#I'm going to have to re-read it and see if it makes any more sense the second time round

[rainbowsky]

Good Morning Rainbowsky, hope you are well. I am just wondering with these latest songs..."the drifting "Life of Us" is no longer protracted"... in essence, do you think this is hinting at possible significant changes coming soon? Like millions of their fans, I love the MVs, they are so well produced, it would be grand if ggdd move forward in that direction to produce more MVs, movies and so on. Hopefully they will start recording their songs in English as well, they would be so well received with the international audience.

This is in reference to a previous post.

Hi dottie911, I'm well, thanks! Hope you are too. 😊

That's just an imperfect translation of something that makes more sense using the Chinese song names. The phrase using the Chinese song names reads:

孤舟上的「夜行人」，望着《灯塔》的方向，《漂流》变得不再漫长

The "Night Walker" on the lonely boat looks in the direction of "The Lighthouse", and the "Drifting" no longer seems so long.

vs. the one from my post, which read:

The "Night Person" on a lonely boat, looking towards the "Beacon", the drifting "Life of Us" is no longer protracted.

It looks to me like an attempt to tie all the song titles together into a little story that flows along with the themes of the songs. It's just that you can't say, " the 'Life of Us' no longer seems to be long" because that sounds weird in English. "Drifting" makes more sense in that sentence, but it doesn't simply translate using the English song titles.

The translation I used in that post comes from the official fan club, and they've chosen to write it as 'protracted' to imply 'neverending/tedious' rather than simply 'long'. Everyone would want a long life, few would want one that feels protracted - drawn out, tedious. As you can see they threw drifting in there too, to try to bring it together more, but it just doesn't work fully in English.

Perhaps a Chinese speaking reader can chime in here and do a better job of explaining this than I have.

I wouldn't read anything too dramatic into this. Let's not get carried away and over-interpret everything GG and DD post.

As I've said before, it's unrealistic for fans to expect anything earth-shattering from them. They're both into a groove of focusing on living their best lives and working on the kinds of projects that make them happy. It's highly unlikely they're going to be making any big public announcements or changes, or do anything that will destroy the equilibrium of their lives or disrupt things for the stakeholders connected to their careers.

Re: singing in English - both GG and DD do sing English songs fairly regularly. However, their audience is primarily Chinese-speaking and Chinese is their native language, so it makes sense that most of their work is in Chinese. It's also better for GG to be seen as a Chinese artist appealing to Chinese audiences - particularly with his debut album - rather than as someone who's singing for/appealing to foreigners. If he appeared to be appealing too strongly to foreigners he'd face backlash.

There are still more songs coming, one of them might be in English but I'd be surprised. This album is very personal, and GG is Chinese. His thoughts, ideas, concepts will all be in Chinese.

As an international fan I love it when I can understand what GG or DD is singing, but I enjoy the Chinese songs just as much.

[andypantsx3]

Say andie what makes the booktok recs unreadable for you?

It’s the absolute cringeyness for me

Lol setting aside how rich it is for me to give any critique when I'm sure I could not do half as well as any booktok author... For me there are two things that make me put down a book: 1) the prose, and 2) unoriginality.

Last night I immediately DNFed a book I'd just acquired because the prose was so instantly dense in what felt (to me at least) like the most try-hard way. I can't quite articulate exactly what I mean as it's more of a feeling, but you know when you can sort of sense a style is not someone's natural style? Ordinarily I don't mind rich prose (I love, like, Elizabeth Kostova and damn can that lady go on). But this felt like the author was specifically endeavoring to sound poetic where simple language would have served better and it sounded unnatural. :/

And, if I may be a shit and complain further, the author set about info-dumping all their world building without even giving us anything (like a character or stakes) to invest in yet. I know some people love that but personally it doesn't work for me. I have to be convinced to read, and if you don't draw me in with some initial investment I find it harder to stick around.

And yeah also originality!! I did not have that particular problem with the book I made the post about, but I do with a lot of booktok recs. I find that a lot of what I enjoy in fanfic (lingering in well-loved tropes, re-exploring certain source materials over and over) is not what I'm looking for in my pubbed fiction. I will not name any particular books because I do not want to yuck anyone's yum but a lot of booktok books these days feel like recycled versions of other books and don't add anything fresh or interesting to the conversation. And it bums me out because I do like material that feels familiar, but I want to see it stitched together in a different pattern, you know??

Anywayyyyyyy that's enough from me. I'm so curious what factors go into "cringiness" though! I wonder if they are similar? What makes a book feel "cringey" to you?

[digital-dulci]

You know. I wasn't expecting to be jumpscared by fem sephiroth while reading angel/dust but. Here we are. Too bad I didn't really like it tho... the pacing was so insanely fast that I literally could not BEGIN to tell you what happened. I don't know [I have read it like 2 more times by now..I like it more but it's still INSANE to read]

[verstappensrealwife]

Teammate’s sister - Oscar Piastri x Norris!Reader

also low-key bimbo!reader

fluff

approx. 1100 words

warnings : boobies hehehe.. not even re read this not checked it don’t even know what i wrote about actually .

oscar piastri masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

You and Lando were worlds apart in terms of style and interests. You had your hair done religiously every month, your nails and lashes tended to bi-weekly, and you shopped for clothes with an almost impulsive fervor. Your wardrobe was a parade of skimpy outfits and vibrant hot pinks, drawing attention wherever you went.

Lando frequently invited you to his races, though you didn't always make it. He didn't mind much; you were there for his first podium, his first pole, and his first win—those moments were what mattered to him.

In your own way, you were part of his triumphs, a bright spot in the whirlwind of his racing career.

However, it was more than common knowledge that Oscar was practically in love with you. He would go to any lengths, even risking his health, just to be in the same room as you for a moment. The truth was, he'd gladly trade his own comfort, his own needs, just for a chance to catch a glimpse of your smile or hear your laughter. It was as if being near you filled him with a sense of purpose that eclipsed everything else in his life.

He'd sit through long, grueling days of racing with a knot in his stomach, unable to eat or drink, all for the hope of running into you in the paddock. His heart raced at the thought of you, and he found himself lost in daydreams about what it would be like to hold your hand, to share a quiet moment away from the chaos.

For Oscar, it felt as though he would gladly die for you, surrendering everything just to keep you close. He'd stand in front of any danger, facing it without a second thought if it meant protecting you. Your happiness was his sole reason for being, and he would sacrifice anything—even his own heart—to see you smile.

At the Hungarian GP, the paddock buzzed with frenetic energy. Mechanics swarmed around the cars, making last-minute adjustments, while the roar of engines warming up filled the air. The scent of burning rubber and fuel permeated the space, mingling with the tension and excitement that crackled like electricity.

Cameras from Sky and F1 TV frequently cut to you, capturing your every move. You were fairly certain this was because audience attention spiked whenever you appeared in your little outfits, your bright smile lighting up the paddock. Amidst the organized chaos, your presence was a splash of color and warmth, drawing eyes and increasing viewership with every glimpse the cameras caught.

You watched intently as Lando breezed through to Q1, finishing on pole position and greeting him as he got out the car with a running hug.

Oscar watched as you ran, your tits bouncing with each step. God he loved your boobs. He was zoned out... thinking... when he noticed you were getting closer. Now running towards him in your mclaren jersey with the number 81 on the back.

You had his number displayed prominently on your body.

He could have died right there and then. The fabric of your tight-fitting jersey clung to your curves as you surged toward him, pressing your body against his with a forceful, yet intimate impact.

"Well done!" you breathed, your lips close to his ear as you wrapped your arms around him.

"You raced really well!" you whispered.

He could feel your tits pressed against him, the sensation overwhelming.

"I'm really proud!" you murmured, your voice low and sultry.

His heart raced, his face flushed with a deep crimson. "I- erm- yeah- thank you," he stammered, trying to regain his composure. "Your brother did better, though..."

You shrugged nonchalantly, a playful smirk curling at your lips. "But I'm not talking to Lando, I'm talking to you," you purred, your eyes locked onto his with a mischievous glint.

It took every ounce of restraint for him to release your waist, where his hands had lingered a moment too long. When he finally let go, it was with a reluctant, almost desperate reluctance, his fingers brushing against your skin as they withdrew.

You smiled bashfully, your gaze dropping to your feet as you blushed.

"Go out with me," he blurted out abruptly, his mind racing to catch up with the reckless words he had just thrown at the most captivating woman he'd encountered in his 23 years. "Sorry! Oh god, sorry. I didn't mean to say that." He stumbled back, almost as if trying to escape his own audacity.

He didn't get far before your giggle stopped him in his tracks. "Sure," you said softly.

He spun around in shock, his heart pounding as he took a few quick strides back toward you. "Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm," you nodded, your smile growing warmer.

All he could manage to utter was, "Wow," his voice barely above a whisper, before his manager swooped in, dragging him away for interviews. The sound of your laughter lingered in his ears, making his heart race with anticipation and excitement.

#

Oscar couldn't focus on the questions being thrown at him by reporters. His mind was spinning, replaying the moment over and over again. He kept glancing over at you, where you stood chatting with Lando, your smile brighter than ever.

As soon as he was free, Oscar made a beeline for you. He found you leaning against the McLaren hospitality suite, sipping a drink.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

"Hey," you replied, looking up at him with a knowing smile.

"So, um, about what I said earlier," he began, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"You mean asking me out?" you teased.

"Yeah, that," he said, his face flushing. "I wasn't kidding, you know. I'd really like to take you out. Properly."

Your eyes softened, and you nodded. "I know, Oscar. And I'd like that too."

"Really?" He sounded almost incredulous.

"Really," you confirmed.

He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Okay, great. How about dinner tomorrow? After the race?"

"Sounds perfect," you said. "I'll be waiting."

Oscar couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "I'll see you then."

As he walked away, he felt lighter, like he was walking on air. He had a race to focus on, but now he had something even more exciting to look forward to.

#

The rest of the day passed in a blur. The next day, Oscar raced amazingly, but his mind kept drifting back to you. When the race was over and the celebrations had died down for his first win, he found you waiting for him, just as you promised.

"You ready?" he asked, trying to keep his nerves in check.

"Ready," you said.

As you walked out of the paddock together, Oscar couldn't help but think that this was the start of something incredible. And for once, he didn't feel shy around you.

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

[rottiens]

PREY┊RYOMEN SUKUNA

tags. (18+). read part one here (optional), fem reader (she/her), mutual pinning, childhood friends to lovers, modern au, primal play, marking (biting), unprotected sex, he cums inside, breeding kink, lowkey exhibitionism, praising, pet names (bunny, puppy, sweet girl, good girl), spit as lubricant, clit slapping, aftercare. — wc: 2.8K

In the darkness of the forest any sound in the distance is heard as Sukuna. Your mind plays tricks on you and turns the sound of your breathing into footsteps and the distant bustle of people into voices. 

Out of the corner of your eye you think you see a shadow moving around. Without leaving your hiding place you cling to the trunk of the gigantic tree and peek around the sides to check that no one is really there. 

You swallow saliva to eliminate the dryness that fear has caused but you find your mouth dry and your throat uncomfortably tight and, when you pay attention to your back, you realize that the world is silent for a brief moment to allow you to hear a branch breaking under the weight of a predator. 

Sukuna is nearby, he was running or walking behind you and was going to catch you if it weren't for the dry leaves that give him away. You flee from your hiding place like a slippery rabbit, being careless in your steps and alerting your pursuer to where you are headed, you run in a straight line, hitting branches and small bushes that cross your path. You no longer cared about being discreet, he is close and you need to put distance between you as fast as you can. 

As you move deeper into the large trees their canopies cover the sky more and more. You realize you are so far away from the city that you barely hear the festival which makes you feel uneasy and fearful.

You could give up and let him win, yet there is an insistence inside you that pinches you to keep running regardless of the discomfort of your non-running shoes.

"Do you want to keep running, little bunny?" you suddenly hear from behind a tree, you look in all directions in the gloom and your eyesight tires as you try to search for a body in the dim presence of light. 

Sukuna could be anywhere. 

"I can smell you, you know?" his deep voice is an echo in the abyss of darkness. So you cling to the tree, your nails digging into the wood trying to hold on to something tangible to help you stay in the present, to pay attention to your senses and focus. Though you didn't understand what he meant by what he had said. "I can smell you..." he repeats, closer this time and it's as if you feel his presence above you like a suffocating thick aura, you're frozen in that moment. "Your fear, your excitement. I'm going to find you and it's okay, you can admit you want me to catch you, I know you're anxious to know what will happen when I do..."

It was only a matter of time before he caught up with you, you knew it, you hear his voice closer and closer so your survival instincts lead you to the last logical reason for that moment: you have to climb the tree. 

"Why don't you be a good girl and come out? You're making it so easy for me."

You hear his words before you can feel him, blowing hot air on the back of your neck as his claws drag you away from the tree pulling at your waist. You scream trying to struggle against him but any tantrum you can muster becomes insignificant in his presence, his stronger arms cover yours and your kicking feet are suspended in the air and in one sudden movement you both fall to the ground.

Your body kisses the earth with little delicacy in a rumble, you don't feel the sting of the stones from the amount of adrenaline coursing through your blood as Sukuna continues to sink his weight on you. There are branches and leaves in your hair and caught in your clothes (now dirty with mud), after a while of struggling in vain you convince yourself that he really has you. Just like when you were children, just like when you struggled until you had no strength and Sukuna only teased you... he re-enacts the scene. 

Your hands are trapped painfully on your lower back as he pulls his body closer to you, his face lowered to your neck, his voice hoarse and broken from the chase mixed with adrenaline. 

"Gotcha," he teases. 

You swallow your pride and drop your face to the ground to rest, your cheek sinking thanks to the tiny stones and at the same time you are grateful for the coolness they bring which manages to soothe your burning a little. 

"What do you want?" You were referring to his prize. 

Sukuna's throat makes a sound you can only categorize as a growl. He almost sounds like an animal, while you close your eyes and enjoy the sting of his grip on your wrists. 

Sukuna struggles to be sincere or hold back, alternately squeezing and releasing your hands to release pressure, he swallows before responding. 

"I want to mark you. That's my prize." 

"Mark me?" You repeat the words, confused. Choosing to ignore what his words really denote. 

You are aware that this is not what you would do with any of your friends. By this point you would have stood up, you would have shaken the leaves out of your pants and laughed at the scream you gave when he caught you however this was not what you wanted, you needed to know what his limit was, what yours was. 

"I want to bite you. Mark my teeth into your skin, I want people to ask you about it and tell them what a sore loser you are." 

Sukuna snorts hotly at your neck, a puff of air exhaling self-control (which hangs by a thread). You force yourself not to thrust your hips into him and instead you give him your throat like the good loser you are. You tilt your neck sideways, showing him the soft skin to mark. 

"Tell me if I'm being too rough," Sukuna manages to mumble, before closing his eyes and sinking his teeth into the area in the middle of your shoulder and neck without wasting any time. 

You groan involuntarily at the sensation, he pushes his hips hard against you dragging your body a little under his weight. It's the first time you realize he is enjoying this as much as you are. 

It's at that point you wish you had your hands free to pull on his pink strands and push him into you.

"Harder," you ask as you realize he wasn't biting you, his mouth was hovering above your skin, showing you only the feel of his teeth. 

You swear you can hear him curse with the next growl that vibrates his vocal cords and without wasting any time he digs his teeth into you until it hurts, you gasp, being absolutely certain that it would leave a mark that would remain on your skin for about two, three more days. 

The area that has been bitten burns, you feel it throbbing under the tender kisses he gives your injured skin and it is as if he is trying to make it feel better. 

Your pants become uncomfortable, as does the posture of your hands which begin to feel ants scurrying around them and uncomfortable as your sticky panties sink annoyingly into your slit with every involuntary movement of your thighs or hips. 

His lips are soft with each new kiss, carrying butterflies in your stomach and a little lower each time you feel the piercing in his lip tingle on your skin. Sukuna occasionally uses his tongue in swirls until the burning sensation is less intense than the flares that seem to burn your skin. 

Sukuna pushes against you again, his erection restrained against the tight jeans feels annoying. I'd like to rip them into a thousand pieces, I'd like to rip your shirt into a thousand pieces, is all he thinks about— marking your collarbones and following the stroke across your breasts and tender nipples. 

Your bodies begin to rock against each other, at first it could be interpreted as him fixing the grip of your wrists on your back but soon the friction doesn't feel so innocent. Sukuna is increasingly rubbing harder and harder, a little more needy while you on the other hand find yourself playing along by raising your hips in search of feeling something more.

However the pleasure is static, Sukuna realizes this will go nowhere when his cock starts to ache and frustration makes him moan. 

"I need to take you," Sukuna speaks, finally breaking the silence. 

"Do it." You reply almost immediately in a raspy voice, choking on another inhale. 

He seems to regain that confident, assured personality you seemed to have forgotten, very caught up in the moment. Sukuna chuckles. 

"Here? In the forest? Are you sure?" 

No, you weren't. You were in the middle of nowhere, darkness surrounding you from every corner not knowing who might be lurking from afar but if he didn't touch you you were sure you were going to explode and his heat, the hardness of his body pressing against yours, his defined abdomen sweaty, sticking to your back and the hardness of his cock in your ass were all that mattered now. 

"Yes," you say dryly, catching a moan between your teeth and lower lip.

"Ask me." 

"Take me. Fuck me, I— I couldn't be more sure." 

Sukuna doesn't make you beg anymore. He just needed to hear you be sure you wanted this as much as he did. 

Then he lets go of your hands finally which take a moment to realize they are free and that there is blood running in them again to bring them to each side of your trembling body. His languid fingers are on the button of your pants pulling it halfway down along with your panties and almost immediately you feel his fingers plunge into the wetness of your pussy. 

You both moan in unison. Three of his fingers explore the expanse of your folds up and down as you raise your hips to give him more access to your core and your face gets a little more lost inside the stones that now feel almost non-existent, any pain is overtaken by pleasure. 

His rough fingers stumble over your clit and play with it for a while, back and forth and up and down with a flat hand until your arousal spills down your thighs and makes a mess that manages to be heard like a wet echo in the abyss of silence. 

"Can you hear that?" Sukuna asks lewdly, more to himself really. With his free hand he spreads your ass cheek apart to get a better view of the poor sight the moon was giving him of your pussy. "Hm?" He again insists and not content with the amount of lubrication naturally produced by your body, he spits directly into your pussy taking you by surprise. "I'm going to put them inside..." he warns you, almost without giving you time to process his words, two fingers find themselves forcing their way inside you, scissoring inside your tight hole until you feel it relax enough to take a third. "Fuck. You're so tight."

You wanted to reproach him that it was because his fingers were too thick and maybe it was because he was fucking you with three of them but the words were cut into little pieces as you felt your orgasm hit you without warning. 

Your body jerks under his expert touch as his fingers continue to massage you through the waves of pleasure and his free hand pampers your back up and down. 

You moan as you feel his fingers leave you, your painfully empty and sensitive pussy waits patiently as Sukuna undoes his belt and jeans down to his thighs. You hear him unzip and fix his posture behind your back. You were ready, waiting with your heart beating fast for him when he takes your hand and pulls it behind you in his direction, you stutter his name. 

"Put it in." Sukuna commands. You say his name again, each syllable melting in your parched throat. Each time you call his name it seems as if a stream of pleasure hits your clit. Your fingers curl around the shaft and immediately you feel it throbbing. At that moment you hate being in the dark because you want to see him, to see his expression, to see his cock slowly slide into you and stretch you. "Put my cock in, sweet girl. There you go," he praises you sweetly, a contrast to the person he was a couple of minutes ago.

The fat head stretches your hole tentatively as Sukuna spits a second time. With another thrust from you and with the help of your hips moving back he slides easily and slowly into you, allowing you to appreciate every inch until Sukuna bottoms out and you let him go to fix your posture on the bed of rocks and leave him while he begins to pound you. 

His hips are heavy every time he thrusts inside you, pounding your ass intensely as his fingers aimlessly snake up your thighs until he reaches your plump and sensitive clit, Sukuna nips it between his knuckles then slaps it a couple of times laughing when he hears you moan and finally stimulating it in circles. 

Sukuna crawls along the length of your back to press his body to yours, his mouth is on top of his bite where he leaves a kiss before murmuring in your ear, "Can I cum inside?" your body responds physically, your swollen nipples inside your t-shirt ache, your pussy squeezes around his heavy dick. "Are you going to let me mark this pussy too? As part of my prize, hm?" You stammer an intelligible reply to what he grumpily responds by patting your tender clit to get your attention. "Focus. You want my cum in your pussy? You want me to breed you? But you have to be a good girl and take every last drop... It's a yes or no question, puppy. Use your words." 

"Yes, please! Yes." 

How could you tell him that was all you could think about? That it was all you could think about since you realized you were in love with him? Even though you didn't have to say it now, Sukuna knew. So your few words were enough to make him understand that you needed this as much as he did. So within a few more thrusts you feel him jerking inside you, choking his grunts into your neck as he massages your clit helping you climax soon after. 

Breathless and gasping for air, his cum sliding out of you, he lets himself fall beside you though he regrets it when the stones hurt his back and he whimpers, you laugh and he helps you closer to him, squeezing you to his body as if he never wants to let go. 

As you breathe in silence his heart stops being a violent drum to return to a quiet melody, similar to yours which unlike him is still somewhat unrestrained thanks to his gentle touch on your forearm and back and sudden kisses on your hairline that carry tickles all over your back. 

With the sky above your heads showing you a million stars that look like polka dots, with the cool breeze biting your skin, making you shiver every now and then against his body— your eyelids start to give way from his constant pampering. 

"I like you," Sukuna admits, interrupting the silence, his confession laden with raw sincerity, and though his words come with his trademark calmness and assurance, his heartbeat says something different. "This... it wasn't just about fucking you," he adds. 

"I like you too. I thought it was obvious," you confess a little sheepishly. Ironic, after the events that recently transpired. Although it was always harder to bare your soul than to bare your body. 

"I mean, it was but I was also afraid I was imagining things," with a low chuckle, sukuna pulls you closer to his body. 

You lean in to look at him, for a moment he purposely ignores you until he decides to return your gaze and silently cup your cheeks. His fingers push your skin until your lips stand out in an exaggerated pout and he moves in to leave a quick kiss which you catch and deepen, tasting his lips for the first time, melting at the sensations of having him suck and bite your bottom lip. 

"Do you want to go back to the festival?" Sukuna asks, in a somewhat sleepy voice. 

"Let's go back to my place."

[vexwerewolf]

If I could ask you for some advice, what do you think helps the flavour text of a mech or piece of equipment sell a player on the fantasy of using it?

I'm finding it frustratingly difficult to do so with my own homebrew content: I can come up with lore and backstory easily enough, but re-reading it feels dry, and I can't help but contrast it with how the descrptions in official content and other supplements is more evocative, at least for mechs.

Let's observe some corebook Lancer flavour text and examine the various varieties it comes in.

Purely Functional

While it's usually not the most fun type of flavour text, this just tells us what the weapon is, and - if it has any particular tags or on-hit effects - why it's like that. The Hand Cannon is a good example: here's what it is (modified pistol), here's why it does more damage, and here's why it has Loading.

The main advantage of Purely Functional flavour text is that it provides space for other types of flavour text to breathe. Flavour text is a great place for jokes, but it's not good for every piece of flavour text to be a joke - the pauses between notes in music are just as important as the notes.

Obfuscating Vendorspeak

The Bristlecrown Flechette Launcher this is a great example of dark humour that Lancer uses quite often: marketing fast-talk to cover up something really unpleasant. The joke here is based on us understanding precisely what the equipment does mechanically, and then seeing how the manufacturer tries to sell it. There's a bunch of dense technobabble here meant to obfuscate the fact that this weapon fires knives in every direction specifically designed to kill infantry.

Deadpan Weirdness

The joke here relies on describing something extremely weird like it's the most natural thing in the world. Wait, you're telling me that in a world where I can just print new parts if the old ones break, they put DRM on my fucking knife and I have to apologise to the fucking knife maker to get a new one? What the fuck, dude? Why are you acting like this makes any sense?!

My sword uploads fucking what to the Space Internet?!

Third-Act Twist

This type of flavour text disguises itself as something else - most often Purely Functional - and then hits you with Third Act Twist. It makes you go "wait, what?!" It's very classic setup-punchline stuff. You're telling me my mech can rot?!

As a side note, Lancer loves to use this for its NHPs.

WHY DID YOU PUT THAT IN SCARE QUOTES, LUCIFER

Worldbuilding

This is similar to the Purely Functional, but instead of just describing technical specifications of the weapons, it puts the weapon in the broader context of the setting's history. Okay, so we know what this weapon is and what it does - why was it built? What was the original use case, and why? Most importantly, what can the existence of this weapon tell us about the world that build it?

Whimsical Aside

This is the insertion of a light-hearted, humanising little insertion regarding how this piece of equipment gets used in the field. This serves to remind us that soldiers aren't cold, unfeeling killing machines: they can be as emotional, irreverent and silly as the rest of us, and they do things like name their mobile bombs...

... or call resupply drones "mech snacks."

The Ominous Out-Of-Context Quote That Explains Nothing And Only Raises More Questions

As I've said in multiple textmash memes, this is basically Tom and Miguel's shorthand for "this technology is Intensely Fucked Up in a way that it is more fun and scary not to explain." This is essentially Lancer's version of SCP's [REDACTED].

You might think this is the domain of HORUS, and you'd be right, but every single manufacturer indulges in these - although IPS-N had to wait until NRFaW to get theirs:

What the fuck do you mean by that, Lancer?

[plasticferal]

hey queen! can you pls do an angst story with chris. where they get into an argument and chris said things he never meant. then he apologizes to her afterwards. ( basically angst to fluff)

damsel in distress | chris sturniolo.

i added my own twist to this ask. it's my favourite prompt so thank you! 18+ protective!ex-boyfriend chris x fem!reader. fighting, touches on themes of unwanted attention, mentions of alcohol, explicit language. reader discretion is advised. p.s inspired by the unreleased olivia rodrigo song 'prison for life'.

the house is filled with familiar faces and strangers. a small gathering turned into a full blown house party from the moment the word got out. where the sturniolo triplets are, a flock follows. you sigh, pushing and shoving your way through the unwanted crowd.

all you want is to make it into the kitchen, miraculously being the only place no one wants to linger. the last person you need to see right now is your ex lover. chris is standing ahead of you, leaning on the kitchen counter, alone in the room. you shut the doors behind you, needing to escape. even if it means with him.

“if you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked." he speaks smug, before taking a sip from his red solo cup.

“i'm not in the mood,” you dismiss. you open the fridge, eyes scanning the shelves but nothing calling your name.

you know you're not actually looking for anything, you just don't want to look at him. the entire night has you shaking with anger. from the mess in your home, the lack of care everyone is taking, the noise complaint you know you'll be getting later, and worst of all, that one guy who won't leave you alone.

you've never seen him before tonight, you don't even know his name, but all he's done is make you uncomfortable. try to dance with you, try to give you drinks. he brushes your waist every time he walks past.

all of your friends have been encouraging you to go for it, to get over chris. and honestly, you consider it for a moment. just to finally move on, but you can't bring yourself to. at least not with some random creep.

the break up is still raw. he tells everyone it was 'mutual' but it was a part on your request. he'd never throw you under the bus like that. he knows why you made your decision, he's never questioned it.

chris feels like it's unrequited love. although, you haven't lost any love for him, no matter how much you try to push him away. he has every right to despise you, but he doesn't.

every time you close a chapter with him, you find yourself in a sequel. it's like you're re-reading different stories, but the ending stays the same. your heart wants him, your brain wants to hate him.

"what's wrong?" he asks, sensing you're genuine in your frustration.

"nothing." you refuse to let him know what's happing in your world, let alone your mind. you don't need to let in him anymore, even though you want to let it out. he's the one person who could just sit and listen to you for hours on end.

"alright, just askin" his words trail off into a hush. he switches the tone, not wanting the conversation to stop.

“your friends are nice” he speaks in a sickeningly sweet tone, because if anyone knows how to kick you while you're down, it's him.

"you would think that" you scoff, implying that you've seen them throw themselves at him all night. him pouring them drinks, smiling and frothing over the attention he's receiving.

"the fuck is that supposed to mean?" his temperamental side seeps out, and you grow only more irritated.

"chris, can you get out please?" you huff, hands crossing over your chest. an unintentional way to seperate yourself from him, a metaphorical wall being put up.

"such a party pooper. you really gotta let loose, relax a bit." his words come out a lot more nasty that you hope he meant them, and it makes your face hot.

you give him the benefit of the doubt and think he's speaking with resilience, at the fact you keep shutting him down.

"i wonder why we ever broke up." you reply sarcastically, a fake smile on your face. he rolls his eyes, finishing off his drink and letting out an audible "ah," like a child finishing a juice box.

"i haven't seen you all night, y/n" his voice softens, and it becomes clear he's speaking for the sake of talking to you. he always wants to talk to you.

looking at the counter quickly to place his cup down, he looks back at you, tilting his head to the side slightly. he's not being horrible to you, he never has been. he's still in your life whether you like it or not, despite your hostility.

"sorry. i'm just tired." you lie. he knows it.

"your poker face isn't very good. i learnt that the hard way," he bounces his eyebrows, biting the tip of his tongue, eyes a bit wider as he stares at the ground and you can tell he's having a flashback.

you chuckle at the reference. the one time he caught you faking an orgasm didn't end very well, and he's been able to catch you out ever since. he's never been afraid to pull you up on your own fibs.

"sorry, again." you hug your body tighter, avoiding his eyes. he pushes himself off the counter with a stretch like hum and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"stop apologizing, you sound like matt," he rolls his eyes lightheartedly, and you let out a small laugh. that's always his intention, to make you smile.

"c'mon princess, let's get you a drink. seems like you need it." he nods toward to the door, rubbing your shoulder enthusiastically.

you let him try to fix your mood, because god knows you do actually need to stop stressing. you can't control what happens, just how you react. that's what chris always used to say when you were together.

feeling safe in his embrace, he security guard style moves you through the party. he hollers "excuse me!" and "coming through!" and everyone just listens, parting like the red sea. he's not the biggest guy in the room, but he sure is the most assertive. especially with you under his arm.

when you finally get to the drinks table, he makes you a vodka lemonade, saving the rest of the can for himself to finish off. it's not the most thrilling drink, but enough to keep you settled. ease the tension a bit. plus, it tastes good. no harm, no foul. as chris is mixing the liquids into cups, you feel an unwanted hand snake up around your hip.

"there you are. are you hiding from me?" your stomach drops at the voice of the mystery man towering over you, and you look ahead to watch chris's eyes snap up instantly.

chris lowers the cups, holding his eyes on the man behind you. you watch as he kinks his neck and his jaw tenses, taking a step closer. you shake your head at chris, holding a hand up subtly to tell him not to come any closer.

turning around, you stare up at the man. his breath reeks of liquor, and his shirt is drenched is sweat. it makes you sour your face and tense your entire body.

"i don't know what you want from me, but it's not gonna happen. i think you should leave." you speak sternly, trying not to let your voice shake with pure nerves. not even liquid confidence could help you right now.

"the party's just getting started," the man smiles, stumbling toward you in what you think is an attempt at a hug, but you begin pushing his body away from yours with a shove.

"dude, she doesn't want you. walk away." you hear chris's direct voice over your shoulder.

the last thing you want is negative attention on chris in a room full of people who would spread the news like wildfire. you never want that for him.

"it's okay, i got this." you dismiss chris in the nicest possible way, but you're being serious.

"come on, we'll have fun," the man hiccups through his words, mumbling them and tripping over toward you again.

"get the fuck away from her." chris's breath hits the back of your neck as he moves even closer to you.

"christopher, i'm serious. stop." you speak through grit teeth, so people can't read your lips, as he lingers next to you.

you try to be as inconspicuous as you can in your rejection to his advances, but he won't give up. the man appears more annoyed, and he grabs your wrist with a tight grip.

"let go of me." you grab the mans hand, trying to pry his grip without making it obvious.

you’re shaking at the thought of attention drawing. not for you, but for chris. eyes are already on you, being his ex. it's not what he ever wanted for you either. if he could make it all disappear, he would. it becomes more difficult when chris notices, and this time, has no intention of backing down.

"i'm not gonna repeat myself, back the fuck up." chris walks around your body, face to face with the guy who has a hold on you now.

"please, chris." you beg, voice quivering.

you know his temper can change in the blink of an eye. him and matt both have that in common.

"she doesn't need your help, pretty boy." the man splatters his words, a malicious smile on his face as he leans toward chris, almost nose to nose.

chris smiles criminally, flashing his teeth.

"you're right," chris puts his hands up in defence, a downward smile on his face as he chuckles darkly, taking a big step backward.

there's a feeling of relief, and intense fear as he actually does start to back away. but you know chris. unfortunately, it's unavoidable.

you try to catch his eyes, and speak through a begging stare without using words. he looks at you with sadness, and you mime the words, 'please don't'.

the moment the man tugs your wrist as if to leave with him, making you wince with the grip he holds. you regret your counteraction instantly, because chris reacts viscerally.

he flares his nostrils and squeezes his nails into his palm, balling up his hands by his hip. his knuckles are turning white.

before you can get pulled away, chris lunges forward with a tight fist, throwing a strong, perfectly aligned punch to the mans cheekbone. it throws the man to the ground in the blink of an eye, relieving the pressure on your skin. you stumble backwards, out of the line of fire.

chris steps heavily forward, shoving a foot into his ribcage before straddling his legs, completely overpowering him. the man projects forward to swing and hit chris's mouth. chris doesn't even flinch, like it was painless. you watch chris raise his arm up again to pummel down onto the now defenceless stranger.

the surrounding crowd gasps and yells, clearing the space that chris has created with his actions. iphone cameras flash, making you feel sick. the whispering and gossip you can already hear pounding in your head is overwhelming.

you feel so futile. chris is too in his own world to even realise the repercussions. you're not saying the guy didn't deserve it, you have no care in the world for him. you care about the aftermath.

in a fantasy world, a daydream, a fairytale even, this is attractive. a knight in shining armour, fighting for his lady. a world where there are no consequences, or social media, or fear. a reality chris has suddenly forgotten about.

he looks natural doing it, too. the veins in his arms so prominent, his tight mouth and huffed breaths as he gives it everything he's got.

you're frozen in shock, watching chris pelt another punch into the man, and you want to pull him off, you know you need to, but all your body can do is watch. watch the two men roughhousing and exchanging blows, chris taking every hit with pride.

you're numb to the feeling, screaming in your head.

appearing out of thin air, nick and matt are in your line of vision, hiding the chaos ahead of you. his brothers move into action before anyone else needs to.

they've obviously been summoned, but there's a part of you that believes they could just sense it. like they telepathically knew chris was getting himself into trouble by the lack of surprise they express.

nick grabs chris by the collar of his shirt, pulling him off. matt grabs his wrists, to stop him from using his fists. the fight comes undone, finally, but chris is disoriented. he spits onto the man as he's being escorted into the kitchen by his brothers.

your eyes burn with tears that refuse to fall, and matt sweeps your hand up, guiding you with them in a hurried manner. matt is trying to snap you back to reality, but it's just white noise.

chris hits his palm aggressively with frustration against the door frame of the kitchen as you all walk through, and you take a deep breath to compose yourself. your eyes are still welling as you choke back a sniffle, and you're not sure if it's shock, hurt, or anger anymore.

you're in a trance as you walk over to the freezer. your body is in autopilot, moving without you even knowing. you grab a frozen bag of vegetables out of the tray.

"so fucking stupid," you say nastily under your breath, slamming the door shut.

walking over to chris who's sat up on the ledge of the sink. you throw the packet at his chest, and he grabs it, questioning you for a second before matt walks over and shows him to place it on his bruised and red raw knuckles.

the room is filled with tension.

matt is biting his nails, you're leaning against the closed door, and nick finds himself squatting on the floor.

"what the actual fuck was that?" nick is too stunned to even yell, he just speaks aloud.

"i asked you not to, chris. i could have handled it myself." you shake your head, vision blurry as you stare vacantly ahead. you want to lash out at him, but for some reason you can't.

"yeah, it really looked like you had it under control." he crushes the frozen packet harshly against his hand.

"we'll leave you two alone." matt cuts through awkwardly, shooting nick a warning glare.

matt knows it's not his place to go off at chris right now. he'll do that later.

"but-" nick begins, and matt snaps toward the door. you hear nick sigh, knowing he would love nothing more than to stay and listen to you tear into chris. alas, they both leave promptly, matt flashing you a sympathetic smile on the way out.

you can hear from the other side of the door, both nick and matt are hustling trying to kick everyone out. it’s a weight lifted off your shoulders. the literal mess being left behind is the least of your worries now.

you're alone with chris in the kitchen again, the second time not being anymore pleasant than the first. you blame yourself fully for dropping your guard, even if for a second.

“i begged you not to, chris.” you repeat with a stern tone, laced with betrayal and genuine hurt.

he’s silent for a moment, staring at you from across the room with no emotion on his face. you know he feels terrible, he doesn’t have to show it. or tell you.

“did you think i was just gonna stand and watch?” he rebuttals.

“i would have preferred that, honestly.” you don’t understand how he can’t grasp the intensity of the situation.

"did you want him? go back out there then." he's bitter, pointing at the door. you roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief.

"chris," you start. he keeps talking.

“because i’m sure he’s still laying on the floor. go ahead. he might have a hard time talking now, though.” chris shrugs, speaking in a provoking manner.

“you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t press charges." you apprise.

“he should feel lucky i didn’t do worse.” he takes another step toward you, presumptuous in the way he carries himself.

"you've done a lot of stupid shit, chris. but that," you raise your hand as you speak, laughing in shock.

"that was unbelievable." you pinch the bridge of your nose, taking yet another deep breath.

"you know what's unbelievable is how you haven't even thanked me once" he ignores your words and bites back with irritation, face growing more twisted with upset.

"thank you?" you repeat, jaw dropping. you step toward him this time. you feel dejected trying to get him to understand.

"thank you for what? for causing a scene? for putting yourself in danger?" you step forward again, feeling like you could drive your heels into the ground beneath you.

"you're acting insane" he brings his hands to his head, tugging at his own hair with despair. his words sting, despite the back and forth arguing.

"you're the one that lashed out on that guy with no consideration for anyone else around you. that's insane" you speak with physical gestures unconsciously.

you're trying to reason with him, but with the state he's in, it's like trying to put a brain in a statue. you examine him, trying to search for his eyes but his body won't keep still, twisting and moving around.

"fuck, okay, i get it! i get it, y/n. you're not happy with me. you never fucking are apparently," his words trail off and he waves you away, turning his back to you. he sounds desperate for it to end.

you want to scream at him at the top of your lungs, and quite frankly, you could. your face burns and steam is about to shoot out of your ears.

"you don't need to protect me anymore, chris."

"i saved your ass out there." he speaks with his hand, four fingers direct to your chest. his words are like salt being rubbed into an open wound.

"saved me? that's a fucking stretch. your brothers saved your ass, because you don't think before you fucking act!"

"this is about YOU, y/n! what i did for you!" he slaps the back of right hand into the palm of his left.

"i'm not some damsel in distress that you need to sweep up and put in a tower, chris"

"yeah well at least in a tower you can't attract trouble." he speaks as if it's your fault, and of all the things he's just spit out, that's by far the worst. the most menacing and cut to the bone tone he's used.

"that was low, even for you." you huff, emotions at an all time high.

your breathing feels tight, but instead of reacting, you force yourself to seperate your emotions from the reality of the situation. you're both feeling very intensely, and expressing it the same way.

in hindsight, you could have redirected some of your emotions, but you also wish chris would take back some things he's said. there's no excuses.

chris re-collects himself and turns toward you again. he shrugs his shoulders, like he has nothing left to say. no fight left.

the closer chris is standing the more prominent his face is, and more specifically, his busted open lip.

you gasp in a mix of being upset, and shock. it feels like a piece of your heart is breaking off, seeing his delicate, pale skin so sore.

"your lip, chris." you exhale, stepping toward him.

he flinches when your hand raises to touch his face, and you know now that you've acknowledged it, it's hurting him. neither of you paid any attention to it amongst the turmoil.

"come here." you sigh, pulling his arm, bringing him over to where the paper towels are, in the corner of the sink.

tearing a white square into your hands, you rinse it under cold water lightly before squeezing the saturation out, leaving a damp cloth in your hand.

turning into chris's body, he looks down at you. he's still at last, and looks like he has no thoughts behind his now seemingly innocent eyes.

you cup his cheek gently, to turn his face downward. you bring the towel up to his lip, wiping his stained chin and mouth. he lets you, and doesn't even wince. he visibly gives into your touch. he's content.

"i need you to promise me you'll never do something like that again." you pull back, folding over a clean side and then wiping his lip softly, trying not to cause him pain.

"i can't promise that." he speaks in a whisper, as if he doesn't want you to hear his word.

with his lip no longer being red, you toss the damp and crumbling paper into sink, making it a problem for another time.

"why?" you look into his eyes, wiping your hands on your shirt.

his blue eyes are big but blameless, pupils dilated. holding his stare as your arm lowers.

"because if anyone lays a hand on you again, i'm going to prison for life." the piece of your heart that broke off earlier reattaches at his words alone.

chris's much shorter hair is spikey around his ears, and wet at the ends, turning dark brown from his sweat. you caress his messy curls, tucking it over the curves of his ears and taming the wispy strands. you hold his head in your hands, tiling him up and your mouths are inches apart.

"how hard did he hit your head?" you ask against his lips. he chuckles, genuinely.

he's an idiot, undeniably. but the gut wrenching, lawless love he has for you makes him that way. his low, smooth laughter, makes your heart skip a beat.

"i mean it, y/n."

"but i know, i know it was stupid." he admits.

"yeah, it was." you agree, shaking his head around slightly.

he grabs your hands with his own, engulfing them and holding them in his palms. he squeezes your hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

"i'm sorry." he speaks on your skin.

"like really fucking sorry." he strains his head back with remorse, making his adam's apple more prominent, and he swallows hard. like he's swallowing his guilt.

"i said some nasty things. i wish i could take them back, y/n. i really do."

"i know, chris."

"no, you don't. i'll apologise to you everyday for the rest of my life if i have to. i've been horrible tonight."

"chris, enough," you hush him, the calmness in your tone making him understand you hear him. loud and clear. you need some time to forgive, but you absorb his words.

"i don't know how you didn't smack me in the mouth." he jokes, and you giggle through your breath.

"there's still time," you joke back. and he knows it by your tone.

"i could never bring myself to do that. as much as you deserve it." your banter eases the pressure, and you feel chris squeeze your hands in his again.

you rub your thumbs over his knuckles, looking at the little purple marks forming. he notices your face drop with stress, and he slips his hands away, moving to your hips instead.

"hey, i'm fine. i don't care what happens to me, i just need you to be okay."

"i am okay," you reply. he drops his face with a look that expresses he doesn’t believe you. you give a light eyeroll, and small smile.

"i mean it, i swear.” you raise your pinkie finger to him, to keep your promise. knowing it’s the only way he’ll actually believe you.

chris smiles, weak with his bruised lip, and wraps up your pinkie with his own, wriggling your hands around.

"i'm always gonna want to protect you." he pulls you toward his body. he's so warm, and radiates a magnetic energy that makes you want to collapse into his arms.

you know you don't need him to, but deep down, you would like his protection. his unconditional love. selflessness.

"i'll be sure to send you love letters in jail" you grin up at him, and laughs from the chest.

his voice is like a scratched record, fatigue taking over his body. you swallow hard, all of your senses coming back. he feels so real standing in front of you all of a sudden, like it's not just a dream you're about to wake up from.

"stay the night." you speak mindlessly.

chris brushes your hair from your face, cupping the back of your neck lightly to pull your forehead to his lips, kissing just above your eyebrows gently. he rests his chin on the crown of your head, pulling you tight to his chest in an embrace.

"i'll stay forever if you ask me to."

this is the feeling he fights for. requited love.

[writer-logbook]

5 tips for proofreading & their pros and cons

Define your objectives for each chapter. In my case, some of my chapters are better written than others. My objectives for them will differ. Before starting my proofreading, I list my needs and areas of improvements, and I write them down somewhere so I have them in front of me rather than in my head alone.

Pros : allows you to know which points you need to focus on ; provides a guideline adapted to your needs.

Cons : risk of losing homogeneity and fluidity + flaws may be shifted to other chapters that didn't have them before due to a sudden imbalance.

Plan several proofreading sessions, each one of them addressing ONE NEED AT A TIME. (E.g., one for grammar, another for style, and a final one for coherence. ) And I insist on the "one need at a time" part. Even for those who can multitask (unlike me), I really don't recommend settling for a single proofreading session. It could interfere with your concentration and let you skip some flaws. And please, always give your chapter a final read after your edits to ensure that the elements make sense as a whole, and are not repeated every two paragraphs (I plead guilty, your honor)

Pros: allows you to focus precisely on each point, and give it dedicated attention.

Cons: you can quickly get confused and risk multiple re-readings + significant time investment.

I make my corrections on a separate file. Whatever you do, it's always better to have a backup and therefore to save your files (don't blindly trust autosave) to create archives. I think it's a two-ways process : 1) you open two files simultaneously, one with your V1 and one, blank, where you'll rewrite your chapter as you make changes. Eventually, this new doc will become your V2 ; 2) you copy the parts to proofread into a new document and edit directly in there.

Pros: allows you to rewrite as you wish without being discouraged by the following paragraphs - especially in case of the first way.

Cons: requires multiple files (maybe multiple screens to be at ease) and better organization.

Change the typography. I don't know about you, but after a while, I'm struck by semantic satiation (click on the link - it's Wikipedia -, it's very interesting) and nothing makes sense anymore. After the 52,846th proofreading, I might as well read in another language. I've found a relatively effective trick - not as effective as a complete break, but sometimes you need to move forward - which consists of changing the typography. I can't remember who gave me this advice though, but be sure they've been thanked more than enough in my mind. In any case, seeing words change their shape significantly helps my brain to stay focused and attentive. (Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks on me but I only see the results.)

Pros: it's simple to implement.

Cons: I don't know if this trick works for everyone or if I'm the only weirdo (you can tell me in the comment section).

Take notes. This is a very personal tip but I keep a proofreading logbook. Like, I record in a few sentences the first time an element is mentioned, how it's describes, and most importantly… I MENTION THE DATES. The story I'm currently writing is heavily governed by a chronological system, so I have an absolute need to keep the day count up to date.

Pros: helps avoid inconsistencies and oversights.

Cons: very tedious to maintain and creates (a lot) of extra work.

I've started my prooreading journey yesterday and I already want to die. If I find in the edits something that is worth making a post, be sure that I will. Or let me know if you're simply curious.

Gentle reminder : Best is the worst enemy of good so, at some point, you'll have to let it go and let your chapter live its life to its fullest. Don't be hard on yourself and be proud of your work - or know that I am.

[v3nusxsky]

So I'm asking as me as not anon only because I'm sure you know it's me from my comment, but also still want to be anon after this paragraph (if that makes sense) ❤️

I literally am obsessed with your writing, it is so freaking good I could just curl up and re read everything you've posted (and I may have done that, ngl) especially for Larissa. That woman has an absolute chokehold on me.

Is there any chance you could do a lactation/breeding/mommy/shapeshifting dick with dom Larissa and sub r, and can the r be a short masc with short hair?

You are amazing in every way and lovely beyond compare!

Breed me mommy 18+

*authors note~ wrote this with a massive headache after my first long distance drive so I apologise if it’s bad! This is for all my people who have massive crushes on Larissa Weems coupled with a huge breeding kink. On my knees for the 6 foot 3 goddess Larissa Weems*

Trigger warnings~ breeding kink, lactation kink, mommy kink, shapeshifting cock and ability to lactate, dom Larissa/ sub masc, dirty talk, oral sex, praise kink, soft dominant, thigh riding, slight choking, missionary, doggy, oral fixation, hints of emotional sub after the act

Prompt~ see ask^^^

•••••••Banner is coming soon•••••••••

It was your idea to watch The Devil Wears Prada with your lover Larissa Weems. Your intent was to create a calming atmosphere for her after a long stressful day. A nice meal, some cuddles while you watch the film and then head to bed together. Peaceful. Happy. It started all going to plan, your beautiful candlelight dinner that just so happened to be the exact favourite dish of your lover. The wine was plentiful and the conversation flowed effortlessly.

“I’ll take good care of you. I promise” you murmured to the principal as she delicately folded her long legs to sit on the sofa with you before patting her hardly clothed thigh twice. A silent command. “Let mommy hold you tonight darling” she whispered before shifting your pliant body onto her lap and pressing play on the already set up film.

It all started innocently. Her slender fingers trailing over your clothed arms, legs and stomach. Every time you’d tilt your head to catch her obvious teasing acts she would be laser focused on the screen. But slowly Larissa had more on her mind. She couldn’t help but press her ruby lips to the column of your throat as you chuckled. The way your pulse beat against her gentle kisses caused her to smile in your skin. It’s just never been easy for her to keep her hands for herself when you’re in the same room as she is. Let alone sat on her lap, so innocently nibbling on your lip as you fought to concentrate. She’d be your undoing, that much she knew, but how much of her obvious teasing you could take wasn’t.

It wasn’t long before you began to absentmindedly search to find purchase on Larissa’s wrists and guide them where you desperately needed them. Only she wasn’t done yet, pulling her hands from you as you whined unhappily. “Behave darling” she tutted as if you were a disobedient puppy, “Mommys trying to watch this.”

How long was this damn film? You couldn’t help but curse yourself for not picking a shorter film. So just about the half way point you snapped, turning yourself around in her lap to attack her lips with desperate sloppy kisses. Instantly, she reciprocated with just the right amount of enthusiasm to subconsciously encourage your growing arousal. Before you knew it, you were tugging at the pins holding her beautiful in place as your hips began to grind downward. “God darling, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to be a mess in my lap. Such a sweet thing for me” she praised happily before moving her hands to grip your hips hard enough to leave marks.

Larissa was known for her passion and patience. But here and now she was most definitely not a patient woman. As soon as your arousal began to seep through your shorts onto her stockings she lost control. Effortlessly scooping you up into her arms, carrying you into your shared room as your lips battled for a dominance you didn’t truly want. Being tossed around by your older lover was something you’d never get bored of. The way she tossed you on the bed like you weighed no more than a pillow was such a turn on.

Squirming on the bed you allowed Larissa to strip you bare minus your sports bra, knowing how it helped you feel more masculine in these moments before stepping back and admiring your beautiful self. Subconsciously, you began to curl up into yourself, effectively hiding your body from her only to be reprimanded, “don’t be embarrassed darling. God you turn me on so much my love. I just need to be inside you now. To touch you now. Can mommy touch you? Please baby?” You stuttered in mild shock “I-inside me?” You’ve spoke about your future and likes/ dislikes and what you would like to explore together, and apparently tonight was the night for her to try and shift. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to watch you be a good slut and take mommys cock. Every. Single. Inch.”

“Please mommy, just touch me please I don’t care how” you whimpered reaching out to pull her to you and free her from her dress. Her beautiful tits on display along with a now very generous member trying to strain from her lace panties. “You wanna help take this off darling? They are rather uncomfortable” she mumbled before stealing a couple of kisses that lingered a touch too long. Eagerly manoeuvring your body closer to her and your shaky hands reached to her waist to tug at the lace and accidentally resulted in tearing it from the shifters body. “That was so fucking hot darling” she gasped as you tried to wriggle closer.

“Wanna taste mommy” doe eyes looked up at the principal and you tried to tug her new appendage closer to your mouth. Her manicured hand helped guide her shaft to your awaiting lips. “I’ll be gentle love, remember you can tap out” was all she managed to get out before you happily sucked the head of her cock into your mouth. It took some adjusting and working to find a rhythm. It was taking all her restraint to not harshly fuck into your warmth. If this was how your sweet mouth felt then your other hole would be heavenly. With a tug to your hair she pulled you off her dick with a little whine of protest coming from you. Clearly this would be something she needs to work on her stamina for.

“Your turn darling” she murmured before pushing you back on the bed and attacking your body with nips and kisses. “Wann feel you inside me please mommy” you pleaded innocently. “I don’t want to hurt you love” she started only to be cut off with your frantic begging, “I want you to fuck me mommy. Please. Please let me feel you.”

“I’ll be gentle” she stated as a matter of fact before lining herself up with your soaking cunt and slowly pushing in. There was a sting in some places and a stretch in others but when she sunk into you to the hilt you couldn’t help the ungodly loud moan that ripped itself from your throat. “You sound so pretty darling, tell me when I can move” Larissa murmured using the height difference to her advantage to smother your neck in pretty little marks. Hers.

“Move, please god mommy move” you whined encouraging her to finally give you what you wanted. The first few thrusts of her hips were slow and gentle. Experimental. Loving how snug you wrapped around her. The feeling of her cock stroking your inner walls was most definitely become addictive. “Fuck, darling we have to change positions. You’re gonna make me cum” Larissa groaned trying to convince herself to pull out of your warmth.

It was now you were thanking whatever god existed that your lover could shift her anatomy, meaning she could lift you whenever she felt like. “On your knees” she gravely whispered, her fingers gripping tightly into your hips as she helped you position yourself. Like a starving woman she immediately began to work herself into your pussy and picking up her pace and accuracy of her thrusts. Getting the angle just right to hit your G spot.

“Want to cum in you darling. Let mommy cum inside your pretty pussy darling? Oh god you’d look so beautiful all swollen and pregnant for me. Please darling I won’t last too long if you keep squeezing me like that” she moaned without thinking. “Mommy please, please, I need more. Please want to feel it mommy. Want to be mommy’s forever” you mewled, your hands clawing at any skin you could reach as she pleaded you to come with her. To be so good for her and take all her cum. Stilling with the sheer amount of sticky goods that were filling your womb up to the brim as your walls spasamed around her dick, milking her of everything she was offering.

It was in the blissful moments where Larissa had shifted her anatomy back to normal and gathered you into her embrace, that you began to process what she’d said. “Mommy?” You muttered still thick in your subspace, “do you really want to have a baby with me?” Silence was all that filled the room before she pressed a sweet kiss to your head and replied honestly, “of course my darling. I love you so much and would love to start a family with you if you want to? I didn’t realise just how much I’d want to get you pregnant until that moment. God, you’d be the best mother in the world. In fact you would look so gorgeous pregnant that I might just have to keep you pregnant forever.” Little did Larissa know that night you spent crying and planning to try for a family, that she’d already succeeded on the first baby.

“I love you so much darling” she mumbled as you finally settled down for the night, your fuzzy head resting on her bare breasts. You couldn’t help but tease her perky nipples by blowing cool air on them before sucking them into your lips on instinct. “Mine” you mumbled contentedly as your light suckling continued. “All yours baby, all yours. Just your mommy darling” she reassured running her hands through your short hair and scratching soothingly at your scalp until your suckles stopped. Indicating you’d finally sipped off to sleep.

Word count~ 1594

[mysticheathenn]

What's You're Soul Contract?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is about what your soul agreed upon coming to earth. Did you come here to be successful? Break Generational Trauma? Did you come here just for the fun of it? This pick-a-card may help give you more clarity and guidance on why you are here on Earth.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

MasterList

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NEXT PAC: Patreon Related (I just don't know what as of yet) If you have any suggestions feel free to send them.

Sorry, I have been M.I.A. Depression really is a bitch, but I'm doing better still under the weather but better. I hope everyone is doing well. I missed and love you guys.

Pile l:

What is your Soul Contract? Tarot: 6 of Cups, Ace of Swords, 3 of Wands, 10 of Cups, 10 of Wands, Page of Cups.

Breaking Generational Trauma/Curses. You have a lot of cups and wand energy pile l. This means your pile is all about pent-up fiery emotions that have been denied an avenue to being expressed whether in your lifetime or over the many generations before you. You probably grew up in a household where you are supposed to "stay in a child's place" or "you should be seen not heard." Some of you have to deal with constantly seeing your parents, grandparents, or family in general struggling with money or hating what they do for work but it puts food on the table and clothes on your back but at the end of the day they took out their frustrations on you. I'm hearing "Money is burning a hole in my pocket." Maybe you have one of those parents where you went to your room as soon as they came home because they were always in a bad mood because of how stressed they were or they are penny pinchers like Julius from "Everybody Hates Chris" I heard "That's .49 cents of spilled milk dripping on my table. Somebody is going to drink this milk. Clip Link." They may even hit you for spilling juice even if it were an accident. Either way, you vowed long ago that you were going to break the chains of what your ancestors have passed down. You want to live a life where you can come home to and feel at peace and happy. You want to be that parent that lets your kids feel like they can express themselves while establishing healthy boundaries. Some of you I am even hearing will never stay with someone for the sake of the kids like some of your parents have done. You overall want to live a life where you don't have to apologize, walk on eggshells, or be miserable. Your soul contract is basically to live your life outside the boundaries of what your ancestors have placed on each generation and to pass that same freedom on to those around you or your kids. You are meant to live out loud and maybe even cut off family members if you feel called to do that. I am even hearing that some of you are in the process of re-parenting your parents. Helping or teaching them that the ways of what they knew are wrong and that if they want to remain in your life they need to make changes.

Pile ll:

What is your Soul Contract? Tarot: Page of Pentacles, The World, The Sun, 8 of Pentacles, Queen of Swords

Independence/Financial Abundance. Your soul contract reminds me a bit of pile l but only 1% of it when it deals with breaking trauma/curses surrounding money. You probably grew up if not poor you grew up okay. While you weren't poor your family wasn't rich or even middle class, they were a little above working paycheck to paycheck. For some of you, this has nothing to do with growing up poor but more so with wanting a better life for yourself so you can provide for those around you especially if you are close to family. If not family you may just want Fuck you money to lavishly spend. Some of you want to pay off your parent's mortgage or buy them their dream car. Whatever it is as everyone has their personal reasoning for why they want financial abundance or independence, you are placed here to experience riches and create abundance. I am hearing that some of you want to make a change within the world. You want to grow a business where employees are treated fairly and paid a living wage. This reminds me of the CEO who took a pay cut so he could give all his employees including himself a starting salary of 70k. You want to help out the needy and give back to whatever you can, I'm hearing about finding new solutions to food waste for very few of you. Either way, you are meant to be your own boss. You were never meant to work underneath someone and I feel quite a few of you have been feeling that feeling for quite a while now but don't know how to break the chains, don't have a business idea/where to start, or don't know how to get the funding to start your business idea. Just remember to ask and you shall receive speak to your guides and ask them for help, a sign, or to put someone in your path who can help you out. In the meantime, please be careful with who you share your ideas with. Some of you are too trusting with your friends and family group not knowing they are waiting to see you fail or talk you out of the idea because they want you to remain in the same position as them knowing they could never amount to half your potential. Some of them remind me of the popular TikTok trend from Snowfall "Me. I built this shit. Brick by Brick and I'll be dam if you tear it down because you don't like the way another n*gga talk." Some also just want to latch onto you, remember not everyone is meant to walk the same path. Some people are meant to be left behind or they will keep you in the same place as you are now with wanting handouts, filling you with limiting beliefs, etc.

Pile lll:

What is your Soul Contract? Tarot:10 of Cups/10 of Pentacles, The Wheel, 4 of Cups, The Tower (clarified by the Chariot), The Hermit

Divinity / Spiritual Growth/ Light & Love. You may be seeing the number 1010 everywhere pile lll. You have the 10 of Pentacles, 10 of Cups, and The Wheel is the 10th card in my "The Muse Tarot Deck." The 1010 angel number serves as a guiding light, illuminating your journey in love, money, and spiritual growth. You were placed on this earth to spread light and love, becoming the embodiment of it, and to walk a spiritual path. For some of you this spiritual path may be a religious path, take what resonates and leave what does not. I mostly feel this is a spiritual group because of the symbolism on each card that came out for you. Some of you are leaving your religious background for spirituality because you saw how religion has turned the people around you into the complete opposite of what they teach during Sunday service, some of you are leaving because you felt that the religion doesn't align with you anymore and you feel lost but somehow spirituality has been calling your name and has done some things for you but you feel some type of guilt surrounding it because of your upbringing. For others of you, this may be vice versa where you decide to go back to church, etc. Again take what resonates and leave what does not, either way, you are finding your way back to god (Universe, Allah, Source, etc) and wanting to bring more harmony, love, and community into your life. You probably have been going through some changes recently and for some of you who are atheist or agnostic and experiencing the feeling of being lost, like the way you are living can't just be this, or feeling that there is no way that you are here to just take up space and struggle. You are trying to find more meaning in life because you are on the verge of a mental breakdown or may even have thoughts of suicide because of how alone you have been feeling. Overall you were meant to find yourself. You are meant to come back to yourself through spiritual or religious means. Finding a community that shows you that there is light and love in this world and you aren't alone nor placed here as a waste of space or to struggle. I heard God loves the little children bible school song and this little light of mine. I feel those two songs are to let you know that within the darkness there is always a bit of light at the end of the tunnel you just can't see it because you're honed into the darkness not looking for the light. Also that you are loved whether you feel that way or not. Your community is out there, don't give up.

Pile lV:

What is your Soul Contract? Tarot: Queen of Wands, 9 of Pentacles, Knight of Cups, 4 of Swords, 4 of Cups, 10 of Wands (reversed)

Love/Beauty/Life. You may be seeing 44 or 444 everywhere pile lV. That is for just a few of you not everyone but pile lV your soul contract, the reason you are here is to experience all of life's beauty, glory, and love. Your pile somewhat reminds me of pile lll but only 1% of it is about finding yourself, but for a few of you the whole reading might resonate also. Anyway, you are here to experience being human. I mean after all, you are a spiritual being having a human experience. Some of you probably wonder why you go through tough times or maybe get pissed off at even small inconveniences and I'm here to let you know it's all a part of your process, mission, and experience. You are meant to see life's beauty, travel, fall in love, get your heart broken, make life-long friends, have your first fight, lose all of your money, win the lottery.... all of it...do you hear me? You are meant to experience the good with the bad. The small details of life like Starbucks's pumpkin spice lattes to the smell of books in the library or book store. You signed up to also find yourself amongst experiencing all the large and small things in life. To live your life unapologetically and to be free from what society has placed on what it is to being a human, an adult, etc. If you haven't seen the movie Soul by Pixar/Disney I highly recommend it as this is literally your pile. You were meant to say what goes for your life and what does not because everything is temporary. You know the question "If you were on your deathbed what would your regrets be? What would you have wished you would have done more of? What would you have done less of? Those questions that people love to ask old people.....that is your soul contract. To be asked on your death bed some of those questions and being able to say you lived life exactly how you wanted to live it: Beautifully, authentically, boldly, and filled with love and freedom surrounded by those you love and who deeply love and express their love for you. While you are meant to experience some struggle as it is a part of the human experience you are not meant to live one that is traditional, rigid, or stale. Go bungee jumping, get a tattoo sleeve (or fake one), take risks and ask out the guy first, and write that book that has been on your mind even if you don't plan on sharing it. Overall, do you boo, do you. Live life with no regrets. Live life as if Wes Anderson was the director. If you were a book genre it would be coming of age.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

[barleyo]

Prom Queen. (Re-upload)

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: tumblr took this down. I'm re-uploading it because idgaf. No tags because I'm lazy, read at your own risk. Obviously reader is of age, and obviously, if you DON'T LIKE what I write, DON'T READ what I write, thanks :3

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT AHEAD

You had always dreamed about your senior prom. Even as a young girl, you thought exhaustively about how the night would go. You would wear a gorgeous gown, drink spiked punch, dance and laugh with friends, and most importantly, you would go with a cute boy.

Those dreams fell flat when your strict father outlawed prom for you. He said that prom was just an opportunity for hyped up, hormonal teens to gyrate on each other on school property. Prom was a night where girls opened their legs for their subpar dates who barely made the effort to scrounge up a corsage for them. Prom was the chance for unwanted, "happy accident" babies to be made by teenaged fuck-ups.

In short, prom was for whores. Leon would be damned if he would have a nasty whore of a daughter. It made him sick to even think of you wasting your sweet, nearly virginal body on a shit-for-brains boy whose only sexual experience no doubt came from his own right hand.

So, yeah. Prom was a nonstarter.

Of course, this angered you to no end. You could be heard sobbing each night after Leon's declaration of war on you having any fun was drawn up, but a small part of you thought it was the best.

You knew that prom wasn't like how it was shown in the movies. You wouldn't get an invitation from the hottest boy in school, you wouldn't get there in a decked out limo, and the punch would be lukewarm and watered down at best.

You wouldn't dance: you would have no one to dance with. You would sit alone at one of the tables eating fun sized candy bars aimlessly scattered on the repurposed lunch room tables in your school's gymnasium, while a horde of your peers would dance nasty on each other, being free and young.

The whole time, nobody would look at you, aside from the sly glance paired with a snicker shared between two gossiping teens, indulging in the rumors that floated around about you.

Nobody would want to dance with the girl who had an overprotective daddy that fucked her. Especially when that girl liked it.

The more you thought about it, the more you came to peace with the idea of staying in with Leon. Technically, being demanded to stay at home with him meant that you were sort of, kind of asked on a "date" with a hot guy, even if you shared DNA with said hot guy.

On the day of the dance, Leon had the decency to let you skip school. You sulked in bed the entire day, thinking about what could have been, rather than what was. He did not bother you, having enough sense to let a sleeping dog lay, but at exactly 10:00 PM , you felt your phone ding under your pillow.

'Come downstairs. Wear a dress. Not one of your church ones.'

His texts were always sharp and to the point, just like he was. Commanding. Strict.

You, as always, obliged. You put on one of his favorites, the one that always left his eyes lingering on your body a little too long. As you made your way down the stairs, you heard the faint sound of romantic music playing in the living room, which you naturally followed like a trail of breadcrumbs.

"Dad, what's all this?"

Your living room looked like a scene stripped from a cheesy romance movie. Rose petals scattered on the floor, lights dimmed low, and a tall, hot stud in the midst of it all. Your father's face was stern, but past that you could see the inkling of excitement in him.

"Your prom. I know it meant a lot to you," he said gruffly, adjusting the collar of the nice shirt he wore, "so I did what I could. Hope this'll make you forgive me."

Your feet pattered softly against the cool flooring, bringing your body along with them. You took a final look around the room and let your eyes lock onto your dad.

"I do. S'okay, I'm not mad at you, daddy."

How could you ever be mad at him? Your perfectly stubborn, grouchy, yet sexy father? Your father who—

"You know I just want the best for you, right peach?" Leon grasped you in his arms, snaking both arms around your lower waist while he rested his chin on your head. "Just wanna keep you safe."

"I know."

You both stood like that for a moment, neither speaking. The soft sound of the music slowly playing in the background was the only noise filling your sense. Well, that and the husky sound of your father's breathing. And his manly, leathery scent. His strong hands placed on your body, too.

You heard him clear his throat briefly and snapped to give him your attention, something you found yourself doing often. He liked when you listened to him quickly, made him feel respected.

"May I have this dance?" Leon asked, giving you a rare smirk when you nodded.

One of his hands stayed on your waist, while the other took your hand gently and clasped it in the air, leading you into a sweet waltz. With each step, he guided you with rigid, calculated movements. His movements were neat, as if he had been planning every moment of your shared dance.

The longer you danced with him, the closer your bodies pressed together, creating a faint friction between the two of you. In that moment, any negative emotion you had felt before faded away, leaving only the image of him in your mind.

Leon knew your signs. He'd spent a long time decoding them, and the look on your face was one he read easily. With a tilt of his head, he leaned in, a soft chuckle escaping his lips when he felt your increased heartbeat against his chest.

You made the first real move, pushing your tongue deeper into his mouth. Kisses were the only time he let you take on a dominant role. He thought it was cute, feeling your smaller tongue fuck into his mouth like you were in charge. Not wanting to spoil your fun, he softly guided you backwards to the wall, giving him a surface to work with.

"You're a bold one, I'll give you that," he said, breaking the kiss. "Can't ever actually ask for what you want, but you go wild once you get it, don't you?"

You hummed, letting him pull you up and wrap your legs around his waist. His hand slid under your dress and pushed it up, giving him a view of your panties.

"God, you're soaked. So wet f'me." Leon stuck his fingers in his mouth, slurping on them and covering them with spit before he forced them past the band of your underwear. Tight, quick circles were made around your clit, denying you of any time to think. "Nobody else can play with this, you hear me? This is all mine, you don' let anybody else have you," his voice was a warm whisper that fanned across your ear.

"I promise, 'm all yours. Don't want anyone else, only you, daddy," you swore desperately, meaning every word even if it sounded like you were just babbling on.

"Fuckin' slut." He spit a fat glob onto his fingers and spread it around your cunt, lubing you up. "Thought I raised a sweet girl. Bet you act like this for the boys at school too, huh?" Your panties were slid to the side.

His teeth clenched together jaggedly as he prodded the tip of his cock at you entrance, drawing in a deep breath when he pushed it fully in.

"No, never! I don't want any of them, just want you. They aren't good enough."

"Yeah? Greedy little cunt only wants her daddy, is that right?" The ego boost he was getting from this ran through him immediately. He wound your clit up with his thumb, quickly zigzagging on the little bud to match his thrusts. "Good. They don't deserve to feel you—"

You cunt fluttered around his length at his words, leaving him biting down on his lip.

"Just like that. Gonna make me cum if you keep that up, baby."

Your mouth hung open, pathetic mewls leaking from it. Each sound he drew out of you was nearly pornographic. He bullied your guts and hit deep, far deeper than your fingers ever could, and left you far more needy than your digits did.

"Inside this time?" You had wanted it so bad for the longest time, and instead he would pull out of you and coat your soft tummy or the fat of your ass with his ropes. "I need to feel it, please. I don't wanna be empty again, jus' fill me up," you slurred, drool spilling from the corner of your plush mouth.

"Yeah," he huffed, nodding along with you words, ready to finally jump at the opportunity, "yeah, inside. I need it too, baby, you have no idea. Daddy wants to spoil you real bad, he wants to give you all the babies you want."

Your lower body tensed, squeezing him tightly as the familiar rhythmic pattern of your orgasm set in. It felt so right in that moment, like your body was made for this exact purpose: being a warm hole for your dad to fill with his hot cum.

"Ready?" He said it more like a demand than a question, and within seconds he was creaming into you, still pounding your cunt like he hated you. "Take it, don't spill."

He kept his dick sheathed away inside of you, hoping that if he kept most of his cum in you, it would take. His brow was slick with sweat and his face was flushed. He had never looked so attractive before.

You ran your hand through his hair to get his attention. When he darted his eyes up to you, you mumbled something about wanting to go again.

"Anything for you baby. Night's still young, isn't it? We got time."

[tritoch]

I wish people were willing to have a slightly broader or more expansive understanding of FFXIV's women because I think there's so much there in terms of easily-unearthed subtext that no one really thinks about! And I don't mean this in a "people need to re-evaluate their response to the women of Stormblood" way (though I do think that's largely true), I mean I think fandom's understanding even of the women it mostly likes is pretty weak. And you can say that's because the women are underwritten, and I won't argue that they couldn't use more attention from the writing, but that doesn't prevent you from analyzing them the way you can any character in fiction.

Like everyone's always like, oh, Y'shtola and Krile are like your snarky wine aunts, haha. But...Sharlayan is a pretty ossified and patriarchal society from what we see of it in Endwalker and places like the AST quests. Can we open ourselves to the possibility that it means something that almost every young Sharlayan woman we meet, almost all young women in academia, tends to be a little sharp and quick on the retort? The arch and snarky ways in which those two carry themselves reflect in some sense the facts that Krile is almost literally a nepo baby woman in STEM who is barely older than her students, while Y'shtola learned her behaviors from her much older female mentor, a woman who hated Sharlayan academic culture so much she literally abandoned it to go live in a cave.

Or like, Alisaie! Fan jokes and meta frequently buy into her tendency to characterize the dynamic between her and Alphinaud as a jock/nerd, street savvy extrovert vs book smart introvert thing. Except, tragically, Alphinaud's highest stat is 100% Charisma and he absolutely pulled in his student days. All his greatest achievements are diplomatic, and he very easily develops strong friendships with people in every culture you learn about. Alisaie is the determined, sensitive genius who revolutionizes Eorzea by proving the tempered can be healed. She's just permanently carrying a chip on her shoulder that while she and her brother are remembered as the youngest students in Studium history, actually he got in six months before her, a fact pretty much no one else ever brings up once. She's constantly fuming over the fact that he was marginally better than her in certain specific ways in high school, and looking to differentiate them in ways that actually fail to credit her own obvious strengths and accomplishments. I think that's so fun! It's so juicy, and it's equally good for comedy or serious character studies.

Venat is a genuinely benevolent hero who has no compunction sacrificing lives for the greater good. Minfilia is kind and compassionate and clearly on some level actually buys into the narrative of her own unique moral authority. Ysayle is a revolutionary firebrand with almost no concern for the common man, whose death reflects her Javert-like inability to reconcile her own romantic belief in justice with the tragic ways her blinkered worldview (born largely of trauma) let her be easily co-opted by a violent system. But even people who like these characters rarely move past surface-level reads (people who think Venat is just an all-loving mommy figure make me want to fucking die). The fandom is allergic to drawing connections the game doesn't draw, and fails to recognize that FFXIV is a game where characters voice understandings of themselves and others that are wrong about as often as they're right.

You can already see the ways that women like Wuk Lamat and Cahciua and Sphene are getting flattened or losing their shading in fan reception and it's boring. Like I'm not even saying this because you should take female characters more seriously or something (though you should), I'm literally just bored to tears sometimes and if you guys turn Wuk Lamat into another Hot Dumb Jock Lady, I will combust.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: thor au, mingyu has superhuman strength (he's literally a god so), mingyu's kinda a dick, re-imagined plot of the first thor movie for fanfic purposes, mentions of movie characters, afab reader, smut, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 2203

a/n: thor was my favorite marvel movie growing up so i loved doing this!!! tysm to the person who requested this and im soooo sorry it took me so long T-T also i havent watched the movies in forever so im so sorry for inaccuracies </3

masterlist

mingyu wasnt too sure where he was.

just moments ago he had been fighting with his younger brother, loki, scolding him over yet another mischievous act, but now he was in the middle of nowhere. well, at least that was going off of his surroundings. in the distance, he could see various signs detailing the foreign words 'new mexico'.

he had just been wandering aimlessly around the desert, not paying too much attention to his surroundings as he tried to make sense of where he was. that was until his entire body was pushed forward by a massive object, making him lose most of his ability to process what just had happened. he was only slightly lucid as he laid limp on the ground, barely processing the girl looking down on him, completely freaked out at having just ran over a man in the middle of nowhere. without putting much of a fight, he allowed you and your friend to struggle your way as you dragged him into the back of your van, probably not wanting to leave any evidence that you'd almost committed homicide.

unfortunately for you both, he passed out quickly after that, not allowing you to confirm any information about him, nor giving you a chance to stumble your way through an apology for almost killing him.

seeing as you almost cost him his life, you decided to bring him to your laboratory, where you would let him rest until he was conscious enough for you to find a way to make it up to him. your friend darcy left you on your own, claiming it wasn't much of her problem since you had been the one driving when you crashed into him.

as you waited for him to wake up, you wondered how and why he had survived your van crashing into him. i mean, he didn't sustain any injuries, simply passing out from the impact. he had even left damage on the van itself upon the crash. looking at him, you realized he was very fit, with muscles bulging from the strange armor he had on. you hadn't questioned any of this until now, being mostly freaked out by almost killing him, but it was all now making you wonder the logistics of the situation.

you didn't have too much time to think, as he began to stir, groaning a bit before actually waking up. he jumped in place upon realizing he was in unfamiliar surroundings, staring at you with wide eyes as he backed away a bit.

"hey-"

"you! who are you? where am i?"

"listen, you might be a bit disoriented after the accident, you're in-"

"new mexico? right? i saw a sign earlier today."

"yeah, it's-"

"okay, but where is new mexico? i need to get back to asgard. how can i manage that?"

"asgard? listen, you must be going through a psychic episode, just let me-"

"stay away! i demand you tell me where i am!"

jesus christ, this man was stubborn. not once sentence could leave your lips before he was making demands. he didn't even give you a chance to apologize either. you weren't sure what he meant by his blabbering, which was still going on by now. asgard? was he hallucinating about norse mythology? had you rendered this man insane?

"we're in new mexico! right by texas? are you okay? you seem kind of disoriented. i'm so sorry about what happened, i-"

"my armor! you damaged it with your machine!", he finally looked down at the scratches and missing bits of his armor, eyes widening once more.

he got up from his spot, marching around your laboratory and grabbing at things with curiosity. he eventually came across your globe, reading out the label before gasping loudly.

"earth?! loki told me of this place. that means you're a human," he was mostly speaking to himself before turning to finally direct himself at you, "human. i am mingyu, the god of thunder. you must help me get back to asgard. can you do that?"

you were speechless throughout his entire ransacking of your lab, but even more so now. was this an insane man you were with in the middle of the desert? you had brought him to your secluded lab out of remorse for what you'd done, but now you were alone in the middle of the night with a maniac. a very strong one at that.

"don't look at me like that," he interrupted your thoughts, "i know im not the god your people typically serve, but i still demand your help. you did hit me, after all."

that broke you out of your spell, your niceness peaking out again, "i'm sorry! i-"

"great! so now you're indebted to me," he clapped his hands together, "how shall we begin?"

okay, there was no way you were helping this maniac with his senseless plan, but you needed to think of a sensible way to tell him to fuck off.

"you're mingyu? the god of thunder? why are you reciting norse mythology to me? i cant get you back to asgard. it doesnt exist," okay, not subtle, but it was a start.

"listen, human. your kind would not understand the depth behind my people. you don't believe me? i'll show you."

and with that, he raised his arm, erected and facing to his side as he stared at you directly into your eyes. he stayed like this for a minute before you chose to question him, only to be shushed by him once more, "just give it a minute, human."

it was about three minutes when suddenly a hammer came crashing through the wall, destroying everything in its way in order to arrive to mingyu's hand.

next thing you knew, you were hiding under your table, utterly terrified at whatever the fuck was happening. was he really the mingyu? but those were all a child's tale, were they not? did you truly have a god standing before you, trying to convince you to come out from hiding?

"human, i- im sorry. i shouldve warned you. come out, please? i'll even forgive you for crashing into me. i just need some help," he sounded so defeated, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him, deciding to come out from hiding as long as he put his hammer down, something to which he agreed to with no hesitation.

"o-okay, mingyu. are you- you're real? shit, okay, never mind. you clearly are. but how can i help you? i'm not a god, h-how am i supposed to help you go back home?"

"there's always a way, human. we just need to find an opening. you see ..." he proceeded to explain his entire plan to you, sounding way more intelligent than he had shown himself to be throughout every interaction you'd had with him so far. he was also standing. very. close. it was hard to pay attention when the damage of his suit allowed you such a perfect view at his gigantic muscles. but you needed to focus! you owed it to him to at least try to help him.

the plan had been settled soon after that, agreeing that tomorrow you'd use your 'machine' (re: car) to drive him to a specific spot in which he'd be able to gather enough energy to summon lightning from the sky, which would render him powerful enough to communicate with gandall, who would take him back to asgard. it was too much for the regular person to process, but luckily for him, the person who almost ran him over was a scientist who was very well read on norse mythology.

after that, you had told him he could hit a shower, located in the habitable part of the lab in which you'd stay at sometimes. you let him know you two should also catch some sleep before tomorrow. you offered up your bed, claiming you'd take the couch since you'd caused him all this trouble anyway. he agreed with no argument, making you frown a little at his lack of gallantry.

he came out of the shower soon after, all while you sat on the couch occupied by a book. you heard his arrival, but didn't pay him much mind until doing a double take on him, realizing he was stark naked, with every glorious inch of skin in full display.

"jesus christ! what the hell are you doing?!", you covered your face with your book, extremely flustered at the sight. how was he so bi-

"what? is there no nudity on earth?", he sat on the couch, way too close to you.

"yes! but not like this! you're supposed to warn me beforehand. i-"

"why won't you look at me, human? uncover your face at once."

you weren't sure why, but you followed his direction, removing the book from your face but keeping your eyes closed.

"eyes open too."

you opened them, looking up as to avoid staring at his nether area. although you weren't looking at him, you could tell he had moved to sit even closer, making you anxious about what he'd do next.

"look at me."

you looked down to find him staring directly at you, face at only a few inches from yours. you couldn't help it when your eyes lowered to his lips, noticing him mirror your actions.

"this?" he whispered, "this is what you want?"

it was an ominous and unclear statement, but you still found yourself nodding, too full of a sudden surge of lust to think properly.

he attacked you with his lips, using full force immediately upon kissing you. he was very intense with his movements, almost immediately pinning you down on the couch, an easy feat for a god with his superhuman strength.

you couldn't help how wet you grew almost immediately, having taken a peak at his massive length when he had first approached you on the couch. was he going to put that in you? you were kinda terrified, but also giddy to feel the insane stretch he was about to give you.

you kept keening against him, softly moaning into his lips as he ground his hips against your own, making him groan in return.

"gods, human. you're so fragile ... so delicate. i'm gonna- gonna break you," it sounded like dirty talk, but there was some genuine concert laced in his tone.

"do it! please ... please fuck me," all dignity had left you the moment you saw him in all his naked glory, so any begging was fair game to you by now.

he chuckled, "yeah? pretty princess wants me to fuck her? think you can take it?", he was quite literally dangling his dick in front of your eyes, hands ripping your shorts out of the way as you gasped at the act.

"sorry, princess," he coo'd condescendingly, "they were getting in my way."

he didnt bother to check whether you were wet enough or not before plunging into you, but you had fortunately been dripping for him by then. still, his massive size had you writhing under him, screaming his name to anyone who could hear you from your secluded location.

"oh? now you pray my name? fuck, beautiful human. didn't know humans could be so pretty ..." he was growing delirious at the tightness of your cunt, combined with your much smaller frame. all women in asgard were as big and built as him. this was his first time experiencing anything like this, and it had him rethinking his return to asgard.

'g-gyu ... shit. i'm gonna cum, please!'

he folded you like a pretzel, not caring to conceal his inhuman strength as he pounded madly into you, feeding off your gasps and squeals. you were making him see valhalla.

"pretty princess ... cum for me. let me have yours and i'll give you mine- shit! gonna breed you. gonna come back here and take care of you every time im lonely. g-gonna keep you all to myself. my pretty secret on earth."

the idea of mingyu popping by to fuck you whenever the literal heaven that was asgard became too boring for him had you keening, now grateful you had ran him over as your orgasm attacked you unexpectedly.

you had never felt such a high, almost feeling like you had astral-projected into heaven. mingyu seemed to be in a similar situation, groaning against your mouth as he filled you up with his endless seed. seemed like he was well-endowed in all areas, being a god and all.

"fuck ... thank you for that, human," he thanked you as he got up, at least having the courtesy of helping you clean up, "now i feel kinda bad about leaving."

"then dont," you werent sure why you said that. maybe the high of your orgasm.

"yeah?", he smirked, nearing you once again, "convince me," you noticed his hardness was already back, at a literally inhuman speed.

you weren't sure how you were meant to take him again with no rest in between, but you were willing to take the challenge. you'd worry about how to get the god back to his home tomorrow. for now, you were going to enjoy him while you had him.

a/n: before anyone comes for me, I KNOW this isnt very inaccurate for thor (ive watched the movies too many times) but i wanted to write a short smutty blurb and not go off with too many words so this is what we ended up with

[reidmania]

sharpest tool | s.reid

(chapter nine, decode)

‘but now I wonder why, I let your confusion keep me up at night, I'm so tired. Re-read every single undertone and I overanalyzed it, front, back, and beside it, where else can we go? there's nothing left here to decode. Done lookin' for signs in the gaps and the silence. It's just getting old, there's nothing left here to decode’

summary; you await the regret, but it’s welcome seems to be postponed by spencer and hormones.

warnings; smut, 18+ MDNI. fem reader, mentions of ghosting, arguing, they are so messy angst, oral, f receiving, fingering, slight overstimulation, overwhelmed reader, comforting spencer, mentions alcohol but nobody is drunk, reader had half a drink but is completely and utterly in her right mind guys, everybody is in their right mind, SOFT dom spencer, really sad bc its them, mentions reader having a whore phase, which makes sense cause she was single for a while before spencer guys!!!!!

taglist; @gghostwriter @lavonee @guiltyyassin @spencersinonlygf @criminalmindssworld @iknwreid @fortheloveofgubler @yokaimoon @sapphirecobalt-1 @eddiesdrummergf @livvyliv15 @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebastiansstanswhore @bloodredrubyrose @sp3ncelle @nemobee777 @jencole214 @hazzarules s @ameerakane20 @lucere @cultish-corner @psyches-reid

When you suggested Spencer taking you back to his house, it was safe to say it was purely an emotional and hormone based decision. He was there, and you missed him. Now sitting on his sofa your body seemed to hold every ounce of realisation, that you were seriously really embarrassing yourself right now.

You were disappointed, simply. In your emotional decision, that you were allowing him back, maybe not emotionally, definitely not emotionally, but physically. He didn’t deserve the right to you in any way, thankfully you cared more about him knowing your mind, than seeing your body.

You were sure if you convinced yourself this was just another meaningless hookup on a friday night after a long day, you could pretend that you weren’t planning on having sex with the one person that you swore you’d never let get close to you again.

Maybe it was a punishment for him, that he would get to know you physically, and thats all. Your connection now would be physical. He wanted more, or he did before when he asked you out and worked his way into building your trust, only to have broken it.

Maybe it was a punishment for you.

Maybe this was a lesson you really just had to learn the hard way, time after time again.

“Do you want coffee?” Spencer asked, your head turned to look over your shoulder, eyebrows pulled in, confusion washing over you. You weren’t here for coffee, you weren’t here to just hang out with him, to spend the night with him, you were here for..

Something, you didn’t know.

Maybe sexual relief, maybe self sabotage because the hurt he provided was the most of him you could get. You weren’t sure. Maybe you hoped that if you had sex he would tell you why he suddenly switched up on you.

Or maybe you just wanted to have sex with him.

“No.” You answered, standing up from the couch, your feet found themselves walking to the kitchen where he was. His home layout engraved in your mind because of the amount of time you had spent there. It used to be a second home filled with warmth and laughter, now it felt like different. In the same way things between you and him felt different.

You saw his back first when you stopped in the open doorway of his kitchen, he obviously noticed your presence and turned around, leaning his hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “Whats wrong?” He asked, eyebrows pinched as he noticed the look on your face.

You huffed, “Im confused.”

He frowned, stepping closer till he was in front of you. It was awkward, yet any regret of the decision you had made subsided when your eyes flickered down to his hands, as he clenched and unclenched his fists, obviously dealing with the tension much like you were.

“I know— I’m sorry, I want to tell you-”

a huff left your lips, shaking your head, you groaned, “Not about that- Well yes about that- But- Not right- okay. Twenty minutes ago you were asking me if you could kiss me after ghosting me for over a month with no explanation, and now i’m in your house, to have sex with you and you’re offering to make me coffee?”

Maybe it was more embarrassing in the way you explained it, or maybe it was really just that embarrassing. You didn’t care, that was something you could deal with when you were home, dealing with the similar amount of regret that would come.

He seemed to find it amusing, that made you mad, not any less attracted to him right now, but much more annoyed. “Im trying to make you feel comfortable.” Despite his amusement he was honest and genuine when he leant a little closer to you.

Of course he was, he was good at that, making you feel comfortable, safe, secure. You had to remind yourself that no matter how comfortable you felt, this was an emotional decision, thats all it was, it was because you were horny, not because you were going to let him back in.

“I don’t want to be comfortable. I thought you bought me here to have sex.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

He raised his eyebrows, “You asked me to bring you here.” He pointed out.

“Because I thought you wanted to have sex!”

“Okay, alright. Gosh. Someone is needy.” He mumbled as he stepped closer, and you were trying to be nice for the sake of getting what you wanted, you were trying to be civil for the sake of your sex life (and the lack of it in the last few months), but the glare that followed his words was inevitable.

“Spencer, I will go home right now and I swear to god I will never talk to you again.” Maybe it would be sweet funny banter if you weren’t dead serious when you said it, he seemed to know that, the way his hand reached out to brush a hair away from your face before his thumb lingered on your skin for a moment too long.

His touch wasn’t comforting, you wouldn’t let it be. In order for this to remain purely a hormone based decision and act, you would need to continue to remind yourself of the fact that he lied, broken promises, hurt you, and wouldn’t tell you why.

This was a hormone based decision, not a i miss you and i will take sex because its all i can get based decision.

“Are we going to have sex?” You asked, voice quieter now. His hand had been caressing your cheeks for the moment too long, his eyes boring into every single feature and aspect of your face, and he was silent, the moment was too intimate for the reasoning you were giving yourself for this whole situation. So you felt the question was necessary.

He hummed, “Do you want to have sex?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes. You were pretty sure you made it clear what you wanted. “Clearly.”

“Be nice.” He muttered as his thumb trailed over your jaw.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” You argued.

He chuckled, but it wasn’t funny. Because you both knew he had lost the right to tell you what to do, not that he ever took advantage of that right when he had it, he was always very sure you could make your own decisions and take care of yourself, but at that time, when he did tell you to do something, you listened. He lost that. He lost the right to a lot of things. The intimate moment wouldn’t be started by laughter and sweet kisses that turned into more, the moment wouldn’t be sweetened by the sound of your music playing in the background. He lost that.

He had lost the right to your love, yet unfortunately he still had it all.

He softly placed his lips on yours. Not that it was really soft, because you had learnt that he was incapable of kissing you like he didn’t need it to survive. Every soft kiss was a kiss you placed, his were all full of every emotion. If he wouldn’t tell you what he was thinking, you’d feel it in the way he kissed you. Right now, it was an ‘I miss you’ kiss.

You kissed him back the same, you weren’t sure if he knew the emotion he poured into every kiss he gave you, maybe it was a subconscious thing, you weren’t sure if he’s notice the similarities between the way he kissed you, and the way you kissed him. The same ‘i miss you’ kiss.

His hands gripped your waist, he nudged your thigh with his knee, before stepping into the space between your feet, you stumbled with each step he took, your feet following his backwards. The kiss was never broken, his lips still pressed desperately against yours, there wasn’t a build up, it didn’t start slow, it was just this. It was just whatever was left of you and him.

You continued stumbling backwards until your back was against the wall and his body was pressing yours further against the plaster, his hands were everywhere, pushing your shirt up at your waist to run his thumb over either side of your stomach while your hands gripped at the fabric of his shirt.

There wasn’t a lot to think about, you weren’t sure you could think even if there was a lot to think about. If you thought too long you’d realise what you were doing, you knew that. You didn’t want to come to the realisation. You didn’t want this to end.

“Is this okay?” He asked against your lips, before pulling back so you could answer properly, clearly. his fingers trailed up underneath your shirt, nudging the material of your bra.

You nodded, letting out a harsh breath as your finger curled around the materiel of his t-shirt. Your head fell back against the wall as he moved back slightly, lowering himself so he was on his knees in front of you. You didn’t have time to react as his hands bundled up the fabric of your shirt, pushing it up before holding it just under the wiring of your bra.

“W- what are you doing?” You breathed out as you lowered your head, looking down at him. You knew you were going to have sex, so why you were confused as to him imitating sexual behaviours — you weren’t sure. Maybe you were starting to come to your senses, maybe you were just on edge.

He didn’t answer for a moment, his free hand coming to run down the side of your waist, the soft touch sending shivers down your spine, the coldness of his fingertip against the warmth of your skin set it on fire. He leaned up and pressed his lips softly against the skin right above your belly button, looking up at you through his eyelashes, and for a second you swore you forgot about everything.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, not directly answering your question as to what he was doing. You knew what this was, Spencer — while always making sure to hear you verbally agree and give him the go ahead during the sex, he would be doing it for everything now, because things weren’t the same.

And he knew just as well as you did, that any moment you may change your mind and hate his guts. And he wouldn’t blame you. “Yes” you whispered as your breath hitched, he hummed against the skin of your stomach, his lips continuing to brush over the skin. His hand continued rubbing up and down the soft skin of your side.

“You need to relax.” He mumbled softly as he kissed under where he had bundled up your shirt. You hadn’t realised you were so tense, you didn’t know if you could be blamed, not only was he on his knees in front of you, but he was Spencer. Of course you were tense. You couldn’t remember the last time the thought of him alone didn’t make you tense.

You huffed, your fingers carding through his hair. “Don’t tell me what—” you didn’t even get to finish your snarky comment before he was saying your name, leaning back on his heels to look up at you. His hand dropped your shirt and both his hands trailed to your hips. You frowned as you looked down at him, and at the loss of contact.

“You’re mad at me.” He mumbled, thumb dipping into the waist band of your pants, not a sexual movement, but to gently rub the skin of your hips under where the elastic had settled, he didn’t ask the question to get an answer. It wasn’t even a question. He knew you were mad at him.

You nodded. You didn’t know what there was to say. You were mad at him, you were hurt by what he did and you’d be lying if you said that being here like this was him didn’t further those emotions, they continue to surpass the hormones that put you in this position, with Spencer kneeling in front of you. You wanted to have sex with him, you didn’t doubt that, and if you did end up regretting it, it would be self regret out of embarrassment, not necessarily for having sex with him. You were feeling a lot of emotions, and they were all confusing and contradictory with one another.

He nodded back, still looking up at you. “I know sweet girl, Im mad at me too. But for this to happen you need to relax okay? I can’t do anything when you’re this tense with me.” He mumbled out, the name made your stomach twist with a mix of butterflies and discomfort at its familiarity. Your breath was shaky when it left your lips.

You leant your head back against the wall, taking a few deep breaths, trying to relax your muscles and your nerves. It was hard, the tension in your muscles wasn’t just because you were about to have sex and the anticipation was catching up to you, sure maybe that played a part in it, but the tension came from the weight of every lingering memory of what you was suppose to happen, what he did, what he didn’t do, how much you hated yourself for being here with him, and how much you loved him. That wasn’t the type of tension you can just relax.

Spencer watched, eyes never leaving you as his hands continued to rub gently over your sides as if his touch was suppose to be soothing, maybe it was and you were just too in your head to realise it. Maybe every touch felt the same because you could tell each one carried a the weight of his guilt and it kept getting heavier. You wanted this, you did. You were making this decision in your right mind, there was nobody else to blame.

“Would you feel more comfortable if we went to my room?” Spencer asked, he leant up again, kneeling properly so he was closer to you again. Your head fell forward to meet his eyes as he stared up at you, eyes wide but not pleading with intention, care and concern maybe, a lot of guilt and a whole lot of love. You had to ignore that, because it contradicted the truth you had made up in your head in order to deal with his lack of.

You frowned, “I told you, I don’t want to be comfortable.” You mumbled. You were consumed enough by his scent now, with just him close to you, to be in his room where the entirety was so him, to lay in the bed you spent your nights and mornings tangled in one another, you weren’t sure you’d be able to handle it, you weren’t sure there was enough convincing you could do to yourself for you to continue to believe that this decision wasn’t driven by the undying need to just be with him.

Because that was embarrassing.

You chose to keep your pride as much as possible, although it continued inching away when you looked at him. That was also embarrassing.

“Well, Im not doing this if you’re uncomfortable.” He said back.

“Fine.” You settled.

“Fine.” He replied in the same tone, but he smiled, quickly grabbing your hand and placing his lips along your knuckles before intertwining your fingers and standing up straight. It was playful. He was comfortable. He was okay about this and you felt like every moment was killing you.

He was holding onto your hand tightly as he led you down the hallway. That was intimate in a way it made your chest weigh heavier, uncomfortably so. Familiar in the way it made you feel as if you were home, you weren’t sure if you currently enjoyed the feeling on his hand in yours, but you certainty weren’t pulling away, because the loss of his touch felt worse.

“Can you please take off your shoes and get on my bed?” He asked, once you had entered his bedroom. You were already suffocating in him. Taking in every little difference, his books had moved from his bedside table to his drawers since the last time you were here, he got a different lamp resting on the bedside, he had a plant.

Yet the more you looked around, those little differences didn’t make your chest burn until you noticed that so many things were the same. Your old phone charger that had broken one time when you were staying over remained in place on his shelf where you had placed it then forgotten about it, a small tube of your lipbalm on his bedside table, the book you had started and never finished was the only book that hadn’t moved to his drawers.

You looked back at him, your chest impossibly tight. You could hardly remember what he had asked you to do. You could hardly think. The regret was sinking in as all of the hurt came back, any thought that had clouded that memory prior seemed to disappear because his bedroom remained just as much you as it did him.

“What?” You breathed out heavily, a mass of air you didn’t even know you were holding in. The minute it left your lips your head spun.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he squeezed your hand, the movement was suppose to be comforting but your chest tightened. This was suppose to be a careless moment you’d regret later, not now, not before you had even gotten the chance to do anything. “I asked you to take your shoes off and get on the bed. You don’t have to.” He tried to offer to ease your mind, maybe contradict you if you even dared to argue for him not to tell you what to do. He asked.

“Oh” your lips parted as you looked down and kicked off your shoes. You let go of his hand and breathing felt a little bit easier. You moved towards the bed, because while this was embarrassing, having sex with him after he broke your heart — bursting into tears and running out like you really wanted to, would unfortunately bruise your ego more.

You settled back in the comfort of the mattress. It was so much comfier than yours, yet he use to argue how much better your bed was. You would argue differently. It took you a while to realise neither of you actually cared about the comfort of the bed, just the owner of it. Spencer looked at you for a moment from where he was standing.

“Are you going to come over or what?“ you huffed, impatience getting the better of you. Maybe also the fact that if he didn’t do something you were pretty sure the comfort of his bed, and the surrounding scent would either wind you into tears, or sleep.

He cringed, stepping forward a few times until he was sitting down next to you on the bed, body facing yours, yet he kept a safe distance, hands remaining in his lap, “You don’t look like you want this.” He mumbled.

You frowned, you weren’t great at keeping your emotions off your face regardless of how good you were at keeping them out of your mouth. Spencer also learnt your body language, he studied it as if he was going to be tested on it, he knew you better than you wanted to admit, which made it all hurt more. Because you let him know you.

“I do want this.” You said, and you did.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

He tilted his head a little bit, eyes locking in and searching yours for any sign of doubt, hesitation, he knew it would be there. So did you. After everything you decided you deserved a moment to hesitate, and after everything Spencer wouldn’t argue with that. You tilted your head to the side, reaching up, the back of your fingertip coming to brush against the spine of the book you had been reading, only about half way through. It was what you would read on the nights you spent at Spencer’s, comfortable silence filling the air while you both read.

“I need to get a copy” you muttered absentmindedly. If Spencer made any sort of face or reaction you missed it, your gaze focused on the book and the memories that ran with it.

He reached out to brush his hand over your thigh gently. “You can have that one.” He said, before shuffling so he was settling where your knees were pulled up. His hands were everywhere again, his touch gentler, because the emotions in your mind were showcasing in your body language. He leant forward, gently nudging your knees apart as he leant in more to push your t-shirt up again. “You can have anything you want.” It was a promise, a quiet barley audible promise.

You almost wish you hadn’t heard it because your own words followed, “Besides you?” You shivered as he positioned himself on his knees between your legs, fabric of your shirt bundled up in his fists, he paused at your words, tensing. You saw it.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, keeping his eyes away from your face, at focused on his hand that had finally continued moving again. “Can I take this off?” He asked, referring to your t-shirt, not answering your previous comment, maybe it was a question, you weren’t even sure. his eyes flicked to yours and you nodded. Then he was pulling your shirt up, hand moving to your back to help you sit up a little bit before pulling it off over your arms. Suddenly you were very aware of how cold the air was around you. Or maybe in was just the air between you and Spencer that was so cold, despite the warmth of his hand on your skin.

His hands were everywhere, again, feverishly even, he was leaning up, and then down to connect your lips in a kiss that was so full of emotion it shocked you, a different emotion, a different type of his. He was apologising. Or maybe you were making this up in your head in order to make sense of what was going on. You kissed him back, your hand moving to cup the back of his head, but then he was pulling away, kissing down your jaw, each breath that left his lips was hot against your skin.

He kissed down your neck, lingering on a specific sensitive spot that made your lips part and a soft gasp to pass through, before he continued his pathway down, kissing and swiping his tongue out over your collarbone, his hands moving to reach up to your chest, gently groping you over the fabric of your bra, you sighed, he groaned.

His forehead came to rest against your collarbone, when his hands slipping behind your back, running his fingertip over the clasp of your bra, a silent question. You arched up, a silent approval.

When your bra was removed, there was no time to process the cold air that caused your sensitivity to rise, for insecurity to creep in, his lips closed around the soft skin of your boobs, his hand gently squeezing the one his mouth wasn’t on. “Do you still want me?” He mumbled against your nipple, as his tongue swirled around it.

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering closed. Maybe it was your turn to avoid answering a question. You knew what he was referring to, you mumbling earlier about how he would give you anything besides himself. His question wasn’t out of insecurity, it was out of awareness.

You let out a sound when his finger grazed over the rise of your chest, before he was pulling back from the skin he had been at, his lips trailing down your stomach again, kissing over the waist band of your pants as he shuffled to be laying on his stomach. You weren’t sure a clear thought process was possible when he tucked his fingertip below the elastic.

“Off?” He asked.

You nodded. Words were lost.

He didn’t ask the question expecting an answer— you were glad because words failed you, maybe he asked it because he wanted you to think about it. Whether you liked it or not, he knew you. He spent months learning you inside out, he said it a hundred times that he would forget everything he had ever learnt if it meant knowing you.

You hadn’t take that seriously.

His hands tugged the material down, you were lifting to help as much as possible. Once they were halfway down your thighs. He was letting out a breathy laugh, sitting up the slightest bit to pull them off your legs. The positioning was awkward but it only lasted a second before your knees were parted again.

You could feel his breath against your thigh as his lips trailed over the skin. You were really glad he didn’t ask the question expecting an answer, because you were pretty sure if you opened your mouth a gasp would leave it. A breath you didn’t know you were holding in. You were also glad because you didn’t know the answer. You didn’t know if you did still want him. You wanted to know him, to understand what happened, what went wrong. You wanted things to go back to the way they were before.

Whether that be before he left, or before you met him.

You wanted him, you did. But he was right to question you, because as much as you want him, you cared too deeply about your pride, about the trust that had been broken, the false hope and the lies, you cared too much to know if you would ever forgive him for that.

“Breathe, sweet girl.” He mumbled, breath hot against your skin as his kisses grew firmer, with parted lips as he moved up the inside of your thighs. You did, you let your lips part and the air to flow out, then back in. He hummed in acknowledgment.

“Spencer, please.”

If this was any other time, two and a half months ago, Spencer would’ve made a comment about your good manners, or teased you playfully. He knew better now. He didn’t say anything as his fingers tugged away at the remaining material, slipping his fingers under the hemming over your underwear, then they were being tugged down your legs, in that same awkward positioning.

Your chest rose and fell with anticipation as his breath grew hotter and closer to where you wanted him, then his hands were moving from there positioning on your thighs, his thumb gently brushing over your folds, you sighed, he looked up.

“You’re so pretty, y’know that?” He mumbled as if it was the most casual thing ever. You refused to acknowledge the way your stomach burnt with the mixture of butterflies and hurt. You didn’t have time to reply before a gasp was leaving your lips as he leant down, his tongue dancing over the same as his fingers had only moments prior.

Your hand reached out to grip his hair almost instinctively as you leant up on your elbow, his tongue worked over you as if this was all he would ever need. You were embarrassed of the sound that left your mouth when his lips latched onto your clit, tongue flicking against it. Despite your embarrassment, Spencer seemed to think opposite of the sound as a groan left his lips against you, the vibrations only furthering the feeling.

“Spencer.” You moaned, your body no longer capable of being held up by your elbow as you dropped against the bed, flat against the bed, head turning to bury your face in the side of the pillow. Your back arched, hips furthering against his face. He didn’t seem to mind as his free arm wrapped around your hips, tugging you even closer.

His tongue lapped over you, the sound was so embarrassing if you weren’t caught up in the pleasure of it all, and the emotions that seemed to follow him, you would’ve noticed. His fingers moved to brush his thumb over your clit as his tongue slipped inside you, before out, then lapping you again, tongue and lips everywhere. The feeling was overwhelming in the best way as your back arched.

“Im sorry,” he mumbled against you, before his tongue slipped inside you again, you weren’t sure if it was his words or the feelings that made your eyes glaze over, instinctively causing you to squeeze them shut. “Im sorry.” He mumbled again.

You could’ve believed him.

His finger brushed down, his thumb nudging your hole as his lips moved back up to your clit, then his thumb was replaced with his middle finger, slowly easing inside you. You moaned at the feeling, he almost mirrored it against you, his hand easy in and out.

“I miss you,” He whispered against your clit, finger curling inside you as if to puncture his words, or maybe to keep you from replying. If that was the case, it worked, because your head furthered into the pillow. You could hardly process his words or the hurt they sent to your chest over the growing need in your stomach.

“Spencer.” Maybe his name was all you could say. It was suppose to be a warning, not to go there, not to touch the topic, but it came out as a moan. He added another finger as his tongue flicked over your clit again, lips latching on and sucking as if his life depended on it.

His pace grew, mirroring the growing knot in your stomach. His tongue and lips worked harder against you, because he knew you and he could feel it. You might’ve muttered out a warning but either way it would’ve been muffled by the pillow your neck was twisted awkwardly into, he didn’t mind when you came on his fingers. You knew he didn’t from the way his fingers slipped out and were replaced with his mouth.

“Too much” you had cried out as your hips shifted away from him. He was off you instantly. Leaning up and licking his lips. He placed lips gently against your thigh before he was shifting to sit up. Your eyes were closed so you missed the way he stared at you, before running his hands through his hair as shuffling out from his space between your legs.

You could feel the absence, your eyes opened to find him collecting your clothes from where they had been stripped of around the room. You frown. “What are you doing? I just- I just needed a moment?” You leant up on your elbows, despite the fogginess in your mind.

He frowned when he stood up straight after picking up your t-shirt, his eyes bored into yours and you wish you understood the emotion swirling through them, but you didn’t. You didn’t at all. He just placed your clothes beside you on the bed, before sitting on the edge of it, his hand reaching out to gently brush over your thigh.

“Im not going to have sex with you.” He mumbled, and you weren’t sure what the emotion was that was sent rippling through your body, anger? Hurt? Embarrassment? Rejection? Gratitude? You were suddenly unable to differ them.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you sat up further; reaching out for your t-shirt because you suddenly felt way too exposed in front of him. You tugged it over your head as you spoke; every muscle in your body tense. “Why not?” You barely whispered, your chest still heaving on the come down of your orgasm.

His hand continued rubbing your thigh gently. He looked at you and said your name and you knew what it meant. He felt guilty. You weren’t sure if it was the guilt for everything that had happened or if it was the guilt for possibly having sex with you when he knew he wouldn’t stick around. You wanted to laugh and mumble how that never bothered him before; but you didn’t.

You suddenly felt really embarrassed. “God.” You mumbled out, realisation and regret washing over you as you reached out for the rest of your clothing, shuffling uncomfortably to get dressed as fast as possible, Spencer was quiet, his hand slipped off your thigh when you moved to tug your underwear and pants back on.

“Don’t do- Let me clean you up”

“Get the fuck off me.”

It was an instant switch. An instant reminder that this wasn’t anything other than a horny decision. That things between you and him weren’t okay, and may never be again. A reminder that no matter how much you indulged in the idea that this was nothing more, that this wouldn’t haunt you, you were in love with him, and this was hurting you. He was hurting you, and you let him. You would never forgive yourself for loving him.

He said your name but your mind had shut off.

He frowned when you didn’t reply of acknowledge him, he frowned further when you — disorderly dressed moved to get off his bed, your hair a mess but you couldn’t seem to care.

He reached out for you, “I want to explain, if you hate me after you can go and I’ll never bother you again, I promise. Im sorry? Okay. For everything. I shouldn’t have let this happen- I shouldn’t have taken you here. Im sorry— I love you, Im sorry.”

Your eyes closed when the words left his mouth and your muscles relaxed, not with relief but because you no longer had the energy to remain tense, your arm didn’t pull away from the gentle grip of his hand, the only thing keeping you from leaving. ‘i love you.’ He loved you and you didn’t believe him. You were mentally debating whether you even wanted to stick around to find out anymore, or if you needed to get out right now.

“I hate you.” You were lying. You were hurting him before he was hurting you. You hated that, that this was what was left of you and him. You hated that you wish you meant the words, you hated the way you knew he didn’t believe you, you hated the most that you didn’t believe you either.

He didn’t flinch at your words. You hated that too. “Can you wait till after I explain to decide if thats true?”

You weren’t sure you were capable of thought anymore. You were pretty sure he had taken your entire sense of self, curled it up in a ball and thrown it so far away because you were unable to find it since the day you had kissed him in your kitchen all those months ago. Every aspect of what you had with him, and who you became, you weren’t sure it was for the better.

You definitely doubted it was, when your feet remained planted on the floor, and your gaze met his. “Fine.”

[vickyvicarious]

It seems like the general first impression was "The Demeter crew is suffering and sleepless and dying, while Mina is having a nice sightseeing vacation", but... Doesn't it seem less of a contrast than that?

Lucy's now increasingly odder sleepwalking was there from day one of Mina's arrival, making Mina sleepless. While the crew sleeps with one eye open.

Even on the first day on Whitby, Mina was taking about death and lost ships. While the crew was beginning to lose men. Mina and Mr Swales talk about tombstones and suicide. While the First Mate jumps to his death.

*Mina voice*: the reports of my hot girl summer have been greatly exaggerated...

You're onto something here, definitely. Of course, in the original book, we don't see anything from the Demeter until a little ways into Mina's stay, so it (re)reads as more foreshadowing than it seems like a parallel, but that's one of the really fun things to notice in the daily format! I'm reminded of Lucy's three suitors and her letters about looking into her mirror coming so soon on the heels of Jonathan's encounter with the three vampire women and with his mirror getting broken.

I never noticed just how much a lot of Mina's storyline here lines up so well with the Demeter though. And now that I'm thinking about it... There's a bunch of those kinds of connections!

Of course, there are overall ones. Like you said, Lucy's sleepwalking begins right away, and it robs Mina of her sleep. Meanwhile, the crew of the Demeter are kept awake by storms, by double-watches, by having to pick up the work that no one else is left to do. But though that's pretty overarching, there are also some moments that line up really well. For example, July 27: "Lucy walks more than ever, and each night I am awakened by her moving about the room." and July 28: "Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out."

Then there are Mina's conversation with Mr. Swales, especially the latter one with its talk of suicide, of going to hell - only two days before the mate leaps to his death rather than allow Dracula to get his soul. Mr. Swales also parallels the first mate a bit in being, as Mina says, "a most dictatorial person in his day" and very insistent that there's nothing supernatural going on, though as yet he's not been proven so terribly wrong about that the way the first mate was.

On July 24, Mina says there is "a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in a mournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship is lost bells are heard out at sea." That same day the Demeter is approaching more bad weather, and later on they get lost in the fog. (Though we never get mention of any bell ringing.)

Mrs. Westenra is afraid of Lucy's sleepwalking because she "has got an idea that sleep-walkers always go out on roofs of houses and along the edges of cliffs and then get suddenly wakened and fall over with a despairing cry that echoes all over the place." On August 2, the captain is awoken by a cry that sounds close, but which he cannot see the source of in the fog. The next day, the mate runs up onto the deck crying out after being figuratively 'wakened' to the true horror of who he's up against just before he leaps over the side of the ship. Also on August 3, Lucy goes about searching for the key so she can get out, and the mate went searching through the boxes in the hold. He clearly found what he was looking for, and it had terrible consequences; if Lucy finds what she seeks in her sleepwalking, what might happen to her?

And, one that I can't believe never occurred to me before... Mina's not only worried about Lucy, of course. She's very afraid for Jonathan. Because he, much like the men on the Demeter, has vanished unseen. He went off to his work (on watch/work trip) and hasn't been seen since. Even when she hears from him, it's brief and she can sense the letter is uncharacteristic of him, short and lacking detail. The reason, though she doesn't know it, is of course that Dracula stopped him from saying anything else/more. Jonathan's real sentiments and words were 'lost in the fog' so to speak (the false trail laid by the letters being the metaphorical fog here). It reminds me of the one sailor's cry that awoke the captain. And even with that, she's still waiting for more word of him and should have had it by this point. But he's simply gone.

It's not endless horrors for Mina at the moment, but the ominous tone is certainly building over time despite more positive moments happening too. To use a weather metaphor, more and more stormclouds have been gathering over time, looming threateningly overhead. And it looks an awful lot like the weather Dracula brought to the Demeter.