#bookish-actor

[hyakinthou-naos]

Hello! I hope you're having a good evening!! For the pagan asks, I've got a couple for you!

🏛️ - Do you have a favorite statue or temple to your deity(ies)? If yes, what is it?

🎉 - Do you celebrate any festivals? If so, which ones?

Khaire Bookish-Actor,

Thank you for your questions!

🏛️: I actually don’t! I don’t look at statues all that often because I often don’t envision my deities in human-esque form. I envision Lady Aphroditê as the beach and ocean - Lord Hermes is the color green and the wind - Lady Hekatê is the sky on the night of the New Moon.

Not a statue of any of my deities, but I associate Michelangelo’s “David” with Lord Apollo - so I’d say that’s the closest to an answer?

��� : Thus far, outside of Triakas (Hekate’s Deipnon) and Noumenia, etc. I have actually only celebrated Hyakíntha.

However, soon I’ll be unveiling the Temple of Hyacinthus 2025 calendar - and my goal/hope is to, even in some small way, observe every festival on it (which, including lunar festivals, is about 69 festivals & holidays 😅).

Thank you for your questions! I appreciate your interest in my practice 🫶

[Questions for Polytheist Asks]

- Aön

[bluejayfiredancer]

I swear I saw someone here fancast goran višnjić for mortimer a few years ago and revisiting it now, it's still a pretty inspired choice imo

+bluejay bluejay bluejay

most importantly he's 6'4 aka fucking huge??

[romanticatheartt]

I don't want a graphic audiobook... I want two voice actor, one a woman and the other a man so that they can narrate the female and male characters separately... I'm begging!!!

[noellacope]

I'm having a special author event for my book Notes From The In-Between on April 6th from 12-3pm at The Open Book Topanga!

[emma-leigh03]

Acotar dust jacket I’m working on

[sundrop-writes]

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless. 

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless. 

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least. 

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life. 

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long. 

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.  

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman. 

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy. 

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them. 

That night, you had become his hero. 

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections. 

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so. 

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship. 

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature. 

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy. 

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms. 

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack. 

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you. 

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you. 

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway. 

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you. 

He tried not to act like it. 

But on nights like this, it was just so hard. 

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade. 

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison. 

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’. 

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade. 

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you. 

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time. 

Again - he was hopeless. 

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes. 

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin. 

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him. 

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch. 

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.) 

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites. 

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried. 

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it. 

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns. 

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-” 

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet. 

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying. 

“Y/N, uh-” 

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat. 

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.” 

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!” 

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him. 

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding. 

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand. 

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically. 

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued. 

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.” 

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen. 

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep. 

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.” 

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place. 

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration. 

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.” 

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench. 

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries. 

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you. 

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter. 

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again. 

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter. 

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead. 

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke. 

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds. 

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly. 

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock. 

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too. 

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste. 

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him. 

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed. 

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.) 

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch. 

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment. 

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual. 

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day. 

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet. 

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.) 

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice. 

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years? 

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers. 

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day. 

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.” 

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out. 

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments. 

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him. 

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration. 

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!” 

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why. 

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh. 

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?” 

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret. 

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot. 

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies. 

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count. 

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock. 

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt. 

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front? 

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home. 

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him. 

… 

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged. 

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you. 

His little secret piece of you. 

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis. 

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild. 

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for. 

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle. 

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him. 

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain. 

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game. 

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win. 

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this. 

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real. 

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out: 

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.” 

And what else could he do but obey? 

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on. 

He was a man of simple, divine tastes. 

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric. 

“Stiles, please.” 

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life. 

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers. 

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in. 

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain. 

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work. 

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you. 

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties. 

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask: 

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?” 

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh. 

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.) 

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say: 

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.” 

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm. 

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now. 

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state. 

Though he knew that would never fucking happen. 

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though. 

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow. 

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like. 

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone. 

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole. 

But what would they smell like? 

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him. 

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination. 

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you. 

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live. 

He could always imagine the other aspects so well. 

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness. 

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. 

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness. 

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too. 

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you. 

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out. 

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.” 

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly. 

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock. 

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.” 

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer. 

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.” 

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind. 

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it: 

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do. 

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.” 

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy. 

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-” 

“Cum for me, Stiles.” 

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him. 

Fuck. He had fucked up. 

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition. 

… 

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean. 

The only problem? 

Hang to dry. 

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition. 

… 

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early. 

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.” 

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn. 

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today. 

Focus, Stiles. Focus. 

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him. 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why? 

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke. 

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought. 

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole. 

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences. 

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him. 

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find. 

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.” 

Stiles groaned.

...

Edit to my notes as of Oct. 9th, 2024:

It is now my biggest regret announcing that there is a sequel to this fic in my drafts, but there is one that is fully written and just needs to be edited (but that is something that takes time and effort - neither of which I am going to put into the fic right now). However, it will not be posted anytime soon, and it is delayed infinitely. It will be posted when it is posted (and currently I don't know when that will be), and I would appreciate people not chasing me down and not asking about it.

Originally, my point of having a comment and reblog goal on this fic was so that a certain percentage of the people who read and liked the preview for this fic would have to reblog it, but the ratio on this fic is still absolutely horrendous, and it's clear to me that once people saw that goal was met, they didn't care to reblog this fic or comment on it if they enjoyed it - they only care to nag me and chase me down for the sequel while this fic sits at over 600 likes and less than 100 reblogs and comments (including my replies to people's comments).

If you are reading this fic after the edit, I hope you enjoyed it. I hope you do stick around on my blog while I work on and post other things. But the sequel to this fic will not be coming out anytime soon because I am a person with shifting interests, not a robot. Those shifting interests (and me chasing them organically) is the reason that I can produce 200k of fanfiction in a year and post all of it for free for people to enjoy.

And as always - if you enjoyed this fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written. And perhaps, consider reblogging it to show your appreciation. Please do not comment about the sequel.

If you want to be tagged in the next part, you can ask to be put on my Teen Wolf taglist by interacting with this post, but please know that if you don't follow my taglist rules, you will be removed from the taglist promptly. If that happens, you are still welcome to read and enjoy future fics, you just won't be included in my taglists ever again.

Happy reading, and I hope you enjoyed the fic!!

[bookishspirit662]

got an email that my review of a musical is going in the newspaper and. just now remembered that I used the phrase “pathetic wet cat energy” in it

[rattlethereads]

Book Haul from Sept to Currently lol. Not pictured are ebooks purchased through Kindle; Royal Assassin, Assassin’s Quest, Assassin’s Blade, The Shadows of What Was Lost, The Lesbiana’s Guide to Catholic School. And also not pictured are limited editions from Fairyloot ( The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo) and Ilumicrate. (Crescent City 1 and 2). Also not pictured, the hardback of Kingdom of Ash I purchased from Amazon yesterday. #bookish #bookhaul #bookishhaul #bookstagram #rattlethereads #bookworm #booklover #bookaddict #bookaddiction #throneofglass #actor #sevenhusbandsofevelynhugo #botm #specialedition #fairyloot #illumicrate https://www.instagram.com/p/CmP-DDXLsov/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[pardonmybunion]

So this @laurenillustrated artwork and all the vintage-dream-casting at @hotvintagepoll got me thinking: if Scooby Doo were a thing in the 1890s, then a few years later it would be a NATURAL for silent Hollywood. So who do we cast in Hal Roach’s hit 1915-1919 series of Scooby Doo live-action comedy shorts?

Shaggy and Scoob are both easy, because look, here’s Charley Bowers! He always plays chaotic pottering-around-with-machinery types, which is exactly the vibe that 1890s Shaggy gives, and he does so with a surrealist slapstick edge that’s perfect for the material. On top of that, Bowers is a pioneering stop-motion special effects artist—so he can also be our lead animator, and the rapport between live-action Shaggy and his animated Scooby will be delightful.

Like Shaggy, Velma has to have a certain slapstick quality (“Where are my glasses? I can’t see without my glasses”), so it’s lucky we have Alice Howell—nicknamed “the female Charlie Chaplin” by the tiresome people who use that type of comparison. The point is, she can give Velma the bookish self-possession suggested in the 1890s look, AND also run through a gajillion doors in a wacky hallway chase culminating in a spectacular pratfall.

(Mabel Normand is another contender, but her acting style seems a couple notches too naturalistic for Scooby Doo. I definitely see her directing a bunch of the shorts though.)

Fred needs to be both a conventionally hot manly-hero type and a bit of an idiot, so hello Reginald Denny! This British actor emigrated to Hollywood in the early 1910s, became a comedy star, and played himbos so well that he was still playing them into the 1960s. He’s even in the Adam West Batman movie as the naval hero Commodore Schmidlapp, who’s so ditzy he doesn’t realize he’s been kidnapped by the Penguin.

Daphne is a fun one—let’s assume that by this point, Pearl White is tired of all those straight-up action serials like The Perils of Pauline, and wants to do a spoof for a change. With silent comedy shorts there’s always a chance the plot will wander away and leave the individual gags running the store, and White brings enough tension and gravitas to prevent that situation and keep things moving. At the same time, since she favors action roles, she can easily match the dynamism of Bowers, Howell, and Denny.

And that’s to say nothing of all the silent actors who could appear in bit parts on their way to fame. Maybe the gang tears the mask off the ghost, and discovers it’s an early-career Buster Keaton?

[ingravinoveritas]

Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

[hanahanumana]

From AnaMaria Abramovic on Fb

Paste magazine has done an article about Michael and how underrated he is in Good Omens and I found a transcript since it's behind a paywall. Here's the link if anyone wants to subscribe. 💙

https://www.pastemagazine.com/tv/amazon-prime-video/good-omens-michael-sheen-underrated-performance-explained-streaming

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

[relaxxattack]

you are so very homestuck knowledgeable. when you have the time and should inspiration strike, please tell all your headcanons about oliveblood trolls.

ooo what a great question! for this one i think first we'd need to break down current stereotypes about olivebloods. there's actually not much that we're given about them tbh

according to the homestuck wiki, which is based on info from both the comic and more dubiously canon things like friendsim and hiveswap, the olive caste's two singular traits seem to be "wild animal" and "romance liker". both of these, obviously, are traits pulled from our wonderful main girl nepeta, who was the singular representation of the olive caste for a long time; alongside her dancestors. which is quite cute, who doesn't love nepeta?

the thing is though that i am one of those nitpicky people who likes to say, "well, hey now, nepeta isn't actually representative of her caste at ALL." in fact, none of the beta trolls are. i honestly feel like it should be assumed that just like the beta kids, the beta trolls are weirdos, and not really the 'norm' in their society.

nepeta lives out in the wilderness very specifically away from society in a way that is remarked on as being unusual even for someone of her color; and she does not even understand what role her caste would have given her in normal society. and i mean... considering aradia tavros and sollux are LOWER than nepeta, it doesn't really make sense for them all to have nicer houses than her unless she's unusual in her situation.

^ nepeta is in fact NOT a good representation of olivebloods.

which means... no, i don't think all olive trolls are romance obsessed wilderness girls, actually, sorry, hiveswap friendsim, i have to shelve you from my alternia analysis for now.

luckily, there ARE other olivebloods in the series!

first of all, the other leijons. unfortunately, none of them are really "good" examples either. meulin is from an entirely different planet, and disciple is from an ancient history perhaps even less representative of "normal" life than nepeta is. all we really get from them is stuff we already knew from nepeta-- the wildness, the relationship interest. with an added fact that both meulins seem to be somewhat bookish.

and so who does that bring us to? the final canonical oliveblood.

that's right.

troll will smith.

troll will smith is canonically an oliveblood. not only that, but he's a famous actor, which means he is basically a "model" for society- for what it looks like once you "have it all made". i would imagine this goes even more for alternia, supposedly a very movie-geared society.

the two troll will smith features that canonically exist on alternia are Fresh Prince and Hitch. in both of these films, will smith plays a character that is self-made and clever, a regular guy who is just skilled. it should also be noted that while a "threshecutioner" is a job with a heavy blueblood populous, greenbloods can also be one, and it's common enough that a show about it wasn't cut by the alternian dictatorship.

so therefore, what traits can we pull that all of these olivebloods (and equius lol) display to us?

olive trolls are lower class, but they're capable of working up through their connections

likely due to this, olive trolls are often clever and self made. they're likely quick-witted and sharp

they're good at their jobs! most olive trolls that are seen in the comic are very good with their respective practices (be it drawing, writing, bookkeeping, or melee fighting)

it's possible that olive trolls have a good intuition, and are fairly in touch with their own instincts. this would explain why some of them seem to fare better in the wild or in fights, and also why they are stereotyped as having a natural inclination for relationships. i think this is also a good transition ground between the impressive physical psionics of the castes lower than olive, and the emotional/mental psionics of the highbloods above them.

so, there we go. these are my olive headcanons! they're not comfortably well off or anything, but they're not wild animals either-- they're hard workers and skilled at what they put their minds to. probably usually working a nine to five and doing their best in life hoping to move up with a good quadrant or promotion. at least, in my headcanon anyway- no need to take this as fact!

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Older Male Yandere x Young Female Reader

I don’t want this to sound/look bad, but a new yandere who has DILF energy. NOT an actual DILF (he doesn’t have any children…yet), but he could basically pass as one since he’s amazing with children and is on the older side (so like 40s?)

I’m sorry…I kinda have a thing for older, mature, responsible men. And I just wanna be a baby girl for them sometimes (yes don’t worry I’m an adult adult, not someone who just legally became an adult; I know about relationship power dynamics, potential for abuse, etc.)

P.S. There needs to be older yandere men in general (like genuinely older than reader darling). It’s such an untapped archetype

Thanks!!! 💝

Yandere! Male! Dilf! NSFW asmrtist! x Fem! regular! Superfan! Reader

Hmm, I actually had problems thinking of what to put as a plot... Then my keyboard autocorrected Dilf to D*ldo and I was like 👁️👄👁️ and then WAIT. HOW ABOUT A NSFW ASMRTIST? (since you know, d*ldo is sexual and some people please themselves with the toy when they listen-- you get the gist)

I remembered a certain ASMRtist(?) that introduced me to NSFW yandere audios, so I'm naming the yan from him. He just did one from what I know? But "Hot Boy Summer" will have a special place in my heart bajwkdkxmf

Note: this one has explicit NSFW in this one, just putting it out. Daddy kink, but only mentioned once.

Yandere! NSFW asmrtist name: Rose

"Another Rosas banger"

"It was so good help"

"My legs just spread apart"

"Daddy just served dinner AND I'M EATING WELL TONIGHT"

As Rose posted on a certain subreddit for NSFW audiophiles, people immediately flooded the post. They upvoted, commented, some dared to share.

But to a lot, it's a sweet, dirty secret that they listen to NSFW audios. Especially yandere audios.

I mean, who in their right mind want somebody as obsessed and possessive as yanderes? Even in fiction, they are weird!

Well, not for Rose and his audiences.

He feeds into their fantasies. May it be CNC, full on NC, BDSM, or his audience's favorites: Yandere Dilf audios.

God, people eat them up like no other.

Due to this, Rose, with his username RosasAudios, achieved some kind of cult following. Close to a million followers, he made being an NSFW voice actor a full time job.

His naturally deep voice with a little bit of huskiness, a little bit of accent that's vaguely SE Asian, and an undertone of sweetness, made people giggle and writhe in their bed. And to those more peculiar, he feeds into their daddy issues.

He was never loud in his audios. Just a modulated talking tone, maybe even a whisper. So when the NSFW part happens, due to the binaural nature of his audios, it feels like he's really there when you listen to his audios. Whispering hot breath into your ear as the wet sfx filled your senses.

He loved the attention. But at most, he looks at it as a past time that provides enough money to live in slight luxury due to commissions and subscriptions.

In reality, he's a 40-ish year old man, living alone in a suburban neighborhood. Bookish in nature, he dons a soft, yet reliable look. Messy hair that covers his forehead, thick framed black eyeglasses, a carefully trimmed short beard that clings to his olive skin, soft, resting eyes that feels like it soothes one's soul whenever they look at them, a tall frame with enough buff-ness that one can rest on his chest with comfort, and an outfit consisting of light academia clothes of sweaters, shirts, pants, vests, etc. Laugh lines and slight wrinkles decorated his handsome face.

Even then, neighbors swoon for the man. Even married people.

He's sweet, reliable, generous, kind, good with kids. Why doesn't he have a spouse again?

With a gentle shake to his head, he scratches his neck and whispers bashfully with a red face.

"I'm waiting for somebody."

That made people swoon over him more.

As people longingly look at the lonely man, he bows to them and enters his home to record another set of audios for the highest tier on his subscription.

And, despite having a handful of people there, there's one person he's excited on making a dedicated, personal audio for.

You

And you? A superfan. You've been listening to Rose for a long time. Dare I say, one of his first, if not the first, regular.

You discovered him first when your friend introduced you to the subreddit.

His post, not getting that much attention due to being plain. No that much tags nor flairs at all. Just an inconspicuous "first audio [M4F] [Vanilla] [yandere]" and that was it.

When you listened, the mic had a weird quality to it, but god where you aroused due to how genuine it sounds. Like he's specifically talking to you with how... Personal it sounds.

And yeah, his first audios were not for you at all. Just your typical audios for a lot of people.

So, you lurked on his account, being his first follower.

You commented on the post also.

"first audio? Are you sure? You sound so good! This is my first time here in the subreddit. And if a newcomer like you already has this quality, I know I'll have a good time here."

Lengthy, but it gave Rose the boost of confidence he needs.

So, naturally, he replied.

"thank you so much! I just saw this subreddit one day and, by sheer boredom, decided to try it. It's weird, but thrilling. And it's your first too? I'm glad to be your first 😉"

He felt the wink and joke was too risky, but you replied in barks so, despite being bewildered due to not used to internet in-jokes, he laughed and decided to continue the grind.

Even as he continued to pump audios, you never failed to listen to every. Single. One.

You were in love with his audios and voice.

And he was falling for you.

God, is it weird to fall for a stranger on the internet?

So, by the time he reached 100k followers, he decided to do a small meet and greet online to those who can decipher the message.

And you, feral little minx you are, deciphered it in a jiffy and slammed the answer on his inbox.

You were the first too.

Rose, frozen, shakily sent you the zoom meeting room.

Nobody other than you deciphered the message yet.

He wants to talk to you one on one.

So, as he fixes himself and slaps his own cheeks to wake him up, he nervously waited for you to join the meeting with the password.

Then, he saw you.

Gorgeous, beautiful you.

His eyes sparkled like it didn't sparkle before. His heart, painfully beating on his chest and his ears, overflowed with attraction and love as he drank in your figure.

"Rosas omg hi! We finally got to talk one on one. Well, as one on one as a video call is."

Oh, how he groans. Your voice is sweet and lovely in his ears.

"Hi, y/nDarling. I can't believe I get to see the face of the person who has been with me since... Forever!"

"Right?! And damn. Rosas, take this with full confidence, alright? You're fucking hot."

Rose shakes his head with a chuckle.

"You... You're as cheeky as your typings."

You stuck out your tongue childishly and he laughs. His deep voice making you shiver.

"Oh and, you're actually old?"

"ouch?"

"OH MY GOD NO WHAT I MEAN IS, since you frequently make dilf audios, and you're actually one--"

Rose blinks. You consider him a dilf even in person?

He leans forward with a lopsided smirk.

"So, you consider me as a daddy you'd like to fuck?"

"No, stop STOP I DIDN'T MEAN THAT! WAIT, I MEAN IT, WAIT OH MY GOD ROSAS PLEASE STOP TEASING ME."

And as he laughs loudly, he knew you were the one.

He continued to talk to you for a long time, due to his other followers being quite slow in deciphering the message.

He did make the message with you solving it immediately in mind, while the others will struggle.

They were not you, after all.

Why would he care?

When he ended the video call, he had a silly, lovesick grin on his face.

He wants to make an audio.

And that audio was his most viral due to being so genuinely feral, lovesick, and longing it is for the listener.

"Ugh... Fuck, you're so tight..."

"Bend over for me, love. Don't you fucking dare crawl away."

"yes, just like that. Open your mouth, stick out your tongue like that..."

Rose, in his recording studio (his walk in closet), recorded the personal audio for you. You requested CNC, predator and prey, DILF, and breeding, along with other tags that can make a victorian lady die from how obscene it is.

At first, when he opened his subscriptions, he was bewildered by your wild and straightforward requests, but now he's used to it. Maybe even love it.

He imagined you bending over for him, your sweet hole gripping his c0ck as he pistons inside of you. Your tear stricken face, aroused with fear and desire, looks at him, begging for more.

Rose flinches, as he lets out a loud groan to the microphone. Cumming all over his hands.

Hey, it helps with authenticity, okay?

Rose sighs, imagining you cradled into his tight embrace as he said the last lines of the script.

"You're mine, y/n. Nobody else's, just mine."

And, he ends the audio with a sloppy kiss.

He slumped down to his chair, spent yet satisfied.

But he wants more.

Yes, he did screenshot when you video called him, but that was it. It was years ago too, and he needs more material.

After cleaning up, he spun around and went to the computer to edit his raw audio with sound effects.

At first, it was weird hearing his voice saying all of the deprived shit he said, but now it's just work.

But with your audios, he was meticulous. Making sure to put as much genuine wet sfx (from him masturbat1ng), and atmospheric sfx to make your listening experience the best of all. Yours were the longest too, at least climaxing twice every personal audio.

Can you tell he has favoritism for you?

And, when he finished editing, it was already morning.

Sending the audio to you, he stood up, stretching, and went to the kitchen to make himself coffee.

It was supposed to be a typical Tuesday. Nothing that much happens in this suburbs, let alone the town he's in.

So, he turned on the radio, grabbed his coffee mug, and went outside to watch the beautiful sun coming up to the sky.

Settling in his usual chair on his patio, he drank his coffee, greeted people as they passed by, doing their own thing.

The wind was kind of cold, but nothing unwelcomed as Rose's attention got picked up by a moving truck just in front of his home.

Huh, finally. A new face to the suburbs.

He drank his coffee, before coughing it out when he saw a familiar face getting out of the car following it.

It was you.

How?

What?

Why?

Huh?

He watched with wide eyes as he watches you bounce around in excitement as you helped the movers take out your things and into your home.

He doesn't know what to do. He wants to run to you, embrace you and twirl you around.

But no, not yet.

Why are you here?

By some kind of sick joke, he thought you were stalking him.

But no, that's too much.

You're too sweet. You can't do that.

So, he just watched, waiting for you to notice him.

But you didn't, too busy on your own work to notice the older man on his patio looking at you with such longing and desire.

With you finally going inside your home, he ran inside the house and slumped down behind the door. He clutched his chest, eyes wide, blood pumping, soul rattled.

You were here.

You came to him.

He gulped, shakily standing up. The coffee mug forgotten outside but who gives a shit right now.

You're so close to him, within his grasp, and he will make sure to utilize it.

He went to the kitchen, immediately whipping up breakfast food from your country of origin before stopping.

Were you allergic to anything?

God is he stupid?!

4 decades of being alive yet he forgets if you have any allergies?

His hand shook before scrapping the food altogether.

What should he do?

He decided to whip up something relatively tasty and safe before letting it slightly cool down.

He rushes to his room, frantically showering and lathering and cleaning as much as he could, getting dressed in his casual fit that looked like he just "carelessly put together despite how amazing it looked". He trimmed his beard, dabbing on serums and moisturizers, concealers on his eyebags, before running downstairs.

He grabbed the food before rushing to your doorstep.

Wait, would it be weird?

Wouldn't it be awkward?

He did do NSWF audios, so that means you pleased yourself to his voice, right?, ( God please let it be real that you did use his audios as material)

So, it's like... Maybe seeing your teacher in public?

No, the comparison is off.

He knocked on the door.

"hello, do you..."

You froze.

He froze.

Time seemed to stop as the both of you looked at each other.

You recognized him, he recognized you.

"Ah... Rosas...?"

He grinned, laughing gently. You shivered, hearing the voice you unconsciously conditioned your body to become aroused in person for the first time.

"Hey, Y/n. Welcome to our neighborhood."

He revels in the desire in your eyes as you squeezed your thighs together.

You both became somehow good friends.

It was still awkward, seeing as how much you listened to Rose moaning and doing NSFW stuff.

But it didn't overwhelm your excitement.

It's like, seeing your idol irl, but you're his neighbor.

It made you giddy, happy, and nervous.

Meanwhile, Rose loves this new development.

He's not going to die alone.

You were there with him.

God gave you to him on a cement platter.

At first, it was just an innocent pass by.

He would pass by your house, looking at the inside by your window, his mouth whispering loving words to your figure inside. Then he got a bit risky by going boldly to your house at night to spy on you sleep.

But he wanted to know more about you. He ached, craved to know more.

So, with little to no morality left, and the only source he knew of extreme ways to show affection are his audios, he decided to fully embrace being a yandere.

At first, he still felt guilty. You inviting him over to talk, he pocketing some of your mundane things like a sock, and him bringing hidden cameras and microphones to plant inside your home.

He shivers. The thought of seeing you inside your home so vulnerable and unprotected is making him aroused.

Next, he does the next script. Using your sock to pleasure himself to make the moans and groans genuine.

The feeling of your sock, the knowledge that you wore this is making him burst at the seams.

"God, you make me feral, love."

"you're only mine, only mine. Nobody else to have you, just me."

"Yeah, cum for daddy. Come undone, baby."

How he wishes to tell you these words in person.

And, as he finishes with a jolt and a loud groan, he imagines you laying on his chest and him combing your hair with his fingers.

By the morning, he finished editing the audio, and uploads it.

He waits for you to listen to it.

He didn't need to wait for long, as the coms crackle with your giggle.

He turns on the hidden cameras, and saw you dive to your bed with headphones on, watching you close your eyes and probably imagining him.

He saw you look longingly at the window that faces his house, and he grins at the thought of you wanting him so bad.

He watches as you writhe and relax, your hands going under your clothes as you followed what's happening on the audio. He felt himself harden once more.

Fingers playing with yourself, and his hand encircling his hardened c0ck.

He pants in want, seeing you bite your lip and arch your back from the pleasure. Your eyes trembling with the euphoria.

He continued to please himself to you pleasing yourself, groaning and grinding into his hand. Wishing it was you.

And, as you came, he threw his head back, breathless and dizzy from the overwhelming pleasure.

As he stayed there lying, he watches you do the same thing again. Looking longingly at the window.

"Soon, love." Rose whispered to the computer monitor. "I will have you in my arms soon."

Both of you were relatively normal after that. Like you didn't just pleasure yourself to his voice and him doing the same to you.

But the unmistakable hunger in both of your eyes and teasing touches were a sign that things are going to break soon.

And he just waits until you can't do it anymore.

Yet he waits.

He'll continue to upload audios.

Make you ache for him so badly, knowing he's just a few meters away.

Who will break first?

But in the end, you will still end up in his arms.

"Come to me, love."

And he'll whisper to your ear lovingly as he breeds you in an animalistic way.

Don't you want that, baby?

[romanticatheartt]

I love it when fmc is constantly considered as plain and not very beautiful by others and she also has accepted this fact but mmc shows up and sees right through her and always tries to prove to her how beautiful she is and not just her appearance<33

[noellacope]

[studiodrydock]

Interview With a Werewolf - A deep dive into the character of Westley Vuk from Wylde Flowers

We've put together an in depth look at Wylde Flower's fuzziest romanceable character, Westley Vuk! 🐺💕

Westley, the romantic werewolf bookseller, is one of our most beloved characters, and we had the privilege of chatting with several members of the team involved with bringing him to life, including Iona Vorster (concept artist), Desiree Cifre (narrative director), Mike Taylor (animator) and Ray Chase (his voiceover artist).

We discussed all things Westley including his inspiration, design, and what makes him so popular (and dreamy)! Enjoy! ✨

Writing a Werewolf

Questions answered by: Desiree Cifre (Narrative Director)

Q: Can you start by telling us a little bit about Westley?

Desiree: Westley is a bookish werewolf originally from Alaska. He became a werewolf due to a case of mistaken identity. His identical twin brother, Lou, was a marksman for a logging company, and shot at a werewolf who then returned and attacked Westley one full moon. Once Westley turned into a werewolf, he vowed to keep his distance from humans to protect them and himself, and found safe harbor in the magical village of Ravenwood Hollow. He hopes to find a cure for his lycanthropy and in the meanwhile, prove that werewolves can be positive contributors to the magical community.

Q: What was your process like, including inspirations and challenges, when creating Westley?

Desiree: Our original scope for the narrative limited the characters to the members of the coven and the other, non-magical villagers, so I was delighted when Amanda and Alex told me we would have the budget for a magical village with four residents. I knew right away that I wanted one of them to be a werewolf and that I wanted him to be a romantic interest for Tara. A bookseller seemed like a natural fit so that he could sell Tara the parchment and incantations she would need for her spellwork, and when Iona drew up some concept art of our nattily dressed Westley we all knew that was the right direction for the character. Once I learned we could support him having both human and wolf forms, that opened up the space to create a little mystery around his first appearance in town, and then we got to dive into his backstory a bit more later in the game.

Q: Do you have a favorite line that you wrote for him?

Desiree: Well, I was expecting players to love Westley, but even I couldn't have anticipated how much of a fan-favorite he would become. I have to say one of my favorite lines is one that only plays if you are partnered with him: "Tara, you're looking ravishing today! Not that I want to, or would, I mean, you know." The actor who plays him, Ray Chase, gave such a hilariously brilliant reading of that line and it makes me giggle every time I hear it! The thirst is real.

Drawing a Werewolf

Questions answered by: Iona Vorster (Concept Artist)

Q: What was the process like for designing Westley? How did you incorporate his personality and backstory into his design? Iona: Initially I started with sketching out ideas for all the Ravenwood Hollow characters in tandem. I wanted to make sure they would sit well together, and since they are all (mostly) fae, I wanted to make sure they felt consistent across their designs while figuring out “what do the fae look like in the world of Wylde Flowers.” Once I had a good idea of what they’d generally look like, I took each character one by one to work out the specifics.

With Westley, the process was a bit more complicated because I also had to figure out what his werewolf anatomy would be like and how far we wanted to push it. Since Westley is a romanceable character, I wanted his werewolf form to still feel personable and able to emote like the rest of the characters, so going very wolf-like with his design didn’t feel like the best option!

As with all the characters, I did have a wonderful character background to reference for Westley, written by narrative lead Desiree! A facet of his personality is that he likes dressing well, so along with him being a bookseller, a suit seemed like the natural choice!

Q: Which did you design first, werewolf Westley or human Westley? Did you have to put any considerations into giving him a (relatively) consistent appearance between the two forms? Iona: I started with his human form, since I knew his werewolf form would need R&D on aspects of his anatomy like his face and legs. However, eventually I moved back and forth between the two, because parts of his werewolf form, like his fangs and his fur, informed design decisions on human Westley. I wanted to hint at his werewolf form when he was in human form, and vice versa/

I also wanted to keep consistency in his outfit, especially since there’s the comical details of his suit not quite fitting his massive werewolf frame, which accentuates the differences between the two!

Q: What is your favorite part of Westley's design? Iona: His fangs! Designing all of him was fun, but I love that he has fangs in human form.

Animating a Werewolf

Questions answered by: Mike Taylor (Animator)

Q: What did the collaboration (if any) look like between you, Desiree and Iona? Mike: I wasn't involved very much in the concept of Westley. As with all characters, I was asked for feedback on each concept, but the concepts are always so good, I have very little to add, and Westley was no exception. Soo-Ling (Wylde Flowers’ 3D Artist) and I would discuss his model more and especially the hair, since we knew that was a big part of his design. We would work together to decide how to structure Westley's hair so we could have the most movement as efficiently as possible.

Q: What types of personality bits or other considerations were you trying to showcase in his animations, and how did you achieve them? Mike: Desiree and Elizabeth put together Casting Notes for all the characters, citing specific actors and/or roles that best exemplified the character. I always started there as the basis. For Westley in particular, I know I felt that he should be a little withdrawn and maybe a little brooding. He's an intellectual who has been cursed with being a werewolf, after all. From that I thought his walk - which is the animation that gets the most personality - should be pretty subdued, compared to the other characters, and he should be looking at the ground rather than straight forward. It's subtle, but hopefully reads just a little.

Q: And for Wolf Westley? Mike: For Wolf Westley, the goal was to make him more feral, without going too far. To do this, I added some exaggerated chest breathing to his idle, arched his fingers and turned his hands inwards, then made his walk very 'stompy' to highlight the extra weight he was carrying around.

Giving a Werewolf a Voice

Questions answered by: Ray Chase (Voiceover Artist)

Q: Can you describe the direction you were given when portraying Westley? What types of personality traits, emotions, etc. did you need to convey? Ray: Westley is a really deep character - and one who I was immediately drawn to. Going back through my auditions for this game, it looks like I only chose to audition for him and the reverend! I love how genteel he is - there's a huge part of me that wants to go run my own bookstore in a small village, so I'm playing out my own fantasies when I'm playing him. :D The voice director, Krizia, was a big help in dialing in just the right amount of werewolf into this character. He shouldn't be frightening, but rather be a warm wolfy snuggle.

Q: Westley's fans have become quite passionate From an acting perspective, what do you think is the secret sauce that makes him so appealing? Ray: I'm definitely using my bedroom voice most of the time for this guy. I have heard that it can be...most enticing....

Q: Are there any lines or beats with Westley that stick out to you? Ray: I'm a vegetarian, so it's always quite alarming when I have to do his butcher shop quotes! I can't believe he eats that much meat... But I guess it's better that he buys from a friend than go roaming the woods at night… And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading! Victoria and the Studio Drydock Team Find out more about Wylde Flowers Here