#and all the dialogue is so wooden and awful like :/

[themyscirah]

Not Tom King diagnosing the problem with his own run in issue #2

[mischievousmoony]

hi, ok i have another idea for a fic which again totally up to you to write!! but i had an idea with dad!james and r where their kid is like equally obsessed with their mum as james is with r and one day james decides to prank their kid by saying something bad about the r while their kid is present and the baby just goes off. i feel like you would do an amazing job with this! feel free to ignore too. have a perfectly splendid day!!

-🪷

"the baby just goes off" painted a hilarious picture of an infant yelling at his dad in my mind lmao. ty for the request this warmed my heart to write + special thanks to @moonpascal for chatting a little about kids, gave me the reassurance & inspiration i needed

𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜

⟢ dad!james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, dad/husband!james, mom/wife!reader, no use of y/n, no name for the son, idk how to write a child's dialogue tbh son's supposed to sound 4 years old

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

James gladly goes out of his way to mention to anyone who will listen that his little one is unmistakably a Mummy's boy. From family to friends to the poor souls who bag his groceries, James will talk the ear off of anyone he can.

He finds it to be the most endearing thing in the world— the way that your son is as obsessed with you as James is. Always staying close and clinging to you, touching affection radiating from every hug and smile.

Today, as he watches his son run back and forth across the carpet, handing his mother block after block just to see her face light up after each gift, his awe and admiration are insurmountable.

Last night, James surprised you with a pair of earrings that you have been wishing for. When your face lit up upon receiving the little leatherette box, so did your son's. He didn't quite understand why you were so excited about some cube, but since then he's been trying to replicate your excitement with presents of his own.

"Oh my! Another one! Thank you, buddy," you beam, you're gratefulness and delight unwavering as he hands you the sixth block.

Your son giggles, bouncing in his spot as you inspect each side of the little wooden toy, telling him how much you adore the blue penguin painted on one of its faces.

That's another thing that touches James' heart: the tender nurture and care that you bestow upon your son with such unwavering devotion and warmth. It has James convinced that you must be the best mum in the entire world.

He might just melt at the sight of you now, kneeling happily in front of a growing pile of blocks as your son scurries back and forth, adding to your collection. James sits cross-legged to your right, resting his elbow on his knee and laying his head in his hand, watching the two he loves most in the world with hearts in his eyes.

You gasp, as if surprised when handed block number seven. "Oh, this is my favorite one yet. How did you know I love zebras?" you ask, your thumb tracing over the red acrylic paint on the side of the block.

By the time you have twelve, nearly half of his collection, you say, "I have a lot of blocks here, buddy, do you want to give some to Daddy?"

"No!" your son protests immediately, running off to his toy box for the thirteenth time.

You and James both chuckle, exchanging amused glances. Finding your son's reaction hilarious, James’s mischievous side has him dreaming up new ways to push his buttons. Your son thinks the world of you, and James is curious to see what the little guy will do if he claims otherwise.

"Well, what am I gonna do with all of this? Should I..."

You leave your son in suspense for a moment, and his hands hover over his toy box as looks at you, hanging onto your every word in anticipation.

"...build a castle!?"

“Yeah!” your son cheers, scooping three more blocks into his arms, thrilled to supply the bricks for your castle.

James nudges you, a sign of his upcoming playfulness. “You sure about that, bud? Mummy is absolutely rotten at building castles.”

Halfway across the carpet, your son stops in his tracks, glaring at his father as he tries to keep his blocks from falling out of his arms.

Stifling a laugh, you press your fingertips to your lips. By now, you’re used to James’ bursts of mischief, and you’re more than happy to sit back and let them play out. Unless you’re an active participant, of course.

You muster up a scandalized gasp as he reaches for your mountain of presents, claiming three blocks in one hand.

“No!” your little one complains, rushing to drop his three in your lap to replace the ones that James stole, “those are Mummy’s!”

“You sure Mummy deserves all these blocks?” James asks, starting to stack them into a tower, “You watch, I’ll build a castle that’ll make her’s look like rubbish.”

Your son hastily makes his way over to his dad, both arms extended as he collides with the tower and sends the blocks flying. "Stop it," he says as he scoops up the nearest block and runs it back over to you, shouting, "Mummy's castles are the best!"

He climbs into your lap, clutching onto the toy tightly as one of your arms wraps around him, and you feel your heart start to melt as you rub soothing circles into his back. You look over your son's head, your eyes sparkling with affection as you meet your husband's tender gaze.

Not having the heart to mess with him for very long, James concedes, "You're right, I'm not being very nice, am I?"

"Nuh-uh!" your son replies, shaking his head with exaggeratedly vigor, the curls he gets from his dad bouncing about.

"What can I do to make it up to her?" James asks, turning the ordeal into a subtle lesson as he dramatically feigns sorrow and despair over his actions.

"'Pologize," your son commands, his head swiveling to look at James expectantly over his shoulder.

James puts on his most sheepish, apologetic smile, looking from his son to you. "I'm very sorry. He's right, your castles are the best. Can you forgive me, love?"

"Aw, of course I forgive you," you say warmly, your amusement manifesting as a wide smile. You lean back so you can get a good view of your son's face when you tell him, "You know, I bet what Daddy really wants is to build a castle with us. I love your presents, bud, but we don't want to leave Daddy out do we?"

He looks down at the block in his little hand. "No," he replies shyly.

"So why don't you ask him to build a castle with us?" You give him a pat on the back before releasing him from your arms. "Go on," you coax.

He steps closer to James, holding the block close to his chest. "We can all build a castle," he offers.

"Yeah?" James' face lights up, and it's not for show. Genuine joy takes over his features as he ruffles your son's hair, responding, "I'd love nothing more, little man."

"But you have to be nice to Mummy!" he demands, his little voice firm and earnest as he looks up at James with wide, serious eyes.

"I promise, I will be on my best behavior," James assures him, his voice sincere as he gives a playful salute. That's enough for your son, because he finally awards James with his very first block, which he accepts with pride.

"Good!" your son cheers, already moving on to the pile of blocks to start stacking them as he proclaims, "Mummy is the best, and we have to show it!"

Your lips part as you suck in a breath, a quiet gasp. Receiving your son's affection never fails to make your heart swell.

You don't feel James' eyes on you, but he's watching— admiring, more like, as he takes in the way that you soften at your son's sweet words. A smitten smile plays at his lips as he agrees, "She is the best, isn't she?"

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[fartcloudfartcloud]

Simon Riley x Maid!Reader

based on this text post

Summary: Simon has a house cleaner come clean once a month. What happens when she goes on vacation, and you're her replacement?

warnings: sfw but theres tension 😋, will make an nsfw part two if you guys want it :), Simon being big and scary and offputting per usual, lots of internal dialogue

a/n: loved this concept, and since I actually worked a door to door cleaning job I thought this fit so well and needed to write it. hope u enjoy :)

You took a deep breath.

These were the steps you were to take in this job. You had no reason to feel unsafe or in danger of any sort. Yet, the thought of walking up and knocking on this door had your heart in your stomach.

Simon Riley Is what the work order had listed as the clients name. Ex Military. Large German Shepard named Riley. Liked his wooden floors cleaned with vinegar instead of the regular cleaning solution. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Except for the entry instructions. The small box on the piece of paper that would normally hold a few finely printed words, things such as "Homeowner will be not be home, key is under welcome mat"

or "Homeowner will be home and located in office on second floor, door will be unlocked"

had big, bold font to start. Your manager had to go in and manually change that detail, and knowing her, that must mean this is serious.

The box reads-

"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OPEN DOOR. HOMEOWNER IS EX MILITARY AND EXTREMELY STRICT. RING FRONT DOORBELL ONCE AND WAIT."

Yeah. Very normal and not at all gut-wrenching.

You keep taking deep breaths as you go through your routine. Read the work order thoroughly once more, try not to shit yourself, go and grab your equipment, and follow the instructions.

Easy. Just follow the routine.

Your equipment is as big and clunky as usual. With a vacuum on your back, a bucket full of microfiber towels, a backpack full of chemicals, and knee pads on both knees, you knew for sure you were a sight for sore eyes.

You're not quiet as you walk either, each step making every plastic piece of your puzzle clunk and scrape in a cacophony of reminders of why you were here. You thunk and bang your way up the front porch, eyes everywhere but the front door, still taking deep breaths as you try to just focus on your surroundings, taking note of the nice front garden and walkway as you pass.

You finally settle on the front porch, your arms dropping the bucket and preparing yourself for the big push to start this job.

One ring, you remind yourself. Then wait. Deep breath.

You look up to find the door bell, hand pulling up in a search for the button when you see him.

He must have heard you, you decide as he stands behind the screen door with his arms crossed.

Simon Riley is massive, standing what feels like a clean foot taller than you, big muscled arms bulging from his tight t-shirt. They're as big as your head, his thighs probably twice so. His face was pulled down in a heated gaze, though the bottom half of his face was covered by a black mask. He was scary as he stood there, his aura menacing and doing nothing to sooth your nerves.

Yeah, ex Military makes sense, Jesus christ.

"Ya pissed of my dog, allat noise." You jump, the deep british voice startling you as he begins chastising you. His face frowns down it you, his eyes angry. You're speachless, "Well? Talk."

You stammer as you realize you were just sitting and staring in awe, mind suddenly back on track and then derailing again as you have no idea what to say.

The routine, Jesus christ the routine what's the next step. You scramble for your binder, pulling it open to his work order page and looking up at him as you muster up the courage to speak.

"Um, are you, uh, Simon Riley, sir?" You ask, stuttering and staggering between every word.

He reaches foreword and opens the screen door, getting a good look at you first before he can respond.

"Hm. You the cleaning lady?" He questions, the hand not holding the door open now stuffed in the pocket of his pants.

"Mhm, yeah, im- uh. I'm from Housekeeping Heros, you have an appointment for, um-" you start rustling through more pages of the binder, desperate to find the information, needing to prove to yourself more then him you were in the right place.

"I know i 've an appointment," He holds out his hand and halts your movements. You relax, all the horrible conclusions you were drawing coming to an end. Though, as per usual, they were quickly replaced with new ones, his voice still short and snippy with you.

Deep breaths, girl, we can do this.

He points to your small pile of equipment. "Ya need 'elp?"

You shake your head no, suprised he'd offered. Though he just responds with a head shake, motioning to give it here with his hands. And you do, you don't even second guess it, handing him your bucket and backpack without a second word, something in you submitting to him without a care in the world.

He turns around and walks everything into the kitchen where he gently rests it on the table, softer then you were expecting. You follow him in, feeling like a stray with your legs tucked between your legs as you fet settled. He looks at you expectantly.

Not sure what he's looking for, you start explaining the cleaning process, using your binder as a reference and pointing to each section. He stands behind you, arms crossed again and chin tucked down as he nods along with your words.

He points to the vacuum on your back, "Not round Riley, ya 'ear me?" He scolds. You take note of the large German Shepard snorring lightly on the couch.

"And none o' this shite," He kicks at your knee pads, pointing to a mop he had in the corner. Thank God, cleaning on your knees always sucked, and why your bullshit company made you do it anyways was a marvel.

"Oh, thank you!" You chirped up. He seemed to scowl further when your voice pitched up, so you slink back in on yourself. Understood, point taken, sir.

You still were not feeling great, the pit in your stomach unrelenting as you organize your stuff.

He looms close by. You figured he would, not doubting the "extremely strict" next to "ex military" on your work order at all.

You start with the first step of your process, filling the bucket up in the sink and soaking your towels in the cleaning solution.

"Where's yer boss?" He grumbles from behind you, making you jump.

"Um, Nancy?" Bucket now full, you throw the towels into the warm water with a dash of solution.

"Eh, whatever her name is," He grumbles. How polite.

"Haha, um." You giggle akwardly, "she's with family right now, I think," you stutter, trying to speak loud enough that he could hear you clearly.

He just hmphs in response. As your towels soak in the water, you reach for your extendable feather duster and start wiping the top corners of the room.

"Whats yer name?" He grumbles. It shocks you when he says it. He couldn't seem to care less about the other workers name, but he was interested in yours?

You told him, quiet, "sir," peeping out after. He just hmms again, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed as he watched you work.

It was nerve-wracking, having him over your shoulder. He hadn't said anything yet, but it felt like you could feel the complaints waiting to come. You just kept up the deep breathing, taking the clothes out of the water and dispersing them on the countertops throughout the house.

He had a very large home, no mcmansion that took up half the street, but a pretty place tucked in a nice down town area. Honestly, if the home and neighborhood wasn't so gorgeous, you probably would've turned around and told your supervisor to give the damn house to someone else.

But thankfully, or not, Simon seemed to harbor a certain comfort for his homes presentation. The indoors of his home reflected it as well, the house put together like it was being staged, every inch perfectly in place.

Maybe that's why it's not so surprising when the first complaint does manage to leave his lips in the form of a hiss as you go to open a cabinet door.

"Oi, what do you think yer doing?" He hisses, rushing over to grab your wrist and pull it from the knob. You gasp as he's suddenly in your space and touching you, flinching as he does.

"Um, I just gotta m-make sure the insides don't need to be wiped down, sir," your muscles shake as you speak— him actually coming over and grabbing had you a little shook up.

He waved his hand infront of your face, dismissing whatever you have to say, "None of that. Don't need'a open nothing that ain't yours." you just nod, taking your first breath once he's finally out of your space.

That would've been a very good thing to include in the work order, Nancy.

Well, at least that's a few less things to worry about cleaning, though you may have failed your task of not shitting your pants, because good lord. He's right back to his perch on the wall, observing you carefully now.

You get into your routine, floating room to room and doing each task per the work order. You slowly scrub the slight musky smoke smell that lingers throughout, instead replacing it with the smell of cinnamon and detergent.

He likes watching you work, but he knows he doesn't show it, not a flutter or twitch anywhere to be seen. He growls small, careful, watch it, leave it, keeping you on edge through every movement.

You do move much faster than your college though, much more gracefully. He notices your wandering eyes, lingering on the photos on the wall and the dates on his calender. He let's you get away with it, for now. Figured he'd picked on you enough, should probably just let you finish your work.

That is, until you approach the end of your routine. You'd been scrubbing and whipping and Simon snipping and snyding for almost an hour now, you'd made excellent time and you hope Simon knows that.

It's all you can think about, actually. Him and the way he has you doting on him, some broken part of you combined with the fear his giant stature instills has you easily folding to do whatever he says and respond to his every grunt. It has your mind a little clouded, even more so as you swing through every step of your routine with practiced care.

It was finally time for the last step of the routine, and you shivered out a breath as you unwrapped the vacuum. Simon had sank a little further away, now sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to a newspaper, anxiety settling slightly without his prying eyes.

You get the cord untangled and laid out across the carpet, searching the perimeter of the room for an outlet. You couldn't see any in the open, and not wanting to risk pissing off Simon for moving furniture, you start to round the corner in your search.

Suddenly, you're against the wall, a giant hand against your sternum as the breath is knocked out of your lungs. His face is in yours, eyebrows furrowed and breath hot on your face as he spoke.

"Tha fuck ya think your doin'?" youre confused and breathless, small under him as he leers above.

"I dont- im-" "Been nothing but nice to ya since you clambered yer way up my damn porch, and I gave you one fuckin' rule." His voiced is raised at you now, chastising you in that brazen, gravely tone. "One! and what do you go and try to do?"

You're just confused, what had you done to elicit this response from him? You thought he was complacent and quiet at the table, what of his million little rules could you have broken?

That's when you see it. Her, you should say. Rylie, the big German Shepard he'd warned you to by no means vacuum around, was bundled up on the couch, inches from where you stand.

Fuck. how had you forgotten.

"Sir, i- I didn't realize, I didn't know she was there sir i-" You desperately try to make an excuse for yourself, but he's just shaking his head at you.

"Do ya think flutterin yer eyelashes a little is gonna make everything better?" He mocks you, his big blue eyes locked on you. You shake your head no, half of it to answer him, the other half just you shivering where you stand.

"No sir- I'm sorry sir I didnt- I forgot you told me and-"

He's clicking his tongue at you, a tsk tsk to put you to shame. To your suprise, each click when straight to your core, and suddenly the heat in the room is rising. Your body is flushed and your sure your face matches, if the way his eyes crinkle when he looks up at you says anything.

His hand doesn't leave your sternum, as he speaks, Inches from your face, "too good at this to be forgetting," he shakes his head, the praise a little shocking, and the soft, "too pretty," that follows it hammers the fact.

You breath is caught in your chest again as he leans into your ear, eyes wide and mouth clamped as he murmurs a deep.

"So how do you think I should go bout making sure you remember?"

[saddleups]

the way you write a submissive man...please please do one with arthur. not so much a femdom but a putting him "in his place" type beat if that makes sense?

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 3.9k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . request , complete. ARTHUR MORGAN X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . sub!arthur . reader ties arthur up . withholding orgasm . "good boy" praise . p in v .... the usual p_rn without a plot !

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . luuuuuv a sub arthur so i wrote this embarrassingly fast !! and i want to formally apologize if i've been spamming the tag ??? drabbles are my bread and butter so i can get 'em done in like two days if i lock in .... anyways much like my james drabble(s) been experimenting with longer exposition. less dialogue-y more scene setting ?? idk im gonna stfu now lol

Feigning warmth in Colter was a beast all its own, though Mother Nature offered a rare mercy—the morning chill lingered, crisp but not biting. The cabin, a sanctuary of dim, crackling warmth, did most of the work in coaxing a semblance of comfort. A fire flickered, throwing erratic shadows across the room, embers dancing like whispered secrets in the stillness. Seated at your vanity, the door slightly ajar, you could hear the cabin stirring to life. Soft murmurs, snatches of idle chatter, and deep sighs wove through the wooden walls—conversations wandering from the philosophical to the trivial, questions about what there was to eat, what there was to drink.

A faint knock broke the quiet—a mere courtesy, as the familiar rhythm of his footsteps had already betrayed Arthur’s presence. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he drawled, slipping into the room without waiting for a reply, his usual ease faltering when he noticed your state, sitting casually on the vanity chair in your undergarments. His gaze softened in surprise. “Sorry—didn’t mean to walk in on ya’.” You gave him a nod, a hollow gesture of reassurance, though something within felt distant, a dull weight settling in your chest. It was a feeling unshaken by his soft eyes, by the habitual endearments that had once been enough.

You kept your gaze on the vanity mirror, watching him through sidelong glances as he lingered, a mix of apology and something else tugging at his expression. “It’d gone on longer than I thought,” Arthur mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, referring to some simple errand—just retrieving supplies before your time in Colter dwindled to its end. You hummed in response, a indifferent acknowledgment as you absentmindedly gathered your hair.

A low, almost frustrated scoff escaped him. “Aw, c’mon, darlin’…” He stepped forward, his rough hands rising to rest on your shoulders, his lips brushing the nape of your neck in a tentative attempt to break the silence. His touch lingered, relishing the warmth of your skin against his calloused fingertips, as though he could remind you of something that once was there. But you rolled your shoulders, slipping from his grasp, closing the door with an unsettling finality.

Arthur’s gaze followed, catching the faint, fading scent of you in the air as you pulled away, his brow furrowing with a pang he barely masked. There was confusion in his silence, frustration pressing against the seams of his patience. He sank onto the chair you’d just abandoned, placing his weathered hat on the table behind him as if setting down an unspoken challenge. His voice, rougher now, tore through the heavy quiet. “You gonna tell me what I did, or are we just gonna keep playin’ the silent game?”

As you stand behind him, the air thickens with a silence that feels almost tactile. Arthur’s gaze lingers on you, curiosity and a flicker of wariness in his eyes, though he says nothing. You lift the ribbon slowly, letting it slide between your fingers, the soft fabric grazing his roughened skin. He shivers, his breathing slowing, waiting.

Taking his hands, you bring them to rest behind his back. His fingers curl, instinctively seeking yours, but you ease them apart, guiding his hands to lie open. Carefully, you begin to wrap the ribbon around his wrists, the silk gliding over his calloused skin, each loop deliberate, firm. Arthur clears his throat softly, his voice roughened by the stillness. “What’re ya up to, darlin’?” he murmurs, his tone somewhere between intrigue and uncertainty.

You don’t answer, only continue winding the ribbon, feeling the warmth of his pulse under your touch. He inhales, slow and steady, watching your hands, his breath hitching slightly as you pull the fabric snug. “Ya' really think this’ll hold me?” he teases, the edge of a smile playing at his lips, though a hint of nervousness betrays him.

“Doesn't need it to,” you reply softly, knotting the ribbon firmly, your voice barely more than a murmur.

He shifts, rolling his shoulders, testing the silk, his expression turning serious. “If there’s somethin’ I’ve done wrong… ya oughta tell me. Ain’t fair, keepin’ me in the dark like this.”

Your fingers linger at his wrists, a thumb brushing gently over his pulse, feeling the rhythm quicken under your touch. “I don’t think you’d understand,” you whisper, the words spilling out before you can stop them, loaded with the weight of what remains unsaid.

Arthur closes his eyes for a moment, leaning slightly into your touch, resignation seeping into his voice. “Try me,” he breathes, the words low and rough.

Your hand slips away, leaving a lingering sensation as you both feel the growing desire between you. An insaitable hunger that has been dormant, waiting to be fed. You kiss him fiercely, teeth clashing in passion. Your mouths open and tongues intertwine, merging into one. Arthur moans as he is caught off guard by the intensity of the kiss.

He has always been the one to take control, prideful and strong, reveling in your pleasure and wearing it like a badge of honor. But now, he finds himself on the receiving end. The thought of it ignites something within him, making him painfully hard against his denim. It's instinct for him to lift you up and press you onto the mattress, promising to "take care" of you in his slow drawl. The lovemaking is intense, resulting in bruises and soreness that you both relish in. He enjoys leaving marks on your body that remind you that you belong to him. Instead he's seated with a dainty ribbon tying his hands together, and for whatever reason he refuses to break free.

It must be your newfound dominance. It ignites something else in him, something instinctual. You straddle his lap, feeling the pressure of his bulge against you like a perfect fit. Your kisses become more urgent and you bite his lip, savoring the sweet sounds that escape from him. Your hands claw at his back before tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to expose his neck for you to explore with your tongue. Placing open mouth kisses along his jaw, grazing your teeth against his freckled flesh. Each movement causes his length to twitch, it only encourages you to further turn the dial.

"Yer a mean lady, tyin’ me up like this," Arthur grunts.

You chuckle darkly and reply, "you've been a bad boy Arthur. A very bad boy."

"Have I now?" Arthur's voice was low, a challenge in his eyes despite his bound hands. "And what exactly do ya' plan to do about it?"

You leaned in close, your breath hot against his ear. "Everything," you whispered, letting the word hang between you like a promise.

Slowly, deliberately, you began to unbutton his shirt, your fingers trailing over each newly exposed inch of skin. Arthur's breath hitched, his muscles tensing under your touch. You took your time, savoring the anticipation building between you. When his chest was bare, you ran your nails lightly down his torso, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. Arthur groaned, straining against the ribbon.

"Darlin'," he growled, "you're playin' with fire."

A wicked glint flashes in your eye as you smirk. "Pretty bold words coming from someone who's tied up." You roll your hips and Arthur instinctively mirrors your movements. "You could break out of those bonds with ease, baby." You taunt him, relishing in the heat rising on his cheeks.

"But you won't, will you?"

Arthur grunts in defeat. "No, ma'am."

"You're enjoying this, aren''t you?"

He hesitates before admitting, "Yes, I do." A warm hue of rose kisses his freckled cheeks.

You smiled, a predatory glint in your eyes. "Good boy," you purred, rewarding him with a slow, sensual roll of your hips. Arthur's head fell back, a low moan escaping his lips. You could feel him straining against his trousers, desperate for more friction. But you weren't done teasing him yet. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble beneath your touch. "You've always been so strong, so in control," you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. "But now? Now you're mine to do with as I please."

You nipped at his earlobe, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Arthur. His muscles tensed, biceps flexing as he fought the urge to break free from his silken bonds.

"Darlin'," he growled, his voice husky with desire,

"Don'tchu 'darlin'' me," you chided, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "You've had your way for so long. Now it's my turn."

Your hands slid down his chest, fingers tracing the scars and contours of his body. Arthur's breath quickened as you reached the waistband of his trousers. With agonizing slowness, you began to undo his belt.

"Christ," Arthur muttered, his hips lifting involuntarily.

You tsked, pressing him back down. "Patience."

Finally, you freed him from the confines of his clothing. Arthur hissed as the cool air hit his heated skin. His impressive member rested against his taut abdomen, slick with the beads of pre-cum. You wrapped your hand around him, giving a few experimental strokes that had him groaning and straining against the ribbon.

"Look at you," you murmured, your voice low and husky. "So desperate, so needy. All for me."

Arthur's eyes were dark with desire, his chest heaving as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Please," he rasped, the word barely audible.

You leaned in, your lips ghosting over his. "Please what, Arthur? Use your words."

He groaned, frustration and arousal warring in his expression. "Please... touch me I...Need you so bad, darlin'."

A slow smile spread across your face. "That's better," you purred, rewarding him with a deep, passionate kiss. Your hand resumed its movements, stroking him with a maddening mix of pressure and speed. Arthur's hips bucked, seeking more friction, more touch, more of everything you were offering. You broke the kiss, trailing your lips down his neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Arthur's head fell back, a low moan rumbling in his chest.

"God, darlin'," Arthur gasped, his voice rough with need. "Yer killin' me here."

You smiled against his skin, your teeth grazing his pulse point. "Are you gonna be a good boy for me?" you murmured. Slowly, teasingly, you slid down his body, trailing kisses as you went. Arthur's muscles tensed under your touch, his bound hands clenching and unclenching with the effort of restraining himself. When you reached his cock, you paused, your breath hot against him. "I asked you Arthur, are you gonna be a good boy for me?" Arthur's hips jerked involuntarily, seeking contact. You placed a hand on his thigh, holding him still waiting for his response.

He's completely undone by you, a panting sweating mess. The eagerness on his face hard to miss. Whatta sight. Notorious outlaw, enforcer of the Van Der Linde Gang, whimpering at your touch. Begging for release. as if you held the answers to the universe.

"I'm waiting."

Arthur swallows, "Please make me cum"

Your lips curled into a wicked smile. "That's not quite what I asked for, Arthur," you purred, your breath ghosting over his aching length. "But I suppose it'll do... for now." Without warning, you took him into your mouth, relishing the strangled gasp that escaped his lips. Your tongue swirled around his tip before you slowly, torturously, took him deeper. Arthur's hips bucked involuntarily, but your firm grip on his thighs kept him in place.

"Christ almighty," he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he strained against the silk ribbon binding his wrists. But he didn't break free, didn't try to take control. He was yours, completely at your mercy. You worked him with your mouth and hands, alternating between teasing licks and deep, hungry strokes. Arthur's breathing grew ragged, punctuated by low moans and muttered curses. You could feel him getting close, his thighs trembling under your touch.

Just as he teetered on the edge, you pulled away. Arthur let out a frustrated groan, his hips lifting off the chair, seeking contact.

"Not yet," you whispered, your voice husky with your own arousal. "I'm not done with you."

You stood, slowly removing your undergarments as Arthur watched with hungry eyes. His gaze raked over your body, drinking in every curve and line.

"Yer a goddamn tease," he growled, but there was no real anger in his voice - only desperate need.

You straddled him again, positioning yourself just above his straining member. "And you love it," you murmured, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

Slowly, torturously, you lowered yourself onto him. Arthur groaned into your mouth as you enveloped him, the sensation almost overwhelming after all the teasing. You set a languid pace, rolling your hips in a way that had him seeing stars. Both of you erupted in a fit of moans, uncaring of who witnessed it outside the wooden doors.

"Darlin'," Arthur panted, breaking the kiss. "Please... I needa touch you."

“Answer my question then.”

He’s almost confused, mind completely lost in you. “Wh-what was it?”

“Are you gonna be a good boy?”

Arthur bites his lips, his voice above a whisper. “y-yes.”

With a wicked smile, you slowly pull yourself off of him, leaving only the tip of his throbbing cock at your entrance. You taunt him, grinding your hips teasingly, making him think he'll be engulfed by you once again.

"What's that? I couldn't hear ya, cowboy."

His pleading eyes meet yours as he begs, "Please, god yes! I'll do anything for you." The desperation in his voice only fuels your desire to dominate him completely.

You savored the power you held over him, a cheeky smile playing on your lips. With calculated slowness, you reached behind him and untied the ribbon, knowing he was at your mercy. Your body pressed against his, the heat between you palpable as he devoured you like a starving man to a meal. He took your nipple in his mouth, biting and sucking with an intensity that sent electric waves pulsating through your body, nearly causing you to collapse.

"Ar-Arthur!" you moaned in pleasure.

"Told ya I needed ya' darlin'," Arthur growled, desperation evident in his voice. "So please - please untie me. Yer makin' a grown man beg for christs sake."

You complied and his hands were free to roam your body with a primal hunger that left you breathless. His calloused fingers dug into your hips, directing your movements as he thrust up to meet you with a ferocity that made your head spin. The change in angle only intensified the pleasure, sending shivers down your spine and overwhelming every sense until all that mattered was this moment of pure desire between the two of you.

The delicate vanity chair beneath you both creaked in unison with your movements, the wood straining under the weight. His thick cock filled you completely, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Does it feel good, my sweet girl?" His deep voice rumbled, his hands gripping your hips to guide your movements. You could only nod, your eyes closed in bliss as he continued to fill you with his skilled touch. "Yes, Arthur," you gasped, feeling yourself lose control under his expert ministrations. "You're so good for me, but—."

Leaning forward, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "—I want to try something new." Arthur's half lidded eyes squinted with intrigue, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "What'd you have in mind, darlin'?" he murmured, his hands sliding up your back.

With a mischievous smile, you climbed off his lap, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. "Be good for me and lie down," you commanded softly. Arthur complied, his eyes never leaving yours as he stretched out on the mattress. You straddled him again, but this time facing away from him. Arthur's breath hitched as you lowered yourself onto him, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through both of you. His hands found your hips, guiding you as you began to move.

"Christ," Arthur groaned, his fingers digging into your flesh. You reveled in the sensation of him filling you completely, the new angle allowing him to hit spots that made you see stars. Arthur's hands roamed your body, caressing your back, your thighs, your breasts. You leaned back, bracing yourself on his chest as you rode him with increasing fervor.

Arthur panted your name, his voice rough with desire. "Gonna be the death of me." You chuckled breathlessly, grinding your hips in a way that made him groan. "What a way to go," you teased.

His hands tightened on your hips, guiding your movements as he thrust up to meet you. The room filled with the sounds of your combined pleasure, gasps and moans mingling with the creak of the bed. Taking Arthur’s hand to your front, you slip them between your legs. His rough palm covered yours, “Help me with this.” You cry, as he guides your movements, circling your sensitive clit. The dual sensations of his thick length inside you and the pressure on your glit had you spiraling. Arthur could feel your core tightening around his girth, his undoing was just as close as yours.

"I'm—" you panted, arching your back, "Oh God, Arthur, I'm—"

His growl reverberates through your body as his hips buck uncontrollably beneath you. The heat emanating from him is almost suffocating, but you relish in it, knowing what it means. With malicious intent, you raise your hips just enough for the tip of his cock to graze your dripping entrance, teasing and taunting him until he whines with frustration.

"Do you want to cum inside me, baby?" you purr, a wicked gleam in your eyes as you slide the tip out completely and rub your slick juices against his shaft.

A beautiful sound escapes Arthur's lips as he grasps at the sheets beneath him, his toes curling in pleasure and desperation.

"Please," he begs, aching to be filled by you. "I want to feel your tight pussy on me, I want to fill you up with my hot cum. Let me, my sweet girl," he pleads, his need evident in every fiber of his being.

Pleased with his answer, you turn your frame to face him instead. And with a praise you sink into him. Good boy. The best boy. Arthur let out a low, guttural moan as you enveloped him once more, the feeling of you wrapping around him sending shockwaves through his entire being. His hands instinctively found their way to your thighs, gripping them with an urgency that only fueled your desire. As you began to ride him once again, an orgasmic rhythm was established, each thrust igniting more of that fiery need within you.

"Y-you feel incredible," he gasped between breaths, his voice nearly breaking as he tried to keep pace with you. You could feel him swelling deeper inside, a perfect fit that left no room for anything but the two of you in this moment. The heat between your bodies was electrifying, every sensation heightened as you drove down harder, the sound of skin slapping together echoing against the walls. Arthur’s eyes were glued to where you joined, filled with a mixture of lust and awe that made your heart race.

"You like how I take you?" you teased breathlessly, leaning forward just enough to tease his lips with yours before pulling back again, knowing how it drove him wild. His eyes flared with need as he panted, "God girl! yes, don't stop."

You could feel the tension building within both of you—every thrust bringing you closer to the edge. You let out soft whimper, “give me your cum.”

Arthur's breath hitched at your words, the raw desperation slashing through him like a blade. "Y-yes, I will, just… just a little longer," he gasped, his grip tightening on your thighs as you continued to ride him ravenously, drawing out every sensation to its fullest. The sounds of your bodies colliding echoed in the room, punctuated by the sweet notes of pleasure that filled the air.

The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the rhythm of your bodies moving together, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you both like a warm embrace. You could feel the heat pooling deep within you, an insistent throb that demanded release. Your breaths came quicker as you leaned back slightly, one hand finding its way to your clit again to push yourself even closer.

"Arthur," you breathed heavily, looking back at him through semi-lidded eyes. "I want to feel you explode inside me."

His eyes danced with a mix of longing and determination as he nodded vigorously, his body twitching beneath you. "You have no idea what yer doin' to me," he murmured hoarsely.

Every thrust became more urgent, more fervent as he chased both of your climaxes. His hands mapped your body, fingers digging into your skin with just enough

pressure to send shivers racing down your spine. You could feel the tension coiling tighter, an exquisite build-up that threatened to explode at any moment. Each time you sank down onto him, you felt as if you were drawing ever closer to a point of no return, the heat between you reaching a fever pitch.

“Arthur—” you gasped, your voice trembling with need as the edge of bliss danced tantalizingly close. His eyes were locked onto yours, fierce and filled with promise. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Just a little more,” he urged, his voice gravelly and filled with intensity. “I want us both to go together.”

His words ignited something primal within you; you changed your angle slightly, moving in a way that made him fill you deeper, harder. The overwhelming sensations drove tears of pleasure to your eyes, and your breath became ragged with the effort of holding back.

“Please,” he urged again, his hips thrusting up in desperation, urging you even further toward that peak of ecstasy. “I’m so close… just let go.”

With every thrust and swirl of your hips, it felt as though you were unraveling at the seams. Your body was responding to his every movement, every whisper and every plea pulling you deeper under the spell of pleasure. You could feel the dam within you beginning to crack, a sweet pressure building that begged for release.

“Arthur, I—” You choked out as his grip on your thighs shifted, pulling you down hard against him, the sensation sending shockwaves through your entire being. “I can’t hold it back!”

“Jus’ let it happen!” His voice was urgent, filled with fervor that matched your own.

With one final thrust, you spiraled over the edge. A wave of ecstasy crashed over you like a tidal wave, pulling every part of you under as you cried out his name. You felt your walls quiver around him, clamping down tightly as your body seized in pleasure, each pulse radiating through your veins like the sweetest venom. Arthur followed closely behind, his own orgasm tearing through him with a force that left you breathless. “Yes! Yes!” he shouted, lost in the depth of his release as he filled you completely, repeating your name like a hymn. The warmth of him inside you sent aftershocks of bliss coursing through your body, intensifying your own climax until it felt like stars were exploding behind your closed eyelids.

The world around you faded into nothingness; all that remained was the intoxicating rhythm of your pulse and the sound of ragged breaths mingling together. You collapse atop of him, cock still firmly placed inside you. You refuse for him to remove it, “let’s just stay like this for a minute,”

Arthur chuckles hoarsely, his own throat sore from his relentless moaning. “I ain’t arguin’, you really did a number on me today pretty girl."

[writefightandflightclub]

Blorbo thought of the day #1

More: Steven Grant x GN! reader

Author’s note: Wanted to start doing a “Blorbo thought of the day” thing. Idea is that I will share a snippet of one of the many blorbo scenarios which pop into my head on the daily, but which I don’t have time to develop into a full fic. Sometimes it will be smut, sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, sometimes… a surprise? And I don’t mean literally every day, but whenever I can! This one turned into more of a smutty blurb, but I intend for others to be much shorter snippets, bits of dialogue, headcanons etc..

Who better to start with than Steven?

Steven is a gentle lover; until he isn’t. (In which you gag on Steven’s cock and it sends him FERAL.)

NSFW/18+ Minors interacting will be blocked.

Steven Grant is a gentle lover.

Until he isn’t.

You are on your knees for him as he stands in front of you. Hadn’t even managed to strip off his work clothes yet before you were stripping them for him. Undoing his belt, and peeling away his trousers and boxers. Pushing his back up against the thick wooden beam of his attic room and taking him eagerly into your mouth.

He’s soft. Careful. Always. Let’s you take the lead.

Tonight is no exception.

Steven rests his hand gingerly on the crown of your head as you suck him - nothing but a gentle, reassuring weight. His long eyelashes flutter as he flits his gaze over you; the angel -divine being- making him feel so good.

You didn’t care who came through the door, you’d said. Whether it was him or Marc or Jake - you were getting down on your knees. Had been thinking about it all day.

But you’d told him, when he walked through the door, that you’d been glad it was him.

He’s still not used to this. To being wanted. To how good your mouth feels wrapped around him. Being buried in you.

Steven is a gentle lover. Makes a point of it. Never wants to hurt you. Push you. Take anything you don’t want to give. Has never even considered getting rough with you.

But tonight, he can’t help but think about what it would be like… just to take a little more.

Maybe because he’s had a stressful day at the museum. Maybe because he’s been thinking about coming home to you all day too and relieving his frustrations.

Whatever the reason, Steven can’t help but think about it; because he knows that the others are rougher with you, sometimes. That they don’t treat you like you’re about to break - like he does.

What were the words he’d heard?

Jake: soft dom. Marc: service top. Him: vanilla, submissive.

And so, he can’t help but think about it, because if they’d arrived tonight instead of him, wouldn’t this all be different?

The thought of that, combined with the feel of your velvet lips and the welcoming, warm wet cave of your mouth makes Steven so hard he can see stars blur the edge of his vision. Makes him grow over eager as you work your pretty mouth on him, bucking his hips and driving his length enthusiastically home, deeper into the cave of you. His hand gripping the back of your head just a little tighter than usual in his desperation to come undone.

He didn’t mean to. Didn’t mean to translate this desire from out of his head into the real world. You didn’t expect it.

It takes you a little by surprise.

Enough, to make you gag on Steven’s cock, just for a second; until you are surging off of him, eyelashes wet as you blink away the instant, spiking surge of tears.

Steven means to say something. He really does. Feels awful. Means to say “sorry, love, I’m so sorry”.

To soothe you. To do something.

But he… doesn’t.

Because…. Fuck.

He liked it.

A lot.

To his great relief, you seem unphased too, your lips curling up into a little smile before you curl them once again around his girth.

You continue: still gentle, still soft. Still in control. Setting your own pace.

Except this time Steven is inwardly going feral.

The thought of you gagging on him again. The thought of you surging off of him because he’s too big. The noises you made. The feeling of your throat convulsing around his cock. Even the tears in your eyes and the thought that you want him so much you’ll try so valiantly to take him all.

He’s panting. It’s awoken something in him. He’s throwing his head back against the beam. Eyes are screwing shut. His teeth are biting into his lower lip. His fingers are curling into your hair and - oh God. It feels divinely good but he wants…

Oh God.

He wants to push you down on him until you heave with the swell of him and he’s resisting the urge and you’re sucking him so deep and he can’t take it because he wants -needs to- bury himself even deeper.

Needs more and he’s aching for it.

“-Steven,” you purr, looking up at him, lips plumped and glistening with spit and god. “If you don’t want to make me gag on you again, you can always just ask. I can tell you liked it.”

He opens his eyes. Looks down at you on your knees. His mouth dropped open in surprise, and his legs nervy and trembling. A wracked, disbelieving moan spools from his chest, his cock almost bursting at the thought of it. Of making you choke on him. “W-would you d-do that for me, love?”

Your eyes glint with mischief. With want. “Steven.” You kiss the swollen head of his cock, swirling your tongue around the contours of him until he twitches, nearly spilling himself right then. “I’d do anything for you.”

He releases a shaky breath.

Steven is a gentle lover; until he isn’t.

Until he fists his hand in your hair and drives you down on his shaft, losing all composure as he hears you, feels you, sees you gagging on his size, your hands pressed calmly to his bared thighs as he holds you there and you let him.

And, as he does you fold the flat of your tongue around him. Let him take you, fill you, fuck into the circle of you, your throat resisting; gagging on him.

Steven can’t take it.

Didn’t know he would like this. Never would have guessed.

But within moments, he is emitting a ragged moan. He is pulsing his hot release down your throat. Giving you everything, as you eagerly take it. Swallow him down, until he’s drained; empty. Your hands smoothing up and down his shuddering thighs. Your tongue cleaning every last drop of mess from him. Humming against his softening shaft.

“Was that good, baby?”

He thinks he might black out. Can’t speak.

Can’t speak; until he can. “Love. C-Can we do it again?”

Your mouth curls into a smile; before you wrap it all the way around him.

When it comes to you, Steven can never get enough. He always want more.

At the same time though, you’re more than enough for him.

You’re everything, and he’s so happy he was the one to walk through the door.

[winged-self-indulgence]

hhhhhhhh can you tell I'm not used to doing bratty reader-inserts?

“I don’t have to listen to you! For all I know, you’re just some imaginary monster inside my head. You can’t tell me what to do!”

Surely famous last words were supposed to be far more eloquent than those. In your defense, you hadn’t meant it completely. You were just taunting the demon, trying to rile them up a bit. After all, it wasn’t fair that they were eons old and could order you around whenever they felt like it. Wasn’t turnabout supposed to be fair play?

Apparently, Z didn’t think so. The moment the words left your lips you felt the atmosphere change. Your heart lurched, feeling as though you had just accidentally missed a step on a staircase. Like you had selected the wrong dialogue option in an RPG and caused the cheerful background music to stop. Past your racing thoughts, you could see Z just staring at you; chin still resting on the heel of their fisted left hand. Smile as wide and razored as ever. Eyes the same fiery-hued gleam.

The tail though. Their tail had stopped moving.

You pressed your lips together and debated retracting your words, until the demon spoke. “I thought we’d moved past all that already,” Z commented lazily. “I know human memory is short, but I didn’t think you were that much of a scatterbrain, Dove. Come here and let me remind you.”

The urge to apologize fizzled and died. With a huff you folded your arms across your chest and stuck your chin out stubbornly. “Well, who knows. Maybe I’m just very creative and dreamed you all up to entertain me,” you replied with airiness you didn’t quite feel. “You’re doing a terrible job, by the way.”

Z’s golden eyes lit up behind their curtain of hair. “Aw, I’d love to be part of your dreams, sweetheart,” he replied, a feral grin hooking one side of his lips higher than the other, exposing canines that were noticeably longer and sharper than the rest of his already sharklike jaws.

“I’m serious!” You scowled, annoyed that he seemed to be toying with you. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever seen you outside this…wherever this is.”

You gestured around to indicate the bar. The bar where no one ever seemed to take notice of you or Z. Where you’d never ordered nor paid for your own drinks, and yet they always appeared in front of you without fail. The bar whose name you always forgot the following morning when you woke up in your own bed with no memory of how you got home in the first place.

“Then come closer, and let me refresh your memory, Dove,” Z cooed, holding out a hand across the table, palm up expectantly.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. You puffed out your cheeks and glared. “Uh, didn’t you hear me? I said no.”

Z blinked, finally reacting to your insolent attitude. He chuckled low and tilted his head to the side as if to question if you were really defying him. The motion sent his thick hair cascading to the side, a wave of soft brown falling to reveal one ruby-red eye. In an instant, the hand that had been resting placidly on the tabletop darted faster than a snake, locking tight around your wrist like a hunter’s trap.

“You clearly don’t remember who’s in charge right now, sweetheart,” they said, dragging you over the table with ease. “Don’t be a brat unless you’re ready for the consequences, doll. I said come here.”

With a tug, Z had you yanked onto the table, your upper body pressed flat against the cool wooden surface while your legs remained partly kneeling on your seat for balance. You squirmed, unable to push yourself upright with one of your hands trapped in theirs.

"I'll do whatever I want," you scoffed and tried to yank yourself free, but Z’s fingers were like iron manacles. Trying to use your other hand as leverage only got it trapped too, joining it’s sibling in Z’s grip. "You're all talk, Mr. Big Bad Demon Royalty!"

Z’s free hand grasped your chin, forcing you to look at him. He smiled and leaned down, angling your head so that his smoky breath brushed over your lips. “You really enjoy testing my patience, don’t you, Dove? I think I’ve spoiled you too much. Guess I’ll have to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”

For a moment your breath hitched, caught between an exciting frisson of terror, and then bemused curiosity when Z didn’t immediately move. Then you felt it. Something warm, smooth, yet oddly shaped coiled around one ankle and then another. You wrenched your neck around and gaped at the shadowy black tendrils coiling around your limbs, dragging them apart with barely any effort despite your instinctive rebellion. The shifting darkness pooled below you, a black hole beneath your feet from which rose a writhing mass of twisting, twining, variously shaped appendages. All different, but all sharing Z’s distinct colouring: obsidian black fading to blood red.

Several of them squirmed beneath the fabric of your jeans, sliding into your underwear to tease. Two vanished up your shirt, the tips splitting apart to latch onto your nipples and suck. One curled up to your face, dripping a thick, sticky white liquid that stained your lips and tongue when it forced its way into your mouth.

All the while Z watched you with all the fanged pleasure of someone watching their favourite TV show. Grinning while you gagged on the tendril stuffing your throat barely inches from them, both of your hands still trapped in one of his.

“Oh my,” Z taunted. “Whatever happened to all that bravado, Dove? Be grateful I’m taking it so easy on you. You’re going to come as many times as I want, baby. And by the end, I expect a heartfelt apology, or you won’t like what happens next.”

[charmwasjess]

Stupid sexy the Acolyte why I am still watching you

Ugh, because it unfortunately rules, that's why. I don't know. On one hand, I still have all of my concerns about the portrayal of the Jedi Order and my absolute exhaustion with the plotline of "oooh, but wHaT iF the Jedi bAd?!" while offhandedly massacring interesting cool Jedi who are voluntarily and honorably living out their convictions as empty plot fodder. I am so tired. But I also keep genuinely finding things to like about the show.

I really like the big chunky boxy lightsaber designs. They remind me of my first car: one of those perfectly square Volvo station wagons. I think the prequel Jedi lightsaber designs tend to be a little industrial/ utilitarian, whereas Dooku's generation (in the few example we have, I'm thinking of his, Sifo-Dyas's, and Jocasta's, because those are the ones I've looked at too many times) can be a little fussy and overdesigned. It's cool to see how generations of Jedi riff on popular designs for their era.

The size makes for a big impact when characters do things such as hold the emitter against the head of another character, or as in last night, bring it up to someone's throat, because damn, that thing is a clunker. It looks so dangerous.

Master Sol. Master Sol. Master Sol. I'm not sure I have ever seen a live action role where the actor has more uniquely and specifically captured what I love about the Jedi in one character.

The scene where he goes down to reset the transmitter and has his little micro-breakdown after the "team is dead" bit. What an powerful moment. The amount of acting he did with absolutely no dialogue, no one else in the scene to bounce off of, just a quiet moment of grief, rage, and loss. I've read both criticism and rebuttals of Jedi acting - oh, they're wooden, no, they're accurately playing a person with a lifetime worth of trained emotional control - and this was such an incredible example of portraying a person with a lifetime of emotional control training realistically experiencing an excruciating, heartbreaking loss. You see him lose control, open himself up to the Force/self soothe, and regain it. All just with a sequence of facial expressions. Honestly, if I get absolutely nothing else out of the show and hate where they go with this, it will have been worth watching for that alone. It's that important to me.

And just - Sol. :') When he gives Not-Osha a big HUG? I'm such a sucker for Jedi onscreen hugs. Man, his inevitable death is gonna blow.

Aww, and speaking of death, confirmation that the Osha and Jecki vibes were really there. Just kill me. And I kind of love how Qimir phrases it, this idea that the Jedi she loves will never love her back the way that she wants them to, but also the twisty subtext there. Maybe this is me giving the show too much credit, but I got a lot of Sith-version of love "to love is to possess a person" vibes in the way he talked about that?

BUt ohhhhh nooooo ewww stupid sexy Qimir trying to s-seduce (?) Osha by being all sexy and funny and likeable and weirdly kind and not like a classic Sith. Pffffh. Yeah, he's going after the other twin now. Completely and totally expected. Oh, good. And now he's taking off his stupid shirt and his beautiful body is there in this dumb stupid scene. He loves to show off his awful muscles and handsome dumb face, as if anybody is interested in that. Presumably his dark side dong is out. Who would care about that? Not me, a scholar.

Whatever, who even cares about this show. CLEARLY I DO NOT

[preet-01]

I just finished rewatching Game of Thrones season 6 and this idea of an angsty maxiel fic came to be. So this is based on season 6 episode 10, more specifically Loras' trial with dialogue straight from the show without the explosive end

Max is amongst the first to arrive to the Great Sept of Baelor with his betrothed by his side – her hand resting gently on his arm, no more and no less than propriety dictates – and two kingsguard follow behind them with a hand on their respective swords. The very few nobles already at the Sept part to allow Max and his betrothed to reach the slightly elevated platform his father is on. 

“Good morrow,” he greets as is expected of him. The response and the conversation that follows between his father and betrothed is lost to him as his gaze is fixed on where followers of the High Sparrow make their final preparations. 

There are seven simple chairs with one placed at each point of the seven-pointed star. No chair is grander than the other, but all are made of a rough wood that most furniture for the poorest of smallfolk is made. On each chair sits an elderly man in a rough-spun sack, for there is no better word for the long tunic-like clothing the followers of the High Sparrow wear. The High Sparrow indistinguishable from the men he chose to stand as judicators for this trial. 

It would be easy to fight those seven men. One wouldn’t even need to be Kingsguard or a renowned knight to fight those men and win. If it weren’t for the Faith Militant – the most fanatical of the High Sparrow’s followers and men. In long, gray, rough-spun robes with chains crisscrossing around their torsos and the seven-pointed star carved into their foreheads, the Faith Militant are merciless. Just a few weeks ago, their brutality had turned the streets of King’s Landing red with spilled wine and blood. 

The fanaticism could have been snuffed out quietly and quickly, as his uncle had suggested – recalling how awful things had turned out centuries ago when they first rose up against the crown. But his father had not listened. Instead, he had armed them and given them legitimacy as only the King could. 

The Sept of Baelor is quick to fill with nobles and smallfolk alike – all of them curious to see the trial and its outcome. It is not every day that a noble, a scion of one of the great houses, is so publicly tried for something everyone had known but turned a blind eye to because that’s just how things were. 

Nobles with secrets to keep and protect are present only so they could find ways to safeguard themselves against this new religious fanaticism. In the before times, carefully planned donations had allowed them to do as they pleased with Septons and Septas turning a blind eye. The smallfolk clamor to witness the trial so they may see a rich man brought to their level, to see that finery and wealth will not protect the nobles. 

It’s madness and asking for trouble. 

Had his father not learned anything from the histories he so harshly burned into Max’s mind? Every time it was brought to attention that nobles and royalty bled just the same as the smallfolk, it ended badly for the nobles and royalty. The smallfolk outnumbered them by thousands if not millions – not even dragons had been safe from the smallfolk once they realized that dragons were not gods but flesh and blood just like any other animal. 

The pounding of a wooden staff by the High Sparrow brings Max’s attention back to the matter at hand. 

There is to be a trial. And at the center of it is Ser Daniel Ricciardo. 

Across the Sept stands House Ricciardo – all of them united as they await the future of their house. Once their strongest allies, Max doubts they will be staying in King’s Landing long once the trial is over nor will they lend their support to House Verstappen in the ongoing war now that the heir to their great house is on trial by fanatics legitimized by the King. It is a troublesome prospect to think about as the Ricciardos fielded most of the men in the crown’s army and were the ones to provide food for the kingdom. 

The brotherhood of the Faith Militant drag Daniel to the center and Max barely recognizes the man. 

Fine silks are replaced by rough-spun robes and chains. The never-ending bright smile has ceased to exist. The curls Max loved to weave his hands through are shorn to the root. Cuts and bruises litter Daniel’s face as he curls into himself. The once proud knight is reduced to a shade of himself as he keeps his eyes on the floor, averting any interaction he may have with the people present to witness the trial. 

“Ser Daniel Ricciardo,” the High Sparrow says as the brothers force Daniel onto his knees in the center of the seven-pointed star. “Are you prepared to stand trial and profess your guilt or innocence before the Seven?” he inquires. 

“There'll be no need for a trial,” Daniel replies. His voice is rough and weak, breaking with every word he says. The crowd around Max murmured amongst themselves as they’d all come to witness a trial. “I confess before the Seven and freely admit to my crimes,” Daniel continues as the whispers and murmurs grow louder. 

“I would spend the rest of my life here with just you,” Max whispered pressing kisses along Daniel’s bare chest. 

“To which crimes will you be confessing?” the High Sparrow questions, gazing down at Daniel’s broken figure. 

“All of them. I lay with other men,” Daniel says, his body betraying him as his eyes fall to where Max stands for only a few seconds before turning back to the High Sparrow, “including the traitor Nico Rosberg.” Max’s breath hitches, he does not know if he wants Daniel to name him as one of the men he’d slept with so they may suffer together or if he fears what may happen should Daniel name him. Nico Rosberg is long dead, slain by a ghost or woman – the tales vary and are most likely fictionalized with each passing moment – he will not suffer for any of this like Daniel will, nor is it unknown that Nico Rosberg had once lain with the Ricciardo heir. 

“We could always run away. They are not so strict against who you love in the Free Cities,” Daniel said when Max’s betrothal was announced. Sooner than later, Max would marry the Lannister girl and sire perfect, golden-haired babes to rule after him. 

“I perjured myself before the gods. I am guilty of depravity... dishonesty, profligacy, and arrogance,” Daniel continues to say, the hurt evident as he stops after saying depravity. Nothing about what they had done was deprave, it was beautiful and something to be cherished, but the Faith of the Seven did not see it as such. The beauty of their love was considered to be wrong and immoral. A crime that could be tried in front of all and give the Faith Militant leave to cut cocks if they so chose to do so. 

“I see that now. I humble myself before the Seven and accept whatever punishment the gods deem just,” Daniel finally says as tears stain his cheeks. 

Max clenches his fists, digging his nails into his palms until it stings to keep himself from moving from his place between his father and betrothed. 

As the Crown Prince, Max was forced to sit for the inquisition. Everything had gone well enough, there were not many questions and things could be explained away. Michelle had defended her brother and Max’s name was never once brought up. It had gone well until it hadn’t. 

A no-name knight from years ago was brought to the inquisition. A no-name knight who Daniel hadn’t seen in years since he’d committed himself to Max had given credence to the accusations by mentioning a birthmark on Daniel’s upper thigh – a birthmark Max himself had marked with kisses. 

“The gods' judgment is fierce, but also fair,” the High Sparrow says loudly so his voice echoes in the Sept. “The Warrior punishes those who believe themselves beyond the reach of justice. But the Mother shows her mercy to those who kneel before her,” he states. 

Still kneeling, Daniel says, “I take full responsibility for my many sins and unburden myself of my desires. My only remaining wish is to devote my life to the Seven. May I be a living example of their grace for others to witness.” Daniel replies as the crowd gasps. 

“You understand fully what this means?”

“I do,” Daniel agrees. “I will abandon the Ricciardo name and all that goes with it. I will renounce my lordship and my claims on Highgarden. I will never marry and I will never father any children,” he says. It is unheard of for heirs to renounce their claims and vow to never marry or father children. Even the heirs who preferred the company of men kept their positions and married as was expected. 

“Brother Daniel... I ask you to dedicate your life to the seven gods. Will you fight to defend your faith against heretics and apostates?” 

“I will,” Daniel says. 

“The gods are just and Brother Daniel has seen the error in his ways. Now he will repent and serve the Faith,” the High Septon says as the brothers of the Faith Militant mutilate Daniel. 

Daniel’s screams echo in the Sept of Baelor as they carve the seven-pointed star on his forehead. 

He should have run away with Daniel when they had the chance. Forsaken his station as heir to the Iron Throne and took Daniel far, far away from the people who saw their love as immoral. He should have protected Daniel like Daniel protects him now. Max’s father may not love him, but he knows that if Max was at the other end of the sodomy accusations, his father would have quelled the Faith Militant and gotten rid of the High Sparrow. Daniel knew it just as well as Max did, but yet, Daniel hadn’t spoken his name once, protecting him even to his own detriment. 

Once Daniel is taken away, not even given a moment with his family, the crowds disperse with his father at the head of it all. 

“Michelle-” he begins when it is just him and Daniel’s sister standing in the Great Sept of Baelor. The floor between them was stained with drops of Daniel’s blood and tears. 

“Do not,” she cuts him off, hatred in her tear-filled eyes. Her father, the Lord of Highgarden, had ushered away his crying wife, but Michelle had remained in her place. “We all warned Daniel to not get in bed with a Verstappen, but he didn’t listen because he was in love.” 

“I will-” 

“Do you know what they did to him?” she questions with a sob. “My baby brother, the strongest man I know? Do you know how they beat him, tortured him, broke him until he was begging for it to end?” Holding back sobs, Michelle’s glare is cutting. Where Daniel was renowned for his smiles and chivalry, Michelle was renowned for cutting looks and sharp words. “I begged him to say your name, to accuse you of using your position as Prince to bed him, to do anything but accept this. But my brother has a kind heart and still loves you despite what your father caused through his patronage and legitimization of these zealots.” 

“I will confess and make them change this,” Max states. His confession of committing the same acts as Daniel will surely change this and force them to let Daniel return to his family. 

“You are the Prince and my brother the man who dared to love you. You are not so naive to think your father would not hide your confession and make Daniel suffer for it,” Michelle says with a harsh laugh. “Go, your grace, marry your pretty Lannister bride and hope that her family provides the Crown with men and food because the Reach will not,” she says, “I have a brother I need to say goodbye to.” 

Michelle leaves him alone in the Sept. By the end of the day, every single member of House Ricciardo and the Reach is gone from the city. Soldiers march home under the pretense of preparing for the upcoming winter and cutting the rebels off from the south. 

“Your grace, a note for you,” a page says handing him a tiny piece of parchment. 

I am yours until my dying breath and even after. 

As his family’s banners disappear from the horizon, Daniel ends his pain, the empty vial slipping from his hand and breaking into tiny shards of glass. 

[mrylin]

Can I PLEASE request Wednesday with a Siren reader :)

deadly beautiful (wednesday addams/reader)

this was so short i know, if you want to request a second part please feel free to do it

summary: wednesday hated mermaids with her being, but maybe you could be the - only - exception.

warnings: this time there's nothing but a awful dialogue

"If you look harder you can kill all the fish with just your eyes,"

Wednesday didn't bother on turning around, just glancing to the side out of the corner of her eye. "It will make my job of picking the bombs easier." She said, listening as you climbed out of the water and sat beside her on the old wooden bridge.

That lake was lonely, surrounded by trees. No one from Jericho ventured so deep into the forest, always being afraid of what might be there. For a while you called them cowards since nothing has appeared, just normal critters. But since the hyde, you are happy not to see them there.

Wednesday was paying attention to you and how you looked ahead with a lost look. She was staring at you as if any minute you were going to pull her by the arm and drown her in the waters. "Why are you here?"

"Is that important to you?"

You laughed. "Touche."

Silence fell between you two, but unlike the types she had with other people, this one was different. Comfortable, she would say. You didn't force her to talk and you always asked small questions, knowing that if you forced her she would close down even more and maybe continue to hate you for the rest of her days in that city.

You knew how to make her open up and she hates it.

"You know, I was going to invite you to the rave'n but I don't think a girl like you goes to such boring parties without a drop of blood." You spoke distractedly.

Wednesday finally turned, not completely, just a little. She was looking at you like this was a joke and like you were completely stupid. You didn't know if it was because you even considered calling her or because it's you. Well you hoped it was the first option. "You thought right for the first time,"

Unaffected, you waved your hand dismissively. "Oh, and here I thought I had a chance to take the deadly beautiful Wednesday Addams out for dancing." You made a face.

For a few seconds she just sat in silence, looking for the lake. Then, just as suddenly, she stood up and placed her hands on the strap of her purse, standing beside you and looking down at you. "I'll meet you there at seven," And then she left, leaving you there, watching her with a small smile and bright eyes.

Wednesday Addams really was something else and you loved her for it.

well i'm traveling and maybe i'm not on my phone much so things might turn out slower than expected (it all depends on my imagination/time) but i'll try to write more today :)

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Had you played TV cliché bingo while watching The Couple Next Door, I do believe sparks would have been flying from your dabber. I’m almost in awe that so many were crammed in before the first ad break alone. Barely seven minutes in, Becka (Jessica De Gouw) and Danny (Sam Heughan) were pulling each other’s clothes off and having sex at their living room window, curtains open, in a way that no married couple whose small child has just left the room ever do. Except in TV La-La land.

It was a bonus, though, for Alan the Pervert (Hugh Dennis), who has a telescope trained on their house and dark circles under his eyes that suggest he does a lot of squinting while hunched over his computer (and I don’t mean at Wordle).

I suppose at least this drama owns its clichés. What am I saying? It revels in them. It opened with the classic taster of horror to come, Eleanor Tomlinson as Evie running in what we shall call TV’s “sexy terrified” way. That is, frightened but looking hot, hot, hot in a short silk nightie as she ran barefoot through a forest. We then flipped back in time to Evie and Pete (Alfred Enoch) happily arriving at their new suburban idyll to start their family, which was a sort of sunny Wisteria Lane and not at all like the Leeds I remember from when I lived there.

It told us everything was too smug to be true by having laughing children playing with water guns, lawns being mowed, cars being washed. Uh-oh. We know that can’t last. And it didn’t. Evie miscarried her baby (conceived with a donor because Pete has “puny sperm”) by minute 16. I have a terrible feeling that the koi carp in the garden are some sort of “swimmers” metaphor.

Sometimes the dialogue was so stilted, I wondered if it was a spoof. “You guys will get through this,” Danny said to Pete, who should really have responded by asking if he was a chatbot. It soon transpired that Danny and Becka were swingers (it’s based on a Dutch series called, yes, The Swingers) and they promptly had “that couple we met in Marbella” round for some wife swapping as Pete watched from his window. Has anyone in this street ever considered closing a blind? And, actually, aren’t they “the couple opposite”, not “next door”?

There’s a dull subplot about Danny being a dodgy copper, which ties in to a dull investigation that local journalist Pete wants to look into, but his editor wants him to cover the opening of a new city library. A new library? Pull the other one. The UK has closed about 800 of them in the past decade.

At least Evie cheered up when she got Danny’s powerful beast between her legs. Oh, I mean his motorbike, though it’s obvious it won’t be long before the other beast comes into play. I feared we might get to the end of the episode without it committing the top TV cliché on the bingo card, namely spontaneous sex on a kitchen worktop. But, no. Evie and Pete gave us a full house by doing exactly that — and during a storm for added cheesiness.

These couples are as wooden as Dutch clogs, but I am enjoying Dennis’s greasy performance as the disgusting stalker who pretends to like yoga so he can be near Becka. I must warn you that later in the series it’s traumatic to see the man who played the nice dad in Outnumbered masturbating. I must also warn you that episode two contains some of the worst cringey couple dancing you are likely to witness in your lifetime. I think the moral of this silly but entertainingly corny tale is going to be: “Don’t shag the neighbours.”

thetimes.co.uk

Carol Midgley joined The Times in 1996 and is a former Feature Writer of the Year winner. Find her column in Times 2 each Wednesday and her TV reviews on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.

————————————————————————

Indeed I saw all the reviews after the streaming view, including all episodes. The Times’ review concretes many things about The Couple Next Door 💁‍♀️

[trouble-clef]

Maybe i'm just too old now, but i cannot get myself to actually like this PJO show. Here's why. Feel free to disagree, these are just my thoughts.

The dialogue is not doing it for me. I know much of it is ripped straight from the book's pages, but while I love to read it, watching someone perform it just...it feels wooden.

While I love moments of all the characters, the only actor that's consistently selling it for me is Aryan Simhadri (Grover). Charlie Bushnell as Luke is a close second when he's not expositing the hell out of things. Walker and Leah are both just...really wooden and one note for me. They're kids, I know. I feel like they could really grow into these roles, but right now...yeesh. It's not awful, just not compelling. I was crazy excited for Leah Jeffries in particular, too!

Nothing about this show feels grand or epic. The minotaur fight was pretty underwhelming. There have been 3 fights: Fury, minotaur, Medusa. Percy defeated the Fury accidentally in about 20 seconds. Medusa walked around threateningly for 3 minutes before getting beheaded (although I did love the massive basement cave of statues! That made her seem a bit scary, actually). Minotaur was. Fine. The kids sit on a bus, run away from a Fury that doesn't actually seem to be chasing them (they look like they're taking a leisurely hike and we never actually see them running away), and after a not-fight, behead Medusa and then petrify Alecto (we see this from afar, for some reason? I know it's meant to represent Annabeth watching, but nothing about the shot communicates anything about how she might feel about what she's seeing).

I know they only have the 8 episodes but if any show deserves that old 22-26 episode run it's this one. Despite how fast paced the books are, we still get time to sit with the characters. There are 9 and a half chapters out of this 22 chapter book where we get to know Percy and the rest of the characters before embarking on this epic, death defying adventure with them. I don't feel like I know the show's Percy at all. He's boring. What makes show Percy a character? Who is he? The answer can be different from the book but it can't be nothing. Same with Annabeth. It's implied that she's this whip smart talented strategist and the most experienced camper, but I'm shown pretty much none of that. I, as a fan, know that Annabeth was using Percy as bait in capture the flag, but I feel like someone new to the franchise wouldn't get that.

The show spoon feeds everything to the viewer. In the books, Medusa is a mystery for a bit. They figure it out slowly. They almost get caught in her trap. Here, oh! It's Medusa, but be careful because Alecto is outside! I've not actually seen why Alecto is so dangerous. Percy accidentally stabbed Dodds the first time, so she was barely a threat then (compared to the books where it was an actual fight). The Furies have attacked maybe once and one of them got blown up in a way that basically registered as an accident. Alecto doesn't get a chance to show she's a threat before Medusa shows up to save them. Save them from the Fury we didn't get to see chasing them.

The show is Unfunny. Not just not funny, Unfunny. The books were filled with humor, and the tone of Percy's inner dialogue was often comedic in the less serious parts. Grover is really carrying the humor of the show on his back. (The Dionysus dad scene was funny, though, but I'm letting out a chuckle every like...hour at most here).

Now, about future things to come/being set up:

-Percy is supposed to be a good fighter generally, but he also draws power from water specifically. This is important when he fights Ares on the beach (which we know is coming and I'm praying will be epic). This is established during the capture the flag fight in the books but not here. We have seen approximately 0 fights since that point and if the show keeps going, we won't see any, so when will this get established?

-Luke is supposed to be disarmingly awesome in the book so as to make the betrayal all the more shocking. Again, where those first 9 chapters come in. I don't think we've seen enough of him to make it hurt like it should. (Again, really like Charlie as Luke, just we aren't seeing enough of him)

-so...Gabe is goofy now. Which on the one hand I really like, but on the other it doesn't feel like he'll deserve the petrification at the end. He's not terrible and abusive, just lazy and a little irritating. (Nice touch making him the prophecy though, made me chuckle)

Things i like so this isn't a total Debbie Downer:

-peter johnson

-"he knows your name." "Does he, though?"

-"can you please tell them to put the hot peppers on my sandwich"

-Dionysus the "i'm totally your dad" wine god

-not even seeing a hint of non-exiled Olympians until the end of episode 3 (makes them feel like the distant immortal beings that they are)

-Lin Manuel Miranda jumpscare

-Blackjack!

-camp halfblood. Looks awesome, appropriately massive and epic.

-wheelchair user camp counselor (love me some disability rep)

-grover is an adorable delight

-medusa is Soooooooo pretty

[agerefanfics]

[Disclaimer: This is an SFW Agere story! Please don’t be weird about it OR confuse it with k1nk!] ~~~

“Ugh. That Damned override.”

Chip held onto his chest, the light blinking red as he stumbled his way to his desk. Nearly collapsing onto his desk, he angrily threw a chair before throwing himself onto the desk. He hated this. Hated this job, hated this god damn override. He hated everything about this, and for once he wished he’d just fall into a fetal position and forget everything about this life he was forced to live in, and yet he just couldn’t.

"I wish I never worked for this company in the first place!"

He slammed his fists on the desk, his emotional state bubbling like a hot engine. He nearly lost himself as he continued his dialogue, explaining how he never wants these toons to tell his only “Brother” Spruce the truth, due to the constant fear of losing the only person that truly cared about him.

"You should leave as soon as possible."

"I don't want you to be here when that monster comes back."

Most of the toons turned their backs and left the room, except for one. The toon in question was a beaver, with a green coat and hazel eyes. The toon slowly approached the cog, being weary of what would happen if they stepped even closer.

“Go.”

Was all that chip said as he held the urge to break down, albeit very poorly. His body quivered and shook as his fingers dug into the wooden desk. Instead of the toon backing away and leaving him alone, the toon only approached Chip cautiously. The toon jumped on a chair and climbed up onto the desk, getting a better look of the chainsaw.

Chip looked up at the toon, an almost grimaced look on his face.

“Are you deaf? I said go-”

The toon placed a hand on his head, their eyes told of an emotion Chip had never seen before. Sympathy. This toon felt sorry for him, and it showed as their hand moved down to cup the side of his face. Finally the toon spoke.

“You poor thing.”

Chip fell into shock, utterly baffled by the toon’s words. How could a toon feel anything for a cog?

He couldn’t answer that question himself.

“Don’t pity me, Toon.”

He spoke, his head looking down as he pleaded to himself to collapse and find a moment of safety. The toon, still cupping the side of chip’s face, sat on their knees and gently wrapped their arms around his head, the side of their face snuggling into the hat.

“I’m so sorry you have to go through this. If I had known this was what would happen, I would've never..”

The toon paused.

“I wouldn’t have started the fight in the first place.”

That finally broke him. Just that one apology broke his mentality. His fingers relaxed as he collapsed to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes as he sniveled. The toon release themselves from the embrace, hopping off the desk and gently holding Chip’s hand. The toon took notice of how big his hand was, as their own hand was small compared to his.

Chip simply cried, sniffling in between choked sobs. In this very moment, he felt small and helpless.

He so badly wished Spruce was here. Just to be able to hug him would simply take his worries away. Instead, he had this toon beside him, the toon gently petting his hand as a way to comfort him.

“It’s okay, it’ll all be okay.”

Chip looked at the toon miserably, his other hand rubbing one of his eyes to wipe the tears away. He hiccuped through his sniveling as he choked out his words.

“I just wan my bubba..”

He uttered out, his tears still dripping down from his eyes. The toon quickly took notice of how chip said those words, He spoke as if he was simply a child that was scared. The toon gently hugged the giant cog, all while rubbing his back in a circular motion.

“I’m here, Revvington. I’m right here.”

Chip gently hugged the toon back, his choked sobs shaking his whole body. Minutes passed, and Chip was slowly calming down from his crying tangent. He began to feel sleepy, which wasn’t out of ordinary since he just had a crying fit minutes ago.

“Aw, is someone sleepy?”

The toon asked.

Chip rubbed one of his eyes, quietly groaning to himself. He looked at the toon, a soft and tired expression on his face.

“Mmh, no..”

He responded, yawning in the process. The toon smiled, before (with difficulty) helped the cog up on his feet. The toon gently held his hand, gently pulling him along to the big doors on the side of the wall.

“Alright big fella, let’s get you into some more comfy clothes and get you to bed.”

Chip mumbled something under his breath, but the toon couldn’t tell what exactly it was. Making it into the hallway and near the door that literally had the suit’s manager name on it, they both enter the room, leading the cog over to the bed and setting him down. The toon let go of the cog’s hand, heading over to a drawer and opening of the shelves. Rummaging around, they pick out a flannel bodysuit, with buttons on the bottom so the outfit fits in place. The toon turned around to approach the chainsaw, pajamas in hand.

“How’s this outfit, big fella? You like it?”

Chip looked at the outfit, simply nodding his head.

~~

Once the outfit was fitted onto the cog, the toon clicked the buttons in, knowing that the pajamas fit perfectly. Chip sat up, looking at his outfit and giggled tiredly.

“Wan Woo’chuck..”

The toon’s ears perked up for a moment, turning to the cog’s sleepy face.

“Who’s Woodchuck?”

The toon asked, puzzled until the cog in question pointed to a red teddy bear that sat on the floor. The toon made an audible ‘oh’ as they approached and picked up the bear. Returning to the cog, the toon handed the bear to the cog, to which the cog happily snuggled. Helping the cog lay down comfortably in bed, the toon gently covered the chainsaw with a blanket. Chip yawns once more, the blades on his apparatus revving ever so slightly.

“Alright buddy, time to go night-night ok?”

Chip mumbled.

“Otay..”

With no other words, chip’s eyes fluttered close, the cog slowly dozing off. The toon placed a hand on the side of Chip’s face, before retracting and making their way to the bedroom door.

Before he could turn the doorknob, he heard something that he wasn’t expecting.

“Goo’night bubba…”

Chip mumbled out.

The toon smiled, turning the doorknob and exiting out the door. Before closing the door, the toon quietly responded.

“Goodnight, Lil Buddy.”

Chip finally dozed off, his mind wandering off into dreamland.

~~

When chip woke up, he awoke to a daze and state of confusion. Rubbing his eyes and eventually his head, he took notice of the teddy bear that laid on the floor near his bed. Before he could question his very beloved teddy bear, he quickly took notice of the pajamas he wore. He quietly gasped. He didn’t remember wearing this. Looking around, he sat himself up on his bed, pondering what had happened yesterday. It didn’t take long before he saw a letter on his table.

Picking up the letter, he read what contained in the letter.

‘Dear Revvington, if you’re reading this, you might be confused about what happened. You were having a bad day and I decided to help you out, so I hope you don’t mind that I took care of you. I promise you that you’re not a freak for coping like this, I can only imagine what you go through every day. I hope you had a nice nap, you looked like you needed it. Signed, Chuck.’

Chip sighed, crumpling up the letter and throwing it in the bin. He got dressed in his suit before exiting his room, ready to get back to work. Whoever this ‘Chuck’ was (hoping it wasn’t a toon), he did appreciate the help. He couldn’t help but smile (if he could) at the thought of meeting this mysterious figure one day, as bizarre as it may seem.

In the end, it was back to work. He could take a break another time.

[writergeekrhw]

I love Elementary as a Holmes adaptation, but I have to ask about the copaganda. Not so much the overall presence/depiction of the NYPD as the generally benevolent venue for Joan and Sherlock to solve crime, but rather the occasional ep that veered off into wtf-level acts of police mouthpiecing: for example, the ep where Joan and Marcus flip the eff out after discovering that Marcus' girlfriend works in Internal Affairs. I'm curious whether stuff like that came directly out of perspectives native to the writers' room, or if it was more dictated from external sources as a cost-of-doing-business requirement. Similar to, "Microsoft will give your production money AS LONG AS you show your characters using Microsoft products to positive ends", was there a "you can depict the NYPD and call it by name AS LONG AS you include such-and-such lines of dialogue/story about how Police Are Great And Admirable And Beyond Reproach"?

(I get that you may not be able to or want to answer this question, but I caught the ep with Marcus' girlfriend yesterday and it's just so...vehement, in some really fucked up ways. I can't not ask, even if you don't answer. Thank you for keeping your askbox open!)

ON COPAGANDA

Great questions without an easy answer. Personally, I'm usually very cautious about outright copaganda, though I have a very close friend who joined the CHP and rose pretty high in the ranks, and I respect the hell out of him and what he did. That said, I think police are people and run the gamut from great to awful, like anyone. Worth noting, my buddy comes from a cop family, his older brother is a cop, and I know someone from a citizen group who basically said his brother was NOT a good cop at all. The opposite.

I've mostly had pretty good experiences with police, but when I was young, I was pulled over for driving while poor. I had a weapon in the car (a wooden club). Things got very tense. And I'm pretty sure that if I weren't so damn pale, that night might have gone way worse.

My friends who don't share my skin tone have, generally speaking, a much worse time with the police. I once gave a friend of mine shit for keeping his dealer tags on his car long past when he got his plates. His response: "It's another way to prove I own this car without having to reach into my glove compartment." My response: "Oh. Sorry. I'm an idiot."

So if you want to see what I think of the police... well, I wrote Bell and Gregson as good cops. I also wrote "End of Watch" and created Gina Cortes. I think, on the balance, ELEMENTARY showed good cops and bad, including shitheals like Captain Dwyer and outright villains like Frank DaSilva.

As for Shauna, in my opinion, Bell reflects the rank-and-file dislike for IA, and the fact that he blows up their relationship over it is supposed to be a huge mistake. Shauna is ultimately a good person, and Bell's prejudice costs him what could've been a wonderful relationship.

And yet... Gregson and Bell are heroes. Pretty much straight up. Sherlock and Joan work for the police, more often than not. And this is portrayed as a good thing. We had NYPD consultants on the show, and though they were mostly very helpful with making the cop stuff realistic, and I liked them a lot, they weren't super thrilled when we did stories about bad cops. I can't ever remember steering away from those stories because of their feedback, but... yeah.

On the balance, I'd say while ELEMENTARY did have our share of copaganda, we did try to create a more nuanced portrayal of police that most network procedurals.

I totally get it if you think differently.

And thanks for watching!

[old-people-like-avatar]

Netflix Avatar the Last Airbender -- S1E1: Aang Review [spoilers]

I just finished watching the first episode of Netflix's Avatar the Last Airbender. I have not read anyone else's reviews, so this is just my take. SPOILERS AHEAD.

Overall, somewhat surprisingly, I had a pretty positive reaction. I enjoyed some parts, really disliked other parts, but overall, pretty positive start.

THE GOODS

Sokka: I'll just come out and say I really enjoyed Ian Ousley's Sokka performance this episode: the way he was looking after Katara and the village, his bravery in fighting Zuko to protect Aang. The line delivery. He more than anyone else conveyed character through action (as opposed to character through clunky dialogue).

The bending/action: It all looked great! No complaints here.

Gran Gran saying the intro lines: Long ago the four nations lived in harmony! Then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked! I was absolutely delighted at how they wove the cartoon intro lines organically into Gran Gran recounting of the 100 year war to Aang.

THE I-APPRECIATED-WHAT-THEY-WERE-DOING-BUT-NOT-SURE-THEY-PULLED-IT-OFF

Southern Air Temple: I really appreciated that this show tried to show us how alive and peaceful the air temple felt as they prepared for the comet festival before the Fire Nation burned everything to the ground. I loved seeing the room with the Yangchen statue. I loved the concept of starting off the show with Aang in his home. But I needed to see more of Aang really living in his home, of Aang having fun and being carefree, of Aang being Aang -- not just Aang floating down to the ground. The audience didn't really get to see the essence of who Aang is other than "the avatar" and "don't want the responsibility." They achieved some of what they were going for, but it could have been so much more.

THE BADS

Aang/Katara lacking connection: Sokka had a strong episode, but I did not feel much connection, if any, between Aang and Katara. I don't mean romantic connection. I mean any connection at all. We needed to see them interact more meaningfully before the Fire Nation attacked. Something felt missing (though ironically, I felt a connection between Aang and Sokka).

Terrible, clunky dialogue: They really need to learn to write better dialogue. (Didn't they learn from the movie?) Some of the lines -- even the ones meant to be emotional, like Gyatso's "I am your friend" -- came off so wooden. And not because of the acting. The Gyatso actor did an admirable job selling the lines he was given. But the problem so far is there's a little too much telling, too little showing. We needed more Gyatso airbending banana cakes or playing games with Aang, not Aang exposition-dialoguing to Appa about how he loves to eat banana cakes. And somehow, even when they showed, they still told! Why? For example, the episode did a fantastic job showing how Sokka was burdened with the responsibility of defending the village. Katara did not need to say, "I know how much responsibility this has been on you" or whatever that awful line was. Iroh's lines so far haven't really "hit" for me yet.

THE UNKNOWN

The kid actors: So far, I like all of the child actors, especially Ian Ousley's Sokka. Gordon Cormier also did a good job conveying Aang's lightness and humor. ("Sky bison!") I'm not sure yet about Katara and Zuko. Overall, I like what i see so far. But right now, I think the problem is more with the dialogue they've been given and less with the acting. But we shall see how things develop.

THE CONFUSING

Aang can fly without a glider...?

Why was Roku replaced with Kyoshi in the intro?

Onto the next one!

[curtvilescomic]

Madame Web - spoiler-free

So, today me and my Son went to see Madame Web

and both of us knew more than half of the Internet hates thus. And being comics nerd I was baffled. " So this old blind woman who is paralyzed in comics is played by...young ablebodied seeing Dakota Johnson?"

But let's give it a chance.

It began slow and boring and the dialogue is awful and sticking there the main bad guy? In my youth I watched loads of italowesterns and Hong Kong kung fu movies that were dubbed better. It is not a little off, it is on another continent altogether.

And like the trailer showed he looks

I know It's like Craigslist Amazon (not-quite-spiderperson) or wish suit that will not get litigated because Sony has the rights. They are not going to sue themselves.

There are huge HUGE plotholes. And most effects got a call from early 2000s. You know the drunken ex call.

The money they saved was put in I guess rights to play Toxic by Britney Spears.

It really has these flaws.

And I loved it.

No sarcasm or irony. Really. I smiled. The comics nerd in me had joyous laughter. See I do not care if you like the sixties Adam West Batman or Monica Vitti Modesty Blaise. Those are travesties An insult to comics and their creators. I see nothing good in them. And I am wysiwyg, my personality does Not change between real life and internet. Somehow with all those immense faults the movie won me over.

I turned to my Son, who loved it too. Also as confused by this.

It will flop. They will talk about superhero oversaturation etc but I honestly want to see it again. I do not want to see Morbius ever again, that started better than expected but decided to piss everything and then some away. Yet even that shitstorm is lightyears ahead of aforementioned Batman & Modesty Blaise " films". This is by same writers as Morbius. Wild.

Most will hate it.

And some will say, sure you are aging toxic cishet man who just drooled over all the girls in this. Again you can think what you want, me don't mix movies and porn I don't give a shit what your sexuality is most movies but bait there, unnecessary nudity and cheesecake / abs for no reason except for the bait.

That said besides mainly wooden Dakota Johnson highlights were Sydney Sweeney.

And I very much enjoyed Adam Scott's performance. Chef's Kiss.

Really not for everyone. But I enjoyed it. And I will buy the Bluray

[pikachu78109]

I watched The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (2005) and it’s bad, however it’s the kind of bad where I found myself laughing at how it tries so unbelievably hard to be, I don’t know, different from the original.

These are just a few examples, so spoilers I guess:

They made the characters far too complex. Aside from Cesare, the rest of the cast had too much added to their characters that really distracted me as I was watching. Granted, the original gave a couple of the characters a reason for doing what they do (Caligari being a prime example). But this film adds on unnecessary details that really don’t matter. For one, Alan in the 2005 film alludes to having depression and is given medication and Caligari explains to Franzis and Dr. Olsen Cesare’s medical condition. On top of that, Caligari explains to Jane why he showcases Cesare in the way that he does and it’s all just padding to me. I don’t like the long winded explanation that doesn’t affect the plot in any way. Moments drag too long because of the added detail and they overstay their welcome.

Should’ve placed this at one, but the dialogue is so BAD. It’s just forced and wooden and lacks any kind of emotion whatsoever. No joke, when I watched the first few scenes of the film, I nearly checked out because I couldn’t handle how awful the writing was.

They cut out Alan’s murder scene. Huge mistake as his death really kicks off Franzis’ pursuit to find his killer and has a heavy effect on him. Instead of showing the scene of Alan being murdered, it cuts to Franzis in the police station. I feel that Alan’s murder is important as it really heightens the threat that Cesare is as a character, so taking that scene out of the film, to me, downplays the severity of Cesare’s actions

Jane has a brother. Who tf asked?

When Jane gets kidnapped, there’s no mob chasing after Cesare. Instead, Jane’s brother runs after him and to tell you the truth, I laughed at how utterly ridiculous it played out.

The film looks pretty awkward. I know that they tried to keep the look of the film as authentic as possible. From what I understand (and I might be wrong in this assumption), they used some kind of green screen to insert the original backgrounds. The cast never seemed to integrate well here as the backgrounds always appeared too fuzzy or blurred. Plus, the odd camera work and cinematography made certain shots look so off that, at times, it confused me as to where we are in the story. To give credit, they TRIED to be authentic, but in the end the cast and backgrounds did not mesh well at all.

There’s a flower that is the only thing that’s colored in this film. Apparently, that’s suppose to mean something, like what we’re seeing might not actually exist and it’s all in Franzis’ head. I don’t know if the writers were trying to be clever with this detail but it left me confused.

Never ending foreshadowing about Franzis. This occurs pretty often and it’s overdone to hell.

So this one is kind of interesting but apparently Cesare appears before Alan and Franzis go to the fair. In the scene where Franzis heads over to Alan’s place, Cesare is outside of his cabinet, cloaked, and handing out flyers. At first, it didn’t register until I went back after hearing Cesare speak and then it just kind of clicked. This will probably be the one and only time that I found myself intrigued with this choice. I mean, having your attraction hand out advertisements to draw in public interest is one way to attract more victims.

At the end, it’s revealed that Alan works at the asylum. Pretty weak twist honestly.