#but it's just nuanced enough for me to go “oh no this slaps actually”

[new-haven-psych-ward]

started (binge)watching fourze and I feel utterly lied to regarding the initial premise of Movie Amalgamation of American Highschool Feel Good Friendship Movies. "let's skip this one for now," my sibling said. "I'm kinda sick of silly high school dramas," they said. "fair enough," I agreed. It turns out the protagonist fucking dies and he's not even mad about it - how more anti-drama can you get???!!!

[pygmi-cygni]

writing tip - research

research is one of the pillars of writing. a poorly researched fic, essay, short story, novel, etc is immediately apparent because of several things:

lack of depth

stagnant plot or development

confusing or inconsistent setting

it doesn't matter what genre you write, if it's original or fiction, whatever. you need to research. depending on the relevance of your writing, the depth of research may vary, but it needs to happen. you do not know everything.

Fantasy

I see a lot of writers and authors use fantasy as an excuse to avoid research. Shut the fuck up. Every good fantasy is based on a real ocurrence or social dilemma. That's why we like it so much.

'but pygmi, fantasy is made up! it isn't real!'

SHUT UP. Even if you don't realize it, your story will have elements that readers are intimately familiar with. If you flub something, it will be noticed.

Besides, just because you make stuff up doesn't mean you can be inconsistent. You'll just have to fill in the cracks with made up stuff, which will even out to being about the same amount of effort. Pick your poison, either way you're gonna feel it.

Research is not everybody's favorite. I like it, personally, I think it's like going on little side quests for knowledge. But I understand if you wanna skip all the business and get to writing your baby. No shame.

Let me give you some pointers to make sure the time you spend researching is relevant and well spend.

Lists! God I love lists. after you have outlined your story and your characters and everything, make a list of all the things you need to have a deeper understanding of. This means determining priorities. - How important is The Thing? Will it majorly affect plot or character development? Is it a focal point of the setting? If the answer is yes to any of those questions, it's important. research.

Big picture, little picture. How important is The Thing (again)?. How much detail do you need to know? Especially when it comes to royalty or a hierarchal system, I see research being misguided. There are so many nuances to royal interactions that I could give a rat's ass. Big picture, general outline. I don't need to know everything, just basic courtesy, terms of address, appropriate convo. done. but if your MC is a coroner? might wanna put more detail into that; you'll be talking about the job a lot. determine how much the element will affect your story and go from there.

Don't fudge it for the plot. You'll have a preconceived notion of a certain job description, and then research it and think 'oh that's actually boring.' Don't muddle up the rules just to fit the aesthetic. It's sloppy, and your readers will notice.

To practice researching, pick your topic and after learning a bit about it, try teaching a powerpoint to your parents or friends. if you feel comfortable enough with that knowledge to do it successfully, I'd say you have a good enough understanding.

Setting

researching location is a big one that often gets overlooked. You don't always need to memorize maps, but get a general idea of the city/country layout so when you say "they drove 20 minutes from A to B" it makes sense, rather than having a reader think "Uh, A to B is closer to four hours, wtf?"

if you are making up your city, make a list of important streets and locations in relation to each other. This will help you keep it straight and organized in your head.

Get a feel for flora and fauna. Palm trees don't grow in Alaska. Don't write an Alaskan city with palm trees.

Weather? what's it like? Let me tell you, Portland doesn't get higher than 102F. rainy, cloudy, all that stuff.

Atmospheric details really add a lot, especially if your audience is from that location. It adds another layer of relatability. Also, use weather/plants/animals to your advantage! symbolism, possible curse, all that stuff.

Eras

Oh my god stop fucking this up. Baroque, Elizabethan, Edwardian, Middle Ages ARE DIFFERENT FROM EACH OTHER. STOP SLAPPING FANCY CLOTHES ON PEOPLE AND CALLING IT THE OLDEN DAYS.

get an idea of when electricity was widespread in homes. when was the refrigerator invented? did they use the word 'hella' in 1950? this kinda stuff is important for not breaking the illusion of a time difference. If you are writing a period piece and someone is chatting with a neighbor like it's 2015, we'll have some questions.

Unless it's doctor who. you guys can do literally whatever.

Plot and Character Development

If plot and characters are poorly researched, you are limiting the opportunities for growth. In researching your MC's occupation, you may discover a cool side effect that connects to a plot device. Stagnant, stale characters can be spruced up with a more developed backstory.

All in all, research is really important for your story. regardless of how professional it is, tumblr or the new york times. Do your research. As a writer, you are representing the community in your own way. Do us proud.

xox love you

[linesonscreens]

Let's Read Peanuts (Yes, all of it) - October 1950

As much as I'd like to comment on every strip I don't think the copyright gods will allow it. So instead I'm going to pick a sample of around 4-5 to discuss directly and then list a few others that are interesting or noteworthy at the end using text only. If you want to go read them (and you really should) you can do so at the official GoComics page.

This month starts HERE.

Oct 2, 1950

The first strip! And it's a pretty good one I think. it establishes what the strip will be about (kids being little assholes to each other) while also delivering a solid punchline. In fact I'd argue that this mean streak makes it feel in some ways more at home with modern media than with other stuff from the 50s which often went out of it's way to sand off the rough edges in these kinds of interactions.

Oct 4, 1950

Snoopy's first appearance!

I'm just going to come out and say it: Actual Dog Snoopy is infinitely better than the later versions you're more familiar with. I will get into physical altercations to defend this point.

Oct 10, 1950

Oh hey, this is the one I got my avatar from! I love the expression work here.

Oct 18, 1950

That last panel is one of my favorites in the entire strip.

Also, note that Patty has the traditional lemonade stand while Charlie Brown is selling flowers. It's not in your face about it, but Peanuts actually has a pretty progressive attitude towards gender roles which you will see come up quite a bit as time goes on.

Oct 25, 1950

I find it interesting that Snoopy was fully sentient from day 1. He will go through a LOT of changes over the years but the seeds for it were present right from the start.

Other Noteworthy Strips:

Oct 3, 1950 I love that the punchline here is just Patty slapping the shit out of Charlie Brown. It's so good. Oct 5, 1950 A solid visual gag and one of my favorite early strips. Oct 6, 1950 This is the first example we see of reality operating in very weird ways for comedic effect. This will come up a LOT.

Oct 30, 1950 I never caught that Charlie Brown's birthday happened here. I know for a fact that he's confirmed to be 4 years old later so this means that he was actually 3 years old when the strip started.

Oh? Did you think he was like 9 or something? You naive fool. Oct 31, 1950 This is the first “Snoopy likes candy” strip. There will be a LOT of these. And yes, the fact that Charlie Brown has fed his dog enough chocolate over the years to wipe out an entire network of animal shelters is not lost on me.

Thoughts:

I think these early years are my favorite parts of the strip. There's less emotional nuance but the art is crisper, the jokes are funnier, and everybody is kind of a dick in the best possible way. Schulz really gets how friend groups can actually be kind of horrible to each other despite nobody involved really intending to do so.

[roemantics]

TEW drives me so insane bc the foundation of STEM being ruvik’s unrelenting grief for the one person he treasured and loved in his life could have been so haunting if the writers knew how to handle villains in any other way than just slapping “psychopath bla bla EVIL” on top of them like tbh the torture and mindfuckery and lobotomy shit was enough to convince me he wasn’t like, good, so not sure why they go so ham on the psycho mental health thing (in the second game too with stefano fr??) and then try to show his genuinely upsetting backstory with unfortunately very little depth to it to.. make me feel bad? i think? i genuinely have no clue how we as the player are supposed to interpret ruvik and i. do not like that. it switches from generic sad backstory (that genuinely only has an ounce of nuance if you look at throwaway notes and the character model descriptions) straight to “actually he was always like this he looooves torturing people and having power over them he just uses his sisters death as an outlet to express his sadistic TWISTED tendencies” and then it’s back to his horrific childhood in which i cannot see any way that he would have turned out to not be bad. the game lacks nuance but pretends it has so much of it and it makes it feel so so soooo corny and genuinely idiotic. ruvik establishes a connection between himself and sebastian for a reason... y’know because of grief.. fire-based grief on top of that... and because they wrote sebastian as such a dry fucking character we dont even get to find out why ruvik thought it necessary or beneficial to do that!!! grief is powerful and the writers obviously knew that in some way when they wrote the DLCs but it’s pushed aside in favor of more corny lines trying to convince us ruvik is sick and twisted when WE KNOW. the brains in his house already told me. the monsters born from his own ass mind TOLD ME. every time i got pulled aside by that mfer in the safe room to get told how much ruvik loves torture it was so infuriating because i thought i was going to be told something i didnt already know. corny ahhh game tricked me into thinking it was going to have a haunting story about how grief affects people. where was the part where sebastian realizes that this is who he could have become? ruvik, regardless of his already pre-existing sadistic tendencies, was created because he was consumed by grief and loss. they portray his disfiguration as something to be feared (not even going to comment on this) but then describe in the character model notes how he was often plagued by seizures and other ailments because of it like... oh my god. they could have hit the nail on the head!! if they wanted the psychological elements in this fkcing game to work they could have done it.. they were so so close. regardless it’s a good action horror game or whatever but it fails on almost every department when it comes to the story.

[eyeballcommander]

@albertbutyoucancallmebert

(Previous) Black forest cake. Noted. “Oh, I understand now. Nuances.” Bert smiled wide at hearing the Commander’s explanation. As far as he (foolishly) believed, it seemed the Commander was being genuinely considerate to Bert. He looked down at the two pain relief pills he was still holding onto in his other hand. For once, instead of it feeling annoying as it usually did to Bert, it felt… nice to be cared about. “Thank you Commander…” He turned away and walked towards the door, hoping his eye wasn’t doing that annoying… heart thing that occurs to particularly happy watchdogs. “W-well, we ought to go rest up in preparation for our big invasion tomorrow, yes?

Peepers was proud of himself for diplomatically resolving this issue without even the slightest sacrifice. He proudly crossed his arms and smugly smiled with his nose fully exposed to the air as he followed Bert out.

"Yep! Gotta have my MVP in top form!" Just when it seemed like Peepers was giving Bert a compliment he guestured to himself with his thumb. "Me."

After a long pause Peepers burst into a laughing fit while giving Bert a few pats on the back. Except this time it was actual pats. Firm ones, sure, but not slaps hard enough to bowl him over.

"HAH! Nah, my ego's not that big..." Peepers fondly rolled his eye at his own joke as he stepped through the door. "That title belongs to Lord Hater!"

Peepers only got a few paces away before he turned around without stopping and gave Bert a few finger guns. "But you're definitely TMVP, Lieutenant Scharzschild. Third most valuable player!"

[selkies-world]

OK, OK SO I WAS JUST THINking

In my religion, we don't use our Gods' names to swear or cuss, because mentioning our Gods by name usually equates to invoking or summoning them. So if I said "FUCKING [NAME]" or "[Name], [Name], [Name]" (ala "Mary, Jesus & Joseph" in frustration, exasperation, exaltation or surprise, it's the equivalent of butt-dialing them while shouting.

BUT in my native language, there isn't a direct translation of "JFC", because most of it predates Jesus (yk when Cleopatra & Ceaser were having their Thing & Brutus was sharpening his knife??? We were speaking our language then, and for the most part, it hasn't really changed since) & the modern additions to it just. Did not like him, I guess? Like, we can incorporate his name into stuff, but it's a lot of effort when we have other stuff we can say instead. WHICH IS WHEN I REALISED that instead of cursing / cussing a God (ala saying their name in vane), we have 2 main options: either repeat the negative / positive of the statement, which is literally translated as you saying "No, NO, you did NOT say that you DID NOT" / "Yes, YES, you DID JUST say that YOU DID" but which is understood as the equivalent of "oh jfc" with a sigh / "jfc" with a small laugh, OR we can just use the name of the person we're talking to (it gets more complicated if you're talking to 1 person but about another) and you literally say "Do NOT, DO NOT say that, Mark" / "Mark, say that, SAY THAT" but is understood as the equivalent of "jfc!" / "jfc!"

And it just... idk, it got me thinking. Is there sayings / phrases the equivalent of "Jesus FUCKING Christ" in reference to Allah / any other Gods, or is that considered butt-dialing them, or is it like slapping a but of paper to your back which reads "SMITE ME" ??????? And if there ISN'T an acceptable name in your religion to use in this context, what's your native language's equivalent??? Do they cross over (ie: JFC is a mostly western saying, and the west is culturally Christian, AND predominantly* Anglo-sized & English-speaking)???? Or are they totally separate????

*I know not every single person in every single country speaks English, but chances are if you're wandering around Europe or the Americas, you'll find someone who can partially understand English SOONER / EASIER than you will if you're outside of Europe / Americas.

*There's also the fact we can more or less guess at some words because even though the languages are different, they overlap enough that we can recognise "oh, that word looks / sounds kinda like [word]" and use that as a starting point for finding translation help. Whereas if we go East or South (or some areas to the North), we don't have that.

[fearandhatred]

For the letter fanfic game: D, M, T, V, Y? <3

tristen!! thank u for the ask <3

D: What’s the most personal fanfic you’ve written?

transitional heart taxidermy :) the other two that i've published were just random strikes of inspiration but i put a lot of myself into this one, which kind of says something about me now that i think about it. but yeah personal experiences, personal metaphors, personal in the sense that writing it made me feel the most etc. and personal in the sense that i have thought about this fic every single day for the past 4 months 😭 but yeah it makes sense that this is the longest and only not-oneshot fic i've written

M: What’s the weirdest AU scenario you’ve ever come up with?  Did it turn into a story?

i would say all my AU ideas are kind of fucked up because that's kinda my thing lmaoo. currently i have two weird ones, both in progress, but if i had to choose one it would be my house of leaves x piranesi good omens AU. i kind of outlined it here, and idk if i'll write it because as much as i want to i have no idea how. but if i eventually manage to pull it off it would be my magnum opus i feel

T: Any fanfic tropes you can’t stand?

i can't think of tropes that i can't stand that don't also extend to media in general (e.g. certain types of stupid miscommunication, snowball effects). there is stuff that i tend to stay away from just because of my own preferences though. like mpreg or dead dove

V: Are there certain comments you’ve received on your stories that have stuck with you?

yes!!! especially on tht there's this one commenter who always leaves comments that are so heartfelt and hit me somewhere deep lol. i posted one of theirs here. also i love comments that quote stuff i wrote because Validation! and also this bad boy *slaps tht* can fit so much nuance and foreshadowing in it that i like knowing that people are picking some of it up

Y: What are your thoughts on your personal satisfaction with something you’ve written vs. the popularity of your stories?  Do you tend to be most satisfied with your most popular stories?

oh interesting, i've actually thought about this quite often. sometimes i feel that i like how my fics aren't that popular because there's less pressure on me to write, and also because i think having just several people who really Get It means more to me than having idk. a huge readership of people who read it surface-level (kind of hypocritical because i tend to do that sometimes too lmao oops)

also i don't think i have enough fics to really compare my satisfaction with popularity but right now not really. going back to the first question, because tht is a lot more personal to me, it'll always be one i'm most proud of no matter what

ask game!

[prettypiscesgal]

Friends without benefits

Summary: You have a friends with benefits relationship with Eddie, but it all falls apart after the beautiful Chrissy Cunningham catches his eye.

Warnings: [18+] lots of angst & allusions to smut.

Listen while reading:

Back to the old House - The Smiths

Goodbye to love - Phoebe Bridgers

part 1 - read part 2 here

“Eddie-” I try to say, but am cut off when he aggressively presses his lips against mine, moaning dramatically. “Ed, slow down.”

“Can’t.” He whispers breathlessly against my neck, kissing and biting at the skin there. “Need you.”

“Jesus, you in heat or something?” I laugh, pushing at his shoulders. “Did you forget we’re in the janitors closet?”

He just smirks and shrugs, “I don’t mind everyone hearing how good I make you feel.” He murmurs seductively, placing his hands on my hips and squeezing.

“Oh please. You’re way louder than me during sex. They’ll be hearing how good I make you feel.” I reply, jabbing my finger into his chest.

His face scrunches up in disbelief, “I am not that loud.”

I raise my eyebrows at this, “Oh really?” He nods and I clear my throat, making my voice deep and whiny to mimic his, “‘Y/N, please. Oh god, you feel so good. Don’t stop, mo-”

“Okay, that’s enough.” He says, slapping his hand over his mouth.

The bell rings and I lick his hand just before he can pull it away, causing him to whine and scrunch his face up in disgust. “You’re a nuance.”

“You’re a nerd.”

We both walk out of the janitors closet before the halls could fill with students and he turns to me with a smile, “See ya later, missy.” He ruffles my hair before running off to his class that he was probably failing.

My smile drops the second he’s gone, replaced with disappointment. It’s like this everytime, so I don’t know why I’m so disappointed when I know it’s coming.

It’s the same routine. We’ll mess around, whether it be in the closet, his trailer, or some other secret spot he’s found, and then he’ll treat me like I’m just his little sister. Not someone he could actually be in a relationship with.

I don’t even know how it happened. We just ended up kissing once, things escalated, and ever since then there’s been some unspoken friends with benefits thing.

I mean, it’s not like I don’t enjoy it. I love it. At least, I did at first. But, at some point I guess I caught feelings. Which is against the number one rule of friends with benefits relationships.

But, shit happens, I guess.

———

Lunch time rolls around and I’m just excited to see Eddie. That’s the only part of school I actually enjoy.

He’s sitting at our usually lunch table with the rest of the hellfire club. I’m not in hellfire, I don’t really understand DnD even a little, but I always come to the campaigns. I have my own little chair next to Eddie’s.

“Hey guys!” I smile, placing down my lunch tray and sitting down next to Dustin and Eddie. They all shut up the second they notice me, staring at me with wide eyes. “What’s going on..”

“Nothing!” Dustin and Mike shout at the same time. I furrow my eyebrows, looking to Eddie for an answer. He looks down at his food, looking guilty.

“Lucas?” I ask, looking at him from across the table.

“Just some guy stuff. You wouldn’t get it.” He quickly makes up some stupid excuse.

“Guy stuff?” I scoff, looking at Dustin again, who is practically sweating under my stare. “Dustin..”

“We we’re talking about Chrissy Cunningham!” He finally exclaims, breathing heavily as if keeping that secret took a major toll on him.

I couldn’t help but laugh, “Okay? What about her?”

My smile falls when I see Lucas, Dustin, and Mike looking at me with pity on their eyes. My eyebrows furrow and I look to Eddie who looks practically terrified.

“We we’re just admiring how good she looked in her cheer uniform.” Jeff finally admits and I scoff, rolling my eyes at the boys.

“So you guys were just scared I was gonna get mad at you for checking out some girl?” I laugh, crossing my arms over my chest as they all look away with the same guilty expression. “Boys these days.” I shake my head with a laugh, beginning to eat my food.

“Not just that.” Dustin mumbles, but everyone can still hear his voice through the deafening silence at the table.

“What else?” I ask, furrowing my brows. Dustin doesn’t answer, just glares at Eddie. I turn to look at him, and he’s still staring at his food. “Eddie?”

He looks up at me, seeing my confused expression and finally sighing, leaning back in his chair, “I was… thinking about asking Chrissy out.”

My heart drops to my stomach.

“Why would I be upset about that?” I say through a fake smile, pushing my food around on my plate and trying to stop my hands from shaking.

“Um.. I dunno..” He shrugs. I knew why he was nervous. Because this means we would stop with the ‘benefits’ part of our friendship.

Everyone else at the table knew the real reason I would be upset though. Everyone could tell I was in love with him. Everyone but Eddie. They didn’t even know about our secret little hookups and they could still tell.

“It’s okay. You should ask her out.” I tell him, making direct eye contact with him to make sure he understood that I was okay with this.

Even though I wasn’t.

He smiles brightly, practically glowing in his seat for the rest of lunch while I was struggling to even swallow my food down with the lump growing in my throat.

The second the last bell of the day rings, I’m running out of school, excited to get home and cry my heart out. That is until I remember I would have to face Eddie since he was my ride home.

“Fuck this.” I groan, pulling out my walkman and deciding to use it as an excuse to not talk to Eddie. Unfortunately the only taps I have is the mixtape Eddie made me. “Double-fuck this.”

Begrudgingly, I place the headphones and blast the music, listening to the sound of Jimmy Page’s guitar skills that just remind me more of Eddie and his stupid talented fingers (in more ways than one) as I make my way to our hidden spot in the woods.

Unfortunately, because my headphones were blasting, I didn’t hear that Eddie wasn’t the only person at the hidden picnic table.

“Oh!” I shout, being taken off guard by the image of Eddie and Chrissy making out on the picnic table. The picnic table that Eddie and I used to make out on.

Ouch.

“Shit.” Eddie mumbles, stepping away from Chrissy when he notices me. “Y/N, I totally forgot I was supposed to drive you home-”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just walk.” I reply, not wanting to bother him and his new girl. I try to ignore the ache in my chest at the realization that he forgot about me.

“Okay.” He nods and for some reason I don’t move from my spot. I was waiting for him to argue, say ‘no, I would never let you walk home’ or maybe even ‘are you sure?’ and the very unrealistic ‘no, you’re more important than Chrissy. I’ll give you a ride.’

I stand, watching him cuddle up next to Chrissy, completely shutting out my existence as he buries his face in her neck, just like he did to me a couple hours earlier.

“Bye.” I whisper, which goes unheard because he’s currently whispering something in Chrissy’s ear, causing her to let out a cute giggle as she turns to kiss him.

While walking home, I can’t help but wonder if I did this. Maybe if I told him I liked him. Told him I wanted a relationship. Maybe there was a small chance he liked me back.

But deep down I know that isn’t true. If he really loved me, he wouldn’t have kept us just a dirty little secret. He would’ve wanted more. Would’ve wanted to brag about me to all his friends like he did with Chrissy. Would’ve wanted to hug and kiss me in public. Or even just call me his girlfriend.

Instead he just wanted someone to get him off and then sit and listen to all his girl problems. Because he didn’t see me like all the other girls.

The worst part is I thought he was the one for me. He was sweet, and funny, and treated me so well. He didn’t even realize how much he was really hurting me. And he doesn’t even realize it now.

He was my one and only and he didn’t even consider me as one at all.

———

part 2??

send requests !!!

[garbagevanfleet]

ABADDON (series)

PART ELEVEN

Pairing: Josh x female!reader

Word Count: 15k words in this chapter

Summary: After a near-fatal accident that put one of your best friends into a seemingly endless coma, you’re feeling a little lost and hopeless. But are you desperate enough to do something reckless?

WARNINGS: (in this chapter) EXPLICT SEXUAL CONTENT!!!! 18+ ONLY.  Tons and tons of talk about Catholicism and Christianity, scary!Josh, talk of “virginity”

Editing and moodboard by the incredibly talented Erin ( @gardenvanfleet )

MASTERPOST

Playlist

“I absolutely love Halloween,” Josh says dreamily, and then flicks a vinyl werewolf mask with his fingers to hear the slapping sound. 

You’re a little distressed as you pick through a rack of packaged outfits and accessories because the only costume you’ve seen so far that you even remotely liked, you quickly realized was for children 10-14. “I can’t believe we forgot all about it.” 

“Speak for yourself,” he retorts in amusement. “Paimon’s been waiting patiently for its return - he loves when he’s tethered to a body for Samhain.”

Smiling, you turn to catch his eyes. “Yeah? Why’s that?” Then, after a quick pause, you add, “Other than the obvious reason of being a spooky guy that likes a spooky day.”

He crinkles his nose at you teasingly and then pecks a kiss to your cheek before you can resume your hunt. “That’s pretty much it, just with some extra nuances.” 

More than anything, you sound tired when you sigh and say, “That’s just cryptic enough to concern me, Joshua.” 

A laugh escapes him as he leans back against a flimsy display, but he doesn’t appear to be putting any actual weight on it - it seems to just be more for aesthetic's sake. “Aw, bunny. You’ve really come to know me so well.” Apparently deciding that’s all the information you get for the moment, he continues with, “Remind me again why we can’t just pick a costume for you from the ether?”

“Are you not having fun?” 

“I mean, it certainly isn’t too fun, right?” he half-teases, plucking a feather from a pair of fake angel wings and twirling it around between his pinched fingers. 

You peer over your shoulder at him and smirk, causing him to give you a questioning expression. “I guess that’s fair - we haven’t gotten to the really fun part yet.” 

He huffs through a sarcastic smile. “Oh, yeah? And what’s that exactly?”

Instead of answering, you just reach out and pull a random costume from one of the coat hangers and then saunter off to the back of the store, making sure you can hear his footfall behind you. There are just two people working the store, which is hard to believe because it’s two days before Halloween, but easy to believe because everything is so terribly picked over that there’s not much left to panic-buy before the holiday. Either way, the situation is pretty perfect for what you’re hoping to accomplish. 

The attendant that’s back by the fitting rooms is busy repackaging costumes after people try them on, so you’re able to slip past them without them being any the wiser. Josh files in behind you and checks over his shoulder before shutting the door and sliding the lock into its place. 

“You really don’t even need a costume,” he informs smugly, the expression worsening when you turn and give him an accusatory frown. “I can’t imagine you’ll be wearing it for long, so I was just going to pick you something.”

“We aren’t going to the club?” 

He hums at your question fondly, though you get the sense that there’s plenty he’s not telling you. “Halloween is the only day of the year that The Chapel is closed.”

“Why?” you ask, and then, when you can tell he’s going to try to dance around it, you grab him by the collar and press him back against the mirror with a thud. He’s trying to purse back an amused smirk as you repeat, “Josh, tell me why.”

“What would you do if I said, ‘make me’?” 

Your eyes pop open in dubious surprise. “You can’t possibly be horny after last night, right? There’s no way.”

He shrugs, wearing a cheeky look. “I always am. I mean, for one - I’m a demon now, so I’m just kind of inherently horny, but even as a human, I was always pretty sexually motivated.” 

After a quiet moment, you bite back a humored smile. “Really?” When he nods as you, you clarify, “I can’t picture sweet little Josh like that.” 

“He could certainly picture you like that,” he assures slyly, tucking a strip of your hair behind your ear, likely in hopes that he’ll see you blush. It works - you can feel your cheeks warming as his fingertips just barely brush your cheekbone.  

Once again, you ask, “Really?”  

Amused that you can’t seem to grasp onto the idea, he takes a step closer and asks in a whisper, “You wanna see?” 

“See what?” You’re wearing a confused frown as he slowly reaches for your forehead. As soon as he touches you, your vision whites out. It feels like you’re being sucked in by the undertow - dragged under the surface. 

On the other side of it, you’re Josh - or at least, you have his perspective. You recognize that you’re staring at white tiles - the shower tiles in their family's bathroom. It’s so real that you can feel the hot water running down your back and the thick steam against your face. Your left hand is braced against the shower wall, and your right is... You glance down and find it wrapped around your cock, and you suck in a gasp - except, it’s not one of shock like you want. You’re drawing in shaky panting breaths with each stroke through your fist. It feels strangely different than touching yourself - a little less intense and it doesn’t quite fill you with that heat you’re used to, but it’s still nice. You tip your head forward against the wall and let your eyes flutter closed as you roll your hips, slowly at first, and then quickening when it feels like that gets you closer to the edge. The tiniest little moan tumbles from your lips, completely swallowed up by the running water. 

There are a couple of sharp knocks on the door a second later that make your breathing hitch and all your movement stop. 

It’s Sam’s voice that whines from the other side of the wood. “Josh, c’mon, you’ve been in there forever.”

You grit your teeth in frustration. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” 

“There’s going to be no hot water left,” Sam complains, trying the handle to find that it’s locked. 

“And whose fucking fault is that for not getting out of bed until the very last minute? I said I’ll be out soon, now go away,” you snap and hear him stomp off. 

There’s a frantic feeling now, knowing you’ve got such limited time before someone comes to bother you again. You can feel Josh make a split decision, and behind his eyes, you can see him imagining you. He closes his eyes again, pictures you on his knees in front of him and you can feel the goosebumps rise on his arms as his skin prickles at the image. It’s so strange to see yourself like that - he’s picturing you opening your mouth so he can slip his cock past your lips and you can feel a tingling in his stomach as he imagines you looking up through your eyelashes. 

You’re able to surmise that the time period that this is taking place in is shortly out of high school - you’d grown your hair out really long for senior prom and decided to keep it that way until you realized you were going through shampoo too quickly and chopped it. Now, he’s picturing it hanging like wet silk over your shoulders and clinging to the shape of your breasts. 

It’s strange to ponder that this daydream actually ended up being a prophecy for him - he did eventually get you on your knees like this. You remember him telling you he’s pictured you like that before, you just never thought you’d get to see it through his eyes. In his mind, he pins you back against the shower wall and fucks your mouth, and the moment feels so familiar to you. 

He’s thinking about your tongue working at him as he slides the head of his cock against it, over and over until his eyes are rolling back. You can feel him about to come - it’s euphoric, like a warm, fuzzy rush washing over you. 

Right before you can experience his peak with him, you’re drawn back to the present. 

He’s got an arm around your waist, holding you tight against him because you find you’ve gone pretty much limp in his grasp. 

“Oh,” you breathe, slowly working your gaze up to meet his eyes to find that he appears amused - you imagine that he’s been watching you react. 

He tightens his arms around you, tugging you flush against him and pressing the tip of his warm nose into the hollow part of your cheek. Through a smirk that drips from his tone, he purrs against your skin, “Is it easier to picture now?” 

“You couldn’t have just let me stay in until after you came?” you grumble, but despite the complaint, you scratch your nails through his curls comfortingly, causing him to lean into it. 

“Probably not in this dressing room - not unless I could gag you.” 

You know he’s teasing, but you consider it, causing him to snicker at you. “Later,” he promises. He has his mouth open to say something else when you hear his phone buzz. It only takes him a second of glancing at the screen before he frowns in annoyance. “Sorry, bunny, I’ve got to take care of some business before we carry on with our day.”

In slight shock, you ask, “Me too? I’m coming with you?” 

He’s looking you up and down in appraisal before he nods in allowance. “Yes, I think that would be fine. You just have to behave yourself.” 

It’s such an absurd thought that you can’t help but scoff. “Me behave myself? Which one of us had a meltdown in a grocery store just a few short weeks ago?” 

“I, personally, think that was so childish of you. I mean, someone had to clean those pickles up, bunny,” he accuses in the most cheeky way you can imagine, sliding the lock open on the door and shoving it open, tossing you a look over his shoulder as he exits the room first. You grab the unopened costume package as you roll your eyes. 

You end up at The Chapel and find that, without all the excitement of the nightlife, it loses some of its magic. The rooms are vacant and you can hear the old wood creaking as the autumn wind tests its resolve.

“It’s creepy in here during the day,” you note, sticking close by Josh as he leads the way down the hall. 

“Nothing to be afraid of, bun,” he assures, reaching back and taking your hand. You catch his lips turn up into a pleased smile as your heart beats harder when he intertwines your fingers with his. “I promise I’m the scariest thing in here.”

You’re teasing when you reply, “Well, that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

When he opens the door to the inner sanctum, you catch Elise sitting on the bar, one of her pale legs crossed over the other one. She’s in a denim jumpsuit that’s unzipped to her sternum and there’s a pair of white, round sunglasses rested on the top of her head that match the white boots she’s got on. She stops inspecting her nails as the two of you walk in so she can offer Josh a flat look that you couldn’t possibly place the cause of. 

Josh lets out a sigh and then turns to you, giving you a smile that’s only slightly apologetic. “I’m going to be a few minutes, but Stolas will stay here with you, alright?” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Stolas materialize next to Elise - though he’s standing and she’s sitting on the bartop, they come out to roughly about the same height, a fact that amuses you deeply. He doesn’t seem to take offense to being left behind - his lips just turn up in greeting. Josh places a hand on your lower back and gently ushers you over to him as Elise hops down from her perch, the chunky heels of her boots making a pleasing sound as they land on the hard floor.  

She has to lengthen her stride to catch up with Josh and then they disappear through a door at the very back of the bar. 

“You want something to drink?”

You turn to meet Stolas’ eyes and nod - he’s already rounding the corner to get behind the bar. “That’d be great.” 

After he pours you a glass of straight orange juice and passes it over to you, you offer him a sweet smile. “Thanks, Stolas.” 

In amusement, he corrects, “You don’t have to call me that if you don’t want - my name is Harry.” 

You nod, slightly embarrassed for whatever reason. “Harry, then. You’ve got a lot of tattoos,” you note, letting your eyes rake over where they stain the skin on his arms. 

He unbuttons the left cuff of his shirt and then begins to roll it up to his forearm to give you a better view. “You like them?” 

“Especially this one,” you agree teasingly and point to a little black cross in the crook of his thumb. “Love the poetic irony.” He doesn’t reply further than to give you a cheeky smile, so you continue with, “How did you die? Am I allowed to ask that?”

“Sure, you can - it’s just not that interesting of a story.” 

“Drowning?” you guess, and when he shakes his head, you try again. “Overdose?”

“When you think about it, isn’t all death kind of an overdose of something?” he asks, causing you to quirk your eyebrow at him curiously. 

“How do you figure?” 

He shrugs. “I’unno - drowning is an overdose of water, burning alive is an overdose of fire,” he explains uselessly. 

It’s kinda endearing and as you’re listening to him now, you’re having a tough time imagining him topping anyone at all, even Josh-

“I, for one, overdosed on carbon monoxide,” he adds with a smile. 

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry about that,” is all you can think to say, but he declines by shaking his head. 

He waves off your concern and teases, “Don’t be - it was my own fault for being too lazy to change the batteries in the detector. I couldn’t stand the chirping anymore, so I just hit it with a broom handle until it stopped.”

The information is delivered to you so matter-of-factly that you can’t suppress the laugh you practically bark at him. You want to believe he’d be easier to dislike if his voice wasn’t so comforting - with his accent, you can almost visualize the words crawling slowly through your brain tissue.

“You’re very strange,” you note, pitchy from your shock. “Every other demon I’ve met has been so smooth and confident.”

A faux frown finds his features as he runs his fingers through his dark hair. “You don’t think I’m smooth or confident?”

“Not in the way I was expecting,” you admit and then tease, “Are you sure you’re even a demon?” 

He frowns in consideration and then shoves a hand in the pocket of his slacks - when he pulls it back out, there’s a little pile of colored stones in the dip of his palm. You cautiously offer him your hand when he reaches for it, and he happily transfers them to you for your inspection.

“What are these?”

“Uncut stones,” he replies. “Do you want them cut and polished?”

You give him a shocked look, but before you can respond, he places his open hand over yours and when he pulls it away, you can easily recognize them - a ruby or garnet, an emerald, a diamond, and a couple of yellow and orange ones, all in different cuts. You stare at them for a long second before glancing back up at him.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” 

He shrugs. “Whatever you want.” 

Unsure where to go from here, you tuck them into the breast pocket on your coat. Curiously, you ask, “What else can you do?” 

“Lots of things,” he assures. “You wanna see a trick?” 

“I don’t know, are you about to show me the future?” 

He smiles at your suspicious tone and shakes his head. “I can’t do that, but I’m the only one that can do this.” 

He holds both of his hands out, palms facing up, and something you could only describe as a hologram appears above them. In the dimness of the room, it’s like he’s showing you the night sky - there are little flecks of light glittering like stars. 

“Oh,” you breathe in wonder. 

Through a pleased smile, he replies, “Aren’t they lovely?” 

You nod, extending your forefinger to touch. As you tap one of the little dots, a line appears to connect it with a few others, creating a stick figure shape. 

“It’s Sagittarius,” he informs quietly. You glance up at him to comment, but you get lost in the state of his eyes. They’ve turned a greyish purple shade, but they look like they have such depth to them - you can see little stars littered throughout them. You’re so captivated as you stare into them that you barely notice it when he closes his hands and kills the scene he was displaying for you. 

You know you can’t touch his eyes, so you reach to brush over the height of his cheekbone instead. You’re just about to make contact with his skin when you hear Josh hum amusedly. It’s a little alarming that you hadn’t even noticed the door he’d disappeared into opening, but he’s already a good ten feet into the room with Elise just a step or two behind. 

You’re not really sure why, because he doesn’t look upset in the slightest, but you quickly retract your hand, forcing your posture straighter.

“Are you ready to continue with our day?” Josh asks you. He checks the time on his phone. “We should get you something to eat.”

With a nod of agreement, you join by his side, wearing a shade of pink across your cheeks. “It was nice to actually meet you, Harry,” you state, putting on a smile for him despite your embarrassment. 

He flashes one back at you to return the sentiment. 

You get out into the car, and as you’re putting your seatbelt on, you get a text message. Historically, the only person other than Josh that has ever texted you has been Jake, so when you pull your phone out and see that it says Elise with a yellow heart and crystal ball emoji, you just stare at the screen in confusion. 

wanna have a girl day? it says. 

You quickly type back, Sure but how did you get my number?

took it while we were dancing :) lunch next wednesday. we’ll pick you up

Since you know that she won’t become any more clear, you don’t bother asking for clarification, but you realize that “we” could mean anything, so you just tuck your phone back into your purse. 

“Are you going to tell me your secrets now?” you ask, half-turning in your seat so you can look inquisitively to Josh. 

An inquisitive smile spreads across his lips. Coyly, he replies, “Whatever do you mean?” 

Even though you know he’s aware of exactly what you’re referring to, you humor him by replying, “You have a lot of explaining to do about that ritual. About the death certificates. About that orgy.”

He’s smirking as he nods. “You’re right. We can talk over lunch.”

“We’re going to talk about this in a restaurant?” 

The concern in your voice amuses him. He hums in agreement, and in a move that melts you entirely, he pulls your hand from your knee and laces his fingers through yours. 

Once you get to the restaurant and get ordered, you give him an expectant smile. 

He lets out a short breath of preparation and asks, “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“That really should not be how this works,” you complain with a frown, rolling your eyes. “You should just start explaining.” 

“Well, that’s not how it works, unfortunately. So, ask me what you want to.” Apparently, he knows he’s charming enough to get away with it because when you give him an accusatory look, he just smiles wide enough to show you his teeth. 

“Fine. So, this is what you’ve been doing in Detroit this whole time? Resurrecting demons into dead bodies?” 

He hums. “Not always - sometimes they’re still alive.” 

Your frown deepens. “Like how you were?”

“Yes, precisely like that. It’s beneficial for the host’s body to still be alive - makes for a much more powerful vessel, however, it takes a very powerful demon to possess a live host,” he replies. Then, after a pause, his lips tug up at the corners into a wicked grin. “Like me.”

As much as you’d love to remain unaffected by his bragging, you’re in too deep - you find it charming. Deciding that you don’t want to dwell on the thought that he can absolutely hear your irregular heartbeat, so you press on. “So, the death certificates?” 

“Essentially, they’re applications.” He sees you staring at him curiously, waiting for more information, so he obliges you with, “Stolas finds candidates, and Elise works on suitability. The demon and host need to have compatible personalities, and most importantly, the host needs to be able to provide the energy the demon needs. She’s got an eye for those things.”

You stare at him quietly for a long moment. “Did you raise her? Gremory?” 

He nods. “I did. She was the first one I raised.” 

“How did you decide on Elise as the host? How did you find her?” 

“After her death, there was a dispute with her body.” He’s clearly about to continue until he hears the server come up behind him with your lunch. 

She sets your plate in front of you and, after asking if you need anything else and receiving an assurance that you don’t, she promptly retreats back towards the kitchen. As soon as she’s out of earshot, you ask, “A dispute?” 

You get a hum of confirmation from him as he flicks his eyes down at your food, silently telling you to eat. “Yes, something between her partner and her parents - either way, I know one party wanted her buried in Louisiana, and the other party wanted her cremated. I had been casing funeral homes and found her files. She seemed like she might make a good fit, so I found her partner, asked some questions, and struck a deal.” 

As you eat the salad you’d ordered, you try to just process all the information he’s given you so far. Finally, when you feel like you may have collected your thoughts, you take a deep breath and ask, “Okay, so what’s the purpose? What’s the endgame?” 

“There isn’t one really,” he states simply. “Just open-ended chaos.”

“I’m confused,” you admit, shaking your head. “Are you in charge of this whole operation?” 

“Well,” he starts, wearing an uncertain expression. “There’s no clear, finite answer to that question, I’m afraid. And I can’t really elaborate.” 

You nod in acceptance of his apologetic tone. “It’s alright,” you assure, forcing a smile for him. “Can you tell me - are you the most powerful demon?” 

“Paimon is not the most powerful demon in existence. But, he is the most powerful demon that’s tethered to this world currently - and he intends to keep it that way.” 

You’ve got a pleased little smirk playing across your mouth as you say, “That’s so fun - I get to be, like, the first lady.”

He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Is that so?” 

You know he’s just teasing you, but it still gives you a jittery, anxious feeling to think there’s even a possibility that he doesn’t like you tying yourself to him. You shove that sensation down and nod with the most confidence you can muster. “I’m with you.” 

When you’re finished eating, he stands with you and picks up your coat to help you slide it on, but he frowns as he does, shaking the material slightly. His fingers dip into the front pocket once you’ve got it buttoned, and when he pulls out a handful of gems, he breathes a laugh. 

“Wow, he really was showing off for you,” he notes, bouncing them in his palm to hear them clack together pleasantly. 

“Harry?” you clarify, even though you don’t have to. 

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he walks by your side to the front of the restaurant. Employing a jesting tone, he nudges your side. “Harry? Wow, he’s got you on a first-name basis, huh? Did you like him?” 

“He’s...” You’re quiet for a moment as you ponder the question. “A strange individual. I was expecting him to be kind of cocky and smooth like you, but I’m starting to think he’s just a handsome nerd.”

 The laugh he lets out in reaction is abrupt, but it’s such a nice sound that half the people that are dining around the front entrance turn to look at him. Obviously, he pays them no mind - they might as well not exist to him. 

“That’s exactly what he is,” Josh agrees, and then pauses to glance at you out of the corner of his eye, wearing a lovely smirk. “You think I’m cocky and smooth?”

☀  ☀  ☀  ☀

You’re right in the middle of brushing your teeth in front of the hotel’s bathroom mirror when you get a text. Your phone is sitting on the counter by the sink, and Bug is perched next to it - you’d expect him to jump as it vibrates rather loudly, but he just blinks down at it like it’s inconveniencing him. 

After you open the text and read it, you step out into the living area and shoot Josh an accusatory look. He’s spread out on the bed, reading. He rakes his eyes over you and then huffs a laugh. You imagine you probably do look a little comical - you’ve got your wet hair wrapped up in a towel, and one around your body from the shower, there’s a pore strip across your nose, and your toothbrush is hanging from your lips. 

After a second of waiting for you to say something to accompany your glare, he finally prompts smugly, “Yes?”

You retreat back into the bathroom to spit and then rinse out your mouth before returning to the spot you’d just been standing in. “I just got a text from Elise that asked if we were coming to celebrate Halloween at The Chapel tomorrow night.”

“You’re texting Elise?” he asks through a grin. 

“That’s not the point,” you snap. “The point is that you said it’s closed for Halloween.”

It’s clear that he knows he’s treading thin ice, but he's also visibly amused by your reaction. “I said it’s closed on Halloween. Which it is.” 

You shoot him a sharp glare and pull the towel from your head, letting it drop to the floor. “Don’t start that shit with me. Why wouldn’t you tell me? Do you not want to take me?” 

It’s not like you’re actually mad, and you certainly don’t think that’s the reason why he wouldn’t tell you, but for once, you’d love to see him feel a little remorse. But, he’s able to see through your tactic, no problem.

He rolls his eyes fondly. “Well, it’s not like I was going to take someone else.”

“You’re damn right, you weren’t.” You cross the rest of the space between the two of you, pluck his book from his hand, and let it drop to the floor. His eyes open wide like you’ve actually taken him off guard as you perch yourself on his hips. 

You bunch his collar up in your fists and push him back, eliciting a little moan from him as his eyes widen. 

Leaning in until you’re just an inch or two away from his face, you warn, “I’m getting awfully sick of your shit, Josh.” It’s a completely hollow threat, but you think he likes the game - if the way his hips subconsciously buck up against you is anything to base that judgment on.

“You’re going to take me out tomorrow night, right?” you prompt, pulling back when he tries to kiss you. When he realizes he’s not going to get what he wants until he agrees, he nods his head quickly. 

“I was always going to take you to the club tomorrow night - that was the plan,” he assures breathily, placing both of his hands on your hips. He doesn’t apply any pressure, but you can tell he’d kill to thrust against you right now, which is exactly what you’d wanted. 

“Oh.” You’re not sure what to say now, so you just press a kiss to his forehead and purr, “Okay, good boy.”  

He groans like he’s in pain, and you have to bite back a grin at the sound. You’re about to grind down against him when he rolls you off of him, pulling the towel from your body and tossing it into the corner. You think he’s about to crawl over you and take the situation a step further, but instead, he takes the blanket and wraps you up as tightly as he can manage. 

As he brushes his hair from his face, he’s smirking at you triumphantly. 

“It’s bedtime, bunny,” he states. You glare back, trying to wriggle free from the confines but there’s very little room to squirm. 

“What the hell?” you complain, but you don’t get the chance to say anything else before he leans down and presses a little kiss to the tip of your nose. 

You’re still annoyed, but it’s hard to be when he’s being so gentle with you. He employs the slightest jesting tone when he says, “Sleep tight.” 

He swipes a hand across your face and you’re out instantly. 

☀  ☀  ☀  ☀

“This isn’t even remotely funny,” you state flatly as he pulls the costume he’s picked out for you from the closet and then holds it up for you to see. 

He seems to be entirely prepared for that response, because he confidently replies, “It’s not supposed to be funny.”

You look the outfit up and down and huff in annoyance. “And yet, you seem so amused.”

To call it a Halloween costume would be awfully generous - it’s really just more like lingerie that’s been styled to vaguely resemble a nun’s uniform. He’s smirking as he thrusts it towards you. “You said you wanted to party tonight, right?” 

Rolling your eyes, you snatch the hanger from his hand and head for the bathroom - you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of watching you dress. Once it’s on, you just blink at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The bottom hem of the costume barely reaches the tops of your thighs, and there’s only a small sliver of skin between that and the top of the white stockings you’d found clipped to the hanger under the garment. You recognize that you can’t move too much without flashing anyone lucky enough to have their gaze fixed on you - which is likely to be most everyone with the outfit he’s chosen for you. 

He situates the habit on your head correctly when you get back out to the living room, leaving a couple of strips of hair untucked while looking pleased with himself. 

“Where’s your costume?” you inquire pointedly, but almost as if to answer you, he’s already working on tugging off his shirt. He gets completely naked before pulling what looks to just be a thin, cream-colored sheet from the closet. 

As he starts wrapping it around his body, it’s pretty clear that it’s supposed to be a toga, but much like your costume, he leaves plenty of skin exposed - there’s a slit in the side up his leg that stops at his hipbone, and since he seems to pretty much have given up on underwear at this point, if he moves incorrectly, he won’t have an ounce of modesty left to his name. 

He fluffs his curls in the mirror and swipes some gold eyeshadow across his eyelids and dusts gold flecks over his cheekbones. The earrings he chooses look like Roman denarius, and they suit him perfectly - you can just barely see them glistening through his hair. 

“Huh. Well, I’m not going to lie - I half expected you to whip out a priest costume,” you admit, admiring him the way he had with you on the elevator ride down to the ground floor. 

He’s wearing a look of faux offense as he replies. “And commit such sacrilege?”

You let your response be an amused hum as you quickly press him back against the wall and kiss him, letting him laugh into your mouth. 

Even after the elevator chimes and the doors to the lobby have slid open, neither of you make any moves to exit the space. You’re holding his eyes as you slide your hand down his arm, squeezing your fingers around his bicep and then his forearm to feel the muscles shift under the pressure. He watches your touch slip to his hand where you stroke over each of his rings, his smile growing more and more fond as the seconds tick by. 

He nudges your cheek with his nose, turning your face to the side so he can press a kiss to your temple - it’s such a soft moment in contrast to the atmosphere you find yourself in twenty minutes later. 

The club is packed - busier than you’ve ever seen it - with people all in costumes. Some are barely dressed in anything, and some donning full suits that cover every piece of skin they have. It’s almost a little off-putting - it’s hard enough to guess who is and is not a demon on a regular night, but tonight, anyone could be anything and you’d never know the difference. 

Elise and her girlfriend are standing by the bar, surrounded by a whole group of other people. Louise appears to be leading the conversation, maybe even telling a story, which is shocking to you because you’ve heard her talk so little that you can’t really remember what her voice sounds like. Elise seems to be dressed as a bumblebee - you think it’s supposed to be sexy, but it’s actually just really cute. She’s wearing a black and yellow corset that’s tight enough to cause her chest to bulge out the top, a skin-tight black vinyl mini skirt, and a pair of bouncy antennae poking out through her blonde hair.

Louise is in a black gown, and the lace material is ripped here and there to show portions of her porcelain skin. Her long hair is teased up, giving it impressive body, and a little string of red jewels lays across her forehead on a silver chain. You can surmise that she’s meant to be a vampire by the little oozing dots in her neck that match her chocolate-cherry lipstick. 

As soon as Elise meets your eyes, a grin grows across her mouth. She waves her hand and everyone but her lover parts from her, dissolving into the thick crowd of people. Elise turns to the bartender and then is immediately handed a green-colored drink that he holds out to you when you get close enough. 

“Where the hell is mine?” Josh asks in annoyance that you can tell is mostly fabricated, to which he’s met with a roll of her mossy eyes. 

“Get your own,” she replies, only half teasing. You giggle and go to ask Louise what she’s drinking, only to find that she seems to be pointedly looking anywhere but at you or Josh. You let the small talk die on your tongue.

He huffs at Elise and then, as he turns towards the bar, mutters, “Unbelievable - I’ve been fucking you for centuries.”

She snickers at him, unbothered by his complaints. Instead, she says to you, “I’m glad you made it. Are you excited for later?” 

You give her a questioning smile. “What’s happening later?” 

Suddenly she seems to realize she’s said too much, because she just shrugs and says, “I dunno, like, Halloween stuff?”

You’re about to ask her to elaborate when Josh wraps an arm around your waist and starts to lead you back out onto the floor. 

“Wanna dance?” 

 “Sure,” you reply, nodding. You glance back over your shoulder at Elise so you can shoot her a suspicious frown, but she’s already deep into the throws of a conversation with the bartender. You try to make a mental note to grill her about it later, but it becomes increasingly hard as Josh tugs you into his chest and starts to sway your bodies to the music. 

“What did she mean?” you ask him, lips pressed right to his ear. You know he must be privy to what you’re asking him, so you don’t bother wasting time to elaborate, even when he says, “What does she ever mean about anything?”

You pull back just enough that you can glare at him - it’s supposed to be a warning, but he just laughs.

“Bunny, don’t spoil all the fun I have planned,” he instructs with a wicked-looking smile. 

“Planned? Are you going to get me into trouble?” Your tone is accusing, and it’s not meant to be light or teasing, but he seems to choose to take it that way. 

He presses his thumbs into your sides, smirking as he nods. He grabs your wrists and loops your arms around his neck before resting his forehead against yours. “I’ll be getting you into trouble for the rest of your life - and that’s a promise.”

As much as you want to roll your eyes, hearing him talk about any kind of future with you turns you to a puddle, so you press your chest flush to his and try to contain the butterflies you’re feeling. 

You dance, uninterrupted, for at least an hour before you catch sight of Stolas over Josh’s shoulder. He’s slipping through the door behind the bar, running a hand through his hair. His whole face is painted to look like a skeleton, but noticeably, the makeup around his mouth is smudged into unrecognition, hinting at the activities he’s been getting up to thus far. 

“Should we invite Harry to dance with us?” you ask Josh, flicking your eyes over in that direction, but Josh declines by shaking his head. 

“Just us tonight.” He drags the knuckle of his forefinger over your cheek. “Plus, it’s almost midnight.” 

You quirk an eyebrow at him but lean into his touch. “So?” 

“So, I told you that The Chapel closes for Halloween,” he replies. “Halloween starts at midnight.” 

A frown tugs your lips down at the corners. “Oh. That kinda sucks - feels like we just got here.” 

He hums, tipping your chin up so you have to look directly at him. “It’s not going anywhere, bunny. It’ll be here whenever you want to come back.” After you nod in understanding, he asks, “Should we get out of here?” 

“Yeah, if you think it’s time,” you agree. “Should we say goodbye to Elise and Louise?”

He spins you around by the waist, pointing you towards the door. “They’ve already left.” 

“Without saying anything?” you complain, walking forwards when he directs you to. 

“Mhm. But, it’s not their fault - I told everyone to leave us alone tonight.” 

With a breathless laugh, you peek over your shoulder at him in suspicion. “What- why?” 

His hands slide down to your thighs, making you stall your movements for a second as he grips the meat of the muscle. “I told you - I want you to myself tonight. I’m happy to share you any other time, but tonight, you belong to me.”

That statement makes your breath catch in your lungs. You’ve completely stopped walking forward, but he obviously wants to make progress towards the door - as he laughs, low in his chest, he dips down and lifts you into his arms, bridal style. You squeak in shock, cheeks warm from all the attention you’re garnering. People part for him without question, and even though you’ve seen him command a room plenty of times now, it never fails to send you into a state of awe. 

Catching people’s jealous eyes as they rake you up and down is making you squirm - you’re not sure whether your chest is swelling with pride or shame. A person darts ahead of you to dutifully hold the door open for him, but Josh doesn’t even bother to give a passing glance as a show of thanks. 

“Are you going to set me down?” you prompt through a nervous laugh as soon as you’re outside, though you’re not entirely sure you want to, because he’s so warm in comparison to the air that’s biting through your skimpy costume. You look up to the sky and find it cloudy - the atmosphere is damp with what you could only guess is impending rain.   

He hums and then slowly lowers you until your feet are touching the ground. He slots his fingers through yours and leads you down the street - away from the car. 

“Are we not going back to the hotel?” you ask, glancing around. It’s eerily quiet outside, save for the wind. Usually, no matter what night of the week it is, you can hear the sounds of city nightlife - the distant thump of bass, drunken conversation, but tonight, you hear none of that. You strain to listen as you follow him, and realize you can barely hear car engines or honking. 

“No, baby,” he replies, glancing back at you over his shoulders. “No, we’re not.” 

You’re frowning as you joke, “Josh, the last time you were this cryptic, we ended up in an orgy.”

He hums through a smile you can hear. “And did you not have a lovely time?”

“Of course, I did. I’m just-”

“No need to be scared, bunny,” he cuts you off to assure you. “Trust me.” 

Even though he can’t see you, you still nod at him. The two of you walk for a few good blocks before you gather up the courage to ask, “Can you tell me where we’re going? Or, at least how much further away it is?” 

He pauses and smirks back at you. “Did you want me to carry you? Because it was my understanding that you did not.”

“I didn’t know we’d be walking for miles,” you protest with a roll of your eyes. 

He ducks down to one knee so you can climb onto his back, hoisting you up a little further until you can hook your legs securely around his waist. You can feel your whole ass hanging out, but it doesn’t really matter, because, unsettlingly, you’ve yet to see another person since the club was out of sight. 

It’s not much further before you can make an educated guess as to where you’re going - there’s a lone church in the middle of the block up ahead. The building takes up nearly the whole lot, and what’s left is occupied by a little parking lot. 

“Oh god,” you breathe, making him laugh under his breath. 

“Mhm.” 

“Josh?” you whisper, your jaw hooked over his shoulder. 

“Yes, bunny?” 

You swallow back the nervous spit building in your throat. “Why are we going to church?” 

“Well,” he starts, and then finishes with a sarcastic humor. “To worship, of course.” 

That strikes you silent for a few more feet. “Worship who?” you ask, wide-eyed.

He sounds positively proud as he replies, “Now you’re finally asking the right questions, babe.”

As he climbs the steps, you wait in suspense to see what’s about to happen, but all he does is slide you off his back and helps to straighten out your costume. 

“Alright, bunny.” He extends his arm and opens his hand to reveal a silver skeleton key. “I need you to do something for me.” 

You peer at him with wide eyes and nod for him to continue. 

“Remember how your grandma forced your parents to send you to christian camp that one year? And you were so mad because we had made a bunch of plans together through the whole summer that you couldn’t make it to?” 

You nod again, though now you’re squinting at him suspiciously.

 “Remember how they made you get baptized because you weren’t as a baby?”

 “Yeah,” you reply cautiously, dragging the word out. 

“Well, let’s make all of that pay off, yeah? I want you to take this key and open that.” He flicks his eyes behind you and then cups your jaw in his hand. “Can you do that for me?” 

You lick your lips anxiously and then nod one more time. He strokes his thumb over your chin in reward, so you turn to face the heavy wooden doors with a slight frown. 

The lock’s mechanics are audible as you slip the key into the slot and turn it. The old wood - warped over the years - pops open ever-so-slightly once the bolt is no longer there to hold it completely shut. You place your hand on the knob and then turn your head to meet his eyes in question. 

“Yes, go ahead and open it.”

It’s heavier than you’re expecting, so you have to give it a little extra muscle to pull the door wide enough. “Do I...go in?” 

“Mhm. I want you to step inside and invite me in,” he instructs, just as the first little droplets of rain start splatting to the pavement around you. 

You don’t try to bite back the smirk that spreads across your lips as you complete the first part of his directions, and then turn around to look at him. “If I don’t invite you in, you can’t enter a church?” 

“I’m not supposed to be able to walk on hallowed ground at all, but we’re taking advantage of some loopholes tonight.”

Your smirk grows into a smug grin, knowing you can essentially hold him hostage here until you decide you want to proceed. “What kind of loopholes?” 

Amusedly, he replies, “The kind that have taken me a long time and caused me plenty of physical pain to figure out.” 

Giving a hum of consideration, you ask, “And what are you going to offer me in return for this favor?”

“You’re very fortunate I foresaw you wasting a bunch of time to ask me a million questions,” he replies with a dark smirk as the raindrops start to become more frequent. “But I wouldn’t press my patience for too long.

You huff a laugh. “Or what? You’ll come in here?” you tease, rather enjoying the game you’ve started. 

“I absolutely love your arrogance - easily one of my favorite of your traits - but, I want you to remember that eventually, you’re going to have to come out of that church. And, do you remember what happened the last time you thought you’d outsmarted me?” 

 “Hmm, if I’m recalling correctly, you pinned me down to my bed and then answered questions and gave me an origami rabbit. Like a reward.” You flash him a smile and then say, “Just tell me what you’re going to reward me with this time and I’ll give you what you want. This kind of feels like one of those ‘anything within my power for the right offering’ instances.” 

He lets out a long, relenting breath and asks, “What would you like?” 

“I want to bank it.” 

“No,” he immediately declines. “Try again.”

You shake your head at him and say, “You’re going to let me bank it, under the terms that I won’t use it to gather information you’re forbidden to give me.”

After a long moment of him staring at you, his face screws up in a sneer. He lets out a groan that’s akin to a growl and then starts to pace back and forth in front of the door like he’s troubled by the decision. Finally, he spins around, rolling his eyes dramatically as he mutters. “Deal.” 

“In that case,” you state with a sweet smile, and then step out of his way. “Come in.” 

AUTHOR’S NOTE - please listen to this for ambience (just do it trust me)

Before he crosses the doorway completely, he first tests it by passing just the tips of his fingers through - when nothing happens, he snaps forward to grab you by both biceps.

You yelp in surprise as he shoves you back against the other door - it doesn’t hurt, but it does knock the air from your lungs as he presses his body flush to yours.

 He lets his lips brush your cheek as he speaks through a little smirk. “You think you’re so clever, hm?” 

The response you offer is breathy. “I’ve learned from the very best, Joshie.” 

Completely privy to your tactics, a dark grin spreads across his mouth. He releases you and then turns to saunter off further into the building. “C’mon, bunny.” 

After a second of adjusting your costume back to its intended state, you follow him through the next set of doors. Outside, the rain is falling in earnest - you can hear it pattering across the vaulted roof. 

There’s next to no light coming in through the stained glass windows, so you’re left mapping everything out by just shapes - you can just barely make out the outline of his silhouette moving down one of the aisles. 

“Josh, I can’t see anything,” you tell him.

“Ah, right,” he replies from across the room. You can hear him shuffling around for a second before it’s suddenly illuminated with a soft glow. There are candles everywhere - nestled in sconces along each wall, one at each end of every pew, all along the sanctuary, but particularly centered around the altar itself - and he lights them all at once, startling you. 

You observe the newly lit space in slight awe. You’ve never had such conflicting emotions before in your life. 

On one hand, the church is gorgeous - you’ve always admired Catholic architecture. It feels like a true novelty to see it empty and have free reign of its expanse. The rhythmic sound of the rain is calming, and that paired with the flickering candlelight feels almost primal in nature.

On the other hand, the building is so empty and sterile. You let your eyes rake across the rafters above and find nothing but thick darkness between them. The sanctuary is set up for ritual and ritual alone - the very meaning of which is to declare that you’re unworthy of god’s love, and there’s something about that thought that makes you feel even smaller than you are in this seemingly unending room. You figure maybe that’s the point. 

“Why are we here?” you ask, keeping your volume just above a whisper and allowing the acoustics to carry it for you. He had been slowly pacing the front of the room, but now he appears beside you, placing a hand on your waist to manually turn you towards him.

“Look at me,” he requests, so you meet his eyes with a questioning expression, only to find that they’re whited out. He pulls your face closer to his with a grasp on your chin and says, “Tell me a secret, bunny.”

After a long couple of seconds, you ask, “What kind of secret?” 

“Any kind.”

You have to think about it for a few moments, but he waits like he’s got all the time in the world. Finally, you admit, “I quit my job.” When he tilts his head in question, you clarify for him. “I quit my job because I wanted to spend more time with you. I’d spend every moment with you if I could.” 

A slow, thick smile spreads across his lips. “Go on.” 

Unsure what else to say, you try, “I never expected to enjoy your company as much as I do. When you first started living with me, I was sure there was no way I could ever truly like you - you were just so different from the Josh we took to Pewit’s Nest that day. And, I guess part of my secret is that I still miss that Josh sometimes. But that first day after I woke up - that first interaction I had with you as a demon - I thought I was afraid of you, but I think I was just kind of-” You pause because you’re not sure if you want to proceed until he cups your jaw in his hand. 

You clear your throat and start again. “I was resistant to liking you in any way because it felt like a betrayal to Jake. And I think, somewhere deep down, I knew there was something between us from that first interaction - maybe even longer.” 

He contemplates these admissions for a quiet moment and then simply says, “Delicious.” 

“Your turn,” you state, hastily because you’re embarrassed now.

“My turn for what?” he asks, entertained as he swipes his thumb over your pinkening cheek. His eyes flick back to their regular state. 

“To tell me a secret. Perhaps you can start with why you brought me here tonight.” 

“I already told you - we’re here to worship.” 

You adopt a curious expression, though he’s too close to really see it. “Worship what? How do we start?” 

He turns your face parallel to his so that, when he speaks, his mouth brushes yours. It’s slow and quiet when he says, “Just like this.”

Because you’re starting to catch on to what the purpose of all of this is, the hum you respond with is one of anticipation. He pulls the habit from your head first and tosses it onto one of the pews, and then grabs the hem of your costume. You hesitantly lift your arms for him so he can slip it off, leaving you in just your bra, underwear, and hosiery. He takes each of your hands and helps you step out of your heels, nudging them aside with his foot. 

“Tonight, we’re going to be Adam and Eve,” he informs you with a sly smile as he unhooks your bra with just one hand. 

You breathe a laugh and then pull the pin that’s holding the sheet over his shoulder. Though the material had looked rather thin while stretched out over the plains of his body, as it falls to a pile on the floor, it flutters loudly. The flickering candlelight creates shadows that flatter the shapes of him - you think he must be able to see your thought process as you glance around and then back at him because he cradles your jaw with the heels of his palms and lets his fingers rake through the hair at the base of your skull as he whispers, “No one is coming - it’s just us, and we’ve got all the time in the world.” 

As you stroke your touch down his chest, you let the skeleton of a smile find your lips. Now that you’ve gotten the reassurance, you take a deep breath - inhaling for three seconds, holding it for three, and then exhaling it slowly. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but the room smells like incense, and you’re able to figure out why when you catch a thick smoke trailing from a hanging censer like a waterfall by the entrance - you’re not sure when he lit it, but the grey is pooling on the floor underneath like the substance is too heavy to waft around the room. 

“The ambiance in here is immaculate,” you compliment, and then put on a jesting tone to continue. “Kinda makes me wish I were still a virgin.”

He hums in amusement, though you can tell he’s not being insincere when he replies, “You might as well be.” 

You snicker at him, hooking your hand around the back of his neck so you can press his nose to yours. The heat coming off of him is pleasant beyond words in the chilled, open space, so you make a point of getting as much skin-to-skin contact as you can. “How do you figure?” 

His voice is rich with pride in himself as he states, “You’ve never done anything like this before, bunny. I promise.”

Biting into your bottom lip, you let your eyes map his expression. Then, as a gesture for him to do to you what he will, you nod. “I believe you.” 

He slips his fingers under the hem of your panties and inches the fabric down your hips until they fall to the floor. You step out of them and then glance down, running just the ghost of a touch over the head of his cock, smirking as you watch it twitch in response. 

When you look up at him, you find his dark lashes fluttering. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” you breathe, making his eyes pop open again. In response to the sudden accusatory quality of his expression, you giggle and clarify, “That’s not meant to be praise, I’m just making an observation.” 

His hair has grown out a lot since the accident - it hasn’t been short for years, but now it feathers out around his face, framing it like a piece of art in a museum. You rake your fingers through his curls, being careful not to damage them in the process. 

“I think I know what I want my reward to be,” you breathe. 

He raises an eyebrow at you in appraisal. “You want to use it so soon?” 

You nod at him.

Cupping your face again, he forces your eyes to his, and says in an informatory fashion, “Bunny, I think I’d be remiss if I didn’t ensure that you understand what kind of an opportunity this is. For thousands of years, people have summoned Paimon in hopes that he’d given them an open-ended favor. The number of times he has obliged is in the single digits.” He pauses to take a breath and then says, “In your hand, you hold the potential to have nearly anything you could ever want. This is the type of decision that should be made only once you know you can do so without regrets. Do you understand?” 

“I understand.” 

“Then proceed,” he allows, looking like he’s waiting with bated breath to see what you’ll select. 

Even though you are certain it’s what you want, it feels embarrassing to ask for it, so you have to work up the courage over the course of a number of minutes. You buy yourself some time by toeing off your stockings, using him as a support to maintain your balance, and by the time you’re done with that, you think you’re ready. You draw in a deep breath, hoping to sound confident, but in the end, you sound about as small as you are next to him as an entity when you say, “Until the end of the romantic part of this encounter, I want to interact with just Josh and Josh alone. No further demon influence.” 

He stares at you for so long that you start to become almost unbearably self-conscious but you try to stand your ground. 

Finally, he sighs and says, “It’s a little more complicated than that. Josh and Paimon aren’t exactly separate entities now - we exist as one.” 

Your stomach sinks as you count this information as him declining, but he helps to put that feeling to rest when he places a hand under your chin and tilts your chin to pull your eyes to his. 

“I can do it, of course, but the nature of my dealings requires we talk clearer terms. For starters, explain ‘no further demon influence’.”

Nodding in understanding, you reply, “I want Josh’s personality only. I want there to be no demonic influence on how he thinks and responds. Anything else, I don’t care about.” 

“Alright. Now, define ‘the romantic part of this encounter’.” 

“Until we are finished with the sexual interaction I’m gathering is about to happen between us.” 

He’s wearing the slightest frown as he inquires, “And how will I know when that has ended?” 

“I will let you know,” you state, making him scoff, though it doesn’t sound bitter or angry - just amused.

“And how am I to know that you just simply won’t ever invite Paimon back?” 

All you can really give him is a shrug. “You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.” After a silent moment of him staring at you while he weighs the terms, you prompt, “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me.”

 He’s still wearing an uncertain expression as he lets out a relenting breath and says, “Alright.” When he holds his hand out, you shake it - you can practically feel the finality of the situation in the atmosphere.

Just a second later, he whimpers and clutches his head with both hands, shutting his eyes tight like he’s experiencing pain. His muscles go rigid, but you’re not sure that it’s safe to touch him, so you just wait for the moment to pass until he stumbles, ever so slightly.

“Josh, are you alright?” You try not to sound too concerned, but you can guess just how guilty you’ll feel if this request bears ill side effects. 

After he seems to gain his composure, he corrects his crumpled posture and looks directly at you, wearing a shocked expression. His eyes are flicking all around your face rapidly like he’s trying to take it all in at once.  

“Fuck,” he breathes, exasperated. “This is-” He lets his glance trail down your form, wearing an expression that gives you goosebumps. “Different without him.” 

There’s a lot you want to say, so you try to figure out the order of priority - as much as you want him right now, you know that once it’s over, you won’t have a lot of time for talking. This is one of those golden opportunities he’s always trying to lecture you about.

“Josh, are you okay?” you repeat, voice cracking despite your best efforts. Like it physically makes him ache to see you upset, he reaches out and tugs you into him, but it feels so honest like this - almost raw compared to every other time since the accident.

“I’m fine, babe,” he assures, wrapping his fingers through your hair and pressing your face into his neck where you find that Paimon’s body heat is still alive and well. 

“Fuck, I just-” You worry your teeth over your bottom lip. Usually this is the kind of thing you’d build up to saying, but time isn’t a luxury you have right now, so you just utter, “You must resent me, right?”

“What?” he asks through a disbelieving laugh. You feel his chin rest on the crown of your head as he strokes over your hair. “For what?” 

“Doing this to you.”

“That’s- No, I don’t resent you. I love this life,” he states. “I know it must be hard to understand, but I’m not,” He pauses to conjure up the right words. “I’m not trapped in here with him - I am him, for all intents and purposes. Think of all the things I’ve gotten to have. All the shit we’ve gotten to experience.” 

He pulls away just enough that he can see your face.

“And I really think we’re just getting started,” he adds, flashing you a charming smile as he slides his fingers down your spine until his hand rests on your lower back. 

Your next exhale is shaky and hot against his face as you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and pull him in so that it’s delivered directly into his parted mouth when you say, “Josh, fuck me.” 

He lets out a little moan and then cups your ass with both of his hands, digging the tips of his fingers into the muscle until it aches. It’s mostly subconscious when you roll your hips forward into his - you whimper because the friction causes little sparks to flicker through your nervous system, making your muscles twitch. Your toes curl into the floor as he returns the favor, grinding back, only with more force - he’s able to make the head of his cock catch on your clit. 

When you squeal, he weasels his hand down in between the two of you, wrapping a fist around himself so he can pointedly rub the spot over and over. You can still feel the placement of his fingers on your ass cheek, even after he lets go - you know it’ll leave you with bruises, and if you had even a shred of dignity left in you, you’d be embarrassed about how that thought sends a rush of heat through you. 

He kisses you with an open mouth, licking against the flat of your tongue first before catching your lips with his. You’re not really thinking about it when your grip in his hair tightens - it’s born of a desperation to have him as close to you as he physically can be. Still, the fact that it was unintentional doesn’t prevent the whine that sounds from the very back of his throat. 

“Oh, so it is you that likes your hair pulled - not him,” you tease. “Are you the one with the praise kink too, baby?” 

Either because he doesn’t want to say, or because he’s too immersed in the moment, he completely ignores the question. From the deepest part of his register and through clenched teeth, he says, “Fuck- Do it again.” 

You oblige him, strengthening the force behind the tug until he’s groaning with an intensity that’s making the sound skip. Without any kind of warning, he walks you back until you’re pressed against the cold surface of a wall, drops to his knees in front of you, and buries his face between your thighs. Your fingers are shaking as he swipes his nose over your clit a couple of times, making you yelp loud enough that it echoes. 

He coaxes you into a wider stance so he can drag the flat of his tongue over the broad area a few times, making you squirm, because it feels good, but it’s just a tease more than anything else. Which, you have to admit, you love - or, you must, because it gives you the kind of butterflies in the pit of your stomach that leave you dripping. 

Like he’s trying to further that point, he spreads you open with his fingers so he can press light kisses against your clit, slowly increasing pressure until he’s adding his tongue to the mix.

The rain falling outside mixed with the whispering crackle of the candle flames and the whimpers he’s drawing from your chest leave you not a lot to focus on as your eyes slip shut from the overwhelming pleasure - you’re left to pin your attention to the sounds of his mouth working against your slick skin and the shaky breaths he’s sneaking in between. 

Your head is tipped back against the wall, as far as it will go without causing you sharp pain, so when you force your eyes open, you’re looking directly up. Above you, painted on the ceiling, you can see a depiction of the Virgin Mary - it’s partly obscured by the rafters, but you can make out a little cherub on each side of her, and they’re holding a white banner that has a Latin phrase scrawled across it in gold leafing. 

You can’t suppress the laugh that bubbles out of you at the contrast, but luckily, it’s whiny enough that you can pretend it’s a cry of passion.

The fingers he was using to hold you open slip up to your clit so he can pull back the skin and lap over the exposed bud. It’s such an intense, stabbing kind of pleasure that it makes you release your hold on his hair so you can press yourself tighter to the wall. As your fingernails claw at the surface, you accidentally scrape off little flecks of paint from the art behind you - you can gather from looking at all the other pictures that line the walls that it’s a visual of one of the stations of the cross, but you can’t bring yourself to feel bad about it. 

You can’t bring yourself to feel anything but desperation to chase the feeling he’s supplying you. 

It’s embarrassingly high pitched as you rasp, “Fuck, why are you so good at this?” You pair the question with grinding against his face, effectively making it impossible for him to respond in any way but by sucking your clit directly into his mouth. Now, when you rock your hips, you’re fucking his face the exact same way he had been imaging doing to you in that memory he showed you. 

That thought makes every inch of your skin tingle, so you explore it. You play the moment behind your eyes - being him and feeling what he felt about you. It makes your heart beat erratically, drawing you closer to the very edge. 

“Fuck, please,” you choke out, fingers vibrating as you thread them through his hair. The shit you want to say to him right now is filthy - possessed in its own right, and you have to clamp your lips together until it hurts to keep it behind your teeth where it belongs. 

If you were the type to dirty talk, you’d tell him how pretty he looked with his face buried in your pussy. You tell him that you’re thinking about making it a daily thing - pinning him down and grinding against his mouth until you come. But you’re not really the type. And, besides that point, you think he already knows. 

The feeling drags you under as soon as he looks up at you and shows you how glossed over and lustful his eyes are. You can feel your muscles contracting against his tongue, and he even intuits that you want him to keep working at you with the same intensity through the height of your orgasm and wane away from it as you start to come down. 

You don’t register that he’s stood up until your eyes blink open and find that he’s holding you up - he has your chin hooked over his shoulder and your chests flush together, his arms wrapped around your waist. Once you’ve regained control of your body, you lean back against the wall, far enough away that you can take in the sight of his sweet face. 

When you kiss him, it’s strangely chaste - especially in the contrast of the taste you’re left with. It makes your face flame to note that his lips are still slick. 

You let him pin you to the wall and lick into your mouth as you try to savor the moment. You’d be a fool to not recognize the value of the situation - the soft glow against his face, the developing storm outside, and the delicious irony of a woman having an orgasm in a Catholic church. From being expertly eaten out. By a demon on his knees. 

And you get to experience it in a euphoric, post-orgasm haze that feels like the color maroon looks. 

But, then you remember that he hasn’t been touched yet, and you scratch your nails over his scalp in consolation. 

You open your mouth to thank him, but instead, your brain decides on, “I’m in love with this moment.” 

A smile spreads across his lips slowly, his eyes half-lidded from the wanting. “This moment is in love with you.”

It’s such a Josh thing to say that you can’t help but let out a breathy laugh. You loop your arms around the back of his neck and kiss him, trying to portray your gratitude, since you can’t find the right words. 

When he breaks away from you, he does so in a lingering way - like it pains him to do it. He slots his fingers in between yours and keeps your eyes as he leads you to the center of the room to a large nest of blankets that are laid out on the floor. It’s not unlike the one he’d made for you the night he gifted you your pomegranate tattoo, except this makeshift bed is lined on one side by candles of different sizes, placed in a shape that’s reminiscent of a crescent moon. You have no idea when he set this up because it absolutely wasn’t there when you entered the church, but you decide that now isn’t the time for pointless questions.

He makes sure to go slow, giving you plenty of time to object before he dips and picks you up like you’re his bride - which is fitting, being in a church and all. The more you think about it, the more you decide that maybe that was his thought process too. 

As he lies you down, you find there’s more cushioned than you’d thought - you’d been a little concerned about being fucked into the hard floor, but there’s even a squishy pillow under your head. 

You can hear a thread of thunder roll as he situates himself next to you and guides you on your sides, facing each other and the position conjures the memory of how you used to sleep next to each other like this, tucked into your sleeping bags in your parents living room and call it “camping out”. The three of you would stay up until one or two in the morning, laughing and talking about absolutely nothing until you finally passed out with bellies full of popcorn and untoasted marshmallows. 

He places a hand on your waist and scoots himself closer. You think he’s going to kiss you, so you prepare yourself for it only for him to connect his mouth to the side of your neck. The tickling sensation of his lips brushing the delicate skin leaves you with goosebumps. The rest of your body follows suit and reacts to him on its own as well, your spine arching in a wave-like motion as a chill crawls along the track of it. 

He uses the knuckle of his forefinger to trace along your curves, starting at your collarbone and drawing it down in between your breasts, over each of your ribs like speed bumps and then stalling just below your navel. He flattens his hand, placing his palm over your lower abs before sliding his touch down. You’re not sure how to comfortably part your legs for him, but he solves that before it can even cement itself as a problem - he grabs your thigh and lifts your leg until the back of your knee is hitched over his hipbone. 

“C’mere,” he requests, volume and tone low, but he doesn’t give you a chance to comply before he's drawing your face into his neck with a hand on the back of your head.

You immediately nuzzle your nose into the warm crook of his shoulder, so you’re not really prepared for or expecting it when he cups his hand over your pussy and gently applies pressure to your clit with the heel of his palm. 

You whimper and squirm at the overstimulated feeling, but he doesn’t persist at that - instead, opting to run his fingers along your slit and then dip his middle digit into you. 

It gives you a fluttery feeling in your ribcage as your heart seems to skip a beat. He works it into you for a few thrusts before adding his forefinger and fucking you with both of them. 

Your hips start grinding into him on their own, so you bite back a moan and tell him, “Fuck me.” 

You’re expecting him to give you shit - after all, some of the pushback you’ve been getting from him for the past couple of months had to have been a Josh quality to an extent. But, instead, he nods in hasty agreement and pulls his fingers out of you. 

He’s flipping you over onto your back a second later and settling himself over you. When he leans down to catch your lips in a kiss, his long curls brush your cheekbone, rosy from the nature of the situation. 

He rubs his cock over your clit, keeping the pressure light, and you can tell by the precision that he’s guiding the movement with his hand and not just rutting against you, uncontrolled. On the next swipe, he dips lower, letting the head catch on your entrance. He holds your eyes as he slowly slips it into you - or, at least, he tries to. When he realizes how nice the contact feels after going untouched for so long, he has to rest his forehead against yours as you both draw in quiet gasps. 

Your mouth is agape as soon as he starts to move because the drag of it feels electric. He works up to a steady, sensible starting rhythm and settles into it with ease. After you experimentally rock your hips back into him and the spark from it makes your fingernails curl into the flesh of his shoulder, you decide to meet each thrust halfway - the force of you working against him serves to drive him deeper into you with every stroke. 

It’s absolutely endearing to watch him struggle to prevent his eyes from slipping shut - to keep them fixed on your face like he’s trying to memorize the expression he’s eliciting from you. You grab the hair at the back of his neck and tug him forward until your chests are pressed together, and the new position leads him to change tactics - instead of pointed thrusts, he’s now left with only the option of rolling his hips up into you as he nips gently at your jaw. The friction this creates - your clit against the coarse hair at the base of his cock - forces a choked sound from the very depths of your chest. You’re still sensitive enough that the grinding of it feels like a flicker of fire traveling down your thighs and curling your toes. 

You can’t stop your mouth from telling him, in a gasping breath, how good it feels, and in response, he groans against your jugular vein. You catch yourself experiencing a chill at the thought that he could sink his teeth into your flesh there at any point, but you’re having a hard time differentiating between the thrill of fear and excitement at the moment.

“Is it too much?” he asks shakily, now seemingly aiming to rub against your clit with every other stroke. 

You’re able to breathe the word no, but it’s just barely audible over your panting.

He has to force all of his attention on the question to make it come out clearly. “You think you can come for me again?” 

You nod frantically and in response, he slips a hand down between the two of you. The general pressure had been nice, but now he begins to work on your clit with precision. He starts to massage circles over it with the pad of his thumb, and you have to bury your face into his shoulder to muffle the moan that he’s able to pull from your throat. 

The hum he lets out sounds displeased. “Let me hear it, bunny,” he states with his jaw set tightly. “I’ve earned it.”

Your face is burning out of embarrassment, and you can’t figure out why. “Josh-” you start to object, but he cuts you off by starting to snap his hips into you with a pointed force. 

You can’t hold back a pitchy whine, and the hope of doing so becomes even weaker when you remember that this is just Josh - just your best friend. There’s no demon persuading him towards this dominance. This is all him. You let your mind wander, imagining fucking him like this at any other point in your life before this. It all feels like wasted opportunities now. 

The memory of him in the shower haunts you again, and you groan as you think about how many times that must have happened. Before you can stop yourself, you press your lips to the shell of his ear and say, ”I fucking hate that anyone else on Earth has gotten to experience you like this.” 

The laugh that escapes him holds very little humor. “They haven’t,” he assures, shaking his head as he tries to maintain the rhythm under the stress of the building pleasure. “No one else on Earth has ever had as much of me as you do on any given day.” 

You bite into your bottom lip as hard as you can without breaking the skin as he switches up the way his thumb is swiping over your clit. Your fingers are shaking as you grab his face with both of your hands - you want to kiss him, but you can’t make your mouth work the way you want it to, so you settle for resting your forehead against his as he builds the peak for you. 

He looks enamored to the point of losing himself in it as his eyes flick around your face. At the height of it, you only remain aware enough to hear him talking to you - it’s gentle and assuring, but you can’t focus on any of the words for long enough to make sense of it. He pulls his hand from between you just a little too soon to really milk the orgasm for what it’s worth, but you’re able to ride it out by grinding into him like you had been before. 

You pull yourself back to Earth with enough time to feel him fall apart. The sounds he’s making are intoxicating, and you find yourself truly jealous of his ability to record memories in a more permanent way than you can because you’d love to keep them locked in your brain forever - they’re desperate and primal as he pulls you onto him. 

You’re running your fingers through his hair the entire time he’s coming down from the high, and when he’s regained enough of his senses, he breathes the word “fuck” and meets your eyes. Both of you are still trying to catch your breath as you press your thumb against his lips and receive a kiss against it in return. 

He folds his arms around you - one hand between your shoulders, and one on your lower back, and pulls you up until you’re sitting in his lap. Your muscles are sore and strained, but you know you’ve only got limited time now, so you force yourself towards clarity. 

“Will I ever get you like this again?” you ask, trying not to let yourself sound too forlorn. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But you’ve become a pretty skilled negotiator, so I’ve got a pretty good feeling you will. He likes you. But, even if you don’t, you just need to remember that it’s still me. ” 

As much as you wish it didn’t, the sentiment draws a peachy shade to your cheeks. 

“You shouldn’t keep him waiting,” he reminds you, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “But, I just need you to know that I’m happy.”

You nod in agreement and try to shove down the choking feeling that you’re about to send your best friend away. “Me too, babe. After a deep breath and a final smile of reassurance from him, you say, “Alright. Bring him back.” 

It’s instantaneous after that like all it took were those words to summon him from the void. This time, he doesn’t squirm or show any signs of pain - his eyes just white-out as his lips tug up into a smooth smile. He tests out his body, flexing his fingers in front of him and moving his jaw from side to side. 

As you frown at him curiously, you’re left with the overwhelming feeling that you’re in the presence of a hugely powerful entity, but in the months since the accident, you’ve never once felt like this. It’s a little nauseating like you’re staring up at a skyscraper from the ground below. “Paimon?” 

When he opens his mouth, you’re expecting Josh’s voice, so what comes out makes you suck in a sharp, frightened breath. Instead of a singular voice, it’s three - a feminine one that’s high pitched and shrill, one that’s midrange but still doesn’t belong to your best friend, and one that sits at the pit of the human register. They all speak in perfect unison, and together, they’re cacophonous. 

“Did you enjoy your alone time?” It’s not like his tone is accusatory, but it feels smug. You get a strange sense that he knows far more than you’d like him to in every way possible and it makes your skin crawl.

You’re still straddling his lap, completely naked, so he can see the exact effect his question has on you - goosebumps rise across the canvas of your skin for him that he strokes his fingers over. 

You force a nod and then swallow back the saliva collecting in your throat. “Is Josh okay?” 

Three voices give a hum of confirmation. “Of course, the boy is fine.” 

“Aren’t you going to meld your personalities back together?” you chance, only able to look into the white expanse of his eyes for a second or two at a time because you feel like they could suck you in. When he reaches to grab your chin, you have to fight the urge to lean away from him. 

“In time,” he assures in a stately manner. “You had your fun - now I’m owed mine.” 

Your eyes widen in suspicious shock. “The time that I had with him was a favor - you’ve already been paid what you’re owed,” you object, trying to sound firm but finding it hard to form the words in his presence. 

Firmly, but without malice, he states, “I decide what I’m owed.” The authority behind it tempts you to duck out of his way, but you can’t really, so you just lower your eyes and nod. 

“Now that you’ve ordered our consciousness’ separate, I can keep him shoved away in the corner of his own brain forever if I wanted to.” The mournful expression you adopt appears to be exactly what he had been hoping for because he shows you a smile. “But I won’t, because I’ve come to rather like you as a pet. In my opinion, that makes you the most fortunate human alive.” 

You’re not sure if he’s expecting you to thank him, so you don’t respond to that. Instead, you ask, “Are you going to get me home? I assume I’ll be passing out shortly.” 

With a hum, he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip and shakes his head. 

Cautiously, you offer him a curious frown. “What do you mean?” 

He flashes you a smirk and pulls you into a standing position. With a wave of his hand, you’re dressed in an all-black outfit, and so is he. 

Giving you no further warning, he starts pacing the pews, picking Bibles from the shelves and dropping them. They disappear before they hit the floor and reappear on top of the nest of blankets Josh had set up for you. 

Your stomach starts to sink the more clear his plan becomes. He could effortlessly collect the books all at once, but part of the enjoyment seems to come from the process of it. 

You cross your arms over your chest protectively, glancing around to keep your mind occupied until he’s finished. Once he’s got them all gathered in the center of the room, he paces to grab a candle from the end of one of the pews and then thrusts it towards you. 

You stare at it in concern but can’t bring yourself to take it from him until he forces your arm to move on its own. A frightened whimper leaves your tight jaw, but once you’re holding it, he releases the control and gestures to the pile of Bibles with a nod.

As much as you don’t want to do it, you’re more afraid of falling out of his favor. You toss the candle and the second the flame touches the books, they light supernaturally fast. 

You’re so engrossed in watching them catch that him setting his hand on your shoulder causes you to jolt dramatically. 

“What happened to your fear of me being non-existent?” he muses through a pleased grin. 

Once you can muster up your voice, you reply, “I was wrong.” 

He hums fondly and then nods towards the entrance. “Let’s go.” 

Outside, the rain is falling steadily, but getting wet is the least of your concerns now. As you walk by his side back down the road, you can hear the fire growing, crackling as it swallows the building whole. 

You pause and turn to watch it. It’s like a train wreck - it’s terrifying and awful and yet, the need to be there to witness it unfold consumes you. You’re aware that you’d stay with your eyes fixed on the scene until the church was reduced to a skeleton, but you’re not given the choice. 

“Come,” he calls, just a few steps away. He appears proud of the fact that you’re so fascinated by his work because he’s speaking through a self-righteous grin. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

AUTHORS NOTE! thank you guys so so so much for reading. you’re all so sweet for the time you put into enjoying this fic. Happy Valentine’s Day to you all! If you decide you’d like to, you can buy me a thank you coffee here <3

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[thimbil]

Having some thoughts about the references and inspirations used for the Bad Batch’s designs.

So Boba Fett is my absolute favorite character and Temeura Morrison was perfect casting. I went to see the 2008 TCW movie in theaters because I was so excited to see him again, even if he was animated. You can imagine my disappointment. Whoever was on screen was not Temeura Morrison. You could sort of see a resemblance if you squinted and didn’t think too hard about it. They replaced Temeura with Racially Ambiguous G.I. Joe. If I didn’t know better and someone told me the animated clones are space Italians from the moon of New Jersey I would buy it. One Million Brothers Pizzeria and Italian Bistro. Not that there’s something wrong with being space Italian, I just don’t think it’s the right choice for the Fetts. The design got slightly improved by season 7 but it still bugs the hell out of me.

I did eventually get into the show later and (of course) got invested in the clones. Unfortunately, they were largely sidelined by the Jedi storylines. Out of the two new main characters created for TCW, Ahsoka definitely got more development and focus than Rex. When they announced The Bad Batch, I was excited to see a show specifically devoted to the clones… at least that’s what it said on the tin. We have all seen what lurks beneath those stylish helmets.

Jango Fett, you are NOT the father.

So who is?

Based on interviews with Filoni, it sounds like the Bad Batch was a George Lucas idea. And like all his ideas, it’s super derivative. The original trilogy directly lifted elements from sci fi serials, westerns, and samurai movies, more specifically Kurosawa films like The Hidden Fortress. For The Bad Batch character designs, the influence is obviously American action and adventure movies.

Now let’s get specific. Bad Batch, who’s your daddy?

Hunter

Sylvester Stallone as Rambo in First Blood 1982. That bandana has become an integral part of the iconic action hero look. You see a character wearing one and it’s a visual shorthand for either “this character is a tough guy” like Billy played by Sonny Landham in Predator 1987, or “this character thinks he is/wants to be a tough guy” like Brand played by Josh Brolin in The Goonies 1985 or Edward Frog played by Corey Feldman in The Lost Boys 1987.

Hunter’s model is closest to the original clone base. If you look closely you will see the eyebrows are straighter with a much lower angle to the arch. His nose is also not the same shape as a standard clone like Rex, including a narrower bridge. It’s certainly not Temeura Morrison’s nose. Remember what I said about space Italians? It didn’t take much to push the existing clone design to resemble an specific Italian man instead of a specific Māori man. The 23&Me came back, and Hunter inherited more than the bandana from Sylvester.

Crosshair

The long narrow nose, the sharp cheekbones, the scowl. That’s no clone, that’s just animated Clint Eastwood. Not even Young and Hot Clint Eastwood from Rawhide 1959-1965. With that hair, I’m talking Gran Torino 2008. The man of few words schtick and family friendly toothpick in lieu of cigar are pure Eastwood as The Man With No Name from Sergio Leone’s spaghetti westerns A Fist Full of Dollars 1964, For a Few Dollars More 1965, and The Good the Bad and the Ugly 1966.

In a way, this is full circle because the actor Jeremy Bulloch took inspiration from Clint Eastwood for his performance as Boba Fett in ESB.

Wrecker

In an interview Filoni lists the Hulk as an (obvious) inspiration for Wrecker. Ever seen the old Hulk tv show from 1978? Well take a look at the actor who played him, Lou Ferrigno. Would you look at that. Even has his papa’s nose.

You could make the argument that Wrecker was influenced by The Rock, an appropriately buff ‘n bald Polynesian (Samoan, not Maori) man. But look at him next his Fast and Furious costar Vin Diesel and tell me which one resembles Wrecker’s character model more.

Tech

Tech is a little trickier for me to place. If he has a more direct inspiration it must be something I haven’t seen. That said, his hairline is very Bruce Willis as John McClane in Die Hard 1988. His quippiness and large glasses remind me of Shane Black as Hawkins from Predator 1987. In terms of his face, he looks a but like the result of McClane and Hawkins deciding to settle down and start a family. Although, Tech’s biggest contributors are probably just everyone on TV Trope’s list for Smart People Wear Glasses.

And finally,

Echo

Oh Echo. Considering he wasn’t created for the Bad Batch, he probably wasn’t based on a particular character or movie. But if I had to guess, his situation and appearance remind me a lot of Alex Murphy played by Peter Weller in Robocop 1987. However, Robocop explored the Man or Machine Identity Crisis with more nuance, depth, and dignity. Yikes.

The exact tropes and references used in The Bad Batch have been done successfully with characters who aren’t even human. Gizmo from Gremlins 2: The New Batch 1990 had a brief stint with the Rambo bandana. I could have picked any number of characters for Defining Feature Is Glasses but here is the most cursed version of Simon of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Suffer as I have. Marc Antony with his beloved Pussyfoot from Looney Tunes has the same tough guy with a soft center vibe as Wrecker and his Lula (also a kind of cat). Hell, in the same show we have Cad Bane sharing Cowboy Clint Eastwood with Crosshair. I actually think Bane makes a better Eastwood which is wild considering Crosshair has Eastwood’s entire face and Bane is blue.

So we’ve established you don’t need your characters to look exactly like their inspirations to match their vibe. So why go through the trouble and cost of creating completely new character designs instead of recycling and altering assets they already had on hand? Just slap on a bandana, toothpick, goggles, and make Wrecker bigger than the others while he does a Hulk pose and you’re done. Based on the general reaction to Howzer it would have been a low effort slam dunk crowd pleaser.

But they didn’t do that.

So here’s the thing. I like the tropes used in The Bad Batch. I am a fan of action adventure movies from the 80s-90s, the sillier the better. I am part of the Bad Batch’s target audience. Considering what I know about Disney and Lucasfilm, I went in with low expectations. I genuinely don’t hate the idea of seeing references to these actors and media in The Bad Batch. I don’t think basing these characters on tropes was a bad idea. If anything it’s a solid starting point for building the characters.

The trouble is nothing got built on the foundation. The plot is directionless, the pacing is wacky, and the characters have nearly no emotional depth or defining character arcs. They just sort of exist without reacting much while the story happens around them. But I can excuse all of that. You don’t stay a fan of Star Wars as long as I have not being able to cherrypick and fill in the gaps. This show has a deeper issue that shouldn’t be ignored.

Why do the animated clones bear at best only a passing resemblance to their live action actor? In interviews, Filoni wouldn’t shut up but the technological advancements in the animation for season 7. So if they are updating things, why not try to make the clones a closer match to their source material? Why did they have to look like completely different people in The Bad Batch to be “unique”? Looking like Temeura Morrison would have no bearing on their special abilities and TCW proved you can have identical looking characters and still have them be distinct. In fact, that’s a powerful theme and the source of tragedy for the clones’ narrative overall.

Here’s Filoni’s early concept art of Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, and Hunter. (Interesting but irrelevant: Wrecker seems to have a cog tattoo similar to Jesse’s instead of a scar. Wouldn’t it have been funny if they kept that so when they met in season 7 one if them could say something like “Hey we’re twins!” That’s a little clone humor. Just for you guys 😘)

None of these drawings look like the clones in TCW, much less Temeura Morrison. Let’s be generous. Maybe Filoni struggles with drawing a real person’s likeness, as many people do. But he had to hand this off to other artists down the line whose job specifically involves making a stylized character resemble their actor. Yet the final designs missed the mark almost as much as this initial concept. Starting to seem as if the clones looking more like Temeura Morrison was never even on the table. It wasn’t a lack of creativity, skill or technical limitations on the part of the creative team. I don’t think there is an innocent explanation. They went out of their way to make the final product exactly how we got it.

This goes beyond homage. They could have made the same pop culture references and character tropes without completely stripping Temeura Morrison from the role he originated. It was a very purposeful choice to replace him with more immediately familiar actors from established franchises and films. It wouldn’t shock me if Filoni, Lucas, and anyone else calling the shots didn’t even think hard or care enough about the decision to immediately recognize a problem. And I don’t think they believed anyone else would either. At least no one whose opinion they cared about. Those faces are comfortingly familiar and proven bankable. They are what we’re all used to seeing after all. They’re white.

Lack of imagination, bad intentions, or simple ignorance doesn’t really matter in the end. The result is the same. Call it what it is. They replaced a man of color with a bunch of white guys. That’s by the book garden variety run of the mill whitewashing. There’s no debate worth having about it. For a fanbase that loves to nitpick things like whether or not it’s in character for Han to shoot first or Jeans Guy in the Mandalorian, we sure are quick to find excuses for clones who look nothing like their template. Why is that? If you don’t see the problem, congratulations. Your ass is showing. Pull your jeans up.

[ms-demeanor]

Some meandering thoughts about jokes about rape and cultural changes in the last decade and a half

Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad we’re in a place now where we DO question rape jokes and it would be much harder to get away with “raping Jonah Hill is incredibly amusing” as the center of a scene the way that you could in 2007-2013 but I do kind of feel like we don’t talk about how sudden that change was enough.

People talk about how you should have always known that awful things are awful but if you’re surrounded by rape jokes and pedophilia jokes all the time and that’s what’s funny to the other kids around you and the adults in your lives and what makes up the jokes in the movies you watch then it’s hard to act like you always knew it was wrong.

Dead baby jokes were a HUGE thing when I was a teen and in my early twenties and sitting around swapping dead baby jokes was just a thing we did, and tossed in among them were things like:

A joke about incest with the punchline “Get off me pa, you’re crushing my smokes.”

This joke about a pedophile murdering a child.

Let’s not turn this rape into a murder.

And hell, look at the activity graph for “soap on a rope” on urban dictionary:

2014 starts a significant taper.

Letterboxd has their “sexual assault against men played for comedy page” and if you sort by release date there’s a downward trend with 2014 as a really stand-out year for rape jokes about men in popular movies:

2010 - 10

2011 - 12

2012 - 14

2013 - 12

2014 - 18 (jesus, which includes a prison rape joke in “Paddington”)

2015 - 9

2016 - 9

2017 - 11

2018 - 15

2019 - 4

2020 - 1

(this is of course with the caveat that this is only what has been documented so far)

Shock porn sites used to be a thing and they used to be a COMMON thing. A thing that would get remixed and have late night hosts make jokes about them and that got parody music videos.

So on the one hand I was really glad that in 2010 the hacker conference WASN’T asking me to make a rape joke on their tee shirt, but since Pool 2 Girl came up at every single “this is what defcon is about” discussion and some of the guys from the con had printed up “lemonparty.org” stickers to slap up around town it wouldn’t have been *surprising* if they’d been asking for that.

If you were a teenager in 2005 would you have known how much of a dick move goatse-ing people was? We didn’t have the same culture of trigger warnings (not that I disapprove of trigger warnings, they are good and I like them) and there was very much an attitude online at the time of “if you can’t handle it log off.”

I think the fappening was the turning point for a lot of this stuff - I think that was a big cultural moment that changed a lot of people’s attitudes really quickly and I’m seeing echos of that with what Chris Evans is dealing with right now: people are a lot faster to say “oh, that sucks, don’t be an asshole, report people for posting the pics” while I remember sitting and arguing in an imgur thread because there were a bunch of people saying “if you don’t like it don’t take nudes” about the celebrities who got caught in the icloud leak.

People look at Shane Dawson’s (admittedly gross and incredibly inappropriate) behavior with a poster of Willow Smith and act like it’s unprecedented***** but as someone who remembers not only Olsen Eighteenth Birthday countdowns but ALSO the jokes about fucking the Olsen twins that came BEFORE they were legal that’s just bizarre. Seeing people my age and older react to James Gunn’s pedophilic twitter jokes like they’re worse than Jay Leno’s jokes about Michael Jackson (which were made on TV! Across America! On a major network!) is just. It’s bizarre.

I’m glad we are where we are now, I’m glad that making rape jokes in public or jokes about incest or pedophilia (or murder or abortion) is less common and less okay (especially in children’s media, jesus fuck) and more likely to get criticized.

But I’m also pretty sure I’m going to get called a rape apologist by *someone* for saying “2010 was a different time, rape jokes were more common and we didn’t realize how shitty it was” when it really was a different time and rape jokes were more common and most people didn’t realize how shitty it was. I sure didn’t. I do now, and I’m glad I do now. But pretending that we should have ALWAYS known this, pretending that this was NEVER acceptable, pretending that it WASN’T a different time is ignoring the fact that for over a decade there was an entire genre of pedophilic rape jokes (that were frequently also racist) centered around one celebrity and that people told these jokes in public and in pop culture *all the time.*

Does that make it right? Fuck, I don’t know, shit is relative. It was still largely acceptable to electrocute gay kids and people tossed around the word “faggot” pretty freely. Mean Girls is full of jokes about how awful it is for people to think you’re a lesbian and Superbad is full of jokes about getting people shitfaced so they’ll sleep with you (so date rape) and there’s an entire “cute comedy” from the 80s starring Kurt Russel and Goldie Hawn that’s an extended rape-by-fraud joke. I think that as a whole we’re better now as people than we were in 2010 and the 90s and the 80s and the 50s and I don’t think that someone who made a sexist joke in the 80s is irredeemably evil and I don’t think people making rape jokes in the 2010s are rape apologists in 2020 and I wish there was a lot more understanding of both history and nuance in these conversations.

*****to be very, very clear Shane Dawson has been filmed kissing underage fans on the mouth and having explicit sexual conversations with his very young cousin - Dawson has done things that go beyond “inappropriate” and fall clearly into “wrong” “bad” “dangerous” “illegal” etc, which is all the more reason that it’s so strange to see people focusing on him fake masturbating on a poster of Willow Smith. YES doing that was gross but why is it even being compared to the way he’s been filmed interacting with fans? The lack of nuance, making “fake masturbating at a poster” and “creating a sexually abused puppet character” the same as “inappropriately touched and kissed minor fans and engaged a young child in explicit sexual conversations” is NOT GOOD. That is a bad thing. Two of those things are tasteless and two of those things are actively harmful and it’s the actively harmful stuff that we should be focusing on and part of why it’s really weird to see shit like “pizzagate conspiracist accuses James Gunn of making inappropriate jokes” like yes Gunn please don’t but can we maybe refocus and talk about the dude who can be pretty significantly assigned blame for a fucking shooting? https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/aug/01/james-gunn-alt-right-marvel-film-director-tweets

Actually, you know what, I thought I was done ranting, I’m not.

It’s purity culture.

YES you should attempt to do less harm with your language, YES you should attempt to not use slurs, YES you should try to avoid making rape jokes. But there’s an entire huge group of people who are willing to drag up rape jokes from a decade when rape jokes were REALLY REALLY common in order to say that nothing you say or do today matters.

And that same group is ALSO really interested in expanding the concept of what pedophilia is to include age differences in adults or liking the wrong style of drawing and it’s a purity culture silencing tactic and can we PLEASE stop pretending that gross, tasteless jokes are the same thing as actually sexually abusing people? Can we stop pretending that pointing out “rape jokes were more common fifteen years ago and I feel bad about it but that’s just the way it was and I don’t make jokes like that anymore” is the same as saying “rape isn’t bad and you shouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”

It’s always good to try to be a less shitty human but if you’re only allowed to grow and improve and be less shitty if you never fucked up in the first place then it’s all just calvinist bullshit and none of us could ever really be saved in the first place.

I dunno, dudes. We got so careful about disapproving of the wrong kind of language that we let a white supremacist concern troll Disney into firing a director who caught the attention of the alt right by shit-talking the president.

I think perhaps we need to reexamine some strategy here.

[bubblegumstardust]

Fuck it, some things from the new cinderella I actually loved bc dear lord some of you will not just let a dumb fun kids movie be a dumb fun kids movie: (sidenote: I know Ella Enchanted did plenty of this too, but comparisons for dumb shit like this really just don't matter imo)

Gwen. Just Gwen in general, she was a great addition

The Prince actually being a fleshed out character unlike the Disney cartoon

The town Crier songs slapped

Fabulous Godmother just being amazing

The way Romesh and James were clearly having a fun time there

The fact that they used a take in the final cut where one of the actors slipped and fell on their ass at the ball

The over-the-top dresses. Like hell yeah have fun with that shit

Acknowledgement of how uncomfortable glass shoes would really be

Material Girl and What a Man. If your movie has me singing and dancing on the couch that is good enough for me

Ella actually having a hobby and passion she wants to pursue. Like, guys, wanting to chase your dreams and make something of yourself and be successful is not #girlboss and worthy of mockery. She ain't after being some millionaire CEO who exploits her workers, she literally just wants to make her living doing something she loves and getting recognition for her work and talent and if that's a bad #girlboss thing, then I guess us girls might as well go back to being unemployed housewives dependent on a husband because God forbid a woman earn a living on her own without having to work for and likely be exploited by a man 🙄🙄🙄

Ella's family actually having some complexity and character depth

Like it's actually so nice to have nuance and recognition that people who do bad things are not completely inherently evil. Literally like everything about who we are is a product of whatever society we live in and our own experiences and learning. This isn't an excuse for treating others badly (although that was definitely toned down in this movie anyway) but it's a reminder that reality isn't "oh this person is bad because they're just evil and evil people do evil things". Life and people are not that simple and one dimensional and it's actually nice to see that portrayed in these usually evil for evils sake characters.

CHARACTERS CHANGE AND GROW. Omg was it refreshing to see some actual growth from background characters like Ella's stepfamily and the King when they're confronted on some of the wrongness of their actions and learn and grow and correct their behaviour

All the little and big changes and growth/maturing moments the Prince went through as a result of meeting Ella and learning more from her

The Queen. I just really love her

The little joke about Peirce Brosnan being a bad singer after what happened with mamma mia

The little dig (intentional or not) of the Prince referring to his father as "your highness" rather than what a King's proper title (?) Is - your majesty. Again idk if that was intentional or if the writers just weren't aware of the difference in status between the two, but that little moment of defiance and disrespect to the King because he's annoyed just made me really happy

Healthy compromise and balance in Ella and the Prince's relationship and how their meeting and relationship helped them both in figuring out what they wanted and what their priorities were

Gwen will literally be such a great Queen and I'm glad that both siblings figured out and got to be in the right place for them rather than what had been expected and decided for them

The friendship between the Prince and that one manservant

Look, I'm not saying you have to like this movie, I would never say that about any movie because we all have different tastes and wants, but I expected this film to literally be a dumpsterfire based off some Internet reactions and the simple fact is it wasn't. It was by no means a masterpiece, but that type of movie isn't meant to be. And I'm not going to pretend there weren't bad and questionable aspects of it but no more than plenty of other movies that don't get this same treatment for things, and I also won't say it's exempt from criticism of course and everyone has a right to like and dislike and discuss valid critiques as they so desire, but this feels like another instance of people hating just to hate in a lot of cases. Anyway that's that. Just wanted to highlight some of the things I really enjoyed about this film (even if I know I got a little ranty at points) so, bye friends, have a nice night xxx

[itsblorbotime]

sorry i have a big backlog of thoughts

because of some mods i have installed, i occasionally get jumpscared like this. "but val," you say, "why not just remove them from the default penumbra directory?" BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY EVERY TIME

christ it takes so fucking long to get to the first dungeon in stormblood. not gonna lie, bad design, imo. instead, everyone got hung up on the solo instance. i feel like if the dungeon and solo instance timing had been swapped it wouldn't have been nearly as bad, because the dungeon instance wanted 4 players in it.

there he is! i don't remember my initial opinion of hancock. i think i disliked him or simply did not care because he seemed slimy and weird, and also this was pretty fresh off teledji adeledji's betrayal for me. looking into his character more now, i think he's interesting and neat, in that he's a little dweeb i want to lovingly bully. i really enjoyed mt rokkon, for instance. anyway, this was a funny line.

kugane pretty :) i still like hanging out there a lot. the music slaps. poor val stands out there like a sore thumb.

HELLO????? HELLO??????????? HELLO???????????????????????? HOW DID I FORGET THIS GUY EXISTS. I'M GAY

the complexity of the politics in stormblood is very interesting and good imo. heavensward's story isn't... exactly straightforward, but it's focused on a much smaller area (basically, just ishgard) and a single conflict (dragons vs ishgard, though it does expand in scope) that stormblood's much more complex tapestry of moving parts must have been more difficult to handle. that's part of why a lot of people don't... love the pacing of the expac i think -- but like, i think there's too much content here to have done either ala mhigo or doma justice in one expac, but also, not enough content for them to be two separate expansions. it's still essentially one story: liberating two areas currently within garlemald's occupation.

fig. 1: three idiots who don't know a damn thing. fig 2: HELLO????????????????????????????

love alisaie. love that she always warns people when she's about to do something reckless, which is fun. i skipped the coils cutscenes when i first did them, and i rewatched most of them recently (through ng+, which was a mistake; it's better to do them the usual way) and her personality there is too much alphinaud 2: electric boogaloo. stormblood gave her some really really rich character development, and like, for that ALONE it's a good expansion.

love love love lyse i will fight anyone on this point. she's great, her character's nuanced and interesting, her insecurity and naivete being central aspects of her character are Good Actually.

she's so fucking funny we have no choice but to stan tbh a lot of her dialogue is so similar to the "funny" answers they let you pick as the wol

when ur whole crew! does not know! a damn thing!

SHORT SHORTS AND ARMOURED BOOTS GANG GO (also oh my god val is SO short THE TOP OF HIS EARS ARE LEVEL WITH LYSE'S EYES)

anyway. the kojin stuff is... fine. it definitely feels like busywork, and like they needed an excuse to introduce The Tribal Race What Will Give You Dailies Later, but i guess also to introduce the underwater mechanic they were clearly very proud of but then uh, proceeded to not do much with. the kojin lore itself is very good, and striking -- as a westerner the spiritual beliefs of the kojin (and hingashi/doman/etc people in general) being based on animism, shintoism etc were really curious to me and made me want to learn more. and i watched a video recently that reframes the shroud's elementals within the context of shintoism, which makes a LOT of sense with how they're treated in the lore. idk. neat! interesting! cool!

THERE HE IS! THERE HE IS! THERE HE IS! WE'RE SO BACK WE'RE SO BACK WE'RE SO BACK

i love susan so much i queued directly into the trial instead of just unsyncing it. also, the game is like "haha let's back out so you can find that 7 of your friends with the echo just happen to be around to fight with!" but that's stupid, and not canon. absolutely not. lyse and alisaie fended off the red kojin while valentine fought susano alone, and it was glorious! THE SEAS PART FOR WE ALONE! HOW OUR HEARTS SING IN THE CHAOS! WILD AND PURE AND FOREVER FREE!

i think a lot of primal fights for val have been very stressful but susano was maybe the first one that like. it started that way but when it became clear to him that susano was /playing/ (i mean, yes, he would have killed him had he won, but it was still play), he started to let go, and it became a dance. and that's what val loves about battle -- not hurting people, not killing things. he loves to dance.

hehehehehe

... i'm gonna be honest yugiri, i think valentine's appearance is pretty distinctive regardless of anything he does.

maaaan i forgot this whole sequence in namai... the little kid you save from monsters to find she just wanted some flowers for her parents' graves -- i think for val that's pretty common, him connecting with kids, being instantly sympathetic to them, and they usually kinda get the vibe from him that he's cool, even if he's a grown-up. he'd be happy to talk to this kid's parents' graves.

and then her brother showing up and just repeatedly begging you to leave... man. man.

oof.

and then the garleans show up and it's like oh we're about to be real stupid huh.

stormblood replay thread, part 2

[bookshelf-in-progress]

🖊 the main cast of Starfall?

I know the ask game says Gush About the Characters, but I’m just going to ramble/rant about them, because part of the reason that "The Dust that Falls from Passing Stars” has stalled out for so long is that I don’t have enough of a handle on their characters to make the arc and plot make sense, and maybe just talking about that will jar something loose.

Lorenz: I love this idiot. He’s the starry-eyed dreamer who’s made his dreams come true. He’s a creative working in a theater setting steeped in a storyworld mindset where everything’s simpler and prettier than it is in reality, and that makes him oversimplify the complexities of life. He’s also a snob. He may have a lower-class background, but now that he’s moving in upper-class circles, he’s trying to minimize that. He was poor, but he wasn’t that type of poor people. He’s nice to the lower classes, but it’s partially a condescending, self-serving nice, where the fact that he can be magnanimous to the poor is just another status symbol of how much he’s risen above them. And he believes that the world that he now moves in is, in basically every way, superior to that available to the lower classes. And I want to capture some of that in the next sections, where he’s trying to show all the wonders of this world to Anya, only to see it through her eyes and be slapped in the face with, “Oh yeah, these people kind of suck, and I’ve become a worse person around them.” But I’ve yet to find an organic way to do that, because translating the theme to actual concrete story events is hard. (Though the second half of that sentence in the quotation marks may be a key toward fixing that problem. I could set up situations where Lorenz does or says things he’s ashamed of now that Anya’s watching.)

Anya: I kind of regret posting the first section of this story, because I didn’t have a handle on her character yet, and she becomes this kind of embarrassing street urchin stereotype. The last time I read through this, I realized that the trait that makes her her, rather than just a stock character, is that she’s smart. She knows what’s going on. She works one of the lowest of low-class jobs, but she takes pride in doing it as well as she can, and strategizing the most effective ways to go about it. The trouble is that once Lorenz takes her inside, she becomes this wide-eyed innocent crossed with a stereotypical sassy street urchin. I need to get her out of that stereotype, but I also don’t want to lean too far into her as the intelligent, level-headed one with all the answers, because that could lean her too far in to another stereotype. I suppose trying to mix elements of both could work--she’s a clear-eyed, practical, intelligent girl who also can’t help being drawn toward the glamour. (That’s just Nezka, isn’t it? Or Nezka crossed with Cazda. And don’t get me started on how dangerously close this puts her into Tanza territory.) I almost feel like I should rewrite the first section from her POV to try to get a handle on it, but I also don’t trust my own character-building skills enough to believe that I could make her feel like the same character and not just give her all the same traits I give to my female POVs. I think the best thing I could do for her character going forward in the story is to make sure she’s not just reacting, but also challenging what she sees, and keeping in mind that she’s got a clearer eye for the dark sides of this world than Lorenz does.

Lady Diriks: She's basically a stereotype of the hard and unyielding aristocratic matriarch. The Evil Queen crossed with Mrs. Thornton. With an owl. For the purposes of this story, she doesn’t need to go anything beyond that, but I do need to set up her character before the final climactic confrontation, and perhaps then is where I can hint at some slight nuances to her character, to give her a bit of depth while I’m trying to foreshadow her role in the story. She is all about image, and she’s not going to show a single iota of anything that she doesn’t intend anyone else to see, but she could give at least the appearance of something natural. She knows Lorenz through the theater--patronizing the arts is very fashionable these days, and he’s doing great things for her theater. Oh my gosh, he’s a pet to her, isn’t he? She’s going to be showing him off, and this weird rustic girl who’s his plus-one is going to interfere with that--especially since Lorenz is perfectly willing to lap up the attention, but the girl can see how patronizing Lady Diriks is being. They are going to clash, and that fits in well with the themes--these two women representing two different sides to Lorenz’s identity.

Bastiaan Diriks: He hasn’t completely lost his sight yet, but his vision problems are getting obvious enough that his mother considers him an embarrassment. (Star blindness is a worker’s disease, and the fact that her son is suffering from it is a major blow to the family image.) But he’s a delight. He’s been living in this glittering elite world his whole life, and he’s got the clearest vision (ironically) of its flaws. He’s very good at hiding both his disdain and his own personal disappointments beneath a cheerful exterior, and he’s genuinely a good guy. Far more concerned with making others feel welcome than brooding over how unwelcome he is in his own house. If he knew Anya’s origin, he’d be the first one telling Lorenz how terrible an idea it was to bring her here. But since he doesn’t know that, and he can’t see Anya clearly enough to guess at it, he’s just going to try to make this girl feel welcome. Especially since his mother is being clearly rude to her. Which just makes his mother dislike the girl more--she’s providing another opportunity for her son to display his embarrassing habit of associating with low company, and of course she’s got the Mrs. Thornton idea that every girl he comes in contact with is angling after his money. I can’t have him hanging around Anya for too much of the story--the focus still needs to be on her and Lorenz, and the two of them have to be away from Bas for a significant amount of time for the plot to work, and I cannot set up the possibility of a Cinderella romance because that it very much not the point of the story--but their interactions could be another way to develop some of the themes and give these characters something concrete to do while I’m waiting for the end of the story to show up.

[antique-symbolism]

Your bio says pronouns unclear but what do you prefer, if you don't mind me asking?

Pronouns is always an interesting question to be asked because normally I will tell people she/they and then they'll exclusively use they/them for me. Which I understand is probably because anyone I'll comfortably come out to as nonbinary is probably the sort of person who is aware enough of trans issues to think oh then Juliana probably gets she/her'd plenty because that's their assigned gender at birth and some people just don't want to make the effort to see a nuance there, I'll go with they/them to respectfully balance things out for them

Which is very cash money and considerate of them but there is a difficult-to-define and possibly arbitrary and imagined difference in my mind between being she/her'd by someone who doesn't give a shit about acknowledging that I'm non-binary and being she/her'd by someone who knows and respects that I am.

So in a nutshell the answer is still I like she/her and they/them equally but I REALLY want people to understand that she/her is not something I settle for, it is something I actually vibe with

There's also a whole lot to be added in the veins of "I wish xe was an intuitive pronoun because it slaps but I would only want to use it if everybody actually understood it" and "I wonder what he/him would feel like but nobody uses it and since I'm not sure I don't want to ask anyone to use it then go to the trouble of recanting my request for its use if it doesn't vibe"

This is all clearly very wordy to express which is why I usually go for the briefer and almost just as true statement "I don't care which pronouns you use"

Thank you for asking and giving me a chance to express the full story!

[imaginedhaven]

Undercover and Out of Sight

a smutty Rowaelin oneshot

Link to Hot Professors Collection Masterlist

Summary: Aelin is grading midterm papers. Rowan offers his own unique brand of assistance.

Rating: E for Explicit- not intended for readers under 18!

Contents/Warnings: College Professors AU, Enemies With Benefits, Semi-Public Sex

This take place in the same universe as “Flames On My Skin”, but it stands completely alone. Reading that is not required for understanding this piece, but it’s linked in the masterlist above if you want more enemies with benefits action!

~*~*~

Aelin let her head fall into her hands, sighing as she rubbed at her forehead. Midterms had arrived at Doranelle University, and with midterms came all of the papers from her advanced class to grade.

As the newest professor in the psychology department, she bore the brunt of teaching many of the more introductory classes. That was fine; not only did she like having the ability to bring new faces into the field to which she’d devoted her life’s work, but she had graduate assistants able to assist with grading the tests, since the answers were less open to interpretation.

Her more advanced course on personality theory, though, required a more in-depth and nuanced approach and therefore she had assigned a paper instead of a test. She’d thought it was a great idea, and it was certainly more fair to the students, as they would be able to develop the skills they would actually need in the field rather than responding to a multiple-choice examination. However, that meant she was now forced to read more than twenty papers comparing and contrasting the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator and the Five Factor Model of personality traits.

Aelin groaned. The paper had been a mistake. At least it was the midterm; there was a less stringent deadline on her ability to read than there would have been if she’d assigned this paper as the final project.

“As much as I enjoy hearing that sound from you,” a smooth voice said from the doorway, “I think I prefer it being because of me.”

Fuck. She’d forgotten to lock the door, and Whitethorn must have seen an opportunity. “What are you even doing here? Your last class was four hours ago.”

Not that she had memorized his schedule. And even if she had, it wasn’t because it meant she would know when he was busy and when he could be interrupted. No, it was definitely so that she knew when she could work without interruption.

Whitethorn smirked from where he was leaning against her door. “Same thing as you, I’d imagine. Let me guess, you didn’t give yourself enough time to actually grade papers, because you thought it would be easier than it is.”

Arrogant bastard. “I have plenty of time, and how I grade my courses has nothing to do with you.” She could feel the tightness in her voice, and she deliberately took a deep breath. Calm and collected. If she didn’t rise to his baiting, he would leave, and she could work in peace.

“Testy,” he mused. “Sounds like you could use a break.”

“From you? Always.”

He locked the door and then shoved himself away from it, closing the distance between them in three quick strides and towering over her. “You know, it’s okay to admit you like what we do.”

Aelin scoffed, turning her attention back to the paper she was reading. “I don’t have to admit anything to you.”

“That’s true enough. And yet you never tell me to leave, either.” A quick glance his way told her he was rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and loosening his tie. Fuck. She shouldn’t have looked. There was no way his gaze would miss the way her thighs pressed together, or how she couldn’t quite help biting her lip. “Slide your chair back,” he said once he’d finished with his shirt.

Aelin froze, stunned. “What?”

“You heard me. Slide your chair back.”

She complied wordlessly, wondering exactly where he was going with this. As soon as she had, he slipped into the space she had created, kneeling on the floor. His large frame just barely fit beneath the wood of her desk, and if she hadn’t been so confused, it would’ve been almost comical. “What are you doing?”

Rather than reply verbally, he tugged her chair back toward himself and then pulled her hips to the edge of the chair. Aelin gasped as the movement caused her already-short skirt to ride up, exposing her simple black underwear to his gaze.

He remained still for a moment, and Aelin felt herself squirm as he quietly watched her. “Are you just going to stare, or are you going to actually do something?” she asked, feeling her irritation creep into her voice.

He slid his hands up her thighs, and she could just tell he was smirking as her muscles tensed beneath his touch. “Keep grading.”

Aelin frowned. “What?”

“Keep grading your papers.”

It was probably one of the strangest things he’d had her do, but Aelin shrugged and returned her attention to the paper as his hands continued to caress her thighs.

While the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator is generally held to be less reliable as a measure than tests measuring the Big Five personality traits of the Five Factor Model, its popularity allows it to be more accessible as a concept and as a measure and has popularized several tenets of personality theory.

Aelin rolled her eyes. She’d known there would be a certain amount of unnecessary wording in order to get the papers to the minimum requirement, but she could’ve laid out this student’s thesis in half the words.

As she went to keep reading, she felt deft fingers tucking her underwear to the side of her outer lips. Fuck, was he…?

“Oh, gods.” He was, if the way he let out a slow exhale a mere inch from her clit was any indication.

His voice was stern when he spoke again. “Keep reading.”

With her attention as fragmented as it was, Aelin realized she’d already forgotten the introduction of the paper and returned to the beginning.

While the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator is generally held to be less reliable as a measure than tests measuring the Big Five personality traits of the Five Factor Model, its popularity—

“Fuck!” Her hands clutched at the edge of the desk as his tongue traced along her core. He then proceeded to nuzzle the slick skin, nose brushing the skin just over her clit, and she struggled to regain her composure.

“Be quiet, now,” he teased. “Wouldn’t want someone to think you swear at your students’ papers, would we?”

“And whose fault would that be?” The words came out as a hiss, and she moved to push herself away so she could glare at him.

His hands grabbed her hips to keep her in place. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Fine. Whatever. He could say what he wanted. But she had to at least try to read this godsdamn paper; he’d be beyond insufferable if he truly broke her concentration. Carefully, she took a deep breath and began again.

While the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator is generally held to be less reliable as a measure than tests measuring the Big Five—

His lips found her clit and began to suck, and she gave up with a whimper. Damn him, but he was far too good at this. His little game hadn’t been fair from the beginning, and he’d known it.

He nibbled at her flesh, letting just the faintest edge of his teeth brush her clit, and the edge of pain was almost too much. She snaked a hand down beneath the desk and grabbed a fistful of his hair, holding his face against her as she rolled her hips.

To his credit, he seemed to realize that she was far too close to the edge for him to stop just to be ornery. Instead he allowed her to ride his face, licking and sucking whatever flesh she made available to him. Between his efforts and the thrill of having him under her desk, it didn’t take long at all for her to reach her peak with a soft gasp.

She probably would’ve been more embarrassed by how quickly she’d gotten there if it hadn’t felt so damned good.

Aelin was still in a daze from the sensation of it all as Whitethorn carefully stood, urging her to stand and then bend over her desk. Several papers hit the floor with the sound of rustling paper, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

She felt him slide her underwear down her legs and lift one of her feet to free her from the fabric, and with a sigh she spread her legs, giving him a view she knew he couldn’t get enough of. Rather than stop to appreciate it, though, he pressed her legs back together with hands on her thighs, and she twisted until she could look over her shoulder at him in confusion.

He simply smirked in response and rubbed the head of his cock against her—when had he pulled it free from his pants?

She shivered and bit her lip. “What’re you—?”

Her question trailed off into a moan as his cock pressed into her. Fuck, but it was somehow even better like this; the stretch of it inside of her always felt delightful, but with her legs pressed together like this the added friction had her grasping at the desk for something, anything to hold onto to keep her grounded.

“Gods.” The word was hoarse, his voice deeper than normal, and when she dared to glance back at him his eyes were fixed on where they were joined. She grinned and wiggled her hips, laughing huskily when the motion caused him to hiss.

In retaliation, his first thrust was just this side of too hard, and just like that they were moving together, any thoughts Aelin could’ve formed lost to the sensation of his cock moving inside her and his hips slapping against hers. Her cheeks were burning as her eyes fluttered shut, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel embarrassed by the deep blush she knew must’ve been showing. Not when it felt this good to let go.

He tugged her hips back just a little harder against his own, giving him just enough room to shove a hand between her and the desk. Deft fingers found and circled her clit, and just like that she was on the edge all over again.

“Do it. Come for me.” His words, rough and spoken through gritted teeth, pushed her over, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in an effort to muffle her cry as much as possible. A few moments later his hips ground against hers as he found his own release, and together they collapsed onto her desk, Aelin relishing the warmth of him at her back for just a moment. She could take a moment to enjoy this before composing herself and kicking him out of her office.

She regretted that decision almost immediately when she felt him brush her hair out of her face and saw the grin on his face. “You’re welcome.”

Aelin growled. “You’re not allowed to be this insufferable while you’re still inside me.”

“No?”

She flexed her muscles around him and watched him grimace at the squeeze around flesh that must have been as oversensitive as she was. “No.”

He lightly slapped her hip before pulling away, and a tiny part of her immediately mourned the loss of him while the rest of her glared at him. He only smirked in reply, doing the bare minimum to make himself presentable before sauntering over to the door again. “Enjoy your grading, Professor Galathynius.”

Gods, but he could make even the title she’d fought so hard for sound like an insult. She growled in response, but he merely grinned and left her office.

Aelin took a deep breath and stood up on shaky legs, slipping her underwear back on and up her legs. Her hair was absolutely a lost cause, so she simply tied it back and made sure her blouse was still on straight before smoothing her skirt back down.

Then she looked at the papers and growled out a curse. Most of them were fine, but a few were hopelessly crumpled from where he’d fucked her into the desk.

She carefully tucked the ones that were fine into her bag before gathering the ones that were worse off and stalking toward his office. He’d gotten her into this mess, and she would make him help get her back out of it if it was the last thing she did.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou @mymultiversee @swankii-art-teacher @rowansfirebringer @livsdriverslicense @courtofjurdan @danibutterr @woollycat22 @rowaelinismyotp- your tag isn’t working! Sorry! @sleeping-and-books