#and it was such a delightful thing to read

[clickety-clacker]

Been seeing so many cool Clickies on my dashboard since getting into GGG, I just had to take the time to draw a few of them- plus, it was a bit of a challenge to try new styles. A lot of these guys were also super influential to how I draw and even think about Click Clack on my own time, so you should definitely check them out! Names below the cut cus it got long heehoo

Top left: @malartsorte

Top middle (holding papers): @scribblelimbo

Top right: @wishgraanted

Leftmost middle: @beastwhimsy

Middle (peace sign!): @sootnuki

Rightmost middle: @molabuddy

Bottom left: @pespillo

Bottom middle: @artuurle

Bottom right: @modmad

I know I said it already, but all of yall are super cool and I had a lot of fun challenging myself to make this! Keep on being awesome 👍

[sad-wet-cat-hannibal]

(Essay incoming so I'm adding a read more)

I think you've said some good stuff here, and I too get annoyed or even angered by people using the term in a way that I interpret as flippant; but I'd like to add that as someone who frequently described distressing books and films as "traumatising", it turned out that that word was rather apt - because my intense response was caused by my trauma being triggered by those very same things, too often in ways that felt like reliving it.

Here's the kicker. I didn't know I *had* any trauma. All I knew was that engaging with these works made me feel distressed and disturbed as if I were personally traumatised by these things. Like they were real. Like they damaged me. Just from reading them or seeing them. They'd haunt me for weeks, sometimes months, sometimes years. Sometimes they gave me weird symptoms I couldn't explain. So, naturally, I was hyper-avoidant as fuck.

That intense sensitivity and hyper-avoidance, combined with my ignorance to the fact that my psyche was not experiencing these things from an untraumatised position, meant I thought that "intensely distressing/traumatising" was just the normal effect these things had - except lots of other people seemed oblivious, and even delighted in the exact same works. Sometimes none more so than the kind of motherfuckers who actually like traumatising people.

So I figured, as incomprehensible as it seemed, everyone else had to be either too numbed out/oblivious/naïve to realise how awful this shit was, or were actually big fans of bad things happening in real life.

Because if to me it felt too real, capable of destroying my peace of mind for weeks, then surely to some extent that must be the same for everyone else, right? (Obviously not, but I was younger and working with what limited knowledge I had.) From that logic it's really easy to buy into censorship, into propaganda that claims that the symptoms of a society with a dysfunctional approach to life are often born of the media that echoes them, rather than the other way round. It's real to you. It's your only explanation. (You don't want to feel like this. You don't want anyone to feel like this. It's inhumane.)

What I'm trying to say is that not everyone knows they're traumatised. I think as many as those who do, do not. Perhaps far more. And for those people, the only time they are able to touch on the truth of their half-veiled iceberg is when they tell you that The Bridge to Terabithia "traumatised" them.

(I know it "did" me.)

Telling them they're exaggerating, and misusing language that doesn't apply to them runs the very real risk of making it harder for them to treat their feelings with the consideration and weight they deserve, and enabling them to begin the process of unraveling their denial and tending their wounds. It runs the risk of reinforcing the (potentially forgotten or minimised) messaging they may have already received, during and after the trauma, that it doesn't matter. They're exaggerating. They're making things up. Other people have trauma, other people have it so much worse, other people suffer - but not you. Your account of your experience is unbelievable. Silly. You will not be seen or heard or understood, not by anyone else, and not by yourself...

Yet. Hopefully one day. But I think it often takes other people being willing to shine a light on the pain, and say, "Yeah, it's real. It's caused by things. You aren't alone and you aren't exaggerating."

I think the flippant watering down of the word is potentially very unhelpful too, but there's a section of society who want to push the narrative that the vast majority of people speaking seriously and from a place of relevant psycho-education about their trauma are just special snowflakes jumping on a trend. Maybe I shouldn't, but I feel wary of adding fuel to their fire by trying to gatekeep trauma. I don't know what the solution to these two conflicting uses of the word is, or if it's even possible to create a solution that doesn't simultaneously police the traumatised out of expressing their pain the only way they currently know how. Which would set back the whole thing of trying to help people... We get enough trauma olympics ingrained into everyone as it is.

Oh yeah!! Just remembered, Gabor Mate said in either his book from 2024 or an interview about it that he considers everyone to be traumatised, the question is simply one of degree (if I'm remembering correctly). So from that it may in fact be possible to argue that books and films can traumatise people, although perhaps not necessarily to the extent we might associate with PTSD or CPTSD.

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

what do you think the third years would be like 10 years from now?

What comes after Ever After?

You’re looking at the new buff baker that helps man the Clover Patisserie. He’s beloved by the local housewives and school girls— His parents are getting up there in age, so Trey has taken up a bulk of the responsibilities: ordering supplies, prepping ingredients, baking, stocking, and customer service.

After hours, Trey experiments with new recipes and leftover ingredients. Sometimes he comes up with some truly awful inventions, but other times they end up working out really well. Who knew that adding oyster sauce would enhance the flavor of this bread? He calls these the “Clover Specials, Piping Hot and Fresh Off the Trey” (yes, that was a pun).

He tries to make the bakery more whimsical for the customers. Little seasonal decorations, cute little doodles on the placards that indicate what each item is, a sign that reminds folks to brush well after eating sweets, etc. (Trey claims he doesn't really care for little flourishes like this; it might just be the nostalgia of the unbirthday party days getting to him.)

If there are things that haven’t sold at the end of the day, he’ll offer them for a discount in a blind box style. You’ll never know what you’ll pull, but it’s always delicious, if not a little stale or slightly lumpy looking. Waste not, what not!

Every so often, he has nights out with his childhood friends Chenya and Riddle. Trey's responsible for bringing the snacks (he uses his friends as a test audience for his experiments), and the three spend that time drinking, sharing stories, and catching up on each others' lives.

Cater’s a social media manager and agent for various influencers. His career allows him to basically work from anywhere (which is convenient because he travels to various promotional events) and to be on his phone 24/7, monitoring stats, attending strategy meetings, and coordinating with PR teams.

Keeps up with the latest trends! He's not one of those "how do you do, fellow kids?" types though. Cater is genuinely on top of what's cool--so much so that he's sometimes contacted as a style consultant. It feels like he's got his hands in many facets of the entertainment industry.

He regularly sees a therapist (although he doesn't let any of his friends or family know) to talk through his insecurities and other darker thoughts. It's really been helping him sort out these complex emotions he's been sitting and stewing in for the longest time. He's hoping that, someday, he can reach the point where he can open up to everyone about this other side of himself.

Every now and again, the thought to text an old NRC classmate strikes him--but something keeps Cater back. Doubt, apprehension. The worst that can happen is being left on read, but to Cater the consequences feel so much worse than that. It's a huge relief to him when he gets a text out of the blue from Trey one day--an excuse to text back, to make that connection. Though it's still difficult for Cater to gather the courage to initiate another conversation, this is still a foot in the door for him, the potential start of something new.

Cater still has the Magicam accounts of his school mates. He'll sort of like... cyberstalk their pages just to keep up with their lives, to feel a sense of closeness with the people he failed to reach out to during his NRC days. When he stops to reflect on it, he really regrets his inaction--and, on some nights, he scrolls and scrolls until the dread and the loneliness lulls him into a comfortable, dreamless sleep.

It took a lot of resistance and arguing, but--much to the delight of Kifaji and his family members--Leona has (begrudgingly) taken on the role of a royal advisor to support Sunset Savanna. There were of course some growing pains, especially with Leona's callous and arrogant attitude clashing with those of the other (older, much more conservative) advisors--but for the most part, it's been a net positive.

His focus is on improving infrastructure while also conserving as much of the environment as they can. The knowledge and experience he has gained from his 4th year internship comes in handy here, and thankfully they've been able to take small but steady steps to modernize the country.

In addition to improving infrastructure, Leona has made efforts to strengthen the Sunset Savanna's soft power. He has established new schools and food banks, particularly in impoverished areas, and started magift/spelldrive teams. This has made him popular with certain groups, such as the hyena beastmen and children.

Leona loathes putting on airs, but it's a necessity when facing the public so he manages. Unfortunately, he's still in the habit of skipping meetings and ceremonies he deems unnecessary or a waste of his time, which earns him pockets of ire. He usually just shoots back with, "Yeah? So what? I'm still gettin' results, ain't I?"

Political demands? Not a problem for him. But family? That's the real pain in his tail. Cheka, now an energetic 15-year old, has not let up on bothering him one bit. Then there's also the affectionate Falena, who is trying to desperately reconnect with his estranged brother. Leona just tosses out the excuse of "being busy" to dodge the both of them.

Vil continues to be an A-list celebrity and triple threat--actor, model, and influencer. He has racked up several more leading roles since his school days, including non-traditional bad guys. Vil has been an anti-villain and sympathetic villain.

Having aged like fine wine, he was able to play the character of a father too, just like how he dreamed of as a third-year student. When Vil got the call about the role, he excitedly told his own dad about it, who was so ecstatic and joked that Vil "takes after his old man". They went out for a little father-son bonding time to celebrate, dining at a high-class establishment and having a toast to Vil's future.

It was a Big Deal when Vil was offered his first-ever hero role. Social media and news outlets were popping off about it, and Vil himself was so excited he actually squealed. To this day he still considers it a turning point in his career and one of the most fun characters he ever played. Since then, he's been getting much more diverse roles, which has really opened up the door for him to expand his skills.

Vil is also a business owner now, having several brands under him. A skincare brand, a clothing brand, a makeup brand… Despite them being celebrity owned, the products are actually high quality (Vil won’t sign his name off on subpar products) and very popular, particularly whenever his face is plastered on the marketing campaigns.

These days, he allows himself to be a little less guarded with his front-facing persona. Vil still comes off as cool and regal, but notably laughs more, smiles more, even giggles more. He has a bit of a youthful sparkle to him and talks openly about his own struggles, fears, hopes, and dreams. Fans praise him for being so much more "relatable" and honest.

Rook claims that he is a globe-trotting archeologist now, but you get the feeling that he’s not telling the full truth. What kind of archeologist carries around a belt of weirdly invasive tools on it? Are those teeny-tiny listening devices? And why is his camera (which he says is strictly for his photography hobby) loaded with shots of suspicious characters taken from a distance?

He shares all kinds of crazy stories, like about the time he swung from a vine with a family of gorillas or how he discovered a lever that revealed a roller coaster to a secret underground laboratory. “Um, are those the kinds of things an archaeologist does…?” you ask him. Rook just smiles and laughs, but doesn’t provide a clear answer.

His stealth and marksman skills have developed to a scary degree. You sometimes forget that Rook is even standing beside you, and you've witnessed him kill bugs with frightening precision with nothing more than his gloved fingers. He brushes it off as abilities he sharpened "on the job".

... In any case, whatever Rook's actual occupation is, it requires a lot of travel. He lavishes his friends with souvenirs and post cards of the loveliest sights, then babbles on and on about local attractions, culture, art, and charming hole-in-the-wall destinations. It seems like he has accumulated a lot of knowledge about Twisted Wonderland in the 10 years since you've last seen him, and he's all too eager to blab about it all.

He's become an artist, although he operates under a pen name. You'll find paintings, sculptures, or collages he has assembled in various small exhibitions, and poetry he has penned where you least expect it. Rook puts his talent out in hopes of beautifying the world.

Idia has succeeded his father as the Director of S.T.Y.X. There’s a lot riding on his shoulders, but the pressure surprisingly never really gets to him. He’s cooler, more methodical now—almost as though he were a machine himself, set so clearly on his task that he won’t budge until it is completed first. (He worries that he has become just like his downer dad 💀)

Sometimes he spirals and his nerves get the best of him. In those cases, he has to resort to the text to speech device he invented back at NRC to get through his meetings. The staff at S.T.Y.X. get used to it and are largely alright with it.

He has the habit of snacking on the job. There's chip crumbs and gummy worms scattered on his desk, which is already messy enough with important documents. (He complains that this should all be digitalized anyway!) Idia keeps even more snacks in his pockets, munching on them whenever he’s annoyed or needs to give himself something to do.

The dark circles under his eyes get way worse. With work eating up so much of his day, Idia has less free time to games and other hobbies. That just means he ends up staying up super late into the night to catch up on his dailies and to grind out events, read manga, watch anime, etc. (“Sleep is for the weak!” he insists.) It’s a miracle he can still get up in the mornings to clock in for his next shift!

Shockingly, Idia takes breaks to go outside and touch grass soak up some (artificial) sunshine. He has learned from past experience that being locked up indoors all the time isn't exactly healthy. That, and his Chief of Cybersecurity (Ortho) pesters him to put himself out there more! Sometimes Idia even awkwardly tries to converse with his coworkers around the water cooler, though that's never quite as relaxing as him just chilling by himself in some quiet corner of the Island of Woe.

Make way for the reigning king of Briar Valley! Maleficia has finally retired, passing on her title to her grandson Malleus. There was a coronation ceremony (now recognized as the holiday or Ascension in Briar Valley), which you were of course invited to as a guest. You had a seat up front and were one of the first to congratulate him right after he was officially crowned.

As a relatively young king, Malleus isn’t the perfect ruler right away. Learning about ruling is nothing close to actually ruling. He stumbles and has to adjust to the role and, most of all, he has to balance the conservative values of his country and his people with the ever-changing lands beyond his home. Not an easy task, especially when he has only just gotten used to the concept of change himself—but with the support of his like-minded retainers, Malleus knows he isn’t alone in his endeavors for a brighter tomorrow.

His power also poses another challenge. Malleus is so used to solving his issues by casting a spell or terrifying his opposition into backing down. He’s no longer in a position to do such things or to let his emotions run wild, lest he risk tearing apart his own court and driving a wedge between the valley and other countries. A leash on his temper, a regal demeanor—this is how a mature adult presents himself. The anger only truly comes out when his people are in danger or he is deeply insulted.

His top priority once he is in power is restoring the bonds that were put in jeopardy on account of his… “oopsie” in his third year at NRC. There’s still lingering distrust between him and other nations due to that incident, so Malleus makes it clear that he’s apologetic and willing to come to the table for discussion, should other countries wish. His schedule is jam-packed with meetings with foreign dignitaries.

Massive and sweeping reform is not happening—not anytime soon. No opening of the borders, no sudden introduction of new technology. There would be massive outcry and resistance from the public + senators, not to mention that Malleus himself isn’t entirely comfortable yet with the concept. However, he has put together incremental proposals and tries convince others of the benefits, implanting the seeds in the minds of the people. He’s also supportive of initiatives which promote learning and cultural exchange, such as the import of reading materials from overseas (Sebek’s idea) and has even appointed Silver as Briar Valley’s very first human ambassador.

Lilia has comfortably retired to the Land of Crimson Long. He lives in a little hut far removed from civilization, but he ventures out into the town to pick up the essentials and to play board games with the local retirees. For the most part, it’s just Lilia and the wilderness! ... Which has led to rumors of a monster haunting the forest. This, Lilia entertains in by dropping down from the trees and frightening any hooligans who come close to his territory.

Though his magical abilities have been in decline, he does his best to stay active and in shape! Lilia once snuck into a nearby military camp, disguising himself as one of the new recruits, and partook in their training with them! He even stopped to lend extra help to the recruits who seemed to be struggling the most--though he still came first place in all of their exercises and holds the record time for climbing to the top of a pole to retrieve the arrow there.

He delights in partaking in the local customs and cuisine. Lilia loves to travel to shrines and admire the temples built to honor ancestors. He lights up some incense and joins others in prayer, knowing that he, too, will one day be among the dead. Best to pay respects now! Lilia has also taken to several cups of tea (as recommended by his doctor) with his meals, and has rice porridge with sunnyside egg eyes and bacon smiles whenever he needs something comforting.

Lilia of course keeps in touch with his loved ones! He's still gaming with his online companion Gloomurai and texts his Diasomnia boys all the time. Lilia also sends cards for special occasions, putting much love and care into his notes and the pictures + souvenirs he attaches to them.

His whole face lights up when his friends are able to make the time to pay him a visit. Lilia makes a big show of it, insisting to arrange a big feast or to play a tune for them—oh, and how about a fireworks show?! But his guests just tell him to sit down and take it easy while they take care of everything for him. It’s his turn to be doted on!

[moodymisty]

Could we get some more of Theo the Lamenter and his serf girlfriend, please? Maybe something NSFW?

They're just so sweet together!

Author's note: slight continuation to this post where Theo returns to his mea- love 🖤 did the ladder half while I'm in the hospital and am posting it right as I get ready for surgery, hope it still reads ok!

Relationships: Theo (Lamenter oc)/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Period kink, Oral (female receiving) Blood,

When Theo enters the restrictive confines of his quarters, the heady smell of iron and blood instantly fills his nose, heavy in his throat. He can taste it on the back of his tongue, and his mouth begins to fill with drool.

He closes the door behind him and it hisses shut, leaving him in the tight confines at last. He never imagined he would miss it; Barely wider than his outstretched arms with his cot and a few other small things. Now that you live in here with him, the underside of the cot filled with your things- he was much more amenable to the concept of this being a place he wanted to return to.

A home, one might say.

You're asleep curled in the blankets spread across his cot, many of them from your own quarters. The ship runs cold, and you lack his body mass to create enough heat on your own. When he's with you it's easy for you to steal his body heat, curling into the nook of his armpit and side, but when he's gone you're forced to use the copious amounts of blankets. They don't bother him, as long as your much more fragile body is well.

Theo knows you'll want him to wake you up so you can see him, as he doesn't know how long he will have with you this time. Stepping closer he leans down and jostles your shoulder, your head turning away from how it was smushed into the pillow.

He takes a breath, trying to withhold his hunger.

"Love, I have returned."

The way you go to face him and light up warms him, how despite the tiredness your eyes widen and glow with unfettered love.

"Theo!"

Your hands- so much more delicate than his- tug at his robes more so to pull you up towards him, than to pull him down to you. Your lips meet his, and he delights in the feeling of your hands wrapping in his hair once he puts an arm on your back to keep you up. His other hand presses into the cot, supporting himself as your mouth moves along with his, the soft sounds filling the room.

"I missed you," You whisper, and his brow furrows a bit. You shirk a bit, but a smile still remains on your face. You know what you did.

"I was informed." His face still remains stoic. "I told you that vox was for emergencies. When you voxxed I was concerned something had happened." You wilt a bit, the mischievousness fading to some level of shame. Theo feels a bit guilty for it, and lays off. He knows his tone can be too harsh for you- he's used to commanding seasoned astartes, talking to a woman like you is still, unfamiliar.

"Don't do that again. I worry for you on this ship alone."

It repeats in his head; He'll never tell you about the dreamed up vox from a fellow Lamenter he had that woke him up in a cold sweat.

Theo can't help but find potential dangers and enemies in everyone, even if he knows his brothers would never harm you, the other serfs you rarely speak with. He still feels as if something could go wrong and he would be miles away, fighting a wave of tyranids or orks and he would be none the wiser.

If one of his brothers fell to the Red Thirst and you were close...

"I promise I won't. I just, wasn't thinking straight."

Theo uses that hand supporting you to gently rub along your back. He notices some of your coyness return.

"But, I am still bleeding," Your lips are parted slightly in the preparation to speak, and Theo always finds himself a bit distracted by how sometimes, he can see the soft glistening of the wet of your lip. "If you're hungry."

By the Throne he is, but he doesn't want to just take it. No matter how many times you've said he just can, that he doesn't need to wait for so long and then ask, but the guilt still overtakes him.

Perhaps one day he'll just take without asking, but the guilt of the idea still eats at him.

"If you will let me." He sees you nod, but the thick smell of your arousal is more than enough for him.

Removing his hand from your back he lets you fall back onto the cot, shifting to push you upward and make room on the bottom half of it for him. He is forced to untangle your body from blanket after blanket you'd wrapped around yourself, the smell getting thicker with each one removed. When he finally reaches your skin, he watches the way your body flexes as his hands brush along your thighs and reach for your underwear.

It's one fell motion to pull them off of you, his hands returning to your inner thighs now and slowly pushing them apart. They fall apart with his hands, revealing to him your soft cunt slick with blood. His head falls cheek resting on the innermost apex of your thigh, breathing in.

Before he met you, the way his hunger grew so quickly and threatened to overtake him would fill him with shame, and when he'd first begun to fall for you, the first of your cycles in his presence had nearly made him lose control.

Now he can give in to it so easily, hearing you beg for something that to the Lamenters, is a curse of their genes. Your kindness is a gift he can never return in full, but he's selfish enough to just continue taking it.

"Please, please I want it,"

Theo would normally feel guilty, but you beg him so sweetly, and he knows doing this actually helps you feel better.

Makes the stomach pain hurt less, you say. He didn't entirely believe you at first, his lack of understanding of the female form and his worry you were trying to be strong for him. But, he made a comment to another Lamenter he knows has a female personal serf, and he said she told him the same.

Theo finds it interesting, how the term personal serf has become so ubiquitous with lover. As astartes they are discouraged from such pursuits, but that doesn't mean they haven't found ways.

His hot breath fans over your core, the very apex of that heady, bloody smell. He feels his hunger rise in him- he must control it- lips pressing against your outer lips as his tongue slips between.

He tells himself he must control it, but the moment your mix of blood and honey hits his tongue he is gone; His mouth pressing harder against your cunt pulled closer by a tightened grip on your hips.

You moan, loudly, and he would be concerned of someone overhearing had the walls not been inches thick metal, and his mind long since having faded the outside world to nothing but a bygone void.

Blood smears across his mouth, what little hasn't been eaten, and the cry of you cumming on his face only spurs him on more. He tastes you as you cum, mixed with flesh blood.

Your hands tangle in his hair and try to pull him closer, as if he isn't already pressed against your cunt hard enough to feel the bones of your pelvis resist him, nose rubbing on your clit and making you squeal. His hands push on your thighs, pushing them back and out- it causes your hips to raise just slightly and makes it easier for him to eat you deeper. With his strength you have no need to try and support yourself, completely limp on his cot as he laps at your entrance before pushing his tongue in.

Your hips thrash as the sloppy sounds of his mouth against your cunt fills the small quarters, only beaten by the creaking of the cot. He briefly moves away from your entrance to lap at your clit, and the way it has you squealing makes him groan against your cunt and unconsciously grind against the bed.

"Theo, Theo please,"

You mewl so wonderfully for him, wanting more, willingly feeding him. He laps at you with fervor, feeling his hunger slowly fade away. At least his hunger for blood, his hunger for you however only increases, as he smells your wanton body. You need to be filled, your body is telling you, and Theo will more than satiate it when his hunger has disappated.

Your hips shift underneath his hands in a desperate attempt to do anything at all, only to be met with the unmovable strength of an astartes. The afterglow is blinding- Theo can hear your heartbeat in his ears along with your deep breathing. You can barely speak, but he talks anyways.

"Do you want more, love?"

He whispers against your thighs, knowing the answer. He'd be tempted to do just it, he knows you'll say yes, but something about you drabbing him closer by his hair invigorates him; he dives in for another feast and relishes in the way you scream.

[cherrycranes]

Observed (Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Judge Jonathan Crane x Fem! reader Summary: You just moved to this fancy building and your serious neighbor invites you for a cup of tea... At first... Word count: 4,749 Contents: (Minors DNI) Drink spiking (aphrodisiac), light dom/sub, degrading, spanking, p in v, unprotected sex, ass play, orgasm denial, creampie. Author's notes: A new collab with bestie @fuckiingloser! Enjoy cause we've been thirsting for Crane lately. At the end you'll find a playlist to set the mood for this specific fic made by yours truly and a Pinterest board made by @fuckiingloser!

Things had finally improved with you this past year. Your poorly paid job as a waitress was finally replaced with something that gave you much more money than what you were used to. Sure, being a stripper wasn’t exactly a career your family would be proud of, but it showered you, quite literally, in cash. The most exclusive strip club in Gotham had been so generous to you, you easily moved out of the east of town into a safer, wealthier area on the other side of the city. A nice apartment in a high rise condo much better than anything you had before.

It was definitely an adjustment, to say the least. In its pristine, minimalistic halls you stuck out like a colorful, almost nouveau riche thumb. No wonder you hadn't talked with your new, snobby neighbors yet. The most you got were dirty looks in the elevator or the hallway. Everybody could see right through you.

Even then, you tried to not let that get to you. If you could pay the rent, you belonged there, plain and simple. So you settled in. 

It was a Friday night. Surprisingly, you didn’t have to work, instead you filled your time unpacking some things and procrastinating on the rest in favor of some trashy TV. Three knocks on your door snapped you out of it. A few packages you were expecting laid on your doorstep to your surprise. You had imagined those would be delivered to the lobby. 

You brought them in. The first three matched in name, address and expected contents, the last one, however, was addressed to somebody else. A neighbor who seemingly lived right across the hallway from you but you had never met before.

Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Of course, you had to return it. You slipped into a pair of shoes and walked the small distance between your front door to the apartment number read on the package. You gave it a few knocks and right after, the door opened. 

Now, you had definitely seen him before in the hallways, and even shared a silent elevator ride with him once, but it never crossed your mind that that would be Dr. Crane. He was attractive. Beautiful, in fact. And up close he was just a visual delight. The most mesmerizing pair of pale blue eyes, plump pink lips and soft chestnut brown hair faced you from just a few inches away. Had it not been for his serious, nerve-altering flat facial expression, you would have continued in the trance his beauty put you under. 

“Hi… I’m your neighbor down the hall and I think I got your package by accident and brought it inside my place… Just wanted to return it to you...” Your voice gained enough strength the more you went on, but the slight unease didn’t disappear until his handsome features softened a bit.

Doctor Crane opened the door a little more, just enough to receive your package, his calloused fingertips lightly grazed your hand and sent an unintelligible feeling through you. 

“Ah, well thank you for returning it…” His voice was just as attractive as him. Warm, clear, elegant. No trace of any particular accent that could give away his origin and open him up for a more meaningful small talk.

“Of course, what kind of neighbor would I be if I didn't?” You smiled kindly, a spark of the desire to stop being rejected by your neighbors obvious to his eyes and ears. He smirked, the kind of smirk a scholar would give to an open beginners book of a subject he mastered.

“Well, it was nice to mee-” You swallowed the rest of your words when Doctor Crane cut you off. 

“I was actually just about to have a drink. Would you like to come in and join me as a thank you for returning my package?” His voice was monotone, ascetic. No hint of the ulterior lust you were used to from men. It honestly seemed like a great effort on his part, he didn’t appear like the kind of guy who enjoyed company. 

Before your lips could mouth an automatic rejection, a rush of thoughts crashed over you. He was a stranger but he was also your next door neighbor. You were bound to see him frequently, in the hallways or the elevator. And if he was the only one in this building who didn’t look at you like you were trash, it wouldn't hurt to accept his offer. Could it? 

“Sure, I'd like that.” You replied softly and he let you in. Your eyes widened at the sight of his apartment that was easily triple the size of yours and had multiple floors. It was difficult to believe this was in the same building, less right across from you. You had your little newfound money but this guy was definitely loaded. 

He led you into what looked like his study, a dark, minimalistic place filled with books neatly arranged in their bookshelves, a handful of framed diplomas and expensive furniture that appeared brand new from how little they must have been used. You took a seat on the leather chaise lounge armchair in the middle of the room, taking in the environment.

“Anything in particular you would like to drink?” Doctor Crane asked cooly. Fitting. He walked across to the well stocked small bar he had there, actually ready for anything you desired to drink.

“I actually don’t drink alcohol…” You started, and he was a little shocked for a split second before returning to his serious but oddly kind expression.

“Interesting… How about some tea then?” He suggested, and that suited you just fine. He asked you how you liked your tea then disappeared out of the room and into his kitchen, leaving you alone.

The dark foggy Gotham City skyline stared right at you from the big window, droplets of water ran desperately down the glass thanks to the hard rain outside, usual for this time of the year. As you kept clouding your mind with remarks about the weather, the vastness of the city and your neighbor’s way of living, he returned with your tea, sitting in the chair right across from you and handing you your cup.

“Sorry I'm not really dressed as fancy as you…” You apologized with a faint laugh, your simple tight v-neck long sleeve and your pair of black leggings stood out in comparison to his suited form.

Doctor Crane smirked very lightly, pale blue eyes analyzing your form as if he had just noticed it was there. Your neck, cleavage, visible nipples, thighs and legs laid under the microscope of his mind, and it was much more strange than the filthy looks of desire men would give you. Even in the strip club, with you barely clothed, you felt less exposed. You took a sip from your cup, hoping that the rich flavor would wash away the feelings that look from him provoked in you.

“I've observed you have a rather strange schedule… always coming and going late in the night…” His voice was so casual, so deadpan, as if he had only commented about the rain outside. You nearly choked with your tea. Observed?

“Well, my job just has different hours-“ You swallowed hard, playing the “pretend you’re not a stripper” game you sometimes played. 

“And what is your profession?” Crane insisted not even a second later, his crystal blue eyes bearing into yours and fanning the spark. You felt speechless, helpless. Why did he care so much? And why did you like it so much?

You took another sip of your tea, wondering just how appropriate it would be to tell the truth and weighing how hard it would be to upkeep a lie. Ultimately, you decided to be honest.

“I'm actually a dancer…” You said bluntly, preparing for the common shock the people you did tell always had upon their faces, and getting surprised when he showed none. There was an awkward pause in the silent and dark apartment only interrupted by the distant thunder outside. You continued to drink, your anxiety finishing with the rest of your tea and placing the empty cup on the coffee table, accidentally depriving you of something to fidget with. Your hands toyed nervously with each other in the dead silence for an eternity before he spoke again.

“Does being a whore fulfill you?”

Doctor Crane’s tone was so simple, so… Professionally mind blowing. You took a second to process it all. Nobody, absolutely nobody else would have ever gotten away with saying something like that to you. At least not without you telling them to fuck off. But for some reason that had everything to do with his voice, his eyes and his face, instead of anger, you felt your pussy fluttering beneath your leggings.

“I'm sorry… what?” You asked in an odd mix of shock, rightful offence and growing desire, unable to tell which feeling dominated. Crane, still so deadpan, leaned over, setting his cup next to yours on the table.

“I asked if being a whore fulfills you…  Dancing for old men and taking their money? Does that make you happy?” Once more, his voice was flat, medically sterile. For a moment, you weren’t a woman. You were one of the many cases he studied.

You squeezed your thighs together, maybe to remind yourself of your own humanity, and your own growing arousal. This mad man had really invited you to his house, let you sit on his fancy chaise and invited you a cup of tea just to degrade you on your face. And, instead of insulting him and defending yourself like you should have, you got wet.

“It's just my job…” That’s all you managed to utter, your energies too busy keeping the rest of your body in check. Doctor Crane nodded, an obvious habit from his consultations. 

“Do you have a relationship with your father?” He asked simply, his voice deep, not even a hint of mockery, just brutal, raw, unasked-for seriousness, and perhaps, judgement. 

“That's a very rude thing to ask…” You whispered defensively. 

“It’s really not if you do have one, which I'm assuming by your answer you don’t… Do you think that’s why you enjoy dressing in provocative clothing and dancing for men?” Crane asked, reaching over to touch your knee. You hated to admit, but his touch was electric. Just as dangerous as touching a wire with bare hands. Your pussy fluttered and clenched, your breath hitched and all the words you could have used to tell him off disappeared in your head.

There was another awkward silence in which his eyes didn’t stop looking into yours, drilling their way into your psyche. Crane smirked, as if he had actually gained physical access to it, and leaned in closer to you.

“I bet you’re already fucking soaking... I didn't even need to give you that aphrodisiac did I?” 

Aphrodisiac. 

Your head spun terribly and your heart pounded at the knowledge that he was absolutely right. Confused, nervous and horny you were. Dripping wet too. You looked down at your empty cup of tea in a futile attempt to find a trace of anything. Doctor Crane’s fiery hand slid up onto your thigh and interrupted your flimsy examination.

“What?” That was all you could muster.

“I think, in my professional psychiatrist's opinion, you’re in need of some guidance and attention from a smarter, older man…” His smooth, attractive voice pooled into a warm wet patch on your thong. Your mouth hung open slightly, watching him blink as the pieces fell together in your mind. The packages delivered straight to your apartment door, the last one being his, the insistence of getting you something to drink, the passing comment about observing you… He had set everything up to therapize you. To crack your mind open. And when he had you at your most vulnerable, when all of his uncomfortable questions and the tea had you under his thumb, to inevitably fuck you…

Testing you, Crane pulled his hand away from you, reveling in the little whine you made at the loss. He stood up and stepped right in front of you, his crotch on your face and his finger tilting your head up to meet his intense, serious gaze. Not knowing how much was the effect of the aphrodisiac and how much was your own desire, you felt butterflies for his sexy imposing presence, for the tiny smug smile he gave you and for the way he held his thumb to you before uttering the word: “Suck…” as a soft but serious command. 

Craving the approval, you mindlessly wrapped your lips around his thumb, letting the pad of his finger rest on your tongue before starting to suck gently.

“Good girl…” he murmured, and it felt like a hit of a drug. The most addictive, altering feeling of your life.

“You know, I’m rather picky when it comes to my women. I think with my help you could be the perfect little wife. You’re much too pretty for that club…  And I think you know that…” The more he spoke, the more you rolled your tongue over his thumb. You hummed in agreement, visions of you bathed in his attentions and riches making your cunt clench.

Crane pulled his thumb out of you with a sticky pop sound, running the tip over your bottom lip. He gave you a sly smile, his serious demeanor slipping a bit and revealing just how turned on he was.

“Get naked for me doll…” He rasped and you nearly moaned in anticipation. Who were you to deny him or disobey him?

With your head still reeling and the aphrodisiac coursing through your system, you pulled your shirt over your head, your tits bouncing free for his eyes to devour. He loomed over you, his cock ached in his dress pants at such perfection. 

Intently, he visually traced every contour of your naked torso as you laid back on the therapist chair and slipped your leggings off, losing them somewhere on the pristine wooden floor. Crane enjoyed the show, sitting on the edge of the lounge as your most devoted audience. Blue eyes raked over the pink lace of your damp thong and he felt the urge to do something with his hands. His calloused touch slid up your legs, mapping out his new, soft, warm possession.

Your heart beat out of your chest and through the delicate folds of your pussy, begging and pleading for contact.

“I said naked…” Crane repeated a little sternly, deciding to not trust you to comprehend a basic order in your state and doing it himself. He took hold of the pink lace covering your core and ripped it, pulling the now shredded fabric off your body.

You gasped softly, unable to hold back a moan. Your body was buzzing in anticipation and reeling under the influence. You needed him. Badly.

“Much better…” He purred in satisfaction, gazing into your eyes with a burning desire. Calloused hands pushed your legs apart and examined just what he had gotten.

“God you’re just dripping…” It was a whispered, slightly needy observation that betrayed the seriousness of his actions. You had a wet, delicious, hot cunt that invited him to touch, to part your pretty folds to get a good look at your aching hole.

“Please…” You whispered, if not begged, speaking for the first time in ages. Crane smirked triumphantly, he had you at his perfect mercy and he couldn’t feel prouder. He responded to your plea by leaning over you, chest to chest, and capturing your lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

Your arms wrapped around him for dear life, one of your hands plunged into his soft brown hair and took in the feeling of him, of his warm tongue slipping in slowly against yours in a sensual dance, of his hand that came up to cup your breast and roll your nipple. After a minute, he pulled back, leaving you breathless and looking up at him like a begging puppy. It was a perfect sight. Crane cracked a smile, soothing you with a caress to your cheek.

“God you’re beautiful…”

He whispered, almost fooling you into believing he had slipped out of the cruel dominant demeanor he had shown up to this point. The aphrodisiac, the praise and your own attraction to him had you reeling and buzzing for a second, and that was enough to drive you wild.

“Flip over…” Crane commanded. “On your knees, bent over and ass out for me…” 

Immediately, you did as he said, eager to please. It was not the most comfortable of positions, with your head turned to the side, your cheek against the cold leather backrest and your hands clutching the frame of the chair, but in all honesty, you didn’t care. All you wanted was to be fucked, and soon. 

Crane groaned a bit, moving to adjust himself behind your tempting flesh. Both needy holes bare and on display for him to use however he wanted. One of his knees rested on the lounger behind you and one foot got planted on the floor for stability.

Without warning, you felt his hand come down on your ass. Hard. You yelped, then moaned, the pain mixing with pleasure deliciously and making you desperate for more. It was a whole miracle your pussy wasn’t dripping down your thighs and onto the fine leather at this point.

Another hard smack. This time on the other cheek to make it sting equally. You stifled out a whimper with a bite to your lip, catching the sound of his belt coming undone then followed by the zipper of his pants. You nearly shook in anticipation the longer he took to fill you up, and you started to believe he was deliberately toying with you. His large hands then grabbed a greedy handful of each asscheek, spreading them apart to get a good look at both holes.

“Please, Sir…” You finally got the courage to whisper, driven by your need. You wouldn’t be able to take any more foreplay, it felt like it could kill you.

He smiled to himself at the little “sir” that left your pleading lips, and while he didn’t respond with words, you felt the tip of his cock slowly rubbing back and forth against your sticky wet folds just to tease you. Taunt you. He covered his tip in your perfect slick and made you moan, but he held back the pulsating need to slam into you. 

“You want me?” He asked huskily and simply so you could scream, obviously aware that you needed him. But he wanted you to say it.

“God yes…” You whined back to him, already out of breath. You tried to push back against him in hopes to get the tip to slip in, completely desperate for his cock. 

Then, you felt his palm coming down on your ass for a third time, the slapping sound echoing through the study and its high vaulted ceilings just to remind you of how much of a slut you were for this man. Desire and whatever it was that composed the aphrodisiac coursed through your veins .

“I’m going fuck the whore out of you…” He sneered and without another word, his thick cock slammed into you in one go. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, nearly blinding you. You let out the loudest, whiniest moan for him yet, unable to even process just how good his perfectly curved long cock hit parts of you you didn’t know needed to be hit…

His hand gripped your hip possessively, giving you no time to adjust to him as he started to piston his hips into you. As if you needed it, you were dripping wet. 

“Oh fuck- holy fuck-...” You whimpered and babbled absolute nonsense. Crane was fucking you stupid and drilling the obscene sounds of skin slapping and your pussy squelching into your mind. So filthy and erotic, you could even hear him grunting and groaning in a loss of composure. He couldn’t help it, not when he was balls deep inside this greedy slutty cunt after so much foreplay.

“This tight pussy’s getting fucked so good she’s talking to me… You hear yourself?” He asked, half satisfied, half degrading. It was like it fucking disgusted him yet it ignited him. Words failed you, all you did was moan over and over with his thrusts as a response.

“I think she knows exactly who she belongs to…” He cooed condescendingly to you, his hand coming down and spanking your ass again, leaving a sting that transformed into pleasure in its wake, adding to your already building orgasm.

“You…you… I belong to you!” You cried out stupidly, fucked so deeply, so thoroughly. His cock hit that special spongy spot inside you again and again, some drool threatened to spill down the corner of your lips from how mindlessly he was plowing you. He had really managed to erase every thought in your head, every single one except him.

“This pretty little asshole keeps winking at me…  She’s begging for my attention…” He grunted, his balls slapping against your neglected clit as he drilled into you. You babbled incoherently at his words, already so fucked out and you had’t even come yet.

You heard him gather saliva in his mouth, then, a hot wad of spit hit your asshole, you whined in response. Crane’s hand reached down until his thumb was spreading his spit around your puckered hole and pushing it into your ass.

“Ffffuuuck.” You moaned loudly at the new sensation. The burning tension of your building orgasm threatened to boil over any time now. “P-please… I'm gonna come…” You begged so sweetly, desperate for a release the harder he pounded. 

Crane’s hips then came to a stop, completely neglecting your orgasm. You felt like you could cry. 

“If you want it that badly, you can fuck yourself on my cock…  Work for it doll…” He said sternly, pulling his thumb out of your ass and making you whine. 

Immediately, you started to bounce yourself on his cock, throwing your ass back at him like a pathetic whore. It was a feast to icy blue eyes, following closely how his cock slipped in and out of your tight, wet, hot pussy. The sensation became so good he couldn't hold back a groan of pleasure that sent his head back.

Air barely filled you agitated lungs the more you bounced yourself, chasing and earning your orgasm with desperation. You could tell he was close too. You felt it from how his thighs flexed and by the grunts he made. He would never admit such a filthy weakness like that out loud however. 

A few more hard blows landed on your ass as you bounced his cock on him, making you clench hard every single time and moan like the whore he was trying to fuck out of you. Crane was even moaning himself, music to your ears and cunt.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore, equally desperate. 

“Fuck me- flip over… I have to see that pretty face when I come deep inside you…”

Thank fuck. A smirk grazed your lips at the audible desperation in his voice. You turned over onto your back, meeting his handsome face again, his hair was now a little disheveled and his forehead glistened with a little sheen of sweat. His long, painfully hard cock was coated in your arousal, and you groaned at the sight, finally seeing it after only having it inside. Crane scooted closer, pushing back into you with ease and wasting absolutely no time. 

You bit your lip gently, looking up into his intense crystal blue eyes when you moaned in unison. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, spread them and pushed them up into your chest until he had you at a perfect angle, hitting the deepest parts of you. Your mouth fell open and your eyes closed just as he started to pump his hips into you, picking up speed until you couldn’t hold back loud whiny moans.

He reveled in the way your beautiful face contorted in pleasure, a smug smirk forming between heavy breaths. 

“You fucking like that?” He groaned to you, making you nod frantically to the rhythm of your squelching pussy.

“This pussy is just begging me to come so deep…” His voice gave away just how little he would last. Your mind reeled at his words, at his serious and harsh personality slipping away to reveal how much he loved the feeling of you.

The pressure of your orgasm tightened in your lower abdomen as he fucked you unforgivingly hard and deep. You wouldn’t last much either.

“Please… I'm-I’m gonna come...” You whimpered, so pathetically fucked out, unable to hold it back anymore. His hips fucked you on autopilot and he smirked.

“Come for me doll…” He cooed to you sensually and that was all it took. Your orgasm ripped through you like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Fireworks went off in your brain and your body trembled in the deepest, most needed pleasure. Your wet pussy tightened around him with greed, your back arched off the chair and your eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh my God!” You cried out to him, your legs shaking as he fucked you through it. 

Crane looked down at you in amazement, his jaw hanging open and allowing heavy breaths to escape him. It was truly the best pleasure of your entire life, the junction of his devilish beauty, your need and the last rush of the aphrodisiac making you wild. He felt you milking his willpower out of him, he had no way to resist, to keep up the front.

“Jesus-“ That was all he could muster to say. A deep loud groan resonated in the study as he gave into the intense pleasure. Akin to you, something he had never felt before.

Dizzy and mind blown, he leaned over you, his sweaty forehead against yours as his hips finally came to a stop. His cock pulsed and filled you deeply with his load, drowning your cunt in him.

You both panted heavily, hot breath mingling and hitting each other’s faces until recovery from the hardest orgasm of your lives finally came. A curious, tentative hand came up to touch his cheek with newfound softness. You smiled a little, his eyes softened in a rare moment of tenderness until his lips found yours. The soft kiss soon turned into a slow, sensual makeout. His tongue slided against you sending a flood of tingles all over you.

Crane pulled back after a minute or two of melting onto you, moving back into his position and keeling between your legs. You watched in complete devotion how his half flaccid cock left your sated heat, leaving you so empty without him inside. 

“Mmm, look at that…” He marveled, inspecting your puffy abused folds as his cum dribbled slowly out of you, his middle finger caught it and pushed back inside you. You moaned at the feeling, watching intently.

“I think with the proper training and sessions like these, you’ll be the most lovely little wife…” He practically cooed to you, and it became your life mission. Your heart swelled with the idea, no matter how demeaning it was, you were under his spell even though the aphrodisiac had completely worn off  by now.

The man you wanted to please the most flashed you that perfect smile, pulling his finger out of you just to offer it to your lips. You happily obliged, sucking it clean with your gliding tongue and humming at the combined taste of you.

“You’ll stay here tonight…” He commanded quietly, and you agreed right away, your obedience and devotion coddling to his already inflated ego. He had looked far and wide for the perfect partner… Pet…. Wife… Who would have thought she’d move in next door?

“Your next session will be in the morning, you’ll show me how good you can suck a cock…” Crane’s hand stroked your cheek softly yet possessively, and despite how sexualizing and objectifying it was, all you could ever feel was excitement for what was to come in the morning. And every morning after that.

You could tell that it was just the beginning for you both…

-Pinterest board made by the lovely @fuckiingloser

-Fic playlist made by me.

[rosiewitchescottage]

Yes. This was a pretty ridiculous statement, it must be said. 🙄

I thoroughly enjoy J K Rowling's work. And I rejoice that the Harry Potter Saga got many children into reading.

But I'm not going to pretend that she broke some previously untilled earth.

Even if we narrow things right down and look at

British Children's Fiction Authors - Women.

We already have a glorious crop, who've delighted young readers for well over a century.

Beatrix Potter - Peter Rabbit, Jemima Puddleduck etc

Edith Nesbit - The Phoenix and the Carpet, Five Children and It, The Bastables, The Enchanted Castle, Book of Dragons...

Eleanor Fargeon - Mainly a poet. She wrote the lyrics for 'Morning Has Broken.

Frances Hodgeson-Burnett - The Secret Garden, A Little Princess

Barbara Euphan-Todd - Worzel Gummidge

Joan Aiken - The Wolves of Willoughby Chase, The Arabel and Mortimer Books

Julia Donaldson - The Gruffalo, The Gruffalo's Child, Room on The Broom, Stick Man etc

Jacqueline Wilson - Tracy Beaker, The Illustrated Mum etc

Alison Uttley - The Little Grey Rabbit Stories etc

Elisabeth Beresford - The Wombles Stories

Nina Bawden - Carrie's War, The Peppermint Pig

Philippa Pearce - Tom's Midnight Garden

Enid Blyton - The Enchanted Wood Trilogy, The Famous Five, The Secret Seven, St Clare's, Mallory Towers.

And these are just ones I can think of...

J K Rowling can be said to be carrying on a fine tradition of British Children's Literature. And that's a good thing.

Can’t believe Jane Austen wrote Pride and Prejudice in the 2000s

And in 2015 Emily Brontë released literary clsssic Wuthering Heights

Thank God someone paved the way for them…

[sammyluvr]

✶ no one else here — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, sort of dreamy!reader, fluff, sam calls reader pretty, unedited, 908 words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .

prompt : in the patch of sunlight cast through a window + “it is pretty. i think you’re very pretty, too.”

one might say that you’re easily enchanted. you beeline to the corner of the library with tall, southern facing windows that let the early afternoon sunlight stream over the study tables and sprawling shelves that practically overflowed with books. this small town’s library is an absolute gem. it’s clearly a historic town, full of victorian era and gothic revival architecture among more common styles. the library’s pinnacles and pointed windows make it clearly gothic revival, which is a complete aesthetic treat. most public libraries that you and sam visit for researching purposes tend to be visually unimpressive, but this is a gem. 

it feels like it could be a movie set, and the sharp shadows in the shape of stretched, intricate window panes have you enraptured as you sit across from sam. you’re now bathed in sunlight, and sam thinks you’re the prettiest thing in this library, especially as you smile and stretch your hand out in the bright patch of light. it’s not a warm day, but the sun through the window is strong and warms you where it beams down onto your left side.

when you grab a book from sam’s tall stack, you realize he’s looking at you with a small smile on his pretty, frustratingly kissable lips. you smile back because you’re in a helplessly good mood thanks to all the sunlight and windows and dreamy architecture. you open the book and look down quick enough that you miss his blush.

a thin line of defined shadow stretches across the book's slightly yellowed pages as you skim the table of contents, looking for anything that might be of use to you. content, you read for a long while, sharing tidbits of information with sam and discovering that you can’t stop smiling at him. he’s just so very easy to smile at, with that gorgeous face of his, boyish dimples, and impossibly mesmerizing eyes. 

the fact that he doesn’t do much reading, and instead spends most of his time staring at you somehow flies right over your head. simple delight and a sense of ease is your best look, and it sends his sensibility spilling away from him.

“anything else?” you murmur, looking up at him from your current book, which has yielded nothing new thus far. the light has shifted and the shadows have begun to soften. you’re now illuminated by the sunlight coming through a different window than when you first arrived, after being swathed in gentle shadow for a while as the sun moved through the sky.

“nothing else,” he replies, sighing softly, but not feeling tired at all.

you close your book and stretch your arms up above your head with a reactionary yawn. then you lean forward, prop your elbow up on the table, and rest your chin on the palm of your hand. your eyes flick up to his face after scanning the upside down title of a book near his elbow.

“i wish all the libraries we visited looked like this,” you say, voice a bit wistful, “it’s so pretty here. i had no idea there were places like this in such small towns.” sam wants to tell you all about it. bits of history about small towns in the new england states and what he read on the plaque by the front door. he’s sure you’d love to hear it, but it all slips from his mind as he looks at you.

“it is pretty,” he agrees, “i think you’re very pretty, too.” and he says that with such sincerity that it can’t have been an accident. he must really mean it, and he must have the intention for you to know it. you look at him almost blankly. he’s complimented you before, but never with such spontaneity or intensity. sam thinks you’re pretty, in the way that he’s attracted to you. he’s just confessed to being attracted to you, and you have no idea how to react. all you know is that you’re far more delighted than you have been all day.

it takes you so long to respond that he begins to worry. then, softly tumbling out of your lips and accompanied by a pleased smile, comes the echo of his own words, “really? i think you’re very pretty, too.”

it’s his turn to feel shy. sam feels like he’s constantly blushing when he’s around you. frankly, he is. he nods lightly to your ‘really?’ because he wants you to know how much he means it. then, he wants to repeat that question to be sure that you mean it, but that would make this conversation sound a bit like an echo chamber, so he puts his hand over yours and grins because he can’t help it.

“do you think there’s anyone else in this library?” he asks as a murmur, his voice a bit sly and playful.

you grin back. “you mean besides the funny old lady at the front desk who told us that the corner with the windows is the most private place in here? and that she can’t hear patrons that far back, so she’s trusting us not to cause any trouble?” he lets out a soft laugh and blushes all over again the way he had when she told them that. he’s pretty sure you missed the wink she threw at him, too. you give a little shake of your head. “no. no i don’t think there’s anyone else here.”

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

Running into a dating dilemma issue I have not encountered in quite some time. Starting talking to two different people on an app at around the same time, went on a date with one of them last Saturday. It went surprisingly well, even fooled around a little for the first time in a long while. We have a second date at an arcade planned for this Sunday.

Other person was a little slower on the draw (not as timely with responses) and has offered to meet up this Friday. They seem nice enough, but now I'm kind of focused on the first person- but obviously that connection is also still in the exploratory stages and there are no guarantees that anything else will happen with them. I'm not great at dividing my attention when I'm interested in someone but I also don't want to count any chickens before they hatch (the chickens in this case being a meaningful or at least ongoing sexual relationship 🐣)

So the dilemma is: do I still go on the date with person #2? The way I see it I have three options- agree to the date and see where it goes, decline the date, or put it off until next week and see how I feel after the second date with the guy that I already met. I feel like I should make a choice soon but I truly don't know which one 😬

[zorilleerrant]

"You consider me your priestess?" the girl - the old woman, now, but you can still see her rosy cheeks the first time she came to visit you - asks you. It's hard to determine her tone of voice. She doesn't sound offended, at least, although she also doesn't sound like she believes you're a god. That, at least, is expected.

You wave your hand vaguely. You didn't get the gesture quite right, but humans always change their body language, and it's been too long since you needed to be human for anything. "It's not that you are. But you're the closest I've had in generations, and I would mark you one, if you want me to." You sit, casually, on a bench that wasn't there a moment before, hoping she'll do the same.

The old woman eyes it suspiciously. She's been here for every birthday since she found the place, and many informal days besides, and she knows there was never a bench here. Still, with a weary sigh, she sits beside you. "I'd like that, I think. I never had the test scores to join any of the big priesthoods. Get one over on them, a little bit." She laughs, and her teen years, writing scathing takedowns of theological papers, come back into view for a moment.

You touch her hand. There's a spark of magic. You don't need to, you never used to, but humans are more skeptical these days, and even your most devoted follower doesn't remember the old ways.

For a moment fleeting even by her standards, you wonder if she might have brought them back. But the fishing town isn't what it once was, and no one much makes the hike up here anymore, save curious children and nostalgic adults.

"Do you want me to do anything?" your priestess asks you, a wry smiling wrinkling the still plump curve of her cheeks. "Carry a sign, maybe? Rush into the town and curse their names for not giving you your due respect? I can do a mean scolding these days."

You laugh, hand still resting over hers. "If you like." The idea of her running among the fishmongers, giving over amulets with every sale, making rude gestures when they're refused, is incomparable. The only thing she really needs is The Book, though. You fold open your altar, the way she's done so many times, and bring out the box she admired enough to start polishing gently when she came to visit, telling you about her travels and her art.

"Oh, you again," your priestess says, in delight, laying a delicate hand on the smooth wood. "I learned woodworking and inlay because of you, you little scamp." When she draws her fingers down the sides, this time, the box opens, with a click she can barely hear. Her ears aren't what they once were. Her gasp is the same as it ever was, though, and she taps The Book reverently.

"I never had many rules, even back in the beginning," you tell her, opening the cover so she knows it's safe. "What ones I had don't matter so much, I think - although I'd ask you to be careful where you summon storms, if you try it." You don't know if she has the power for that, anymore. She delved deep into magic in her mid-life crisis, but you've rarely seen her use it since, and you don't know if hers has waned or blossomed in her twilight years.

She looks over the spells. She can read the annotations, still, at least. "It's a lot of power for one person." She flexes her fingers, summoning wisps of what might be the core of some major working, if she concentrated a little harder. "Would you mind if I taught these to people? Not to join your priesthood, mind, just so there could be a little more magic in the world."

You pause. You should have considered that. Many of your siblings have left their words and their magics to the world as their respect faded away, and even more have begun recovery as lost arts. You didn't know your priestess was a teacher. You knew she'd taught a few times, when the calling struck her, but never that she felt the need in her heart. "Of course," you say. The spells are mostly weak now, you think. The time for hiding them is long past. If there's something in there that can help, so be it.

She grins at you. Her teeth are still hardy, and the candlelight flashes pleasingly against them. "Of course you'd mind, or of course you wouldn't? Don't give me any loopholes, now, Your Divinity," she laughs at her own joke, the way she started doing when she broke free of childish attempts at maturity, but still, she waits for your answer, taking your hand in hers again.

"Share them however you'd like," you tell her, knowing that it means she'll record it down to scans and recreations, "the knowledge within is yours." It's clear she'll get years of delight out of it. You don't know how much she might change the world of the handful of enthusiasts she chooses to work with her. It's a nice bookend for a life full of adventure, you think, a discovery like that.

She kisses the book, gently, on the gilded cover. Then, almost as an afterthought, she kisses your cheek as well. "Thank you," she says. Then she opens it again, absorbed in the pages, well past when the evening grows dark. You keep the candles burning higher for her, so she never has to stop her perusal. It's soothing, to watch a priestess once again hard at work. She looks up. "Is this the gift?"

"What?" you ask, caught off guard. Even through all your disciples, you never managed to learn which times connect to each other in the mind of a human. You'd thought that question long forgotten, and hadn't planned on answering right now.

"The gift you said you wanted to give me. Is The Book the gift?" she asks, in confusion. Books are wonderful, powerful things, of course, but they aren't secret. Hidden, often, and protected, and sometimes held to only the most intimate of worshipers, but they're nothing unexpected, not for a deity to give.

You lean back on the bench you never rose from, and wonder if you should bring in desks for those she plans to teach. "No. I was going to offer you your choice of afterlife, when the time comes." You watch her as she frowns. You wonder if she already has an answer in mind. You wonder if she knew since she was knee high with a scraped arm, or since she was a teenager bent on escaping her classmates, or since she was learning to grow and just choosing her passion. She just looks at you, not answering.

Then, weary minutes later - weary for her, where each night brings aches the day didn't; you're happy to wait - she asks, almost rudely, "not soon, I hope?" Her chin juts out as it used to.

"Not so soon for you," you say, thoughtfully, "although too soon for me, I must admit."

She nods, still cradling The Book carefully. "I thought, once you'd made me your priestess, I'd end up going where all your servants go," she says, sounding, of all thing, patient about it. You don't know how much she knows about your afterlife. You've never discussed it with her. Even when you were popular, once, that was never much of the details that caught people's eye.

"Normally only monks go there," you say, not that you'd discourage her, if she wanted to stay always by your side. "It's a place for quiet contemplation, mostly. Even of my priesthood, only the ones who valued their silence ever stayed." You can see her, in a long gown, roaming the halls in a circle, thinking. You can't see her enjoying it for more than a short time.

"You'd have to send me away," she says, ruefully. Then she pauses to think. "You won't pick for me? I can pick?"

Still, you think, she might have you picking her home, anyway. So many of yours did. Even the ones who earned the highest honors left everything in your hands, and here she is a priestess of moments only, ready to upset everything. Or nothing, if you ask her not to. You close her hands around The Book again.

"Think on it," you say, and wait for next year.

While other god's shrines are magnificent, yours is a bit too humbling. And yet a little girl visits you every year after stumbling upon it, never missing a year even as she grows old. Deeply moved, you decide to give her a parting gift greater than what any other God would dare to give.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XLVII)

Chapter 47: ‘To whom I owe the leaping delight that quickens my senses in our wakingtime and the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! A short but sweet chapter!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 1696

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

A Dedication to my Wife

To whom I owe the leaping delight That quickens my senses in our wakingtime And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime, The breathing in unison Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other Who think the same thoughts without need of speech And babble the same speech without need of meaning. No peevish winter wind shall chill No sullen tropic sun shall winter The roses in the rose-garden which is ours and ours only But this dedication is for others to read: These are private words addressed to you in public.

T.S Eliot, Collected Poems

Andrew was locked up in his office again.

It happened often these days, and you wondered why. You guessed that he must have a heavy workload, after all it would soon be the season for final exams, and you were pretty busy too.

Still, this week he had spent most of his evenings in that room after dinner, staying up late enough for you not to notice when he finally came to bed.

And he looked tired. He wasn’t sleeping enough, and the dark circles under his eyes were a visible sign. He didn’t seem sad though, and he was still as loving with you, still affectionate. Still, you hoped that he wasn’t fleeing you, for some reason.

It had been going on for two weeks, and you were resolute in asking him what he was doing during all those long hours.

He heaved a tired sigh as he entered the kitchen, Elwood in tow, and he bent to pet your dog before turning to you and wrapping his arms around your frame. It was quite late already, dinner was almost ready. Nothing complicated, it was a Thursday night after all, and nor you nor Andrew were in the mood to make some complex recipe. He had offered to order something, but a simple pasta recipe would do, you had the ingredients for it, and you had offered to prepare dinner for tonight.

Andrew buried his face into your neck, holding you tight, pressing your back against his chest. Outside, it was heavily raining, you had turned on the lights. The regular pattern of the falling rain was mixed with Elwood’s heavy breathing behind Andrew.

“It smells delicious, my love,” Andrew whispered into the skin at the base of your neck, where it connected with your shoulder, and it sent delightful shivers down your spine.

“Thanks. Nothing fancy, though.”

“Thanks for cooking. I didn’t have it in me tonight.”

“That’s alright.”

He had just taken a shower, wearing now his plaid pyjamas, and his wet hair dripping all over his shoulders and wetting your t-shirt. You didn’t mind though.

“What about we watch a movie after dinner?” you offered, but you felt him tensing behind you.

“Yeah…”

“You can say no, if you don’t feel like it,” you chuckled.

“I just… I have something I want to finish first.”

You nodded, but remained silent. He heaved a sigh, and it was his turn to notice that you were tensing.

“I’m sorry…”

He didn’t offer any explanation though, so you had to go fishing for it.

“What are you working so hard on, anyway?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re always working these days. Is it your research? Or is it your classes?”

He remained silent for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he spoke again, quiet and soft, almost afraid.

“Am I really spending that much time working?”

It was a genuine question, asking for your opinion, his tone let you know that he wasn’t trying to fight you back. On the contrary, he opened his hand to splay his fingers across your stomach, the touch soothing, anchoring you in his hold.

“Kind of. For the last couple of weeks… yeah… you’re working a lot. I’m a little worried, to be honest.”

“No need to be worried, I’m fine,” he reassured you. “I’m just busy.”

He let out a long exhale, moving his head to rest his chin on the top of your head.

“I’m not neglecting you, am I?” he asked with genuine worry in his voice. “I know how I can be sometimes, I’m… I’m terrible at balancing work and love.”

You moved out of his embrace to put the pasta in the boiling water.

“No… but I… have I done something wrong? Are you angry with me?”

He frowned hard.

“No, of course not.”

“So… you’re not fleeing me.”

“Fleeing you? Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. You work a lot more than usual, I… I’m worried you could be avoiding me.”

“I’m not. I’m not avoiding you at all, I…”

He heaved another sigh, and he looked so tired all of a sudden. But he didn’t seem sad, he had a smile on his lips.

“I… I’m writing. A lot. That’s all.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Like I… I’m trying to make sense of all the work I’ve been doing these past four years,” he explained. “And I…”

He stopped, and turned around in a hurry. He almost ran to his office, while Elwood was staying in the kitchen with you. All you could do was stare at the empty kitchen, blinking your puzzlement away.

Elwood let out a whine, trying to get a treat, and you mindlessly gave him a tiny piece of food.

And then Andrew was back, his laptop in hand. He made room for it on the table.

“You can look,” he said, nervously rubbing the skin behind his ear. “It’s not completely finished, but… I’m close. You can read it if you want.”

You walked closer to the computer, read the title on the first page.

Unreal Unearth

Poetry by Andrew Hozier-Byrne

You looked up at him again, smiling now.

“So… you’re finishing up a new book? That’s why you’ve been so busy?”

“Yeah… babe, I’m… I’m sorry, I know I haven’t spent a lot of quality time with you these past couple of weeks, but I really want to get the first version done, so I can send it to my agent and my editor.”

“That’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me about it sooner? That’s exciting!”

He stared at you for a moment, and then he reached for the laptop, changed the page.

For Y/N, who’s love guided me through the nine circles.

You stared at the letters, read them again and again. But they were still there, printed in pixels on the screen.

Slowly, you turned to Andrew, who had a shy smile on his lips.

“So… your poems are about me? The… the poems you want to be published… are about me?”

He chuckled.

“Only the nice ones,” he admitted. “It covers the last four years, so…”

“Hmm… break-up hell too.”

“Yeah… but not just that. Most of them are about you. And even those that aren’t about you… I’ve organised it thinking of you.”

“A favourite that I should read first?”

He rubbed his cheek for a moment, thinking hard.

“I don’t know if it’s a favourite but…”

He looked for a precise title, and let out a satisfied hum when he found it.

Francesca

“Naming it after another woman… doesn’t start so well,” you teased, trying to hide how fast your heart was beating at the thought that he had written about you.

He laughed at that.

“Do we know a Francesca?” you asked, but Andrew nodded.

“You like her a lot.”

You frowned, silently encouraging him to go on. He nervously rubbed at his neck.

“I… I’ve tried to structure it using Dante’s view of hell.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow.

“But you… It’s… I love this book…”

“I know.”

“So… Francesca, after…”

“Francesca da Rimini, yes.”

You didn’t say anything, merely stared at him for a moment, and then looked down at the laptop again. And as you read, you could feel tears rising, overflowing at the corners of your eyes.

If someone asked me at the end

I'll tell them put me back in it

Darling, I would do it again

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I'd go through it again

I would still be surprised I could find you

In any life

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I would do it again

“You… you wrote that about me?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“Yeah.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course, I do.”

“You’re insane.”

He laughed while you read the rest of the poem.

I would not change it each time

Heaven is not fit to house a love

Like you and I

You remained silent for a moment, trying to process his words. The scholar in you was dragging your attention towards the beauty of the text, the references, the balance of fiction and truth…

… but all your brain could really register for now was that he had written this for you. That he wanted to publish it in a book he was organising after one of your favourite pieces of literature, with your name written on it.

You looked up at him, dried your cheeks.

“You… you’re okay?” he asked.

You nodded, before rushing into his arms.

“I love you, you know? I love you so much,” you mumbled into his chest, making him smile.

“Of course, I know. And I love you too. I love you.”

“It’s so beautiful, Andy.”

“Thanks. So… you like it?”

You laughed.

“Like it?! You’ve basically professed your undying love to me in one of the most beautiful poems I’ve ever read, of course, I don’t like it. I adore it.”

He rolled his eyes, holding you close still.

“Right, still going strong on the encouragement, I see...”

“I’m being honest.”

“You hype me up too much.”

“No, I don’t. You just can’t take a bloody compliment.”

He laughed, but couldn’t find an argument.

“Are you gonna work on it after dinner?” you asked.

“Nah… for tonight, I’d rather spend some quality time with my muse.”

You were about to protest, but glanced over at the laptop again.

At your feet, Elwood was rubbing his body against your and Andrew’s legs.

“I’m your muse…”

“Of course, you are. Who else could it be, but the love of my life?”

You closed your eyes, grinning at his words, feeling the warmth of happiness spread through your heart, radiate through your entire chest, and you noticed that the feeling had never felt so vibrant before, so absolute, so overwhelming.

Meanwhile, Andrew was letting relief wash over him, holding you tight, pressing his lips to your hair and breathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo.

And he thought of the ring he had hidden in his office, and how much he wanted to see it on your finger for the rest of your lives.

[hotchnerwrites]

Hiiii 🤍 I'm the anon who requested Obsessed Hotch i wanted to tell you that you did an amazing job i really loved what you wrote, thanks for taking the request 🥹🥹🫂

I thought of something new if you don't mind🥹

It could be something about Hotch and the reader where they're sitting across from each other, maybe in a restaurant or something and he says something like 'don't you think you're too far away from me?🤨?' Or maybe the reader lifts his foot a little under the table to stretch it out and Hotch feels the movement so he pulls it a little to indicate that he should come closer. 🥹

In the end they end up sitting next to each other and he is so proud that he got what he wanted. 🙂‍↕️

I know i mentioned a restaurant but it can also be while they eat at home or even at work whatever is best for you.🫶🏻

I hope you had an amazing holiday and have the most amazing year ever! 🫂💌💌

I send you my love and a hug 🙂‍↕️

pls just consider it only if you like the idea if you can't ignore it!🫂

One Inch Closer

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: SFW, first date, new relationship, fluff, flirting, nervousness, hand-holding, Aaron is touchy

A/N: Hello Anon! Thank you so much for your kind words. This is the kind of stuff that keeps me motivated!!! I'm so glad to see you in my requests again, it's always such a pleasure to write for you. I'd been hoping you'd request again <3 I'm sorry for the wait; I was travelling, and I had no access to my laptop. But it's done finally! I hope you like it, please enjoy reading it!!! Sending you my love. Oh, btw! I wrote two parts for this 👀 😁 I legit couldn't choose between either suggestion. Keep an eye out for a part two hehe 💨💨

Dividers by @/enchanthings-a My requests are open! Send me stuff :)

You hadn’t thought buying an ice cream at your local park would’ve landed you in this spot a couple weeks later.

It had been on a whim. You hadn’t seen one of those ice cream trucks since you were seven, and it had been a hot day. So, you’d decided to treat yourself to something sweet. You definitely deserved it after the week you’d had. After fending off some very hyperactive children, you managed to acquire your soft serve. And that’s where you met him— Aaron Hotchner. He had been hard to miss, a towering wall of muscle standing in line behind you. 

You don’t know how it happened, how a simple gesture of sharing a bench with him as you licked your cone had turned into a surprisingly entertaining conversation. Maybe it was when you started laughing at his dry jokes. Maybe it was when he told you about the time he accidentally wore mismatched shoes to a meeting and didn’t notice until someone pointed it out an hour later. 

You couldn’t hide your delight as he shrugged and said, “At least they were both black.” 

But somewhere between the ice cream and the short stroll through the park after, you’d found yourself falling for him. So you didn’t think twice about accepting his request for dinner together. Now, here you were, sitting across from Aaron’s handsome features at a candlelit table in a fancy restaurant.

And you were nervous. 

No, this was way more— you could almost hear your heart hammering. You cast a glance at Aaron across your booth, wondering if he could feel your nerves radiating across the table. But he seemed entirely at peace, his demeanour calm as he perused the menu. If anything, it just made the difference between the two of you feel even more glaring. Aaron was effortlessly composed. Meanwhile, you were fidgeting with the tablecloth, the restaurant feeling like a furnace suddenly. You could only pray that something would distract you from these incessant first-date nerves. 

“What would you like to eat tonight? The roast chicken is the only thing I can pronounce on here, I might just get that,” he laughs quietly, eyes twinkling in the soft light of the candle.

You blinked. Your mouth opened in response, but your brain had apparently taken a walk. An awkward silence ensued, but pandemonium broke loose within you.

Oh my god. You couldn’t believe you’d just frozen up like that. Not after how easy conversation had flowed with him in the park. What if he thought you were bizarre? You probably looked like an idiot right now. Please, don’t let this be the reason you never hear from him again.

“Are you all right?” Aaron’s deep timbre cut through the chaos of your mind. His brown eyes were studying you from across the table. You had feared judgment, but there was nothing but concern behind the intensity of his gaze. 

“Yeah... I’m fine. Sorry, uh, I’m just…” you chuckled nervously, “First date jitters, I think.”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. 

“I don’t bite, sweetheart,” he teased, his voice soothing the tension in your stomach.

You laughed, enchanted by how easily he had managed to put a stop to your spiralling.

The waiter dropped off your drinks, and for a moment, there was nothing but the soft clink of glasses, the rustling of the napkins, and the quiet hum of conversations filling the space. Then, Aaron shifted in his seat, his focus narrowing on you. His brow furrowed slightly—something unreadable flashing through his gaze.

He seemed a bit… off. 

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. 

Was the conversation too dry? Or maybe the food was taking too long?

A breath of hesitation caught in your chest as your eyes met his. You could acutely feel the weight of his gaze, soft yet all-consuming, as if he was dissecting every little thought, every little gesture.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, voice tentative.

"No," Aaron said quickly, though there was a tension in his posture, something that was just a little too intense for the moment. He took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving you. “But don’t you think you’re a little... too far away?”

You blinked at him, unsure what he meant at first, but then his eyes softened with a hint of something—was he flirting?

He was still watching you, eyes never wavering. There was something in the air now, something you couldn’t quite define, but you felt it rush through your veins, making your heart skip.

A nervous giggle slipped from your lips before you could stop it. You felt a flush creeping up your neck, and you quickly masked it with a smile. “Is that so?”

There was something effortlessly intimate about the way he said it, how he made it feel like it was your choice, your move. Without thinking, you got up and slid next to him in the booth. 

"Better?" you asked softly, your voice not quite as steady as you wanted it to be.

Aaron’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, “Much.” 

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, before his hand, ever so casually, reached out to cover yours. The heat of his palm felt comforting against your skin and steadied your pulsing heart.

The waiter came back with your food, but neither of you really paid attention to the plates being set down in front of you.

"Thanks for coming tonight," he said, his voice suddenly softer, almost vulnerable. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes when I asked, but I’m really glad you did.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering again. “Aaron, I wouldn’t miss this for all the world.”

And in the quiet that followed, you both knew it wasn’t just a dinner anymore. It was the start of something new, something that neither of you had fully anticipated—but were both quietly excited to explore.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

part 2 (coming soon!)

[echo-riot]

✞⛧ 𝒜𝒷𝒷𝓎 with a Timid/Shy Girlfriend ✞⛧

✞⛧ Abby notices how quiet and reserved you are around others, and she always makes sure to protect your space without drawing too much attention. When you’re in public, she keeps close, but her presence is comforting, always standing tall beside you, offering the shield of her confidence.

✞⛧ She’s extremely gentle with you, knowing that you can get overwhelmed quickly. Abby tries her best to be the one to initiate conversation with others, letting you stay in the background if you’re not feeling up to it.

✞⛧ At first, Abby gets frustrated because she can’t read your emotions as well as she wants to, but once she realizes how important it is to listen to you rather than push, she starts learning to pick up on the subtle signs you give.

✞⛧ Abby loves the way you look at her when you’re both alone, your eyes soft and warm. It makes her feel both powerful and cherished at the same time, and she thrives on that closeness with you.

✞⛧ She often finds herself wrapping her arm around your shoulders in public, pulling you close whenever you start to seem anxious or uncomfortable, grounding you with her presence.

✞⛧ When you’re out with friends or in social situations, she keeps her touch light and easy, but there’s a constant reassurance in how she holds you.

✞⛧ Abby loves when you ask her for reassurance, when you shyly look up at her with those big eyes and ask, “Is this okay?” She always answers with confidence and tenderness, even if she doesn’t fully understand your uncertainty.

✞⛧ She admires your ability to remain calm even when she’s about to lose her temper; your quiet demeanor helps balance her out, making her stop and think before acting.

✞⛧ Abby has a soft spot for when you fidget nervously with your hands. She’ll often take them in hers, lacing your fingers together to help you feel secure.

✞⛧ There’s nothing that delights Abby more than making you smile—no matter how small the smile is. When you do, her heart swells with pride.

✞⛧ Abby knows how important touch is to you, so she never pushes you into anything physical. She’s patient, always waiting for you to make the first move, even when she’s aching to pull you close.

✞⛧ You’re both opposites in some ways—her brash, loud, and confident, you soft-spoken, shy, and gentle—but there’s an undeniable balance. Abby feels like she can conquer anything with you by her side, even if you don’t think you’re strong enough.

✞⛧ She loves to spoil you with affection in private, whether it’s brushing your hair out of your face or just holding you in a warm embrace, giving you a safe place to relax and breathe.

✞⛧ Abby is incredibly protective, not just physically but emotionally. She hates seeing you upset or uncomfortable and will always step in to defend you, even if it means confronting others.

✞⛧ When you blush after she praises you, Abby feels like she’s won the lottery. She lives for your shy reactions, the way you duck your head in embarrassment, trying to hide your face but failing to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

✞⛧ Abby will often surprise you with small, quiet gestures of affection, like bringing you your favorite treat, holding your hand under the table, or brushing her thumb over your knuckles while you’re sitting next to her.

✞⛧ She makes sure that when things get too overwhelming, you have a way to escape into a calm, quiet space with her. Whether it’s a night in with takeout or a peaceful walk under the stars, Abby helps you find your peace again.

✞⛧ Abby’s a sucker for the way you curl up beside her after a long day, wrapping yourself in the cocoon of her embrace and letting out a soft sigh of relief. It makes her feel like she’s truly home.

✞⛧ She loves taking care of you, doing little things like making sure you have everything you need before bed or always having an extra blanket nearby because she knows you get cold easily.

✞⛧ Abby respects your boundaries, never pushing you into doing anything you’re not comfortable with, and she appreciates when you communicate those boundaries to her, even if it’s hard for you to speak up.

✞⛧ There are moments when you become so anxious that you don’t know how to cope, and Abby will sit with you, silently, just holding you close, letting your heartbeats align before she gently asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

✞⛧ When Abby’s too rough with her words or actions, you can tell she feels guilty. She immediately softens, showering you with soft apologies, and she’ll make sure to give you the space you need to feel better.

✞⛧ Despite your quiet nature, Abby knows you have a strength that no one else can see. She knows that underneath the shyness, there’s a fierce spirit that she admires, and it makes her fall for you over and over again.

✞⛧ You love the way Abby can make you feel like you’re the most important person in the world with just a single look, her deep gaze locking onto yours with such intensity that it nearly takes your breath away.

✞⛧ When you’re both alone in the house, Abby feels free to let her guard down around you. She’ll make herself vulnerable, showing you sides of her that others rarely see, like when she curls up with you on the couch or hums softly while you both relax.

✞⛧ Abby is amazed by how much patience and grace you have. You never rush her into anything, never expect her to open up until she’s ready, and it gives her the confidence to be more honest with herself and with you.

✞⛧ Sometimes, when the world feels too much for you, Abby will hold you in her arms and tell you, “You’re safe with me. No one can hurt you here.”

✞⛧ She loves teaching you new things, helping you find confidence in yourself that you didn’t know you had. Whether it’s trying new foods or showing you how to stand tall when you’re feeling small, Abby is there to encourage you every step of the way.

✞⛧ Abby understands when you need to retreat into your shell for a while. She never pressures you to talk when you’re not ready, and she knows that sometimes, silence speaks volumes. She’ll be by your side, patiently waiting for when you’re ready to come out of your shell.

✞⛧ You’ve become Abby’s anchor. When the world gets chaotic, she knows she can always come back to you, where there’s peace and love waiting for her.

✞⛧ There are nights when Abby just watches you sleep, her heart swelling with love as she takes in how peaceful and serene you look in those quiet moments. She’ll lean over and press a soft kiss to your forehead, making sure you know that you’re the light in her life.

✞⛧ The moments when you get shy and giggle over small things are Abby’s favorite. You’ll find yourself buried in her chest, trying to hide your smile as she teases you, but she loves every second of it—those are the moments she treasures most.

[anotheroceanid]

TWO OF THE (MANY) SCENES DELETED FROM CHAPTER 7 OF WTHB

(If something looks weird, it's because I converted markdown to html and THEN to RTF)

SCENE 1

APOLLO

WINTER SOLSTICE OF 2007

OLYMPUS

First thing Hermes says is: ‘No!’

Very loud. Very rude. The poor nymph who was serving the drinks runs the other way.

Apollo had his head turned so he could have a clear sight of the object of his desires, so Hermes grabbed his face with one hand and forced Apollo to look at him. ‘No.’ It was more of a whisper now, almost a prayer.

Twinged by jealousy and disappointment, Apollo addressed the elephant in the room. ‘Are you…’

‘No!’ Why Hermes sounded like a broken record, Apollo had no idea, but the knowledge that his brother possessed no passion for their lovely cousin made Apollo’s—very—stressful day a thousand times better. He beamed and looked at her again, just to be once again interrupted by Hermes, who invaded his line of sight. Before Apollo could protest, his brother was already speaking. ‘I care for her as you do for Artemis.’

Apollo furrowed his brows.

That was… odd.

Hermes wasn’t one to deny himself any sort of beauty, and he got a good eye for precious and forbidden things he could steal. What was more beautiful, precious and forbidden than the daughter their uncle sired in secrecy with a mortal with whom any other god would avoid meddling? 

Apollo stretched his body so he could see beyond his brother. Across the room, stood Persephone—what a poetic name for a girl who bears the choice to save or destroy them all. She was the most glorious vision Apollo had ever had in front of his godly eyes. Confusing as it was, it had little to do with her striking looks—not that Apollo denied in any way the fine traces that designed his cousin’s face, for she had been gracefully constructed by her parents; Uncle Poseidon and her mortal mother made an exceptional work. 

However, there was something even more charming underneath the gold silky skin that covered her nearly unhuman skin, something dangerous behind the porcelain teeth, something delicate than the shade of her indescribably sea-ish eyes. The beauty that puzzled Apollo was something warm and bright, very much like himself. Something kept as a secret, a poetry he hadn't yet read, a melody muffled by louder noises that refused to go quiet so he could delight in it peacefully. 

As the God of Knowledge, the feeling of being in the dark was _unbearable_—for he was also the god of the sun, it was twice as painful.

He had merely met the sea’s Persephone, yet he felt completely drowned by the mystery of her deepnesses. What a wonderful day his sister had asked for his help. Like everyone else, he had been curious about the Forbidden Child, but nothing prepared Apollo for the greenish blue lakes of salt water that would welcome him that day. Then his sister was taken, and Persephone Jackson chose to go on that quest.

He knew she sought for her own friend. But she was there. Now, Artemis was returned to him and all thanks to the non-rule-abiding daughter of the sea, who may be the cause of his death in a few months. By trying to help her quest, Apollo only got more interested.

With Artemis returned, he found himself with nothing else to think about but Percy Jackson. Well, technically the war was happening, but as she was the most important piece of the chessboard, by thinking of her, he thought of the war.

One thing in particular twitched inside of Apollo: did Persephone Jackson know what she was owned?

She just saved his sister. She could ask him anything in exchange. However, nothing so far. What sort of mortal did not demand payment from a god? Apollo would grant her any gift; be it the art of prophecy or an EGOT. Anything.

There she was, laughing at something her father just told her. Apollo sighed dreamily, imagining himself as the reason for her smile.

Once again, Hermes grunted. ‘_No!_’

‘She is bewildering.’ Apollo blinked slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly.

‘She is.’ Hermes, though mourningful, agreed. ‘But she already has too much on her shoulders.’

Playfully, Apollo opened a smile. ‘I can be helpful.’ He sang.

‘She doesn’t need this sort of help.’ Hermes made a face, then softened it when he turned to look at her. ‘Percy wants a quiet life. She never wanted any of it, and yet, because of us, she has so little to live of her own life. It’s not fair.’

Apollo pressed his lips together, the lines of the prophecy dancing on his mind. There were so many ways that could play out, yet he did admit that most of them ended up badly for her.

Apollo studied the expression of his younger brother’s face—so sad it broke Apollo’s hypothetical heart. Sorrow did not go well with Hermes, though lately it was all that existed there. The betrayal of Luke Castellan was a low blow on him, and though the boy still lived, it didn’t change that he was forever lost. Nothing cut deeper than the loss of a child.

Softly, Apollo places his hand on the arm of Hermes, caressing it lightly. There wasn’t much to be said, and there was very little comfort to be offered in these dark times. Only a miracle could save his son, and even the gods were sceptical about miracles.

Then, like one his father’s thunder, it hit him. ‘You think she can do it!’

Hermes' eyes flared for a second. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He shrugged. ‘I know that she can, but I also know how it would be damaging for her to keep trying until she succeeded. I will not insist.’

‘But you asked.’ Apollo didn’t need an answer, and Hermes did not try to give him one. ‘I see it.’

‘See what?’

‘Your affections.’ Apollo closed his eyes, letting the knowledge sink in. ‘You do care for her as I do for Artemis. I can see how pure it is, and the last thing I’d wish is to cause you pain, brother. I shall not pursue her, not without your blessing.’ That was a lament. Just because he intended to keep his word, didn’t mean he liked to say them.

Something roared inside of him. For a second, he looked again at Percy Jackson. A last glimpse of what he would never have—she would be to him like one of those unsolved questions in history that the mortals never stopped to look for answers, even if it was pointless to make such an effort; there was poetry in it. The eternal longing for answers. Had she been born in a different era, she too would be the object of wonder for those who came after her, the muse of artists and the hero of kids, and maybe his own name would collapse with hers, and they’d be tied together, one way or another.

There is something suffocating about her, and gods shouldn’t feel breathless.

His second lasted a little longer. When he makes a move to look away. It’s when his eyes meet with hers. Both turn away immediately. Warmth goes right into Apollo’s cheeks. 

He’s flushed and his eyes flared gold for a second—he hoped no one had seen that. Apollo decided the best thing to do was to stare to the ground until he was swallowed by it.

‘Don’t make promises you cannot keep.’ He heard Hermes exhaling.

‘I can keep promises!’ Apollo retorted.

‘Let me rephrase it then, don’t make promises that’ll hurt you.’ Hermes murmured. ‘If you must, you have my blessing.’

Apollo widened his eyes and stared at his brother in disbelief. ‘Wait, really?’

Closing his eyes, Hermes continued. ‘I don’t know what might happen to us in the future. I mean, you don’t know, so you can imagine how lost I am. I don’t want to make your last moments miserable.’

‘Hm, thanks?’

‘I’ve noticed you have been at home recently.’

‘I live there, in case you don’t remember.’

Hermes took a deep breath. ‘You’ve been there. Daydreaming, singing to the walls, painting…’

‘I do that quite often.’

‘You do.’ Hermes agreed. ‘But there’s always a part of you with someone. Not in the past days. You’ve gathered your essence at home. And I know you.’

‘You’ve been stalking me!?’ Apollo raised a brow, thinking about the exceedingly long time he spent looking for a beach with the exact same shade of green of Percy Jackson’s eyes.

‘No. But our moms talk.’

‘Oh, of course.’

‘What I’m saying is: if that will bring you happiness, you shall have it.’ Hermes declared. ‘Under the condition that you must treat her with the utmost kindness, either Percy comes to want you or not. Her body, her soul, her mind and her heart, they’re far too frail to be handled bluntly, and I would not stand one more scratch on her.’

‘I see…’

‘You can promise me this?’

Apollo smiled thankfully to his brother. ‘Of course I can.’

SCENE 2

AUGUST 18TH, 2010

CAMP HALF-BLOOD

If there was anything more endearing than his girlfriend surrounded by little kids, Apollo was unaware of it. Made his stomach flutter with butterflies and his heart pump on his chest like a hammer—he did not possess a stomach nor a heart, but the metaphor stood.

What a lovely day it was. Couldn’t be any different. He personally made sure Percy had a perfectly sunny day for her birthday, with a pretty sunrise and an even prettier sunset, for Apollo knew she loved those. Beside his own interference, everything settled perfectly in place, creating a picturesque image that contrasted with the dreadful events of the past years. Apollo hoped she could make sweeter memories regarding her birthday, other than the bloodshed she witnessed during the war.

He longed for better memories. For her and for himself, too. Hopefully, together. Apollo can't help the warm flush on his cheeks, nor the smirk that stretches across his face. The baby in his arms—well, she is technically a toddler, but to him his kids were babies forever—laughs and touches his cheeks, accusing her daddy of looking silly. Thankfully, no one else notices. Kayla, Austin and Will, the eldest of his demigod kids, are laughing about something. In fact, it looks like Kayla and Austin are laughing about something that shifts Will’s face from rosy to scarlet. Apollo can imagine what it is. His son is not exactly subtle.  

Apollo let himself be blinded for a second by the smiles on their faces. That was a good memory. It was, perhaps, maybe endearing enough to compete with Percy playing with little kids. As petty as it sounded, Apollo took pride in the fact that his kids did feel comfortable enough around him—most of his peers couldn’t say the same. He twirled the younger ones in the air, created sparkles around them just to see the glitter in their eyes, joked with the older ones and sang with them a song every now and then. He tried not to think about how his cabin numbers shrunk during the war.

Apollo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew better than anyone else the consequences of dwelling on the past. Instead, he reminded himself the kids were in Elysium and nothing could hurt them anymore. They would want Apollo to take care of their siblings, and that was under his power. Now, not from the shadows and under his father’s rules. Thanks to Percy.

From now on, good memories only, he thought, smelling the sweet scents of flowers and sunshine from his children.

He wished Percy could join him. Apollo knew for a fact she was particularly close to Will, but as far as everyone knew, Percy wasn't really close to Apollo. To Hermes? Yes, a lot of talk about that. To Artemis? Of course, it was secret to no one that Percy was the very kind of person her sister enjoyed having around. When it came to Percy and Apollo, it was always ironically in the dark. That didn't bother him… Not as much as it would've, back in the ancient times. He could keep his cool, and if there was one thing he learned about romance, is that what nobody knows, nobody ruins—which was actually a joke about Odysseus being seriously unlucky, but the meaning changed overtime.

His _Ocean Belle_… So close and so far. For now, if having Percy in secrecy was synonymous to having Percy, then let it be it. He could watch her during the day and be with her during the night, where her smiles and laughter and the glitter in her eyes would belong entirely to him. When she would tell him and no one else about her day and confine to him her secrets, making of the curve of his neck a nest where she could lay her head and rest, warmed by the heat of his body as they talked through the night. Their secrecy was something he appreciated, however, to be in her presence and not being near her was torture; all that Apollo wished was to have her and his kids all together in one place, and to have his fingers intertwined with hers in public.

Well, one thing at a time. He wouldn't want Uncle Poseidon—or worse, cousin Triton—getting in their way, much less Apollo's own father. So close to the end of the war, all eyes were set on her and Apollo wasn't deaf to the whispers about his beloved. If what they had was known, all the vultures would come to spoil their happiness. They'd see it as an invitation, a challenge to overturn, a nuisance—not to say obstacle—that could be solved through trickery.    

It happened before. It happened all the time. Happened with his stepmother, when she was a maiden and refused to take a suitor. Apollo's father tricked her in order to have her as his wife. Then the same with Aphrodite, who was forced into marriage to avoid a war amongst gods. Even with the first Persephone, whose fate had been decided spitefully behind her mother's back. Apollo knew his family. He knew no one would dare to cross Poseidon and chase after his youngest, most beloved, and first-ever demigod daughter. Problem was: Poseidon had already been crossed, and by Apollo, the nephew he loved the most and trusted the most. Other suitors wouldn't have to worry as much about his rage, if such rage was already directed into someone else.

Apollo was no fool to think that his uncle would endorse any god’s relationship with Percy. Not so soon after the war, and if Apollo knew a thing or other about his uncle, not ever. Apollo did know Poseidon. They had a relationship as solid as the walls of Troy that together they raised from the rubble of their—unfortunately failed—rebellion. His uncle was not the forgiving type. He would have to be gently introduced to the concept of having a son-in-law before being introduced to the son-in-law.

That's alright, Apollo thought, brushing away the pessimism from his mind, all it takes is a little patience and a few years.

He watched Percy through the corner of his eyes a little longer. She was dutifully followed by Hades’ son, who carried a plate full of cookies in his hands like a lion guarding its prey. Percy said something that got Nico di Angelo seriously troubled while she stormed into laughter. Adorable, Apollo thought, letting the sound of her laughs get into his ears, so he could appreciate the cadence of her voice.

Apollo took another deep breath and rested his chin on the top of his daughter’s head. ‘Dad is silly.’ Said the three-year-old girl, the youngest of his living children. 

Apollo chuckled. ‘Sillier than you think, Amy.’ He said, kissing her cheek.

As the hours flew by and kids got tired, Apollo sneaked the essence of his body, making most of it invisible. He saw as Percy walked away from the crowd, following with Hades' son toward the beach—probably to watch the sunset, and Apollo hoped she’d enjoy the show made just for her. In the meanwhile, he used the opportunity to walk around and make sure everything was safe for the next hours—he didn't want anyone sticking their noses on his business.

Surprisingly, considering the place was crowded with gods and demigods who were fighting each other to death just a year ago, it was all peaceful. Well, except for a reasonably tipsy Persephone in a corner, because she tended to brag in detail about her excessively happy married life, and no one wanted to listen to her talking about Uncle Hades when she was like that. Especially considering it was summer, and she was probably missing him. Thankfully, Hecate was near Persephone, avoiding her from traumatising this generation.

Apollo passed through Rhode and Triton, his sibling-in-law. If he had to pick one to open his heart about his secret relationship with their sister, it would be Rhode. She was the calmer in her family, and Apollo once was the pupil to her late husband, meaning he would spend a lot of time in their household. Few gods had that lovely personality. But not at that moment. The former Sun Bride had a deadly expression on her face, and her brother Triton had a hand on her arm, just in case he needed to restrain her.

He couldn't help but feel sympathy for her obvious irritation. Apollo too hated her brother.

Not Triton. The other one, from her mother's side. Eros. He was a hateful feathery creature that no one deserved to endure—except, perhaps, the other hateful feathery creature that usually followed him around, Zephyrus. Of course, as much as Apollo hated Eros, he doubted anyone despised him more than his older sister, Rhode. In fact, his sister-in-law avoided anyone from her mother's brood, having herself an aversion for the Goddess of Love. Curiously, Aphrodite kept trying to retrieve her daughter's love and forgiveness, even after years and years of estrangement.

The little group, formed by Eros, Aphrodite and poor Rhode and Triton, tried to keep a talk. At least, Aphrodite tried. Every time Eros spoke, Rhode's eyes glazed with fury and Triton had to tighten his hold on her arm.

Well, they won't be interrupting, Apollo cheered.

A few metres away, Poseidon and Zeus… Laughed? Screamed at each other? Apollo wasn't quite sure. It was always a mystery between them, but they were loud. Poor Uncle Hades closed his eyes and inhaled deeply between every other word, moving his head in an attempt to avoid the sounds. Even Apollo thought he might go deaf if he walked too close.

They talked about something they did about the French Revolution. Uncle Hades had a nasty expression, making a remark about how much he hated how people died of stupid causes back then. As if it was the funniest joke they've ever heard, Zeus and Poseidon threw their heads back while Hades rolled his eyes.

Apollo didn't remember the last time he’d seen the Big Three _talking_—without the war threats or the comments about the time living (or not) in Kronos’ stomach. Before they started to talk about the most unsavoury parts of the 18th century and their adventures then, Apollo walked away.

The demigods were dancing and singing to the same ABBA song they've been obsessing with ever since last year. Apollo smiled, thinking of how Percy would hum that song whenever she was distracted. He walked past her bestest friend, Annabeth Chase; smiling like that, leaning on a boy and cracking jokes, she looked like a completely different person from how she behaved when she was working as architect in Olympus—always so uptight and serious. 

Nearing his brother Hermes, Apollo chuckled when he saw his face. Poor Hermes didn't have a thought behind his eyes, he just glanced away while Demeter and Ares kept talking to him furiously, while Dionysus stood right beside them with a serious expression.

‘My Katie is a good girl.’ Demeter boasted. ‘I don't want that Trant boy anywhere near her!’

Hermes sighed. ‘Travis, you mean.’

‘And I don't approve of Clarisse's relationship with your other son, whatever his name is!’ Ares pronounced.

‘Isn’t Clarisse like, nineteen?’ Hermes frowned, sipping his nectar mindlessly.

Ares crossed his arms in front of his arms. ‘So?’

‘Isn't that a little late to worry about who she dates?’

‘Well,’ Ares started, voice a pitch higher, ‘I never had to care about that before that good-for-nothing son of yours stepped in!’

Apollo made his better efforts not to laugh. That was funny when it didn’t include him being beaten out of existence by Uncle Poseidon. Yet, he should feel sympathy for his fellow… His fellow dating-a-Olympian’s-daughter friend? Maybe they should start a club, maybe Uncle Hades would enjoy having someone to talk with beside his brothers, and Apollo wouldn't complain about having a Big Three ally.

‘Ares, I don't think this is the way to approach 21st century parenting, you know?’ Hermes rolled his eyes. ‘The whole “not letting my daughter date"’ went out of fashion after World War II.’

‘I still don't trust that brat of yours, he's up to something!’

Demeter then was quick to add: ‘The other one too!’ She pointed out. ‘He also has a terrible diet. I cannot imagine what his intestines look like with that amount of sugar he eats.’

Like the words had been carried by the wind, Hermes simply nodded and then turned to their younger brother. ‘What about you? Are any of my kids dating your son?’

Dionysus smiled and shook his head. ‘Oh, no. Thankfully not!’ Dionysus raised his Diet Coke to the sky. ‘I believe he's seeing one of my maenads. I just love seeing someone who's not me getting a lecture.’

Hermes sneered, and this time Apollo laughed and made sure Hermes would hear.

‘Shouldn't you be with your kids?’ Mentally, Hermes inquired.

‘I am.’ Apollo answered, picturing in Hermes mind an image of another version of him playing with the kids.

‘If you three would excuse me, I'll go talk to Apollo.’ Naturally as breathing, Hermes dismissed everyone and walked away. ‘Whatever it is, don't do it.’

‘C'mon, where is my free spirited brother who'd help me in the craziest quests?’

‘My limit is whatever the distance between my pretty face and uncle's Trident.’ Hermes grunted. ‘Where is Percy?’

‘Don't worry, she's with Nico di Angelo.’

‘Your son's crush?’

‘Isn't it lovely that her little, uh, shadow is my Will's crush?’

Even if there was a glitter of endearment in his eyes, Hermes pretended to be annoyed. ‘It's almost as if they're hormonal teenagers.’

‘It’s romantic!’ Apollo sighed.

‘If you say so.’ Hermes retorted. ‘What do you want?’

‘Oh, I did not come here with demands.’ Apollo hummed. ‘I just assumed that my little brother would help me give my beautiful maiden a nice birthday night, you know? Just making sure her dad doesn't notice if she goes missing for an hour or two.’ 

‘Are you crazy!?’ Hermes exhaled. ‘Everyone is here, and they'll notice if the hero of Olympus simply vanishes.*’

‘I know you could buy me thirty minutes. Then thirty minutes more. And then a little longer, I promise we'll be back before 10A.M.’

‘You said the same last time.’ Hermes groaned.

‘You know I can't lie. Just one hour.’

‘You can if you believe in your lie. Thirty-five minutes.’

‘Forty-five.’

‘Forty. Last offer.’

‘Deal. You're the best, brother.’

‘That someday will get me fucked up.’

[caffinedragon]

Dante reads smutty romance books and makes jewelry out of the shiny trinkets his corvid friends find.

He also likes to dance and sing for the spirits and wisps in the Necropolis and is especially good at belly dancing, much to Emmerich's utter delight.

One of his first pieces I headcanon is the skull pin Emmerich wears on his neck.

He gave it to him when Emmerich first arrived and he kept it until he had something to wear it with.

Dragona however is less a hobby and more a routine that Lucanis and they share, where he cooks them food while they hang around the kitchen talking about all the stuff they saw around Treviso that day.

They don't really pick up a hobby until Veilguard, when Davrin shows them his carvings and they start carving with him to keep their mind occupied between missions.

They make tiny versions of things and at one point have made an entire tiny village on one of the tables in the meditation room.

Boooooo 👎🚫🙅🙅🙅🌩️ Monday

Yaaay 🎉🎊🎈🙆🙆🙆😁 Rook Intro Hour!

How it works: I ask you a question about your Rook(s) and you answer it with as much brevity or verbosity as you desire. You can do this whenever you want, and I’ll reblog it + add some comments! There’s no time limit— if you want to do the older ones, they are collected here! (The post is updated on Fridays!)

Today’s Question(s): What does your Rook like to do for fun? Do they have creative hobbies? Do they join the book club, or do they like more physical recreation? Both?

Thanks for sharing !

[kyber-shack]

I haven't seen GF in years but was abruptly reminded a while ago and found your blog and your Pinecest+Stancest posts while looking at the Pinecest tag so I gotta share this plot that's now trapped in my brain. If I got the details about canon wrong, blame the passage of time, not me lol.

Ok I'm sure I'm not the only one who came up with that but: Mutually Unrequited/Pining Stans that both never acted on their feelings and spent the entire separation depressed about it and blaming the way they were hiding their feelings partially for how things went down. Enter Pinecest, only just clocking that this is Not Normal Sibling Feelings.

Stan encourages it when he first realizes it because he never got to even try, but maybe Mabel and Dipper can be happy. So he bullies any boys Mabel brings home, shuts down Dipper's flirt attempts with Wendy & Pacifica - Dipper catches on to his feelings first and wants to prove to himself that he's NORMAL OKAY??? he is, in fact, super not normal, but he'll scream that he is at the top of his lungs - and then Ford returns.

Ford also immediately catches on to Dipper's crush. Because he gets Dipper, and of course, he'd love his twin. He can't see Mabel's feelings as easily because he's insta-transferencing her and Stanley and the idea of her liking Dipper back is unfathomable (read: heartbreaking) because then it means perhaps Stanley could've loved him too.

But he cares about Dipper, so Ford thinks the best he can do is maybe help cut off those feelings at the knees before there's no going back for him, at least Dipper might not totally lose Mabel the way he and Stan thought they had lost each other, might eventually lead a normal non-recluse full of regrets life unlike them. So Ford offers to let Dipper stay without letting on his real reason to do so, and Mabel FLIPS OUT.

The thoughts have been building in the back of her head for a while, and she's suddenly confronted with what she never thought possible. Losing Dipper. And it hurts so so much and then Weirdmageddon comes and things go completely off the rails and now she knows she loves him but he's her brother, the world is ending and maybe he doesn't actually like her at all.

It ends with Dipper admitting to Mabel why he was even contemplating separation and Ford is trying to stop him while Stan has been working for this for months, damnit, and Ford's attempts at shutting the confession down just kill him. Dipper says it anyway, and Mabel thinks she's dreaming, but yeah, dummy, I love you too. How could you even think otherwise?

And seeing their dramatic first kiss totally guts Ford. He's happy for them, clearly, but he wants this oh so much and he can't have it. Stanley is shocked at how much Ford's affected by this development and things just blow up from there, and before either of them know it they're kissing.

Meanwhile Mabel and Dipper finally remember where they are and who they're with and fuck this is going to be difficult to explain - wait wtf GRUNKLES WHAT ARE YOU DOING. Well nothing they weren't right before that.

The rest of summer is an insanely awkward transition period where both couples are trying to work out how to deal with this new dynamic and what it means for their lives, especially for when Dipper and Mabel go back home. But everyone is insanely happy and when Dipper and Mabel come back to GF it's together, to a married couple of Grunkles (in everything except the eyes of the law).

And perhaps someday a - but lbr it'll be two - Pinecest Baby crawls around the Mystery Shack to everyone's delight...

ANON YOU'RE SO CRACKED AAAAAAAAH

such a cute premise of them finding out about each other's budding relationships despite the warnings from Ford and adamant attitude from Stan. SO good. flavor.

also implying that ford and stan were like watching/listening from around the corner or something is peak. honestly? this ask means so much to me.

[ionobjectshow]

Hello granddad!! Really enjoyed the new episode by the way :D I just wanted to ask something, I dont know if you already answered this so I'm sorry for bothering you if you have D:

Do you have a particular interest in nuclear physics? I'm wondering because when I watch ION it seems to me like you must be very passionate about it as well, either that or your just very good at researching (or making stuff up this sounds legit to people who dont know anything about physics, like me! /j), but it sounds like you know a considerable amount! Maybe it just seems like that to me because I don't understand physics at all :P

I really love cracklin!! So much!!! I've felt like I was too naive and childish for most of my life, I felt weak, pathetic, i cried nearly every day and my feelings of self hatred were only solidified by the people around me. And even though I act MUCH differently now and am in fact quite crude (I am much like a bird squawking outside your window that refuses to shut up!!!) and say uncomfortable things, I'm still regarded as naive and dumb sometimes! The thing Sylvia and cracklin have going on feels very similar to MANY friendships I've had with girls my age. I liked school very much and liked to work, so it made them angry that I managed to be "so stupid and so smart at the same time" (quoted directly from something a girl said to me when I was in middle school). I feel very seen.

I also want to ask if you have a particular interest in object shows, or if you just happened to choose to make your show an object show by coincidence? Object shows are my special interest and I LOVE how your show goes against (almost) everything standard for an object show. Your show is absolutely unique and there's nothing like it out there! I'm sure you will inspire many young creators to make their object shows more serious and complex, deviating from just the typical competition show. In my eyes something is qualified as an object show when there are objects (or non human characters) and the creator considers it an object show, so I love how versatile the title can be! Your designs communicate a lot about the characters and that's SO uncommon!!!! I love it!!!!! You inspire ME!!!! The art is also BEAUTIFUL, really abnormal to see in object shows, most of the time very little detail is put into it, but your backgrounds feel so ALIVE

Have a good day! :]

☢️ As soon as I saw this secret message, the words flashed through my mind: “this letter is very autistic, perhaps it was created by an autistic person.” ☢️ I love long opinions with lots of details and sincere emotions, thank you for this text, I was very happy reading it!

☢️ Yes, you guessed it - nuclear physics (especially everything related to the operation of Nuclear Power Plants) has been my special autistic interest for about 5 years now. I love everything about it. In fact, I am absolutely bad at the exact sciences, but the dance of nuclear energies fascinates me and takes my breath away! I order manuals on nuclear reactors for myself and read them with great pleasure, waving my hands. I often go to a coffee shop to read there by the window with a cup of coffee ^^

☢️ I created ION during the most terrible period of my life, and this project was the only thing that held me while anxious depression was rapidly developing and consuming me into some bottomless black abyss. So I put my whole soul, all of myself and what I love into ION, I made this project my mirror. ☢️ It is very important for me to see how this story touches the hearts of other people, I scream with delight if some neurodivergent people recognize themselves in Cracklin! This is extremely important to me.

☢️ Object shows are not my special interest, but I was very surprised and intrigued by this genre of web animation. At first, I did not like the concept of an object show and I could not understand why people were watching it … and then something switched inside me and I really wanted to create my own experimental Object show. To create it entirely myself. To make an author's project that will become a part of me. I didn't even hope that ION would be liked by anyone else, I posted 1 episode with the thought that I was doing it only for myself. And now I am happy as a rainbow in the sky, reading so many kind comments and support! Thank you very much