#but i have to feel like i have a very large and accessible library of Source Material that i can consult at all times

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 18

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. all chapters

Eighteen. 十八

Maybe because Donaka watches you streaming how-to videos over the limited access iPad he gives you, a yoga teacher starts coming every other day to the house for an hour session.  

You cannot help but think the gesture is self-serving, keeping you limber for his own gratification, but it gives you something to do while he’s gone. 

It also helps calm you, in the moments when you are sorely tempted to break every expensive antique ceramic he has in the house, starting with the extremely rare pale green Ru Ware vases.

He’s kept his word, not letting you outside the compound since your little escape attempt. On top of the cameras, you feel his security team watching you at all times when he’s out–from a distance, but it’s still unnerving. You’re doing your best to be the goodest of girls–but it’s driving you crazy inside.

You’ve tried to write, but the words do not come easily anymore. Partly because you know he would read them later, and partly?

You feel too overwhelmed to even begin to make sense of this in the shape of words. 

You read instead, spending a great deal of your time in the library. You sprawl in the comfy chairs, but your favored pose is laying on your belly with a book on the floor like you did when you were a child. Partly because it’s comfortable and partly, it gives you the ridiculous psychological illusion of hiding. You are laying like this behind the table when you hear the door open, and recognize just by the confident footfalls who has entered your little sanctum. 

You cannot keep your heart from pounding double-time–depending on his mood, it could be good to see him back from work this early, or very bad.  

“Are my chairs not satisfactory?” he asks, the corner of his mouth pulled just slightly. “Do you require a pillow fort?”

You roll onto your side to look up at him, shrugging. “You’re home early.” It wasn’t even lunchtime yet. 

“I thought you might like to try out my new toy with me.” 

Your initial reaction to this statement is dread. 

The look on your face must tickle his funny bone. He throws back his head and laughs like a real Bond villain. “Not that kind of toy, y/n. Get up.”

You push to your feet, gingerly closing the book you’d been reading. He tilts his head to peruse the cover. “Tai Chi Theory? Forgot I even had that one.”

“It’s kind of interesting,” you play off, reluctant to tip your hand. In fact, you find it very interesting, especially after watching that young man Tiger Chen. You wonder how long you’d have to study, before you could get to pushing hands, the martial side of Tai Chi. 

You feel the weight of his gaze on you, and as usual, suspect you’re not fooling him one bit. He looks you up and down; you’re still in yoga pants and a tank top. “Go put on one of your new dresses,” he tells you. “Casual is fine.” 

His idea of casual and yours differ by vast degrees. 

This is when it sinks in for you: he is taking you out of the house? He watches your face light up like a lightbulb, and his smile widens slightly. “Tik tok, bunny,” he tells you, glancing at the Rolex upon his wrist. 

With a final glance at him you set your book on the table for later, and rocket out of the room. 

A large section of Donaka’s closet has been filled with clothes–for you. Nothing you had any hand in picking out, of course, although you hate to admit…more of them hit the mark than don’t. In your rush you settle on a sleeveless floral Carolina Herrera shirt dress with an A line skirt, and semi-sensible platform wedge sandals by Dior. It’s something you would almost select on your own–minus the three grand price tag.

Jesus H Christ on a cracker. 

Nervous, because you have no idea what he has in mind, you find yourself fidgeting in the closet mirror with a deer-in-the-headlights look. This does not improve for you, when you see him filling the doorway, his arms up on the jambs.   

“I knew that would look nice on you.”

His approval should not make you feel all warm inside, but…oh. His dark eyes in the mirror could start a fire, and you take a shaking breath. 

“Is this ok?” you ask, turning, smoothing your skirt. 

“Perfect.” 

This is when you really notice that he is wearing a khaki colored suit, with a white oxford button down, and it’s such a change from his usual grays and blacks that it almost makes your head spin. It makes him seem…less sinister, somehow, and so dapper your chest aches. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, sidling closer. 

“Nowhere, if you keep looking at me like that,” he answers with a half smile and that smoldering look that makes you weak in the knees. 

The devil shouldn’t be allowed to wear white. It’s entirely too becoming. It makes you forget too much. 

Feeling bold, maybe even a little giddy with the thought of going out, you wrap your arms around his lean torso under his jacket, tilting your head towards his. When his lips touch yours gently it feels like spring rain, like parts of you that were near death inside perk up and sigh, and you know you shouldn’t let yourself feel this way…but it’s too late. Too late by half. 

“Come on, y/n,” he says, taking your hand and tugging you to follow him.

***

You do not really know what you’re looking at, at first, when he leads you out to the circle driveway.

It’s a sports car, of course, its perfect porcelain white paint gleaming like a pearl in the sun, with brushed aluminum trim and crimson accents in the wheels. You can see hints of red leather interior peeking through the tinted windows. 

“Well?” he asks impatiently when you are quiet for too long.

“It’s gorgeous,” you admit, meaning it too.

He grins down at you in a moment of what you believe is pure, unadulterated happiness. “That’s worth 2 million dollars, I suppose.”

You almost trip, and might have bit it if he wasn’t already holding on to you. “What?”

The ‘Just kidding’ does not come. He opens the passenger side door for you with a gallant little wave. “My lady.”

You, however, pause at the door. “Donaka, I’m afraid to even touch this thing.” He was ready to spank you over just tearing a button off a shirt.

He leans on the door, smirking down at you. “Baby, do you know what the mark of true, untouchable, fuck you wealth is?”

You blink in answer. “Umm…no?”

“It’s the fact that we could destroy this thing today, and I could buy another one tomorrow just like it. And there were only 58 ever made.”

You let out a slow breath. You know he is not actually so cavalier with his expensive possessions. And the thought of having that much money to burn…it’s just obscene. Like he can read the transcript of your hesitance, he urges you further.

“Come on, bunny. Let’s have some fun.”

You look at the luxurious blood red leather inside the car. “Should I take my shoes off?”

“Honey, you can put your feet on the dash if you want.” 

It feels like…he actually means it, and it’s hard to reconcile this carefree mood of his with the forbidding man you knew before. Maybe you’re the fool…but you want to believe this side of him is real. You want to believe…that you’re safe. You bite your lip, and he can see your trepidations evaporating with the rising sun. In the end, the chance to go outside the compound is too much temptation to resist. “Okay.”

“Mmm. That’s my girl.”

Hearing those words from his lips should not cross the wires in your brain the way they do. You settle down into the sculpted seat, and he closes the door gently after you. 

You notice something sitting in the floorboard at your feet. As he’s getting in you realize it's a handbag, white leather, red lining. It’s almost cute, that it matches his car. There’s a brightly printed silk scarf inside, as well as sunglasses, hand lotion, and organic lip balm. It’s funny that you didn’t even think to bring a bag, because you have no money or identification to put in it. He’s thought of everything, it seems. 

It’s all damn near sweet, is what it is, and as ever you feel the conflict of rabid want and utmost trepidation with this man. 

He starts the car, and the deep, primal rumble of the motor is like the warning grumble of a jungle cat, low and menacing. How fitting, for the man behind the wheel. 

“You’re going to want that for your hair,” he tells you, nodding at the scarf. 

“Oh?” 

He touches a button, and what you thought was a solid tinted black top slides back with seamless precision, folding somehow into the boot. 

“Holy shit.”

He laughs at your surprise, enjoying your mystification. “They told me this car can go from 0 to 100 kilometers in 2.7 seconds. Should we try it out?”

“Uh…that sounds terrifying,” you answer glibly, folding the scarf in half. Your insides lurch a little when you see Hermès printed in the corner. Then you have a heart-stopping inkling about the bag too. Gold hardware and a decorative lock, and in small gold script, there it is. $30,000 sitting at your feet, minimum. 

Don’t panic. Stay calm.

You can’t help but think that if you had that kind of money to throw around, you would give it to Mei for her sister, and not spend it on a Birkin, or a special edition supercar, or a designer dress that you were pretty sure you could find a lookalike of at Target.

He’s watching these thoughts play across your face with a small smile. You’re sure he knows the gist of them, if not the exact translation. You realize he was right, when he told you so unfalteringly that he knows you better than anyone. 

Fine, you think, trying to put some steel in your spine. Bitching about the price of these gifts to indulge your guilt will get you nothing in the end. You decide that you are going to enjoy your day, so that he enjoys his day, and then you are going to ask him again about Mei tomorrow. Honey over vinegar. 

Flow bitch flow.  

As if on cue, the wound on the inside of your thigh aches as you shift in your seat. It’s not infected, but it’s taking a long time to heal. He lets you wash it, but no ointment is allowed. He wants it to scar–and he’s going to get his wish, the manipulative bastard. 

You look around the interior of the car, admiring the undulating white leather dragon detail sewn into the upholstery between your seats. “This is way cooler than the Lamborghini,” you affirm, winning the smug pleasure you sought. 

“I thought it might appeal to you.”

“Um…what is it?” You don't recognize the stylized logo on the dash. 

He smirks at you, as though for some reason it pleases him that you don’t know. 

“This is a Bugatti Veyron, sweetheart.”

You think you’ve heard of that…in a Lana del Rey song.

Then, like he can’t help himself, he adds, “Year of the Dragon edition.” He lifts his eyebrows as he says this, and it hits you like a shovel–he’s being cute. He seems to get so much enjoyment out of giving you the specs–it’s ridiculously endearing, even if he is mansplaining.

“I see. Well…I shouldn’t like it, but I’m afraid I do,” you begrudgingly admit.

This admission makes him laugh out loud. “I don’t think you realize it yet, but you have expensive taste.” 

You shrug, even while it eats at you inside. “I think you mean I have good taste,” you counter, tracing his long fingers lightly where his hand rests on the console between you. He opens his paw in invitation, and you lace your fingers with his. As his grasp closes upon your smaller hand you can’t help but feel like you have sealed something between the two of you. His heavy gaze upon you only reinforces this impression. 

The corner of his mouth ticks up, as though he senses your trepidation deep down. He doesn’t taunt you though, simply stepping on the gas. The car roars, and you are racing off into the warm embrace of a beautiful South China day.

***

As you drive the winding roads of Hong Kong island, the lush landscape on either side and the glittering blue sea stretching off into the distance, you think you finally understand Donaka Mark’s predilection for high-performing sports cars. These roads are made for such machines, or vice versa, the low slung car hugging the curves with ease. Donaka is a good driver, despite the speed, and you strangely find yourself relaxing for the first time in you don’t know how long, enjoying the ride. This man doesn’t have a death wish. He’s not going to do anything stupid, so you sit back and revel in the breeze, riding the wind with your hand out the window like you used to when you were a child. 

Out the corner of your eye you realize he’s watching you with a small smile, and for once he doesn’t look sinister or conniving. He looks content, and you didn’t have to sacrifice any of your mental or physical wellbeing to get him there.

Miracles happen every day.  

He also looks unfairly handsome behind the wheel of this speed machine, and you can’t help but sigh to yourself. You suppose you could certainly be doing worse with your time. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, curious, but in no hurry. 

“On a little adventure. Have you seen the south end of Tai Tam Road yet?” 

You shake your head. Anytime you took the bus to the Central district from Shek O you just went north. “I haven’t seen any of that part of the island,” you admit. You’d wanted to check out the beaches, but just never got around to it. There was a lot in Hong Kong you had wanted to do, before the necessity arose to try to get the hell out of Dodge. 

“Then today’s your lucky day.” 

You think that might be true in more ways than one. At the juncture he turns left, heading south, and you are happily quiet as you take in the views of the lush mountains along the winding road. You roar over the narrow two lane of the dam of the reservoir, and you close your eyes for a moment, enjoying the cooler air. It’s all so stunning, and over-the-top as it is, this is a pretty epic way to take it all in. 

Donaka catches you smiling to yourself, and squeezes your hand in his. 

“Was it difficult, getting used to driving on the left?” you ask. 

“Who says I had to get used to it?” he counters with a little smile. 

“I guess I just assumed you’re American,” you admit, mostly from the way he talks. “You’re too evil to be Canadian.” 

This makes him laugh out loud, delighted. “You might be surprised, darling.” 

He gives you nothing, and you wonder if he encourages the mystery because he left a life behind as a wanted man, or simply because he enjoys the cloak and dagger of it. You realize that you’ve kind of invented this persona of wickedness for him from gut instinct and what little clues you’ve gathered, but you know nothing for certain. Donaka might be a perfectly upstanding businessman–as upstanding as any multi-millionaire ever can be. Mightn’t he???

You just can’t bring yourself to believe it.

“So…how did you come to live in China?”

He tilts his head, looking over at you with amusement. “Are we playing twenty-questions today?” 

“Just trying to get to know you better.” 

“Why?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s not like we’re living together now or anything…” It’s the most politic way you can think of, to describe kidnapping, forced cohabitation, and temporary insanity brought on by the most thrilling quasi-consentual sex of your life.

His lips twist as you think he’s trying to suppress a grin. Instead he presses a surprisingly tender kiss to your fingers, and drives in silence for at least a kilometer before answering, “I came to China a long time ago, to find my father.” 

Sensing the weight of this admission, you hesitate to go forward. But there is that burning curiosity in the back of your brain; you so badly want to know. “Did you find him?”  

“Eventually.” You wait for elaboration, but the silence stretches on. You realize this is not a happy subject for him, and you congratulate yourself on your talent for always pinpointing the exact wrong thing to say to ruin a beautiful day. This is why you prefer writing conversations down to having them in real time. You always, inevitably, unfailingly, fuck up. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, sinking into your seat, looking out over the stunning landscape rolling before you and feeling incredibly stupid. Once again, it seems, you’ve forgotten your place. Mistresses don’t ask these things, do they? You’re supposed to be pretty and fuckable and entertaining, and don’t forget your role on the odd days when it feels like you might mean more than that to him. 

“Don’t be,” he forgives you with a grace that absolutely surprises you. “I appreciate that you want to know me, y/n. But there are things you don’t want to know. Do you understand?”

“Yes and no,” you admit cautiously. “Are these things I don’t want to know, or things you don’t want me to know?” 

He smiles ruefully at that. “Both.”

Maybe you already knew that, deep down. You try to tell yourself that it doesn’t matter. That you’re not staying any longer than you have to, no matter what he says to scare you, or beguile you, and no matter how it seems that he’s being sweet because it has to be a manipulative lie. That someday you’re going to get your opportunity, and you’re going to bounce. And most important of all: you are not falling in love with this man. You’re telling yourself all of this…but the foremost part of your brain, whatever is responsible for what you are doing now, in this moment–isn’t paying one bit of attention. It likes this handsome monster of a man beside you, in his beautiful suit, with his wicked fast car. It likes where you are right now, and it’s telling your longterm survival instincts to fuck the fuck off. 

His thumb strokes yours gently on the center console between you, back and forth as he thinks. “I haven’t had an easy life, y/n,” he finally admits. “I learned early on that if you want anything worth having, you have to take it, because no one will hand it to you.” It’s possible that you hold your breath at hearing this, thinking about the way he up and took you. “Not that he meant to, but the one good thing my father taught me, was the lengths the rich will go to, to protect their wealth. I’ve made a career capitalizing on that, and it’s gone well for me.” 

You suppose you can’t argue with that. 

Vague as his admission was, it does explain certain things about Donaka Mark to you. It almost startles you, when he flashes that smile that is so much like a tiger showing its fangs. “And now I know you will pick apart every little syllable I’ve just said, trying to get the most information you can out of it.” 

It’s so spot on that you look away, embarrassed by how ridiculous you are, and how well he knows it too. But he squeezes your hand, calling your attention back to him. He doesn’t say anything more, but the warm way he looks at you…it should be illegal. You’re not sure you’ll ever be free, when he turns the full power of that smoldering gaze upon you. 

Inexplicably flushed, you look at the road ahead. There’s a straight away coming up, the azure sea beyond glittering like a blanket of brilliant cut diamonds. “I thought you said this car was fast?” you challenge, and even though you know he knows you’re changing the subject, he rises to your challenge with a smirk, and a roar of the engine as the Bugatti rockets forward down the highway. 

You laugh with unfettered joy as he passes a slower car, slicing back into your lane with a foot to spare in front of an oncoming truck, and you decide that maybe the both of you have gone a little mad amidst this thing that has grown between you, taken hold of your sanity like a strangler vine. 

all chapters.

____________________

*the car is a Bugatti Veyron, Wei Long Grand Sport 2012 Year of the Dragon edition. You can google it if you want more specs. I’m not big into cars or anything but I thought it was pretty frickin’ cool. 😂

The route they take on Hong Kong island: (I love maps I'm sorry 😆)

[aroacewxs]

terrible terrible part of not growing up with a very very big piece of media is that once you get into it older, there is just So Much. and you're like well shit how long will this take

[cottonlemonade]

Dating You For A Bet [Part 1]

word count: 1767 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: university AU!Matsukawa x chubby!Reader

genre: angst

warnings: some swearing

It was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the barely hidden stares and whispers surrounding you. You looked up to check if maybe you were just imagining things but the hastily averted eyes and hush of voices solidified your suspicion that you were once again the talk of the town. It happened many times before that you, the chubby foreigner with the mediocre grades but big opinions during seminars, were subject to gossip and after a year of studying in Tokyo, you were somewhat used to it. The gossip died down a few months after your arrival only to spike exponentially when the handsome middle blocker of the varsity volleyball team came up to you one day during lunch and with a disarming smirk that belonged on the pages of scandalous romance novels simply sat down across from you, asking if you enjoyed the miso soup that was hardly touched and by now stone cold on your tray. Oblivious to any kind of possible flirting you just shrugged and went back to your phone when a long finger tapped gently on your knuckles to get your attention. Matsukawa tilted his head a little and asked if you’d like to study with him later in the library and you agreed and it all just developed from there. He did have to spell it out for you that he was interested since you just assumed that he was being nice like most guys you talked to but you quickly came into the dessert-like luxury of being acknowledged as his girlfriend, fingers entwined, him pulling your legs over his lap when you lounged on a bench on the university grounds, talking about anything and nothing for six glorious, sunny months. You were in fact waiting for him right now, keeping your backpack on the seat next to you just in case someone dared to plop down. Giggles and pointing now joined the stares and whispers and frowning a little you pulled out your phone to text your boyfriend how long he’d be.

“Sorry! Sorry. Hey, I said sorry, now shoo~“ Your tall glass of water of a man shuffled through the row of seats a minute later and a little out of breath from running over from another building got comfortable and produced his laptop from his messenger bag. “Thank you, beautiful.”, he panted when you brought the straw of your iced coffee to his lips.

“What’s up?”, he asked when you didn’t lean in as usual for a kiss. Following your gaze he looked around the lecture hall. Some people quickly turned the other way again while others just blatantly continued their gawking.

“What’s going on?”

“No idea but I feel like it has something to do with me.”, you said quietly. Slouching further down in your chair you added, “Maybe some stupid rumor again in the class forum. Like last time when they thought I only have one pair of pants because most of my jeans just have the same cut.”

“Well, better check it out so I can vehemently defend my girl against any and all evil doings that are being evil done.”, he said chivalrously and grabbed his phone from his jacket pocket. But after a bit of typing you saw all color drain from his face. His usually relaxed half hooded eyes widened in shock and he quickly locked the screen.

“Babe.”, you gave a nervous chuckle, “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

You raised a brow. “You do realize that I also have access to that site and can check myself.”

Slowly, very very slowly he handed you his phone and with a few swipes it unlocked.

Sure enough the community forum of your year was open and a set of screenshots from a group chat was pinned to the very top.

You recognized one of the profile pictures. It was Issei’s old one before he changed it to a photo of you and him kissing at a lake.

Your boyfriend meanwhile sat silently next to you, staring at his hands.

Three minutes passed in which the air around became thick with tension.

You swallowed the impossibly large lump that had formed in your throat while you read, then stared ahead at the many other students now obviously waiting for you to react.

But you were not about to give them the satisfaction. You tossed the phone back into your … into Matsukawa’s lap and having no patience to put your things away, just grabbed tablet, notepad, pen and phone awkwardly in one hand, your backpack in the other and got up.

“Please let me out.”, you said calmly.

“Y/n, I-“

“I said, let me out.”

Matsukawa stood up to let you pass, so did the other people in your row. You felt your eyes burn but you willed yourself not to cry or breathe until you left this room.

Stoically, you walked up the few steps towards the double doors when you heard shuffling behind you and a hand grabbed your wrist. You didn’t have to turn around to know it was him.

“Princess, please-“

You yanked yourself free and reached for the handle.

“Mr Matsukawa, Miss L/N.”, the voice of the professor who had finally arrived stopped you in your tracks, “May I remind you that in order to pass my class you need an 80% attendance rate? Especially you, Mr Matsukawa, if you leave now I’m going to have to fail you.”

Grim satisfaction filled your head when you pushed open the door to leave him behind.

He should stay like a good boy. He should have the decency to give you a head start to go to his dorm so you could collect every single thing you ever left there and you began to wonder if you’d need one or two trash bags for all the crap he kept in your room.

But much to your surprise the door behind you didn’t close as quickly as you thought. Familiar footsteps caught up to you.

“Y/n, it’s not what you think.”

Your heart began to sting and twist; the tears, no longer under your control, streamed down your plump cheeks when you spun around.

“Alright.”, you began, letting out a quivering breath to steady your voice, “Tell me. Explain to me why you obviously making a bet with your jerky friends about getting me into bed is not what I think. Oh, and make sure you use small words for the foreigner. Go on. Make me laugh.”

“Gorgeous-“

“Don’t call me that.”

He flinched. He looked small, kneading his hands like that, head ducked between his shoulders and staring at your shoes.

“Y/n…”, he said but then fell silent.

“That’s what I thought. Don’t talk to me. Don’t call me. Don’t come near me ever again.”

You turned on your heel and not caring about the highly entertained grin some passersby threw your way you hurried out of the building.

Issei looked after you for a long while, then he returned to the lecture hall.

You lay on your bed, arm over your eyes and heating pillow on your tummy. Ever since this morning you hadn’t been able to eat anything and were now paying the price for trying to keep down an old milk bread bun you had found squashed at the bottom of your backpack. Without all of Matsukawa’s stuff cluttering your side of the room it felt a lot emptier. All the plushies from the arcade he’d won for you, his spare Pyjamas (kept hidden under your bed) for when your roommate was out of town, a bouquet of flowers, impulsively picked from someone’s front yard that you had pressed and framed, a tattered old jersey from his high school team he left for you as a makeshift pillowcase so you could breathe him in if he couldn’t be with you - all of that was stuffed into a bulging black trash bag by the door. It genuinely surprised you that your phone had stayed silent all day. In the very back of your mind, a small unwelcome part of you had hoped that he’d try to talk to you despite your warnings. That he would try to explain himself and get you back but then again it had all just been a game to him, right?

The rustling of paper had you sit up. A folded note slipped under your door. You got up to investigate. The handwriting, almost illegible chicken scratches, and almost illegible, was unmistakable. Fighting the urge to read it, you simply crumpled it up and threw it away, proud of yourself. But when you turned to go back to bed, another note appeared.

It looked identical to the first.

“What the…”, you muttered, and as you balled up this new message you called through the door, “Go away!”

But a third note, the same as the first two, swished towards your feet.

You had enough and pulled the door open.

Crouching before you, a stack of paper in his arms, was Matsukawa, arm outstretched with yet another note, ready to deploy apparently.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I-“

“Didn’t I tell you that I don’t want to see you again?”

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“Technically you didn’t see me. U-until… now.” You glared at him and he quietly added, “Loophole.” in a weak attempt to lighten the mood.

“Are you seriously trying to be cute right now?”

“No! Not at all, I- uhm, did you read the message?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Okay, give me five minutes to explain. Please!”

“What’s there to explain? Your dumb friend offered you a dumb bet and your dumb ass accepted it. With zero hesitation, might I add.”

“Yes, but-“

“Did you get the money?”

“What?”

“You heard me, did you get the money?”

“I… yes.”

“Did you feel guilty for getting the money?”

“Babe- I mean, y/n”, he quickly swerved after seeing you seething with rage at the nickname, “the money didn’t matter! I was hopelessly in love with you the moment you pushed Makki into the pool.”

He shuffled half a step closer to you and took a whole one back again when you frowned.

“That party was in July. We started dating in the spring. So for the first half of our relationship you were just pretending?”

“N-no! That’s not what I - no!”

“Take your shit and get out of my sight!”

“Listen to me, I won’t let you go! You’re the best thing that ever happened to me! I know I don’t deserve you but please don’t leave me! I love you, y/n!”

“Goodbye!”

And after chucking the trash bag into his face you slammed the door shut.

art: I wasn’t able to find out who the OG artist was. If you know, please lemme know and I’ll add

[part 2]

[seokjinsonlyone]

this how i think bts would be if you were pregnant

namjoon:

he’s kind of clumsy and brutish by nature so he would try his absolute hardest to be quiet gentle and out of the way when it comes to you

reads to your baby every night once their hearing develops; goes through tons of children’s books and buys the ones that have all the messages and lessons he wants his child to learn so you now have a very large carefully curated library in the nursery

your pregnancy becomes his new j hope like he’s gonna mention it at every given opportunity whether it’s related to the topic at hand or not

comes back with a new baby item every time you send him to the store; you have to draw the line once he starts buying jars of baby food just bc they’re cute and little

not too keen on going into the whole birthing thing blind so he persuades you into taking lamaze classes with him

seokjin:

has one of them pregnancy apps downloaded and updates you each week on which fruit your baby is the size of

thinks it’s unfair how you get unlimited time with your baby and demands he get one on one time with them; makes you put on headphones and play music so he can spend time and talk with them without you intruding

puts himself in charge of your diet; looks up different ingredients that are supposed to be good for you and the baby and makes recipes centered around that; feels guilty bc every once in a while he cooks something that baby decides they do NOT like at ALL and it makes you sick

once your baby starts kicking he lets them make final decisions on things y’all can’t or don’t feel like deciding on; what shirt should he wear today? baby chooses. can’t choose a restaurant for dinner? baby chooses. accent color for the nursery? baby chooses.

tbh his favorite thing about you being pregnant is that when y’all go out he gets to park in the spaces that be up front for expecting mothers

yoongi:

when you get to be too much for him he always threatens that he’s gonna go to the store to “get milk”

all you’d have to do is give him a theme and a color scheme for the nursery and he’d take care of the rest; would give your baby the childhood room of your dreams

always 10 steps ahead in planning; like you’re trying to figure out if it’s acceptable go out with your jeans unbuttoned bc they is not fastening no matter how hard you try and he’s trying to figure out if y’all should move bc he likes the school that’s zoned for the neighborhood 5 blocks away

tries to act all nonchalant but every time he talks about you and your baby his hand ends up clutching his chest and he has this undeniably soft fond smile etched across his face

daily foot and back massages and belly rub downs with stretch mark cream

hoseok:

most likely to get on your nerves; like most of time he is rainbows and sunshine and the absolute light of your life; but he gon catch you on the wrong day, a day when you’re already in a bad mood and your back hurts and your feet are swollen and he’s gon be hopping around making sound effects and you’re gonna absolutely lose it; he’ll try not to take it personally but you’re gonna have to give him quite a few kisses and cuddles to make up for your raging

would be even more terrified than you if you ever fell; like after the shock's worn off and you're calm again he's definitely gonna make you go to the hospital just to make sure everything's okay even if you told him you felt fine

carries the sonogram in his wallet front and center in the space where his ID should be for easy access to show any and everyone who asks about how you’re doing

buys all kinds of designer things for your baby; you have to beg him to stop spending thousands of dollars on clothes and shoes that are only gonna fit for a month and a half at best

has more of a nesting phase than you i think; like nursery is fully completed, go bag is ready, baby’s clothes are washed and organized, all the little gadgets, diaper genies, bottle warmers, etc are set up and placement tested for maximum efficiency by month 6

jimin:

the type to be uncomfortable with you doing anything; like if it was up to him you’d be in bed the entire time; you have to remind him that you’re pregnant not dead but you take it easy and let him help you as much as possible to ease his nerves

thinks it’s cute when you start needing help to stand up; sometimes he’ll just sit back giggling and watch for a while as you try to get up on your own before stepping in and helping you; videos the experience nd shows it to his friends

goes to every one of your doctor’s appointment with a notebook full of questions about your’s and the baby’s health and writes all the answers down very meticulously

spends like 3 hours building the crib for the nursery; there’s so much grunting going on that you’re concerned HE might be going into labor; gets inside the crib after he’s finally finished building it to prove to you how sturdy it is; ends up taking a nap inside of it bc he didn’t realize how laborious it was gonna he

completely empathetic to your experience so he’s up when you’re up no matter how late it is; will literally get up at 4am to get you a bottle of water and make you a snack and rubs your shoulders and back until you can fall asleep again

taehyung:

his hand stays on your belly the whole 9 months; like you’ll be 6 weeks looking completely regular trying to keep it a Secret until you make it out your first trimester but everyone is suspicious bc taehyung will just come up and start rubbing your tummy whenever he sees you

tries on your nursing bra and would be walking around the house flipping the cover off showing you his nipples at odd times

starts picking out names immediately; at the end of the day he’s always gonna yield to you bc he wants you to be happy but he really really wants to name his child

plays so much classical music bc he heard it makes the baby smarter that you start to feel like you live in the 18th century

knows he isn’t the best at cooking but wants to be better for his baby so he spends like 2 weeks perfecting his baby formula bottle making method

jungkook:

doesn’t understand how anyone could have the type of cravings you have but his curiosity is too strong and he tries each of one them; finds the peanut butter covered pickles absolutely disgusting but rocks with the dessert pasta

starts calling you ms penguin bc of the way you waddle walk when your belly gets too big

lactation kink

would be deep diving on the internet researching various things about pregnancy and then spend the next 4 months trying to convince you to do a water birth bc he thinks it would be “cool”

sits bam down and has a conversation with him about how he’s gonna have a baby brother or sister and what’s gonna be expected of him when the time comes; it’s definitely more of a pep talk for him than the dog

a/n: me posting this is just as much of a surprise to me as it is to you anyway 🫣 thoughts comments concerns are welcome

[daycourtofficial]

My love should be celebrated

Pairing: Nesta Archeron x Rhysand’s Sister!reader

Summary: based on this request - you have been trying for months to help Nesta heal, catching feelings for her in the process. One night you decide to bare your feelings for her, only to be callously rejected.

Author’s note: first time writing wlw!! Please lmk how you feel about it. Also this is basically SF but with a different love interest, however I’m rewriting that Nesta lives in a hovel bc like why tf are there slums in Velaris

(1k celebration masterlist 🍾)

“Go away,” Nesta says, closing the door on your face.

“Nesta!” You yell, banging on the door again.

You didn’t hear her steps recede down the hall of her apartment or any other noise from the other side of the brown door, brass letterings spelling ‘4D’ on it.

“I brought soup!” You cringe at the desperation in your voice, but you couldn’t help it. Your thoughts had whirled and swirled of the eldest Archeron sister for months. You have no clue why - she was never close or particularly kind to you, but you always found yourself wondering how she was.

Your thoughts would redirect to her during the day.

Had she eaten?

Was she sleeping?

You could ensure she had access to food, at the very least. So you had spent the afternoon preparing several different meals - soups, dinners, lunches, fresh fruits and vegetables.

You hadn’t let yourself think about actually interacting with Nesta until after you had knocked on her door. Your thoughts weren’t able to linger too long on that as Nesta opened the door, took one look at you, and sneered out a delightful, “go away,” before shutting you out.

You sighed, “I have fruits, cheeses, I made you a ton of food, Nesta. Please at least take it in inside. It’d make me feel better to know you at least had some food available.”

Nesta opens the door, her arms crossed as she fixes an icy glare at you, “do you find me so incompetent I’m incapable of getting groceries?”

Your eyes widen, shocked at how she’d perceive this, “gods, no, Nesta. I just thought-“

“Thought what? I’m too stupid to know how to cook for myself?”

She didn’t move a muscle as she kept you in place with that icy look on her face, blonde hair in a messy braided crown, as if she had slept in it.

“No, I just-I just- I wanted you to have a nice meal,” you stammer out, feeling like an utter fool for how sour this went.

“Then why did you cook it?”

With that, she slammed the door in your face, her footsteps receding on the other side.

-

You knock on Nesta’s door again, the same place you were this time last week. This time the scenario was different.

Your brother had given her a choice: the human lands or the House of Wind.

You found it an incredibly callous choice - certain death or forced isolation, so you asked Rhysand if you could at least be there with her. He reluctantly agreed, asking you and Azriel to stay in the House of Wind, monitoring her progress.

You were at her new bedroom door, letting her know that you were about to make dinner for all three of you. If she wanted to join you and Azriel, she could, or you could bring her a serving.

You received no reply. You could hear her heart beating through the door, it’s rhythm a clear beat through the silence of her room.

You turn, heading down the stairs to prepare dinner. You and Azriel ate in a comfortable silence, discussing the day you two had, swapping notes about the books you were reading. Nesta never showed, and you left a plate for her outside her door.

A plate you saw untouched the next morning.

The next few days took the same form - you go downstairs, prepare a beeakfast for you and Nesta, leaving her serving outside her door. Then you head to the Library to work on your studies, returning to the house for lunch.

Every meal you made a large enough portion for Nesta, plated it, leaving it at her door to go untouched until the next meal was left.

After a week of this cycle, you ask Clotho if there’s any work that can be done in the library.

Yes, I could use some assistance with restocking the shelves, she wrote.

“Fantastic,” you tell her, “I have the perfect female for the job - I’ll let her know.”

And you did, later that night. Through the door you told her about the library, and how “they need someone to help stock the shelves. It’s monotonous work, but at least you’ll move around a good bit. And it’s something to do.”

You don’t hear anything, and that causes you to ramble a bit, “not that you don’t have anything to do. It’s just - the priestesses are nice and the library’s nice and you’d get to be away from me and Az. So, uh, yeah. Bye, Nes.”

After the disastrously embarrassing way you had told Nesta about helping Clotho, you had written off any chance of her doing so. You were doubly shocked to hear it from Azriel, who told you that Nesta actually helped him procure a book he required.

Another week goes by, and Nesta has been working in the library every day, and she even began attending meals with you and Azriel.

She didn’t really acknowledge your existence at them, but you tried nonetheless. Every day you tried - you tried to talk about books, about the theater, about ballets, about the history of Velaris, hell you even began trying to get her to rank the Vanserras in order of most to least fuckable.

She would hardly speak to you, except occasional taunts and jabs. It came to a head at the end of the week when Cassian began staying at the house as well, and began training Nesta and several of the priestesses.

She’d be away for most of the day, between training and her work, so you only saw her at evening meals. She had only just began training, but she seemed lighter, as if she was crawling out of the darkness.

You were proud of her, she was doing the impossible. She was getting stronger, and Cassian and Azriel said she was even making friends with some of the priestesses.

All of her progress did nothing to help the relationship between the two of you. It still stung when she would disregard you. When you’d ask her a question and she’d blatantly ignore you to speak to Azriel.

The weeks of this iciness continue, until one night in the library you’ve had enough.

“Nesta, can I speak with you about something?”

They were the first words you had spoken all day, spending the day trying to plot out this conversation to the best of your abilities.

Nesta sighs, not looking up from her book. “If it’s quick and I don’t have to do anything.”

You sit on the couch she’s sprawled out on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Um actually I wanted to ask - why do you like Azriel and Cassian much more than you like me?”

Nesta scoffs, eyes going back to her book. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Well, Nes I actually wanted to tell you I uh-“

Nesta rolls her eyes, waving her hand. “If you truly can’t understand why I prefer their company, perhaps you’d be better off learning how to be less annoying and how to stop following me around like a starved dog.”

Your face heats with embarassment, fists clenching to keep your sob in, but Nesta’s not finished. She blinks her icy gray eyes up at you over her book.

“What? You think I didn’t know you had a pathetic little crush on me? Please. You practically drool every morning when you see me. I’ve seen you up at the training ring watching me.”

Hot tears start streaming down your face.

“Run along, go find someone else to bother. Perhaps they’ll give you a collar and a bone. Maybe even a bed.”

You shoot up, bursting through the library, out the double doors. You push past a confused Azriel before bounding down the stairs, seeking the quiet shelter of your room.

You had been staying here for a few months to help Nesta. She had gotten better, despite your attempts at connecting with her.

There was no reason for you to stay.

You waited until you could stop crying for an hour before darting to Azriel’s room, knocking softly. He opens the door, surprised to find you on the other side of it.

He wants to ask, knowing that your red rimmed eyes are likely because of Nesta. But he doesn’t pry.

He never had.

That’s why you came to him and not Cassian. Cassian would have made you tell him what was wrong, and then he would have yelled at Nesta for being mean to you.

You just wanted to leave. You didn’t want to see her again.

“Can you- uh, can you take me home? I know it’s late, but I’ve stayed here for too long. I should go back to the townhouse.”

You swallow, not able to look him the eye. You felt so… stupid. You knew she didn’t like you, and still your heart couldn’t help beating faster whenever her eyes met yours.

Azriel nods softly, a motion you don’t see, but he surprises you by taking you into his arms, holding you gently, and rubbing your back.

The action makes keeping the tears at bay much harder.

He lets go, not mentioning the tears now lining your face, as he opens his door, letting you in, and walks towards his balcony. He gently lifts you up, and the two of you fly off into the night.

-

Azriel had been conflicted these past few months. He had hoped bringing Cassian into the mix would make Nesta be nicer to you.

He was wrong.

Somehow his presence had made things worse. His heart practically broke in half seeing you rush out of the room, so upset over something Nesta had said.

And then you came to his room in the dead of night, asking to leave only a few hours later.

Azriel wasn’t irrationally confrontational. He preferred to sit in the shadows, observe, let life happen around him.

Not anymore. Not when the life was Nesta being absurdly cruel to you, day in and day out. You, who was so sweet and kind. You, who had tried to convince Rhys to let Nesta stay anywhere else. You, who had painstakingly made every one of Nesta’s meals since her arrival.

She didn’t touch a single one of them.

He stalked into the dining room the next morning, allowing his anger to get the best of him. He wanted to rip Nesta’s throat out after flying you home. Your gentle sobs you tried to hide were still ringing in his ears as he cloaked the room in shadow.

Cassian flinches as his brother stalks in, feet pounding, wings splayed. He walks towards Nesta, who doesn’t give him a second glance.

His gaze stays on her, waiting for her to look at him.

“Let me make myself very clear,” he said, the harsh tones of the shadowsinger coming through. “She is my sister, we grew up together. She is the kindest person I’ve ever known, and none of us deserve her. You do not deserve the kindness she has repeatedly shown you, despite your lack of reciprocity.”

Nesta keeps eating, her fork scraping the plate as she grabs another bite of salad, listening as Azriel continues. “I swear to the mother Nesta, I don’t know what you said to her, but if you ever make the mistake of being so callous and cruel to her again, I will not hesitate to insert myself again into this one-sided feud.”

Cassian looks between the two of them, confused. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Azriel keeps his glare on Nesta as he says, “(y/n)’s left. She’s gone back to the townhouse, likely won’t be back for some time.”

He stands up straighter.

“Perhaps Nesta knows why.”

-

The following weeks Nesta continued her new routine - training in the morning, stocking the shelves of the library in the afternoon, dinner with the brothers. She was spending her time with Gwyn and Emyrie, growing closer to the females she considers her friends.

And yet, every night she finds herself searching for you in every room. She looks for you in the halls of the House of Wind, she looks for you in the training ring, off to the side. Some days she swears she can smell you in the shelves of the books, your scent brought to her on a phantom wind.

Nesta knew who she was. She was cruel, callous, and cold. What she said to you was perhaps the worst thing she has ever done.

She couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t handle speaking with you about why she couldn’t be nice to you. She couldn’t watch your big doe eyes tell her that you had feelings for her.

No matter how much she might return those feelings.

She didn’t deserve your kindness, your gaze, your time. Maybe she deserves more than this loneliness she feels, though. Her nights have grown colder without you in the house, which sounded absolutely absurd.

Perhaps the house was showing Nesta how icy she had been.

It had been three weeks since Azriel took you from the house, Nesta realizes as she stands before the Illyrian, asking him for one last favor.

“No,” he says, about to turn away before Nesta grabs his wrist.

“Please,” she asks, “please just.. tell her to come. Just a place and time. Leave it up to her to decide if she wants to come.”

Azriel looks a bit apprehensive, conflicted between his love for you and his new friendship with Nesta.

“I’ll tell her,” he says, voice stern, “but if she doesn’t come, you won’t bother her about this.”

-

Nesta was a ball of anxiety, impatiently watching the door to see if you would come. She had asked for you to come see her at the House of Wind, and she was unable to focus on anything all day except for the lingering question.

“You came,” Nesta says, as you walk into the room.

“I’m a dog, if I hear a whistle, I can’t help myself.”

Nesta flinches at your words and the harshness of your tone. She deserved it. She deserved your ire. Still, she couldn’t stop looking at your windswept hair, disheveled from the flight with Azriel. She couldn’t stop looking at you, taking in your familiar scent, when it was all but gone everywhere in the house.

Nesta will take it to her grave if anyone asks why her scent lingers in your room.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Nesta says, unable to meet your gaze.

“How to do what?” You ask, sitting down, back stiff.

She takes a shakey breath, “how to be loved, how to - how to accept it. How to let someone be nice to me.”

You look, but she still wants to say more. You keep your gaze on her, watching as her fingers very subtly dance across her thigh, tapping a rhythm to a song you cannot hear.

“I also don’t know how to apologize.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that from her. You clear your throat, “well, apologies usually start with uh recognizing what you did as wrong and saying why it was wrong.”

Nesta’s steely gaze meet yours, her grip on her thigh tightening.

“I hurt you, over and over again. I knew I was hurting you, and I kept doing it.”

She pauses, and you let her take the time she needs to get through what she has to say. She closes her eyes, prompting a tear to fall down her cheek.

“I kept hurting you because I didn’t want you to see me. I didn’t-“

She gasps as you reach a hand out, stroking her shoulder. She looks up at the ceiling, trying desperately to get the words out.

“I was scared and angry and I didn’t want to stop feeling those things. I knew if I hurt you enough you’d go away, because I just wanted to let my wounds fester.”

Her voice drops, as if there are other people in the room. As if her words are meant for you and you alone.

“I was scared that if I let you in, let you see me, you’d.. you’d be like them and hate me.”

You let Nesta’s words hang in the air for a moment. It was a little cruel of you, but she was cruel to you. She can wait a moment. You look at her - her usually icy gaze gone warm in your presence.

“I don’t hate you, Nesta,” you say, blowing out a breath, “I actually.. it’s quite the opposite really.”

You take a swig of your drink, “I actually was coming to tell you that I uh-“

You shake your head, feeling so stupid now. Of course Nesta was dealing with her own shit, how could she possibly be in a place to reciprocate your feelings.

“That I couldn’t stop thinking about you or worrying about you. And it’s stupid, and I know my feelings are my own burden to bear but I just-“

Your words are cut off as Nesta grabs your face, leaning in and capturing your lips in a kiss. Your brain stops working momentarily, her lips soft against your own unmoving ones.

When you come back to yourself, you grab the back of her neck, keeping her head in place as you kiss her back with such fervor.

Your head is spinning when her tongue slides into your mouth, and you keep your lips connected as you move your way onto her lap. She groans into your mouth at the new weight atop her, placing her hands on your hips, pulling you down. You lose yourself in kissing her, her citrusy taste making you unable to think, until a thought comes to you and you pull away, causing her to groan.

“Are you going to be nice to me now?” You ask, eyebrows raised.

Nesta rolls her eyes, one of her fingers playing with a strand of your hair, “maybe if you move back in here, I can start making it up to you.”

She moves forward, kissing up your throat, before stopping right in front of your lips.

“I can make us breakfast in the morning.”

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 3

Infinitely More | Loki x Reader

Loki makes his first contact with you, much to the Avengers disappointment, there's a natural connection between you both. Maybe Loki can help answer some of your questions.

Warnings: 18+ for sexual content. Avengers being rude, Loki being himself, thigh riding/masturbating.

Credits: divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

Loki used his magic to hide among the shadows and return to the guest room unseen.

Lying on the large bed in the guest suite that the Avengers had provided for him, Loki whiled away a few hours contemplating the cocktail of magic that had shimmered around the mysterious woman in the hospital room, dipping into his own knowledge and scratching down some ideas for further reading, if he could be permitted access to some of Asgard’s now limited libraries. He allowed the image of you arching from the bed to permeate into his subconscious. In response his body felt taut, ready, and he imagined how you’d feel arching into his touch like that. 

A sharp, familiar, knock broke him from his thoughts, followed by a boisterous voice. 

“Brother? They want you there when they try to speak to her again,” Thor thundered through the door, his enthusiasm at having his brother with him overwhelming. Loki had agreed only because he was so bored and Thor had seemed to keen to show of Midgard as Loki’s own personal tour guide. 

Loki rolled his eyes, the pen and notepad he’d been using to jot down ideas, vanished back into the air, and he prepared to follow Thor back through the compound and into the secret room next to yours. 

After surveying the array of heroes in front of him, he settled against the back wall, trying to look dispassionate as you examined a strand of your hair in the two way mirror, watching as it got changed beneath your fingers. You behaved as if there was no one else watching, with an air of resigned melancholy mingled with curiosity. 

“I’ll go and talk to her,” Tony said, “see if she’ll tell us anything we, or you,” he pointed at Loki “can use.”

A soft whooshing sound accompanied Tony’s exit from the room as the sealed door slid open and then closed behind him.

As soon as the door had closed, you backed away from the mirror, your hands out behind you to feel your way towards the hospital bed. Bruce fiddled with a few dials in front of him, turning the comms down so only those at the front of the room could hear, deliberately tuning Loki out. The god could’ve heard if he wanted to, but he preferred to look down at his nails dispassionately. 

It didn’t look good even from where Loki was standing, nor did he require audio to know that you were furious. In fact, you looked both frightened and angry, as you pointed at the door while Tony stood stoic and shaking his head. After a few more minutes of silent arguing Tony appeared through the sealed door again, frustrated and defeated. 

“I can still feel it, she’s controlling the air in there, it was so unbearably hot. Bruce what happened?” He groused, bumping his friend out of the way with his hip so they could look at the control panel together. 

Bruce confirmed all the controls and vitals were normal inside of the room, but Tony’s heart rate had been elevated the entire time, his dopamine and oxytocin skyrocketing and then crashing, full of adrenaline.

“I’ll try next,” Steve offered, but Loki cut him off, raising his hand to silence the soldier’s presumably brave attempt at protecting his friends. 

“I don’t think so. Let me,” Loki insisted, ignoring the indignant look of the Captain’s face. 

“That’s not a good idea, whatever her magic is, it’s is very powerful.” 

“I would be insulted, Captain, if I believed you put any thought into your argument apart from your own desire to be alone with her. It radiates off you and makes you vulnerable. Let me.” Loki placed a hand on his chest, smiling serenely in the face of Steve’s increasingly flustered demeanour. 

Steve flushed. “That’s not…” 

Loki held his hand up again and silence fell over the room. 

“I believe I know what your problem is, why she’s making you have these dreams.” Loki straightened his collar and rolled the sleeves on his shirt, “spent her whole life in that flat and now she’s here with you. Apparently you’re superior human specimens,” he shrugged his shoulders, a hand on the door, “she’s aroused, and as soon as that arousal spilled out into her magic you locked her away. But, you’re in luck, because I can help,” Loki gave a cheeky grin and turned away from the blushing Captain. 

Loki pushed the door open and locked it behind him in a smooth movement. In the split second before the lock clicked into place there was a squeak of rubber soles on the vinyl floor as the entire time rush to stop him - and then silence descended. 

“Hello, little one,” Loki cooed, side stepping the breakfast tray that you unceremoniously hurled at him as he entered, the cereal and coffee splashed on the pristine wall behind. He simply tapped his foot and the milk that had been soaking into his trousers vanished, along with the once dripping food on the wall. 

“Fuck off. I’m not talking to any more of you, especially not if you’re going to patronise me,” you turned away, bare legs dangling from the medical bed.

“No, of course not. My apologies.” Loki lifted his hand, green magic moving over the floor and picking up the breakfast tray, a cloud of gold and green carried it carefully back to you before landing softly on the bed. The once plain breakfast had been replaced by a carafe of coffee and an array of artfully arranged fruit and pastries. 

You looked down at the tray and smiled, the first smile you’d allowed yourself in a long while, and Loki took the opportunity to move closer. The god positioned himself on your other side and took the largest strawberry from the plate before inspecting it closely, keeping his eye on you in his peripheral vision. 

You eyed him too. You knew who he was, you’d been the news and read the articles about the Avengers and their fight with the norse god of mischief, Loki. Yet here he was, dressed in simple black slacks and a white shirt, inspecting a strawberry that he’d made with his own magic. In profile he was just as handsome as the media photos you’d seen. His cheekbones were sharp and angular, his eyes clear and piercing, yet there was a softness to his cheeks and lips, especially when he smiled a little, rolling the red fruit between his thumb and forefinger, pressing until juice pooled on the surface of the soft flesh. 

Then he spoke, and his voice wasn’t cutting and violent like the videos of New York, no, it still held a deep timbre, but there was no panicked undertone or manic speed to his words. 

“I know you’re not to be played with, not like those fools.” He whispered, carefully, almost gently, keeping his volume low so you had to lean in. “I should call you little fae?” He took a bite of the strawberry and turned to look at your perplexed expression, “little nymph?” The sugary juice coated his lips and you leaned closer, watching his lips turn pinker, “no, no, I saw your power this morning, and you’re still doing it now, though I wager you don’t know it. How about Little Goddess?” And he popped the last bite of the strawberry into your open mouth tilting his head, amused, at your surprised eyes. 

Loki watched the silver flecks in your iris spark and fizzle, the subtle change of your hair colour as you breathed out.

“And who are you to label me?” You kept eye contact with him, eating the fruit slowly while he observed you. It took every ounce of Loki’s control not to grin at the haughty tilt of your chin or

“My name is Loki,” for once he decided to forgo his full title, he assumed you must know it anyway and, besides, he had a game to play with the Avengers. Making you feel small was not part of that game. “I am not-” He looked at the mirror, choosing his words carefully,“they treat me like this too. With fear. But they should be treating you with admiration.” He touched your check with the tips of his fingers, “worshipping you.” 

You lent into the touch, your skin alight, lips parting slightly. But he pulled away casually, leaving you leaning into nothing and struggling to catch yourself before falling. 

“Well, I don’t think so, Loki, I irritate them now. I just told the truth, they like each other. I just wanted to help,” you looked at your lap, twisting your fingers together and digging your nails into your palms. “I just wanted some friends, and it’s their fault anyway, they brought me here, I didn’t ask to come.”

With a warm hand, Loki tilted your chin up and raised each finger away from your palm until they lay flat in his, “don’t hurt yourself, Little Goddess.”

At his touch you could feel the spark of energy that had everyone on edge, the light outside glowed and your eyes flashed as you stared back, holding him in your gaze. 

“Can you see what power you wield?” Loki ran his hand down your cheek, “they want to subdue you again.” Your eyes glazed, the silver now prominent. “Do not take their concoctions.” Loki turned subtly towards the countertop that lined one wall of the medical room, it currently held a kidney dish with a vial of sedative and prepackaged needles. 

“I don’t want to take those tablets again, I just want to be able to control this. I want to be free, they said it’ll help me.”

“They’re drugging you, if you want help, I can help you, will you let me help you, Little ásynja?” You nodded, eager for anything that would let you out of this boring room and out into the world you longed to explore. “Tell me what you want?”

Over your shoulder Loki watched as the door handle began to jiggle, squeaking in the lock from the ferocity of the attack on the other side.

“I don’t want to wear this stupid hospital gown any more.” You plucked at the hem, “it’s humiliating, I feel like a - a - patient or something.”

Loki grinned, a smile of deep satisfaction that he allowed to spread over his face. That wasn’t what he was expecting, not with the way your body had lit under his touch, your heartbeat hammering and the delicate scent of you shifting into something deeper and muskier. But it was something he could take care of while you warred with whatever feeling you were trying to tamp down that had you squirming in your seat and squeezing your thighs together. 

“Of course, I can use my magic to change it for you? What would you like?” With his hands under your elbows, Loki encouraged you to stand up in front of him. A shimmer of magic and you were taller, heels tipping you forwards onto your tiptoes, emerald silk clung to you, a short corset tight at your waist, glinting with gold, your hair piled on top of your head under a crown and intricate gold and emerald jewellery circling your wrists. 

You reached up, your fingers dancing over the crown, smiling and let out a laugh of shock. You hadn’t even felt anything, one minute you were in that awful hospital gown and now you were dressed like a queen. 

The banging on the door grew louder and your eyes flicked over to where the metal vibrated on its hinges, but Loki put his hand on your cheek, turning your attention back to his piercing gaze.

“Don’t look at the door, just look at me.” He gently touched a hand to your temple, a rude act, perhaps, normally he would ask before trying to pry into anyone’s memories. But with the sparse information that the others had been able to glean he really didn’t expect to find anything at all. 

Your mind opened and Loki was overwhelmed, oh this was better than he could have dreamed. You were there behind the wall, the real you, not this cowed mortal, but something infinitely more that faded into the back of your memories like the darkening night. He couldn’t see it all and he didn’t want to risk hurting you by freeing it all at once. Your eyes glazed and then squinted, as if staving off a headache and Loki pulled himself away from your memory. 

“Maybe a bit too elegant for the medical bay,” his magic shimmered again as Loki tried to regain his composure. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting to see behind the steel wall of your mind, but it certainly wasn’t that, and he hadn’t expected flashed of his own memories to come flooding back to him either, no images yet, but the feel of a soft hand in his, moss and crowns of flowers, Asgardian summers that had once felt endless. 

Loki was decidedly distracted, images of you arching on your bed, miles away, aeons ago, filled his mind. Your desires, your lust was overwhelming, just the scent of you, so close to him, was making his fingers itch to touch you and he stepped closer, hands circling the corset at your waist, eager to feel the heat of your body flush against his own. 

You gasped, looking down at the once elegant dress, now gone, but the corset, heels and crown remained. Silky shorts sitting high on your thighs, lace dancing across your skin and goosebumps rising where Loki’s cool hands met your bare skin. 

“My sincere apologies, darling.” He stepped back abruptly and you looked directly at him at the pet name, hand still on the crown, “too soon,” he smiled, but you didn’t cover yourself. Somewhere deep inside this felt entirely right and natural, even the crown was a welcome weight, and Loki’s gaze was familiar too. Then he flicked his hand and his magic wrapped around you, replacing your scant lingerie. 

You knew these clothes, though they weren’t nearly as regal or provocative as Loki’s outfits. They had been lost during your supposed rescue from London to the compound, when all the problems had started and life had become scary and upside down. Soft, worn, light blue jeans, a white shirt and your trainers, he had pulled them from your memories, all except the bracelet that circled your wrist.

“Oh - this didn’t change,” you inspected it, watching the tiny emeralds glinting in the morning sun.

“You can keep the bracelet, consider it a gift. From one God to another,” Loki closed the bracelet under his hand, holding your wrist gently.

From one god to another, it vibrated through you, this is truly how he saw the confusion of your powers? Some sort of admission that you were a celestial, godly being? 

You swallowed down the sick, nervous feeling building inside of you and touched the bracelet again instead.

“I don’t have a gift for you,” you whispered.

“I will allow this indiscretion,” Loki smiled, “I am sure there will be an opportunity in the future.”

His smile was filled with suggestion and you longed for him to act upon it.

Behind you the door continued to rattle, Loki’s magic keeping the lock in place even as your captors tried to open it, though he could hear nothing from the outside. He flicked a hand and out of the corner of his eye he saw the camera and microphone melt into a puddle of black plastic and wiring.

“Tell me, darling, do you feel unwell. You are warm, I can hear your heartbeat.” Loki moved closer again, pulling you in with a strong but gentle hand on your wrist, his fingers touching the intricate bracelet he’d created for you. 

“You can hear that?” You asked, quietly, and somehow as you blinked your eyelashes felt longer and thicker, becoming a flirtatious flutter. 

“I believe you may require some assistance.” Loki’s lips hovered above your own, the light outside as blinding as his gaze, “you’re aware they can see you through that mirror?”

You started and looked round, skin as hot as coals and heart beating like a drum at the thought of all they’d seen you do in this room. Loki could remember too, your fingers dipping below the waistband of your underwear, the little moans you’d allowed yourself, and he felt his trousers become tight for the second time in your presence. 

It was becoming increasingly difficult not to act upon the burning lust that had been kindled inside. Tony was right, as soon as he’d walked into the room he’d felt hot and bothered, needing to touch and tease to release some of the tension. 

“Do not worry, my darling,” he waved and plush curtains fell across the mirror in heavy ripples of moss green velvet and gold brocade, the luxurious fabric so at odds with the clinical room you’d been left in. 

The door handle stopped moving and Loki turned his attention back to you. The rise and fall of your chest as you panted, confused, as if all of the air had left the room. The way you tipped your head forwards to try and regain some composure. 

The handle started to move again and a dull thump reverberated through the room. You turned to him, suddenly aware that he was a stranger in your rooms, eyes wild before you fluttered them closed. Loki pulled you forwards, the rhythm of the thuds against the door speeding up his own heart beat. His lips met yours, one hand around your waist pulling you closer, the other encouraging your legs up onto the bed until you were situated in his lap, clinging to the feeling of his body around yours, his lips slanted against your mouth and his hands cradling you. 

Moaning, your fingertips glowed, light sparking in the room, silver and navy. But your eyes stayed closed, ignorant of the light show you were putting on for the God. 

“That’s it Little ásynja, let me take care of you. They have been neglecting you, have they not?” Loki cooed, soft and low and soothing, you nodded against his chest, something deep inside calling to the God as he peppered you with kisses.

“And at home, you had a consort, to satisfy you?” He didn’t really care if he was stepping on anyone’s toes, but it was good to plan ahead for these things.

You shook your head, “no I, well….” 

Loki let his fingers ghost over your forehead, he could see you in that far away bed, a little Midgardian toy in your hand as moans filled your thoughts, electricity and light. Loki’s grin was wolfish. Not quite the innocent little shut away they all thought. 

Your hips seemed to be moving entirely independently of your own thoughts, dragged into the deep sense memories that Loki had stirred, a muscle memory of pleasure and satisfaction that your body was chasing. Your hands slid into Loki’s hair while you ground down against the bulge in his own trousers, eager for more. 

“That’s okay darling, I understand. I could visit you, if you liked. We could talk, I can…help you. With your magic of course.” Loki continued to place featherlight kisses across your nose, cheeks, forehead, now beaded with sweat. The calmness in his voice made your harsh panting sound even louder in your head. Loki’s hands lay gently on your hips, helping you to move and grind against him. “That’s right, darling, you take what you need from me, I’ll take care of you.” He promised, as you came with a cry, your arousal soaking into the leg of his trousers. 

Immediately you were filled with shame and embarrassment, attempting to squirm from his lap, but he held you down firmly, the length of him still pressed between your legs, and in your post orgasmic sensitive state you could feel him pulsing against you. 

Loki looked into your eyes, impossibly black now with a silver ring separating your pupil from the colour, not black, no, rich, dark blue, like the night sky circled by stars. His heart beat wildly, he needed more of you, he felt insatiable, obsessed. Were you doing this? Were you making him feel this way? Like he couldn’t breathe. Or because this feeling was genuine? What memory was it that itched at the back of his mind that he couldn’t realise? 

He fought the urge to lift his hips and chase his own release with you, taking a deep breath and promising himself a hasty retreat to his own rooms, he managed to calm himself. 

"I promise I’ll come back, but I think they would like me to leave now.” He cupped your cheeks in his hands, holding you back from kissing him again but you shook your head keeping him close. 

A shrill clang of metal on metal reverberated through the room, setting Loki’s teeth on edge. The door was at least partially broken, he assumed, the hinges now hanging from the frame. Fool, Loki berated himself, he had allowed his magic to slip and as sure as he could hear shouting and voices outside of the room, they must have been able to hear you cry out. 

You leant into his embrace and pressed a kiss to his lips, sweet and slow as the door fell into the room, framing Steve on the other side, panting and frustrated, his cheeks flushed.

“Alright let’s go!” He pointed at Loki.

“So I can see you again?” You asked with a small voice, fingers clinging to his shirt, lips against his neck.

“Yes, darling, I’ll see you tomorrow, but if you need me, I am a god,” he leaned into your ear, “you can always pray to me.” Loki placed a kiss on your forehead and felt a frizzle of something escape again while Steve, and now Sam too, stood in the door frame shuffling, uncomfortable.

Such power, he chuckled to himself, such power and yet they are frightened of their prisoner.

It was definitely worth having to listen to the mortals complaining to irritate them this much and he had got their not so stoic prisoner to talk a little, even open up to him, he had brought you release when they could barely bring you comfort and he felt settled in the knowledge that they had no idea what they were playing with. 

Loki was lost in his own mind imagining the wall in yours, the memories entombed there. He had heard your voice, delicate and nervous, talking to him a few times. Telling him about your loneliness, your confusion and fear. And around an hour ago he swore he heard you gasp his name. The close proximity allowed him to hear you pray, but he could also feel the connection he had opened. A version of you searching to get out, running through corridors filled with vast vaulted ceilings and pillars that seemed to cascade form the ceiling, holding them up almost effortlessly. Endless halls of gold and miles of forest. 

This time it was Steve who rudely interrupted his studious daydreaming. 

“She’ll only talk to him,” he pointed at Loki who plastered on a caricature of shocked innocence.

“Are you sure?” He was sure, but he had such an urge to hear it from someone else.

“Of course I’m sure, she point blank refused to talk to me, Bruce, Tony, anyone. She asked for you and you alone.” 

“I’m flattered,” Loki stood and gave a smug smile before bowing at the waist.

“She wants you now, if you’ll go.” Tony suggested, refusing to meet Loki’s eye and instead toying with the clear phone in his hands. 

Loki faced the assembled superheroes before him, “how does it feel, heroes, to be the bad guy?” He waved his fingers at himself dramatically. 

“We’re not the bad guys,” Natasha insisted.

“No? Does the scared girl want to talk to you?” He slid his hand out in front of him, pointing at the shocked faces, “or me?” He waved his hand down his body and changed his clothes from his Asgardian leathers to a casual pair of black jeans and a matching t-shirt,. “Bad guys,” he pointed at them, faking a grumpy face and then smirking as he walked off to the medical wing.

&lt;<Part 2 Part 4 >>

[darkened-writer]

imagine| On The Nature Of Daylight

This is a part two to 'Star', since I feel like it deserved a happy ending, despite the bittersweetness of the first part. I honestly could expand this into a series if I want to, so let me know what you all think! Enjoy!

PAIRING || Astarion x Tav (Reader)

WORD COUNT || 1,090

Daylight always felt so odd, because even in a big city, the night was always more comforting. Especially for those who could never truly sleep well. ‘Insomniacs’.

The times that Tav did sleep, they’d see glimpses of stark white locks, red speckled irises, and a cheeky grin. All unfamiliar to see in a society where the only white hair you would see is on older people and people with odd hair dying choices. And, red eyes? It’d be associated with Albinism. The dots could never really connect on who this person plaguing their dream were.

Every night.

Every nap.

Every single time.

Doctors prescribed meds for PTSD, Insomnia, but nothing ever worked.

So, Their nights were filled with mindless activities and scrolling their phone, as most people do.

Wondering who exactly this man could be.

And, why his skin felt so natural against theirs.

The sun peeked just out of the curtain of their room, only slightly illuminating the space that was covered with various papers that had sketches scrawled across them, some with eyes, some with swirls to resemble curls, and mouths, shaped into smirks, two sharp teeth peeking out from under them. So beautiful yet out of reach, even so slightly.

The bed felt so empty.

But, at least there was the library.

It was a small job, paid decently well, gave Tav access to all types of books, ranging from non-fiction to fantasy to even greek tellings and local legends.

Though, fantasy was always one that piqued their interest.

Busy streets, walking with a blazer wrapped around their figure, a coffee in their hands, messenger bag in the other.

Eventually, the quietness of the library surrounded them, a few people sat at table reading books or typing away at computers. A few stood inbetween shelves, examining every aspect of the books they hold from the front to the spine.

Wyll, he was the head of the library, was clocking out and waved with a smile, glasses pushing up towards his nose as he walks away, carrying a stack of books. He was the nicest coworker you could ever have, always leaving a tupperware full of baked goods. Assortments of cookies, cupcakes, mini pies, all very sweet. Though, his hobbies outside of work were always involving sword fighting and fencing.

Cookies, this time around.

Red velvet.

The red looked practically bloody.

There was a ding, and Tav looked up, a red-haired woman holding a few books.

Demonology?

“Will these be all?”

“Yes…”

“Demonology, huh?”

She was quiet, opting to hug herself as she waited for the books to be checked out, hand rubbing against the muscle under her leather jacket.

Tav slides the books across the counter.

“Hope these help your studies!”

“Thank you.”

She walks away, Tav now opening the tupperware to grab a cookie, taking a large bite and humming a bit at the taste of the white chocolate chips.

Always so good.

“Hello? Earth to Librarian?”

Her hair was stark white, next to her snowy complexion, a silver necklace adorning her neck as she waved a petite hand in from of their face.

“Oh… sorry.”

The girl handed the books over, watching closely as Tav scanned them.

“You ever dabble in witchcraft?”

Tav perks up.

“Uh. No. But, it does seem interesting.”

“You should check these out once I’m done with them. Spells of protection are major within witchcraft, you know?”

She takes the books, grinning.

“Have a good one, Librarian.”

Sauntered off, leaving Tav to contemplate why no one ever read their nametag.

But, there was no time for that, there were books to put away.

So, they grabbed a cart, stacking returned books onto it before pushing it to certain aisles, sliding books in their rightful places, humming a small tune that's been stuck in their head. Eventually, the fantasy section comes up, a lot of empty slots to fill as they stop and begin to put boots in, until someone snatches up the book they just put in.

Red-Speckled eyes.

A devilish grin.

White locks.

“Oh, hello…”

His voice was smooth, an accent buried underneath it all.

“Hi.”

“Apologies for snatching this book from you, Love. You see… I’m very fascinated by fictional works, especially fantasy and this work, from Ms. Tyler, well, it’s an excellent work.”

He shows the cover of the book, which had a piece of art that depicted a small group of people.

“It’s okay, uh… we are getting a shipment soon of the next part after that one. The conclusion. If you’d like, I can have a reminder sent to you for it?”

His grin widens.

“That’d be perfect, Darling, Thank you.”

He peers down.

“Tav.”

“That’s me.”

“My name is Aster, but you can call me Astarion.”

Tav smiles a bit.

“You seem vaguely familiar, have we met before?”

“I believe we haven’t but, we can get to know each other?”

He was charming, his eyes looking directly into Tav’s with a familiar intensity.

“Sure. But, check out the book first?”

He nods, smiling as Tav walks away with the cart, mind swirling with thoughts.

Exactly like the dreams.

They looked just like the person in his dreams.

And, he had to know more.

“Just this book?”

He had just set the one book onto the counter, eyes more trained on Tav then anywhere else.

But, the sun through the window was hitting him just right, the red of his eyes more bright in the unexpected light, giving a odd sense of comfort. He was all too known in Tav’s mind, the resemblance uncanny of the man in their dreams. His touch could practically be felt still, his hands brushing the hair out of their face.

“Yes. And, red velvet? Good choice.”

A grin sprouts on Tav’s face.

“My coworker made them for me, they're good. Want one?”

“Sure.”

Their hands graze as Tav hands him a cookie, scanning the book and handing it over to him again as he grabs it, other hand holding the cookie as he take a bite, nodding to himself.

“Quite good.”

“I know right?”

A beat of silence.

“I’m sorry if its weird but, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve met you..”

“I feel the same way.”

Both perk up.

“Would you want to maybe… go get coffee or something? I know a place down main street, ran by this really nice guy, Halsin.”

“I’d love to, my dear.”

Both just look at eachother, a knowing look, red eyes looking into theirs.

“See you soon?”

“See you soon.”

[daevastanner]

Halfbreeds

My contribution for Gwynriel weeks2024 is this Gwynsand/dark!Gwyn fanfic. Please enjoy this extra moody first chapter now available on Ao3. Chapter 2 to come tomorrow!

r h y s a n d

Rhysand waited patiently in his office in the House of Wind for the next witness to arrive.

He’d been hearing testimonies from the priestesses of Sangravah all day. 

Well, a few of them. Only the ones who had volunteered to relive the nightmares that had transpired, all in exchange for the chance they may get a morsel of justice.

The heavy oak door opened, and Clotho came striding into the warmly lit office, another unfamiliar acolyte behind her. With a gnarled hand, she gestured to the high-backed sitting chair in front of Rhysand’s mahogany desk. 

The acolyte gave Clotho a hollow smile, nodding in confirmation that she could leave her alone with the High Lord.

With a bow of her head, Clotho retreated, the door clicking shut behind her.

Rhys took a moment to perceive the female before him. She had pin straight coppery hair, tucked behind her pointed ears. Her face was smattered with caramel colored freckles that contrasted starkly against her sallow complexion. 

No doubt Sangravah had taken its toll on her. 

She gave Rhys that same empty smile she’d given Clotho. The expression did not meet her large, teal eyes, the skin beneath them bearing bruise-like smudges. He recognized the expression. He’d worn it plenty of times after he’d returned from Under the Mountain. It was the smile he donned when he could feel the phantom scratch of Amarantha’s nails, the echo of her gluttonous moans. 

Rhys returned the priestess’s polite smile, shoving his ghosts to the back of his mind. He leaned his elbows on his desk, trying to appear at ease. “Let’s get introductions out of the way. My name is Rhysand, I am High Lord of the Night Court.”

“Acolyte Gwyneth Berdara, formerly of the Temple of Sangravah,” she replied primly although her voice was slightly hoarse. 

Rhys arched a brow attempting to keep things conversational. “Gwyneth Berdara? You’re one of the priestesses who have accepted postage at The House of Wind.”

He’d given all the acolytes from Sangravah two options upon their relocating. A post: serving in the House of Wind with a private room in the library dormitories, including access to regular counseling sessions; or passage: an escort to their family or friends after assessment by healers.

The choice was theirs.

Most of this particular lot accepted passage, with only ten requesting a post.

One of those ten, being Gwyneth Berdara.

“I look forward to beginning my service,” Gwyneth said with a slight bow of her head. There was a faint glimmer in her eyes, one that hadn’t been there before. “If there has been one bit of hope in the past week, it’s that I may do some good in the High Lord’s name.”

The way she spoke wasn’t as though she wished to appease him, but not insincere. It was almost admiring, yet bashful. Like speaking to your greatest hero, or happening upon your most respected artist. He would gladly receive her praise if it alleviated the weight of the ghosts bearing down on her. 

As though sensing his assessment, Gwyn’s cheeks pinkened. “I’m just very familiar with your policies in Velaris and the work you’ve done for the females of Illyria. Not to mention the orphans of the Capital cities.” 

Rhys smiled, heat blooming in his own cheeks at the enthusiasm in her reply. “I wasn’t aware anyone was monitoring my policies.”

“I have been,” Gwyn said. A beat passed, then, “I specialized in the care of the orphans at Sangravah. And my twin and I are— were nymphs.”

He heard the unspoken words in the latter-half of the sentence. 

‘I’m a halfbreed too.’

He shrugged his shoulders. “Genetic status is irrelevant in the Velaris—“

“Thanks to you,” Gwyneth finished, then ducked her head, seemingly embarrassed. “My lord.”

Right, well, perhaps she’d be comfortable enough to discuss her thoughts on his policies with him in a few years. Once she’d acclimated. If she had positive opinions, she’d certainly have negative ones, and it had been a long time since someone who didn’t know Rhys intimately had critiqued him.

“Well, I appreciate you volunteering for both the library and this interview, Priestess,” Rhysand said. “May I explain how you will be giving your testimony?”

Gwyneth bobbed her head, that broken smile resurfacing on her lips.

Rhysand explained how he intended to utilize his daemati magic to view the events of her memories from the attack on Sangravah. He’d then use the information he found to look for any familiar faces or weak points in their enemy’s defenses.

“If the use of my gift gives you pause, I’ll happily take a verbal account,” Rhys finished.

Gwyneth’s mouth was pressed in a flat line, all color drained from her face. “Which is more helpful?”

Rhys felt his stomach sink. What she had lived through had to be too traumatic to recount verbally, especially with so little time to process whatever had occurred.  

At least using his daemati magic, Rhysand would be sifting through her mind alone, with her no wiser as to the contents he was making note of.

“Strictly speaking, mental accounts are more reliable and while most invasive, require you to remember less details. Those who choose verbal typically take issue with the intimate nature of my gifts. It’s a matter of comfortability.”

Gwyneth Berdara nodded, chewing her lower lip, then finally said, “I’d rather you get as much detail as possible to apprehend the responsible parties. I trust you to use your abilities honorably.” 

Rhys dipped his head. “While your trust is not misplaced, Priestess, I appreciate it all the same. If you could just–”

“On one condition, please, my lord.”

His brows rose at the distressed creases lining her forehead, indicating it had taken great courage for her to speak up. He nodded for her to continue. 

“I would ask,” Gwyneth began, “that whatever you see does not alter the way you have regarded me since I entered this office. I’ve… I’ve had enough pity.” 

Rhys felt a frown tug at the corners of his lips. He knew all about pity. To his knowledge, many priestesses and children had seen immeasurable horrors during the attacks. Morrigan and Azriel had plenty of accounts they’d relayed with somber eyes while nursing their respective glasses of alcohol. 

“On my word as High Lord of the Night Court, you will have no pity from me, Gwyneth Berdara.”

On my word as someone who has had his fill of pity as well…

Gwyneth’s answering smile was feeble and forced, but true. “Then we may proceed. Tell me what is needed of me.” 

Rhys instructed the priestess to relax as best she could and close her eyes. She may feel a slight probing within her skull, and if at any point she did not wish to continue, she need only say so. Verbally or mentally, he would pick up on her request and withdraw immediately. 

She had no questions, only took a steeling breath and leaned back in her seat, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Her eyes slid shut, lips pressed in a tight line once more. “I’m ready,” she said softly. 

Rhysand concentrated on her, carefully setting aside his sympathies. Only when her shoulders relaxed did he close his own eyes, and dive in. 

Read the rest on Ao3

[tastylemonbread]

At long last, Library's bio is here! A plain text version is available under the cut.

The next god to receive a bio is being voted on now here!

Image 1:

[This one is divided into sections, kinda like a newspaper. The specific formatting isn't really relevant, and it's pretty plain anyway.

Library, #17

Domain over data, memory, and organization.

AKA The Librarian, The Archivist, The Cryptkeeper

[Next to this first section of text is a neat black and white drawing of Library's sigil, a simple symbol comprised of a 2x4 grid of eight rectangles forming a square. The borderlines of the square extend a little past the corners, and an extra line lays horizontal at the bottom of the symbol.]

(next section of text)

PRIMARY:

As old as written word, Library has sought to archive all written works, but expands their purview to include new technologies as they are invented. Though many may assume Library to be meek and nerdy, They can be quite a powerful force if they want to be, possessing abilities such as teleportation, mind reading, and spatial manipulation. It's rare to see these powers used outside of the Grand Library. Being arguably the god of information, they have quite a good understanding of the human mind, and can effortlessly transmit and receive thoughts as long as they have physical contact with the person. Even gazing into Library's odd shelf face is enough to get the mind racing, overclocked with too much miscellaneous information to process. Despite all this, Library is pretty incompetent when it comes to social interaction.

(next section of text)

DOMAIN:

Library holds domain over every written word, work of art, video, audio recording, line of code, punch card, receipt, label, stone carving, and anything else that may be used to store precious precious data. Though Library considers each of these (and more) to be fall under the umbrella of their domain, they do not have control over these. Rather, Library can simply feel when something like that is created, and a copy is set into Library's mind.

(next section of text)

REALM:

Like many other realms, the Grand Library is located on a plane of existence  parallel from standard Earth. The Grand Library does not appear to have a floor, walls, or a ceiling, instead contained within a hazy white void filled with neat rows of bookshelves. Despite there being no visible floor, one can walk around as if on solid ground. The rows of shelves go on past what the eye can see, and the place is so large that finding another visitor is incredibly rare. The only entrance and exit to the Grand Library is a set of very large fine oak double doors which connect to the lobby of the Bureau of Divine Intervention, which is the realm of another god that I won't elaborate on here. There are other ways to access the Grand Library, but those doors are the only permanent fixtures. A reception desk is by the entrance inside the Grand Library, at which Library is typically stationed. Since the Grand Library is so inconceivably large, a guide is always needed to find a specific book, and that guide is Library. They can take your hand and instantly zip you to where you need to be. The process is very disorienting, especially for mortals and those who don't regularly visit. Library can always sense where you are, and can always hear you ask for help so long as you are in the Grand Library.

(next section of text)

Relations with other gods:

good: monument, arts, drama, machine, health, hive

bad: flame, sea, war, death, rot, fear

(end of the first image)

Image 2:

[Standing in the center of the image is a tall, slim figure with one hand behind their back and the other raised to wave awkwardly. They are wearing a plain yellow raincoat that conceals most of their body, and brown gloves and boots. Their neck is long, curved, and round, made up of a thick tube of wires with a metal zip-tie keeping them in place. Their head is a cubic bookshelf, with the open side of the bookshelf acting as their face. The multicolored books within the shelf head are arranged in a way that resembles the static color bars of an old CRT TV. There are two more doodles of their head from two different angles, which are described in upcoming text so I'll leave it out here. Around the figure are bits of text that kinda correspond to various physical features of the god.]

(these are the bits of text:)

When walking, their head bobs like a bird.

head is actually a bookshelf, with four little shelves at the bottom. Library's sigil in burned into either side. On the back of their head is a little computer with some wires connected running seamlessly into the shelf.

Big weird hands. Also wires?

Seemingly normal raincoat with a reflective stripe. Nobody's ever actually seen what's under it.

in comparison to other humanoid gods, library is very lanky, standing at 7'3" (222 cm).

Leaves no footprints?

(end of the second image)

Image 3:

[This one has sentences and paragraphs placed around without much purpose. There was some empty space, so I copy + pasted the same doodle of Library laying on their stomach with their feet in the air, but I stretched out the doodles to make em look sillier.]

MISCELLANEOUS BITS:

Prayers, summons, and ceremonies are often answered with very verbose personal letters expressing gratitude, and rarely result in actual face-to-face communication.

Library has been spotted reorganizing human libraries and archives on Earth. They admit that this is a guilty pleasure of theirs, as they usually try not to get involved in mortal affairs otherwise.

All publicly available books in the grand library have been translated into a "universal script" which can be understood by absolutely anybody who is able to read in at least one language. Library is eager to teach people how to write universal script, but lessons are so long and dry that Library is still the only one who knows how to write that way.

Though Library's life is known to be well documented, they have taken efforts to seize all record of their past and politely refuses to share these records publicly.

The largest book in Library's head is actually a binder filled with articles, notes, photos, and other information about each of the gods. Library doesn't actually need to consult the binder, but they like to update it often.

Like many other gods, Library's voice is heard from a listener's POV as if it's just a voice in their own head. Library's "voice" varies depending on who hears it, but consensus seems to be that they speak gently, eloquently, and with a vaguely African accent.

Pulling on their wires isn't a good idea.

Though they appreciate Order's efforts to document and regulate godly affairs, Library finds it too much of a headache to navigate the Bureau of Divine Intervention, and tries to stay away from anything to do with it.

Miscellaneous books and scraps are always seen floating around the Grand Library, sliding into and out of shelves.

(end of third image)

This is the most I've had to describe, but lucky me, most of the images are just comprised of text. If there's any unexpected issues with this plain text version, please let me know. Even if it's just nitpicks, I'd love to hear it.

Thank you for reading/listening to my silly thing :^)

[carriesthewind]

Anytime I see someone just wholeheartedly defend piracy for any and all books and whatnot, I wonder how they would feel if they spent some time and care making something, be it a scarf or a painting or even dinner etc., and have someone just walk by and make a comment about how good it looks so they’re just going to take it for themselves. Like personally I would be upset about that and I would have thought they would be too, but with the attitude they have against authors and artists wanting to get paid, I now have to assume they would actually thank the person who was stealing from them. Obviously copyright laws aren’t perfect and authors by and large should be treated better by publishers, but how is stealing, because that is what piracy is, going to help anyone? It’s just so dumb.

I don't know - I think some of it is almost certainly thoughtless, a knee-jerk reaction to not being able to access all the content one wants to. (And I don't even want to entirely dismiss that - media has a strong emotional effect on us. That's the point. To be affected by the idea that you can no longer access something that means so much to you - or that it was wrong to access something that affected you in the past - that is very human, if I don't necessarily condone the way people choose to react.) But I do think it's worth interrogating the analogy, because while I do think what the IA did with the "National Emergency Library" is theft, I don't think all forms of CDL, or even all forms of what would be considered piracy, are theft. And I think the analogy is slippery. There are plenty of published authors who can and do (and have loudly expressed) that they feel that fanfic is theft and have used similar analogies to describe it. (And again, I condone neither that view, not any actions taken to harass or abuse such authors for expressing feelings of hurt.)

Because intellectual property and ideas *are* different. That doesn't mean I disagree with the idea of copyright (though as I've tried to make clear, I don't agree with the current copyright regime that exists in practice). I actually think most people I've seen and interacted with agree that creators do retain some level of rights and ownership over their creation - for example, that's why plagiarism is upsetting to so many people, regardless of any financial gain by the plagiarist. (Though again, most doesn't mean everyone, and there are very different ways that individuals can see, and that different cultures have and continue to conceptualize, intellectual ownership.) And then of course there is the fact that most of the people reading this, and most if not all of the authors affected by the IA's actions live under capitalism. (And sorry for the multiple tangents here, but while I sympathize to some extent with arguments about how artists and authors using and enforcing the copyright regime re-enforces the harmful exploitation of both creation and creatives by the regime, I don't buy it. I see it in much the same way as I see arguments that public defenders and other indigent/free attorney services reinforce the current injustice system. It's not wrong, per se, but the people being ground beneath the wheel of the copyright/legal system have and will continue to be ground regardless of the actions of people mitigating the damage. Our entire social system needs far more reforms, and leaving people more vulnerable (which is what is advocated for) is not an effective strategy for reform, nor is it necessary to destroy the protections - meager though they may be - for those vulnerable to exploitation to the system in order to either destroy or reform the systems as a whole. But then again, I am biased on this point because of my perspective.)

Anyway, I hope this response makes sense. I am slightly intoxicated.

[starfieldcanvas]

You seem like the appropriate person to ask, so might as well. How do I read Scum Villain's Self Saving System? I'm an english only reader that's not very familiar with the danmei ecosystem.

It's been published in English! Big bookstores like Barnes & Noble are carrying Seven Seas danmei these days. My local indie carries them as well. And of course you can buy them on Bookshop or your preferred online retailer. There are four volumes in the English printing, which comprise the original chapters, a lot of illustrations, some translator notes on the basics of cultivation novels and Chinese forms of address, and the "extras", bonus chapters that are a fairly common addition to books that were originally published as pay-per-chapter webnovels.

My local library system has at least one copy of every volume. I do live in a large city (with a large Asian population to boot), but I don't know how relevant that is. The series was an NYT bestseller, so it's totally plausible that even a medium-size county system would have them too. And if you're very patient, you can always request the series be added to your local library catalog.

But the obvious easy answer is that the whole thing is (shh!) still online. 'Lily's BC translation' made it through the whole thing, and there are other slightly smoother fan translations that you can start off with before switching translations when you run out of chapters.

The issue with reading it online is that you're going to run into some odd mixes of preservation vs translation vs localization ('Shidi' sounds much nicer than 'Junior Apprentice-Brother', imo. but why is it always Regret of Chunshan and never Regret of Spring Mountain?) and some transplanted Mandarin dialogue formatting (often it's just [Charactername, "Dialogue"] with no dialogue tag at all) that will take a little getting used to. The translator notes are a lot more colorful, though!

Scum Villain is a fun trip to read knowing pretty much nothing going into it. It's a convergence (and parody) of four different genres: stallion novel, danmei, isekai/transmigration, and cultivation/xianxia. Stop here if you want to go in genre-blind!

Here are my random thoughts about what might be nice for new readers to know IF they don't feel like dropping themselves in the deep end and learning by osmosis:

Stallion novels:

This is the type of webnovel being parodied by Scum Villain's book-within-a-book Proud Immortal Demon Way. Kinda like a harem anime, but more focused on providing a satisfying male power fantasy. Though you can definitely get the gist of it just from the exposition in Scum Villain, there were a few misconceptions I walked away with at the end of the book. This rundown on AO3, Stallion Novels: A Guide, is a brief introduction to the genre and how it differs from or overlaps with other genres of Chinese webnovel.

Danmei:

The popular danmei that have made it the furthest into Western circulation don't necessarily give a representative sampling of common-denominator danmei tropes, precisely because the popular stuff is usually the memorable standouts rather than the generic pulp. So just keep in mind that the common gong (seme) archetype is the dangerous, demanding, quasi-rapist huge-dicked dom who magically makes dry pounding feel insanely pleasurable, and the shou (uke) archetype is the delicate virginal younger man who says no but means yes and cries prettily during sex. These traits WILL be thrown in a blender and parodied, lovingly.

Isekai/transmigration:

This is the trope where you die in real life and wake up in a fantasy world (typical isekai) or in an explicitly fictional setting you recognize from your real-world media consumption (fairly typical transmigration.) Especially in the Chinese webnovel side of the genre, there's often a lot of emphasis on 'leveling up', point farming, and getting 'achievements' like in a video game. Access to this game system typically gives the player advantages over the natural inhabitants of the new world. If there isn't a game system, the player usually still has some kind of magical specialness conferred by being from 'the real world', such as knowledge of how the plot will go. These things will, again, be parodied all to hell.

Cultivation/xianxia:

It's apparently pretty common for westerners ignorant of Daoism and new to xianxia ("immortal heroes") stories to assume cultivation stuff is unique to whatever cultivation-setting book they happened to pick up first. If you had never heard of vampires and then you watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer, you'd be forgiven for initially assuming that the show invented vampires, but you'd misunderstand its commentary on existing vampire lore, and it would probably be confusing how much vampire stuff it inexplicably expected you to already know. With that in mind, you can see why it might be helpful to have a vague awareness of what "cultivation" refers to in xianxia novels.

Here's my stab at it: "cultivation" means something like "increasing one's spiritual energy reserves and improving one's control over spiritual energy (qi) through meditation, study, and physical discipline, in order to develop a powerful core of spiritual energy that can heal wounds, enable powerful martial techniques, slow visible aging or stop aging entirely, and allow a person to forgo food and sleep indefinitely as they transcend the limitations of their physical body and become immortal, maybe even ascending to godhood."

Usually cultivators practice cultivation in cultivation sects - these sects are typically depicted as a cross between a temple, a boot camp, a university campus, and a small independent political entity

Everyone in the same sect ("martial family") refers to each other using sect-flavored family terms. Two people of the same generation are sect-siblings and will use sibling suffixes with the "shi-" prefix to indicate it's a sect relationship. Your sect mentor is your shizun/shifu ("honored teacher-mentor-master"/"teacher-mentor-master"). Someone in your mentor's generation is your sect-uncle or sect-aunt; they'll refer to you as their sect-niece or sect-nephew.

Similar to how Chinese family name suffixes differ by age order, sect-family suffixes differ depending on seniority (i.e. when your master took you as a disciple, relative to the other disciples.) But different novels play with these seniority rules differently and may assign suffixes by age alone or by some other ranking system.

Westerners occasionally get freaked out when people in the same sect generation fall in love because the characters are sect siblings. But there's no incest implied at all—it's nothing more than two people being in the same boarding school or church congregation.

If a cultivator is not in a sect, they're called a rogue cultivator ; this confers less stability and political prestige, but despite the name, rogue cultivators are not outlaws or apostates. It just means "independent."

Cultivators will often accept requests from civilians to deal with marauding monsters and mysterious ghost-related deaths. How much money they expect for their services is generally tied to how righteous they are.

Depending on their chosen cultivation path, they may be more martial or less martial. Cultivators of the sword path use spiritual swords that can (1) work like a regular sword but better, (2) project power at range in a glowing beam called a sword glare, or (3) be directed remotely in battle using hand seals (adopted into Daoism from Buddhism, known elsewhere as mudras) or wordless telepathy. Some cultivators of the sword path will nevertheless have non-sword spiritual weapons or favor other qi-powered martial techniques.

Cultivators make use of talismans (spells written in red cinnabar ink on strips of paper and then activated, often used like throwable magic stickers) and arrays (more powerful, longer-lasting spells painted or carved into locations or objects.)

Various stages of core formation may be referenced to indicate power levels. Reaching a new stage may involve some kind of tribulation, health risk, or grueling purification process (e.g. expelling all your body's impurities out through your pores as black goo.)

Spiritual energy is channelled through pathways in your body called spirit veins to key points called meridians. Different people may be said to have different types of spirit veins typed according to the five elements. A trained cultivator can examine someone's meridians to check their spiritual health or cultivation aptitude.

Strain on your psyche or your spiritual energy can lead to what's called a qi deviation, where the spiritual energy circulating through you gets fucked up and you have the spiritual equivalent of a stroke. Sufferers may bleed from all their face holes, lash out mindlessly at anyone who comes near them, hallucinate, straight-up die, or endure wacky shenanigans like temporarily reverting to childhood.

Cultivators may use external alchemy to create power-boosting pills in small alchemical cauldrons.

Dual cultivation is exchanging energy through sex in order to aid in spiritual regulation or to mutually increase power levels. It can be done in a one-sided way to steal spiritual energy, which is known as making a human cauldron. In the real religious practice on which the fantasy version is based, dual cultivation relies on the exchange of men's yang and women's yin, but somehow in danmei xianxia the m/m couples seem to manage it just fine...

Different Chinese novels and shows do different variations on cultivation (the same way Western shows do variations on vampires/angels/demons/etc) but they're all ultimately drawing on the same Daoist tradition of internal alchemy (also called The Way of the Golden Elixir) with bits of Buddhism and Chinese folk religion mixed in. (Chinese folk religion is usually where the monster/ghost/demon stuff comes from.)

Other stuff:

Scum Villain is peppered with a bunch of trope references that will be largely unfamiliar to most western readers, like "white lotus"/"black lotus", "blackened", "black belly", and so on. It also borrows a few Japanese archetype references here and there. "Cannon fodder" is fairly self-explanatory at least.

It's fun to look these up, but it's equally fun to just figure them out from context.

Hope this helps! Enjoy your reading!

[pure-ablution]

City guide: London?

London is the nearest major city to me for much of the year, and I’m there an awful lot for all kinds of meetings and appointments. I’ve made a point of trying to step away from the basic clubs and restaurants popular amongst the usual set in the capital, and instead finding a few different places that I think are genuinely worth their while, even if they’re not the places to see and be seen. This is my own little personal directory of my top 3 (not ranked in any kind of order) for each major category—prices range, but the experiences remain top-notch, in my book.

Restaurants and bars:

German Gymnasium

1 King’s Boulevard, N1C 4BU

This lovely German restaurant is right next door to St Pancras station, and I can’t count the number of times I’ve stepped off the Eurostar and sunk into a seat at the bar here. It’s a big place, so there’s no worrying about getting a table, but it still manages to feel private and not too open despite its being housed in a former gymnasium. The staff are very attentive, and the food is both excellent and plentiful—this isn’t nouvelle cuisine in any description! Be prepared for very hearty German dishes which, although perhaps not as authentic as one might find in Germany itself, are delicious and hearty.

Le Beaujolais

25 Litchfield Street, WC2H 9NJ

This is a gorgeous, cosy little bistro and one of my favourite places in London for late-night catch-ups with old friends. Its wine list is quite extensive (ask politely behind the bar for the hidden gem list!) and the sharing platters on offer are a refreshing change from French haute cuisine in the capital, instead serving much more rustic and traditional dishes. A luxurious experience this is not, but it’s very fun, and I always meet some new and interesting people every time I pay Le Beaujolais a visit.

Gordon’s Wine Bar

47 Villiers Street, WC2N 6NE

Gordon’s is the oldest wine bar in London, and I don’t think the décor has much changed since it first opened! There’s always a queue in the evenings, so I recommend booking ahead, but once you’re inside, it’s a lovely experience. The little plates of cheese and bread to go with the wines are always very fresh and tasty, and, of course, the wines themselves are amazing. This isn’t a place only for wine buffs, I see a lot of people on dates whenever I visit, but the staff and many of the patrons are extremely knowledgeable, and you can always have a great conversation with a fellow aficionado if you look out for one.

Museums and libraries:

Victoria & Albert Museum

Cromwell Road, SW7 2RL

This is my absolute favourite of the big London museums, and probably one of my favourite museums in the whole world. I love the V&A. It’s a gorgeous space, the permanent collections form a fascinating journey through the history of decorative arts and design, and the temporary exhibitions are always incredible. It’s the world’s biggest museum of applied arts, and houses 5,000 years’ worth of textiles, jewellery, furniture, prints, and much, much more. I could spend weeks at any given time in the V&A, I just adore it.

The London Library

14 St James’s Square, SW1Y 4LG

I like to have the name of a pretty, quiet little library for each city in the back of my mind, just in case I have a little work to do or a few hours to kill, and the London Library fills that slot for me in London. It’s not as extensive as the British Library, nor as beautiful as some of the university libraries in the capital, but it’s exactly what I like, in a very convenient location for me. I pay an annual membership fee, and it’s worth it to me for the peace and quiet, the excellent staff, the open access policy, and the surprisingly extensive collection of books housed here. It’s a real hidden gem and one that I’m very grateful for.

The Wallace Collection

Hertford House, Manchester Square, W1U 3BN

I love a house museum, and I think that the Wallace Collection is an incredible example by which others ought to follow. It’s a large collection of fine and decorative arts, originally built by Sir Richard Wallace alongside the Marquesses of Hertford, in whose London townhouse the collection is held. The Wallace Collection houses one of the most important collections of 18th-century French decorative arts in the world, and puts on some extremely interesting temporary exhibitions programmes—even just browsing their exhibit archives is enough to inspire me!

Beauty and wellness:

Pied de Poule

67 Mortimer Street, W1W 7SE

One of the nice things about London is the comparatively vast selection of Slavic beauty salons and providers available, and Pied-de-Poule is my favourite spot to call upon if I’m in dire need of an instantaneous makeover. I trust the beauticians here with my hair, makeup, and nails, and—in true Eastern European fashion—they’re capable of deploying their staff to carry out multiple services simultaneously, which saves me a huge amount of time in a city that moves fast. Pied-de-Poule is a chain franchise with branches in Ukraine and Poland, and although I wouldn’t pick them over other options back home, they provide a very respectable service and I’m very happy to use and recommend them in London.

Jinny Beauty

71 Kingston Road, KT3 3PB

It’s not quite in London proper, but it’s definitely worth the trek out to New Malden to visit Jinny Beauty if you’re in search of a good facial. This Korean salon has been providing locals with glowing glass skin for over 20 years, and I love that I can go straight to Jinny and trust that I’ll receive an incredible massage combined with top-of-the-range equipment, including Hydrafacials, oxygen therapy, and ultrasonic treatments. If you’re looking for a proper, full-spectrum Korean aesthetic spa in England, Jinny is the best place for it, in my opinion, and the girls there are incredibly friendly, skilled, and knowledgeable about what they do.

New Docklands Steam Baths

30a Stephenson Street, E16 4SA

This place has recently had a bit of a makeover, but it’s still far from glamorous, so I’ll let you search up interior photos for yourself and just give you the exterior for now. New Docklands isn’t for people who are looking for a luxurious sauna experience, it’s in a grotty area, and intended for expats and immigrants who are desperate for a good steam, and that’s what it does well. The steam is great, the clientele is a mixed—but always entertaining—bag, and I’d say that this is something similar to the Russian Baths in NYC, only without the cult status. The staff are helpful, the facilities are very clean, and I’d recommend sticking to the women-only sessions on Wednesdays and leaving your fancy things at home.

Shopping:

Liberty

Regent Street, W1B 5AH

I’m not all that bothered about Harrods or Selfridge’s, but I’m a huge, huge fan of Liberty. It’s just a little bit more quirky compared to other department stores, and I always find something unusual wandering around the gorgeous mock-Tudor building. Liberty is the artistic choice, I think, and I love that it supports and champions emerging brands, artists, and designers, instead of sticking to the tried-and-tested. Their own range of fabrics, of course, are stunningly beautiful, and the staff exceptionally helpful without being overly attentive to the point of bothersome—something that often grates on me in other shops.

Sign Of The Times

5 Elystan Street, SW3 3NT

Sign of the Times began as a celebrity consignment store, and it still specialises in vintage designer and luxury brands. It’s generally my first stop if I’m struggling to find a specific piece from an old collection. The shop itself is very curated, and I’ve often found a lovely piece I didn’t even know existed just popping in during a free five minutes. Lorraine, the owner, is incredibly knowledgeable about fashion history, and she’s been able to advise me better than anyone else when it comes to more niche brands, items, and provenance. You pay for the experience and expertise, of course, but if you’re a collector or serious fashion enthusiast, then I recommend Sign of the Times wholeheartedly.

Sunbury Antiques Market

Kempton Park, TW16 5AQ

I’m not a big fan of the independent antiques scene in London, especially the markets, and I’d always recommend looking elsewhere to scratch your flea market itch—but Sunbury is pretty good, and the closest you’re probably going to get within Greater London. It’s a big, big market, and you’ll need to come prepared to scrape your knees kneeling on the floor, sift through piles of dust and rubbish, and haggle like your life depends on it, but I’ve always come away feeling triumphant at the end of it all. I recommend arriving early, before 8am if possible, having a clear idea of what you’re looking for (and what price you’re willing to pay), and wearing tough jeans and sneakers you don’t mind getting a bit filthy.

[whetstonefires]

hey, random question! what platform/method do you use to keep your robust digital media when ripping CDs? i havent done it since i was a kid with itunes (when itunes let you upload your own stuff....) and wanted to start again

Platform...they are files?

Like, mp3s; I keep them in my hard drive and thumb drives and so forth. My 'music' folder has subfolders, mostly by artist, which have subfolders per album. I just. Have the files. In my computer. Very basic method.

I organize and play them through VLC mostly. Or, on devices that still have it, I have kept using Windows Media Player, because I'm comfortable with the UI and why not, but they're actively phasing it out so I can't recommend adopting it lmao. And ofc if you're in the apple ecosystem it's not remotely an option.

I don't know that much about macintosh tbh but afaik they do let you have a file directory where you put your files that you own, which is definitely what I consider to be the most sensible baseline, if you have a device with enough memory. And memory has gotten pretty cheap.

I don't know of any cloud client service that's actively catered to letting you upload stuff you own and then stream those files on any device you please without having to jump through extra hoops, and suspect it might not be a thing at this point because there is no profit in that and it's not free to provide. They really want you to have to pay money to access content that you don't own. Sorry.

I bet you could figure out a way to keep a reasonably large music library in the amount of free storage google gives you with an account, and then play from there, but I don't think it would be very seamless. Maybe even less so on iphone.

But if your phone of whatever type has or can be modified to have sufficient storage space, you really can just. Keep your music in it. And then play it. VLC is open source and very good, and they have it for apple; I definitely recommend it.

But you don't like, keep files in it, it's just a player and sorter. So it doesn't feel like it answers the question you asked exactly, sorry.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Curtis and Honey Autumn This or That 🍂

Week Eight: Thrift Shop or Library

Summary- Short Drabble. Curtis Everett x Plus!Sized Reader. Your school day is done and you are taking a few moments of peace and quiet to enjoy the library.

Warnings- Curtis is a menace.

A/N- LAST TWO DRABBLES! wow, this was so much fun to do and I loved these small snippets in their everyday life. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. And if you guys would like to see another series similar to this one in the future, let me know. (for any of my pairings, doesn't have to be Curtis and Honey) Again! Thank you so much for everything, you all are absolutely the best.

Curtis and Honey This or That Masterlist

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet Masterlist

You hummed, happy with your little quiet bubble in the schools library. The kids were headed home at the end of the day and you had planned on taking the last bit of afternoon to jump start your next science course for your students . 

Curtis already knew you would be late getting out having told him as he was headed out the door for work. So you were soaking in the sensation of being around all these books, getting lost in the endless shelves available to you. Endless book spines were calling your name with titles, some familiar, some not. Once in a while, you would pull one out, cracking it open to browse its contents. Like an old friend greeting you once again.

From somewhere the libraries door opened and boots on the linoleum sounded, but you ignored it, not paying attention to a building that was always sounding like banging doors and shuffling feet. You had learned a long time ago to tune out such noises.

It wasn’t till you heard a gruff rumble and saw a large hand brace against the shelf by your head did you pay attention, twisting around to see Curtis right behind you. He must have showered cause he had changed between now and when you saw him leave that morning, his typical work uniform gone for a forest green button-up plaid and black jeans. “Didn’t even hear me say your name, full teacher mode? Next time I will have to call you Miss.Y/L/N.” He chuckled, a warm calloused hand coming up to cup your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss. 

Fresh mint and the masculine taste of Curtis filled your senses, getting lost in the feeling of plush lips and slight roughness from his beard, you let your hands slide up his chest to wrap around his neck, sighing happily into his kiss.

Now this combo, browsing books and getting to feel Curtis step in that much closer, his hard body warm as it started to pin you in place, you could be okay with this. 

“I don’t think Miss Y/L/N is allowed this much PDA in the library.” You hissed against his mouth before taking another kiss. Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him in closer. His hips pressed tightly forward, pressing you back firmly against the bookshelf. 

“What about my Pretty Girl?” A tilt of his head had his mouth trailing your jawline, tone deep and graveled as he gave you all these little sensations that had you breathing heavier. “She want this PDA?” 

“Oh yes, very much so.” You sighed while letting your head tilt back to let him have more access to you. You felt his hands heavily trace your curves, flexing his hold where your body was a little extra till his hands landed on your ass, really grabbing a hold there and lifting you a bit. 

“You drive me fucking insane when you’re all in your teacher mode. Legs around me Honey.” He growled as he went back to your mouth, keeping you from being able to protest him lifting you. Your legs swung around his waist, ankles locking in the small of his back to keep him from letting you go. “Fuck you're so fucking perfect.” He groaned as he pressed against your core, making himself grind against your clit. Just the right amount of pressure made a soft cry rise up into his mouth, clutching at him. “That’s right Sweet Girl, feels good doesn’t it.” 

It did, you couldn’t help the little rock of your hips at the sensation as you continued kissing him, panting against each other heatedly. The library just melded away, like you completely forgot that anyone could walk in on you two making out and grinding against each other. 

“Again, please?” You whined needing it again and Curtis obliged while biting your shoulder, his hip pushing into you, now his erection throbbing against you while grinding against your clit. The rough fabric a barrier between the two of you was making you so damn sensitive, aching for more. 

You felt seconds away from going further when voices sounded nearby, some of your colleagues were discussing their days when you two froze. 

Curtis pressed his hand against your mouth to keep the squeak of surprise muffled while he started to ease back. 

You dropped your legs to land on your toes and loosened your hold, looking down between you two. “Curtis.” You whispered while he straightened your clothes out. “You gotta stay behind me.” 

He groaned, his gaze heated still. “Shit Honey, don’t put those images in my head.” He huffed while you stifled a giggle, turning him to face the bookshelf instead, hiding the bulge in his pants. You snapped out a book and flipped it open quickly. 

“Quick, pretend you're reading this.” You just handed him a copy of Matilda by Roald Dahl and that made him arch a brow at you, clearly stating he was doubting your plan. But he flipped it open and skimmed his eyes over the words, pretending it was fascinating. 

Seconds away, they were just about to go around the corner and stumble on you and Curtis. You angled yourself beside Curtis, grabbing your own book from the shelf and were ready to cut off the teachers. 

You felt Curtis next to you, nose in his book, with his shoulders shaking, trying not to burst into laughter. And then they crested the corner, you and him hiding your faces in books while trying not to laugh.

[lumilasi]

Spooktober day 10: Haunted House (+ Ava & Roman's apartment)

Finally, after 3 days I'm finished with this one. I decided to still keep this as a spooktober prompt as well, but the bottom one is the "canonical" look/vibe for this place. (I know the perspectives are all out of wack, never tried to make this look realistic lol)

Below, I've listed more info for the actual home of my main gal and her BF:

Living room & hallway:

They have a special house-phone at the end of the entrance hallway which is common in their world. This one is something you can use to also make calls in into the human realm, when compared to Ether-style cellphones. These are typically powered by special spacial crystals. (Ether's energy source is these crystals, rather than electricity, you won't see electricity sockets anywhere as a result)

The glowing wall decor is an actual vine plant, not LED lights. They are common decorative item among fae folk like Ava, a special plant that once harvested can survive up to 5-10 years by absorbing magic particles from the air. The glow is a side effect of this process and the color changes depending on the seasons. (Winter = white, Spring = light green, Summer = warm orange red, Fall = Yellow)

They typically dine at the window seat table. Ava used to eat at the small half-circle one in her kitchen when she lived alone, but they decided to get a bigger table when Roman moved in, and placed it in the living room as it was more spacious.

Bedroom

The wardobe facing the bed is a common enchanted one, where it is bigger on the inside and functions more like a closet. These are common ways to solve storage problems in Ether.

the window seat is one of Ava's favorite places to drink her coffee or tea during early mornings.

The Dr. Who policebox wardrobe has a mirror on the door, (Couldn't make it visible from this angle) which sometimes spooks Roman when he's waking up very dazed and groggy.

Bathroom

Ava and Roman have a very typical Washing-drum for their clothes. It is not earth-like washing machine, but a wooden rectangular drum (can also be circular) with special water and heat producing crystals at the bottom. This magic device both washes and dries clothes. The crystal turns from red to green once its done.

The small red and yellow mat in front of the sink was Roman's contribution, Ava asked him to pick one (she doesn't mind it clashes with the rest of the bathroom colors, Ava finds it charming)

Kitchen

The entire kitchen was redesigned by Roman, after Ava gave him permission to decide on it since she was planning on changing it up anyway. (She did this as their first anniversary gift, wanting to have him feel more at home in her place by contributing something more major to how it looks)

The place was designed to somewhat mimic Roman's childhood kitchen, as one of his fondest early memories was watching his late mama cook there.

Like the washer, dishwasher is also Ether-styled, another magic barrel embedded into the cabinets, this one has a circular rack to pull up and place the dirty dishes on.

Library/Study

This room hasn't changed much from the time this apartment was occupied by Ava's uncle, Alois. The only thing she added was the pillow pile/fluffy blanket for Roman to snooze on when he is in his hound form.

The study table spot also has a mirror that can be covered with doors; Ava often does her make up here to leave the bathroom free for Roman to use.

More fun facts

The apartment is at the corner of an U-shaped building, and the way to access the apartments in this building is an outdoor balcony pathway instead of an indoor corridor.

There is a front yard park of sorts in the middle of the U-shape, that also includes a special patio area for hanging out. Ava sometimes uses it for a small gathering or a party with her friends during summer, as the area can be sound proofed with magic, to not bother other neighbors.

The back windows of the apartments face a large park; Ava's workplace - Night City tattoo parlor - is almost right across from it, so she often shortcuts through the park to get to work. The side windows face the next similar building and a street. Front windows naturally face the inner yard.

Yoruga, Roman's coworker, lives in the same apartment building, just at the opposite side, and at the end of the U arm. (His apartment is also smaller, a two-room instead of three rooms)

[ilikereadingactually]

The Raven Tower

The Raven Tower by Ann Leckie

yet again, WOW. i will never get tired of being swallowed in the delights of Leckie books. i read this one in just over a day, and even though i have the paperback, i also borrowed the ebook from the library so i could keep reading in the waiting room at the dentist and in the bathroom at work.

so many catnips for me in this book! tender first person direct narration, which always makes me want to giggle and kick my legs in the air. folklore, and language fuckery! a reveal i did see coming and was pleased to be right about, and then another one that i didn't see coming and was pleased to be surprised! a trans main character whose gender was important to him, but not central to the plot! Leckie also has this wonderful talent for creating near-omniscient characters whose perspectives and personalities feel fully realized, even though their experiences are so alien to the perspective of any single reader, and seeing that at play in a fantasy setting with gods and god magic was so fascinating!

also i guess this review is just going to be me listing things because i can't get over the beautiful parallels of this book--the way Eolo parallels the Strength and Patience of the Hill, in particular. how they each are inconvenienced by the shapes their bodies take, and yet are reluctant to leave or alter them, because those bodies are home. how they think quietly before acting, exploring and observing in secret, gathering what intelligence they can, and how their truths are met with disbelief and violence. how they each use and bend language to find the best outcome among bad options. the ways in which they both seek, first, to help people who need help. i adore them both so much, and their juxtaposed narratives delight me.

the tl;dr is that this book was deeply enjoyable, and i'm so eager to go back to Lake of Souls and read the stories set in this universe!!

the deets

how i read it: as i said above, a paperback copy i picked up a while ago that's been patiently waiting for me, and also an ebook from the library because i needed constant access lol

try this if you: dig stories about small and large gods, enjoy a little bit of mystery in your fantasy, delight in main characters who think things through, or (of course) have enjoyed other Leckie books.

a bit i really liked: there were so many bits i liked, but this one really encapsulates the cool things this book is doing with perspective and language

Any unusual animal (an all-white reindeer, a particularly large eagle, a by then rarely spotted mammoth) or particularly striking natural feature might be the sign of a god's presence. Once a priest had noticed or heard tell of such a thing, they would confront the animal or object, if possible, and speak a series of predetermined words paired with specific actions, and make a series of set offerings. They would repeat this over a series of years, or even generations, passing the details of the procedure down to their successor, until eventually the god responded, or the priest's regular travels stopped bringing them into the vicinity of the possible divine presence. This priest knew to be patient. She knew from experience, hers and her predecessors', that it could take a very long time to teach language to a god.