#Neighborly Affection

[ozzgin]

Hello ozzign (is it okay if I call you Ozzie?) I was wondering if you could do how different hybrids reacting to reader getting their period, because I am on my period rn and it hurts like **HELL**, so I would very much appreciate it if you’d do that for me

Love, 🍄 anon

NSFW content!

Bear!Hybrid loves to spoil you with physical affection. The moment he sees your displeased expression, he knows. He'll sit down and pat his lap, inviting you to hop on. He's massive, soft, and warm: you'll be asleep and in no pain by the time he's done cuddling you.

Lion!Hybrid has a lot of female clients frequenting his salon, so he is rather well-informed when it comes to your troubles. You're in pain? He'll immediately cancel all appointments for the day, grab a blanket, and sit next to you. He has an agenda of tips, tricks, and suggestions that he's dutifully gathered for your sake. He's at your service.

Tiger!Hybrid is a tad awkward when it comes to this, truth be told. He's an underground fighter, and has lived his life with the simple philosophy of sucking it up. Unlike him, however, you're a frail human. He can't bear to see you in discomfort, yet it's not some opponent he can beat up. Maybe he can...uh...fuck you until you're better?

Cow!Hybrid Husband is such a caring spouse. He'll prepare you a warm drink made with plenty of love, then spend the rest of the day pampering you and fulfilling all your wishes. His tail is wagging in anticipation, eyeing your thighs and hoping you'll soon ask him to eat you out. Truly, there is no better cure. Let him take care of it.

Bull!Hybrid is a little nonchalant offering his help. He'll knock on your door, claiming he's heard your groans of discomfort and suggesting he...keeps you company. He doesn't even wait for your response, closing the door behind him and heading for the bedroom. What, it's common sense that neighbors help each other out! And he's starving to show you how neighborly he is.

Hammerhead Shark!Hybrid can tell from the moment you dive in. You barely left your boat, and you already notice him speeding in your direction. A shiver crosses your spine once you see his hungry expression. You begin to gesture at him to calm down. Pointless, really. When he's like this, there's no reasoning. He's always attracted to you, of course, but sometimes you really drive his instincts wild. He's about to devour his prey, and you'll love every second of it.

[More OCs with a menstruating Reader] | [Hybrid Masterlist]

[alovelyfrenchworld]

Your Neighborly Orc Part 2

The journey home was short and once there, you settled in quickly. As a heavy snow storm began, you lit a small fire in the hearth. There was no way you'd be able to journey out again, so you figured you'd make the best of what you had.

Your cat curled up on the wuant rug by the fire as you seated yourself in the armchair just beside. Armed with a wool blanket and a book on medicinal herbs gave you the chance to get comfy quickly. Even during your free time and isolation from primary civilzation meant that you'd want to amke yourself useful for fun. Maybe you could concoct a new tea for immunity. Sufficiency was key.

*********

A few days passa and as expected, your kindling was running low.

You prepared yourself and left home for the woods again when you were met with a surprise.

The orc frm the other day was across the river, this time paired with a bow. Hunting, presumably. You went on with your task, bundling and lifting your stack of logs when a patch of ice hidden by powdery nsnow caused you to slip. Landing in the freezing water, your logs falling with you - now soaked and useless.

"Damn it!" You cursed, feeling that your hard work was wasted. Before you could make an attempt to stand, large hands enveloped you and lifted you out of the water and set you down on the bank.

"What the f-," you sputtered.

"Are you alright?" the orc asked, concern in his eyes.

Frustrated with yourself, you reply, "Physically. But now I have to start over."

The temperature of the great outdoors suddenly began to affect you. You shivered, understanding the precarity of your condition in this sort of weather.

"You're in no shape to be doing anything. You need to get out of these clothes before you freeze to death." He pointed to the collar of your collar, careful not to actually touch you.

Feeling exposed, you smacked his hand away and raised your arm to your chest.

"Do not worry," he chuckled hoarsely, almost out of nervousness, "I am not here to violate you. I only mean to comment on your well-being."

His kindness was shocking, but not totally unwelcomed.

Before you could properly reply, you were lifted bridal style.

"Whoa, whoa! This is unnecessary and preposterous!" You flail in his arms, making his grip strengthen to keep you safely in place.

"Humans," he scoffed, "too prideful."

Embarassed by your outburst, your face fell isntantly.

"Now," he said less gruffly, "where to?"

Realizing that a stranger wanted to know where you lived was frightening, but you were already in a vulberable position. Either way, you were compromised.

You gave him diretion to your little cottage, getting to know each other along the way, even exchanging names. He revealed his name to be Gûruk, and that he lived in a nearby orc settlement across the river. He told you hwo the settlement was at the edge of the territory, which explained why you'd sen him of late.

As he approached your door, he set you down on the stoop, and backed away.

"You need to be more careful, Y/N." He was right, but you would never tell him that.

"I will try," you grinned, "thank you, Gûruk."

He nodded in acknowledgement, looking around your homestead. He said nothing as he turned to walk away.

You questioned if this exit was typical of orcs or if you had made him uncomfortable.

You hoped you'd cross paths again so you could thank him properly without him feeling the need to leave.

Hopefully soon, Gûruk.

Tags:

@yourlittlehoe

@lem-hhn

[morning-star-joy]

I'll plant a garden in the yard (Joel x F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, Post!Outbreak Neighbors

Summary: You're Joel's new next-door neighbor when he settles in Jackson, and you're determined to add some positivity to the grumpy old man's life. This time, instead of baked goods, you show up on his doorstep with another housewarming gift. (based off this request)

Tags/Warnings: Mild language, Joel is unintentionally an asshole, Soft!Reader, implied age gap, things get a little bit kinky/horny if you squint but nothing explicit

Wordcount: 1.9k

Part I || Part II || Part III || Masterlist (More Parts Coming Soon)

Joel Miller masterlist

Joel Miller was, for lack of a better term, an asshole.

Look, you didn’t like calling him that. And you would never dare to say it aloud, but when he took the neighborly welcome in the form of freshly baked banana bread you had spent an afternoon making only to shut his door in your face right afterwards—yup, total asshole.

Still, you had squared your shoulders back, not letting the slight affect you as you introduced yourself through the closed door anyway, before spinning on your heel and making the very short journey back to your own house right next-door.

You knew right from that moment that being Joel’s neighbor would be a very interesting, very peculiar, and maybe sometimes very aggravating circumstance.

The man triggered some smidgen of curiosity from you, though, you had to admit. There was something about the severe set of his brow, the deep-set wrinkles on a hardened face, that caught your attention. Not to mention a frown that you hadn’t seen alleviated for a moment just during the short few minutes you had spoken to him.

Joel hadn’t said a word back, instead letting you ramble on and on, until he roughly muttered thanks for the baked sweets, taking the plate from you to hold in large hands before the infamous door shutting incident.

Large hands. Surely, they would completely envelop yours.

And would they be rough? Callused? Clearly he had lived a hard life, and most likely a long life at that. You were friends with Tommy, and knew how much older he was, and if his brother was even older…

Clearing your throat, you shook your head sharply, wiping the back of your hand across your forehead to get rid of the sweat accumulating there. You glanced from the soil covering your fingers to the freshly planted flowers in front of you, grinning to yourself as you leaned back on your heels to get a better view of the big picture, satisfied with how the new addition to your little garden looked.

When you rose to your feet, it was with a small bunch of bright, freshly bloomed flowers in your hand, clutched tightly as you collected your shears and walked to your back porch.

Your backyard’s small garden has been your pride and joy since arriving in Jackson. Upon settling into your home that was much smaller than the one next-door, you had started the slow process of planting whatever seeds you could find or trade for, taking the time to care for the flowers that eventually grew until they flourished over months of hard work.

Now, you were deciding to share a little bit of that hard work to hopefully brighten the day of your gloomy next-door neighbor.

You hadn’t seen Joel much since he moved in. In fact, you weren’t sure if the man hardly ever left his house.

Ellie, on the other hand, you had caught a few times as she made the journey down from their front porch to the main street.

“Oh, hey!” she had called to you the first time you saw her as you sat on your porch one afternoon, returning your friendly wave with one of her own. “You’re the one who made the banana bread!”

“Yes, that was me,” you smiled, amused as to how you had been deemed the baker by the girl before she left, though not without her giving you a thanks that was considerably more genuine than the stoic man who had received the baked goods from you.

You huffed quietly, shaking any hint of bitterness from your mind. No, you didn’t want to think of him, or anybody, in that way. This world was too cruel, and staying alive was too rare and beautiful a thing to taint it by carrying that kind of hatred around in your heart.

So you dropped your shears off on the small table for gardening supplies on your back porch, before sliding open the back door and heading inside. You hurried through your house, letting the front door shut behind you without so much as a glance back before you were walking down your front path and up to Joel’s.

The stems of the flowers were still clutched tightly in your hands, and you distracted yourself by looking down at each one, noting the colors and thinking over each type as you waited for an answer to your knocking.

When there was none, you frowned, leaning forward on your tiptoes to knock again, a bit louder this time, as opposed to your gentle few taps on the wood that you had given the first time.

Shifting on your feet, you glanced down at your sandals, only then noticing how the bottom of the faded, pale blue sundress you wore today had dirt smudged on the hem.

“Oh,” you murmured to yourself, frowning as you reached a hand down to try and brush it off, only for your eyes to widen when you saw your fingers were covered in soil. “Oh, shoot.”

You glanced around before pivoting to look behind you, wondering if you could make a quick getaway back home to clean yourself up, when the door finally swung open.

Spinning back around, you looked up at the surly man holding it open, staring at you with that same crease in his brow as you stood there, holding a small assortment of flowers in very dirty hands, with an equally dirty sundress on his front porch.

“Um—” you coughed, clearing your throat as you straightened with the intensity of that gaze on you.

In the back of your mind, you wondered if Joel intended to look at people that way—like he was not only sizing them up, but sending a message on how quickly he could take you down if needed—before gesturing lamely with the flowers in your hands.

“These are for you,” you said quietly, trying to find your footing, but you were out of your element with a considerably unkempt appearance and that cold, analytical gaze focused on you.

So you looked away, taking a quiet, deep breath to compose yourself, finding it much easier to speak when you weren’t having to make such direct eye contact with Joel. “I thought it could help brighten you up a bit.”

Or, you thought it was easier to talk.

When you realized what you had said, your eyes widened, snapping back to his to see his face was still mostly blank, but his eyebrows slowly unfurled enough so he could arch one as you stammered, “That is, uh—I didn’t mean to say you weren’t bright. I just—your house, I mean. Brighten up your house.”

You winced internally, shifting again on your feet, and Joel’s gaze shifted, quickly scanning down your body before they snapped back up to your face.

Something about that quick once-over made you hold the flowers even tighter, feeling your cheeks heat in what had to have been embarrassment as he must have noticed how dirty you were when you showed up at his house.

“Sorry,” you murmured, holding back the subconscious need to brush out your dress when you remembered how dirty your fingers were. “I just got finished in the garden. Forgot to wash up.”

Joel shrugged then, a small movement of his shoulders, before you heard him speak for the second time since you had met him, “A little dirt never hurt nobody.”

Your cheeks were heated in embarrassment. Only embarrassment. Yes, you were just embarrassed and there was absolutely nothing else that you were feeling at that comment, nope. Nothing at all.

Shoving the flowers forward, you held them out for Joel to take, watching as he didn’t even flinch at the dirt that dropped from your fingers as he slowly took them, even as he was careful to avoid touching your hand when it retreated from the stems.

“Oh,” you perked up, leaning forward a bit to point towards a couple of the flowers, ignoring the way Joel leaned away at your movement, just like he did with the banana bread, as you said cheerfully, “Those ones are for Ellie. The yellow daisies.”

Joel stared at your face for a moment, his mouth notably set into a firm line—not a frown, you noticed—even as you smiled brightly up at him, before he slowly looked down at the daisies in his hand. “Okay.”

“They’re for cheer and friendship,” you continued, unable to hold back your enthusiasm as you spoke of the flowers, even though Joel had not asked, and most certainly didn’t care as he stared at you blankly again. “To help her settle in Jackson.”

“Flowers are going to help her settle in Jackson?” Joel said plainly, almost sarcastically, and you stiffened for a moment before smiling again.

“Well, a gesture of goodwill can help, I think,” you replied easily, your tone as light and genuine as you meant the sentiment to be, and Joel’s gaze flashed away from you at the sound of it.

“What about these?” he asked, holding the flowers almost as awkwardly as the way you had offered them, gesturing to the ones next to the daisies with his other hand.

“Oh, those are for you,” you replied, pointing to them yourself as you added, “Daffodils.”

“Okay.”

You both were silent for a moment, staring down at the collection of bright yellow flowers, and you watched as Joel almost seemed to hesitate for a moment before asking, “What do I do with them?”

“Well,” you started, your lips titling up in a half-smile as you decided to take a risk and tease, “Traditionally, you put them in a vase. Fill it with water.”

“Oh, funny,” Joel muttered, and you bit your lip, worried that you may have crossed a line too soon.

But when you looked closer at his face, you swear it didn’t look quite as severe as before, and a giggle slipped past your lips as you realized he may have been teasing back, in his own way, before you could try and hold back the sound.

Joel glanced up at you at the sound, staring at your face before glancing down at your hands where they had subconsciously found the edge of your dress to hold onto it, and he quickly shifted away, stepping back into the safety of his home as his other hand found the door.

“Thanks,” he mumbled again, his voice just as coarse—and deep, and rough, and masculine, with that distinct Southern accent hanging from the word—as the first time he had thanked you for a gesture of neighborly goodwill, before he closed that door right in your face yet again.

A small sigh was pulled from your lungs, your shoulders deflating as you let yourself glare in momentary frustration at the barrier for just a split second before brightening up again.

“You’re welcome, Joel!” you called, turning away before pausing, considering before adding loudly, “Er, Mr. Miller? Do you prefer that? Or is Joel fine?”

There was no reply, but you hadn’t heard his footsteps carry away from the door yet either.

So you waited, perhaps for too long a moment, shifting awkwardly in your sandals and dirty dress before saying cheerfully, “Alright—Mr. Miller, then! Until you tell me otherwise, at least. Enjoy your flowers!”

You spun, your dress flaring around you as you skipped down the steps and bounced down the pathway, feeling at least somewhat successful that you had gotten him to take the flowers.

One could only hope that he actually put them in a vase and didn’t throw them away at the first chance.

Lord knew he could use that extra brightness.

[skateordiebitch]

BALCONY BLUES || D.F. x reader

summary: you and dominic are neighbors. you like to read books on your balcony, he likes to smoke cigarettes. you like quiet nights in, he likes to throw parties. but, as they say... opposites attract.

there's a little more than just neighborly affection brewing.

word count: 4.6k (damn)

me when i sit on my balcony and daydream....... that's how this story was born. and honestly i love it it's so cute. oh, to have a dominic fike stare at me from his balcony. anyways, enjoy! i only have like two more requests to do, so pls feel free to send moreeee <3

When you moved to California, you were looking forward to the quiet. Your apartment was modest, tucked into a complex that overlooked the ocean, with a small balcony you’d already claimed as your reading spot. 

You’d imagined peaceful weekends spent with a book and the distant crash of waves. 

It was exactly what you’d hoped for—except for one small complication: your neighbor, Dominic.

He was the opposite of what you were aiming for with your calm, coastal move. He had this habit of throwing loud parties every weekend, the music thumping through the walls and spilling out onto his balcony, the place he seemed to live when he was home. 

You noticed him on your first day, leaned back against the railing, a cigarette in hand, looking every bit like he owned the place.

And while you were trying your best to ignore him, you couldn’t quite deny the strange spark of interest you felt every time he looked your way. 

The two of you didn’t speak at first, not beyond the nods and the polite “hey” when you’d cross paths. Still, you felt his presence, especially in the evenings when you’d be on your balcony, tucked into a chair with your latest book, and he’d be out there too, leaning over the railing and occasionally glancing over.

He didn’t try to hide it either. 

Dominic looked at you openly, sometimes with the faintest hint of a smirk, like he was waiting for you to call him out. But you never did. 

You just kept reading, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

One night, when his usual party music pulsed into your living room, you sighed and headed out to your balcony, hoping for a quiet escape. 

But of course, there he was, leaning against the railing, cigarette dangling from his fingers, his eyes catching yours the moment you stepped outside.

"Well, hello, new neighbor," he said, flashing a grin. "What brings you to our quiet little paradise?"

You looked around, taking in the party remnants still strewn across his balcony—a few empty bottles, a speaker, a crumpled shirt tossed over a chair. The place screamed not quiet. You quirked a brow, a little smirk forming. 

"Quiet, huh?"

He laughed, unbothered by the observation. "What, you don’t like a little excitement?"

"Excitement’s fine. But I’m more of a ‘book and movie’ person than a ‘dancing til' midnight’ one," you replied, holding up the novel you’d brought out with you.

He leaned on the railing, flicking ash from his cigarette, clearly intrigued. "Let me guess, you’re one of those mysterious types, huh? All books, all quiet moments." He nodded toward your book, lips twisting into a teasing smile. "How romantic."

You rolled your eyes. "And you’re what? The loud, overconfident neighbor I have to put up with?"

He held his hands up, feigning innocence. "Hey, don’t judge me yet. I’ve been known to read, too, you know. Once or twice."

“Oh really?” you shot back, holding back a laugh. “What’s the last book you read?”

He laughed again, a little sheepish. “Alright, maybe it’s been a while. But if you’re up for sharing, maybe I could get into reading again.”

You scoffed. “I’d bet you’d fall asleep halfway through.”

“That a challenge?” His eyebrows lifted playfully. “Because I don’t back down from those. Trust me, new neighbor.”

—

From that night on, you fell into a routine. 

Most evenings, you’d come out with a book, and like clockwork, Dominic would make his way onto his balcony too. Sometimes he’d chat with you, other times he’d just sit there, stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking. 

And little by little, you found yourself looking forward to those evenings—the way his voice drifted over, soft in the night air, and the way his laughter made your pulse quicken just a bit.

His weekend parties became something you learned to live with, even if they did get under your skin sometimes. 

But every now and then, in the middle of a particularly loud song or a burst of laughter from his friends, you’d catch him looking at you across the balcony, like he was daring you to join in.

—

Then one afternoon, you were lost in a book on your balcony when you heard a knock at your door. Surprised, you opened it to find Dominic standing there, hands in his pockets, an easy smile on his face.

“I noticed you’re not at your usual spot,” he said, nodding toward his own balcony. “Figured you might be taking a break from the whole… ‘reading alone’ thing.”

“Maybe,” you replied, crossing your arms. “And you decided to do what? Invite me to a party?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Actually, no. I was thinking of taking a walk down by the beach. Thought you might want to come along.”

You hesitated. He could be loud and a little obnoxious, and part of you still wanted that peaceful, book-filled weekend. But there was another part of you—a part that was curious, intrigued by the casual confidence with which he invited you out.

“Alright,” you said, trying not to smile too widely. “A walk. But if you bring out the speakers, I’m going back inside.”

He grinned, a spark of surprise in his eyes as he stepped back to let you grab your jacket. The walk to the beach was quiet, the two of you falling into a rhythm as the sun dipped lower in the sky. 

The silence was nice, comfortable in a way that you hadn’t expected, and by the time you reached the water, you found yourself relaxing around him.

“This is your spot, isn’t it?” he said, nodding toward the waves.

You glanced at him, surprised. “What makes you think that?”

“I’ve seen you down here a few times,” he admitted, his gaze steady, his tone quieter than usual. “You look… at home here.”

“Guess I do,” you said, shrugging. “I moved here for the quiet. Thought California would be, I don’t know… peaceful.”

He laughed. “… And then you got me as a neighbor. Must feel like a curse sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” you teased, though your smile softened as he looked at you. “But… maybe not all the time.”

The moment stretched out, your heart fluttering as his gaze held yours. 

He was different in this quiet, sunset-lit setting, his usual confidence tempered by something softer, more thoughtful. And for the first time, you felt like you were seeing him—really seeing him—beyond the parties and the noise.

From that day on, the dynamic between you shifted. 

He’d come out onto his balcony when you were reading, asking about your latest book or bringing you coffee on lazy Sunday mornings. Sometimes you’d go for another walk along the shore, talking about everything and nothing as the sun set around you.

The weeks slipped by, and soon enough, you were finding reasons to spend more and more time with him. 

He’d come over for impromptu dinners, always bringing some wild story or teasing comment. Sometimes, you’d even venture onto his balcony, sitting with him in the aftermath of his parties, listening to him ramble about his friends or music or whatever he was passionate about that night.

—

Dominic had a way of showing up unannounced, and you never minded. 

His knock on the door was always followed by that grin of his—half apologetic, half mischievous—like he’d just had an idea to make the night more interesting. 

And every time, you’d find yourself saying yes to whatever spontaneous plan he had, even if it was just an impromptu dinner.

He was leaning against your doorframe when you opened it one evening, a takeout bag in hand, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Hey, I brought Chinese. And I have a crazy story about Reed at the bar last night, and I swear he’s convinced he’s been haunted by a ghost for three days. It’s a mess."

You laughed, stepping aside to let him in. "You’re really the only person I know who could make a simple dinner into an event."

"That’s because I’m here for the drama," he said with a wink, strolling into your apartment as if it was his second home, which, at this point, it practically was.

Dinner was a laid-back affair, the two of you perched on the couch, tossing back takeout containers and halfheartedly watching a movie you weren’t really paying attention to. 

Most of the time, it was like that with Dominic—more about the company than the activity. 

You barely noticed when the food ran out or the movie ended. You were too caught up in his stories, his hands gesturing wildly as he described whatever outrageous thing had happened to him that day. 

At one point, you had to pause him mid-story. "Wait," you interrupted, smirking. "You’re telling me Reed thinks a ghost followed him home from a Halloween party last year?"

He nodded, eyes wide with mock seriousness. "He was practically in tears. I swear, he won’t leave his apartment alone now. I had to convince him the ghost probably has better things to do than haunt a guy who wears socks with sandals."

You burst into laughter, and Dominic joined in, his carefree chuckle filling the room like it always did. 

The next few minutes passed in comfortable silence, with only the sound of music softly playing from the speakers. 

You leaned back on the couch, your feet tucked underneath you, and found yourself staring at Dominic. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d noticed how effortlessly attractive he was, but tonight, it hit you in a different way. His scruffy hair was falling into his eyes, and his lips—those damn lips—had a playful smirk that made you wonder how you hadn’t kissed him yet. 

But you couldn't quite figure out why you hadn’t. It was complicated, like everything with Dominic always seemed to be.

You cleared your throat, brushing away the thought. 

"You know," you said, pulling your legs up onto the couch, "I didn’t expect you to be one for spontaneous dinners. I thought you were more of the ‘grab a burger on the way home’ kind of guy."

Dominic grinned, stretching his arm along the back of the couch casually. "I am," he said, "but sometimes it's nice to get out of my own head. And when I can’t convince my friends to have dinner with me, I come to you." His gaze softened for a moment, and his voice dropped slightly. "You’re the only person who doesn’t look at me like I’m the chaos walking through the door."

Your heart did a little flip at his words. "I like the chaos," you replied, your voice quieter than before.

Dominic tilted his head, studying you with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something he didn’t usually let slip in front of others. 

But before either of you could say anything more, he pushed up from the couch, grabbing his jacket and the empty food containers. 

"I think I’m gonna head to my balcony," he said casually, giving you a sideways glance. "Wanna join? It's not exactly a party, but... it's the best view in the building."

You nodded, feeling an involuntary smile tug at your lips. "Yeah, sure. I’ll be out in a second."

The balcony was quieter than usual tonight—no party chaos, no loud music or chattering voices. Just the sound of distant cars and the occasional crash of waves from the beach below. 

Dominic leaned against the railing, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he stared out at the city lights. You stood beside him, your arms crossed over your chest, just watching him, feeling that familiar tension settle between you.

"You know," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence, "I love this view. But I think I might like it more when you're out here with me." 

His words were soft, genuine, and for a moment, he wasn’t Dominic, the wild party host. He was just a guy, caught in the same quiet moment you were.

You raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was joking or serious, but the look in his eyes was so sincere it made your chest tighten. "You’re full of surprises, you know that?"

He laughed, exhaling a puff of smoke and brushing it aside. "I try to be. Life’s better when you’re unpredictable."

"Yeah, but," you added with a teasing smile, "you’re the only one who doesn’t have a filter. Makes things interesting."

He turned to face you, his posture relaxed but his expression more serious now, as if he was carefully choosing his words. "It’s easy with you. You don’t try to make sense of everything I do. You just let me be... me."

You felt your heart race a little faster, his words hitting somewhere deeper than you expected. You nodded, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of his gaze. "I think that's what I like most about you."

The silence stretched between you, but this time it didn’t feel awkward. It felt... right.

Dominic took one last drag from his cigarette and dropped it into the ashtray. Then he took a step closer to you, his eyes searching yours. "I don’t say it much, but I’m glad you’re here," he said softly.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle in your chest. "Me too."

The night stretched on in a haze of quiet conversation and stolen glances. 

And as you sat together on his balcony, you knew this wasn’t just another casual hangout—it was something more. Something you weren’t quite ready to label, but couldn’t deny was happening between the two of you. 

Slowly, but surely.

—

And then on one Friday, you’d just settled into a new novel when Dominic leaned over, his elbows resting on the railing. "So, big plans for the weekend?" he asked, flashing that familiar smile.

You shrugged. "Same as always. Just me, my book, and TV.”

He feigned shock. "No wild plans? No... secret parties in there?" He nodded toward your apartment, his voice teasing.

"Some of us enjoy a peaceful life," you shot back. "Not everyone throws ragers every Friday night."

"Ouch. You wound me," he said, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "But, hey, just for the record, tonight’s party’s invitation-only. But I could make an exception."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Sorry to disappoint. I don’t think I’d fit in with your crowd."

"Oh, I don’t know," he said, a twinkle in his eye. "You might surprise yourself."

“I haven’t been to a party in ages, Dom,” You say, watching him spark with even more excitement.

“Perfect! Then you’re coming to mine.”

—

You had no intention of actually attending Dominic's party. 

But somehow, your friends that were invited had convinced you to tag along, and now you were here, tucked against a wall in his dimly lit apartment.

Watching the lively crowd fill every corner of his place, music pulsed through the walls, echoing off the high ceilings, and the familiar scent of Dominic’s cologne mingled with the laughter and voices all around.

You were handed three shots of tequila, back to back, and now permanently glued to the corner, away from the chaos. 

You hadn’t even expected Dominic to notice you were here, but just as you were starting to wonder where he was, you felt a hand gently press against the small of your back. 

You turned, and there he was—his grin wide, his eyes lighting up the moment they met yours.

"Well, look who finally made it to one of my parties," he said, leaning close so you could hear him over the music. His voice was low, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. "And here I thought you were all talk about being ‘too quiet’ for nights like this."

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "I’m just here to make sure your guests don’t destroy the building!”

"Oh, so you’re keeping an eye on me, huh?" His hand lingered on your back, his fingers tracing small circles there. His touch was warm, grounding in a way that felt electric and impossible to ignore. "You’re cute when you’re pretending not to have fun."

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Who says I’m pretending?"

He hands you another shot as he pours himself another one; And from the looks of it, he’s had way more than you. 

“Cheers! To… whatever we got going on here,” He says, as you raise the shot glass.

“To whatever we got going on,” The two of you laugh as you feel that god-awful stinging sensation travel down your throat.

“This is the most I’ve drank in a long time!” You giggle, “I forgot how fun this is!”

“Mhm, so maybe you should come to these more often, then.”

“Maybe…” You say as you watch him stare into your eyes and then looking at you, up and down, “Stop staring at me!” You laugh.

He chuckled, slipping his other hand around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “It’s so hard to not stare you when you look this good.”

Your face flushed under his gaze, the teasing glint in his eye sending a shiver through you. 

“I thought you wouldn’t even notice my existence at these things,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant even as your pulse quickened.

“Oh, trust me. I always notice you,” he murmured, his voice lower now, meant just for you. His eyes were intense, his gaze tracing your face, lingering on your lips before he met your eyes again. “And tonight? You’re making it really hard not to.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the minimal space between you and Dominic. 

It was thrilling, that tension lingering in the air, as if the two of you were the only people in the room. And then he leaned closer, his voice a soft murmur near your ear.

"Can I get you another drink? Or would that just give me another excuse to stay by your side?"

You smiled, tilting your head to look at him. "Maybe that’s what I was hoping for."

A look of surprise flickered across his face, and then his lips pulled into a smirk, clearly delighted by your response. 

He didn’t move away as his hand slid down to rest at your waist, his thumb brushing against your hip. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ll show you a good time.”

Your eyes met his, daring him. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Something shifted in his expression then, a flicker of heat, of something more. 

His hand on your waist tightened slightly, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel his warmth seeping into you. 

The room, the crowd, everything else seemed to fade into the background as he looked down at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile that was equal parts flirtatious and dangerous.

He dipped his head, brushing his lips close to your ear. “You know, I was starting to think you’d never come to one of these,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “But now that you’re here… I don’t think I’ll let you out of my sight.”

You let out a breathy laugh, trying to keep your cool despite the way he was looking at you. “I thought you had a hundred guests to entertain.”

“Oh, I do.” He flashed you a grin, leaning in closer. “But none of them are you.”

His hands slipped around your waist, guiding you into the flow of the party. 

He kept you close, weaving through the crowd with a protective edge, and you couldn’t help but notice the way other people glanced over, curiosity and maybe even a little envy in their eyes. 

Dominic, however, didn’t seem to care about anyone else—he only had eyes for you.

He led you out to the balcony, where the cool night air hit your skin and gave you both a moment to breathe. He leaned against the railing, his gaze never leaving you as you looked out at the city lights. 

You turned to face him, realizing how close you still were. He didn’t back up, didn’t pull away. 

His hand brushed your cheek, and there was something softer in his eyes, something that made your heart skip a beat. 

"You truly are full of surprises, you know that?" he murmured, his thumb tracing lightly over your cheekbone.

"I could say— have said— the same about you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, caught between a smile and something more. The playful banter was gone now, replaced by a feeling that felt so much heavier, more real.

He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips, and then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and soft, yet brimming with restrained intensity. 

His hand slipped around to the back of your neck, holding you close, and you melted into him, your fingers curling into his shirt as he deepened the kiss, each moment igniting something new between you.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, his hand still tangled in your hair. 

"I knew this would be bad for me,” he murmured, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed softly, brushing your fingers over his chest. "Then why did you invite me?"

"Because I like you too much to watch you from a distance,” he whispered, his voice warm with laughter as he brought you close again, kissing you with a hunger that felt like the beginning of something neither of you could deny anymore.

The kiss lingered between you, each soft press of his lips against yours a reminder of how close you had become, how suddenly everything seemed to shift. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, the noise of the party still thumping faintly in the distance, but here, in this quiet moment on the balcony, it was as though time had stopped. 

Dominic pulled back slightly, his breath warm on your lips as he whispered, "I didn’t expect this to happen tonight… but I’m not complaining."

You blinked up at him, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "Neither am I," you murmured, your voice almost a breathless laugh.

He ran his thumb gently over your lower lip, his eyes studying you with that mix of curiosity and desire that made your pulse race again. "You know, I think I’ve been waiting for this longer than I realized."

You tilted your head, searching his gaze for any sign of hesitation, but there was none. Just raw, unfiltered honesty. "For me?" you asked, not fully believing it.

His smile was small but undeniably sincere. "Yeah. You’ve always had a way of keeping me on my toes," he admitted. His hand slid down to yours, intertwining your fingers with his. "I’ve wanted to see what would happen if we were ever this close."

And there it was—he hadn’t been hiding anything, hadn’t been pretending. There was no act, no facade; it was just the two of you, standing on a balcony, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air.

"I didn’t think you’d want to be this close," you replied quietly, your thumb tracing the lines of his hand. 

"Why’s that?" His brow furrowed slightly, and there was a hint of playful challenge in his tone.

You shrugged, feeling the vulnerability of the moment. "You’re Dominic. You’re cool and you throw these annoying parties. You don’t seem like the type to chase something… real."

He gave a soft laugh, pulling you just a little closer, his body brushing against yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. "And what does that mean? You think I’m just some guy who doesn’t know what he wants?"

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the teasing disappeared, replaced by something more earnest. "No. I just think you’re used to people coming onto you, not the other way around."

Dominic’s gaze softened, and he let out a quiet sigh. "Maybe I’m not as good at playing it cool as I want everyone to think."

You raised an eyebrow at that. "So what does that make me? Your secret weakness?"

He grinned, the playful edge returning to his voice. "Maybe. But if I’m being honest, I think it’s more than that."

The way he said it, with so much confidence, made your chest tighten. 

There was something about him tonight, something different from the confident, aloof Dominic everyone else saw. In this moment, he was just a guy, a guy who wanted something from you, something more than just the usual game he played.

"Do you want to go back inside?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You didn’t know why, but the thought of being back in the crowded apartment suddenly felt less appealing, the contrast between the chaotic party and the quiet intimacy of the moment stark.

Dominic’s lips quirked into a half-smile, the heat in his gaze never leaving you. "I think I’d rather stay out here… unless you want to change your mind."

"No," you said quickly, shaking your head. "I’m more than fine out here."

He leaned in again, pressing his forehead against yours, and for a moment, the only sound was the quiet rustle of the night air and the distant murmur of the party. 

"Good," he said softly. "Because I’m not done with you yet."

You felt your heart skip a beat, not from fear, but from something that was beginning to feel like anticipation, something that held more weight than just the chemistry between you. 

Maybe it wasn’t just the kiss or the way his touch made you feel, but the realization that something was beginning to take root here, between you and him.

Dominic's hand still rested against your waist, his thumb lightly grazing your skin as he studied you. "You know, I’m not usually this... honest. But with you, I can’t help it." 

You looked up at him, your gaze softening. "Maybe I’m starting to feel the same way."

He smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips. "I’m glad. Because I think we’ve both been pretending long enough."

You laughed lightly, unable to hide the way your heart was racing. "Pretending, huh? Well, now that we’ve admitted it, what do we do next?"

Dominic’s eyes darkened slightly, a shift in his demeanor as he tilted his head, his gaze lingering on your lips again. "Next? We stop pretending."

And with that, he kissed you again, deeper this time, with none of the hesitations or uncertainties that had been there before.

The world outside the balcony faded completely, and all you could feel was the heat of his kiss, the press of his body against yours, and the undeniable pull between you two.

It was clear now—there was no turning back. 

The night, the party, the teasing, the banter… it was all just a prelude to this. To the moment when everything shifted and you both let go of the distance you’d been keeping between you.

Dominic pulled away just enough to look at you, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. "You’re trouble," he murmured.

"Right back at you," you replied, your voice breathless, your heart still racing.

He laughed softly, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t just a playful sound—it was full of something real, something meaningful.

The rest of the world could wait.

[hellodahliah]

beaker

what experiments are the highly secretive and less than neighborly loki and circe performing on poor nervous subject? will this secrecy affect circe's career ambitions?

beaker home by @lilamausmaus

[goodmorgan]

What’s your favorite Arthur smut(s) 👉👈 besides your own of course

Thank you for asking! 💖

Here are some of my recs:

Fics on Tumblr:

Out of Touch by @redemptionbaby

Neighborly Affection series by @verai-marcel

Seven Deadly Sins series by @twola

Loss of virginity by @amorgansgal

Fics on AO3:

The Debt by louderthanbombs

Desire of the Wolf by Talkin_to_a_Lady

The Scenic Route by crispywriter

Please be mindful of each fic's tags and enjoy! :)

[techramonic]

A Comprehensive Analysis on Eric Harris, 4.

Disclaimer: This analysis/psychoanalysis is limited only to analysis as a means to reflect and understand the people involved. It is strictly informative. Just like all of my posts, I am detached from the media I write about and solely focus on the people to understand their psychology, for others to gain insight. There is no room for me to romanticize or glorify anything I write because I am only here to explain. I understand and research, but I do not condone. Thank you.

Childhood 1.1: The Impacts of Frequent Relocation During Primary Years

In a span of 12 years, Eric had moved to over 8 schools due to his father’s occupation. Wayne Harris, his father, was a U.S. Air Force Pilot with a job that had a nature which led him to move from state to state until their family decided to settle in Littleton, Colorado during the year 1993. The emotional and social development of a child may be significantly impacted by frequent relocation; in Eric's case, there’s a clear portrait of how the situation paints itself into a larger manifestation of challenge in a child’s life. 

“What are the impacts and manifestations of constant environmental relocation on a child?”

As children grow, they start to observe and engage with their surroundings. A stable environment provides the necessities needed to develop the comfort they should have in themself  - if this environment fosters positive growth, that is. However, an abrupt change can have harmful effects on their well-being if not managed with adequate care. Though some children experience positive effects from relocation, there is the presence of stress that can affect the child’s situation and ways of coping.

1 : Sense of Control and Security

According to an article under the Institute for Family Studies, a child’s sense of control can be stunted by the pressure of repetitive transitions. Parents may also feel the obligation to be stricter in imposing control over their children as a sense of security (Sutherland, 2014). This can be observed in Eric’s answer regarding his court hearing after being convicted for attempting to steal a vehicle with Dylan, where he mentions that his curfew is, “6 on the weekdays, and 10 on the weekends.” Furthermore, his father had kept a 60-page spiral journal titled, “Eric” which contains documentation of Eric’s troubles and neighborly allegations regarding his behavior. Toward the end of it, he writes that he had to impose additional rules over his son, specifically regarding his sleep and study routines. With this, he had restricted his limit to his devices.

Furthermore, in an assignment submitted by Eric on September 21, 1998, titled "When it was Bad to be Good," he wrote about having to surrender all of his stockpiled weapons to his parents. He explained, "It was bad not because I might use the weapons, but because I paid good money or spent a lot of time making them. It made me feel that all that time and money was wasted. But since weapons are dangerous and my parents didn’t trust me, I suppose it was for the better." This demonstrates how Eric feels a lack of control over his actions, and sometimes even himself. As a result, he tries to exert control over other things to gain the satisfaction of the illusion that he has full control over everything he desires.

The yearning for control, when one is deprived specifically by primary figures, can be seen as a coping mechanism in response to unresolved conflicts and unmet needs during early developmental stages. When a child experiences overbearing or neglectful parenting, they may feel powerless and seek to regain a sense of control to compensate for this deprivation. This can manifest in adulthood as a compulsive need to dominate the environment and individuals in it. Seeking to exert authority or fixate on themself and their actions very carefully to neutralize the feelings of vulnerability and establish an image of stability in their life.

2 : Learned Helplessness

Learned helplessness is born out of the feeling of lack of control. According to psychology, it is the coping process where a person gradually loses the ability or motivation to avoid recurrent exposure to negative stimuli, or painful events. The individual feels hopeless since they have learnt from past experiences that they have no control over their circumstances, so they just accept. This phenomenon can impact one’s motivation, thought processes, and mental health, allowing them to feel as though their actions have no control over the consequences they encounter.

Learned helplessness illustrates that past experiences, especially negative ones, can influence one’s passive behavior in accepting negative situations, even if they can be fled from or if it is detrimental. In short, children can be conditioned to accept their situation because they find their feelings to be insignificant in changing it, even if they have the power to do so by changing their mindset. This crucial aspect can harshly affect one’s future decision-making.

 3 : Social Adjustment and Self-esteem

A change in environment may lead to the exhibition of a child’s anxiety, detachment, and loneliness. This can delay a child’s social skills, which are severely impacted by their ability to cope with the sudden change and their self-esteem. The impacts can be considered minuscule but have the chance to develop into larger-scale issues. During his time at Plattsburg around the years 1992 to 1993, 12-year-old Eric Harris was in 6th grade and playing in the school’s baseball team. According to his former teammates, he had issues communicating and was considered the “shyest” and most reserved in the team, opposite from his brother who was outgoing and a varsity player in the school’s baseball league. His former teammates draw their conclusions on his membership being a parental decision rather than his own, circling back to the lack of control. 

Due to the absence of stability in one’s surroundings, because it is unfamiliar to them, a child may feel ostracized with their surroundings because they have no lingering familiarity and connection with the place that they are in. The absence of connection and meaningful interaction with one's environment is significantly tied to one's self-esteem. When a child is unfamiliar with or disconnected from it, they lack a support system that provides validation and a sense of belonging. 

This means that they do not receive the positive reinforcement crucial to developing a healthy concept of identity. As a result, the child may struggle to find meaning or purpose in their surroundings and eventually themself as well, because of the feeling that they are underappreciated and insignificant, which impacts their self-esteem negatively and heightens their feelings of insecurity and inadequacy. Since their concept of self is connected to their environment and circumstances, they are a reflection or manifestation of its effects.

4  :  Attachment

As seen above, Eric had written a parting letter addressed to one of his friends in his school at Plattsburg 1993, Adam Patsy, because his family was forced to move away. Eric was recalled to be a friendly and sweet child during his time there, with no indications of violence and hatred present inside him. One of his former classmates even stated, “I think that… He’s just turn into something that he wouldn’t have turn into if he just stayed here.”  

There's a sense of hopelessness tied to one's feeling of being separated from those who they are attached to. In this case, it’s Eric’s friends. Letting go becomes especially challenging under these circumstances because of the fear of uncertainty and abandonment. For a child, this separation can stunt their social development, making it difficult to interact with peers. It feels like starting from scratch, as they must navigate the exhausting process of stepping outside their comfort zone to form new friendships again just to escape the wrath of isolation and the circumstances in their tragic situation.

This was also seen in one of the clips in "The Basement Tapes", where Eric abruptly cries after reflecting the "inevitable" situation of his death. He recounts his past memories and his old friends, wishing he should have re-visited Michigan and "old friends". This recall present his clear attachment to the people of his past that he held dear and the community or environment he was involved and connected to back then. Eric was in Oscoda, Michigan during grades 3 to 4, in the years 1989 to 1992.

[booteddaily]

Today will likely be another two-fer for me. Morning errands and a neighborly gathering have called for Tony to join me until early afternoon. 🤠 These ropers are a very interesting color. As with many colors, the amount of sunlight affects them. Sometimes they look deep blue/black, sometimes slate gray, sometimes bright blue. But, I don't feel blue being in them. 💙 I really like these boots. I like most things that have shades and nuance. 😉 You all make it a great day, bootmen. 👊

[gladyssite]

Nervous Subject

What experiments are the highly secretive and less than neighborly Loki and Circe Beaker performing on poor Nervous Subject? Is it true 'their' children are clones? Will this secrecy affect Circe's career ambitions? What makes Nervous Subject worth experimentation?

A test subject at the mercy of the Beakers—specifically Loki Beaker. Why? What made Project G8IM so valuable? Could it have to do with Loki's notes on genetic composition and the 'subject's sire'?

[nobedofroses]

October Writing 2024

Full list of blurbs for this October! Using multiple prompt lists that will be linked on the days that they are used. Writing for Din, Pero, Javier, Joel, Jack, and Marcus! Happy Halloween 🎃

October 1st with Din Djarin: a strange noise in the middle of the night

October 2nd with Pero Tovar: navigating Spanish superstitions

October 3rd with Marcus Moreno: neighbor decorating competition

October 4th with Joel Miller: planning a harvest festival and hayride

October 5th with Jack Daniels: decorating the house together

the rest below the cut!

October 6th with Javier Peña: horror movies and close quarters

October 7th with Din Djarin: autumn leaves changing + family time

October 8th with Pero Tovar: visiting the town's autumn market

October 9th with Marcus Moreno: begrudgingly being neighborly

October 10th with Joel Miller: sharing a love for horror books

October 11th with Jack Daniels: going on a nice horseride

October 12th with Javier Peña: Javi's cold & you're buying pumpkins

October 13th with Din Djarin: getting lost (& saved) in a corn maze

October 14th with Pero Tovar: missing Pero and then reuniting

October 15th with Marcus Moreno: little adventure w Marcus & Missy

October 16th with Joel Miller: can't sleep after seeing a scary movie

October 17th with Jack Daniels: little magical coffee shop meet cute

October 18th with Javier Peña: decorating the yard with fall things

October 19th with Din Djarin: Din has nightmares and needs comfort

October 20th with Pero Tovar: reading turns a little more exciting

October 21st with Marcus Moreno: pumpkin painting date night

October 22nd with Joel Miller: face painting with the Miller fam

October 23rd with Jack Daniels: planning a couple's costume

October 24th with Javier Peña: witch!reader dating Javi & loving it

October 25th with Din Djarin: going apple picking with Grogu and Din

October 26th with Pero Tovar: family ritual for All Hallows Eve

October 27th with Marcus Moreno: first official date with Marcus

October 28th with Jack Daniels: accidental matching costumes

October 29th with Javier Peña: Javi notices you affecting weather

October 30th with Joel Miller: power goes out and Joel finds you

[dc-marvel-crossovers]

Matt Murdock DC crossover recs:

Quiet Heart by @beesbiteandwillowrites - Matt Murdock/Jason Todd. In which Jason moves to NYC to study nursing and finds Matt bleeding in a dumpster. Slow burn, lots of fun character moments.

Red Is The Color Of Sinners series by @darlingatlas - platonic Matt Murdock & Jason Todd. In which Jason is mute and depressed, and Matt decides to help. Lovely exploration of the parallels between the characters.

green green green series by @i-know-how-my-story-ends - Matt Murdock/Frank Castle. In which Matt and Frank essentially adopt Jason. Found family and PTSD recovery.

The Five Stages Of Neighborly Affection by AlannaLioness - Matt Murdock/Foggy Nelson. In which Tim Drake is Foggy’s neighbor. Not completely Matt-centric but very cute and funny.

Sparked Too Easy by cydneyprescott - Matt Murdock/Dick Grayson. Morning-after smut featuring lots of banter and trans!Dick. Very sweet and sexy.

(Any other favorite crossover fics we should know about? Please reblog with additional recs!)

[strangetowntales]

Sims moodboard | Beaker Family

What experiments are the highly secretive and less than neighborly Loki and Circe Beaker performing on poor Nervous Subject? Will this secrecy affect Circe's career ambitions?

[tanalogyosc]

"I'm not paid enough for this."

Name: Marco Ataulfo Neve Object: Paleta de Mangonada Gender: Male Age: 19

A teenage part-timer working on the Sombra de Verano beachside walkway of Vienteste Beach, albeit probably underpaid.

A recent high school graduate, Marco struggles financially as he lived alone ever since his parents divorced and disappeared, leaving him in the care of a neighborly grandma.

This rough childhood affected Marco's maturity as he was forced to mature quicker than his fellow friends. After becoming a teen, Marco left his caretaker, Chocolate Para Mesa, to live on his own so as to not burden her and her son anymore.

Although he wished he hadn't because he's DEALING WITH ANNOYING CUSTOMERS ALL DAY AND NIGHT AUGREHI; REJ;NIWR. Phew, breathe in and out, it's going to be okay.

Anyway, feels like he can't stop this one annoying rich kid from stopping by his stand every single day just to make fun of him. Man, if only I wasn't so self-conscious about my vitiligo or I would've mess that guy's face right there and now.

P.S me : WHAT??? HE'S THE KID OF THE BEACHSIDE WALKWAY'S OWNER??? URGGGHHHHH IM GOING TO LOSE MY JOB IF I DO SOMETHING TO HIM AND I CAN'T AFFORD TO LOSE IT

[marta-bee]

I was watching VP Harris's debate on Fox News last night, and the way the questions were framed really drove some things home to me.

Probably because I just got a big dose of Fox journalism when I usually get my news from MSNBC and center-left print sources (Atlantic, Economist, NY Times, Slate, etc.), I'm really feeling how the voices you surround yourself with shape your reality. Fact-checking is exhausting. Subtle rhetorical bits get under your skin and can really shape how you hear what anyone's saying.

Which has me thinking about the Big Lie (the idea that Trump didn't really lose the 2020 election), and this rising sense of panic I get when I see after everything Trump and Harris are still neck-and-neck at the polls. That if the polls are at all accurate it really still is a margin-of-error race. I could give you a "We Didn't Start the Fire" rundown of all the outrageous things Trump's done and said and it would still barely scrape the surface. So it's outrageous public opinion is still so close. I'm texting nearly every day with a young woman I'm very close to from when I lived in NY, who's a brown Muslim first-generation American living through her first presidential election as a voter, so you can imagine the stress this is causing her, and by extension me. It's ugly. It's outraging.

Still, add the people caught up in this right-leaning disinformation to the folks who are just living their lives and not letting it sink in how extreme and anti-American Trumpism has become. Because, you know, a lot of people don't do well with crises and there's a lot of comfort in the idea that things are overblown and not as serious as some people say. So in some sense at least... I get it. I understand. I'm also deeply, deeply saddened that what to me seems inexcusable doesn't seem to affect my neighbors the same way. But I don't think the polls are necessarily wrong.

And more to the point, if the election goes for Trump, I'll probably cry, yell at the ceiling, and get rather drunk, not necessarily in that order. But I won't disbelieve the results or assume the election was stolen or that kind of thing.

It strikes me that's the danger of democracy, but also it's greatest strength: that people will make their own assessments and their own choices. And if I'm sickened that so many people aren't hearing the truth or reacting to it the way I think decency and neighborliness demands, that's my cue to try harder to reach them.

Also to fight like hell to soften the damage Trumpism could do.

I don't know. I just needed to get that in writing.

[simplendelulu]

For Niffty and Emberlynn:

Having heard of Charlie's victory, Satan took an interest in this "redemption project" of hers. Even if Lucifer wouldn't order the Sins to support his daughter's efforts, any change in relations between Heaven and Hell or the legal rights of sinners would affect Satan's business. He needed to know exactly what Charlie was up to.

A few days prior, the Sin of Wrath had sent a letter to the princess---announcing his intention to stop by, which she then announced to everyone else. Naturally, some people were worried about this and Charlie demanded that everyone be on their best behavior. But would they?

Red smoke crept towards the entrance, slipping underneath the double doors and forming a circle in the center of the lobby. Thunder clapped, the winds blew strong and the circle had become a gaping portal in the floor. In its depths, four eyes glowed bright---coming closer as each half-second passed.

A massive hand erupted from the magical vortex, digging its claws into the floor. Another emerged, allowing the shadowy figure to climb out. After two quaking stomps shook the ground, the portal closed beneath the four-horned beast. SATAN had come.

"Apologies, Your Highness," his deep voice rumbled. "Your estate wasn't built to accommodate someone of my stature---so I needed to improvise..."

"It wouldn't be very neighborly of me to batter down your doors and drag my entire bulk through your lobby, now would it?" @king-of-wrath

Each stomp had nearly threw Niffty out of her seat from the sheer force. A fact that honestly excited her but not as much as seeing the big bad boy himself. He checked every box on her list perfectly.

Thankfully for Charlie, she's the only boy-crazy weirdo to somehow manage. Emberlynn left after much coaxing once they received news of Satan's upcoming arrival.

Unfortunately, Niffty lost her filter and impulse control looooong ago. Whether it was from years of inhaling fumes from mixing cleaning chemicals or an attempted lobotomy, nobody can tell. Her standing there with the others, just bouncing in place and staring hard enough to drill a hole, is honestly something of a miracle. At least, until her name is mentioned. A microsecond after realizing she's being introduced, she is literally already climbing Satan like a damned tree until they are face to face.

"Hi! I'm Niffty!" she lets out a somewhat cutesy giggle before it turned slightly manic then full manic, "I clean and cook for everyone here. I hope you like the cookies, heehehehhe~"

[goodqueenaly]

I’ve talked before about comparing King Louis IX of France and Baelor the Blessed, but I’ve thought of two specific aspects of Louis IX’s reign which I would not at all be surprised if GRRM incorporated into Baelor’s reign.

First, In 1258 Louis IX banned trial by combat (at least within the royal domains). The real-world history of trial by combat is too complex and too detailed to summarize in this post, but it is enough to say that Louis IX’s decree aimed at replacing a trial by combat or battle system with one closer to what we associate with justice systems today - that is, an inquiry of witnesses under oath, with the accuser required to bring multiple witnesses. Louis IX, famous for his deep and zealous personal piety, may have been influenced by theological arguments against trial by combat: Agobard of Lyon, for example, argued in the eighth century that trials by combat falsely associated God with the more violent and bloodthirsty side and found no basis in scripture (where plenty of unjust men emerged victorious), while Peter Cantor in the twelfth century considered trials by combat not only sinful temptations of God (by forcing God to perform a miracle on command at the moment of trial) but hypocritical nonsense (since, as he noted, despite the ostensible divine intervention overseeing the proceeding the parties involved inevitably chose the biggest and strongest champions they could, showing that they trusted only in skill at arms). Nor was Louis IX willing to concede on this point: when the aristocratic Enguerrand de Coucy hanged three squires found on his property and, following his arrest, demanded a trial by combat, Louis IX refused, eventually sentencing him to pay a heavy fine and lose control of the wood where the matter had occurred. Of course, Louis IX’s decree did not last forever, as his son and grandson reinstated the right and such trials continued to some extent for the next century and a half.

Turning to Westeros, I could certainly see this being a real-world source of inspiration which GRRM might very easily work into the reign of Baelor. Trial by combat is obviously a well-established legal remedy in Westeros, allowing anyone - or at the very least, any knight or aristocrat - to demand the right to fight (or have someone fight on their behalf) that the gods might decide on the just party. Nor has GRRM ignored the narrative possibilities provided by trial by combat, allowing readers to judge this particular justice system with a critical eye. So I could very much see where King Baelor might decree that trial by combat would no longer be permitted in his kingdom, perhaps mandating instead a sort of inquiry justice system of the type advocated by Louis IX. Indeed, GRRM would not have to reach far to produce in-world justification for such a decision on Baelor’s part. With Baelor’s well-established commitment to both peace (as demonstrated in his humble and contrite approach to Dorne following the killing of Daeron I) and charity, especially toward the smallfolk (hence his initiative to hand out bread to everyone in King’s Landing every day for a year), Baelor might well have viewed trial by combat as the senseless and sinful glorification of violence and bloodshed over neighborly love and forgiveness. Too, such a decree might have fueled the reported affection of the smallfolk toward Baelor the Blessed: unable to match the professional martial training highborn knights and other aristocrats often receive from early childhood, smallfolk might have appreciated having a justice system where such an advantage was eliminated, and where the whims of their politico-social superiors would be (at least in theory) checked by a formal requirement of proof. (Bonus points if, say, Baelor might have argued that trial by combat blasphemously handed to the Warrior the right of justice which belonged only to the Father, assumed that the Warrior would condone senseless violence, and/or prioritized the Warrior’s patronage of battle over the Crone’s patronage of wisdom.)

Second - and this is something that specifically comes up in The Accursed Kings (I know, it me) - the story of Saint Louis’ oak. In his life of Saint Louis, Jean de Joinville mentions how during the summer, Louis IX would, following Mass, take his place under an oak tree at his chateau of Vincennes, where anyone could come to him to have their case heard and issue judgement; in these open air forums, Louis IX would oversee the proceedings, even correcting his officials where they erred. Maurice Druon, well aware of this anecdote, refers to it several times over the course of the novels: Charles of Valois urges his nephew Louis X to hold an Assembly of all the provosts, treasurers and receivers at the chateau of Vincennes, although on the day of the Assembly, which “was held in the open air near the royal manor”, Druon notes that “[t]here had been some difficulty in deciding which was Saint Louis’s oak, since there were so many of them about”; when Philip, count of Poitiers becomes regent after the death of his brother Louis, he and his companions walk around the grounds of Vincennes and “[joke] a bit about Saint Louis’s tree, which they could not find”; and Robert of Artois bitterly refers to how people “remember only how he [i.e. Louis IX] dealt out justice under an oak” when reflecting on the reign of Saint Louis (and adding that by “listening to the lies of bumpkins, [Louis IX] wasted the time he should have been devoting to the kingdom”).

Again, I could very much see GRRM having Baelor the Blessed take up this particular tradition (perhaps even in conjunction with the banning of trial by combat). Indeed, it may even be a happy coincidence (if not specifically intended for this purpose by GRRM) that the heart tree of the Red Keep godswood is an oak tree, just like the tree beneath which Louis IX was said to have dispensed justice. For King Baelor, who wore a crown of vines and flowers - perhaps, as I’ve suggested before, to remind his subjects that he rejected all human ornamentation and glory, preferring the beauty provided by the Seven in nature - such a setting might have seemed to fit perfectly with his worldview. Not for Baelor, perhaps, the Iron Throne, forged by the creatures used to justify what he may have considered a heretical doctrine and sat by his heretically incestuous ancestors; his seat of justice would be one created by the Seven, representing not the (literally) towering ego of the Targaryens but the life-giving power of the (new) gods. (Indeed, to that point, Baelor might not have ignored the potent imagery of sitting beneath the godswood’s tree: even though the Red Keep had (and has) never been a formally old gods-worshipping seat, the heart tree still ostensibly represented the old gods; by appropriating it for his a reign devoted to the precepts of the Faith of the Seven, Baelor might have wanted to rebaptize, so to speak, this tree as a tool of the Seven rather than a temple of the old gods.) Too, by opening himself up to all classes, Baelor would again help engender that love from the smallfolk for which he is now known: just as he would empty his royal treasury for the direct betterment of his capital’s subjects, so he would open the royal gates for direct intervention in their causes of justice, allowing himself to be seen and heard by the people he ruled far more than any Targaryen monarch before him. Where Baelor’s aristocratic subjects might have agreed with Robert of Artois that such a system let “the lies of bumpkins” distract him from the cares of state, Baelor might well have thought that it was his divine duty to personally oversee the Father’s work of justice on earth, whatever the consequences for his reign (just as he ignored the unrest that followed his decree exiling sex workers and their children from the capital).

What I like about both of these ideas is the way in which GRRM, by incorporating them, might make Baelor’s reign somewhat more complex and interesting. That Baelor was not an effective monarch for Westeros is a point made in both TWOIAF and the main series: Yandel writes that “some have wondered if the king's near death in Dorne did not affect his mind in some way, for as the years of his reign progressed, his decisions grew ever more zealous and erratic”, while Jaime, Cersei, and Tyrion have all voiced criticisms of the Septon-King. Yet these critical views do not have to be untrue or groundless for Baelor’s reign to reflect genuinely - if perhaps unintentionally - progressive reforms of Westeros’ justice system. Maybe GRRM would enjoy the possibility for irony in writing Baelor as such - that the king (not unreasonably!) lambasted as a fanatical fool was the first one to try to eliminate a system any modern reader might see as nonsensical and brutal in favor of something very roughly similar to the basic elements of a modern justice process. Too, by adding these aspects to Baelor’s reign, GRRM might strengthen the overarching narrative I think he’s already established of the power struggle between the crown and its vassals in the wake of the extinction of the dragons. Just as Maurice Druon lauds Louis IX as a king who “enlightened by devotion, began to establish the unity of law, building upon royal justice”, so Baelor might - again, perhaps somewhat or even entirely unintentionally - be seen in his own time or after as a king who, by such reforms to the Westerosi justice system, sought to assert the royal authority above that of his vassals; by taking away the right to trial by combat (already largely, if not necessarily exclusively, associated with knights and aristocrats) and by personally dispensing justice under his oak, Baelor might undermine (or, again, be seen to undermine) that right to local justice (and favoritism of local ruling nobles) so prized by the crown’s vassals. In turn, Baelor’s reign might have even more influence upon the much more intentionally reforming rule of his first cousin thrice removed Aegon V: while our Egg might have looked to Baelor for a sort of divine sanction on his reforming designs, citing this sainted indirect ancestor as precedent for his actions, his opponents might have derided the king as even more foolish than Blessed Baelor, each one a tyrant king looking to ride roughshod over the liberties of the lordly class.