, idiots in love, Hotch pining hard, tooth rotting fluff, canon typical violence, mentions of hacking and breaking laws, reader is an extroverted introvert, Reader is called “Agent Z” or “Z” because she is a gen z, let me know if I missed any

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“Hotchner, this is the third time this month you’ve requested her. I’m beginning to think we should be offering her a spot in the BAU.” Director Cruz teased.

“If she’d be willing, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.” Hotch shrugged.

“I’ll put in the consultation request and maybe I’ll bring up the idea of a transfer to her.”

Hotch stood and returned to the sixth floor, promptly running into Penelope, as she was making her way back to the Batcave.

“So, I heard I might be getting some assistance on our next case! You know if you keep inviting Agent Z to join us, I’m going to get used to having her around.”

“Would that be so bad?” Hotch asked.

“No, it definitely wouldn’t…unless she stops coming around.” Penelope retorted.

The look on Hotch’s face gave him away, there was a brief flash of disappointment at the suggestion of you not coming around anymore. He couldn’t bear the thought…which made him even more nervous than you did. Speaking of…

“Hey Hotch!” You called effectively startling him.

“Hello! I uh – I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Ah well, Cruz emailed the request over and I got the notification, so I figured there was no time to waste.” You shrugged.

“Well, we might as well debrief the team then.” Aaron offered, gesturing toward the conference room.

--

Here’s the deal, Aaron had feelings for you, you had captivated him the first time he saw you. It was a Tuesday in July, the weather had been unforgiving…hot and humid, not ideal for the business attire of FBI agents.

As he made his way into the building, he’d taken note of how nearly everyone had their suit jackets or blazers slung over their arms, their sleeves rolled up as they hurried into the air-conditioned building.

But then there was you. You were wearing these chunky black loafers and black trousers, your top had been a simple black tank, it was hugging your skin in a way that made Aaron’s mouth go dry. You had a checkered cardigan tossed over your forearm that you had clearly removed. It allowed Aaron a view of the tattoos that adorned your arms.

He couldn’t explain the pull he felt…you had been so different from any woman he’d ever had any interest in before, but maybe that’s why things never worked out with them. Maybe the others were too stiff, too proper. Maybe he needed a little chaos in his life.

--

During the debriefing, Aaron had made sure you were sat next to him. He let Penelope present the case as usual and allowed time for theories. While Derek and Emily were talking back and forth about the possible age and gender of the unsub, Aaron’s eyes were trained on you. He could see your mind running a mile a minute.

“What is it?” Aaron asked, tapping your arm gently.

“Oh, no. I was just thinking. There’s something about the photo’s that were left at the crime scene…it feels familiar.” You shrugged.

“Have you seen another case like this?”

“I think so…” You pulled open your laptop and began searching through old case files and evidence you’d logged over the years. “Here! Hotch, look at this!”

Aaron leaned over, leaving hardly any space between the two of you. His gaze shifted from your profile to your computer screen, taking in the images before him. On your screen were photos that were nearly identical to those in the file the team had just reviewed.

It seemed as though this unsub took photos to document their work. Leaving some behind at the crime scenes, taunting law enforcement.

“We didn’t have very many leads back when this came across my desk, but I have new programs I can use to run these photos through now and with Penelope’s help, I think we could finally get this guy.” You explained.

“Alright, why don’t you travel with us so you can access the physicals of the photos.” Aaron suggested.

“Okay!”

“Alright then, wheels up in thirty.” Aaron commanded.

--

“Hey Agent Z! You joining us again?” Derek nudged you gently.

“Not this time, I was just asked to come and consult on a case.” You replied.

 “Oh, I see. Bossman calling in his favorite once again.”

“Stop! It’s not like that Derek.”

“Girl…you and I both know that it is.” Derek laughed and walked off.

You made your way to Aaron’s office, knocking on the door. When he calls out for you to enter, you go straight for the chair in front of his desk, plopping into it with a huff.

“You alright?” Aaron asks, concern lacing his tone. “We could do this later if you’re not up for it.”

“No! I’m happy to help! I’ve just got a decision to make, and I don’t know what to do.” You sighed. “Let’s talk about this case!”

Aaron and you went through the case that had been sent in from the NYPD. You were confused as to why he’d called you in to consult, the case had seemed pretty cut and dry…something Aaron would typically delegate to Derek or Dave. The tech aspect to this case was so minute, it was common sense…but you didn’t want to call him out on it.

--

“Thanks again for your help, hopefully the NYPD can close that case pretty quickly now.” Aaron walked you over toward the elevators.

“Any time. I like working with you and the BAU.” You smiled cheerfully.

“So um, what was that decision you have to make?” He inquired.

“Oh, uh…well, Cruz asked me if I wanted to transfer from Cybercrimes over to the BAU actually.”

“That’s great! I mean – I uh. Do you think you’ll do it?”

“I’m thinking about it for sure! It’s just, I’ve been with Cybercrimes for so long, I’d feel bad leaving them…ya know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You said your goodbyes and you headed back to your office on the eighth floor. Aaron stood there for a bit, looking after you as you made your exit. He stood there a beat longer before turning and heading back to his office. Only he didn’t get that far. Upon walking through the glass doors, he was met with the whole team standing there waiting for him.

“You’re down bad Hotch.” Emily said.

“Yeah, that was almost painful to watch.” JJ agreed.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Hotch shook his head and made his way back to his office.

--

Agreeing with the director to have you transferred was, quite possibly, the dumbest decision that Aaron could have ever made. He already struggled just being near you when you’d come and assist, but the thought of having you around all the time…what was he meant to do?

Subject: Agent Transfer – Effective immediately Good afternoon, This email is being sent to inform both the CCU and BAU of the immediate transfer of Agent Z. In discussing this transfer, she assured me that should the CCU need her assistance in a case, she’d happily help. She does, however, know that the agents on the team are more than capable of handling things. As for the BAU, given her expertise and background, she will travel with you as needed. I just want to remind you that Agent Z has a background in hacking, computer forensics, criminal justice, psychology, behavior analysis, amongst others. Utilize her skills – I believe she will make an incredible contribution to the BAU. Hotchner – her file was delivered to your office this morning. Also, she needs firearms training, please ensure she completes this before travelling with the team. Let me know if you have any questions. Mateo Cruz - Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit

Aaron read the email four times. You would be starting with the team today…he needs to get you scheduled for your firearms training and qualification exam. He figured he could do that while you get settled in the office adjacent to Penelope’s.

--

“Hey Hotch.” Your fingers rapped against the doorframe.

“Hi-Hello. Can I uh, show you to your office?” He asked.

“Penelope already beat you to it.” You teased. “But if you want to help me bring the last of my boxes down, that would be awesome.”

“Oh, I um-I…can-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to! You’re a busy man, and I can ask Spence or Derek!”

“No, I’d love to help.” Aaron recovered.

“Okay.” You smiled.

Aaron led the two of you over to the elevator, allowing you to enter first, then following suit and pressing the button for the eighth floor. It slowly lifted before signaling your arrival on the CCU floor.

You guided Aaron to your old office where the last two boxes remained. There was an IT guy loading your monitors onto a cart, getting ready to move them for you. You looked around at the now empty space…it felt empty now, like it no longer belonged to you, and you supposed it didn’t anymore. Aaron couldn’t help but notice the slight sadness that took over your features.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay. It’s just odd, having had this office for the last four years, and now it’s empty…it’s not mine anymore.” Your gaze shifted downward. “It feels like the end of a chapter. While the feeling isn’t bad, because I’m really excited to be joining the BAU, it just feels kind of sad.”

“I know what you mean. I felt that same way when I left the law firm I worked at.” Aaron looked over at you.

You met his gaze, and he offered a small smile. You returned it, feeling this sense of comfort. He’d always brought up that feeling in you though. It was like this glowing warmth that spread its way through your entire being…but that flame only burned in you when he was around.

--

“And hold it just like that, good!” Aaron praised.

You fired three consecutive shots at the target, forming a neat cluster in the outlines chest. Pride bloomed in Aaron’s chest, and you squealed with excitement, throwing your arms around him!

“Thank you so much for helping me! There was no way I was going to pass this exam without you!”

“I’m not sure how you’ve been with the bureau this long and not had to get your firearm qualification.” Aaron shook his head with a laugh.

“Hey! I have been confined to the eighth floor for the last five-ish years, I haven’t needed to carry one.”

Aaron took note of the freckles that dusted your nose, and the way the light reflected in your eyes. He thought for a moment about how close you were, and how easy it would be to just lean in the last few inches and capture your lips in a kiss. But he had to shake the thought away.

--

“I PASSED!” You shouted, running your way through the BAU bullpen.

“Good lord, what are you yelling about?” Dave asked, coming out of his office.

“I PASSED! I PASSED!” You waved your firearms certificate in the air, making your way over to Aaron’s office.

He exited his office to see what the commotion was all about, seeing you shaking your hand, waving a piece of paper around like a mad woman. He was mesmerized by you. You were 100% yourself and he admired you for it, you weren’t worried about how others perceived you. You only worried about your own opinion; you wanted to be the best version of yourself always.

“HOTCHHH, I PASSED!” You ran over to him and jumped into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck.

Aaron held you tight, lifting you off the ground for just a moment before noticing the look on Dave’s face. He placed you down and quietly congratulated you. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at getting caught by Dave. He knew that he had done nothing wrong…but he also knew that Dave could read him better than anyone else.

--

“Okay, when are you going to ask that girl out?” Dave huffed, sitting in the chair across from Aaron.

“Dave.” Aaron scolded. “It’s inappropriate.”

“Aaron…you deserve it. Happiness I mean. So, are you going to let it pass you by or are you going to seize the moment?”

“Sir, I don’t mean to interrupt, but we have a case.” Penelope informed. “It’s a child abduction.”

“Let everyone know we’re leaving now – we will brief on the plane.” Aaron commanded.

“Is Z going with you?” Penelope asked.

“Yes!” Dave answered for Aaron.

--

Aaron always sat next to you on the plane. It had been purely accidental, you’d sat in his usual seat and though Aaron wouldn’t say anything, Spencer did. So, you moved over into the adjacent window seat and Aaron slid in next to you. Since then, you’d always sat there.

Like now for example, the BAU was headed home after a two-week long case. The unsub had been way too good at covering his tracks, he’d had the entire team stumped. Thankfully you’d found his slipup in a dark web chatroom. He’d posted video of him torturing his latest victim in a chatroom used by very sick people. It was flagged once you’d turned on notifications for keywords and certain video content. After receiving the notification, Penelope and you were able to track an IP address and narrow down the location.

It had been exhausting honestly, running around, back and forth, interviewing people, going through evidence, just going until you found this guy…and now that was finally catching up to you. Your head had been bobbing off to the side as you fought the throws of sleep. As you began dozing off once more, Aaron reached over and led your head to rest on his shoulder. You finally settled and snuggled a bit further into his side, and for once he leaned back and let himself rest on the flight home.

Emily pointed JJ and Derek’s attention over to the two of you and then giggled. Derek quickly snapped a picture and sent it in their group chat. Penelope was quick to reply with the happy tears emojis and saying “finally”.

--

Things had shifted slightly after that. And while the team still teased Aaron about his very obvious crush on you, he finally allowed himself to be more confident in his interactions with you. He realized that Dave was right…maybe he did deserve happiness.

He’d invited you to get lunch with him a few times during work and he’d brought you coffee. He thought he was making his affection for you more obvious…but you still didn’t budge. He was beginning to worry that you didn't feel the same.

But it all came to a head when he decided he needed to be direct. Not on his own…Emily and JJ had to confront him and then convince him that you did like him, you just didn’t think he liked you.

--

You walked into the elevator, just about to click the button to the sixth floor when an arm reached in to stop the door from closing.

“Oh! Good morning Hotch.” You greeted. “Sorry, if I had seen you coming I’d have held the door.”

“No worries.” He forgave. “Do you um – do you have any plans tonight?”

“No, I was thinking of ordering a pizza and watching an episode of The Great British Bake Off. What about you?”

You’re reply had been so innocent and sweet. Just a simple response to his question, not reading into what he was truly asking you.

“Sweetheart, though your plans sound wonderful…will you go to dinner with me tonight?” He asked.

Your jaw dropped, only for a moment as you worked to regain your composure. Had you really been that blind? The girls had told you time and time again that he was interested, and you’d brushed it off, not wanting to get your hopes up…but here he is now, asking you out.

“I would love to.” You smiled.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[notherpuppet]

things i've learned about fandom ❇️

i got into fandom pretty recently. i mean i'm pushing 30, so i didn't really "grow up" in fandom and thus, had a lot to learn about being nice online lol. i've definitely been in fandoms b4, but never quite as immersed as i am now. like, last year was the first time i've been to a con! it was really fun. i feel like i've learned a lot this year and i think most folks navigate without malicious intentions, but there are some faux pas that i've observed (that i have done myself unfortunately😖 ) and idk who may be interested in hearing this, but just some of my observations; (anthropologist hat on) dead dove do not eat: in the realm of fiction and freedom from censorship (which is cool as hell imo), there are gonna be some stories that may seem quite taboo or distasteful to one's sensibilities. if you're not a fan, i recommend blocking/muting. usually folks are quite good about tagging ships or dynamics, in consideration of those who may want to find or avoid that content.

the etiquette seems to vary by region of the world (makes sense) if commenting on a post for someone who speaks a different language than you, it may be better to avoid idioms/expressions as they may translate literally and seem harsh to another culture. (e.g. "omg they are sickening" a compliment in america, an insult maybe everywhere else LOL) obviously u can do whatever u want, but being a hater (or anti?) is probably gonna lose you some charm points. so if coming across a certain way is important to you, then this is probably just something to consider. for example, there are things i observe in fandom that i don't really like, but i avoid dogging on it publicly because idk that's kinda mean spirited, right? but also because i have this unexpectedly big following and i'm not trying to start a dogpile or sic people after others. the internet can be scary 😳 when i make complaints, i try to keep it vague so that individuals are not attacked cuz that would suck pls don't be a fandom cop: this is the internet, pls dont be a self-appointed authority figure. it's natural that folks will have their critiques. why not write about it in your own space instead of trying to control others' actions? (especially with an air of entitlement and self imposed moral authority, like cmon) obvs folks are gonna do whatever they want on the internet, i just think this behavior is lame as hell ight that's all i got LOL. this is for any fandom newbies like i was (this is not meant to be rules or anything because that would be icky. but just wanted to share my experience with fandom since i've learned a lot from discussions with others more versed in fandom life)

[bloominglegumes]

In your ‘how to draw tf’ what do you search (if you do) to find references for the blaster poses? I love how much character they seem to show

(i assume this is what you were referring to :) )

this response is so atrociously late i dont have any excuse ._.

but to answer the question,, the two poses on the right side were the same as the one on the left, just with a slight bump to show different attitudes :O

in my drawing up there, i felt copying my real figure of blaster exactly made him look a bit stiff, esp considering his personality, so i shifted the original pose slightly to convey some stronger emotions that felt more in line with my idea of blaster :) more sass + cocky attitude, if i had to describe it, giving him more weight on one leg, leaning one way or another to show confidence or hostility or whatever

as for deciding how to bump a pose, all i can rlly suggest for that is to study body language, and pay attention to how different people will act when conveying different emotions! personally i like looking at theatre performance for this, since the exaggeration is something that translates well into art, and u could definitely study from animation as well !! disney classics are classics for a reason fjdhf

since im a transformers blog here tho, i'd place tf one, tfp and earthspark s1 as some great refs for character acting >:))

tf one being feature animation has the fullest range of motion + performance, plus its main cast w pretty different personalities all experience a huge range of emotions + situations over the course of the film and its just beautiful and who wouldnt want to study it frame by frame :DD tfp and earthspark s1 are also fantastic for seeing how to handle posing/acting in a wide range of situations, and theres plenty of screentime to work from ;)

going to stop here before i get too rambly but i hope this was at least a bit helpful? i'm rlly sorry again about leaving this in my inbox for ages :,,))

[arliaeien]

This makes me think about my evolution as a writer.

My first long fic, as a new writer, I used to consider a chapter done around 2k~2,5k words. That's around 10 pages in Word.

Rewriting this same story one year later, it grew between 3,5k~5k. At the same time, as a reader, I was enjoying more and more the longer chapters (between 5k~10k).

There had been a long time while I only was writing one-shots, then engaging as a beta reader, making translations... To sum up: not writing stories, and even less, ones needing me to arrange a new story in different chapters.

Some years ago, I dedicated myself to the rewriting of my first story (the last I've done) and had those quite big chapters (around 7k), I was happy with, and that didn't make me think, except that one time, I had to cut one too big in two smaller ones. Those chapters were in no way a 'one idea, one chapter' thing like. The cuts were rather happening when there was a change about the place, and/or time passing.

And when I started writing the sequel of this 80k story, about the characters meeting monthly, I just wrote a one-shot for every month. Whatever it was 10k, 20k or even 30k.

It's not written in English and the fandom was almost dead for the last ten years. There were no readers (think like 30 hits in five years on AO3). So why should I have cared? The big one-shot was what I personally prefer.

Came year 2021. New fandom, existing fan base in English, no one in my mother tongue. And I've gotten this idea of post-canon story. One, nobody had done before me. Or rather, nobody had done it, the way I wanted it to be. It's this that has triggered me trying to write in English. ...probably succeeding, at some point. It is a 70k, in the end.

First long story in a while, whatever the language was different, I've kept the same tastes and methods, reflecting over the construction of the story, and ended up having chapter between 5k~7,5k. My goal was quite easy : three main ideas / scenes making one chapter. Providing long chapters to readers was what's important to me, because that's what I love myself.

Up to these last years. I'm working on a monster story (156k ongoing \o/). I didn't have any plan, starting writing it. My first chapter was a two-big-scenes, around 3K words, which I consider cool enough. Second chapter... was happening later, somewhere else. And I ended up having four-big-scenes, 7k words. Yeah, could cut this in two parts. Except number 3 was 3-big-scenes and 5k words. Go tear your own hair out. This was difficult to me. I couldn't work with chapters with sizes so different. It wasn't me. It didn't feel good. I couldn't see how anyone could actually enjoy such variations. How could it be considered otherwise than "Oh yeah, one long/short chapter!" / "Oh no, one long/short chapter!" depending on the reader's taste.

How long is not the point. REGULARITY was the point.

So my badly proportionate 'chapters' became 'arcs'. And every arc, was cut around 1,5k words. One idea, two maximum, and cut! I loved this. Writing fanfictions about one manga whose chapters were arranged to form arcs, it felt like respecting the canon better. Felt great!

...well, I was still myself. My goal of going between 1,2k~2k words for one chapter become 1,5k~2k. Then 2,5k. Today, I'm a little annoyed proofreading, having to fight against myself for some of them not going over 3k. Not too bad, but not what I wanted.

This to say: I'm living a paradox. The way I publish this story wouldn't suit me as a reader. 1,5k or even 2k a week is to me desperately slow.

I just can't. Re-reading some moments of the story for pleasure, or working on it, I usually go with 3 of them. Sometimes 4. All by instinct, not caring whether it's an arc or crossing two or more of them. Because the 5k~10k is what work for me as a reader :P

So, what's my point?

The ideal length doesn't exist. It's a matter of skill, and of feelings, but not only. My ideal length as a new writer was different from 2-years experience me, 5-years, 10-years, and now 18-years experience me. Sometimes I've cared about reader-experience, sometimes I haven't. I have loved the years producing the fattest one-shots. It's unrivaled freedom writing something. But even without arranging chapters, there were breaks, cutting scenes, the reader was able to breathe. And nowadays, publishing weekly for one year and a half, I use a format I wouldn't like myself but readers seems to enjoy (and that's strangely the same as the one I once used as a beginner : 2,5k per chapter).

...perhaps all this is a circle. ⚪

While looking for something else, I found an old ask I answered about "ideal chapter length" in terms of word count.

I've been asked this probably a dozen or more times, and each time I need to take a moment and adjust my thinking to take the asker's point of view into account. Because the thing is? The only time I ever try to factor the word count into how I write a story is when I'm aiming for a true drabble.

For whatever reason, this difference in thinking stuck with me today and I actually considered why that might be. And I think it's because I'm in my 40s and the first 25-30 years of my life, any stories I was reading were printed on paper and bound into physical books.

When I imagine a novel, I still think of a mass market paperback on my bookshelf. An average one would be maybe an inch thick, probably in the neighbourhood of 300 pages. A long one would be maybe as much as two inches thick and 500 or more pages long. A short one was always nice to have because it filled in the gaps in the shelf because 200 page books were so much narrower. Or so it seemed.

When I started posting my fic online, I still thought in terms of pages. I'd type them out in whatever word processing software I was using at the time, and I'd usually get a chapter's worth of ideas into 3 or 4 pages. Turns out that's about 1000 words, which makes sense with the number of 1000 word essays I wrote in high school. I'd been trained to encapsulate an idea into approximately that length.

And that's what it comes down to. The thing that always made that question seem weird to me. A chapter isn't about how many words there are in it, just like a cake isn't about how many cups of flour exist in each slice. A chapter is a an idea that helps make up a bigger idea called a story, and it needs to be however many words that idea needs to be to get it out.

[l1ver25]

Shamura design for AU

Why I have a special interest in Shamura and why I chose certain design features can be read if you open the post in full

English is not my native language

— Why Shamura? —

It started with the banal: Knowledge is close to me. As a result, my AU Shamura turned out to be quite similar to me in terms of views and feelings of the world, so I put special emphasis on them (this does not mean that I forgot about the rest of the bishops, in fact, I like all of them).

— Design —

References

My friend and I assumed that the name ‘Shamura’ has an Indian vibe. I spent some time studying the Indian gods, coming to the conclusion that Shamura somehow resembles Indra in my AU. In addition, ‘Shamura’ sounds like ‘Shakra’, which translates from Sanskrit as ‘mighty’ and is one of the names of Indra.

From this, I decided that it was worth focusing on the Indian style of clothing: collar, ‘dress’, wide trousers. Shamura also has lush curly hair, which is more likely a reference to Kali.

Four hands also refer to Indian mythology: gods are often depicted with two or more pairs of hands.

Features

Shamura from my AU has slightly unnatural, as if constrained movements. The facial structure suggests that expressing emotions will be difficult, since before receiving the crown, Shamura was very stingy about expressing emotions (they did not know how to express them)

Speaking of AU, I want to note that, according to my ideas, references to religions existing in our world are divine features, such as two pairs of hands. That is, before receiving the crown, Shamura, like all humanoid creatures (if they do not have any anomalies), has two hands.

However, the second pair of eyes is an atavism, not a divine feature. They were blind in their mortal lives.

Symbolism

There are some symbols on the clothes, I changed them regarding the game, but each of them plays a different role:

— You may notice that there is an emphasis on double stripes on clothes — this is duality, to some extent, disunity, but I prefer to keep silent about the context.

— The crescent moon sounds more obvious: it is an alchemical symbol meaning the moon or silver. In the future, if there is a desire, I will note that this is a ‘paired’ symbolism with Kallamar, which in turn bears the symbol of the sun / gold.

— A circle with six stripes means the process.

— The cross, a symbol that is present in the game itself, is present in Shamura and Leshy — the closing links of the chain.

[yoursweetheartsrevenge]

Stressors

Summary: End of the year at Oxford means exams, papers, and the overwhelming amount of stress that follows. Studying in the library may help Michael relieve stress, but his girlfriend has other ideas. 

Read on Ao3

Warnings: smut (praise kink, oral - f receiving, p in v sex (protected and unprotected - creampie), female masturbatation, sex toys, squirting, light spanking), anxiety, MINORS DNI, 18+ 

Word Count: 6.2K+

Author’s Note: Thanks to everyone who voted in the original poll! This idea came from a little example in the non-fiction book, Come as You Are: The Surprising New Science that Will Transform Your Sex Life by Emily Nagoski Ph.D about sex and stress. Great book (which I will definitely finish someday)! Enjoy these little horny nerds!

Stressors

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The gravity of the pencil hit against her open notebook. The eraser left notable trails of pink debris against the grayed out letters that had disappeared over the last hour. 

Or was it a couple hours?

She wasn’t sure anymore. 

Several books of different medieval texts were laid open in front of her on one of the many study tables at the university library. She hadn’t even made a decision on what her final project was. The syllabus was a sharp reminder that this project would be a large portion of her grade. 

If she completely failed the translation project, she’d still pass. 

She was a top student in her subject at Oxford, but if she failed this . . .

Where would that leave her in the rankings of other students in her field?

She ran her thumbnail over the small indentations in the number 2 pencil, bite marks indicating how truly stressed, nervous,and anxious these last weeks had been. The long phallic object let her mind wander for a moment on other things. 

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“Stop that.” Michael Gavey said beside her. 

Her boyfriend’s head was in his open palm, focused on reading his maths, occasionally scribbling notes in his well worn spiral notebook. He did not look up from his well disciplined concentration. 

He was in a similar situation. 

Should he fail or get less than a perfect score on his final project . . . well .  . .

He’d still be top of the class, but only by one point. 

Michael Gavey needed to be top of the class by more than one measly point. 

And she . . . she needed Michael Gavey to top her. 

She smoothed the pencil flat on her notes, or lack thereof. Her palms fell flat on the desktop as she leaned forward. Her fingertips turned a thick copy of text. The pages were so thin she had to be careful not to rip them. She was slowly turning each page looking for the right piece. 

She was saddened his eyes weren’t on her. Michael was still looking studious and concentrated on his work, not lustful and wanting as her ass was quite close to his face. She had worn the suede skirt for a reason she supposed. Her boyfriend had once complemented the feel of the material even burying his face against it. 

Her body grew hot at the thought of his face buried between her thighs. 

She shook out her hair as if to lose the lustful ideas she had snaking in her mind. Instead she found the work looking it over. The project was to translate a piece of literature they had read that semester back into its original language, Middle English. It should have been simple enough, at least for her, but decisions always made her wary. 

She settled back down in her seat with a bit of a thump. She thought he may look at her, but Michael remained ever focused. It was one of the things she liked so much about him. Especially the looks that crossed his face when he was deep in thought. She pressed her thighs together and nearly held her breath. 

His face was making her feel a certain way. 

She decided it would be best to pick up her pencil. The text before her nearly seemed to blur as his hot breath puffed out a bit. Her thumb stroked from the pink eraser tip down the long yellow length of the pencil. 

Pencils should NOT make her think of Michael Gavey’s dick. 

Yet here she was chewing at the metal base of the eraser. 

She nearly whimpered at the thought of replacing that pink tip for his bulbous pink tip. 

Her scribbling the first few lines down didn’t help her at all. The translation was so poor due to her inability to focus. Her legs squeezed together tighter. He shifted in his seat and she nearly lost her mind. Despite it being near to summer, Michael was still clad in a red jumper. He had told her feeling sweaty made him more concentrated and comfortable. 

Another endearing fact. 

Another reason to clench her thighs. 

She knew why she was feeling this way. 

Stress. 

Horrible, mind altering stress. 

Her heart sped up at the thought of faltering in her academic career. Her head felt weak at the idea of being less than perfect in the eyes of her Medieval Literature professor who was a harsh critic to all the class’s work, but seemed to be pleasantly surprised by how well she was as a student. She was enthusiastic about the subject, usually. She had been looking forward to this project, but now she was simply feeling the weight of the end of the year. 

Michael was too. His maths classes had been going quite well, however after a devastating last exam in which he had gotten THREE questions wrong he was having a crisis. A crisis which caused their only dates to be at the library. Sometimes they would study in each other’s rooms, but Michael had taken that option off the table. . 

“No distractions.” 

But she WAS distracted. 

Michael WAS distracting.

Maybe if she just felt some relief she could concentrate. 

She tested. Her hand slowly moved against his thigh. He was wearing jeans letting her trace the bleach splashed stains there. She rubbed softly, light on her fingers.. She grew bolder when he seemed to pay no mind to her touch, deciding to press her palm and squeeze a bit. 

Michael Gavey remained concentrated. 

Surely she could test further?

Her hand traveled to her boyfriend’s crotch taking time to stroke the edge of his member. She managed to lovingly stroke him twice before she felt his fingers wrap around her wrist.

“No.” He said moving her hand from his clothed cock to her thigh. 

He stayed his hand for a brief moment rubbing her knuckles. It was an act of comfort. It was supposed to be. He began flipping through his text, still focused on the work. His same fingers rubbed across his sweaty temple and blonde hairline. She tapped her fingers against her thigh for a moment feeling less embarrassed than needy. 

Her fingers swirled and scratched against the suede. She could not control herself. Her eyes were still focused on his crotch, his thick length laid underneath. Without thought she reached for it again, slowly, carefully. 

Maybe he wouldn’t -

“I said no.” He moved her hand again. This time a bit more forceful hitting her hand against her thigh a little hard, a little rough, a little annoyed. 

The rejection hurt. 

She felt tears gather in her eyes. Staring at him for a moment too long did not help. He merely went back to work. She saw a sliver of irritation on his face. 

It made her heart sink. 

She didn’t think. 

She acted. 

The stress was burdening her with an irrational mind. 

Her hands moved to gather her things, closing each of the books in front of her. 

SLAM

SLAM

SLAM

She scooped them into her messenger bag which she pulled from its tilted position between their seats.

THUMP 

THUMP

THUMP

“Wait,” He looked up finally. Michael was watching her hurried hands begin to gather up her chewed on pencil and notebook stained with eraser debris. “Where are you going?” 

At least he was paying attention now. 

She couldn’t speak. 

She wasn’t sure if it was anger or merely frustration from her own body’s pulsating desire that made those tears pool at the edge of her eyes. 

“Did I do something wrong?” 

She couldn’t stay. 

Her brain completely melted at the needy little words that escaped his mouth. All her things were packed. The flap to the bag flipped close. Michael’s fingertips were pressed to the papers and opened thick textbook. 

She couldn’t look at him. 

She left him in the library nearly stomping her way back to her dorm room. 

Her wrist wiped across her eyes, trailing tears across the bridge of her nose. Her body had just acted. She couldn’t sit next to him and continue to be rejected. Not when she felt as if she might tear her skin off if he didn’t touch her. Being so close to him was too much to bare and she desperately needed release. 

The stress. 

This stupid stress. 

It was building up in her body making her face hot. It made her brain foggy with not only desire but thoughts that remained ill advised, such as trying to fondle her boyfriend’s cock in the library when he clearly was not interested. 

“Stupid, stupid.” She repeated to herself making herself walk faster. 

On the way she recounted her relationship with resident Oxford math genius, Michael Gavey. She hadn’t made many friends at Oxford her first few months, but that was no problem for her. University wasn’t a place to make friends. It was a place to learn. Still her dorm mate always invited her out and they got along pretty well. She made some casual girl friends in her literature classes. 

The first interaction she had with Michael was when she had gotten rather ill in the middle of the fall semester. She had missed a really important lecture in one of her classes. It wasn’t a class where she had made many friends so she merely relied on going to the person who sat beside her in class for notes. 

Oliver Quick was a literature student too. She would occasionally look at him, noting that he seemed to take excellent notes. The notes seemed legible from what she could tell and he edged her on top student in that class. It had been too early in the year to be competitive. 

She had cornered Oliver and his friend, a blonde vaguely attractive looking student with square shaped wire glasses during dinner in the dining hall. When she had started to speak  she realized that the friend was the top math student, Michael Gavey. She wasn’t a maths student, but she could appreciate a passionate mind and eager learner. Up closer as she asked Oliver for his notes on the previous week’s lecture, she peeked at the way Michael seemed to ignore her continuing to widely open his mouth while dining on braised beef. 

She remembered the smell of it hitting her the moment his curious eyes peered up at her. He suddenly seemed mindful of how loudly he was chewing once he looked up at her. It made her blush a bit seeing how his blue eyes reflected in his glasses at that moment. He had quietly commended her on picking Oliver to receive her notes from declaring his handwriting and attention to detail were excellent. 

She had gotten the notes, but more importantly she had developed a bit of a crush there and then. 

She had excitedly told herself that agreeing on Oliver’s note taking skills made them an ideal match. Clearly they had similar priorities. It made her head spin a bit. She had not been distracted, nor had she approached Michael again until Oliver had swiftly abandoned him for his fifteen minutes of fame with Felix Catton. 

She hadn’t witnessed the end to the friendship, only the aftermath. 

She had been studying late one evening in the beginning of the new year at the library.

She had been looking for literature to read be ahead in one of her classes. Nobody ever frequented the library as late as she did. That was until she had wandered over to the section she needed, where Michael was seated, wrappers of Crunchie bars nearly overflowing his table top as he read from several open maths texts. 

She dared to approach him. Still a girl with a bit of a crush, she told him she thought it silly they were the only students in the library sitting on opposite sides of the building. It would save space and the librarian time not having to travel across the library to inform them of the library’s closure. They should sit together at the same table. They should study together. 

Michael had agreed. 

So began their friendship. 

He would share his Crunchies and she would share her little fig rolls. Michael later told her he thought the fruit was too tart, but he really enjoyed how she made happy little noises as she bit into their softness. They would talk about their lectures and their days as they grew more comfortable with one another. They would even argue about philosophy and subjects they both were passionate about. 

She had asked him out on Valentine’s Day. 

“I’m attracted to you. I know tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, but I would really like to go out with you.” She had asked, books tucked against her chest before their typical after dinner study session. 

Michael had simply said yes. He appreciated her forwardness and agreed he too was attracted to her. She even saw a hint of a blush. 

They had gone out to an Italian pizzeria a short distance from campus.

“I know it is customary to wait until the end of the date, but,” He had asked before they had entered the quick service place. His breath was fogging his glasses. His wool coat was tight against his body showing off a bit of his figure. “I really would like to kiss you. If that is alright.” 

It had been more than alright. 

She had told him as such. 

She thought she had never seen a person so happy then the first few seconds before Michael Gavey kissed her for the first time. 

It had been awkward at first, a lean and peck, but they soon learned after a short time how they each like to be kissed.

From that evening onward, the pair had been inseparable. 

They still had their after dinner study sessions, but they held hands now. Occasionally they would snuggle or peck when the moment seemed to take them. When he could Michael would walk her to her classes. He seemed to love holding her hand. It was smaller than his, but fit so perfectly there. 

They began to have study sessions in their respective dorms, taking turns on who would host. It led into movie nights with occasional cuddles and make out sessions. She always felt flattered when it got too heavy and Michael would ask for them to stop. He often got too worked up, but told her he didn’t want to lose himself in front of her like all the other beasts on campus. 

“You are too special to me. I want our first time to be something thoughtful, not baseline animalistic instincts.” He was sweet saying it. 

But sometimes she wished he would lose himself to her. 

She knew he wanted to. She felt how much he wanted to. 

They had confided in each other they were both virgins. As Michael said, he wanted their first time to be special. 

The timing had been special. It was the weekend of a big party Catton was throwing. They’d be nearly alone on campus. They decided on Michael’s dorm as he had no dorm mate to potentially walk in on them. He had tried his best to plan it out, but everything seemed to have gone wrong. 

The Chinese take away order had been wrong leaving them with an order she could not eat due to allergies so they shared a small side of noodles, both too awkward and pent up to complain or order elsewhere. 

The candles he had bought had nearly set off the fire alarm and burnt his curtains. 

The roses he bought did not survive the day and were wilted. 

It was all a bit funny looking back at it. 

The pair of them half expected the sex to be awful as well. 

That had been the best part though it had started off as less than perfect that first time. 

She opened her dorm door letting herself fling back to the present. The messenger bag fell as she shut the door behind her. She quickly let her body go for the vibrator snuggled tucked in the cabinet above her desk thinking of that first time. 

Neither knew what they were doing, but they were not afraid to let each other know what they wanted. She liked to be touched. Michael knew this. He knew exactly where to touch her to have her make those little sweet noises that he liked. The noises that made him rock hard in seconds. She knew he liked to have his hair tugged when she kissed him. 

When he had been on top of her, slowly easing his condom clad member inside her she had tugged on his hair as reassurance he was doing good. It had been jolting to feel his cock twitch inside her. She had squealed out a bit excitedly. The sex hadn’t been long that first time. He had finished in a few thrusts. He had been so disappointed in himself for doing a poor job at his first time, but they had all night and an absurd amount of condoms. 

Each time had gotten better and better. 

The last time before they both fell asleep completely enwrapped in each other’s arms, she had been crying out his name hoarsely as he fucked her into the mattress making her squirt all over his bed sheets. 

From then on they included sex in their routine. 

It had never been a chore, always a joyous little treat to the end of a hard day. 

The vibrator had been bought by Michael. 

He wanted something his girlfriend could play with and that he could use on her. The thought intrigued him. They had gone to a local sex shop having studied different types together on the internet. They both agreed to something with a similar girth and length to his cock, even measuring his member out to get an idea of what they needed. The little research project had bonded them further. 

She held what they had purchased together in her hands. It was white at the base with a slender tip that was ribbed resembling a fuschia pink tongue. She reached under her skirt to palm her wet panties. She flushed a bit embarrassed as she settled on her bed touching herself through the lace of her soaked panties. Her clit was throbbing, making her whimper as she slowly snaked her hand under the material. 

The vibrator was nearly forgotten as she began to touch herself. However after a few moments she felt uneasy. 

It wasn’t enough. 

She lubed up the vibrator turning it on. She tried to work it on herself. She felt nothing. The vibrator was tossed angrily on the bed letting it bounce slightly on her comforter. 

ABSOLUTELY FUCKIN NOTHING. 

She could nearly cry. 

She could nearly scream. 

All she wanted was to release, to cum, but nothing was doing it for her like - 

Two soft knocks came at the door followed by a pause. 

An even softer knock followed. 

Her body was vibrating to be touched, to seek relief. 

But she knew how awful she had left things. 

“Hi.” He said softly when she opened the door. “Can I come in?” He was slumped looking a bit pathetic and painfully adorable with his own messenger bag slung at his side. 

She merely stepped aside. 

“Whatever I did,” He started looking her in the face as she closed the door softly. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight.” They rarely did. When they did it was over subjects that didn’t matter. Hardly anything ever relating to their relationship, though it was still young. 

Her eyes shifted to the abandoned sex toy on the bed. 

His eyes locked on the vibrator on the bed. 

“Oh,” He said with a realization. “Is that why you . . . I see.” She stood with her shoulders slightly pushed in. “This is my fault.” 

“No, no, it’s mine. I touched you without permission. I’ve been so stressed. So out of focus on my work. I just needed release. I didn’t think, just behaved like an absolute -” 

“Come here,” Michael wrapped her in his arms, squeezing her. She squeezed him back. “I’m feeling stressed as well, but you said you needed release? I’m stressed too, but I can’t . . . ” 

It was then that she realized it. 

“Oh?” She pushed away from him looking at his face. “Does stress make you . . .unable to . . .?” The question hung in the air embarrassing him to make his face flush. . 

“We seem to have different reactions to pressure.” Michael said with a nod. 

“It’d be fascinating if I didn’t want to fuck you so bad.” Her smile was half quirked. He chuckled. “This has always been something I have dealt with. I usually masturbate. I cum and I can focus again, but,” She looked at him, feeling her teeth nibble at her lower lip with desire. “Since we started dating, all I want is you. Toys aren’t enough sometimes. And I couldn’t . . .I don’t know. I just want to not feel this way anymore. I feel so, so stupid not being able to focus.” 

She could cry or tear out her own hair from the sheer pulsating need to feel something inside her. 

“No, you are not stupid!” He assured her. “You are absolutely brilliant and you will have your mind back.” He scratched the back of his head feeling the edge where hair met flesh. “I might not be able to . . . achieve an erection.” There was a fact. Michael Gavey’s cock couldn’t get hard when he was stressed. She couldn’t be any wetter standing here watching him struggle to promise a compromise. “But I can still help. If that’s what you -”

“Yes!” She embarrassed herself by saying it too quickly and too loudly.  

Michael laughed. 

“Lie on the bed. Take off the skirt and your panties. Let me take care of you.” 

She could fuckin’ cum at those words alone.

Alas she didn’t. 

When she did as he told her he smiled watching her hair spray across the pillow. He adjusted his glasses. He climbed on bed after removing his shoes and placing them at the door. Michael happily straddled her slightly. 

“Such a good girl.” He praised. “My good, sweet, smart, absolutely brilliant girl.” Michael brushed his hand against her cheek letting his thumb slowly ease into her mouth. 

She felt her pussy flutter at what she liked. 

Suckling his thumb. 

Being praised. 

“Spread those beautiful legs for me, darling.” She did. He hummed in approval. “Look at you. So wet. You really are a horny little thing when you’re stressed, hmmm. Tell me how much you need me.” 

“So much.” She moaned, feeling her body tremble. 

“Oh, my love,” He kissed her inner thigh. “Where are those beautiful flowery words I love so much? Give them to me.” 

“So badly. I can’t think of anything else, but you, your tongue, your cock. I need it so desperately. I feel trapped in my own body, vibrating against my will. I want to tear the flesh from my body. I need you so bad, Michael.” She swallowed watching as tears formed under his eyes. He slowly kissed her thigh again. 

“I hate seeing you like this, sweetheart.” His lips were soft against her slit. “Let me help you relieve all that stress.” 

He suckled there at her center. She could feel his tongue flicker against her. 

Her mind felt blank. 

No thoughts of poor grades. 

No reeling words to translate. 

No pressure or thoughts of anything other than Michael Gavey’s tongue and lips making her coo and sigh. 

His hot breath encouraged her. She felt him swirl his tongue slowly easing its way inside her. While Michael had not been well practiced in anything sexual when they had started exploring themselves months earlier, he was determined to become as well practiced with her cunt as he was with the algebraic equations he so loved. He was certainly showing off his skills at this moment. 

His lips found her engorged clit with little effort. 

Michael gave hard wet suckling pops making her insides bubble. 

She called his name letting her hands wander into his hair. She pulled on it and grabbed a tuff at the base of his scalp yanking with tenderness. He moaned approvingly, but simply continued. She secretly hoped he would forget about the stress that was troubling him and be able to achieve her desire, him inside her. 

He continued to bare down on her. His hand moved to squeeze both her thighs moving them up to get better access to her cunt. His noises were lewd, making her wetter as he devoured her. 

“Michael, I’m . . . please.” Her words fumbled from her mouth. Her moans grew higher, more fevered and desperate. 

His tongue worked along her slit producing more arousal as she cried out. There was that familiar build up in her. Michael was working to get it free, growing more intense by the moment squeezing her thighs, running his thumbs over little dimples he adored. 

Different pressure clouded her mind. 

She was only this loud when he was going down on her. 

He always adored her little pleasurable cries. 

She knew it made him feel appreciated, that he was doing such a good job. 

Her hand let go of his hair to squeeze the sheets and mattress. 

The release sprang out of her, harsh and  loud. 

She hadn’t realized she had squirted until she saw droplets on Michael’s glasses and a smear of wet patch against her sheets. 

Her breath laid out heavy. Soft satisfied coos left her lips. Curiously she looked to his crotch as he sat up on his knees. As he cleaned off his glasses on his sweater she saw with disappointment there was no needy bulge. 

“Do you feel better?” He wondered, adjusting his glasses back on his face. 

She nodded. 

“We should change your sheets.” He started to stand. Michael offered his hand, but upon seeing her lazy love drunk eyes and the heaving of her chest merely took in the sight. 

“Mmmm . . . feels too good to move. Can we cuddle for a few moments? We can clean the sheets after and maybe get some dinner and continue our studying. I think I can focus now. Just need to hold you.” 

There was no hesitation. 

Not even the wet patch and the smell of sex coating the air could stop him from snuggling into her arms. 

She felt so relieved. 

***

She was waiting for him outside his last class. 

Most students had finished earlier that week running off to summer getaways and after parties. They had been reluctant to participate in the Trashing earlier that week since their professors had planned extra work on purpose to make the tradition seem less celebratory. Neither could have carried less about this particular tradition. 

The stress melted from her leaving a pleasant satisfaction after she handed in her brick sized translation. She had finally settled on a work of literature after dinner that night, breaking out a handwritten translation of seventy seven pages in two hours. 

Michael had been so, so proud of her when she had received her final mark. 

The highest in her class! 

Her professor even remarked it was the highest score he had given on the tough project. Michael had smothered her with kisses, on her neck, on her lips, on her chin, anywhere he could gain access to in a public setting. 

He still had one more final. 

She was buzzing with excitement at the prospect of him achieving the same level of satisfaction she had. 

Her cute floral dress barely hit her knees flaring out. It was soft to the touch and a bit see through in some spots. She would have never worn it with tons of people on campus, but here with only a handful of maths students vibrating with final exam anxiety she could manage being a bit embarrassed if they saw her teal bra and panties. 

Students flooded out of the hall as she looked for her nerd outside the building. She curled her toes looking forward, finding her bespectacled boyfriend in the crowd. He was wearing a short sleeved button up, blue with light checkered white stripes. She could see him fiddling with the flash drive on his belt. She waved at him, noting his serious face. When he looked at her there was a strong sense of release. 

He nearly raced toward her, colliding into her. He grabbed her and spun her around. 

Michael peppered her with kisses again. 

“It was a breeze!” He said accidentally or on purpose, feeling her up. “I passed with flying colors!” His confidence always made her very turned on. 

She rewarded him with a deep kiss. 

He kissed her back using more tongue than he usually did. 

That’s when she felt it. 

“Oh!” She was a bit surprised at his hardness, very evident as he pressed himself against her. 

He gave her a proud smile. 

“I very much want to.” He said, swallowing looking at her lips. “Now, please.” 

“In public?!” She nearly shouted. 

“No, of course not. At least not today.” His eyebrows wiggled. He took her hand not bothering to hide the evidence of his arousal. There were hardly any people around anyway. “Your dorm is closer.” 

They walked quickly. She giggled as he squeezed her ass complimenting her on her outstanding genetics and her softness. He would occasionally mutter how much he wanted her and how absurd his body was at not being able to get himself worked up when she wanted to jump him days earlier. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of. Our bodies react differently to stress. It’s what makes us unique and precious.” She had booped him on the nose. 

He nearly growled, kissing her as he shoved her into her dorm. She mumbled against his lips. He threw his messenger bag to the floor gripping at her back side. 

“I don’t have any bedding.” She said between kisses, wet and sloppy and the neediest she had ever felt him. 

“That’s alright.”

She had already stripped her bed. Most of her things were boxed up ready to be transported back home. Her parents would be picking her up soon. They’d be meeting Michael for the first time. 

All that information was very clear and present in her head, but the fact that his hands were very pleasantly squeezing her behind was pushing reason and ration away. She moaned against him. He smiled against her lips. 

“Can I give it a little smack?” He squeezed her, nearly humping her thigh from the angle he was currently at. 

“Yes, please.” 

Instantly she felt the sharp sensation of Michael’s open palm against the fat of her round bottom. She couldn’t help giggling. Especially since he was giving her playful little nipping kisses. 

“No, no,” She said, pushing him off. He whimpered sadly. “My parents are coming. Nothing visible today.” He nodded as if finally realizing himself what was to follow when they left this room. “How do you want me?” 

With that Michael grinned. He was looking so pleasantly excited and pent up she swore he probably would burst. 

Had this been how she looked? 

It didn’t matter to her; it was so endearing to see how much he truly desired her. 

“I . . . I don’t know.” She knew Michael wasn’t used to being asked what he wanted. “How about you get on the bed and then we’ll go from there, alright, my love?” 

She nodded ready to obey. 

He gave her another encouraging spank, slightly harder as she sauntered over to the bed. She pulled the soft cotton floral dress over her head revealing her teal bra and panty set. Michael was practically drooling as she laid back on the bed letting her hair fan across the pillow. He shifted and struggled to pull off his shoes and socks. She was glad he moved closer because she assisted with his belt. She unnotched his flash drive and placed it in the pocket of his khakis. 

“I don’t want it breaking. It has that research you like on there still. Those rare papers?” He nodded at her words looking at her solemnly stopping his movement as if a deer caught in headlights. 

“What? Are they not on there anymore?” She blinked confused. 

“I . . . I love you.” He brushed her hair from her face. 

“Because I remembered to protect your flash drive?” She asked with a wicked teasing smile. 

“You know why.” He leaned forward to kiss her. 

She did. 

They knew each other. 

They knew each other so well. 

She was his best friend and he was hers. 

“I love you too. You know that right?” Her fingers teased at his zipper and button of his pants. She looked up from under her lashes fluttering them with a tease. 

This was the first time they had said those words to one another, but she had known from the moment that he asked her to kiss him before their date even began that they were going to fall in love with one another. 

“Yes.” He breathed out as she released his bulge from the confines of his pants. “Please, I need you. I want you.” 

She petted his black boxers. He shifted to step out of his khakis before bending down to retrieve a condom from the back pocket. 

“Umm, would it be okay . . . if we . . .didn’t use it . . . just this once?” She said nibbling at her lip. 

She really wanted to feel him fully. 

Michael knew she was on the pill. 

She knew it may be stupid asking, but she wanted to feel him. She wanted to feel him drip out of her. 

“You sure? I mean, if you get pregnant of course I would . . . I’d be there, but . . . I would like to as well. Maybe just the once?” They were all about being rational, but sometimes rationality got in the way of desire. 

Her fingers teased his bulge as he straightened up. She could feel him leaking as she found his tip. His precum wet his dark boxers, staining them even darker. Her lips kissed there. 

“I can’t . . . I’m going to . . .” He moaned deep and loud. His cock was twitching. 

She released him seeing his cock was so stiff it bounced to greet her. She had never been so close to his member. Usually they had sex or he went down on her. He had never expected her to return the favor. Never thought she would, but seeing it so close to her face made her mouth water in an odd way. She gave his tip a kiss, swirling her tongue along the small slit there. 

“No, please, I want to, but . . . I want to . . .” Michael seemed nearly pained trying to express himself. 

“Do you want to fuck me, Michael Gavey?” 

Pants and the removal of his shirt were the only answer.

“Then claim what is yours.” Her head lulled back against the pillow. 

The pain of how hard his cock was made him hiss as he straddled her. It made him act quicker. He lifted her up unhooking her bra with expert ease. He notched his thumbs at the sides of her panties pulling them down with little effort. He still felt the same when he sheathed himself inside her. He was warm and pleasantly thick though she could feel him a bit more, all of him. She whimpered with need as he sank himself slower and slower inside her until he bottomed out. 

He wasted no time in fucking her into the bare mattress. It was the closest she would ever see to Michael Gavey focusing on his primal needs. He liked kissing her as he fucked her and this instance was no different. She pulled at his hair as he buried himself inside her moving in a rhythm that they both liked. She was surprised that he was lasting as long as he did. 

“I love you so much.” He said as if reading her mind. “I  . . . want to hold on . . . I think I can.” 

“You’re doing so good. You feel so good. You don’t have to hold on.” She could feel herself getting close. She knew he could too. 

“But . . .” 

“Michael!” She called out. She was panting. 

Her walls fluttered around him as she let go. She felt him spill inside her. Her favorite noises were when he lost control. He was so straight laced and professional. Hearing him whine and breath out his release was the sexiest noise on Earth. She felt him slowly pull out of her. His fingers pressed on either side of her pussy lips. 

He watched his cum leak out of her, white and sticky. 

She felt it drip from her.

Her body hummed in approval. 

“So beautiful. All mine.” Possessive Michael was also a favorite of hers. She loved being his. 

“No more stress.” She tousled his hair causing his attention to go from her cum drenched pussy to her pretty cum drunk face. “Just you and me and a stress free summer.” 

Michael Gavey nodded leaning forward. He held her against his chest. 

“No more stressors.” He agreed with a final sweet kiss on her forehead.

taglist: @hangmanscoming, @queen-of-elves

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Silent Conversations

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — After living in Madrid for nearly a year, Jude's gotten the hang of spanish. So he never thought he’d have to learn a new language just to flirt with someone—until he meets you.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x Deaf!reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 9.7k

Warnings! FLUFF!! Jude is kind of obsessed with you in the best way, lover boy, you're very adorable in this one, reader speaks but can't hear, reader can read lips,

Preview

********** Being deaf and a chatterbox is a contradiction that most people don’t know how to wrap their heads around.

But it’s who you are.

Since you can remember, you've always loved to talk—loved filling spaces with words, with thoughts, with laughter. Being deaf has never stopped you. If anything, it’s only made you more creative in how you communicate.

People underestimate how much talking you can do with your hands, how much personality you can pour into a single sign, a raised brow, a quick smirk. They think "talking" only means sound, that conversations without voices are somehow lesser, as if the absence of noise makes words any less real. You’ve spent your whole life proving them wrong.

And tonight is no different.

Your little brother practically vibrates with excitement next to you, hands flying as he signs about how insane the game was. He’s been a Real Madrid fan for as long as he’s been able to walk, and your parents had gone all out for his birthday—jerseys, meet&greet tickets, the whole experience.

So far, the night has been going well.

Your family has been cheering and chanting for Real Madrid alongside the thousands of other fans packed into the stadium, their voices blending into the electric hum of excitement that fills the air. The game has been nothing short of exhilarating, each pass, each near goal sending waves of emotion through the crowd.

Your hands ache from the number of times you’ve signed to your brother, asking for updates on what’s happening when the movements on the field become too chaotic to follow. He’s been patient, grinning as he translates key moments for you, his enthusiasm infectious.

When the final whistle blows, confirming Real Madrid’s victory, the stadium erupts into cheers. Your family is ecstatic, jumping to their feet and embracing one another in celebration. You smile, soaking in the energy, but exhaustion is already creeping in. The weight of tomorrow morning sits heavily on your shoulders.

You love nights like this—love the way your father’s face lights up after a good match, love the way your younger cousins beam with pride, shouting the players’ names like they know them personally—but you can’t afford to linger. Not when your boss expects you bright-eyed and fully alert at the crack of dawn.

You sigh, glancing at the time. If you leave now, you’ll get home at a decent hour, and maybe you'll get six hours in tonight. I should go, you sign to your brother.

He frowns. So soon?  

"I have work in the morning."  

He relays this to the rest of your family, and they groan in unison. Your mother reaches out, squeezing your arm in understanding. "Text us when you get home," you read on her lips.

You nod, exchanging quick hugs before making your way toward the exit.

The corridors are still crowded with lingering fans, some of them stopping to take pictures or rewatch highlights on their phones. You weave through them, emerging into the crisp night air just outside the stadium, and pull out your phone to call for an Uber.

Five minutes.

Not too bad.

You exhale, shoving your free hand into the pocket of your jacket as you make your way toward the designated pick-up area near the parking lot. Your feet ache slightly from standing for so long, and the cool breeze is a welcome relief after being surrounded by so much body heat. You scroll through your phone absentmindedly, debating whether to pass the time by answering a few messages or just watching the people around you.

That’s when you feel it.

A presence.

It’s subtle at first—a shift in the atmosphere, a slight prickling at the back of your neck. Then, footsteps. Slow. Unsteady.

You look up just in time to see him stumbling toward you.

The acrid scent of alcohol hits you first. It’s overpowering, the kind of stench that clings to a person’s skin and clothes, the kind that makes your stomach churn. He’s disheveled, his jacket slipping off one shoulder, his eyes unfocused. But there’s something sharp in the way he grins at you, something that immediately puts you on edge.

"Hey," he slurs.

Your grip tightens around your phone. You don't respond. Instead, you take a step back, angling your body away from him. But before you can put more distance between you, his hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with surprising strength.

"I'm talking to you, you little bitch!"

Panic spikes through you like ice water.

Your breath hitches, your heart hammering as you instinctively jerk back, trying to free yourself from his grasp. Your hands move on their own, the motions quick, desperate. Leave me alone.  

The man’s face scrunches in confusion. "What? What are you doin' with your hands?"

You swallow hard, pulse racing. You try again, this time forcing yourself to speak, hoping the sounds come out right. "I can't hear you. I'm deaf."

His expression twists into something cruel. "Deaf?" He laughs, loud and mean. "You serious?" His grip tightens. "C'mon, don’t be like that. Just talk to me.I can show you a good time."

Your throat constricts. You shake your head quickly, signing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, over and over, even though you know there’s nothing to apologize for. It’s just instinct. A plea for him to stop, to let go.

But he doesn’t. If anything, your silence only makes him angrier.

"Stop doin' that shit!" he snaps. "Just say something!"

Before you can react, before the panic fully settles into terror, a shadow moves behind him. Fast. Deliberate. A hand clamps down on his shoulder, yanking him backward with enough force that he nearly loses his balance.

"That’s enough, mate." The voice is low, firm. Unmistakably authoritative.

The drunk stumbles, blinking in confusion as he turns to face whoever pulled him away. And that’s when you see him.

Jude Bellingham.

He’s taller than you expected, broader too, his frame imposing even in casual clothes. His coils are damp, like he just stepped out of the showers, and there’s an undeniable exhaustion in his features—deep shadows under his eyes, a certain heaviness to the way he holds himself.

But none of that matters right now. Right now, his entire focus is on the man in front of him, his jaw tight with barely contained irritation.

The drunk sneers. "Who the fuck—"

"Walk away," Jude says flatly.

The man wobbles slightly, his mind struggling to catch up as he starts recognizes Jude. His eyes widen. "I was just—"

"I don’t care." Jude’s voice is sharper now, cutting through the drunken haze like a blade. "She’s not interested. Walk away."

There’s a moment of hesitation. A beat where the drunk seems to consider whether or not this is a fight worth picking. He glances between you and Jude, his lip curling in annoyance, before finally, begrudgingly, releasing a scoff.

"Whatever," he mutters, stumbling back. "Wasn’t even worth it."

You don’t breathe until he’s gone.

The moment he disappears into the crowd, your entire body sags, tension draining so quickly that your knees feel weak. You swallow, pressing a hand to your chest in an attempt to steady yourself.

Jude turns to you then, his brows knitting together in concern. "You alright?"

You nod automatically, even though you’re not entirely sure it’s true. Your hands tremble slightly as you sign, Thank you.

Jude watches your hands carefully, and your gaze shifts to his lips expecting him to say something next—to offer words you wouldn't be able to hear. Instead, he hesitates, then lifts his hands.

You… okay? The sign is clumsy, the movements stiff, but the effort makes your heart stop.

He had recognized what you were signing before. He had understood. you think.

You nodded, your throat tight with gratitude. He relaxed a little at your response, but still glanced around, protective. "You waiting on someone?" His lips move slower this time, giving you a chance to read them.

You nod again, holding up your phone. "Uber." The words come out in a bit of a slur but he understands them.

Jude frowns, looking at your screen. "Two minutes?"

He must have seen the time displayed on your phone because there’s no way he could’ve understood the tone of your nod. "Yeah."

The way he scowls in response makes you think that’s not an acceptable answer. His eyes shift, scanning the parking lot, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his mind. "Look, you want to wait inside? The security team can keep an eye on you till your Uber arrives."

His concern is sweet, and you find yourself nodding before you can think. "Okay. Thank you."

You let him lead you back to the main building, where there’s a security team waiting by the entrance. He explains your situation, and they offer you a smile. They won't let you stay inside the stadium since the game has already ended, but they’re willing to stand outside with you until your car arrives.

You nod in gratitude and wave a goodbye as Jude makes to leave. You expect him to keep going, to be on his way, but instead, he hesitates. For a second, he just looks at you, as if deciding something, but he shakes his head, offering a quick smile as he slips away into the night.

The security team stays with you the whole time. They make sure you’re safe and wave down your Uber when it arrives. You thank them and climb into your car, making your way home.

That’s it, you think. That’s where the story ends.

But it’s only the beginning.

**********

-Bianca🌻

[vorthosjay]

Dear VorthosJay, If you had to make a very brief canon hierarchy outline from your point of view to be cited on the mtg.wiki, what would that look like? Focusing only on the mediums for main continuity and including any preference of new overwriting old.

I look at it like this, keeping in mind this is only my opinion and I haven't thought about it in a long time because it's mostly obvious if you understand the why:

Fiction (Novels, web fiction)

Worldbuilding material (Planeswalker's Guides, Art Books)

Visual media (Card Art, Comic Books)

Marketing materials (Pre-Release Kits, Deck Inserts)

Partner Materials (Video Games, D&D Sourcebook)

Word of God (Author Interviews, Tweets, Tumblr Posts)

Other continuities (Boom!)

Unpublished work of any kind

So, as to the why: it's about what the creative team can manage and to what degree, but also who's job it is to create new lore. Fiction that is directly worked on by the team will generally reflect the vision of the set and story leads. Worldbuilding materials are similar but a lower priority (story comes first) and occasional contradictions may happen (especially as it's often drawn from World Guides, which are written before sets are fully developed, meaning things changed after they lock).

Visual Media has it's own language. For the cards, it has to be evocative as much as a literal translation of the story. It has to be accessible for the majority of people who will never read Magic Story. And it has to make people actually want to look at it. For comic books, the way stories are told is through the visuals as much as the writing, and it requires a different approach sometimes. That means the way it goes down in text and the way it looks in pictures might be different for a lot of reasons.

Marketing stuff isn't always worked on directly by the creative team, and is often locked way before stuff like web fiction due to print needs.

Partner materials: entire OTHER games aren't something the team can have a direct hand in (they have full time jobs already) and will oversee it but not necessarily direct it. Games also have their own ludonarratives different from the TCG's.

World of God may be intent, but intent isn't execution. It's fine to use it if it isn't contradicted, but in a shared universe, the author's vision isn't always going to line up with others'.

Unpublished stuff is at the bottom for obvious reasons.

Now, these are all very broad categorizations and there's wiggle room within them and around them. But in general when you're thinking of canon, think about who's doing the talking and why.

Obviously, new will generally take precedence over old as well, for obvious reasons. And this list isn't a strict hierarchy either, more of a general guideline.

[itsrlymine]

HIIII CHICA ITS 💘

THIS IS TO PEOPLE WHO ALWAYS ASK “HOW” especially when it comes to skills and languages!!!!!

I was on social media and my friend wrote something entirely in Spanish and mind you, I’ve dabbled here and there but not fluent or majoring in the language and I read the entire thing to myself and TRANSLATED IT TO HIM AND replied saying it was spot on and I was completely right!!!!!! So I’m calling myself fluent because why tf not at this point? It’s my reality and I say so, so I’m basically a polyglot at this point (going to write down other languages I want fluency in now hehehe) 🙄

Your brain will only believe shit in the 3D because it’s programmed to! The sooner you realize this, the easier it’ll be to assume and focus on it being done because you won’t try to force yourself to believe it. DON’T! It’s not required. You’ll believe it when you see it just like everything else ffs.

ITS DONE. Stop asking how!!!!!! You are fluent, too!

!!!!!!! you are fluent bc you say so so ofc you'll be able to translate whatever you want like huh??? i love this so much for you seriously. this is what i decided to do with different languages as well bc they are so much fun to me omg! you don't even have to believe, just decide!!! it's done. stop asking how!!! yes babes yes!!!!

[ditsycafe]

the devils temptation | k.s

pairings : kim sunoo x fem!reader

genre : suggestive

warnings : mafia boss’s daughter!au, detective!sunoo, mention of jake sim, drugs,

summary : Agent Kim Sunoo, a dedicated investigator, finally gets a break in his case against infamous mafia boss jake sim when his daughter, Y/N sim, is arrested at the scene of a drug trade. Confident that he can use her to bring down her father’s empire, Sunoo interrogates her—only to find himself caught in a dangerous game of seduction and deception.

word count : 541 (small scenario)

a/n : do not in any way plagiarise, translate my work to another language or claim my work as your own.

Kim Sunoo had seen his fair share of criminals—men who killed without blinking, women who ran scams that could bankrupt a nation. But nothing had prepared him for her.

Y/N Sim.

Daughter of Jake Sims, the most feared mafia boss in the city. The kind of man whose name sent shivers down the spines of politicians, police chiefs, and rival gangs alike. A man who had evaded justice for years, slipping through the cracks like smoke.

But today, his precious daughter was in Sunoo’s custody.

She sat across from him in the dimly lit interrogation room, her hands cuffed to the metal table, her long nails tapping rhythmically against the surface. She wasn’t panicked. She wasn’t angry. If anything, she looked amused.

“Agent Kim Sunoo,” she purred, her voice smooth as silk. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Sunoo folded his arms, keeping his expression neutral. “That’s funny. You weren’t exactly on my radar.”

She smirked. “Well, you should have been. I’m very… persuasive.”

He ignored the way her voice sent a shiver down his spine. He had a job to do.

“We found you at the scene of the drug trade. You were there. You saw what happened. That makes you an accomplice.”

Y/N tilted her head, her dark eyes gleaming. “You say accomplice, I say innocent bystander.” She leaned forward, her chained wrists barely allowing her movement. “Do I look like I’d be handling drugs, Sunoo?

Sunoo forced himself to keep his gaze steady. She did look out of place in that world—dressed in an elegant black dress, her perfume expensive, her posture poised. But that made her even more dangerous. She wasn’t just Jake Sims’ daughter; she was his secret weapon.

“You were in the middle of a crime scene,” Sunoo stated. “I can hold you here for 48 hours while I dig through your past. And trust me, I will find something.”

Y/N exhaled dramatically. “So serious.” She leaned back, letting the tension simmer between them. Then, slowly, deliberately, she smiled.

“I can help you,” she murmured.

Sunoo frowned. “Help me?”

She nodded. “You want my father, don’t you? You want to put an end to his empire.” Her eyes flickered with something unreadable. “I can give you what you need.”

Sunoo studied her carefully. It was a tempting offer, but one he couldn’t trust. “Why would you betray your father?”

Y/N chuckled. “Who said anything about betrayal? I just don’t like being locked up.” She shifted in her seat, the movement drawing attention to the curve of her body. “And I think you don’t like seeing me here either.”

Sunoo clenched his jaw. He wasn’t stupid. He had seen criminals use seduction as a weapon before, but this—this was different. Y/N wasn’t just trying to get inside his head. She was already there.

“I could make this easy for both of us,” she whispered, her voice dripping with promise. “Let me go, and I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

Sunoo exhaled sharply. “And how do I know you won’t run straight back to your father?”

She smiled, slow and dangerous. “Because, Agent Kim, I like playing games. And you? You’re the most interesting piece on the board.”

For the first time in his career, Sunoo hesitated.

And Y/N Sim knew she had won.

all rights to this work belongs to me @ditsycafe.

[asarigg]

I’m not sure if you’re replying to my post because this sounds a lot like you didn’t read what I wrote. I don’t think you’re aware or really understand the exact context of why I’m explaining that like this. I’d like to understand how is this a counter argument to a supposedly unfair (why…?) and biased (biased because I give my interpretation in an essay) when I’ve already talked about most of the points you talk about.

Was the assault because of Koujaku’s desires and feelings? Yes, obviously, and I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned it in past posts. But what I was trying to point out is that the rape itself is not something he wants to willingly do, and his control just fades away as he loses his mind. And some people just ignore that fact and treat it like he was 100% lucid, you made up the edgelord part. These are people that have legit harassed others over that. I’m not even insulting them, yet you’re implying stuff about my own persona without paying attention to what I wrote. It’s ironic.

I’ve already mentioned that he’s seeing this cycle of him trying to protect someone he loves and betraying them happen again. He’s letting himself be manipulated by Ryuuhou and he’s falling to that pit of a certain type of violence, he knows it and hates it, and he wants to kill himself because he can see that he’s a danger for everyone else. But Koujaku doesn’t really care about killing Ryuuhou. The only reason why he doesn’t the first time is because Aoba stops him. The game makes a point of not judging his actions when he kills him, it’s neither good or bad, because he killed someone, but rightfully killed his abuser. It’s not glorified, but he doesn’t get blamed for it. All that controversy is only in his own mind and perception, if anything. And he says it himself, that what annoyed him wasn’t really killing Ryuuhou, but that he did what Ryuuhou wanted. It’s obvious and clear that Ryuuhou’s playing with them even BEFORE they go to Platinum Jail, remember that he left a tattoo sketch in Mizuki’s shop. This is something I’ve talked about as well.

The translation detail I mention was made comparing translations to see the differences, but in the grand scheme it doesn’t matter that much to the main point I was writing about. To me it’s mostly just that, a detail. NC made use of noncon all the time for kink so I don’t think it’s that unexpected, but it’s true that in the discussions with the people I’m referring to, these details are pretty often thrown around like they change the whole mind control plot that surrounds the entire game, hence why I thought it was important enough to mention. Regardless, I already said this in the original post, the most popular translation is known to have quite a few mistakes, and there are translations that are confusing, probably due to the language not having an equivalent. I compared different translations, and the vibes are always “I wish it was different”, meaning of course he wants and desires Aoba, romantically and sexually, but he doesn’t want it without Aoba wanting it. I never imply differently, what’s more, I talk about this in other parts, talking about the bad ending too.

Him being possessive and all that “you’re mine and mine only” mentality is an interesting idea to explore and I’ve done that myself on my own personal material. It could have been an obvious alternative bad ending aside of the one we got with Sly. But it’s a mentality that pretty obviously happens when he’s losing it and giving in to his deep desires, not in a normal context. Which again, was my point here regarding certain hate posts and disrespectful people.

In no way I think Sly is simply a beast with no good in him (which are words that I didn’t say, it changes the implications). This is an essay about Koujaku and I don’t center much on his character anyway, so I simplify. But it’s not even that far, he’s obviously someone who does as he pleases without caring about other’s comfort or wellbeing in general, that’s a heavy part of his character and of course you can’t expect him to have the highest morals around, even if there’s more to it. You can only know more about him once you’re in Ren’s route, because otherwise he’s presented to you as a purely violent, evil alter ego. I’m comparing Sly and beast Koujaku because of their similarities, not so much their differences.

The essay isn’t meant to be taken as the entire truth either. As an essay these are my personal thoughts and I can interpret one single thing in multiple ways. The most objective part is the character design part, and even there I also give my personal thoughts and interpretations. If anything it’s meant to open friendly discourse and maybe give new ideas and perspectives, just like you mentioned the idea of intrusive thoughts. This part of Glitter in specific is even more personal because it’s something that affected me personally and it’s been happening for years and years, so it became quite en exhausting topic.

About: Part 2

DEVELOPMENT OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. PATH TO HEALING: part 2

Despite all this tension and mistrust, the next scene is full of gentleness. Aoba is extremely embarrassed and worried that he vomited on Koujaku, staining his kimono. But despite having such an important goal in mind, and the distance he’s causing by not wanting to involve him, taking care of Aoba right now and carrying him back home is more important. Aoba is so worried about having stained his kimono and Koujaku brushes it off, not only that but also uses his sleeve to clean it up. A kimono that signifies his identity, that is reminiscent of his mother, of her nurturing, something so personal.

I feel that after seeing Koujaku leave, Aoba felt especially vulnerable, those feelings of helplessness and neglect, that jealousness, sharpened by his discomfort after the effect of the drugs. So now it’s not only about Koujaku’s care, but also the warmth and affection placed on him that makes him feel better.

The main reason for Aoba's distrust towards Koujaku happens when he discovers the amount of tattoos and scars he had running through his body. The person he shared unique and intimate things with, only for the two of them, was not only leaving him alone but also hiding something from him, and the tattoos only confirmed it. What could be so serious that Koujaku is hiding it from him? Like we said before, it being solely because of the yakuza is kind of unlikely because he’s friendly with Virus and Trip, and you can’t possibly compare them to the friendship he has with Koujaku. So the shock mostly comes from feeling like his trust and friendship aren’t reciprocated, that he isn’t anyone special to him, that Koujaku is pushing him away and doesn’t want him by his side, he feels betrayed, lonely, rejected. He put all his trust in him, his hero, but it looks like Koujaku doesn’t hold him in high enough regard to confide in him. And so his heart breaks.

If one doesn’t trust, the other can’t either. They’re equals, and one can’t be without the other. But now, in a way, Koujaku is leaving him behind, and it could also remind him of how he left when they were children, of his parents, it’s a devastating feeling. That’s why he dreams about his childhood, a return to his most comforting memories, in which there was no distance or mistrust, in which Koujaku never pushed him away, rather, he was always with him, searching for him.

Alright, this is completely unnecessary in my opinion. It’s something so obvious I’m still surprised to see people reading this the wrong way, so that’s why I decided to include it. It’s something so important and shocking that it’s a shame that it’s interpreted in such a wrong way by either extreme censorship (crazy being a dmmd fan) or simple bias, because it’s been something that happens the twelve years the game has been around that people talk about this scene as if this was something that Koujaku ever wanted to happen or had made this decision on his own. What’s funny is that this is the usual coming from people who don’t like him, but surprisingly enough people that do like him sometimes also agree and then you can’t excuse it with rage bait. I really don’t understand how this can keep happening because one of the main plots of the entire game that moves the characters to act is precisely the brainwashing and mental manipulation that Toue wants to force on people. Each character has some personal relationship with this and it’s so blatant that I didn’t think I would continue to see these kinds of conclusions to this day and age.

It’s raining, Aoba returns to Glitter and a little while later Koujaku arrives too, soaked from head to toe and with a grim face. Although Aoba isn’t sure who he is referring to, because he doesn’t know the danger he entails, we know perfectly well that he’s pissed off because he saw him talking to Ryuuhou. During the conversation Aoba notices he was looking at something behind him, all that happens here goes exactly as the tattoo artist wanted, it’s all part of his plan, of his manipulation. Like we said before, rain is representative of the dragon's influence.

Somehow, what Koujaku is feeling now is the same thing Aoba has been feeling when he saw him leave. Anger, jealousy, disappointment and betrayal. He has seen the person he loves talking to his worst nightmare personified, the person he was looking for with the intention of killing him. His emotions are already unstable, but seeing them together upsets him so much that he’s no longer in full use of his faculties, with the tattoo consuming him, only managing to get angrier and angrier until he throws Aoba to the bed. First thing he does is to bite him, because it’s like he’s marking him as his in some way, like territory. His tattoos take over his body, over his feelings, and externalizes them in the worst way.

He’s becoming more and more irrational. Before he had a serious face, but now he’s getting angrier and angrier. This scene isn’t supposed to be hot (unless you’re into noncon lmao), it’s a scene where they’re pushing their relationship to the edge of a cliff, to a point of no return, these are the consequences and they either act now or they’ll be broken forever. There’s no need to have the full rape package because the point has already been made. It would just be for the sake of making the trauma more painful just for the kink and it just doesn’t fit. Considering how fast the entire story develops, the whole “Aoba forgives Koujaku” arc in order to have a good ending, it would probably feel empty and weightless.

I get the feeling that since Koujaku can still talk here, unlike the bad ending, people see it as if he’s actively controlling his body and just letting his anger peek (at most, he’d be only partially controlling it with the influence of the tattoo, or he’d be seeing it in “third person”, kind of like how Aoba can remember a bit of his life when Sly was controlling their body, but it’s not him). It’s pretty obvious that he’s not listening to Aoba, not only he doesn’t stop until he uses his power, he doesn’t answer his questions about what the hell he was talking about either. He’s not being rational, he just keeps repeating the same thing over and over until he can’t talk anymore. (His tattoo doesn’t need to be mature to do tremendous damage to his loved ones, to be honest no wonder he wanted to kill himself after this lol).

In the confession scene he also mentions that he vaguely remembers touching Aoba in this scene, the translations are actually a bit confusing because some suggest that Koujaku basically says that he liked how it felt even though he felt sorry about it being non-consensual, and others have a more reasonable answer where he says something like “I kind of remember what happened and I could only wish it was different”. I honestly lean towards the second one, because the first translation, which I think is the most popular one, already had several mistakes or slightly confusing translations and this one would be no exception, the implications are different. Honestly, just one more reason why I wished he would just say that he remembered literally making out with him in Scrap because this part only helps people to put the blame directly on him as if he had ever wanted that in the first place.

I need people to understand that the berserk form, beast Koujaku, whatever you wanna call it, is the same to Koujaku as Sly is to Aoba. They are forces of destruction that desire death and violence, with some kind of supernatural focus, beast Koujaku based on pure instinct, and Sly in a more sadistic way, consciously doing harm. You can’t expect any morality from them, and especially not from a beast. When Sly is in control, Aoba still remembers things that happen and vice versa. Koujaku remembering parts of what happens isn’t new and it doesn’t mean he was in control, period. I don’t see people blaming Aoba for what Sly does, so why would he be blamed for this? Even Aoba himself straight up tells you it’s not the same person, it’s impossible to know the tattoo exists and still thinking that this is somehow voluntary.

I’ve also seen people say that for some reason Koujaku fans just ignore this scene, as if we wanted to ignore anything slightly problematic or hinting at this being part of Koujaku’s personality in some shape or form, like we can’t stand the “fact” that he has any hint of malice in him and we don’t acknowledge it because we’re in a bubble dream world and it couldn’t be a worse misreading of the entire character. I can’t believe that it came from someone who liked Koujaku because it feels so disrespectful to him, to his story and who he is, basically all we’ve talked about so far. One thing is to have hcs and the other is to treat it as the canon truth and disrespect others because they don’t share those hcs that are pretty much incompatible with the character. Besides, I’m sorry, what else should we be talking about? They talk like this could happen in any other situation, and no. It wouldn’t because Koujaku didn’t choose this. They truly believe that a character who doesn’t have malice for some reason is a character without flaws or imperfections, and if they like this character it must be because there’s something bad in him that makes him a grey character, so they can keep enjoying their edginess. Got the wrong character, Koujaku’s imperfections and “impurities” are far apart from that selfish facet they wanted to give him. His lack of communication and his self destructive careless attitude of carrying everything on his own, the way he behaves giving less importance to himself and his inability to break the cycle by not relying on someone else are what builds him. If anything, being more selfish is what he needs, to be honest. Bad things can happen even if the intentions are good, it's a good natured character with nuances and flaws, to put it simple. And the good thing about Koujaku and Aoba is just how versatile they are, you can almost go with anything in your fiction and you'll probably find details and nuances about their characters that you can include there so it still feels like them, while separating from the strictly canon and exploring your own ideas.

I've mentioned this before on my Twitter account, long time ago. I personally wish they’d left more time to develop the feelings after this part of Glitter because Aoba immediately leaves and gets drugged by Ryuuhou. Same story, everything in the game happens really fast. With that in mind I think it’s fair to not take it too much into account, like many other things, and just imagine what would happen and that’s it. Because it’s true that they talk about it a bit, but then move on to something else right away and there’s no processing of what happened, the scene doesn’t feel as heavy as it should, like “Well, that just happened”. It’s the ultimate act of betrayal for god’s sake.

Ren recognizing Beni’s wings’ flapping like there aren’t a hundred other bird allmates that do the same sound will never not be iconic, truly an old man yaoi moment.

[thetangibleghost]

POETRY

I talk to my mom

I say: I'm crazy

she says: you're welcome

and

[scribefindegil]

As much as I adore conlangs, I really like how the Imperial Radch books handle language. The book is entirely in English but you're constantly aware that you're reading a "translation," both of the Radchaai language Breq speaks as default, and also the various other languages she encounters. We don't hear the words but we hear her fretting about terms of address (the beloathed gendering on Nilt) and concepts that do or don't translate (Awn switching out of Radchaai when she needs a language where "citizen," "civilized," and "Radchaai person" aren't all the same word) and noting people's registers and accents. The snatches of lyrics we hear don't scan or rhyme--even, and this is what sells it to me, the real-world songs with English lyrics, which get the same "literal translation" style as everything else--because we aren't hearing the actual words, we're hearing Breq's understanding of what they mean. I think it's a cool way to acknowledge linguistic complexity and some of the difficulties of multilingual/multicultural communication, which of course becomes a larger theme when we get to the plot with the Presgar Translators.

[ratatatastic]

maffhew who refuses to say runebergin torttu because he knows hes gonna butcher it so bad he might be kicked out of the country the second he tries and staunchly avoids that by going "the one dessert that barky is going to have to explain 😃"

sasha who gets faced with the most generic description of everything hes ever eaten in his life so far because of maffhew and going "???... oh you mean runebergin torttu!"

"he did good he liked the food and he likes the finland so far so its good" sasha says with so much pride now that all the anxiety has left his system that his husband teammate is enjoying his country and doesnt hate it

media availability | 10.29.24 (x)(x)

the smile of a man who knowlingly doomed his husband and said husband using all his brain power to context clues his way to whatever the fuck he just got asked that his brain is running hotter than a mid 2012 macbook air thats somehow still alive in the year of the lord 2024 but girl does she chug along shes louder than a fighter jet

[iamfuckingsorry]

So I've recently realized that murderbot's been translated into my native language and it's apparently a he in the translation (which admittedly makes sense, because it's a heavily gendered language and 1. gender-neutral language doesn't really exist in general and 2. "bot" and all the related words - I believe they use "droid" for mb in the translation - are grammatically masculine).

It made me curious how it's been handled in other translations though!

*e.g. being referred to by multiple gendered nouns/pronouns depending on the context, like both "bot" (masculine) and "machine" (feminine).

[ganondoodle]

Sorry ab the shitty English translations/localizations, it's bc they think that Americans won't get it otherwise (bc when we act stupid, we act REALLY stupid), our bad 💀