#because the rules were Clear and Consistent

[likeumeanit9497]

| after hours c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: chris practically begs his best friend to massage his back, but after an awkward discovery, y/n finds it difficult to keep her hands -- and her eyes -- on the job.

warnings: smut; established friendship; oral (m/f receiving); fingering; hand job; squirting; unprotected p in v; dirty talk(!!!!); 18+

notes: whew! long time no see! life has been putting me through the absolute ringer lately! i haven't felt like a real person in months! i still don't tbh! im working on it! but i have absolutely missed writing and tumblr and u all so much! pls forgive my absence on here i literally haven't even been able to open this app since october when my life went south. my semester is over now so i have one major thing off my plate, so im hoping i can be a bit more consistent with writing. I MISSED U ALL SO SO SO SO MUCH and i hope u enjoy this chrissy one shot that i started months ago and just finally finished it today. love u all <33333

“No Chris.” I chuckled, standing up from my couch and walking to my kitchen to put away our leftover dinner. “Please,” I heard him whine behind me, “My back is killing me Y/n.” I turned around, facing my best friend still sitting on the couch where I left him. I laughed at his fake expression of misery, and the hand pressed to his lower back was a nice touch. “Chris, you know I’ve made it a rule not to massage my friends in my free time.” I explained, putting my hands on my hips. He groaned dramatically. “But why? You have all your stuff in the next room!” He began standing up from the couch, being sure to make it seem like a painful struggle.

He was right. I was a licensed massage therapist, and had recently started my own practice from the comfort of my home. I had turned my den into a massage room, fully equipped with a massage table, calming music, and essential oils. But I had made it clear to all of my friends — especially Chris — that I wasn’t going to massage them after-hours. Of course, I would treat them free of charge, but they had to book during normal hours. I was brand new in this career, and I wanted to ensure professionalism right from the start.

“You already know why.” I replied, turning away from him and opening up the fridge to put away my leftovers. As I leaned down into the fridge, I gasped as I suddenly felt a hand press against my lower back. “Just right here.” Chris whispered behind me, circling his thumb along my lower back. “It’ll only take five minutes.” I shuddered at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his touch. Chris had a habit of turning on his sex appeal when he needed something from me, and even though him and I were only friends, it unfortunately worked.

I turned around and closed the fridge, coming face to face with my friend. His eyebrows were knit together in what I could only assume was faux pain, because there was a playful smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair before pointing at the closed french doors leading to my massage room. “Go in there, take off your shirt and lay on the bed. Call me in when you’re under the sheet.”

A smile consumed his entire face, and before I could change my mind he walked over to the room and shut the door behind him.

Chris’s POV:

As I shut the door of the massage room behind me, I stood for a moment to take in the room. She had never let me in the room before, in fact she made it known that she considered it separate from her home and so she didn’t like going into it when she wasn’t working. I always joked around with her because of that, asking her if it was really a secret torture room, but as I saw it for the first time, I couldn’t help but smile. It was professional, but still had personal touches that made it clear that it was hers.

The lights were dim, enough to see clearly but dark enough that everything had a blurry haze to it. It smelled like that shit she diffuses in her bedroom — I think she told me once that it was lavender or something. I noticed the various candles dotted around the room, and took it upon myself to light a few of them. As I lit the last candle on the small table beside the bed, I noticed an old phone connected to a small speaker. Finding that the phone didn’t have a password, I opened it and hit play on the playlist that showed up first, smiling at the title: music that makes strangers fall into my bed.

I chuckled to myself. Not so professional, sweetheart.

Typical spa music filled the small space, and I couldn’t lie, it did add to the meditative atmosphere of the room. Looking at the massage table in the middle of the room, I remembered what I was actually in there for and felt a wave of excitement hit me. I hadn’t been lying when I told her that my back had been hurting — not exactly, at least — but I had definitely been exaggerating. The truth was, I just really wanted to see what her hands could do. Not wanting to waste any more time, I took of my clothes and climbed onto the table, slipping my lower half under the thin white sheet.

“Y/n!” I shouted, “I’m all set!”

Y/n’s POV:

From my place at the kitchen counter, I heard Chris’s voice and my stomach did a flip. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous, I had given a few of my other friends massages before, but for some reason I had been dreading the idea of giving one to Chris. Maybe it was because him and I had such a playful relationship, and I was so used to being professional with my clients, I couldn’t quite envision how combining my two personalities would go. Still, I took a deep breath and headed for the room.

Once I opened the door, I noticed the candles were lit and soft music was already playing. Looking at Chris, laying face down on the table, I chuckled. “I see you made yourself comfortable.” I remarked. Heading towards him, I noticed the pile of his clothes on the floor, including his sweats and boxers. “Uh Chris,” I began, stopping at the top of his head, “I said you only had to take off your shirt, remember?” He lifted his head from the table, looking up at me briefly. “I know. It’s just that the pain goes pretty low down my back and I figured it would be easier to just take everything off.” There was a playful look in his eyes. “It’s what I’ve seen them do in the movies.” He added softly, making me chuckle.

“It does make it easier,” I replied, moving so that I was now standing on his right side. “It’s really just about what you’re comfortable with.” As I spoke, I began running my hands down his back, from his shoulders down to his tail bone, to check for any tightness. He remained silent underneath me as I applied pressure on certain areas. “So, you said right here is sore?” I asked, pressing down on the same spot that he had when demonstrating on me. I heard a muffled hiss and watched as he nodded his head. “And the pain kind of shoots down to here.” He added, awkwardly moving his arm behind him and trailing it from where my thumb was down to just below the white sheet.

I hummed in acknowledgment, pumping the bottle of massage oil beside me and rubbing it in my hands. “Okay, I’ll get started. Let me know if the pressure is too much.” I said the same thing that I said to all of my clients robotically, before working against his muscle. It was pretty tight, but definitely not as bad as he was making it seem before on the couch. Like I do with my other clients, I stayed silent to encourage him to relax against my pressure. A few groans of pain fell from his lips as I worked, but he encouraged me to keep going each time I asked if he was okay.

I noticed him shuffle a few times under the sheet. “Are you uncomfortable?” I asked him softly, wondering if maybe the massage table was too hard. “N-no, I’m fine.” Was his reply, and even though there was a slightly panicked edge to his voice, I took his word for it and continued working my hands lower down on his back. I felt my cheeks grow hot as my hands pulled the white sheet lower to gain access to his pain. I had never seen this much of Chris’s body before, and even though I was trying to be professional, I felt like the act was a little too intimate.

I rushed to finish up, and after about fifteen minutes I was satisfied that the knot in his back had improved. “Alright, I think I’m done. Want to flip onto your back for me?” I asked, pulling the sheet up slightly. “W-why?” Chris asked, his tone filled with alarm. “I usually finish every session with a neck massage. Sometimes the neck gets stiff from the way it lays when you’re on your stomach.” I replied. “Oh, uh, it’s okay.” He replied, refusing to move. I rolled my eyes. “What? Not even 30 minutes ago you were begging me for a massage, and now you’re turning it down?” I crossed my arms and moved over to his head, “Come on, turn over. It won’t take long.” I reassured him.

He sighed, and, holding onto the edge of the sheet, slowly turned over. I stifled a gasp, because between his legs, the thin white sheet had tented, and I could clearly see the outline of his erection. I was thrown off, unable to take my eyes away from it, but quickly recovered — clearing my throat and dropping my eyes to his face. His eyes were still closed and his cheeks were flushed; I could tell he was embarrassed. In a normal circumstance, I would think that I would have made a joke about it, and he would have just told me to shut up. But at that moment, there was something so real about his exposure and humiliation, and so I knew that I would just ignore it.

I began massaging his neck, trying to focus on my actions and regain my professionalism. But, I couldn’t stop looking at the white sheet; it being the only thing between his cock and my eyes. I could tell that it was huge, and I watched as it grew harder and harder as I continued working his neck. It went from standing straight up and wobbling in the air as Chris breathed, to being pressed right against his front. The sheet draped around it, perfectly outlining its girth, and I could see a small bead of dampness taint the sheet a translucent shade of white at its tip. My mouth watered and my mind wandered. I felt my own body begin to react to the sight in front of me, and the tension in the room began to grow so heavy that I began to gasp for air.

“I-is the pressure okay?” I asked, doing my very best to keep my voice strong as I worked his neck. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed nervously before nodding his head. “It’s good, Y/n.” His reply was so simple, but there was something about the gruff undertone, the almost indiscriminate breathlessness as he said my name, that caused my knees to weaken and my throat to turn into a desert. Suddenly, I could no longer hear the soft music playing throughout the room as my blood pumped deafeningly in my ears. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his bulge for more than a few seconds at a time — it seemed so hard that it had to be painful. My eyes continued to flutter between his flushed face and pulsing member until suddenly, when my eyes returned to his face, his bright blue eyes were wide open and staring right at me.

I felt a new wave of heat crawl up my face at the fact that I had just been caught red-handed staring at the one thing in this room that both of us had been actively ignoring. I opened my mouth to attempt to explain myself, but his words beat me to it. “I’m sorry.” He murmured sheepishly, his face turning the same shade of red that I imagined mine to be as he squeezed his eyes shut. Immediately, I began shaking my head rapidly. Partially as a reassurance to him and partially as an attempt at erasing the last two minutes of my life. “No! Don’t be sorry. It happens all the time.” I rushed out, doing my best to make light of the situation. “No it doesn’t.” He replied flatly, with a hint of disbelief in his voice. I forced a chuckle. “Okay fine, it doesn’t happen all the time. But its not not normal.” I tried again, brushing a soft curl out of his face.

Chris was silent for a moment, his eyes still squeezed shut in either embarrassment or concentration. I had stopped massaging his neck, but my hands were still on his damp skin; my thumbs drawing gentle circles against his rapid pulse. After a moment, an exasperated sigh fell from his lips. “It won’t go away.” He said, his voice laced with genuine disgust. “I’m sorry Y/n, this is creepy.” A forced laugh, then another sigh.

The room fell silent again as I tried to find the right words to fill the space. Words that would reassure him more genuinely than more “it’s okay’s”. Because, from the way my pulse had quickened, and from the way my core had grown so slick from arousal that I could feel it dripping steadily onto my panties, it really was okay. It was more than okay. So, instead of trying to find the words that could possibly portray just how okay it was, I leaned down and pressed my lips to his.

I felt him tense at the first brush of my lips against his, clearly shocked by the sudden close proximity of our mouths; closer than they had ever been before. So, I pulled away for a moment, finding his piercing eyes to search them for whatever thought is running in his mind. They were wild, racing across my face trying to make sense of what just happened. But there was something else there, something erotic that was blurring the line between right and wrong. Between professionalism and spontaneity. Between friends that fuck around and friends that fuck. I could tell that we were both balancing on that same fine line, but when I brought my lips back down to his, and when he opened his mouth to welcome mine with the kind of hunger than can never be satiated, I knew that we both came to the same conclusion.

Our lips moulded together in rhythmic wonder as our tongues explored each other. Immediately, I felt his body relax as his hands reached up and wrapped themselves in my hair. A soft moan of satisfaction fell from his lips as I nibbled on his bottom lip, causing my body to react in a way that was foreign to me. I felt goosebumps raise up across my skin as if his hands were all over it. He pulled his lips from mine and used his grip on my hair to tilt my head to the side, giving his swollen lips access to my neck. He sucked and nibbled against my electric skin just below my ear, and I felt as though I could fall apart and dissolve into a puddle just from that. “L-let me make you feel better.” I managed to moan out through the waves of pleasure I was feeling. My eyes wouldn’t leave the rock hard bulge under the white sheet, just barely out of my reach. Chris groaned against my neck at my words, and I watched as his cock twitched under the sheet as if it heard my words itself and was begging me to help it.

After another moment of Chris devouring my neck, tasting every inch of it as if he couldn’t get enough, his grip on my hair loosened and he allowed me to straighten up. I looked down at his face, now even more flushed than before. His lips had gone bright pink and were so beautifully swollen from their journey against my skin. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and, after a short moment, his eyes fluttered open and landed on me. “You sure you want to do this?” He asked, his voice slightly tentative, and I knew what he meant.

A kiss between friends is one thing. It can be brushed off as a slight moment of weakness, can be something that the two friends can one day laugh about as they look back on their friendship. It can be never spoken of again, can be hidden from their other friends deep in the vault of the minds of the two people that shared it. But anything more than that, any other touching, or licking, or exploring of the other person is not as easily ignorable. In friendships there is deep love and strong understanding of the other person. Once that love and understanding collides with the act of literally merging together, of being as physically close to another that you can be in this lifetime, it’s not so easy to ignore. My mind may not be able to shut out the events that transpire with Chris tonight ever again. We may never be able to chalk it all up to a moment of weakness, or keep it a secret from our mutual friends. We may never have the same friendship we had before I agreed to this massage. But there is no way to know that for sure. What I did know for sure in that moment, with Chris staring up at me with eyes filled with intoxicating desire, with my own body vibrating with lust, was that I wanted this.

So without a word, I walked down his body towards his beckoning cock. I took a moment to just gaze at it, closer to it now than I had been all night. I rested a hand on his thigh hidden beneath the sheet, and watched as his cock once again twitched. I chewed on my bottom lip in an attempt to keep myself from moaning just from the sight, and after a moment let my eyes flutter back up to his face. “I’m sure Chris.” I replied softly, searching his expression. “Are you?” I asked, realizing that he was likely considering the same potential outcome that I had been. He kept my gaze for a brief moment, his eyes focusing on different parts of my face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He replied finally, a cheeky smile growing on his face. I felt my own expression mirror his own, and without wasting another second I began peeling the thin sheet down his waist.

My smile fell the moment his bare cock was finally exposed, and was replaced by what I knew was the expression of desperate hunger. His length was impressively long, and I felt my mouth water at the thought of running my tongue along its veins up to its swollen head. Reaching to my left, I pumped some massage oil into my hand. I brought my cupped hand above his upright cock and let the oil drip between my fingers and coat him. He released a sharp hiss at the feeling of the oil as it trailed down his length towards his base, and I watched as his hips thrust forward desperately from the barely-there contact. A bead of pre-cum suddenly dripped from his slit, and I used my thumb to collect it before finally pumping my hand up and down his shaft. Immediately, a deep moan fell from Chris’s lips as I worked his oiled cock in my hand. I focused on his body language as I adjusted my movements to figure out exactly what he needed to feel good.

When I went slow, I watched his breath grow steady, telling me that I should pick up the pace. When I used a softer touch as I moved along his cock his hands would stay relaxed at his side, but I knew he liked it when I used a bit more pressure along his tip as his hands would tighten into fists against the sheet. But when I used both hands, twisting in opposite directions with the occasional brush against his balls with my pinky, I discovered that was what he liked most of all. A deep grunt followed by a moan fell from his lips, and his right hand flew to my upper thigh; where he gripped so hard I was sure that he would leave a bruise. “Fuck, Y/n.” He breathed out as I continued with these movements.

His hand traveled further and further up my leg until his fingers slipped under my loose-fitting shorts. I continued to stroke him with both hands, even when I felt the tip of his fingers just milimetres from my trembling core. They brushed against the ever-so-soft place between my pelvis and my pussy, and I bit back a moan. Subconsciously, I adjusted myself so that my legs were wider apart; giving him access to touch even more of me. My hands continued to work his cock as his fingers inched closer and closer, before finally, I felt the very tip of just one of his fingers reach my core and dip into its warmth. My knees buckled at the barely-there contact just as he released a muffled moan. “Jesus fuck, Y/n,” My eyes flew to his face and the translucent arousal that I found all across it was almost enough to push me over the edge. “Put that on my face right fucking now.”

His demand was so jarring, his voice so gritty and raw, that I didn’t hesitate before peeling my shorts down my legs, lifting myself onto the massage chair, and straddling his face. Immediately, his hands gripped onto my thighs and pulled them apart; giving his eyes untethered access to my glistening core. “You’re fucking soaked.” His words came out in an almost-whisper, as if he hadn’t actively planned on speaking them aloud. Still, they shot straight to my lust and I leaned forward, resting my head against his chest to allow him to see even more of me.

I gasped as I felt his thumb against my slit, collecting my arousal. I heard a wet sound and then another deep moan. “So good.” He whispered before suddenly his warm mouth was suctioned to my clit. Immediately, I dissolved into a puddle of desire as his tongue swirled and licked against my sensitive bundle of nerves. Moans fell from my lips as my brain turned to mush from the relief of finally having his mouth on me. I began moving my hips against his face, chasing a high that I so desperately needed. Satisfied moans slipped from his mouth into me, and I felt a sharp slap against my ass cheek that added to my intense need.

I had turned into nothing more than a dead weight on top of him, his lethal tongue paralyzing me. But as I opened my mouth to release a guttural moan, I felt my lip brush against the tip of his cock. Without a second thought, I slipped his cock into my mouth and began pumping up and down. Another moan fell from Chris, vibrating against my clit and causing me to moan around his girth. “Fuck.” Chris muttered against me, and I responded by deep throating his cock until my nose pressed against his bare thigh. “Mmmm, Y/n.” Chris breathed, removing his mouth from my clit. I stopped my movements as well, waiting on shaky legs for him to continue.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum.” He began, gently running his knuckles against my ass cheek. “And I don’t want to do that yet.” He slipped two fingers into my core effortlessly, causing me to immediately begin rocking against them. “Mmm. Thatta girl.” He breathed, presumably watching for a moment as I rode his fingers just inches above his face. “What I want you to do is focus on making a mess all over my face, then after that I want to cum with these tight walls wrapped around me.” His words caused my eyes to roll to the back of my head, and a sharp moan fell from my lips. “Sound good?” He asked, his voice muffled as he reattached his mouth to my throbbing clit. I nodded my head maniacally as he resumed his impressive movements against my nerves. He kept his fingers inside of me, and as I slid my soaked cunt against his face, I cried out at the added sensation of his fingers filling me.

“Fuck C-Chris.” I moaned, my words nearly incomprehensible as I grew closer and closer to my climax. He could tell that I was quickly approaching, and tightened his grip on my ass cheek with his free hand; pressing my cunt so hard against his face I was afraid that he would suffocate. “G-gonna cum!” I warned him just before the tumultuous waves of my orgasm took over. My body began shaking as I came hard against his face. I had never before felt so out of control of my own body, and relished in the feeling as my back arched and a plethora of moans fell from my mouth. I felt a gush as I squirted against Chris’s mouth, and trembled at the guttural moan he released as he began lapping me up.

Once my mind reattached to my body and my orgasm had finishing ripping through me, I rested my head against his stomach as he ran his hands along my tense back and dropped gentle kisses against my sensitive core. He let me lie there on top of him for a few moments, catching my breath and slowing my heart rate, before gently lifting my limp body off of him and sliding off of the massage table. I sat up on the edge of the table, facing his standing figure before me, and my gaze landed on his excruciatingly hard cock. He grabbed my chin and lifted my head up before pressing his wet lips harshly against mine. He tasted like me, and immediately a new wave of arousal filled my core.

As his tongue flicked into my mouth, I reached between our bodies and began stroking his cock. He thrusted into my hand instinctively, and a moan fell from his lips as his hand shot to my core where he drew torturously slow circles against my over-stimulated clit. Caught up in how good we were making the other feel, our kissing slowed and our mouths eventually turned into matching O’s; eyes shut in pure bliss. I dropped my forehead against his bare chest, and watched as our hands worked on the other’s body, slowly working up the nerve to do the one thing we hadn’t yet done with each other.

“You still want to do this?” Chris asked, his voice strained. I jolted slightly at his words, shocked at the fact that he seemed to be reading my mind. A sharp wave of pleasure hit me from his fingers and I moaned softly before looking back up at him. “Mhmm.” I breathed, meaning it. “Do you?” I asked in return as I felt his cock jump in my hand. “So much.” He replied before lowering his head and planting another deep, wet kiss against my mouth. After a moment, he grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head. He took a moment to admire my bare chest before kissing each of my painfully pebbled nipples. “God, you’re unreal Y/n.” He moaned, running firm hands against my completely naked frame. I arched my back against his touch and shut my eyes blissfully.

He leaned forward and ran his tongue along my collar bone. “You ready?” He asked. I felt his hand replace mine on his shaft, and bit my lip as I felt him line the head up with my soaked core. He used his free hand to hold firmly onto my lower back, and I wrapped my legs around his waist; using the grip to press him against me. “I’m ready.” I replied breathlessly, looking up at him through my eyelashes. Without wasting a second, Chris kept his glazed eyes on mine as he slowly pressed his hips into me. My jaw dropped as his girth stretched my walls out further than I thought possible, and the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain that can not truly be described with words turned my brain into mush.

Chris hissed as he bottomed out in me, his cock taking up every inch of my cunt. He remained still as he rested his forehead against mine, his breath erratic and hitched. “Fuck.” He finally groaned out, his body more tense than I’d ever seen it. “You okay?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck. He nodded. “I’m gonna cum in, like, record speed here Y/n.” He replied, taking deep breaths and keeping his forehead pressed to mine. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s okay Chris,” I replied, running my hands through his hair. “Just give me what you’ve got.”

My last seductive whisper seemed to give him the motivation to power through, because immediately he snapped his hips into me. I released a sharp moan from the depth of his movements, and that was enough to bring him fully back into it. Using the grip he had on my lower back, he plowed into me relentlessly. My eyes were rolled into the back of my head as I felt my walls stretch with each thrust; allowing him to hit my g-spot each time. “Jesus!” I cried out, gripping onto his shoulders in a weak attempt at holding onto my sanity.

“You’re so f-fucking tight.” Chris groaned into my shoulder as he continued to drive his ruthless cock into me. The room filled with the sounds of our bodies smacking against each other, adding to the indescribable arousal I was filled with. Chris’s hands began travelling all across my body, taking his time on my tits as his thumbs drew circles around my hardened nipples. He gave my tits a harsh squeeze before travelling down my stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my skin as he reached my clit and began rubbing it in rhythm with his thrusts. “God, keep going baby.” I moaned, wrapping my legs even tighter around Chris’s waist, “F-feels s-so good!” I cried just as Chris lifted me up off the table and slammed me into the wall. I released a sharp gasp from the shock, but as he continued pounding into me, my pleasure was intensified.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Chris growled as he nibbled against the skin on my neck. “You always this fucking wet?” His dirty words make my head spin. “N-no. I’m n-not.” I reply honestly, feeling my juices spread all over his front. A wicked smile covers his face. “Just for me then, huh?” His tone was arrogant, but there was an undertone of overwhelming arousal in it that told me he needed it to be true. I nodded my head rapidly. “Y-yes Chris! O-only this wet f-for y-you.” I managed to reply just before my second orgasm swept in and overtook me.

Just as I began riding my high — my nails digging into his skin and my mouth sputtering out profanities — Chris stilled inside of me and released a ragged “Oh fuck!”. I felt his cock pulse inside of me, painting my walls with his warm seed as my orgasm milked him dry. He released soft grunts against my neck as he rode through his own high, and I relished in the feeling of his cum as it dripped from my cunt.

After a while, both of our bodies relaxed and we rested against one another as we caught our breath. I waited for the overwhelming feeling of regret to wash over me, as one would expect it to after fucking your best friend, but it never came. In fact, I was so relaxed in that post-sex liminal space, pressed against the wall with Chris’s softening cock resting in my core, that I almost couldn’t believe that we had never done that before.

I was pulled from that thought by Chris placing a deeply passionate kiss to my lips. There was no lust, no untethered desire attached to it; it was almost as though this kiss was the end of one chapter of our lives and the beginning of a new, more exciting one. Our lips moved in slow motion, as if we had kissed like this a thousand times. With his lips still on mine, Chris slowly helped me down so my feet were on the ground. After another moment of our mouths merged as one, I pulled away and was immediately wrapped in a hug. Chris’s warm body felt so familiar, even more familiar than before, and I closed my eyes and took in the moment, as I knew it was the start of something new.

“Well, I think we have some things we should figure out,” Chris said, and I felt a soft chuckle against my head tucked into his chest. “Because I don’t know about you, but there is no way I can go the rest of my life without doing that again.” It was my turn to laugh, and I pulled myself out of his arms and looked up at his face. “I think I am officially under your spell.” I replied, feigning a smile. “Let’s go sit down and figure this all out.” I grabbed my discarded shirt and threw it over my head before walking towards my living room. “Oh by the way Y/n,” Chris grabbed me by my waist from behind as we walked through the door, “My back feels great now, in case you were curious.” I rolled my eyes with a smile and continued walking. “You have magical hands.” He whispered, and all I could do was laugh and give him a half-hearted shove.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

[unsolicited-opinions]

3/26/25

Haviv Rettig Gur on deaths in Gaza:

The full list of Gazans killed in the war has been released in Gaza. Possibly. At the very least, as Israeli analysts are now finding, there aren't duplicate ID numbers or other tells one finds in obviously manipulated data sets. But here's another reason to trust the data: It shows just how much Israel's warfighting tried to separate combatant from civilian. It seems unlikely that a faked Gazan data set would show such a result. The graph in the first tweet of this thread shows male to female deaths. If female deaths are assumed to be a civilian baseline (the age distribution is roughly the general Gazan population's age distribution), then the enormous spike of the blue line, right in the area of the graph that represents fighting-age men, is the best likely measure of combatant deaths. According to this analyst, the gap comes to over 16,000 dead, or almost exactly a third of total deaths. That's a Gazan data set, not an Israeli one. And it's the most complete one so far, the only one that claims to give all the names of all the dead, the one most likely to be an honest recording of the actual dead. And according to this data set, the death toll in Gaza is two civilians to each combatant, well in line with the highest standards of modern democratic armies. To be clear - this caveat is obvious, but it's important enough to say it explicitly nonetheless - the debate isn't over whether children died in Gaza or crimes were committed. The answer to both is yes. There were definitely and unquestionably war crimes committed in Gaza, air strikes that should not have been carried out. And there are thousands of dead children in this data set. The debate is over the extent, whether these are at a level consistent with the inevitable costs of even the most legitimate kind of war, which will always be horrible, or whether the best data we have shows wanton Israeli killing and disregard for moral rules and international laws. Israel's haters will tweet pictures of dead children in response. If they did that for every war, I'd take them seriously and sympathetically. But the vast majority of them don't. They don't care about dead children, only about destroying Israel. And so they can't actually tell us anything about whether our army, broadly speaking, has fought morally. But this data set can. All war is evil, all war is hell, all war is a kind of civilizational failure. But war is sometimes nevertheless legitimate and inevitable. International humanitarian law came about not to end war, because ending war is impossible, but to mitigate its evils. If this data set is correct - again, a data set released from Gaza and not at all intended to validate any Israeli argument about its battlefield standards - then the costs imposed on Gaza by Israeli warfighting methods are consistent with what is generally considered in the West to be moral and legitimate. It is a comparable ratio to the 2016 Battle of Mosul in which Iraq, the Kurds and America drove ISIS out of the city. War is bad. I respect people who vehemently oppose this one, who question the Israeli political leadership's decisions, who use the war to debate the larger question of Palestinian independence and statehood. These are all legitimate responses to the suffering of Gazans. As is the argument I personally agree with that this war was the only path available to us to rid ourselves and Gaza of the neverending and endlessly destructive scourge of Hamas. But it nevertheless matters - indeed, it may be the most important thing over the long term - that this war's civilian casualties were not worse than other comparable wars, and that even Gazan data sets show that to be the case.

The thread to which Haviv refers is here

[foldingfittedsheets]

Hands down one of my worst experiences in high school was when the seniors decided to extort the entire school by using tactics that were banned by the UN to get them to pay for the senior party! If that sounds like a wild sentiment stay tuned because this shit got crazy.

I was living in Arizona at the time and I was a freshman. Our campus was largely open air, with walks between class room buildings and some covered outdoor tables. Our event began with a morning announcement. The seniors were collecting donations for the senior party, and when they reached their goal, their fundraising method would stop.

Their fundraising method:

To pipe the entire schools speakers with "If You're Happy and You Know It" on loop. To this day, I cannot hear this song without experiencing a degree of rage and madness that is frankly alarming. One of the worst parts of the entire thing was that the recording they chose had the female singer do a little clap and say "Yay-ha-hey," at the end. So it wasn't just the song, it was this awful little cooldown stinger at the end.

If this sounds a lot like psychological torture you'd be extremely correct! This practice has been banned in some countries, but the good old US hasn't ruled it a human rights violation, and what a fun silly way to raise money, that definitely wasn't damaging to adolescent psyches!

Every morning for 15 minutes before school began, every passing period, every lunch, and after school for another 15 minutes they blasted that fucking song on unceasing repeat through every speaker in the school. Everyone found different ways of coping with this and mine was to observe my classmates descent into madness and categorize the stages.

The first stage was almost completely consistent, and it was a smug almost exasperated eye rolling phase. Often accompanied by derisive comments about the song or the tactic, this phase was extremely mildly annoyed. Most people figured it would blow over soon, and no one anticipated this continuing for a week and a half, creating a miasma of fraught tension.

The second phase was elevated annoyance, starting to snap and be less amused characterized this level of irritation. People would try to cover their ears or put on headphones, humming aggressively to block out the syrupy repulsive children's performer with her loathsome little clap. This phase had people picking their absolute least favorite part of the song. Her inflection on certain words, her timing between verses. I think it's pretty clear already which part I hated most.

The next phase was a bounce back out to absurdity. It became funny how annoying it was and people would sing along as if to challenge the song's authority over their psyche. This paired exceptionally poorly with people in phase two as they'd often lash out at the people giving more voice to their hell.

The fourth phase was a dead-eyed madness. People would stare straight ahead and their lips would silently mouth the familiar words. The song had pounded its way into their very soul and was inextricably linked to auditory output. They often didn't even realize if they began chanting along.

The fifth and final phase was pure uncut pubescent rage. Kids would scream, attack each other, and in a truly epic end to the event hurl a cafeteria chair with such force at the speaker in the cafeteria to irreparably damage the sound system.

The seniors got funding for a party, but some of it had to go to repair the damages, which were substantial.

[mariacallous]

Not long after the November election, new members of Congress gather for a couple of weeks of orientation. Consistent with that tradition, Sarah McBride, a Delaware Democrat, made the short trip from Wilmington to D.C. to meet with her fellow first-termers. At a hotel in the capital, she learned about the lottery for office space, how to assemble a staff, and the intricacies of the legislative process. As the first transgender member of Congress in history, she also experienced an orientation in naked aggression. Within days of her arrival, Nancy Mace, a Republican from South Carolina, introduced a resolution that would restrict access to all “single-sex facilities” on Capitol Hill to those of the “corresponding biological sex.” In other words, Mace sought a bathroom bill—and made clear that she “absolutely” intended it as a reaction to McBride.

“I’m not going to stand for a man, you know, someone with a penis, in the women’s locker room,” Mace, who had claimed to be “pro-transgender rights” as recently as last year, said of her new proposal. She also added an odd, pseudo-feminist twist: “It’s offensive that a man in a skirt thinks that he’s my equal.” Mace found support among Republicans, including Speaker Mike Johnson and Marjorie Taylor Greene, who, according to Politico, told colleagues that she would fight McBride were the two of them ever to meet in a women’s bathroom on the Hill.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was among those who leapt to McBride’s defense, calling the bill “disgusting.” McBride, for her part, refused to take the bait, saying that she would “follow the rules as outlined by Speaker Johnson, even if I disagree with them.”

McBride was born in Wilmington; her father was a lawyer and her mother a high-school guidance counselor. At American University, she was active in Democratic politics and worked on Beau Biden’s campaign for Delaware attorney general. In her senior year, she served as student-body president, and ended her term by publishing a moving coming-out article for the Eagle, the A.U. paper, called “The Real Me.”

McBride had been hesitant to acknowledge her trans identity, she explained, because that might prevent her from pursuing a career in politics. “I wrestled with the idea that my dream and my identity seemed mutually exclusive; I had to pick,” she wrote. In the end, she realized that she would have to embrace both: “My life was passing me by, and I was done wasting it as someone I wasn’t.”

In 2020, McBride was elected to the Delaware State Senate. And this November she was elected to the United States House. At the start of our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, she seemed determined to keep her cool, despite the insult she had just suffered. “I think in many ways I got a fuller orientation this week, where I actually got to see not just the nuts and bolts of Congress,” she said drily, “but also some of the performance of Congress, too.”

Well, let’s talk about that. Nancy Mace, one of your colleagues now, immediately came forward and decided that this would be a good time, a perfect time, to introduce a bathroom bill, all directed at you. How did you take this piece of what can only be called aggression?

I always knew that there would be some members of the Republican caucus who would seek to use my service representing the greatest state in the Union in Congress as an opportunity for them to distract from the fact that they have absolutely no real policy solutions for the issues that actually plague this country. And, in some cases, to grab headlines themselves. I was not surprised that there was an effort to politicize an issue that no one truly cares about—what bathroom I use. I did think that it might wait until January. It happened a little earlier than I anticipated. I was still getting lost in the tunnels of the Capitol when we got the news that this was coming.

What was your first reaction to it?

“Here we go.” Throughout the campaign, I really focussed my campaign on my record in the Delaware General Assembly: of passing paid leave, expanding access to health care, and the kitchen-table issues that I know keep voters across Delaware up at night that I will be working on in Congress, like lowering the cost of housing, health care, and child care. But, as I got questions about the added responsibilities that sometimes come with being a first, the first thing I would always say is that I know that the only way I can do right by any community I’m a part of is to quite simply be the best member of Congress for Delaware that I can be, to be an effective member working on all of the issues that matter.

When I was watching this play out on television, reading about it, in the past week or two, I looked up how the first Black member of Congress was received, Hiram Revels. This is in the nineteenth century. He was treated with a great deal more respect than you were. I understand your desire to be poised about this, and straightforward, and to move the issues to the issues you ran on. But I wonder what your emotional reaction was to what you could only have taken as an enormous gesture of deep disrespect.

Look, I’m human, and it never feels good to be used as an opportunity to get headlines. It never feels good to have people talk about deeply personal things. I think I knew what I was signing up for, though; I know what the Republican Party in this country, in Congress, has become.

Which is what?

A party that is more interested in performance art and being professional provocateurs than being serious legislators and a serious governing party. I think they have come to the conclusion that they are able to get enough votes if they occasionally throw red meat to folks, because that red meat might satiate what is an authentic crisis of hope that I think people across this country face right now.

I think we have to be crystal clear in calling them out on what they are doing, and pull the curtain back to really dull the effect that these manufactured culture wars have on the American voter. Some people do receive this red meat, and it resonates with them—it makes them feel better, but it doesn’t actually address the real pain in their lives. And I think we should be calling that out and obviously modelling an approach to governing that genuinely solves the real problems that people are facing that create a level of insecurity and fear that allows for culture wars to satiate at least something instantaneously.

But I truly believe that if we solve problems, if we are serious, people respond. I’ve seen that in Delaware as we have passed paid leave, raised the minimum wage. Voters here in Delaware are sort of bucking this national trend. We’ve expanded our majorities both in 2022 and 2024 in the Delaware General Assembly, I believe, as a byproduct of a record of results that voters are responding to, and a message focussed on kitchen-table issues and economic issues. And it’s allowed us to not only expand our majorities but to break through the culture wars that the Republican Party has pursued. Because we’re in Delaware, in the Philadelphia media market—we are getting those anti-trans Trump ads pumped into our state like we were in Pennsylvania. And yet, despite that, running on a message of paid leave, higher minimum wage, union protections, a trans candidate not only won here in Delaware but actually outperformed every major Democrat running for major office in Delaware statewide.

And yet the notorious ads that ended with “Kamala Harris is for they/them, President Trump is for you”—ads that were oriented around anti-trans sentiment—not only did they occur, they worked. Certainly, they worked in the interpretation of not only the Republicans but the press at large. They ran them over and over again and poured millions of dollars into them.

So, first off, I think there are two things. One, this country is still entering into a conversation about trans people. This country still is at a Trans 101 spot. And one of the things I think Democrats have to be more mindful of is that leaders should always be out in front of public opinion, but, in order to foster change in public opinion, we’ve got to be within arm’s distance of the public so that we can pull them along with us. If we get too out ahead of it, we lose our grip and we’re unable to pull the public with us.

Is that what’s responsible for your calm in talking about this? I remember very well that Barack Obama, when he was running for State Senate in Illinois, got a questionnaire, and one of the questions was “Are you for gay marriage?” He didn’t say yes. Now, everything I know about Barack Obama tells me that, at that time, a clear “no” was not his real sentiment, but that he didn’t want to get too far out ahead, for political reasons. He clearly changed later on. Is that part of your calculus in the way you talk about this? Because Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez answered Nancy Mace in much more vitriolic terms.

I think there is a space for diversity of messengers and a diversity of message. I would never presume what was in Barack Obama’s heart and mind on the issue of marriage equality. Many people authentically evolved. What we do know is that, as the movement for marriage equality moved forward, the most effective messengers for marriage were not same-sex couples, were not parents of same-sex couples or kids of same-sex couples. The most effective messengers for marriage equality were those who evolved. And they were effective because they gave a permission structure to people who had not yet gotten there that it was O.K. to be uncomfortable, it was O.K. to be on the other side of the issue. You weren’t a bad person; you weren’t wrong.

My motto has always been: I’ll extend grace so long as people demonstrate growth. But that is a two-way street. And I think that we are shooting ourselves in the foot, as people who believe in progress, when we create no incentive for people to grow, because they perceive that they will be permanently guilty for having been wrong. We create no space for them to grow by extending no grace for them to actually walk there. I think one of the reasons why we see people pushed into their respective corners is because you say something that’s deemed problematic, and you are immediately hounded by one side and immediately embraced by the other side. Human nature is to—when faced with that degree of extreme binary reactions—go to the people who are validating you instantaneously. We unintentionally actually push people further and further into their own corners and into their negative opinion by responding with a degree of condemnation and vitriol that creates no incentive and space for them to grow.

But I actually want to say something on those ads, because you did say the key sentence in that ad. It wasn’t the surgery point, it wasn’t the undocumented-immigrant point, it wasn’t the trans point, it was the concept in that line that Kamala Harris, according to the ad, was for a small group of people, and Donald Trump was there for “you.” The lesson of this moment, of this last week, is that we should be flipping that script. Because that’s the authentic thing—Kamala Harris was for everyone. And Democrats are for everyone. And every single time Republicans focus in on a small vulnerable group of people, not only are they trying to distract from the fact that they have no real solutions—not only are they trying to employ the politics of misdirection, to move your attention away from the fact that in that same moment they’re trying to pick the pocket of American workers, undermine union protections, and fleece seniors by privatizing Medicare through the back door—but every bit of time and energy that is diverted to attack trans people, that diverts the attention of the federal government away toward attacking trans people, is time and energy that is not being spent on you. It’s time and attention that’s not being spent on raising your wages or improving your benefits or lowering the cost of living. These attacks have costs. Republicans are focussed on attacking a small group of people, and we are here to actually address the issues that you care about.

You’ve now had a week with your new colleagues, and I wonder what kind of support, or the opposite, you felt in your orientation sessions after Nancy Mace made the statement she did.

I have been overwhelmed and heartened by the love and the support of my Democratic colleagues. It was stunning. I got to Washington, and I’m at orientation. I’m grateful that I had a week before all of this started, because I had a week to just marvel at the fact that I was there. I had a week to marvel at the fact that I am serving in a body that Abraham Lincoln served in. One of the first nights we were there, we gathered in Statuary Hall, which is the Old Hall of the House, which is where Abraham Lincoln served. And then, after we gathered there, we walked onto the floor of the United States House of Representatives, where they moved in 1857, just before the Civil War broke out. And we sat in the chairs and I thought, This is the space where the Thirteenth Amendment and the Fourteenth Amendment were passed. This is the space where women got the right to vote. This is the space, these are the chairs. This is the job of the people who voted to pass the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act. And you feel this awesome responsibility, not just to deliver on the tangible policies for the constituents you serve in that moment, but you also feel that deep responsibility as you realize that you are one of a little more than five hundred people who have the responsibility to be stewards of a democracy—of the longest ongoing democracy in the world. That is an awe-inspiring responsibility.

I’m really grateful that I had that opportunity. But what was made that much more meaningful was that in that second week, as all of this noise happened—as I continued to be focussed on the actual work that I was there to do—the love and the support that came in from my Democratic colleagues really reinforced what I had already been hearing, which is that that caucus is a family.

And what about the Republican side? Did you get any support from there?

Yes. Look, there was a lot unsaid, but there was kindness and clear intentionality to say, “Welcome to Congress. It’s wonderful to serve with you.” That was quite a contrast to some of the other behavior we saw that week.

People actually coming up to you from the Republican side and embracing you in one way or another?

Yes. Staff and members.

The Speaker of the House, Mike Johnson, released a statement that said all single-sex facilities are for people of that “biological” sex. You responded to this on X, formerly Twitter (it’s interesting that you’re still on Twitter!), by calling this a distraction and saying that you’ll follow the rules as outlined by Johnson. But what do you say to people in the trans community who think you didn’t go far enough?

I understand that, at a moment where you are scared, you want to see someone fight. I understand that when you are a first, there are a lot of people who never dreamed that something like this would be possible, who are living on that journey with you. And so they feel very deeply the experience of discrimination. They feel very viscerally the experience of disrespect. I think what I would say is, This was not done to bar me from restrooms. This was done to invite me to take the bait and to fight. I am maintaining my power by turning the other cheek and doing what I promised Delawareans I would do, which is to focus on the job in front of me. Yes, when that calls for me to defend my L.G.B.T.Q. constituents, I will do that; when it calls on me to defend workers in my state, I will do that; when it calls on me to defend retirees in my state, I will do that. But I should not be the issue.

You must have anticipated, if not this, then something like it. And of course you are a first, a historical first. Do you face a lot of threats?

I think one of the problems in our politics right now is the level of toxicity has resulted in far too many people seeking to solve political disputes not at the ballot box but through violence. I am certainly not alone in Congress in having to think through that. I think it’s very early. There have been moments throughout my life where I have had to be cognizant. I’ve never had a job where I have not received death threats. Literally, I have never had a job—even when I was in my first, junior-level position.

How do you handle them?

Well, fortunately, we’ve got great law enforcement here in Delaware that I have worked with over the course of this campaign and throughout my time in the State Senate. Look, one of the things that I grappled with when I decided to run for this position is the risk that comes with being a first at this level. Even though I didn’t run to be a first, there’s obviously risk that comes with it. And there was a moment where I almost didn’t do it. Because of the fear.

Tell me about that. Was it a specific incident or just a generalized fear?

There were some rumors about what some far-right-wing groups might try to do, should I run.

When did this come up?

This was before I announced. There was a lot of speculation about me running.

So what within you allowed you to make the leap and declare yourself a candidate for Congress?

A couple of things. First off, I think that we delude ourselves into thinking that people don’t take these types of steps without fear. People aren’t fearless. Bravery only comes into play when you face those fears, when you pursue something despite the fears. I really do believe that we are at an inflection point where we need a politics of grace in this country if we are going to have any chance at not only restoring our capacity to have a national dialogue, which is fundamentally necessary in a democracy, but actually making government work better. I genuinely felt like I had something to contribute in that respect. I think I know how to get things done. I know how to legislate.

But you’re going to have to embody grace—and there’s every sign that you already do—but with a President who says, publicly, something like this: “Your kid goes to school and a few days later comes home with an operation.” That’s the President of the United States, come January 20th. How do you combat that, and all that’s behind it, and embody grace?

I think a couple of things, and I think this extends beyond Donald Trump. So I’m going to step back a little bit. I think Democrats struggle with extending one of our basic principles—which is that no one is their worst act, no one is their worst belief—to people on the other side of the political divide. I’m not talking about Donald Trump right now. I’m talking about Republicans. The question here is not how do I demonstrate grace in the face of Donald Trump; it’s how do I demonstrate grace in a world where people that I work with—where even people that I represent—hold positions and beliefs about who I am that are personally hurtful, potentially.

I think all of us need to do a better job of seeing the humanity of people on the other side of the aisle. Because I think what happens in this country right now is: The left says to the right, “What do you know about pain, white straight man? My pain is real, as an L.G.B.T.Q. person.” And the right says to the left, “What do you know about pain, college-educated, cosmopolitan élite? My pain is real, in a post-industrial community ravaged by the opioid crisis.” And I know that, when I am upset, the worst thing that someone can say to me, even if it is said with the best of intentions, is “It’s not as bad as you think.” Any therapist will tell you that the first step to healing is to have your pain seen and validated. And I think all of us have to do a better job of recognizing that people don’t have to be right in our mind for what they’re facing to be wrong. And people don’t have to be right in our minds for us to try to right that wrong. That comes down to sort of a core recognition that every single person is more than just one thing about them. And every single person is more than even beliefs that might personally hurt many other people. And the other thing I’ll say on that is to a similar point: early on in my career, I went viral for something.

Do you remember what it was?

Ironically enough, I was an advocate. It was a selfie in a bathroom in North Carolina that I was technically barred from being in.

I see.

The vitriol that came back to me as a twentysomething-year-old was so dehumanizing and so cruel and so mean. It was the closest in my life that I have ever been to suicide becoming a rational thought. I wasn’t suicidal, but it was the first moment where I just went, I want to end this miserable experience.

What was coming at you?

I mean just the level of online bullying and harassment. It was amazing to me that people—person after person—telling me to kill myself could actually hurt me. But it was an onslaught. And, again, I was twenty-five. I was new to all this, and I thought, Maybe I don’t have skin thick enough for this. I sort of went on a journey to understand the psychology of trolling and bullying. I think it was a “This American Life” podcast by a writer who talks a lot about her own weight and grapples with her own body image in a really public and vulnerable way, talking about the experience that she had writing about that hurt and getting outreach from one of her worst bullies and trolls online—someone who had created a Twitter account as her deceased father to troll her from—who opened up to her about what was motivating him. And, listening to that conversation, it really helped me internalize a truth that has allowed me to find balance and grace in the face of hatred or cruelty. And that was: Everyone deals with an insecurity. Everyone deals with something that society has told them that they should be ashamed of or that they should hide. And the thing about me is that I have taken that insecurity, that thing that society has said you should be ashamed of and you should keep quiet—and I’ve not only accepted it but I walk forward from a place of pride in it. Bullies see that. They see that individual agency and conquering my own fears and insecurities, and they’re jealous of that. That has allowed me to find compassion for folks who respond to me in sometimes the way that they do, to recognize that I hope, too, they can find the power to overcome whatever pain is plaguing them.

And so much so that when Nancy Mace made the comments that she did, and put forward the bill that she did—are you able to see it in those terms and not receive the attacks with the same despair that you did when you were in your twenties?

Yes. Yes.

That’s an enormous transformation.

I won’t say that it doesn’t hurt, but, yes, I am not distracted in the same way that I was.

“Distracted” is a small word for it. I mean, what you felt in your twenties must’ve been a lot worse than “distracted,” no?

Yeah. I am able to contextualize it and not feel the pain as much. Again, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt, but I am able to work through it.

How? That’s a very hard thing. Is it therapy? Is it maturation? Is it living in your skin ten years longer? What is it?

I think the last two: I think it’s maturation, and I think it’s just finding a confidence in myself that allows me not to internalize. I really do seek to find compassion for the people who are acting out, who say the things that they do, because that does help me. That does help me to try to see and understand where a person is coming from, even if the action itself explicitly or implicitly is not well-intentioned, even if it’s being done for cynical purposes—to try to understand that there’s still a person behind that and maybe there’s something in their life that has pushed them to engage in the way that they’re engaging.

In a certain number of weeks, you’re not only going to have to hear about Nancy Mace, you’re going to have to work with her. And you talk a lot about “working across the aisle,” which is a phrase that we hear from politicians all the time. This takes on new levels of meaning—“working across the aisle with Nancy Mace.” Can you do it?

Well, I look forward to working with colleagues on the Republican side of the aisle who are serious about the work that they’re doing. Who have disagreements with me, perhaps profound disagreements with me, but who are serious about getting things done.

For the first time in our conversation, I sense you’re reluctant to answer the question directly. With all respect.

I will work with anyone who’s willing to work with me. And I don’t know this individual member of Congress—I had barely heard of her before this. I will never say that anyone is beyond redemption.

I want to zoom out a bit now and talk about your own unique path to politics and congress. Your late husband, Andrew Cray, was an L.G.B.T.Q.+ health advocate and attorney. What kind of work did he focus on, and what of his legacy can be seen in your own political career and direction?

Andy was the kindest, smartest, and—this is very important for me in a partner—the goofiest person that I had ever met. Just a really good and decent person.

How did you meet?

We bumped into each other at a White House Pride reception during the fourth year of the Obama Administration, 2012. After that, he reached back out to me on social media, on Facebook, and he said that he thought we’d get along “swimmingly.” I thought, Who the hell in their twenties says the word “swimmingly”? But clearly someone I want to spend some time with. So we went out on a date, and I fell in love pretty quickly.

Was he already sick?

No. He was an attorney, as you mentioned, working on health policy, and he was actually working on the implementation of the Affordable Care Act. He was a brilliant mind, but also—and I think this goes back to our conversation about grace—he was so principled. I remember we had a debate once where he won me over—where we had a debate about whether it was appropriate to out anti-L.G.B.T.Q. politicians who were in the closet themselves. I was of the mind that their hypocrisy called on us to out them. And he was of the mind that the principle that we are fighting for—that everyone should be able to live their life fully and freely, be able to live their sexual orientation and gender identity, the way they see fit and the way they need to—if that is not an unbreakable first principle, then what is? And principles only matter when you have seemingly altruistic reasons to violate them. He was someone of just immense grace, principled grace.

He got sick about a year into our relationship. He developed a sore on his tongue and went in thinking it was just a benign growth. He had a little minor surgery to remove the benign growth, which was aborted in the middle of the procedure as they realized perhaps that it was something more. About a week later, he was diagnosed with oral cancer. It was a shock to both of us. I mean, we were both young invincibles, something that he had written about as he worked on the A.C.A., right? We never would’ve imagined that cancer would enter our lives in our mid-twenties, but we knew from the very start how lucky we were. He knew in particular, given his work, how lucky he was to have health insurance. And we were both very lucky to have flexibility with our jobs that allowed Andy to get care: a twelve-hour surgery that left him having to relearn how to talk, how to eat, how to breathe. I was lucky to be there by his side to care for him, to suction his tracheostomy tube, to tend to his wounds, to hold his hand through the absolute fear.

And then eventually, when his cancer turned out to be terminal, to be there by his side, to marry him, and to walk him to his passing, which happened a couple of days after we were fortunate enough to get married in our building. My brother, who’s a radiation oncologist, said to me, “I’ve seen a lot of people pass away from cancer. And one thing you should try to take stock of over the weeks ahead, as Andy’s health deteriorates, is that you are going to bear witness to acts of amazing grace that will fill your life.” And truly that grace and those miracles were everywhere. I think it has fundamentally shifted my perspective on the world and my ability to see that grace, to see beauty and tragedy, and to recognize that hope, as an emotion, only makes sense in the face of hardship.

In other words, you’re thinking about him all the time through this?

Yes. Yes.

And what does that do for you?

It makes me feel less alone in navigating this. It makes me feel more confident in what I’m doing and how I’m trying to go about this. There’s certainly things that I wish I could talk to him about and get his perspective on, but I try to take the lessons from our couple of years together and try to draw those lessons into action in this moment.

We began our conversation with you talking about how moved you were to be in the halls of Congress for the first time as a soon-to-be member, and seeing and sensing all that had happened in progressive terms, in liberatory terms, over time and in previous centuries. My guess is that this is not going to characterize the next two years for you in Congress. The Democratic Party, in large measure, will be fighting a rear-guard action against all kinds of initiatives by a Trump Presidency in a Republican Congress. How do you anticipate the coming next two years? What kind of role will the Democrats and you play? What will be your day-to-day life, do you think?

Well, there’s no question that we’ve got our work cut out for us. There’s no question that we’re going to have to push back on a lot of damaging and dangerous policies.

But, look, I think the biggest challenge for us is not that we understand that there’s a fight. And we will do the work. The challenge is going to be to summon the hope necessary to see that fight through. I think that one of the challenges that we have in this country right now, particularly for Democrats, is that, really since the nineteen-sixties, it has felt like if we simply work for it, if we vote for it, if we volunteer, if we share our stories, if we lift our voices, that we can then inevitably bend the arc of the moral universe toward justice. And we felt that, I think particularly, in 2008 and when we elected Barack Obama, and then A.C.A. passed, and marriage equality became a law of the land. It just felt like there was this sort of unfolding sense of great progress.

It feels different right now. It doesn’t feel like, if we simply work for it and fight for it, that change will come, that things will work out. We can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. But the other thing that I thought about, as I sat in that chair on the floor of the House, was about not only the elected officials that served there but all of the advocates and activists and citizens who lived through those different chapters in our country’s history. We have to recognize that that sense of inevitability with hard work that we felt twenty years ago, thirty years ago—that’s the exception in our country’s history. Every single previous generation of Americans has been called to conquer odds much greater than the ones that we’re facing right now. And they had every reason to believe that change would not come. They could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. Enslaved people in the eighteen-fifties had no reason to believe that an Emancipation Proclamation was on the horizon. Unemployed workers during the early days of the Great Depression had never heard of a New Deal. Patrons at the Stonewall Inn never knew of a country where they could live openly and authentically as themselves. And yet they persevered. They summoned their hope, they found that light, and ultimately they changed the world.

The narrative you describe is very, how do I put it—Obamian? It reminds me of Obama’s speech in Selma, the last one he gave there as President, about a kind of parade of American heroic advance. And when I talk to a lot of younger people in my office, in my life, in my family, they don’t all share the sense of determined hope that you do. There’s a good deal of depression—if not giving up, then a kind of sense that these are going to be very dark times to come. And with all the emergencies surrounding us, at home and abroad, and environmentally, it’s very hard to muster hope. As a politician, as a member of Congress, what do you tell them?

You cannot tell me that the reasons for hopelessness now are greater than the reasons for hopelessness of an enslaved person. You cannot tell me that the reasons for hopelessness now are greater than the insecurity and the fear of workers in the midst of the Great Depression, and a country that very easily could have fallen into totalitarianism and fascism, as many liberal democracies around the world were falling into that, in the early thirties.

Hope is not always an organic emotion. Sometimes we have to consciously find it and consciously summon it. And, yes, there are big challenges right now. Maybe those challenges are insurmountable. Maybe we will be, because of social media, incapable of restoring our capacity to have a national dialogue. Maybe because of the culture that we live in right now, we will no longer be able to have conversations across disagreement. Maybe because of unchecked wealth and corporate power, we won’t be able to conquer climate change. The list goes on. Maybe. But we would be the first generation of Americans to give up on this country, and we would be the first generation of Americans who were unable to find the path forward. And I just don’t believe that we are. And I certainly believe that we don’t have to be.

[gingernut1314]

Good Omen

Kyojuro Rengoku x F!Reader

Summary: The Rengoku genes are hard to fight against, but your newborn child finds a way.

Warnings: gendered terms (wife, husband, female, male), reader has just given birth (birth not show), Kyojuro being the supportive man that is his

Word Count: 840+

A/N: First time writing for Kyojuro and I don't know why I haven't before this because I LOVE that man too much. He is one of my many, dearly beloved husbands ✋���. I hope you all enjoy!

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You had pushed out a carbon copy of Kyojuro Rengoku.

You had thought maybe--maybe your genes would stand a chance in the creation of your child.

You thought that maybe the sweet new life you would bring into this world might have your nose or your eyes or even your cheekbones.

You, of course, thought wrong. 

You didn’t know why you had hoped so passionately for your child to look like you, not when the entirety of the Rengoku line looked like one person had transported himself through time to live with himself from various different ages.

Bushy and wild yellow hair already grew from your sweet babes head. Bright, red and yellow-rimmed, owl-wide eyes blinked up at you. Pointed nose, high cheekbones, strong grip around your finger, and small but dark eyebrows.

This baby was your husband's clone, just as he and his brother had been clones of their father, and their father a clone of his father. 

The one thing you had gifted your baby--the one thing that seemed to have fought tooth and nail through the overwhelming power of Rengoku genealogy had you worrying your lip between your teeth. 

Your baby was born female. 

Female when generation after generation of Rengoku and Flame Hashira had been male. 

You couldn’t help the bit of panic that wound tightly in your chest as you turned your gaze from your baby to your husband, who burst into your room eyes shining and smile so wide you thought the corners might brush the lobe of each ear. 

“How is my darling wife?” Kyojuro’s voice boomed through the room, making your midwives cringe and shush him. You, nor it seemed your child, cared. You were used to it, comforted by its consistent optimism, and your baby seemed to feel the same way. 

Kyojuro noticed the shushes and whispered an apology back. A whisper that still managed to be projected further than your midwives cared for. 

“Sweetheart,” You started as Kyojuro gracefully knelt next to where you sat. 

“Yes?” He murmured, softer now that he was leaning closer to gaze upon his baby. You moved her so that you could present her sleeping face to her father. 

“The baby…she’s--well she’s a girl.” You heard Kyojuro take a small inhale of breath and your panic spiked. There hadn’t been a single girl in his family for generations. Not one and here you were, giving him a female heir. 

You had never known your husband to grow angered. To get mad at you but--maybe this was the line? Maybe it was the line and you were panicking to know what he was thinking. 

“Perfect!” He boomed spooking the midwives, some of who gave strangled yelps. “Perfect!” He repeated proudly. “A girl? Are you sure?” He turned to look back at you in his excitement, yellow and red eyes--they were brimming with tears as they looked at you. You felt your own eyes burn in relief. In your utter love for the man kneeling beside you. 

“Yes, I’m sure. You’re not mad?” Kyojuro gave a barking laugh at such a thought.

“Mad? No. I’m ecstatic!” You gave your own laugh, your tears spilling from your eyes. Kyojuro brushed his calloused thumb over your cheeks, clearing them both of the racing droplets. “You know there hasn’t been a single female Rengoku since the beginning of our family line.” You nodded, giving a humming “mm-hmm” that caught in your throat, which had tightened painfully in your fear. “Many believed we were divinely blessed for this, but I always felt it was a curse.” 

“Do you want to hold her?” 

“More than anything.” Kyojuro beamed. You gently passed your baby to her father, her dark brows furrowing at the sudden change. 

Kyojuro never once took his eyes off his child. Didn’t stop to brush his own tears away as he took in every last detail of your daughter's face, a look of such love in his eyes it was overwhelming. 

“You are special. A good omen.” He whispered down to her. “And I love you. Oh dear--how my heart bursts for you.” 

Your own heart felt like it would flutter so hard it would explode right from your chest at the words he gifted his daughter. He was a good man and already a good father.

You brushed your own fingers over his cheeks, clearing them of his tears and running them through his wild hair. 

“Want to invite Senjuro in?” 

“Only if you wish, dear.” You nodded your head and Kyojuro took a few more, unhurried minutes to hold and watch over his child before passing her back to you. As soon as she was securely within your hold once more, he was popping up to his feet. 

“Senjuro!” He called, giving the midwives another frightful start. You watched your husband rush out of the room, lips in a near-painful smile as you chuckled at his excitement. “Senjuro! My baby is a girl! She’s a girl!” 

You had been completely foolish to worry. 

You and your daughter were in very good and loving hands.

[lunarcowgirl]

feelings unfettered | three

I am a helpless victim of my own crush on this man, take a part three of my goofy little jack abbot x f!doctor!reader fic <33

you can read part one here, and part two here !!

not my gif! but i am foaming at the mouth because of it! follow @ho-ii for all your juicy jack abbot gif needs x

~

yeah, there's something in the air at your shared post-confession breakfast. and it's not just 50 years worth of oil from the diner fryer.

~

from the office of the author: literally obsessed with my own creations so I've made a part three. it's not my fault, blame shawn and his facial structure and chosen character aura of dork/loser/demon-in-the-sheets. more soon? i'm scared of smut but then again i'm scared of not seeing these two get freaky

REQUESTS IN THE ASK BOX PLS!!!

warnings/content: 10+ year age gap, very EaRNEST feelings from these two, mentions of the horrors of american foods, author disrespects consistent perspective and grammatical rules like they owe her money, veryyyy minimal angst, mostly fluff, someone gets a their ass grabbed as a treat <33

word count: 2.6k (woooo baby we're back)

Dr Abbot considered himself to be in control of his own hands at all times and places thank you very much. He had over 30 years of experience in the profession of control. He had studied it, mastered it. It was not his fault that just 20 minutes prior to this moment your lips had been at his throat and your body so very soft under his touch. Now the mere two feet of sticky diner table between the two of you seemed an ocean. Would it be so strange, he pondered, to pull your chair around to be beside him? To bump knees and elbows into each other, for plates to stack and glasses to get mixed up in the bubble of space carved just for the two of you? He coughed slightly at the path of his own brain, embarrassed at the enormity of his feelings.

You were focused on the menu, eyes ticking down the options with care, lips formed into a rosebud pout. Jack wanted to crawl across the divide and kiss you silly, to taste the sweetness and the redness and to hear your heartbeat’s call from your throat. He wanted to feel that fizzing life under his hands, he wanted you to laugh your laugh into his mouth so he could swallow it whole, he wanted—

The shrill screech of a pack of kids attempting a prison break called him swiftly to earth, their poor father one poorly timed arm barrier away from a dislocated shoulder. He really, really, didn’t want to have to be a doctor right now. In fact, it seemed mighty appealing to give up the healing business altogether and put all his energy into memorising every last thing there was to know about you. Some dam wall within him had broken up on the roof, now every truth he’d covered up and hidden and repressed now sitting out in the unfettered daylight. It was terrifying…and exhilarating.

“I can never decide between sweet and savoury when it comes to breakfast.” You declared, slamming the menu down in a huff.

An endeared smile twitched at the corner of Jack’s mouth. He filed the information away, “Why not have both?”

Your eyebrows raised just a touch, a smirk appearing, “Why Dr Abbot, what a dangerous proposition…”

Jack shrugged, if only to dislodge the growing warmth in his chest, “When was the last time you ate? Your body could do with the carbs and sugar.”

In a flash your hand was across the table, grabbing his and raising it to your mouth. Two quick kisses were pressed to his knuckles, “Finally, a man that supports women’s right to choose both.”

You bit your bottom lip at your own cheek, winked and carefully deposited his hand back to him in exchange for the menu once more.

Oh God he was going to eat. You. Alive. You looked so innocent, as you kindly waved over a waitress, ordering in a clear, polite voice. What he wouldn’t give to have that polite mouth all over him.

For two people who had spent more time in uniform than either would like to admit, you had vastly different approaches to the return to American food. Jack had remained staunch in his habits, maintaining his belief that well-done toast with bacon and eggs was all a person really needed. Butter, perhaps, if one felt luxurious. You on the other hand, had spent each and every moment on foreign soil waiting for the moment you could feel the preservatives hit your veins again.

“I don’t care that I’m a doctor,” You said, smoothing cream across your already syrup soaked waffle, “If food cannot hold pleasure, then neither can life.”

Jack had finished his meal in a flash, eating like he was being chased. Now he had all the time in the world to lean back and watch you, noting and labelling every pronouncement and observation you made, filing them away in a little part of his mind that until now, he hadn’t allowed himself to open.

You took a big bite, nose scrunching in delight, shoulders dancing at an amount of sugar running through your system that would likely kill a small child. Jack was keeping a very firm hold on his own elbows, fingers digging into the skin to prevent it from falling straight off his bones. There was syrup, right in the corner of your mouth that you hadn’t noticed, lost in your own ecstasy.

The older he’d become, the easier is was to just surrender. To drift. His hand swept across the table in one smooth motion, his thumb finding your skin, wiping the sugar away. Your eyes flew open, surprise bright and red and hot on your cheeks. One soft blink, another - like you were seeing him for the very first time. His touch lingered there, drawing a soft reverent line across your bottom lip, relishing the fullness of it. If he couldn’t have those lips on his face, his neck and mouth, then he’d have them all over his fingers. It was barely a thought then, to draw back and bring his thumb into his own mouth. The man that never even looked sideways at sugar having his fill of it, and you.

There was something unreadable on your face as your gaze flicked across him, hunger maybe, hope. And then the flash of your tongue across your lip - finding just the remnants of him there, the butter he’d had on them from picking apart his toast. You feasted on each other from opposite sides of the table, rolling tastes across your tongue, finding them satisfactory, finding them addicting. If the appetizers where this good; the main meal was set to fill an empty stomach that had ached for a long, long time.

Waffle forgotten, Jack watched as you dived into your purse, rustling out a haphazard chunk of bills, tucking them quickly under the nearest plate.

“Wait, I’ll pay—”

“If we do not leave right now,” You hissed, “I am going to jump you in front of those very nice families.”

Jack made a bizarre croaking noise, his laugh getting lost somewhere in a cough. All the same, he dutifully rose to his feet, only somehow remembering to grab his backpack and coat. The pair of your writhed down the tight aisle towards the door, struggling to bundle up, not make any unnecessary contact with each other or send coffee flying into anyone’s laps. Bursting into the street, your head twisted this way and that, as if you couldn’t quite remember where you were or what you were supposed to be doing.

“Hey, hey…” Jack reached your side, gently taking your hand in his, “It’s ok, there’s no rush.”

You let out a slow breath, dancing from foot to foot, “Well we might have to rush, cause I don’t have gloves and I kinda need my fingers for work.”

Jack smiled, the biggest one you’d seen, “Well then hand the others over.” With both of your hands in his he pulled you gently to him, lifting your important doctoring tools to his mouth. Warm air blew across them, quickly followed by heat down your arms and into your chest and heart.

This close to him, so bundled up and protected and safe, you let a truth fall out onto the iced pavement.

“I’m scared you’re going to disappear.”

Jack frowned, moving your hands aside so they remained warm pressed against his face, “Why do you say that?”

“Well,” You shuffled nervously under the intensity of his gaze, “I hate to get into it all in the immense privacy offered by this public street.”

He cocked an eyebrow in subtle amusement but didn’t say a word, silently urging you on.

“You have a bit of a record of running hot and cold. And while this is obviously the hottest you’ve ever been, and I really mean that in all senses of the word, well…” You fought for the right words, wanting desperately not to push him away, but wanting to honour the twin desire of respecting your own heart.

Jack nodded slowly, letting the faint grey stubble rasp gently across your hands, “That makes a lot of sense.”

A breath you hadn’t realised you were holding released, the desire to run melted into nothingness, your feet stilled.

“I am sorry for being so…unreadable all this time. It was my own selfish way of keeping myself protected while also getting to have tastes of you,” He offered, eyes a little sad.

You just couldn’t help it, the vulnerability of his gorgeous, perpetually cranky man was going to have you on your knees.

He ploughed on, oblivious to the effect his words were having, “It’s not that the tastes weren’t good or that I didn’t want more…they were too good. Too powerful, too…” He shrugged, “fucking scary.”

Tears were threatening to make a fool of you, so you quickly popped onto your tip toes, lips now seeking the warmth of his own. He relinquished his hold on your hands to slide his fingers to the back of your neck and around your waist, drawing you up and up and up until you thought you would float out into space.

Behind you the door crashed open, spilling dozens of children out into the street, rushing to get to school, their parents furiously clucking and scolding and shooing them along. Caught in the swarm, the pair of you clung to each other, cheeks pressed tightly together to maintain some kind of mutual centre of gravity.

“Ok,” You laughed, “Now I seriously have to get you alone.”

Jack gently extracted himself so he could face you again, his large hands still encasing yours.

“As much as I want that…and believe me—,” His eyes were dark, “I want that—I think we should take this slow.”

You ducked your head, something that felt like embarrassment churning in your gut. You were the one just expressing fear at his intentions, and now you were surprised he didn’t want to take you in the street?

He took your chin gently and lifted your eyes up to meet his. So many times, you had found that gaze across a trauma table, something horrible and twisted stretched out between you, so many times you had found trust and respect and understanding in those eyes. They never failed to steady you, then and now.

“I would like to take you out sometime. Somewhere other than the diner across the street from the train station,” He said, earnestness clear in each word.

You couldn’t help it, you laughed.

“You can call me old fashioned,” He said, smile wide, “I don’t care — I’m old.”

You reached up and took his face in your hands, thumbs smoothing across his skin that had seen and weathered a lot of grief and pain. You were ready to show him some joy.

“I’d love that,” Came your simple reply, “And you might be old, but that means you’re wise. And there’s nothing sexier than a man with wisdom.”

He scoffed, wrestling you playfully down under his arm, lightly pinching your side until you shrieked with laughter and danced away.

“You are trouble.” He called, as you skipped away from him, “Trouble!”

In the end he caught you before you could dash up to the train platform, insisting again that his old-fashioned ways wouldn’t allow him to let you take public transport when he had a perfectly good passenger seat in his truck.

You curled comfortably up in the leather, relishing the seat warmer and Jack’s hand sandwiched between both of yours on your lap. Every now and then, you’d peek over your shoulder just so you could see your backpacks sitting next to each other in the backseat. You felt altogether giddy, and at peace - completely beside yourself with your luck.

“It wasn’t luck,” Jack said, eyes not shifting from the road, his free hand placed with precision at 2 o’clock on the wheel. You had said the words aloud without realising, your heart now altogether open.

“Well it feels like luck.” You replied, gently tracing the lines on the back of Jack’s hand. “Very nice dorsal metacarpel veins by the way.”

He let out a puff of a laugh, then repeated himself, “It wasn’t luck.”

“Then what was it, did I subconsciously bewitch you with the speed of my oxygen concentration calculations?”

“They are very impressive; you are way fucking quicker than I will ever be at them. But no,” He looked over at you, “It’s because you are brave.”

You returned to your tracing, but it was difficult to find the lines with tears in your eyes.

“You never let your mistakes define you, you are brave enough to try again. You choose to keep being happy, you are brave enough to keep fighting. You kept seeing something in me, even when I wasn’t brave enough to let you in.”

“Jesus,” You muttered, “This is why you never talk; you’d have people falling to their knees for you every minute of the day.”

His hand in your lap squeezed, “No, that didn’t just come from nowhere. I’ve been thinking those things for a long, long time.”

“You are worth being brave for,” Your words were quiet, but they felt heavy and steady in the space between you both.

You looked up and realised with a start you had made it to your street, your apartment building just a few feet in front of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come up? After that speech the least I can do is offer you a tea?”

He reached over and tucked a piece of hair that had escaped from your braid behind your ear, careful not to bump your still healing piercing, “You don’t want me snoring on your couch, which is what I will be doing before the tea cools.”

“No,” You said, returning the favour by tucking a curl behind his ear, “I want you snoring in my bed.”

“God dammit James,” He groaned leaning back into his seat and running his hands over his face, “You are gonna kill me, I swear to God.”

“Don’t sound so—” A yawn overtook your words, “—pleased.”

He gave you a pointed look, “If we’re gonna do this, let’s at least be awake for it.”

You unclipped yourself, leant back into the backseat for your bag (sure to give Jack a full and unobstructed view of your favourite personal asset) and turned to open your door. At the last moment, you twisted back to him, face set.

He raised his eyebrows, a slightly braced smirk sitting on his face.

“If you’re not going to accept a lady’s very polite invitation upstairs then you legally have to do me a favour.”

The eyebrows shot down over a suspecting set of narrowed eyes, “This sounds dangerous.”

“Not at all,” You grinned, “Although…I thought you liked danger.”

“Like I said, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’ve worked a tough shift Jack. A tough night shift. A girl sometimes needs a little extra something to give her the energy to make it up the front stairs.”

You leaned in with each word, letting your hand trail down his arm from his shoulder until you clasped around his wrist. Mouths inches from each other, you breathed in his anticipation, his hunger.

In one smooth motion you brought his hand to your ass, and closed your lips over his.

Something that tasted awfully like a moan slipped from his tongue to yours, and you relished each little bit of it. His hand squeezed, just a touch, as if unable to help itself. You released him with a pop, schooling your features into an innocent smile, and nudging the door open with your hip.

“I’ll see you at work Dr Abbot.”

A beat. A man restarting his heart, his brain.

“I’ll see you at work Trouble.”

~~~~

all for now, thanks for the luv xo

previous | next

[mareastrorum]

Been chewing more on how C3 wound up here. What’s throwing me is the strange shift from the cast’s unflinching “yes, and” game in C2 to a misplaced feeling that they need to choose correctly in C3.

I want to be clear here that this isn’t a criticism post because I genuinely don’t know what’s happening here. It’s just odd behaviors that seem to signal a problem, and I don’t know what solution would resolve it. I’m not going to be so presumptuous as to hypothesize about any cast member’s thoughts.

In the Cooldown for C3E118 (and offhandedly previously), Laura and Ashley expressed some nervousness about making big decisions because they’re worried about making the “wrong” choice. Without more, that attitude alone would explain much of the party’s indecisiveness about key campaign questions. After all, their characters are the two Ruidusborn of most interest to the campaign villains, and other characters (especially Orym, Laudna, and Ashton) have insisted that Imogen and Fearne take the lead on Predathos.

But this isn’t a story in a vacuum. C2 got completely derailed multiple times. The Mighty Nein decided to steal a pirate ship and leave the continent the campaign was set on; shortly after they returned, they decided to reopen a collapsed tunnel to go the opposite side of the continent; then Caleb returned the Luxon Beacon and made themselves heroes of an enemy nation instantly. That’s not even getting into the fact that Molly died before the Nein got to Shadycreek Run (which absolutely would have been all about his backstory) or that Twiggy left an incredible magical artifact that wasn’t supposed to be given to the Nein. Each time, Matt adjusted and made it work. Granted, C2 was more of a sandbox campaign, but Matt demonstrated his flexibility as a DM time and again.

Like, as a general rule of thumb, DMs shouldn’t offer options that would torpedo the campaign. It’s rational to avoid situations that have a genuine possibility of undercutting the game. Matt has been DMing for a long time; he’s done a very good job of finding ways to make the campaign work regardless of the decisions the players make. Even when players do something directly against the signals he threw out (like Ashton trying to absorb a second shard despite consistent, dire warnings that it would kill him), he works with the players to come to a reasonable solution (Ashton survived but the shard wouldn’t take, and he got some character moments out of the failure). We, the audience, know Matt is good at pivoting when he needs to.

In addition to taking the players’ curveballs like a champ, Matt also takes big swings for the sake of the story. In C1, Matt broke his biggest city with a dragon invasion, then made a new god leading an undead titan to go stomp out the world’s oldest civilization. In C2, he let the players go off the map whenever and still made the digression relevant to their character arcs every time. Not to be parasocial, but if we can figure out that that Matt can handle this sort of thing, the players certainly have a better feel for it than us.

So what is going on in C3? We know Matt isn’t scared of breaking Exandria or destroying the pantheon: he set that possibility in motion as the default ending if the players did nothing. CR literally did a mini series about the start of the end of the world with EXU Calamity. Laura and Ashley were also in Downfall and making big choices between the gods and mortals. Breaking stuff is what they do!

Where did this idea that there’s a “wrong” choice come from? That type of thinking kills a lot of great improv, and the whole point of the “yes, and” exercise is to shake it off. While it’s incredibly obvious to say not to think that way, the real issue is sorting out why that mentality has taken hold at all. That’s a problem no amount of fan discussion is going to resolve.

[littlelonelyone]

Late Night (George Weasley x Reader)

Warning: 17+, First Time, Fluff, Smut, Sleepover, A Little Oral (M), Fingering.

Description: It’s the Holidays for students at Hogwarts and after Readers parents refuse to let them stay at the burrow, George and Reader are determined and come up with a plan to meet during their break no matter what. Reader has muggle parents.

This is so long, I suddenly snuck a whole skin care regimen in there LOL forgive me. Self care is the best care! <3

I was so excited yet so anxious. The clock read 11:32 PM and my entire household seemed to be out like a light. At this very minute, I was waiting for my best friend and crush, George Weasley. It was his first time coming to my house, yet alone his first time sharing a bed with me. It was always a rule at the burrow that the girls had to stay with Ginny so we never got the chance to have a real sleepover. I was nervous. We had waited until I was sure my family was asleep then I sent Snowflake (my owl) with a note to let George know that the coast was clear and that he could now apparate.

Once my family were sleeping they pretty much never woke up so I wasn’t too worried about waking them up anyways. My family consisted of my parents and younger twin brothers. Which you can now obviously understand why I was able to become as close as I was to George and Fred. I was also very close with their other family members considering we all knew what it was like dealing with such hyperactive people that came in PAIRS!

Anyways, it was Christmas Break and I would have been spending the holiday with The Weasleys just like Harry and Hermoine were but my dad hit me with a big fat NO. So being the mischievous teenagers we were and also not wanting to be apart, George and I had an entire plan thought out about him coming to spend a night or so with me since I was unable to go to the burrow. Finally that night was here.

While Snowflake was en route to George, I made sure I had everything we needed so I didn’t have to leave my room and risk waking up my parents. I had water, snacks, movies and face masks. I made sure I put on a silencing charm knowing our laughs would become super loud and I also had my own bathroom so I didn’t have to worry about George wandering around my house.

I knew it was going to take about an hour for Snowflake to reach George so in the meantime I started making a blanket fort and brought all the supplies inside. I took some fairy lights and displayed them around the top of the inside of the fort. The inside had my fluffiest blankets laid across the floor so it was soft and I had about a million pillows, making sure we would be comfy. Once everything seemed to be ready I crawled out of the fort and stood up with my hands on my hips, admiring my creation.

Just as I finished setting everything up, I heard a light thud coming from my small balcony and I couldn’t hide the smile that was now displayed on my face. George was here! I walked over to the door and opened it for him. There he stood lazily smiling down at me, his hair was kind of damp so I knew he recently showered. I giggled then grabbed his arm, dragging him into my room. “Are you crazy? You’ll get sick wandering about with wet hair! Then who’s going to be the one taking care of you because it sure isn’t going to be me.” I jokingly lectured him as I walked to my closet to retrieve a towel. As I turned around for his reaction it was just as I thought, a slight pink tint covered his cheeks and it was why he was my favourite Weasley twin.

Unlike Fred, George was the more reserved of the two. Don’t get me wrong, George had a personality that matched his older brother but I always noticed something deeper and observed him a lot and I came to realize he’s more in touch with his feelings than Fred is. It made me want to protect him and also made me develop a teensy crush on him.

“Shut up! You tell me almost every time I see you and my hair is a bit damp and I still haven’t gotten sick now have I?” He replied and pushed my shoulder a little. I scoffed and acted hurt as I placed a hand on his chest and lightly pushed him back, guiding him to sit on my bed. I took the towel and began drying his hair with it. “Well excuse me for caring, I guess this will be the last time I ever dry your hair for you since you’re basically invincible.” I teased and was about to remove the towel from his head when he stopped me by softly grabbing my wrist. I looked down into his eyes wondering what was on his mind. “What if I told you I purposely showed up with my hair wet knowing you would be there to save me with your trusty towel.” George said and a little smile appeared on his face as a blush appeared on mine. “Then I’d say you’re crazy and don’t start crying to me when you catch a cold!” I joked and pushed his head back with my index finger so he was now laying on my bed.

“Where’s all your blankets?” George asked as he sat back up and looked at my bare bed. “You kidding? You don’t see this masterpiece right here?!” I motioned towards the blanket fort I made and he walked around it was if he was a judge for some blanket fort contest. “Well I’m rather impressed with you (Y/N). Presentation 10/10, but the real test is the inside of the fort so may I take a look?” He asked while adjusting his invisible glasses.

I rolled my eyes then led him to the entrance. We both got on our hands and knees and crawled inside, I made sure to make it spacious for the two of us considering George was a giant. He looked around as if he was amazed and I couldn’t help but stare. He always looked so pretty to me. “Nicely done (Y/L/N), couldn’t have done it better myself.” He complimented my interior decorating skills and I pretended to bow. “Thanks Weasley, anything for my best mate.” I said with a wink. I didn’t catch the way he slightly bit the inside of his cheek after I winked.

“So what should we do first? Do you feel like watching a movie or we can snack on some things.” I asked George who was looking through the VHS tapes I brought out. “Let’s do both? This looks interesting.” I looked over at what he was holding up and snickered. Of course he would be holding up Ghostbusters. “Let’s do it!”

I moved over to my small tv and VCR that I brought inside the fort and started getting the movie ready. Behind me George was setting up the pillows and getting a blanket ready for me to come crawl under. Once the movie started to play, I grabbed our snack basket and crawled back to George who was already holding up the blanket for me. “Want a chocolate frog?” I offered and he happily accepted. Throughout the movie we joked about different things and talked about how it would be wicked if the Slimer somehow became an addition to Hogwarts. We had ate most of the treats so now I was tidying everything up for us to relax. I pushed out my tv and adjusted the fort so all sides were now covered. I walked over to my record player and popped in something peaceful.

“Georgie come out here for a second.” I called him and I reached in the basket for the face masks I put in there earlier. George came crawling out a second later and I motioned for him to follow me into the bathroom. “Have you ever done a face mask before?” I smiled and asked him as I turned on the faucet, waiting for the water to turn lukewarm so we could clean our faces. George slowly shook his head and I smiled even wider. “Okay great, come use this cleanser right here and wash your face, I already washed mine so I’ll wait beside you with a towel.” George did as I said and as soon as he finished I began softly dabbing his face with the towel. After his face was dry, I began running my fingers across his face so I could determine what skin type he had. George closed his eyes and I smiled at how comfortable he looked right now. His face seemed a bit dry so I chose a hydrating clay mask for him and chose the same for myself since I also suffered from dry skin.

“Okay this might be a bit cold.” I warned him and put a decent amount of clay onto an applicator and began covering his face. George let out a soft sigh and my chest fluttered. He was so cute. “Why are you always taking care of me?” George suddenly asked and opened his eyes to look at me. With his eyes open, I realised how close I was to his face and swallowed deeply. “Why not? I love taking care of the people who matter the most to me.” I simply said as I wiped some clay on his cheek. His face was almost covered completely and I couldn’t help but giggle at the way he looked right now. I didn’t want his hair to get dirty so I put one of my headbands on him and with the face mask on he looked like a beautiful lady. I applied the last bit of clay and took his hands, pulling him up to his feet so he could see my masterpiece.

Once he looked in the mirror I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at his reaction, his eyes bulged out of his head. “Godric (Y/N)! Why do I always let you do random things to me?! Remember that time I let you curl my hair?” He reminded me with a shudder and I giggled. “You must really love me then." I didn’t realise what I just said so I didn’t even catch George’s reaction either. His breath caught in his throat and he opened and closed his fist because he got sweaty palms.

“Okay now you.” He said. I agreed and reached for some product with my applicator when he suddenly took it from my grasp and took my hand to sit me down where he sat. “Okay I don’t know what I’m doing here exactly so bare with me.” George said as he grabbed a huge glob of product onto the applicator and approached me. I squealed and held my hands out. “GEORGE! If you’re going to do this you only need about a quarter amount each time!” I said while laughing and hiding my face. “Didn’t I just tell you to bare with me?” He responded whilst chuckling. He tried again, this time showing me and I gave him a thumbs up.

Even though I did this almost every night, this felt a little bit intimate considering we were in the bathroom together and were helping each other put clay on our faces. “So what’s supposed to happen?” He asked as he messily rubbed some across my forehead. I laughed at his sloppiness. “Well we just wait for it to dry then we wash it off, this will help our skin appear softer and help keep it moisturised since we both deal with dry skin.” I explained with my eyes closed. This felt so good. It got quiet as George focused on covering my entire face with the clay. “And done!” He said and helped me to my feet after setting the stuff down. I walked over to the mirror and started laughing immediately. Georges mask looked so perfect and well-set and mine had empty spaces and clumps but it was the thought that counted. “Thanks Georgie my hero.” I turned around to look at him. We smiled back at each other. I could really get used to his company.

Eventually the clay dried and we washed it away, adding moisturiser to both mine and Georges face then I took his hand to lead him to bed. We both crawled into the fort and got comfy under the blanket. As if on cue, we both turned to look at each other and then we laughed. We stared back at each other for a moment before I finally spoke. “Thanks for coming to see me George, I was pretty down about not being able to come to the burrow this time around but you made everything so much better.” I admitted.

Suddenly Georges hand moved to the side of my face and he adjusted my hair, tucking it behind my ear. This felt super intimate and I immediately went quiet under his gaze. We stared back at each other. My hand moved on top of his where it laid against my cheek. Just as I felt him shuffle over to me, I slowly shut my eyes and then I felt his lips on mine. Finally.

The kiss was short and sweet. George pecked twice more before he slowly pulled away to see what my reaction was like. My hand was still resting over his but my fingers were now slightly intertwined with his and my eyes were still closed. I felt like I was in paradise.

Georges heart fluttered at the way she looked. All he ever wanted to do ever since he started developing feelings was to try kiss her at least once. The fact she was so willing to reciprocate his feelings and look so pretty while doing it made him fall for the girl even harder.

(Y/N) suddenly whispered breaking the silence. “Georgie… Please do it again.” And with that, George didn’t even hesitate. He pressed his lips against hers but a bit harder this time. Wanting to show her how much he liked her with just a kiss. He wanted to put all his feelings into that kiss and so that's what he did, continuing to sweep her off her feet. George guided her with his lips so she was now on her back and he was hovering over her with his left arm holding himself up just above her head, his right hand still placed on her cheek. The moment (Y/N) opened her mouth a little to take in a breath, George swiftly moved his tongue and rolled it against hers. The little action making (Y/N) quietly moan and her eyes flashed open and were met with his. This felt sexy. George and (Y/N) were now french kissing with their eyes half lidded and it was starting to get steamier as each moment passed. Eventually they pulled away but instead of stopping, George moved her hair away from her neck and began softly kissing her.

(Y/N) couldn’t believe this was happening. He felt so good pressed against her and him kissing her neck felt amazing. She was new to intimacy and she was glad George was the person to introduce her to it. (Y/N) adjusted her head, giving him more access and as he reached her collarbone he slowly bit it but not too hard. Almost immediately after, George licked the spot where he bit and began to suck. This was an even newer feeling for (Y/N) and her back began to arch a little as she let out the cutest moan.

The sound immediately went to Georges private region. He chuckled and pulled away, then looked down at her. (Y/N)’s chest was now heavily moving up and down and her thighs were squeezed together a little. These little movements indicated that she was now starting to get turned on and it made Georges heart pound. He wasn’t a virgin and (Y/N) knew this. On the other hand, (Y/N) was a virgin and George knew this as well.

George sat up completely and so did she. Looking at him expectantly. He took her left hand and pulled it up to his mouth, kissing her fingers then moving to kiss her hand and then turning it over so he could place a kiss to the inside of her wrist. (Y/N) just watched, absolutely stunned. She always knew George would make an excellent lover but seeing it happen made her heart pound. She watched as he pulled her hand and placed it against his cheek. His eyes were closed and he looked so peaceful. This time it was her move.

She shuffled a bit closer to him and reached out with her right hand to mirror how her left hand held his cheek. With that being done and his eyes still being closed, she pulled him the rest of the way and connected their lips once again. They heavily kissed for a couple seconds before he began to speak. “I love you (Y/N).” *Peck* He held her hands against his face. “You’re so beautiful.” *Peck* She was blushing furiously but the feeling she had was amazing and she didn’t want this moment to end.

(Y/N) took advantage of the fact he was holding her hands to his face and pressed her body against him, pushing them back so she was now laying on top of him. This time she wanted to tell him so she pulled away so she could sit up and straddle him.

Both of their lips were swollen. She loved the way he looked right now. Under her. His hair laid across the pillows. “You’re so pretty.” She whispered and blushed. He quietly laughed at her choice of words but knew just how special this confession was to the innocent girl. His hands moved to her thighs and he started to rub them. Once again she leaned forward and placed the softest kiss to his jaw and finally whispered, “I love you too George Weasley.”

Even though they had said I love you to each other in the past, they always knew it had a different meaning to it than it did right now. This was much more special. For the last time, they both sat up with a knowing look. George reached for the bottom of her shirt and looked into her eyes to see if this was okay. To let him know she wanted this, she mirrored his action and reached for the bottom of his shirt, tugging it and helping him remove it. She saw him shirtless before but right now it was affecting her a lot more. She leaned over quickly and placed a kiss to his chest and he smiled down at her lovingly. When she pulled away, she removed his hands and replaced them with hers. Making eye contact with him as she teased him by pulling off her shirt slowly. (Y/N) wasn’t wearing a bra since they were getting ready for bed and she always slept braless. Georges eyes sparkled with anticipation as she finally made it to her breasts and she swiftly removed the rest of the shirt and tossed it to the side.

He exhaled just before he spoke and (Y/N) knew she had him under her control. She chose not to hide herself since she trusted him so she sat with her breasts out for him to see. George hesitantly reached upwards so he could touch her. (Y/N) slowly moved forward so their foreheads were now touching. Finally George reached her and held her breast in his large hand and began to massage it a little. At the same time they both let out a breath and they knew it was time.

They reconnected their lips once again and began french kissing as George played with her boobs. One of his hands moved downwards a little and pulled at her nipple with his fingers. This action made her moan into the kiss and she bit his lip. “Mm” George groaned a little not expecting her to react that way and she released his lip. Replacing her teeth with her lips and began to suck on it. She pulled away and pecked his lips one last time before copying what he had done before.

(Y/N) began kissing his neck, suddenly feeling very confident in herself. She began kissing up his jaw and made it to his ear, licking it a little. She was blushing like crazy but she loved how they felt against each other and she wanted more. He squeezed her hips a little tighter due to the fact that he was now starting to get turned on but wanted to make sure he went slow with her. Little did he know he had just unleashed something she’d been dying to release. Him being the only one she ever wanted turned her on a lot more and the fact they were doing intimate things to each other was driving her crazy. Without knowing what she was doing, she began to softly grind against George as they kissed and had her boobs played with. The moment she heard him whisper “Fuck (Y/N)..” was the exact moment she felt him beginning to get hard underneath her. Her heart was pounding and she was excited. Wanting to go further, she remembered what she saw in a romance movie before and began to kiss all around his chest to see what type of reaction she could get out of him. George had let out another soft groan as she began to kiss more towards his abdomen and she began to realise how much she was affecting him. The outline of his dick was now showing through his pyjama pants and she bit her lip. He watched her reaction to see if they should stop now but was taken aback at how dirty of an expression she had on her face right now. She was blushing and biting her lip as her thumb drew circles into his waist. He noticed what she was staring at.

Before George even had a chance to ask her if she wanted to continue she interrupted him with an unexpected question. “Can I touch it?” She asked him and this time it was his turn to blush. Never had he ever met someone so straightforward and it was her innocence that lead to this question and she didn’t even realise how much she was affecting the younger twin. Not that he was complaining or anything. George simply nodded, afraid to speak and hear what his voice sounded like. (Y/N) grinned and bit her lip again as her fingers moved to the waistband of his pants. She hooked her fingers underneath and tugged. George lifted his hips letting her remove his pants and she tossed them to the side before returning her gaze to his lower area. This position felt a little weird to George since he was usually the one leading but if it was (Y/N), he would probably let her do anything to him if she asked.

(Y/N) started by placing her hand on his left inner thigh and began to move closer to his dick. After what felt like hours to George, she finally reached him and pressed her hand right against it. She didn’t really know what to do so she started by rubbing her hand up and down it like she had done on his thigh and he let out a little groan from finally being touched by her. This time it was Georges turn to be shocked and he couldn’t believe this was happening. He always pined after his best friend but could never bring himself to confess. He always felt like he would corrupt her meanwhile she had been holding back all along. She was kind of scary. In a good way. Just as she was about to ask George to help her, his hand moved over hers and he helped her grabbed a hold of his dick.

Together they moved her hand up and down over his boxers before she looked up at him and with her eyes, silently asked him to remove them. George stared back at her, gulping. The moment she pulled them down and his dick sprang out, she felt something between her legs and squeezed them together. Once she discarded his boxers she went back to what she was doing before. (Y/N) held Georges dick the way he showed her a moment ago and began to pump her hand up and down. George moved his head back on the pillow. He loved the way her soft hands felt against him and he thrust his hips once into her hands and moaned. She bit her lip at his reaction and moved slightly faster. Suddenly she had the urge to touch it with her mouth and without warning, she leaned down and licked right across his tip. This unexpected action made George thrust his hips into her hands even harder and he moaned again. Noticing his reaction to her mouth on his dick was good, she licked it once again then completely covered his tip with her mouth and swirled her tongue around it. “F-fuck!” George yelped and he looked down at her with a blush.

Although (Y/N) never gave head before she always heard Angelina and Katie talk about it whenever they had sleepovers at school. They always talked about little things they did that their boyfriends liked, which (Y/N) would secretly keep note of in case a moment like this would happen and she couldn’t help but thank her friends in her mind. Remembering Alicia told her it was like sucking on a lollipop, (Y/N) copied that motion and continued sucking and licking his tip at the same time she jerked him off. Even though she barely had her mouth around him, it was enough for George to want to cum and he pulled her off to stop. Suddenly feeling embarrassed about being the only one completely naked, George pulled her up and turned her around so her back was now against his chest. She blushed at the feeling of his dick against her lower back.

Slowly he leaned backwards until they were both in a good position and started rubbing circles around her tummy and played with her boobs. George started moving his hands to the waist band of her shorts so he could reach inside and see if she was wet. Once he felt the top of her panties he slowly moved his middle finger down to where her hole would be over the soft fabric and he began to add pressure. He groaned at the feeling. (Y/N) was already soaking through her panties and she was starting to squirm in his grasp.

“Can I touch you too?” He asked. They were doing a lot of mirroring that night, copying each others sentences and actions. She quickly nodded and he chuckled. Together they removed her shorts and panties and they got back into their position. George started with rubbing all around her outer thighs before finally making it to her inner thigh and lightly brushing his finger near her vagina. She exhaled shakily. George moved a little so he could use his feet to hook around her calves in a way he could have more access to her and he began to spread her legs. Even though nothing was happening, she moaned at the feeling of George getting ready to touch her.

Once they were comfortable again, George brought his finger to (Y/N)s mouth and she began to suck on it, swirling her tongue around it like she did to his dick. Once it was wet enough he pulled it out and moved it to her vagina. Using his left hand to spread open her pussy lips and used his damp finger from his right hand to slowly rub circles around her clit. She hissed at the feeling and bit her lip. George smiled and began to rub her clit a little faster once she relaxed against him, also leaning down to place kisses across her shoulder. Instead of using his left hand to spread her open, he instead began tracing the outline of her hole with his middle finger. She moaned at the feeling of both his hands working on different parts of her body. Slowly he began to insert his middle finger into her pussy and he could feel just how tight she was. (Y/N) was breathing heavily now and her back was starting to arch against him.

Her little movements and sounds were enough to drive George over the edge and he moved to whisper in her ear. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” Then he pressed his finger all the way inside her. She moaned even louder and threw her head back and looked at him. Her eyes were sparkling. She reached up with her left hand to grab Georges head and pulled him into their 3rd heavy make out that night. George synced with the feeling of their tongues and moved his finger in and out of her quickly then eventually added a second. “Ahh Georgie-,” She started but was cut off again by his tongue. (Y/N) never felt this way before and it was unreal how badly she wanted to be with George.

George on the other hand was trying not to go too far with her and tried to pace himself but he felt so good kissing her and felt himself getting carried away. He began using his thumb to massage her clit as he pumped his fingers into her even faster. (Y/N) pulled away from the kiss immediately and let out the sexiest moan George ever heard in his life. In one swift movement, he flipped her over onto her back again and immediately started attacking her neck, leaving love bites everywhere. He really wanted to go all the way but just as he prepared himself to slow down, (Y/N) began speaking between moans. “Georgie. Ah. Oh fuck!….” She pulled him towards her by grasping his hair and slammed her lips against his. She sucked on his tongue then moved to his lips and started peppering kisses all over his lips and cheeks. She slowly kissed towards his ear and stopped, suddenly feeling shy about what she was about to whisper.

“Make love to me George.” She panted and that was it. George couldn’t hold back anymore. He quickly slipped inside her and they both let out a moan. “Fuuuuck!” George moaned. He stayed still so she could adjust to the new feeling. He looked down at her, eyes squeezed shut but chest heaving from how turned on she was feeling. George leaned down and kissed her forehead, reassuring her if she needed it. He made sure to stay still until she could fully and completely adjust to his length.

Slowly he started to move, but just barely as he could feel how tense she was. He leaned down to her ear and whispered "Just breathe and relax my sweet girl, doing so good for me.." Hearing this and how gentle he was being with her made her calm down quickly and she let her body relax. "Just kiss me and don't stop kissing me please." She whispered back and George knew it was time.

He felt her finally relax and he pulled out of her. "This will only hurt a little.." And with that being said he slammed back into her. She moaned loudly and clung onto George tightly as he repeatedly thrust in and out of her. George didn't even realise he had been waiting for this moment for a long time and he could hardly contain himself. He slammed his lips against hers and tried to copy the pace in which he was going at.

George was right, it did only hurt a little and I was now feeling nothing but pure pleasure. A moan escaped my lips as he kissed me and he suddenly started sucking on my lips and tongue so he could quiet me down. "Oh George!" I whimpered as he pulled away and let his head fall to my shoulder. I could feel my vagina throbbing at the way he moaned.

It was all too much for George. He was too focused on making sure that (Y/N) was feeling comfortable that he didn't focus on how good she felt. With his head buried in her shoulder he started letting out moans of his own. She was everything he dreamed of. She felt perfect. He felt himself losing control as he pounded into her. Holding her hands to make sure she felt okay.

"Shit George... Ahh Fu--" She said in between moans, letting go of his hands then scratching at his back as he fucked her in missionary. His eyes were squeezed tight and he groaned. Never had he been this vocal during sex and it was all because of her. "(Y'N) I'm going to cum.." He managed to choke out as he sloppily fucked her. All she could do was nod due to the fact that she was in the same state as him. On the verge of release. She moved her hips to match his pace and with one final thrust, they both came at the same time. Hands intertwined once again, (Y/N) squeezing his hips between her thighs.

Once they caught their breath. George slowly pulled out of her. "Are you okay?" He asked with genuine concern, helping her sit up. She leaned forward a bit and kissed him in response. "Thanks for this George, it was amazing." She told him.

He smiled back at her sweetly. He loved her honesty and found her endearing. "i guess now would be a good time to tell you that I love you and I want you to be my girlfriend." He said with confidence, their foreheads touching. "I think I was your girlfriend long before this night." She joked. "I would love to be yours Georgie, I only had a crush on you for forever." She admitted with her newfound confidence. "I love you too George Weasley." She said for the second time.

He smiled and for the last time that night, gave her the softest kiss they had exchanged so far. "Come on, let's get you all cleaned up." George said and took her hand leading her towards the bathroom for a shower. Once they were all showered up, he took care of her and he cleaned up the mess they had made and fixed the fort. They ended their night cuddling and fell asleep in each others arms.

[signanothername]

@meloveanimeforreal7604 your ask glitched so I’m answering with a screenshot chchch

I actually have my own thoughts on their stats and how they changed under Nightmare

Killer is actually canonically shown to have 99999 LV, but later, Rahaf stated people can choose whichever LV they wanted for him, so it’s basically up for interpretation

Murder is canonically mostly at 19 LV, in some timelines, he reaches 20 LV

Horror has never been given a canon LV as far as I know (correct me if I’m wrong)

That being said, in my lil version of Nightmare, he has a “no killing unless necessary” rule, but generally, Nightmare can be a bit lenient if MTT resort to killing as long as it does not affect the negativity in a bad way

As in, if killing someone results in the negativity decreasing, than Nightmare would be pissed, but say if a monster was part of a family and their death resulted in a negativity increase due to their family’s grief, then Nightmare lets it slide

Nightmare only orders MTT not to go overboard with killing, his orders are usually within “Kill as many as necessary to generate a sufficient amount of negativity, otherwise, torture or terrorize”

Murder never ever kills anyone, nor does he tortures anyone, he usually hopes Nightmare would simply assign him a supply run job (which doesn’t always happen) and so if he were to do anything to help with negativity, he resorts to terrorizing only, as in just scaring people by blasting his gaster blaster in random directions, etc, but he never kills or tortures, these people are not part of his own AU, he has no business here, it causes him a lot of problems with Nightmare, but Murder prefers to deal with Nightmare’s abuse than live with more blood on his hands than necessary (I think you can already guess that Murder would deal with forced killing at some point no? >:) )

His stats are very Undertale like, they still follow the same formula and are pretty much uncorrupted, whenever anyone checks him, they get the exact same stats as you’d see in game, his LV stays on 19

Horror would simply follow Nightmare’s orders usually, sometimes during a bad mood swing he might end up killing people, but still stays within the limits of Nightmare’s rules, Horror is generally more responsible for torturing than killing, he’s sadistic af and finds joy in the screams of mercy when people plead for their lives (he might or might not cope with the rage brewing inside him from having to deal with Nightmare and his abuse by turning that rage to sadistic joy when torturing innocents)

His stats are semi-corrupted, his HP doesn’t show up at all, that is because Horror is technically already dead, from his head injury, therefore, his HP can no longer reflect him, his stats simply finds difficulty to assign a number to him, I like to think his LV is somewhere in the middle, not as high as Murder’s but not low either, but it definitely increased a few points after he started working under Nightmare

Killer doesn’t kill unless ordered to, he just tortures and terrorizes, he’s generally apathetic to people’s screams for mercy, only doing his job like the good killing machine he is, at stage 2, he does find his job “fun” but in a way that’s more thrilling to his restless dissociative mind and body then any actual joy, he’s curious and fascinated, not happy, he can’t latch onto his emotions at stage 2 anyway, but I think it’s clear that he carries so much guilt for it that’s only apparent when at stage 1

Killer’s stats are extremely messed up, they no longer truly reflect him at all, his stats are like a corrupted file, it isn’t working as it should be, his HP, AT and DF keep glitching and changing constantly, unable to truly settle on one single number, his 99999 LV would be the closest thing to “consistent” in reflection to him, but even then, it’s corrupted, glitching like the rest but still stays at 99999 LV

His LV doesn’t truly reflect his level of violence, but rather, his soul’s unnatural state, his Determination is way too excessive and his code is way too messed up

An HP can show you that it’s at 1, but no matter how much he’s hit he doesn’t die, or it could show you that it’s at 99 and he dies from one hit

In short, his stats aren’t to be taken on face value as they no longer truly reflect him beyond showing how messed up his state is

Nightmare doesn’t kill unless necessary or when he deems it in his interest, or in some cases, when anger takes the better of him, he finds sadistic joy in the misery of others and a sense of power that he just loves feeling, it makes him feel untouchable, unreachable, undeniably invincible, and by extension, it eases the constant fear of everything and everyone around him (something he’s in denial of)

Nightmare simply put, has no stats, he can be checked, but his stats are never going to be shown, he’s too much of an outcode for his stats to truly show anymore, not to mention, his state of being a semi-god, but the further someone is disconnected from their home, the more likely their stats aren’t going to show or be corrupted when shown, Nightmare falls under the “not shown” category (Killer’s stats’ corruption is also enhanced by his disconnection from his world)

[suugarbabe]

hi! is there any way you could write a fic about getting h!gh with mattheo??

so i took a little bit of artistic liberty with this, just because personally i don't really see matty dabbling in the devils lettuce like that. not that he's judgemental of those that do, he just prefers other ways to get his mind off things; i hope you like it all the same :)

“Is Matt meeting us down here or we meeting him at the party?” Enzo set the bowl of brownie batter on the counter before helping you set up an additional pan to pour the mixture. “I think he’s coming down here…have you got the baking parchment?” Enzo tore a sheet off the roll he was using and handed it to you. Once both your pans were properly prepped, you turned to grab the batter only to be met with a view of Mattheo quickly sticking a heavily battered covered finger into his mouth. 

Your jaw dropped, mind running through the possible ways to tell Matty what he had just consumed without completely freaking him out. His last high had not been particularly…favorable, let’s say. After some convincing, Mattheo chose to swap out his trusty cigarettes for a joint, only to have the most paranoid high you’ve ever seen. Ever since then Matty swore of weed, insisting he was far happier with cigarettes and firewhiskey for a good time. 

Only he just broke that rule, sticking his finger in the batter. Enzo should have been a dead giveaway as to what kind of brownies you two were making. Not to mention you were making them for Theo’s birthday. It was when Mattheo dipped his finger in the batter for a second time that your brain and body connected. You reached for his wrist, trying to stop him from shoving his brownie batter covered finger millimeters from his mouth, “No, Matty don’t!” 

But Mattheo thought it was a game, that you were just playfully flirting with him instead of trying to warn him. “Oh, c’mon baby. This will be my last lick, I promise,” his wore a cheeky smile before fighting against your grip on his wrist and wrapping his lips around his fingers, clearing it of any chocolatey substance. “Mmm, babe. I love when you make brownies…these have kind of a weird earthy aftertaste though. What’d you do differently?” 

Immediately Enzo started cracking up, nearly doubling over and bracing himself on the table. This reaction had Mattheo’s heart racing, “Why is he laughing like that?” You tried to put on a reassuring smile, placing your hands on his shoulders, “I don’t want you to freak out, okay, Matty?” Mattheo turned his gaze back to you, eyes widening with your words, “Why would I freak out?!” Enzo was really laughing now, banging his fist on the table and burying his face in crook of his elbow, “Merlin’s tits, this is fucking ace. He had no idea, gods this is going to be so good.” 

Mattheo looked from you, to the batter, then to Enzo and back to you again. “Was there…are these…are you guys making fucking special brownies??” You placed a hand on each side of Matty’s face, forcing his eyes to look at you, “It’s gonna be okay Matty, you only had a little. The high shouldn’t be…too bad?” Mattheo started breathing heavy; you could tell he was pre-freaking out. Enzo was being completely unhelpful, taunting Mattheo, “It’s fucking Nott’s birthday for Salazar’s sake, of course there’s pot in the brownies, Matt!” 

“Oh gods, fucking hell, I’m gonna die…baby why didn’t you stop me? Fuck, fuck, fuck, do you think it’ll reverse if I make myself throw up?” Mattheo had a deathgrip on your wrists, your hands still on either side of his face. “You’ll be fine, Matty baby…it’ll, erm, it’ll be fine, yeah? We’ll get you a glass of water and then…then you and I can go back to the common room and wait for the party to start, how’s that sound?” Mattheo nodded, trying to keep his breathing consistent. You gave a sympathetic smile before placing a kiss on his forehead and grabbing his hand to walk him back to the dungeons, leaving Enzo to grumble about ‘having to finish the delicacies on his own’.

When Enzo finally made it back to the common room, two pans of finished brownies for the birthday boy in hand, he found a very amusing sight. You were successful in bringing Mattheo back to the common room to wait for the party to start for Theo. And you were seemingly successful in calming him down as well if what he was looking at was any indicator. Enzo approached the two of you, slumping down in a lounge chair nearby. “Well he certainly seems to be enjoying himself now,” a smirk adorned Enzo’s face, but Mattheo seemed to have no rebuttal. 

Theo came bounding down the stairs then, glancing over the scene before him. Once he saw Mattheo he was slightly confused, waving an arm in Mattheo’s general direction, “Why is he like this? Like a melted man in the sofa.” You coo’d at Matty, running your fingers through his curls causing his eyes to flutter closed. Enzo just shook his head, “Matty boy accidentally had an early taste of your birthday present, Teddy.” Theo barked out a laugh, clutching his stomach from enjoyment. Mattheo gave a half-committed groan, “Screw you guys.” 

Enzo tsk’d at him, “You’re a lucky fucker, there, Matty. I almost chose a different strain but Theo wanted something that would chill him out later.” You raised an eyebrow, not stopping your motions in Matty’s hair, “What’d you choose then?” Enzo shrugged, “Muggle strain. S’called Indica. They have a little phrase for it: indica, in da sofa…should take a picture of Matt, he’d be the perfect poster boy for their product.” 

You gave Enzo the finger, only for him to pretend to catch it and put it in his pocket, “Thanks so much, love. Gonna save that for later.” The whole conversation was more like buzzing in Matty’s ears. But it didn’t matter. As long as you kept playing with his hair, he was fine being stuck in the sofa all night.

all my love to @musingsofahufflepuff my baby, my hubby, my soulmate flame for yapping with me about this idea and helping it come to fruition <333

[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

Ask Masterpost 1/25/2025

I will be answering the BLOG RELATED asks that I have received since opening my inbox. Lucky number three this finally becomes consistent :).

I would like to state here that even though I don't respond to them (I'm persnickety about keeping ask spam low) I very much appreciate everyone's well wishes and compliments and gratefulness for this blog. I screenshot all of them and keep them in a folder. Thank you so much and I hope you keep having fun :).

@forrest-knight asked: Hello! I am here to ask for some clarification regarding the rules: “Songs from multimedia series that are primarily NOT video games (such as the Homestuck minigames, for example) will not be accepted.” I’m a bit confused with this rule, does this mean we’re not allowed to submit songs from licensed video games (aka games made for non video game media), even if the song is originally made for the game (ex. To The Moon from the DuckTales NES game). Or does this rule is intended for something completely different? *please note that I’ve never read homestuck, so this might relate to my confusion Anyways, thank you so much for doing this! And I hope you have a great whatever time you are reading this!

SO Homestuck was the only example I could think of at the time as a series that actually did this. I was specifically thinking about franchises/series/works that 100% did not start off intending to be a video game but, in the nature of being a multimedia series, added video game minigames or mobile games as it developed.

This is referring to things like homestuck (a webcomic that featured small browser/flash games within the comic), many idol gacha games** (hypnosis mic, love live), etc. This does not include series that were 'completed' (loosely used since I know many of these frequently get universe-expanding sequels and threequels and whathaveyou) and then had video game spinoffs, such as Star Wars, Marvel, etc.

** exceptions being tracks that are exclusively used in the video game itself, such as BGM.

I know this rule is probably the most complicated one and I'm still trying to figure out how to word it clearly and precisely LMAO. Fundamentally it comes down to intent, which is why I'm still on the fence some things like tracks used exclusively in promotional materials and things like that.

That being said: if the song is originally from a video game as in literally you can hear it while you are playing the video game you are totally in the clear

And according to your second ask (I won't name the songs in case you want to submit them): The one made for and coming from the NES game is fine (of course), AND the one that is the 8-bit version of the NON-VGM one is ALSO FINE, because it was REMIXED for the NES game :).

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**NUMEROUS QUESTIONS ABOUT PUTTING DISCLAIMERS ASKING PEOPLE NOT TO SPOIL THE SONGS**

The blind listening and polling period is just for fun! If someone really likes a song and wants to know what it is/where it's from, PLEASE feel free to tell them!!! And PLEASE always enter the notes with the expectation that there may be song spoilers!!

I will ask that you keep it in the TAGS rather than the comments or reblogs (you're more than welcome to DM people the title if they ask), just for the sake of people who might want to discuss the song without spoilers. I'll put that in the pinned and the (eventual...) formal rules.

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What's up! New here so sorry if this has been asked before but has the exact same song been submitted more than once before? Like it's clearly different people but the same song keeps getting submitted over and over again?

Ever since Mod Rae cleared duplicates I have no idea anymore, BUT I know there have been a lot of different submissions for a few select Disco Elysium songs. That doesn't shock me because I know it's got a cult following here :).

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do you get a lot of the same people in ur notes or is it like. a few of the same and then it branches out to fandoms where people know the song? or do u not pay attn to your notes at all (also fair)

I do read the notes (when I remember)! I really like hearing people's opinions, and I always look through the tags on songs I know (I find it really hilarious seeing 'is this dark souls?' 'is this nier?' on any orchestral ever). There are a lot of familiar faces but I'd say the majority for any given poll are new or sparsely in the notes :).

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Would you ever consider adding two more "i dont feel strongly/have an opinion" options to the polls? Specifically, "it sounds familiar and i dont have an opinion" and "ive def heard it before and dont feel strongly/have an opinion"? Of course, if theres a specific reason why you dont add those two as options, feel free to ignore this, ty <3

I've considered this -- but honestly, that button has always existed as more of a 'I just want to click a button' option than an actual datapoint I'm looking for (I think I might have answered an ask similar to this before but I don't remember so I'm answering it again LOL). When that option dominates, I always read the notes and tags for discussion and I'd encourage anyone who is genuinely interested to do the same. Actual complex opinions, of course, cannot be captured with the limitations of preset poll options anyways LMFAO.

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@mkcannothelpyou asked: I'm beginning to wonder if spacing series severely further apart and prioritising picks further down the queue that aren't as represented would make for a more interesting order - as it is, it feels like you can more or less still track what people submitted and when, with waves of series (and closely related works within those series, at that) coming in conspicuously densely. Hearing the same style only days apart might impact poll results for the negative as time goes on.

This was mostly the fault of me allowing people to submit multiple songs at once, leading to songs with similar qualities (as they are all liked by one person with a particular taste) being grouped together, even if they're from different series. I limit submissions to one per period now so this will not be a problem in the future :').

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@the-mayor-of-space asked: how long do submissions typically stay open once they are open?

I originally wanted to have them permanently opened (thinking people wouldn't mind waiting for their submissions) until I got an insane amount of submissions, severely underestimating the popularity of this blog. I then tried to do a 24 hr submission period, and then a 12 hr submission period, but both of these still ended up with a fuck ton of submissions so the current answer is 'They're closed until I can figure out something proper'...

I don't want purging the existing submissions to be on the table, but if I get to the 1 year anniversary of this blog without a better option I might have to go that route -- in which case I'd probably publish all the unposted options so people know if theirs was cut so they know to resubmit it if they're still interested.

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**NUMEROUS QUESTIONS ABOUT HOW FAR BACK THE SUBMISSIONS ARE**

WE'RE FINALLY IN AUGUST!!!!!!!!

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are fan/non official/non licensed versions of songs allowed? because i am 100% certain #293 is a fan made remaster and medley arrangement (im not the submitter but i know the song well - i found the youtube video the audio is from and the comments from OP confirm it is a fan remix). if they are, that's totally cool, but i couldn't find anything in the submission rules about it. i dont intend this ask to be rude or hostile at all, and either way im grateful you've created such an active community with this blog!

They're not really allowed unless they're from a mod or fangame. Since it's a fanmade remaster it's kind of towing the line, so I'm not inherently against it, but it might end up just being a highly situational thing.

Note: I'm not familiar with Fire Emblem at ALL but I knew this particular song was from an older game, which is why I wasn't opposed to posting the remastered version. In any future submissions I'd appreciate if this sort of thing were indicated just in case! I will add that to the submission guidelines :). And of course if there's a better way to go about this (i.e if the game is like, 30+ years old fanmade remasters/upscales are permitted or something like that) I will make sure that's made clear as well :).

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sorry if you've answered this before but I was just wondering, are people allowed to submit spoiler songs for the polls? like final boss songs and songs from endings and secret endings

Absolutely! But I think for all future submissions (this doesn't apply now since there's a huge backlog) I might put a hold on the submissions of OSTS from new games for like 1-2 months (i.e No Mario Kart 9 OSTs until two months after the game drops!) so people who are playing/going to play the game have time to play it before hearing the OSTs unprompted.

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@its-daisukenojobito asked: Just out of curiosity, do you prefer the more obscure submissions, or more well known? I feel like for the sake of reach, the more well known the better, but as a participant, i love being able to hear something I wasn't expecting, and knowing it!

I have no preference, but it's always fun hearing good stuff from games and series I've literally never heard of!

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@venonomnomicon asked: am i allowed to DM to check the status of a submission? it was a couple of months ago though i do respect it's probably just deep in the queue as you get hundreds of submissions a month lol

Absolutely, but you'll have to DM my main blog (@himejoshi) because apparently tumblr doesn't let you have DMs when you have more than one blog admin.

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@royvalentine asked: is the form supposed to be only submittable once?

Yes, so people would only submit one song per submission period. I intended to make a new form for every submission period... There just hasn't been one since.

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hi question, do pinball tables count as video games?

I don't think I have enough experience to answer this question... What do y'all think????

[anim-ttrpgs]

drow rpg thoughts

Yesterday I got excited and did a design outline for another game, this time about drow. Don't worry, the Eureka Patreon updates will keep coming monthly and we are even close to another free public beta release, but i have been under a lot of stress and might need to work on something else for a few weeks after that, even if only because i think it could actually be something i could make fully playable within a short time.

It is based on a particular setting written a while back by me and a close friend, the purpose of which was to reimagine drow with reasonable post-hoc explanations for the way they are portrayed in Forgotten Realms. It would be a very specific game, sharing a few design ideas with Eureka's rules, but not as broad and generalized.

This rpg will certainly come with a bunch of lore, but for right now the only thing you need to know is that in this setting, "Drow" is a title and referrs only to the female warrior-caste of dark elf society.

Many of the mechanics will be asymmetrical. A “party” will consist of one Drow and any number of her servants, with the goal of surviving incredibly dense hierarchical social situations

>problem will come up that could embarrass the Drow, threatening her Reputation (stat)

>Drow has to delegate tasks to servants that will fix the problem

>due to stupidly dense and impossible etiquette, actually delegating these tasks is not very clear or easy. Screwing up tasks and failing etiquette will reduce a servant’s perceived Competence (stat)

>due to high pressure, impossible working conditions, and garbled instructions, these tasks are not easy and are very likely to be screwed up

>the Drow has to contend with and smooth over the screwed up tasks. She can lose Reputation if she doesn’t discipline incompetence, but harsh discipline is only going to make the servants less able to complete the task.

>Failure state for the servants is if their Competence ever reaches 0, and failure state for everyone is if the Drow’s Reputation ever reaches 0.

Half the Game Master’s job will be keeping track of the strict and deliberately impossibly overcomplicated etiquette by which servants have to address Drow, and docking their Competence when they screw up(and possibly docking Drow Reputation if anybody else sees her letting that slide), and keeping track of the strict militaristic code of honor and (evil) morality that all Drow are expected to exemplify whether they actually enjoy being cruel psychopaths or not, and docking Reputation when the Drow fails to uphold the right standard of evilness in front of other Drow.

The servant part of the “party” will either have to humorously manipulate Drow while hiding that anything is wrong, or they and their Drow will all have to all work together to maintain a facade of this brutal hierarchy

Drow lose Reputation and servants lose Competence when they fail to adhere to social etiquette that covers like 15 pages of instructions (designed to be impossible to follow). In that way, it might be considered similar to Paranoia, with a similar sense of humor.

Some of the servants’ etiquette would be like

>don’t speak out loud to a Drow unless told to by that Drow

>at the same time, don’t remain silent when a Drow expects them to answer a question even if she didn’t explicitly say they could speak

And this is why the Drow has to be a PC, because this same servant etiquette is a pitfall for the Drow. if she doesn’t make her expectations explicitly clear, it puts the servants in an impossible situation, where they will embarrass her with their incompetence(even though it’s her fault) and she will be socially obligated to go out of her way to discipline them. Of course in the in-setting society, the fault lies with the servant, because they should have intuited when they were being given permission to speak or not. Some Drow will be self-aware enough to realize that they caused this situation, most won't.

The structure of their society will often incentivize a tactful Drow to "roll with" mistakes made by servants, e.g. "No, my servants did have permission to address me out loud, you just weren't clever enough to catch it."

Each will have to cover for the other, and/or hide things from each other and the Drow's social rivals.

[bernardsbendystraws]

Hello! I am disappointed to make this post, however I think it is necessary. 

TW: mentions of Juno / Bri - pedophilia, anal fingering

This situation in itself is not something that should have escalated this much and I’m sorry for all the stress or uncertainty this has given everyone, I truly have been trying to keep this a peaceful place. This is the reason I have been trying to keep quiet. 

The reason why I made the group chat was simple. People wanted community. It’s still a very fun and safe place for me as well as a lot of other people. The rules have been clear since the start in the fact that people have to voice if they’re uncomfortable. It’s been a consistent rule since the start. 

My jokes may not be for everyone, and that’s okay. Point is, the rules were stated simply; no one can read your mind, you must voice if you are upset or uncomfortable. There was no indication of any discomfort in the instances being brought up. 

Again, everyone from this group chat found the chat through my account. I post things like this all the time. I am not in control of the content or group chats anyone chooses to participate in. 

The reason I interact with minors has been stated before. During the Bri / Juno situation (a pedophile who did harm to a lot of the community), I realized cutting minors off only pushed them to be desperate for any interaction, hence why Bri / Juno was able to get away with everything for so long and that still makes me feel incredibly guilty for not being able to realize this sooner. I was young when I started reading smut and fanfiction. There’s nothing wrong with it in moderation in my opinion. 

This was a public chat with a clear rule of voicing your discomfort. The statement of me wanting to ‘finger Matt's butt’ was directed towards Matt. Not that I was actually serious, but that doesn’t really matter at this moment. 

The second text about my fingers hurting from fingering Matt’s butt was further explained by how I cracked my knuckles too hard. It was a joke. Again, no one has to find it funny or agree with it, but it was stated clearly in the rules that people had to voice if they were uncomfortable or upset by anything. 

No one should be getting dragged into this at all. If people wanna post their thoughts on the situation and comment their opinions, I can’t really control that. People can be negative, spread more hate and unnecessary drama but I refuse to entertain this any further. 

I block when I don’t like people’s content, only now speaking up about Bri / Juno now, a 28 year old woman who was asking minors about their sexual experiences, dating a freshly 18 year old and lying about her age. 

Point is, I hope there is no confusion left. If there is, feel free to DM me. If we have each other blocked and you would like to dm me, send a dm to my bookshelf account since I will unblock everyone there. 

I come on here to write and have fun. The group chat I made has furthered the feeling of community for a lot of people and I’m really grateful I made it because there are a lot of people in here that make my day-to-day life easier with texts that make me smile even when I’m about to have a breakdown over college assignments. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I'm a Malleus yume, and I'm in total agreement with you. I don't understand why people are so desperately trying to twist the situation in Malleus favor with such bizarre reasons??? like I love my man, but like all the overblotters, he's in the wrong.

Vil was wrong when he tried to poison Neige, Riddle was wrong when he enforced his rules to the point of tyranny, etc. and Malleus is wrong for trapping everyone in dreams against their wishes.

Yes, there are a lot of things going on in the background, like the war and Lilia's departure and how it affected Malleus, but like.... this is happening now. Malleus is doing these things now, and it is hurting people.

Also, as for the "enemy of mankind" and "ruler of evil“ thing. These are characters with opinions, they are doing A Narrative with Conflicts, so of course they are going to be Conflicting and have Opinions. god. liking a character ≠ endorsement of their actions. people don't need to jump through the moral hoop to justify so and so's actions. just say "man that's messed up" and move on!!!!

[Referencing this post!]

I’m not going to rehash the points or the counters brought up here. You can refer to the original discussion linked above, which goes into much more detail, if you’re interested or haven’t already seen it yet. In this post, I'm going to be speculating as to why some individuals may be "desperately trying to twist the situation in Malleus's favor with such bizarre reasons," as the asker puts it.

TO BE CLEAR: I do not mean to disparage Malleus fans, and nor am I claiming that ALL Malleus fans engage in this behavior; this post is meant to be a critical look at why we see some of the fandom behaviors that we do.

As stated in the original post, I believe that many of these defenses are coming from some (not ALL) English-speaking Malleus fans. Why might that be? Well, firstly, some important things to keep in mind:

Malleus is EXTREMELY popular in the EN fandom, especially as a character to yume/ship with oneself. (He's been decently popular in the JP server as of late too, but there is still a noticeable positive bias for Malleus on the EN side.) Several fan polls consistently indicate that at least 50% of responders list Malleus as their favorite character/one of their favorite characters or indicate that they yume with him. This means there will always be considerable positive bias for Malleus among the English-speaking fanbase. Statistically speaking, this also means that extreme Malleus defenses are more likely to occur because there is already such a high volume of Malleus fans to begin with.

The average age for an EN player skews younger (like, teenager to young adult) than the JP playerbase (which, on average, seems to be women in their mid to late-20s). While it's not always true that younger = more immature/less knowledgeable, it IS the case that younger fans will generally have less life experience and thus less of a nuanced understanding of the world compared to older individuals. It is also (again, generally) the case that younger fans tend to have a more black/white view of morality and are more likely to demand that content cater to their own worldviews.

I was very shocked to read many of the recent Malleus defenses that I did. Some of them went so extreme with their wording that it almost felt as though they believed Malleus was the victim in the events of book 7 rather than the several thousands of people under his spell. While I understand being protective of a character one enjoys, I felt that some arguments took it much too far and seemed to entirely push the blame onto other characters instead of holding Malleus accountable for his actions. Similar radical defenses of Malleus have a tendency to crop up with every subsequent book 7 update. For example, there were (and still are) debates about who exactly is "responsible" for the nature of the dreams, Malleus or the dreamers themselves. So what's up here? Why the hubbub about Malleus specifically?

Well, in addition to the two points I brought up earlier (EN fans being younger on average + Malleus being a popular character), I believe a lot of it comes down to some fans being extremely attached to him. This is a phenomenon I often observe with Malleus in particular (and not as prominently with other Twst characters) due to how he is presented:

The main story narrative introduces him as Yuu's special friend, and Yuu is considered special to him in return (as he is usually feared or forgotten by others). Due to this, he is already set up as being "different" and "important" to many players.

We, as outsiders, are allowed to glimpse the positive sides of Malleus that most of the cast do not get to see. We may make the mistake of assuming that our understanding of him is what others see or believe that this is what they should see, in spite of this knowledge gap. This can lead to frustrations when other characters misunderstand him or don't see him the same way the player does.

He is a mysterious entity that we don't know much about, and it has been that way for a few years. This makes it very easy to project onto Malleus and make him whatever type of guy you want. This can heighten one's attachment to him, as you have now put in all this effort to flesh him out yourself.

Many people relate to and empathize with Malleus being lonely and awkward. This can contribute to a parasocial bond with him, and lead to the feeling that if someone dislikes or condemns Malleus, it is also a personal attack on those similar to Malleus.

His book being the last one, Malleus fans were starved for content and thus had to "fill in the void" by coming up with their own creations and headcanons. This means that by the time Malleus did become relevant, fans had already formed a preconceived notion of what he would or should be like (ie the "fanon"), which is, oftentimes, a much "softer" interpretation of him. This may then be superimposed over his actual character and the actions he takes in canon. To resolve the resulting cognitive dissonance, those fans might become defensive in his name.

The narrative of Twst hardly ever holds Malleus responsible for the things he says and does; it is therefore possible that some Malleus fans got used to that and assume this will be the norm for him. Now that others are calling for him to take some accountability, it goes against that norm and this may cause discomfort in those fans.

No one wants to see their favorite character hurt and/or die, and that has become a very real fear considering what book 7 is building up to. When people experience intense emotions like distress, they fail to think rationally and are more likely to talk off the cuff and make wild assumptions. This is a psychological truth; you can find many research papers about this if you don't believe me.

Not sure how strong of a point this one is, but I feel that sunk cost fallacy also plays a role. This refers to a reluctance to abandon something because you have already heavily invested so much in it. In this case, fans don't want to leave Malleus because they have already sunk so much time and emotional effort into him.

Considering all of that, I shouldn't be surprised that some fans became very upset at even the mere suggestion that Malleus has done bad things or should be "punished" for that. A lot of the arguments try to point out his good traits to balance it out, when that's not really the issue at hand. There are hardly any people out there denying that Malleus has good traits. There are hardly any people out there claiming that Malleus is purely wicked. There are hardly any people out there saying that Malleus doesn't have a sympathetic backstory or relatable motivations. What people actually want is for someone with both good and bad traits (ie Malleus) who is objectively harming people or threatening to harm them, to receive repercussions, given the enormity of his actions and how little he has been called out before relative to his peers.

[thydungeongal]

The rapier is a funny weapon in the context of D&D.

All the way up until D&D 3e the rapier basically didn't exist in the core rules of any edition of D&D. This makes sense: while D&D's medieval fantasy setting is in many ways a composite of many different places and times in the European middle ages, it is still medieval in a sense, and the rapier is a later invention.

So, what weapons did Rogues use until then? Well first of all the "Rogue" didn't really exist as a class at that point: the term only became part of D&D with AD&D 2e, where it meant a superclass of sorts that contained the Thief (the predecessor of the modern Rogue) and the Bard.

Okay, enough pedantry, so what weapons could Thieves use? Well, they had a few options, and I'm going to be using AD&D 1e as my example because it was the first version of the game to carve out a specific set of "Thief weapons." They could of course opt for clubs and daggers and darts and slings, what in modern D&D are considered "simple" weapons, but there was also an allowance for them to use swords. "Sword" in this case means a few different things: in the original and Basic games "sword" was simply what they called the most "normal" type of sword in the game, as opposed to the short sword and the two-handed sword. The "sword" of 0D&D and Basic D&D was, in many ways, the predecessor to the longsword (arguably not a longsword at all, but sword naming conventions are messy) of modern D&D.

Within the context of AD&D 1e however "sword" could mean a number of things, and the game explains what it means in the context of the Thief:

A thief may use a short sword, broad sword, or long sword but not a bastard sword or two-handed sword.

It's also worth mentioning that a broad sword in the context of AD&D 1e does not mean what is commonly referred to as a broad sword, but again sword naming conventions aren't actually consistent.

What this meant was that the best workhorse option for the Thief was the long sword (the AD&D 1e successor to the "sword" and this the predecessor to the longsword we know and love today). This lasted all the way until D&D 3e (although AD&D 2e added a few, non-sword weapons onto the list of acceptable Thief weapons, but since they are not swords we are not interested in them) when I guess someone decided that the longsword (the successor to the long sword) was no longer a fitting weapon for the Thief.

Now, I am not sure what the underlying logic here was, but since this was also the edition that introduced Weapon Finesse. However, in 3e it was a feat that had to be taken separately, not a general weapon property: taking the Weapon Finesse feat would allow characters to use their Dexterity for attack rolls (but not damage rolls) with a certain class of melee weapons. Up until D&D 3.5 it also had to be taken separately for each weapon that a character wanted to finesse, but D&D 3.5 changed it so that a single purchase made it so that a character could use it on all finesseable weapons.

I am not sure whether Weapon Finesse or the rapier came first during the design of 3e, but there was a clear shift: it was decided that the Rogue should not have to rely on the cumbersome and heavy longsword no more, but to use a more rakish and quick sword, and since Rogues were expected to focus on Dexterity an option was introduced to allow them to utilize their Dexterity better in melee combat.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Confesser

Summary: Spencer is a criminology professor, and Reader is a French professor. Separate focuses managed to get tangled together once, which makes Reader even more suspicious when he stops by her office on Valentine’s Day.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Light flangst

Content warnings: Slap

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: a little last-minute Valentine scenario

The bulb in your desk lamp flickered, as if it was begging for you to call it a night. You've been working late nights at the office recently, not only to help your students before midterms but also to keep your mind at bay from the lingering anguish.

There’s nothing wrong with being alone on Valentine’s Day. It’s been the case for you for years now. Solitude has been your most consistent and prosperous state. It’s how you earned your place as tenure after just five years at Marbury University (Go Cardinals). A job for life. Many people aren’t lucky to have that like you are. So you can’t stop now and get comfortable. Your students love you, and over the years have advocated this position for you. Stopping now would be nothing but a disservice to them.

If only you hadn’t been so stupid your fourth year here (and the first half of your fifth), then the feelings you get when in Jefferson Hall might be less painful. You were stupid enough to believe that the number one workplace rule didn’t apply to you.

Don’t fuck your coworkers.

Perhaps you thought your achievements from back to back earned you a place of immunity in that pool. Well, Dr. Spencer Reid was happy to prove you wrong there. Things like that can always risk being casual, unrequited, awkward. And you were stupid enough to go back more than once, and sully the place and position you rightfully earned.

Spencer first noticed you speaking to some of your students outside the hall. When approaching, he spoke in French, assuming you were a foreign exchange student. But when you turned to face him, he saw your staff badge, and put the pieces together quickly. It’s not too far off of an assumption, as most people think you’re French when they see how easily the language and history flows from you. You applauded his French (both pronunciation and accent) regardless.

That meeting turned into a coffee date. Coffee turned to grabbing lunch, then grading papers together, moral support to keep one another going. That quickly trickled into a friendship as you learned about Spencer’s specialties, multiple degrees, and current employment at the BAU in Quantico. You’ve both been to France for pleasure and to study. One was coincidentally in the same year as each other, where you both visited the city of Orléans. The rich architecture and vast history as far back as the Merovingian era made you both agree you prefer it over Paris any day.

Those days were during your fourth year. And it was just over a year of friendship where you made the mistake of agreeing to a drink after work.

The bulb flickers, as if to mock those memories or distract you from going too deep. Does it really matter? Spencer made it clear it was a mistake. None of it was meant to happen — the kiss, the confession, the sex. And with your shared brilliance mixed with two vodka sodas, you both unraveled what used to be a genuine friendship, a trusting relationship among coworkers. You cut your desk lamp off with a click, muttering to yourself as you collect your bag and some books. It’s a good enough sign to call it a night and head home. At the very least, you could spoil yourself with a nice bath and some wine. You question if you should grab a bottle on the way home or use what you’ve got stashed.

Your keys rattle in the door as you lock up your office, and you jerk on the doorknob for the sake of double checking. Spencer told you most break-ins occur because people fail to check the locks in their homes or cars before leaving. You don’t know how many of your students or fellow professors in the Language Department would be eager to bust into your office, unless they need some spicy ancient French poetry or books on Rococo architecture. No issues of the sort have arisen yet.

That is until you spot him at the end of the hall, drenched in fluorescent lighting and paused as if you caught him in the act. Of what, you didn’t know. It’s not like Spencer was short on French books or books in French. You hesitated to speak, questioning if it was even worth speaking a word to him. Regardless of the fact that you have to go his direction to get to your car.

Of course you caved. “Spencer.” You tried to not make your gulp so audible.

He just stood there awkwardly, like this wasn’t as much his fault as it was yours. Like you were in his way.

You scoff. Seeing him there, just feet away, it’s a cruel feeling blooming in your chest. The idea that maybe it isn’t too late. Maybe he’s here to confess what he really feels. On Valentine’s Day, no less. A bit of a cliché, but you’re not in a position to be too picky about how you might make up. If that’s even what’s happening.

With reluctance, you walk toward him. “I’m heading home for the night,” you say. “Are you parked out front too?” It pains to ask as if this is all casual. It feels like your heart’s about to burst or crush because he’s not saying a word as you approach him. Not until you actually approach him.

“Hi,” he meekly says. He looks pale. He looks sick with worry. If you were more concerned, you would feel inclined to ask about it.

You try to avoid sighing too loudly. You need the air. Since the bar (and everything after that), you two haven't been this close. “Do you want to walk out to the parking lot?”

Spencer shakes his head. “I, uh, I got you something.” He digs around in his satchel and pulls out a frame delicately. Like it was an old piece of art. Spencer hands it to you.

It’s not an old piece of art. It’s an old piece of poetry. Two of them in a single frame.

“They’re not the originals. But I have a friend in Germany who knows a guy in France who could exchange some pretty old copies.”

You stared at the pieces. Gawked is likely the more accurate word. They were definitely old copies. It was all handwritten and translated to Middle English.

You looked up at Spencer. “Charles d’Orléans?”

Spencer nodded, lips pressed together in a boyish, nervous smile.

You were so stunned by the decoration of the parchment, the distinct age of the pieces (well before the revolution), you almost forgot to ask, “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Had some spares around the apartment. Figured you’d appreciate them more than me.” He chuckled.

You turned your head and narrowed your eyes.

And you saw Spencer’s audible gulp. Much more audible than yours earlier (yes!). “Read it.”

You scan over the parchment, translating in your head:

Let men and women on Love’s party

Choose their St. Valentine this year!

I remain alone, comfort stole from me

On the hard bed of painful thought.

As he is well this day has caught

A Valentine that loves him, as I guess,

Whereas this comfort me here alone

Upon my bed so hard of painful thought.

You looked back up at Spencer, hoping this time he’ll put some more context behind the words instead of leaving you to fill in the blanks (again). You waited.

“I’m sorry about what I said. Or I guess… the way I said it. Maybe both. Both is probably the safer option to go with. The point is that I’m genuinely sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

You didn’t know what to do with the poems. It is instinct to keep them close to your chest like a book, but (like with you and Spencer) you’re afraid of ruining them. Somehow cracking it or damaging them. Firmly held in your hands, you are hyper-aware of its value. You also try not to let your emotions take a grip for the sake of your pieces. “You said it was a mistake.”

“It was a mistake that we went that far in one night. That’s… not who I am.”

You quirked a brow.

“That’s not who I usually am. I went too far in every way, and I’m sorry.”

You clamped your lips closed, looking around like students were present, ready to eavesdrop and gossip later. If your favorites were here, they would beg you to dish it all out over lunch. But no one was here. It was just you and Spencer (and Charles, kind of). “But what if my feelings were genuine?”

“I-I assumed they were. And I hurt them, and I’m sorry. I understand if I blew it and you may want to forget those feelings now, which is completely understandable. I destroyed it all in one night. And I can’t hold your hands right now, but I want to, and just say that you’re very important to me. And I miss you being around. And, uh, whatever context that might be, I hope we can be around each other again. A-at some point in the future.”

You sighed. It was heavy but concentrated. You needed a fresh breath of air. Spencer had the look of a sad puppy. It’s the way he looked whenever he was worried. How could you kick a sad puppy when he’s already down?

Well, you didn’t. You slapped him.

And he instantly reached for his cheek, already burning red.

“That’s for hurting me.”

Spencer nodded, not objecting to that part.

You then took that same cheek and pulled him closer, locking his lips with yours. And you both inhale deeply upon recognizing the contact. You’re hesitant about getting closer, given Charles is between you. “That’s me forgiving you.”

Spencer’s eyes crinkled as he held your face, but he didn’t initiate a kiss. The nerves in his fingers show he was hesitant to touch you so suddenly. He wasn’t messing this up again. “Can I walk you to your car?”

This time, it’s you who doesn’t hesitate. You hold the frame in one arm, cradling it like a baby. And you reach for Spencer’s hand as you walk out of Jefferson Hall.