#but like they wrote one book which means something. to me
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Hello. Today, I'd like to make some random anecdotes about Rabbi Avraham Ibn Ezra - poet, commentator, linguist, mathmatician, probably not too bad at chess and cursed to be poor for the entirety of his life.
After a cursory look at his wikipedia page, I must admit I didn't really know much about his life: only that he was born and raised in Spain, went travelling, had terrible luck with everything, wrote his commentaries on the Torah for money (which I think didn't help with the "cursed to be poor" thing), befriended Rabbenu Tam in France, possibly married the daughter of Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi and promptly died... somewhere... oh, and also wrote lots of poetry in the middle.
Historically speaking, he lived at the end of the Golden Age of Judaism in Spain, around the 11th-12th centuries CE. This puts him right after Rashi - which allows him to snark at everything he thinks Rashi was wrong about, but before Rambam - which means he doesn't get to snark at everything Rambam got wrong. His commentary on the Torah leans a little towards the linguistic side, though he has a couple of other things going on as well, like roasting people he disagrees with (Ben Zuta is the only friend a bull has, anyone?) and dancing around verses he thinks were added later to the Torah, like every time it says "to this very day".
He also wrote one of the first math books in Hebrew - Sefer HaMispar, he wrote a poem about chess, one about how whatever he'll work at he won't get enough money. And generally, he wrote poems. Quite a lot.
I suppose at this point I should mention something: Hebrew linguists were, at the middle ages, predominantly Sepharadi. I mean, sure, there could be a non-Jewish Hebrew linguist, but for some reason I don't hear much about those. And there probably were Ashkenazi linguists, but there weren't many of them. Rashi does deal with linguistics - but half the time he does, it's using the books of two famous Sepharadi linguists. The Sepharadim, living in Muslim lands as they were, simply had a better background with learning Hebrew, since they were surrounded by speakers of a closely related language - Arabic. And Ibn Ezra's deep understanding of Hebrew led to him loving linguistic riddles, which I can never figure out - and I was reading an eddition with footnotes! Though maybe I didn't make enough effort or something.
But no, the reason I wanted to talk about Ibn Ezra was the impossible standards for poetry, as set by Sepharadi poets. You see, Jews were always influenced by their surroundings, in multiple facets. and poetry is definitely one of them. So, the influence from Arab poets includes strict rules for rhythm and - and this is what I actually wanted to talk about - rhyming.
The rythm thing is bad enough. Only once in my life have I tried keeping up with that. It was very, very hard. It's probably because I'm not used to this, but no song I write can keep a consistent rhythm and meter, and that's without trying to apply the standard Sepharadic rules. So trying to have such a strict meter... didn't work well for me. I guess I'm the frenchman from
×Öź×Ö´× ×Öľ×Ö´×× ×Ö°×ŚÖ¸×¨Ö°×¤Öˇ×ŞÖźÖ´× ×ÖźÖ°×Öľ×ת ׊×Ö´×ר,
×ְעָ×֡ר ×ָר ×ְק×Öš× ×§Öš×Öś×Š× ×ְרָ×ָץ;
×Ö°××Öź ׊×Ö´×ר ×Öˇ×˘Ö˛×§Öš× ×Ö´×ְת֟֡ק ×ÖźÖ°××Öš ×Ö¸×,
×Ö˛× Ö´× ×Š×Öś×֜׊×, ×Ö°×Öˇ× ×Š×Ö´×ְ׊×Ö´× ×Ö°× Ö¸×ָץ.
which was actually written about Rabenu Tam, but I'm a distant relative of his so this might still be applicable. Besides, as far as you know my name is Ya'akov, just like Rabenu Tam! (Sorry for not providing a translation, the gist is "how dare a frenchman trample all over poetry?!")
But rhymes. Oh, the Ibn Ezraic rhyming standards.
According to Ibn Ezra, one must always rhyme with the entire syllable. So no, just the last sound isn't enough. In Ibn Ezra's book, rhyme and dime don't actually rhyme - though I don't think he'd care about English at all. For the Ibn Ezra, shor and Ḽamor can't be rhymed with each other; shor can rhyme with Mishor, and Ḽamor can rhyme with har hamor, but you can't rhyme any other pair of those with each other. And I can't stay up to this challenge. It's nearly always impossible for me to find proper words to rhyme even without the extra demand for the rhyme to be the entire syllable. With English I don't think I even bothered or ever will. You have too many weird syllables for me. But with Hebrew... I do try with Hebrew, really. But I can't keep this up. And the most frustrating thing? It doesn't appear other Ashkenazi writers had this problem.
Now we get to the interesting part. I have been trying lately a new possible format for my very-anticipated-and-definitely-not-only-I-want-it Jewsade fanfic: introduction, preface and Haskamot to books. I just really enjoy reading prefaces for books, and one of my recent favourite pieces of writing is the conclusion piece of the Vilna edition of the Babylonian Talmud. If you're interested - it can be found in most editions of the Talmud at the very end of Masechet Nidah. The piece describes the trouble they went through to publish this edition of the Talmud and it's very interesting. Another favourite piece of mine is the preface of the Levush, a slightly obscure Halachic book from the time of the Shulchan Aruch. If you've ever seen me talk about the race to Halacha - this is my source for that, because the poor author was upstaged about three to four times by other people doing exactly what he planned on doing. I highly recommend this piece as well, though I don't know how easy it is to find. And the Levush - Rabbi Mordechai Yeffe - is a nice Ashkenazi guy. So he must be more lenient with his rhymes, right?
Well, I guess I didn't establish that part. Yes, the preface to the Levush starts with a poem. It's fun. It's great. It's also up to the Ibn Ezraic standard, while my attempt to write an equivalent is... not.
Huh. This post is oddly rambly. Ah well, maybe someone will like it. Anyway, the preface portion that really takes the cake is actually one from a fairly recent obscure book - like, this one was written barely a century ago. I only found it because one of my favourite singers, Aharon Razel, made a song out of it, but the song doesn't really capture the hilarity of the piece. Do ask me if you want to hear more, this one's great.
Signing off with a "darn you, Ibn Ezra! Why must you set such high standards!"
#jumblr#judaism#jewblr#jewish history#ra'aba'#rabbi avraham ibn ezra#ibn ezra#songwriting#impossible rhyming standards#random segue into prefaces for jewish religious books#Widow & brothers Rom Talmud#Levush Malchut#Ḥemdat Daniel#jewish fantasy#the jewsade#(technically)#we'll see if this ever goes anywhere
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Just finished the second one after a bit of a holiday delay. And you know what? It was a bit better! You can tell the author found her groove writing the main 3's dynamic, though I have some issues that I'll get into.
Jinafire and Skelita feature in this one, though their roles are very small and they pretty immediately fall into the antagonists control (seemingly) Toralei does show up, and just like Cleo, she sucks! The author wrote the two of them so horribly, and I think it's such a shame cuz mean girl characters can be very fun, and I think in the other medias the two of them are.
Speaking of mean girls...Venus kinda is one! There were so many instances of her being rude, and being attitudinal kinda seems like her main personality trait. She'd say something out of pocket to someone, and then get mad when they handed that energy back to her, it was kinda infuriating.
Unfortunately Rochelle went right back to being annoying as well. She's written to be blunt and take things very literally, to the point where she comes across as pretty insensitive a lot of times, but it's explained away as being a "gargoyle thing". Maybe it would be a little less bothersome if she wasn't also super condescending at times, especially with how she constantly corrects others. It was also established in the first chapter that she and Garrott broke up at some point, so now her crush on Deuce is considered slightly less problematic.
Robecca was okay in this one. She said "bees knees" a lot less, thankfully. The story also started to touch on the disappearance of her father, who in this story was fully normie, as well as Robecca's sensitivity on the subject. Her love interest Cy was all around lame and useless in this story, which is kind of a shame since he worked with the main 3 a lot in the first book, and they had a decent-ish dynamic. (He's also written to be a bit of a creep....he's always following Robecca around without her knowing. Granted when he does he normally comes to her rescue in some way but still...its weird.)
Overall though, the thing that bugs me about the narrative is that it seems like it hinges on everyone in the school being stupider than the main 3. Everyone but them got brainwashed in the first book, everyone but them trusts the lady who brainwashed them in the first place. Like come on...if this was a MH movie or webisode, Ghoulia would have figured everything out behind the scenes during a side plot. If they really wanted to make it believable, they'd have had her get kidnapped at the end instead of Headmistress Bloodgood.
Oh but the illustrations is this one were delicious! I got so excited to see each one at the start of the chapters, and the chapters in this one were shorter than the first so there were a lot more. We got to see a bunch of other characters aside from the main 3, and it was such a treat! Really makes getting through these a bit less of a slog.
I'm like halfway through the first Ghoulfriends book and main three are so annoying. I'm hoping it's like a character flaw thing, where they'll recognize it and get better over the course of the series, but oof. Gitty did these ghouls so wrong.
They're beefing with Cleo for no reason...Venus flipped out on her out of nowhere (in the middle of class, unprovoked!!) for using paper bags and then sprayed her with hypno pollen, meanwhile Rochelle, who is in her own relationship, is hardcore flirting with her man!!! I wish the author had been more original when it came to giving them a "frenemy" there are so many options aside from Cleo! (Honestly Operetta would have been an interesting choice, but whatever)
Robecca's characterization is the most tolerable, but she's incredibly rambly, and the author decided to give her a bad sense of time for...reasons. And despite being British, she uses oddly Southern phrases while talking...its super strange. With Venus and Rochelle, I can see where her mind went with writing their characters, but Robecca honestly seems so opposite to her canon personality.
And her backstory was kinda mangled too. It's acknowledged that she was disassembled, and recently reassembled, and even that she previously lived with Mrs. Kindergrubber, but she's treated like a brand new student. No acknowledgement that it was Ghoulia who put her back together!
I understand giving the characters a fresh take, but it would have been pretty simple to integrate the actual canon. Robecca and Rochelle were introduced in the same movie, they were new to Monster High, just not new to all of the characters.
#ghoulfriends#ghoulfriends just wanna have fun#ghoulfriends series#i will say in terms of where the story is going i have no idea#theres so much happening lowkey lol#its interesting cuz like 70% of the story will be kinda slice of life and then shit will hit the fan outta no where#i also had an epiphany that i think the ghoulfriends personalities might be inspired by the powerpuff girls#you have the smart studious pretty one that takes on a leader role (and has bangs)#the mean green confrontational one with an attitude and a short fuse#and the sweet bubbly one that no one takes seriously#could be a coincidence tho its not like those are super original character traits#on to the next one i suppose the second left on a cliffhanger#also side note clawdeen has shown up very little and it makes me sad :(
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yamamoto tsuyoshi is also a hack. i think the only writer whose ideas i respected in the compile writing room was kenâichi ina and they were so stupid for rejecting his stuff. i am aware he was like buddy buddy with oda but ina had some good ideas for pocket yo~n and bouken
#ramblings#i have no comment on takahira since i havent read the sun novelization even tho i like. own it. physically#but like they wrote one book which means something. to me#as somoene that has been trying for the last week to do novel page cleanup on the wiki#and oda/tsuyoshi both wrote 8-9 novels each
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genuine question, do you like maths?? i have a vague feeling i saw your post of tags or something that said something about it but i cannot figure out if it was in fact you or if it was even positive ahahah
Yeah that was me! I don't go looking for math problems, but when I happen to do them, I tend to enjoy it. Wasn't always this way â elementary school math was about speed and memorization and I hated that â but I had a really good teacher in upper secondary school, and it became about creative problem solving. It feels the same as writing a poem in meter or managing to untangle a really bad knot in a ball of yarn.
#i can't do math in my head or memorize formulas#and i'm not preciseâ which is bad for questions that are only numbers. like. 5+6=? type of stuff#because if all you need to is write the final answerâ then if that answer is wrongâ youve failed. don't get the points for the exam question#but! upper secondary school math! my beloved! (specifically lyhyt matikkaâ idk what pitkä is like)#there's a book that has all the formulas in it and you can use it and look them up even during exams. no memorization#it doesn't explain *how* the formulas are used but still#and there was more time than there ever was in my previous schools. and finishing fast did not mean you were better. i could take my time#and there were so many... worded questions? like instead of pure numbers they present the problem to you in words. phrases. prose#here is a situation. solve it#and you get to choose HOW to solve it#sometimes i could not remember how a formula workedâ or hadn't quite figured out a recently taught technique yet#and i just. figured out a different way to solve the problem#can't remember the answer to 5x8? let's count 5+5+5+5+5+5+5+5 instead#38/7? lets draw 38 little balls in the margin and separate them into groups of 7 and see how many there are and how many strays get left out#like that but applied to lots of stuff#and it was enougj! it was fine! it was a valid way to solve it! i got the right answer!#unless i messed something up! a + turned into a - by accident somewhere in the middle of the equation#but! part of this level of math was that it was encouraged to write our whole thought process down#and iâ unable to do it off the paper anyway#i wrote down ALL OF IT#and the teacher saw where i went wrong and that it was little precision things but that i had the techniques down and#i still got most of the points for those questions instead of losing everything because of an incorrect number at the end#these differences have meant everything#math is puzzles. puzzles can be fun#some of my first memories of math class are of me sobbing under my desk#i cried a few tears in all my matriculation exams tooâ even for my favourite subjects. but not math#one of the most important questions was a geometry one. i shine in that area#i grinned doing it
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Finally got ahold of the audiobook of Penance by Eliza Clark and I have mixed emotions about it. On one hand I love the premise and I feel like it's written well enough to where I feel like the author isn't going to clumsily stumble through her own story and fall on her face at the end like the majority of popular thrillers. But also this story suffers from having someone who hasn't been in school for a long time attempting to write teenagers. The funny thing is that whenever I see a horrible portrayal of teenagers, specifically of zoomers its never like, inaccurate portrayals of slang and trends that most teenagers cringe at, it's extremely unnatural dialogue that I don't understand how even a 30 or 40 year old can't see how awkward and cringe and flat out bad of a portrayal they're doing. You can claim that it's regional differences, even if we were all teenagers once I still don't know what it's like to be a popular mean British girl, but I'm fairly certain that actual popular mean British girls don't go around describing themselves as popular mean girls. The funny thing is that they've mentioned several times that these girls (ok it was actually like one girl but she introduced too many characters and I got confused so I can't even remember the name of the girl who said it) are trying to imitate the mean girls in popular American shows/movies. But I think that it's SO funny how instead of going for the obvious Regina George or maybe the more posh Blair Waldorf, they chose Sharpay Evans....I'm very familiar with the popular mean girl trope because I always love the girls who fall into this category and I can say with 100% certainty that none of these girls act like this either. I don't know what the author is going for but it's very painful to listen to.
#the pyre#Technically I'm not reading it I mean I just got myself a copy of the ebook bc I'm so lost which is why I don't know simple things like#the names of the girls I think I'm prob only around 100 or so pages into the book so I was planning on reading that before bed#so I can understand it better#but I'm so heartbroken bc something they're mentioned a few times that def gonna play a large role later#is that the girls all followed this makeshift religion which fit in perfectly with their culty friendgroup#but as of rn I feel the same disappointment I felt when I read bunny and the popular girls doing witchcraft#were so childish and annoying that even I couldn't like them#also I sorta forgot the premise of this book so i looked up the synopsis on GoodReads and the author sounded familiar so#I clicked through her profile and she wrote boy parts and since this book has been following me around I finally decided to get a copy#and read it after I finish penance only for the narrator of the story to briefly talk about some cases he'd researched and among them#he listed a female predator who preyed on little boys and idk the premise of boy parts but I'm p sure that was the author referencing it#and since I like to go into books as blindly as possible I don't appreciate the author spoiling me for a book I haven't even read yet#also I wonder if this is one of those things where an authors books all take place in the same universe even if they don't follow the same#characters that would be cool if true but I hope the narrator of this book doesn't appear in boy parts he's kind of a goober
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In fiction things often times donât align with real world morels or even make logical sense because itâs simply not real. ACOTAR is the only work of sjm that Iâve read so idk if she touches on topics such as these in other books in the universe. (Though I ďżźdo know there is general misogyny and racism with the Illyrians)
for maja I think she was acting in Feyreâs best interest because itâs safe to say she wouldnât want to do anything that would harm her own baby. She is high lady and is not obligated to obey these terms yet she does. Nyx was no accidental pregnancy, I think everyone knew that Feyre would do whatever it takes to bring him into their world breathing. it is because of this that I believe Rhys was so stressed. Of course he wants to keep the baby safe and protected but most of his worry is for his mate. Which is the reason he hid it from her in the first place, Iâm not saying itâs right, but I think thatâs why Sarah wrote it that way so we can see the inner struggle of Rhys. Telling her may make her act rash and stress her out, and therefore cause harm to herself and the baby. The shield was in case any of their enemies caught wind of the pregnancy, and tried to cause harm to Feyre because she was pregnant. And of course to progress Nestaâs storyline and character development, as she is the one who broke the news and in the worst way possible. She did it to be hurtful not because it was the right thing to do. my last point is about Maja muttering. To be a writer does not mean you know all the ins and outs of grammar. Still, the mutter couldâve been in disappointment. No one was aware of Nestaâs actions so to her it couldâve appeared like Feyre used magic like she was instructed not to. But as we know feyre had passed out at that point (I think). so it couldâve been a mutter of awe and shock, because form her point of view in the blink of an eye suddenly a passed out Feyre appears to have altered anatomy.
I personally do not think Sarah wrote for the characters involved to be racist, misogynistic, or to have ill intention. Though, if she did, I do not see the problem, itâs not a reflection of who she personally is. It just opens the doors for more development of the characters and the world they live in. ďżź When we look into things too deeply, and treat the characters and situations as if they were real, it takes the fun out of fiction. ďżź
Again, itâs fiction and things simply just donât make sense, like how did the cauldrons magic not cause Nyx any harm when her body was literally altered in the process of the labor, probably the worst time to do it in my opinion. How is that any different then if she were to just do it herself temporarily. In my opinion, the only logical answer is the progression of Nestaâs plot and character development.
In the same argument in regards to not giving Feyre the option to make a choice for her own body can apply to what Nesta did. Correct me if Iâm wrong, but does she not permanently change Feyreâs body plus her own and Iâm not sure about Elaine.
Point is, somethings just donât make sense, writers are not perfect and often times itâs not that deep.
Letâs also not forget that Rhy was it going to die if anything happened to Feyre, so what we really see is how his love blinded him from making the right decision to tell her and not misogyny (because forming the pact was an act of them all up in my opinion)ďżź
love Sam for bringing up the medical racism and misogyny of women's reproductive health. SJM should have handled it better
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#feyre archeron#pro feysand#a court of silver flames#sjm#sjmaas#rhysand
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I know I say this every time I read my own work, but Speak for the Dead really is the best chapter in ILM.
âWell, you know for the first time in a long time this actually feels like fall?â
Jane Romero was smiling at him, sitting propped up against a tree in what had sort of become her usual âtherapyâ corner in the past almost two weeks. And she was right, it did feel like fall. The air wasnât as sharply cold as normal, and honestly âsharplyâ cold was a nice break in and of itself when it happenedâusually the weather here was somehow just coldâcold with no adjectives attached. But today it was nicer. It was the kind of waiting fall cold that came when it wasnât biting outside yet, and it was almost pleasant. A promise of a change in the seasons. Tapp wondered why.
The trees hadnât started to change color with it, or fall in piles, and as far as heâd gathered there werenât seasons in here. Everything looked the same. Tall, thick woods, undergrowth and moss and rocks and fallen logs, a slight breeze on and off. Dark sky overhead, full moon, at this point long since throwing off everyoneâs idea of what day and night were supposed to mean. All the usual. Except, somehow, the kind of cold in the weather. Who knew, maybe nothing had changed. Maybe they had just started to feel better.
LIKE. Those opening lines mean nothing but environmental flavor when you read them. But theyâre a lead in for the thesis of the entire chapter.
âWell, you know for the first time in a long time this actually feels like fall?â - A promise of a change in the seasons. - Who knew, maybe nothing had changed. Maybe they had just started to feel better.
Like thatâs it. Speak for the Dead is about a lot of things, but at its heart itâs about healing. Itâs about forgiveness and healing, that exists between the living and the dead. Itâs about how you can only speak for them, by speaking for them. Not how you want to punish yourself or live for them, but by how you know they would forgive you, or would ask you to live. Very little other than exchanges of information happen, but so much happens at the same time. All of it significant. Itâs hope. Itâs about how Tapp (and Meg) have spent every day here fighting in their own way to cope with the agony and failure of their lives, and the loss of people they couldnât save, and have only dug their wounds deeper. About love. About nothing stoping the lambs from screaming except accepting that they want to let you go.
#god I love this chapter so much. literally I can start reading ANY part of it and get hooked. Me every time I re-read the one time in my#life I hit script perfection for an entire chapter straight: đđđđđ#in living memory#in living memory (fic)#Speak for the Dead#Iâll never write something that good again maybe and thatâs ok. perfection is perfection god I love that chapter#there so much said and so much unsaid. the way he buries Mandy. Adam trying to help. the fact literally never after in the story /does/ Meg#find out that she almsot died in a Jigsaw trap because she was judged for cutting? never. not post fic either. Ace and Tapp silently both#decide to never tell and she /never/ has to know. the way Meg asks if Michael knew Tapp loved him more than the job and that question is#not answered. she just says âhe loved youâ and accepts that as a more significant one. the whole Jane discussiom. the way Tapp says âyesâ#/only/ to âdid it haunt you?â when asked serious questions and usually just says âI donât knowâ if itâs probably true? the way he talks#about himself? the Saw references??? the dead peopleâs actions existing like ghosts in the script helping charcaters on a meta textual level#bc I only wrote Tapp surviving with a pen tracheotomy bc Peter Strahm did it? the The Silence of the Lambs thing?#all the ethical discussions that are so conceptual and simultaneously concrete in different ways. even the ethics are the dead and the#living mixing together. the way Tappâs argument the only thing you can do for the dead is to finish their story for them-to do what theyâd#been trying to doâdoesnât change? just what that means to him does. the way the entirety of In Living Memory itself is Philip finishing#Vigoâs story because Vigo is dead? and ILM literally /is/ Vigoâs ghost in the void chronicling these events to watch over and to tell this#story about how Philip is a good man. in which he is fulfilling Philipâs goals for him when Philip no longer can. the entire book is about#love and loss and no chapter in as deep a way as Speak for the Dead captures that on such a literal level#the book is the living speaking for the dead. and the dead speaking for the living. & a hope from that. a promise of a change in the seasons#literally. when they make it in V.S. from the eternal october. to finally November.
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I'm basically an influencer now bc after 2.5 years of watching me use mine, my mom has finally started a book/reading journal đ
#she's enjoying it so far so thats nice!#i maintain that keeping some kind of log of your feelings abt the books you read beyond a star rating is a valuable practice#i dont even rate my books in my journal and its nice looking back and not having my memories of them pinned down to a number#i mean. i do still star rate them on 3 different apps. but my POINT IS#reviewing something even (or especially) if youre the only one who will see it helps you engage with the text on a deeper level#which doesnt mean all my reviews are long or laborious like literally sometimes it's just 'wow! hated that â' and i move on#but that tells me something when i flip back to it months or years later and its really interesting#its the same w annotating#there's a page early on in my copy of fellowship of the ring where i went on a righteously angry rant#and literally the next year i wrote 'idk what tf i was so mad abt' next to it#theres a piece of me in there! it was the truth in the moment! thats important to see sometimes!#anyway its late and im tedtalking but like. if you ever read books please jot down some notes somewhere when you finish them even in an app#disgruntled octopus
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#actually i am really sick of my family for making me feel like âbeing liberalâ Or Whatever is my only personal trait#because like i used to voice opinions on things until they made me feel bad/crazy for it#but now when they whip out the most batshit insane take on something & iâm just like âum i dunnoâŚbut to each their ownâ#& they still act like iâm crazy iâm so đ#like my only cousin whoâs into p/j/o was talking about how the new book (& while he âdoesnât careâ that Nicoâs gay itâ#âcame out of nowhereâ đ) the new book is written by two authorsâone of them being a gay man because Richard wanted the inputâ#because he didnât feel qualified to write it as a straight man or something idk#but my cousin. said. that if a straight man âcanâtâ write a gay story then a woman canât write a manâs story & vice versa#which. oh my god no#for one thing i do think anyone can write any story even/especially if itâs out of their depth but they should absolutely reach outâ#if they want firsthand accounts of experiences like what itâs like to be gay etc#but also. of course a woman can write a man & vice versa what kind of take even is that? like yeah some people do it really weirdâ#(âshe boobed breastily down the stairsâ)#but that doesnât mean people shouldnât be allowed if anything people should learn about the experiences of others#in general his takes of âi donât Care i just wish it wasnât Every Character thatâs not how it Used To Beâ#like 1.) if richard wrote lgbtq/poc main characters in 2005 he probably wouldnât have sold many books#and 2.) itâs Greek mythology. you get what you sign up for#anyways yeah iâm really quiet at family functions but even when i just quietly disagree iâm made to feel really bad about it#& the next function is literally my grad party like next week ://#but after that there shouldnât be anything for a while#rose.txt#tw vent
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Iâm not even gonna lie, a lot of my opinions about people are based on dreams Iâve had about them
#i know itâs wrong and that my dreams are nonsense#but like iâve been lowkey convinced my stepdad is an imposter of some sort since i had a dream to that effect when i was 17#in the dream he hurt my mom and kidnapped me and his regional accent vanished and it was SUPER realistic. he was a spy#i know now heâs not faking that fucking accent and i think his personality does in fact boil down to foolish dork#but thatâs just convinced me that he has to be an alien or something thatâs using us to learn about human kind#i think heâs some sort of real life mr bean figure with more opinions and slightly less mishaps#i also⌠and this one is embarrassing. i canât get into ch*rli xcx (censoring to not end up in tags) or tr*ye because i had a dream#where they were staying in my house and they were REALLY bitchy to me and talked badly about me to my flatmate#even though i was proofreading a book one of them wrote for free#i want to listen to their new music and i have heard some of it and itâs great but like#what about when they deliberately called me a bitch while i was still in earshot and took photos of me to laugh at#it WAS a dream but like. still#can you tell iâm fucking catatonically high rn#i found an edible in my fridge i forgot was there and i ate it and then my friend proceeded to come over here#and punch holes in my sanity by talking about court case shit#she doesnât approve of my cannabis usage because she personally had a bad experience and thinks her experiences are universal#so i was trying really hard to seem sober which was EXHAUSTING#i do think i will do a tolerance break soon just because i really want to focus on my health and wellness and eat a better diet#also i come up with insane ideas like my stepdad is a fucking extraterrestrial#i mean he is but thatâs not the point. did you know heâs never had a headache or a nosebleed? NOT NORMAL#and he never actually denies it#personal
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i want to talk about real life villains
Not someone who mugs you, or kills someone while driving drunk, those are just criminals. I mean VILLAINS.
Not like trump or musk, who are... cartoonishly evil. And not sexy villains, not grandiose villains, not even satisfyingly two dimensional villains it is easy to hate unconditionally. The real villains.
I had a client who was a retired executive for one of the big oil companies, i think it was Shell or Chevron. Had a home just outside of San Francisco that was wall to wall floor to ceiling full of expensive art. Literally. I once accidentally knocked a painting off the wall because it was hanging at knee height at the corner of the stairs, and it had a little brass plaque on it, and i looked up the name of the artist and it was Monet's apprentice and son-in-law, who was apparently also a famous painter. He had an original Andy Warhol, which should have been a prize piece for anyone to showcase -- it was hanging in the bathroom. I swear to god this guy was using a Chihuly (famous glass sculptor) as a fruit bowl. And he was like, "idk my wife was the one who liked art"
I was intrigued by this guy, because in the circles i run this dude is The Enemy. right? Wealthy oil executive? But as my client, he was... like a sweet grandpa. A poor widower, a nice old man, anyone who knew him would have called him a sweetheart. He had a slightly bewildered air, a sort of gentle bumbling nature.
And the fact that he was both of these things, a Sweet Little Old Man and The Enemy, at the same time, seemed important and fascinating to me.
He reminded me of some antagonist from fiction, but i couldn't put my finger on who. And when i did it all made sense.
John Hammond.
probably one of the most realistic bad guys ever written.
If you've only ever seen the movie, this will need some explaining.
Michael Crichton wrote Jurassic Park in 1990, and i read it shortly thereafter. In the movie, the dinosaurs are the antagonists, which imo erases 50% of the point of the story.
book spoilers below.
In the book, John Hammond is the villain but it takes the reader like half the book to figure that out. Just like my client, John is a sweet old man who wants lovely things for people. He's a very sympathetic character. But as the book progresses, you start to see something about him.
He has an idea, and he's sure it's a good one. When someone else dies in pursuit of his dream, he doesn't think anything of it. When other people turn out to care about that, he brings in experts to evaluate the safety of his idea, and when they quickly tell him his idea is dangerous and needs to be put on hold, he ignores his own experts that he himself hired, because they are telling him that he is wrong, and he is sure he is right.
In his mind, he's a visionary, and nobody understands his vision. He is surrounded by naysayers. Several things have proven too difficult to do the best and safest way, so he has cut corners and taken shortcuts so he can keep moving forward with his plans, but he's sure it's fine. He refuses to hear any word of caution, because he believes he is being cautious enough, and he knows best, even though he has no background in any of the sciences or professions involved. He sends his own grandchildren out into a life-threatening situation because he is willfully ignorant of the danger he is creating.
THIS is like the real villains of the world. He doesn't want anyone to die. Far from it, he only wants good things for people! He's a sweet old man who loves his grandchildren. But he has money and power and refuses to hear that what he is doing is dangerous for everyone, even his own family.
I think he's possibly one of the most important villains ever written in popular fiction.
In the book, he is killed by a pack of the smallest, cutest, "least dangerous" dinosaurs, because a big part of why we read fiction is to see the villains face thematic justice. But like a cigarette CEO dying of lung cancer, his death does not stop his creation from spreading out into the world to continue to endanger everyone else.
I think it is really important to see and understand this kind of villainy in fiction, so you can recognize it in real life.
Sweetheart of a grandfather. Wanted the best for everyone. Right up until what was best for everyone inconvenienced the pursuit of his own interests.
And my client was like that too. His wife had died, and his dog was now the love of his life, and she was this little old dog with silky hair in a hair cut that left long wispy bits on her lower legs. Certain plant materials were easily entangled in this hair and impossible to get out without pulling her hair which clearly hurt her. When i suggested he ask his groomer to trim her lower leg hair short to avoid this, he refused, saying he really liked her usual hair cut.
I emphasized that she was in pain after every walk due to the plant debris getting caught in her leg hair, and a simple trim could put an end to her daily painful removal of it, and he just frowned like i'd recommended he take a bath in pig shit and said "But she'll be ugly" and refused to talk about it anymore.
Sweet old man though. Everyone loved him.
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Terry Pratchett about fantasy â¤
Terry Pratchett interview in The Onion, 1995 (x)
O: Youâre quite a writer. Youâve a gift for language, youâre a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. Youâre so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?
Terry: I had a decent lunch, and Iâm feeling quite amiable. Thatâs why youâre still alive. I think youâd have to explain to me why youâve asked that question.
O: Itâs a rather ghettoized genre.
Terry: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every bookâ I think Iâve done twenty in the seriesâ since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. Iâve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.
O: Itâs certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.
Terry: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfireâ Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized itâ Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus.
Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldnât have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrimâs Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply nowâ a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connectionsâ Thatâs fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.
Now I donât know what youâd consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I donât think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliverâs Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what youâre saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! Iâve got a serious novel. But you donât actually have to do that.
(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.
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How Michael Met Neil
original direct link [MP3]
(Neil, if you see this, please feel free to grab the transcript and store on your site; I had no easy way of contacting you.)
DAVID TENNANT: Tell me about @neil-gaiman then, because he's in that category [previously: âsuch a profound effect on my lifeâ] as well.
MICHAEL SHEEN: So this is what has brought us together.
DAVID: Yes.
MICHAEL: To the new love story for the 21st century.
DAVID: Exactly.
MICHAEL: So when I went to drama school, there was a guy called Gary Turner in my year. And within the first few weeks, we were doing something, having a drink or whatever. And he said to me, âDo you read comic books?â
And I said, âNo.â I mean, this is ⌠what ⌠'88? '88, '89. So it was ⌠now I know that it was a period of time that was a big change, transformation going through comic books. Rather than it being thought of as just superheroes and Batman and Superman, there was this whole new era of a generation of writers like Grant Morrison.
DAVID: The kids who'd grown up reading comic books were now making comic books
MICHAEL: Yeah, yeah, and starting to address different kinds of subjects through the comic book medium. So it wasn't about just superheroes, it was all kinds of stuff going on â really fascinating stuff. And I was totally unaware of this.
And so this guy Gary said to me, "Do you read them?" And I said, "No."Â And he went, "Right, okay, here's The Watchman [sic] by Alan Moore. Here's Swamp Thing. Here's Hellblazer. And here's Sandman.â
And Sandman was Neil Gaiman's big series that put his name on the map. And I read all those, and, just â I was blown away by all of them, but particularly the Sandman stories, because he was drawing on mythology, which was something I was really interested in, and fairy tales, folklore, and philosophy, and Shakespeare, and all kinds of stuff were being mixed up in this story. And I absolutely loved it.
So I became a big fan of Neil's, and started reading everything by him. And then fairly shortly after that, within six months to a year, Good Omens the book came out, which Neil wrote with Terry Pratchett. And so I got the book â because I was obviously a big fan of Neil's by this point â read it, loved it, then started reading Terry Pratchettâs stuff as well, because I didn't know his stuff before then â and then spent years and years and years just being a huge fan of both of them.
And then eventually when â I'd done films like the Underworld films and doing Twilight films. And I think it was one of the Twilight films, there was a lot of very snooty interviews that happened where people who considered themselves well above talking about things like Twilight were having to interview me ⌠and, weirdly, coming at it from the attitude of 'clearly this is below you as well' ⌠weirdly thinking I'm gonna go, 'Yeah, fucking Twilight.â
And I just used to go, "You know what? Some of the greatest writing of the last 50-100 years has happened in science fiction or fantasy." Philip K Dick is one of my favorite writers of all time. In fact, the production of Hamlet I did was mainly influenced by Philip K Dick. Ursula K. Le Guin and Asimov, and all these amazing people. And I talked about Neil as well. And so I went off on a bit of a rant in this interview.
Anyway, the interview came out about six months later, maybe. Knock on the door, open the door, delivery of a big box. Thatâs interesting. Open the box, there's a card at the top of the box. I open the card.
It says, From one fan to another, Neil Gaiman. And inside the box are first editions of Neil's stuff, and all kinds of interesting things by Neil. And he just sent this stuff.
DAVID: You'd never met him?
MICHAEL: Never met him. He'd read the interview, or someone had let him know about this interview where I'd sung his praises and stood up for him and the people who work within that sort of genre as being like âŚ
And he just got in touch. We met up for the first time when he came to â I was in Los Angeles at the time, and he came to LA. And he said, "I'll take you for a meal."
I said, âAll right.â
He said, "Do you want to go somewhere posh, or somewhere interesting?â
I said, "Let's go somewhere interesting."
He said, "Right, I'm going to take you to this restaurant called The Hump." And it's at Santa Monica Airport. And it's a sushi restaurant.
I was like, âRight, okay.â So I had a Mini at the time. And we get in my Mini and we drive off to Santa Monica Airport. And this restaurant was right on the tarmac, like, you could sit in the restaurant (there's nobody else there when we got there, we got there quite early) and you're watching the planes landing on Santa Monica Airport. It's extraordinary.Â
And the chef comes out and Neil says, "Just bring us whatever you want. Chef's choice."
So, I'd never really eaten sushi before. So we sit there; we had this incredible meal where they keep bringing these dishes out and they say, âThis is [blah, blah, blah]. Just use a little bit of soy sauce or whatever.â You know, âThis is eel. This is [blah].â
And then there was this one dish where they brought out and they didn't say what it was. It was like âmystery dishâ, we had it ... delicious. Anyway, a few more people started coming into the restaurant as time went on.
And we're sort of getting near the end, and I said, "Neil, I can't eat anymore. I'm gonna have to stop now. This is great, but I can't eatâ"
"Right, okay. We'll ask for the bill in a minute."
And then the door opens and some very official people come in. And it was the Feds. And the Feds came in, and we knew they were because they had jackets on that said they were part of the Federal Bureau of Whatever. And about six of them come in. Two of them go ⌠one goes behind the counter, two go into the kitchen, one goes to the back. They've all got like guns on and stuff.
And me and Neil are like, "What on Earth is going on?"
And then eventually one guy goes, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you haven't ordered already, please leave. If you're still eating your meal, please finish up, pay your bill, leave."*
[* - delivered in a perfect American âserious law agentâ accent/impression]
And we were like, "Oh my God, are we poisoned? Is there some terrible thing that's happened?"Â Â
We'd finished, so we pay our bill. And then all the kitchen staff are brought out. And the head chef is there. The guy who's been bringing us this food. And he's in tears. And he says to Neil, "I'm so sorry." He apologizes to Neil. And we leave. We have no idea what happened.
DAVID: But you're assuming it's the mystery dish.
MICHAEL: Well, we're assuming that we can't be going to â we can't be â it can't be poisonous. You know what I mean? It can't be that there's terrible, terrible things.
So the next day was the Oscars, which is why Neil was in town. Because Coraline had been nominated for an Oscar. Best documentary that year was won by The Cove, which was by a team of people who had come across dolphins being killed, I think.
Turns out, what was happening at this restaurant was that they were having illegal endangered species flown in to the airport, and then being brought around the back of the restaurant into the kitchen.
We had eaten whale â endangered species whale. That was the mystery dish that they didn't say what it was.
And the team behind The Cove were behind this sting, and they took them down that night whilst we were there.
DAVID: Thatâs extraordinary.
MICHAEL: And we didn't find this out for months. So for months, me and Neil were like, "Have you worked anything out yet? Have you heard anything?"
"No, I haven't heard anything."
And then we heard that it was something to do with The Cove, and then we eventually found out that that restaurant, they were all arrested. The restaurant was shut down. And it was because of that. And we'd eaten whale that night.
DAVID: And that was your first meeting with Neil Gaiman.
MICHAEL: That was my first meeting. And also in the drive home that night from that restaurant, he said, and we were in my Mini, he said, "Have you found the secret compartment?"
I said, "What are you talking about?" It's such a Neil Gaiman thing to say.
DAVID: Isn't it?
MICHAEL: The secret compartment? Yeah. Each Mini has got a secret compartment. I said, "I had no idea." It's secret. And he pressed a little button and a thing opened up. And it was a secret compartment in my own car that Neil Gaiman showed me.
DAVID: Was there anything inside it?
MICHAEL: Yeah, there was a little man. And he jumped out and went, "Hello!" No, there was nothing in there. There was afterwards because I started putting...
DAVID: Sure. That's a very Neil Gaiman story. All of that is such a Neil Gaiman story.
MICHAEL: That's how it began. Yeah.
DAVID: And then he came to offer you the part in Good Omens.
MICHAEL: Yeah. Well, we became friends and we would whenever he was in town, we would meet up and yeah, and then eventually he started, he said, "You know, I'm working on an adaptation of Good Omens." And I can remember at one point Terry Gilliam was going to maybe make a film of it. And I remember being there with Neil and Terry when they were talking about it. And...
DAVID: Were you involved at that point?
MICHAEL: No, no, I wasn't involved. I just happened to have met up with Neil that day.
DAVID: Right.
MICHAEL: And then Terry Gilliam came along and they were chatting, that was the day they were talking about that or whatever.
And then eventually he sent me one of the scripts for an early draft of like the first episode of Good Omens. And he said â and we started talking about me being involved in it, doing it â he said, âWould you be interested?â I was like, "Yeah, of course."Â I went, "Oh my God." And he said, "Well, I'll send you the scripts when they come," and I would read them, and we'd talk about them a little bit. And so I was involved.
But it was always at that point with the idea, because he'd always said about playing Crowley in it. And so, as time went on, as I was reading the scripts, I was thinking, "I don't think I can play Crowley. I don't think I'm going to be able to do it." And I started to get a bit nervous because I thought, âI don't want to tell Neil that I don't think I can do this.â But I just felt like I don't think I can play Crowley.
DAVID: Of course you can [play Crowley?].
MICHAEL: Well, I just on a sort of, on a gut level, sometimes you have it on a gut level.
DAVID: Sure, sure.
MICHAEL: I can do this.
DAVID: Yeah.
MICHAEL: Or I can't do this. And I just thought, âYou know what, this is not the part for me. The other part is better for me, I think. I think I can do that, I don't think I could do that.â
But I was scared to tell Neil because I thought, "Well, he wants me to play Crowley" â and then it turned out he had been feeling the same way as well. And he hadn't wanted to mention it to me, but he was like, "I think Michael should really play Aziraphale."
And neither of us would bring it up. And then eventually we did. And it was one of those things where you go, "Oh, thank God you said that. I feel exactly the same way." And then I think within a fairly short space of time, he said, âI think we've got ⌠David Tennant ⌠for Crowley.â And we both got very excited about that.
And then all these extraordinary people started to join in. And then, and then off we went.
DAVID: That's the other thing about Neil, he collects people, doesn't he? So he'll just go, âOh, yeah, I've phoned up Frances McDormand, she's up for it.â Yeah. You're, what?
MICHAEL: âI emailed Jon Hamm.â
DAVID: Yeah.
MICHAEL: And yeah, and you realize how beloved he is and how beloved his work is. And I think we would both recognise that Good Omens is one of the most beloved of all of Neil's stuff.
DAVID: Yes.
MICHAEL: And had never been turned into anything.
DAVID: Yeah.
MICHAEL: And so the kind of responsibility of that, I mean, for me, for someone who has been a fan of him and a fan of the book for so long, I can empathize with all the fans out there who are like, âOh, they better not fuck this up.â
DAVID: Yes.
MICHAEL: âAnd this had better be good.â And I have that part of me. But then, of course, the other part of me is like, âBut I'm the one who might be fucking it up.â
DAVID: Yeah.
MICHAEL: So I feel that responsibility as well.
DAVID: But we have Neil on site.
MICHAEL: Yes. Well, Neil being the showrunner âŚ
DAVID: Yeah. I think it takes the curse off.
MICHAEL: ⌠I think it made a massive difference, didn't it? Yeah. You feel like you're in safe hands.
DAVID: Well, we think. Not that the world has seen it yet.
MICHAEL (grimly): No, I know.
DAVID: But it was a -- it's been a -- it's been a joy to work with you on it. I can't wait for the world to see it.
MICHAEL: Oh my God. Oh, well, I mean, it's the only, I've done a few things where there are two people, it's a bit of a double act, like Frost-Nixon and The Queen, I suppose, in some ways. But, and I've done it, Amadeus or whatever.
This is the only thing I've done where I really don't think of it as âmy characterâ or âmy performance as that characterâ. I think of it totally as us.
DAVID: Yeah.
MICHAEL: The two of us.
DAVID: Yes.
MICHAEL: Like they, what I do is defined by what you do.
DAVID: Yeah.
MICHAEL: And that was such a joy to have that experience. And it made it so much easier in a way as well, I found, because you don't feel like you're on your own in it. Like it's totally us together doing this and the two characters totally complement each other. And the experience of doing it was just a real joy.
DAVID: Yeah. Well, I hope the world is as excited to see it as we are to talk about it, frankly.
MICHAEL: You know, there's, having talked about T.S. Eliot earlier, there's another bit from The Wasteland where there's a line which goes, These fragments I have shored against my ruin.
And this is how I think about life now. There is so much in life, no matter what your circumstances, no matter what, where you've got, what you've done, how much money you got, all that. Life's hard. I mean, you can, it can take you down at any point.
You have to find this stuff. You have to like find things that will, these fragments that you hold to yourself, they become like a liferaft, and especially as time goes on, I think, as I've got older, I've realized it is a thin line between surviving this life and going under.
And the things that keep you afloat are these fragments, these things that are meaningful to you and what's meaningful to you will be not-meaningful to someone else, you know. But whatever it is that matters to you, it doesn't matter what it was you were into when you were a teenager, a kid, it doesn't matter what it is. Go and find them, and find some way to hold them close to you.Â
Make it, go and get it. Because those are the things that keep you afloat. They really are. Like doing that with him or whatever it is, these are the fragments that have shored against my ruin. Absolutely.
DAVID: That's lovely. Michael, thank you so much.
MICHAEL: Thank you.
DAVID: For talking today and for being here.
MICHAEL: Oh, it's a pleasure. Thank you.
#neil gaiman#michael sheen#david tennant does a podcast with...#good omens#aziraphale#crowley#sushi#whale#the cove#oscars 2010#coraline#mini secret compartments#howneilmetmichael#howmichaelmetneil
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The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)
Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)
Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.
"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"
"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."
"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"
"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."
"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. Itâs a nasty job but somebody has to do it."
"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."
"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."
"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."
"âŚa woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."
"The author is a pompous windbag."
"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."
"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"
"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."
"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."
"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."
"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."
"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."
"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."
"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."
"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"
"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"
"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it canât even see the forest."
"Iâm guessing they are touted as âbeach readsâ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."
"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."
"At least everybodyâs eyes stayed the same color this time around.â
Part 2
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Blue Christmas
One-Shots Masterlist | Complete Masterlist | Secret Santa Masterlist
Summary: You ask Loki to give you something special for Christmas. A/N: This is a Secret Santa gift for @divine-knight-hand. I wanted to give you everything you requested, my love, but I already wrote something similar a while ago. For the sake of not sounding repetitive, I altered your request just a little bit. I hope you still like it. However, please check out the other story because it checks off all your points! And is Christmas-themed! Mayari: If You Let Me. Also, sorry for the cringy title. I couldn't think of anything else. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: Over 2.7k Warnings: Explicit. Smut. P in V. Jotunn Loki (yes, cuz he's a whole warning!)
You crossed your legs as the last rays of the sun were trickling down on your body. Your book was discarded on the ground as the condensation from your Pina Colada dripped down onto the side table.
Loki had surprised you and whisked you away to the Fiji Islands for Christmasâ no more crowded New York streets. No more dirty ice falling onto you from the splash of an oncoming taxicab. And certainly, no more missions and assignments till the New Year.
It had been an exhaustive nineteen-hour flight. Especially since he didnât tell you anything he was planning. When you came home to your room earlier that day, you were greeted by Loki with two suitcases on either side of him.
âMerry Yuletide, Darling,â he said as he rolled your luggage over to you and kissed you on your lips in greeting.
âLoki- what?â
âNo time to explain, we need to leave now in order to catch our flight,â he said ushering you out the door by patting you on the bum. You jumped up with giddiness, planting a lipstick-stained kiss on his cheek. He was always surprising you with little trinkets and excursions.
âThank you, sir,â you said in a deep voice.
âOoh, you dangerous nymph. Go on. I need my wits about me till we get on the plane. I canât have you distracting me.â
âThen, after?â you asked luring him to a sinful promise.
âAfter,â he promised in the same breathy tone.
That was two days ago. Loki had kept his promise, and then some- inducting you both into the mile-high club several times over.
Now, here you were in a private villa surrounded by an infinity pool that stretched towards the Pacific, watching your godly boyfriend come out of the water. He ran his hands through his hair, combing the droplets from his tresses. Beads fell down the defined lines of his muscles causing you to heat up in the already balmy weather.
The sight of Loki, wet and in nothing but short swim trunks, was enough to make you convulse. You were sure that if Michelangelo had a model for David, it wouldâve been Loki. And knowing Loki, you wouldnât have been surprised if it was him.
He came up to you, lounging on your chair, and shook his wet hair in front of you to tease you. âSt-stop!â you laughed as you playfully pushed him before you got completely wet.
âAwe, come on, Darling. I thought you liked me wet?â he charmed as he sat next to you and leaned in for a kiss.
âI have to admit, it is kind of refreshing.â You said as your hands guided themselves around his slick body. âItâs so hot here. I might need something to cool me down,â you tempted.
There was a flash of understanding in his face. Nights of hedonistic pleasure and anticipation of his moods taught you how to read him. If you werenât so attuned to him- so zealously infatuated with him and his praise over you, you would have missed it. But you didnât.
âWhatâs wrong?â you asked.
âNothing. I just-â he paused for a second, trying to find the right words. âThere was a reason why I chose Fiji.â
âYou mean, the beautiful waters and sandy beaches werenât enough of a reason?â you joked.
âItâs in the southern hemisphere. Which means that itâs summer here whilst still cold and winter back home.â
âWhy would the season be an issue?â
âContingency.â
âContingency, for what?â you asked confused.
âIt was about what you wanted for Christmas,â he answered slowly. Confusion still clouding your memory. Little bits and pieces of a long-forgotten conversation nipped at your mind as you tried to piece together what you had asked him to give you.
As if to remind you, Loki raised his hand and cupped your face. As he did so, his fingers turned a beautiful shade of blue. It was fair, yet sharp. It reminded you of the color of blue thistles on a cold afternoon.
As he touched your cheek, a shiver ran down your skin making you shudder for the first time since you arrived. Realization struck you as you remembered the conversation you two had a month ago.
âI think I know what I want for Christmas,â you lured him in. âAnd what is that, my Darling?â Loki said absentmindedly while looking through his mission briefing. âYou." âYou already have me,â he scoffed, placing a kiss on your forehead. âI meantâŚall of youâŚthe other youâŚâ you trailed silently. Loki looked at you bewildered. There were many nights he had dreamt of taking you in his other form, wondering how you would react to him. Heâs postponed showing you this long because he was afraid of his feral nature. He would be at the mercy of his urges and base needs. Loki wasnât quite sure how to ease you into that new situation. Would he be too much for you? Knowing your adventurous spirit, you wouldnât mind having his beastly side take you. âWhy, you little nymph. Now, why would you want to see that side of me, hmm?â
Excitement bubbled up inside you. âLoki, I-â you started, but he quickly put a finger to your lips to quiet you.
âI want this, Darling. And I want it with you. So, if at any point in time, you want to stop, you know our safe word.â You nodded your head enthusiastically and Loki chuckled. âBut I should let you know, thatâŚthere was a reason why Iâve waited this long to show you. I become somewhat different when I change. Jotunns, in their very nature, are severe. Harsher. They have to be, to live in the climate they do, and survive.â
You sat there, fervently hanging onto every word Loki was saying. âWe relied upon each other for strength, for warmth, basic needsâŚâ Loki trailed off, tracing your lower lip with his cold finger.  âYou can imagine the creativity we had in finding ways to keep our blood warm and stave off the frigid climate.â You nodded solemnly at his words as if they were gospel.
âIf we do this, I need you to be in control. Do you understand me, Darling?â he asked, inching closer to you. You felt a shiver run down your body. You focused on his eyes as his lips weaved a spell for you to follow. âI wonât know how much is too much. How rough is too rough.â
Loki grabbed your hips and sat you on his lap. The sudden move made you yelp into his arms. âSorry, my dear. You see, Iâm already too excited. My body is reacting to you.â He ran his nose up and down your neck. His cold hands encircled your back, caging you on top of him. âIâve wanted to take you like this for so long.â His hands entwined themselves with your hair and pulled as his lips met yours in a crushing kiss.
You held on tightly, with your legs wrapped around his waist, as Loki stood up and walked both of you to the edge of your bed. When he broke the kiss, you heard him moan before he continued to suck a bruise onto your neck.
You felt his body change. The hairs atop your skin began to stand as the temperature began to drop. The once-sweltering heat that prickled your skin was replaced by the cool tingles of his touch. It surrounded you and enveloped you in a cold caress. You finally understood the need for a warmer climate. With a slight force, he released you from him, falling onto the soft mattress below.
That was when you had your first glimpse of his true self. The beautiful shade of blue you had seen earlier spread throughout his body. His form was somehow sharper, more jagged. Yet still soft and giving. He had markings defined by fine lines and grooves. They traced over his muscles and sinew, highlighting the best parts of himself. You followed them with your eyes as it led your stare down to his protruding cock. Your jaw went slack as you noticed how hard he was for you already.
Loki watched you appraise him. Your wanton eyes grew darker, and your breathing got quicker. His senses picked up every reaction that your body was going through. He was prepared to confront your fear or disgust, but he couldnât see that in your face. Instead, he saw hunger and need. He could smell your desire growing for him and it made him feral. He wrapped his hands around his shaft, stroking himself to the sight of you, ready and waiting on his bed.
Loki felt ravenous as he knelt over you on top of the sheets. He spread your legs apart, seating himself in between the warmth of your thighs. His heavy cock resting atop your wet cunt. His hands eagerly tore up your swimsuit as they explored and venerated your body. His lipâs sole mission was to mark bruises where his hands had trailed, following the chill of his touch.
ââŚLokiâŚâ
âShh, Darling. I wonât hurt you. Unless you want me to,â he winked as he nipped the underside of your breast. Too many emotions. Too many thoughts. They were swirling at the forefront of his mind wanting to be said. His desire for you was overwhelming him.
In this form, he felt more primal. His emotions were stronger and almost frightening, but all he felt was fire. Everywhere. An all-consuming heat that wouldnât dissipate until he had claimed you. His need for you was never as aggressive as it was right now. If he wasnât careful, he knew he could easily hurt you. He needed you to be in control.
âDonât stop,â you begged him.
âAnd what would you have me do my Darling?â he breathed onto your skin. âTell me, and I will comply.â Loki was giving you the green light. The authority to take over because he wasnât sure if he could be gentle enough not to harm you.
Oh, but the fire. The fire inside him wouldnât relent. âShall I force my cock down your throat till you gag for me to stop?â he suggested with a grin. You bit your lip and moaned as the image took hold in your mind. You moved your hips involuntarily, rubbing against his hefty shaft.
âMaybe Iâll edge you for the rest of our stay. Keep you here tied to our bed, my little slave, until Iâve properly bred you.â Loki seized your lips and held you down on the bed. His cold hands capture your wrist in an icy grip.
âSâcold,â you gritted.
âYou can take it. You donât mind a little bit of frostbite. Donât you, my love?â He ground his hips as he bit into the soft flesh of your shoulder, leaving teeth marks in their wake. You felt his hard cock rub against your sensitive nub. It elicited the most erotic noise from your lips. Loki fought to keep his composure. With every moan you made, it got harder and harder for him to control his urges.
âI thought this was supposed to be my Christmas present,â you sighed, regaining some form of authority and clarity. You intertwined your fingers with his and signaled him to turn over with your hip. You pushed his shoulders down onto the bed as you straddled his waist.
Loki looked up at you in all your glory. Your beautiful face shining down with love and adoration was enough to heal the worry and anxiety he was feeling. âI want to admire my present,â you pouted as your eyes took all of him in.
His mischievous smile broke through as he raised his arms and placed his hands behind his head. âAs you wish,â he hissed as the corded muscles in his biceps swelled.
You traced his beautiful blue markings down from his arms to his pecs. âYouâre beautiful,â you whispered absent-mindedly, getting lost in the exploration of his body. Loki blushed at your words. He had never heard that word describe his Jotunn form before and it ignited a warm glow inside of him. Different than the fire, but still heated.
You leaned over him as your study led you to his neck and handsome face. You traced his dark lips as he opened them. His bright ruby eyes concentrated on you. âI love my present,â you whispered before you gently kissed him. âThank you.â
Loki deepened the kiss, his tongue invading yours, as he wrapped his arms around you once again. His cold touch left a trail of goosebumps as he squeezed and grabbed your ass. He raised you slightly with one hand. And with the other, he guided himself into your entrance. The slick of your arousal coating the tip of his hard cock. âAre you ready for me?â he grunted. You nodded your head, keeping your lips on his, not wanting to break contact.
He thrust deep into your body. His heels held on against the mattress of the bed. He held your hips stable as he continued to drive upwards slowly- savoring how snug you were around him.  Every pull of your tight pussy made him moan your name. ââŚyesâŚâ  he whined.
You sat up, holding onto his shoulders for support. âI need you, Loki,â you pleaded. Your nails dug into his dark skin as your hips took over his strokes. ââŚdeeperâŚfasterâŚâ
âTake me then, Darling. Use me.â He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to do this for you. To be good for you. With each push of your hips, he unraveled each time. Crowning to a tight knot in his abdomen.
You waited patiently for him to open his eyes and see the love and pride you had for him. When he did, you were met with an intense sparkle of carmine. Desire and vulnerability shone through, swirling in his gaze. His brows furrowed with pleasure as he bit his lip. ââŚoh, fuckâŚâ he cried.
You moved faster. Your swollen clit rubbed against his dark curls adding to the already heightened pleasure you were building. You took his hands from your hips and guided them up your body. You placed them over your bouncing tits and he squeezed- rubbing your hardened nipple with his thumb.
âThatâs my good little whore,â he gasped. âYou like it rough donât you?â You squeezed tighter around him in answer and Loki couldnât stop the wolfish grin on his face.
He swallowed thickly watching you enjoy his touch. âLokiâ you screamed. The only indication that you had reached your climax and was about to topple over. You trembled over his body screaming his name over and over as you came down from your bliss.
âDonât stop, Darling.â He pushed harder into you. âRide me,â he commanded. Loki watched as you clenched around his hard cock- disappearing into your wet folds. The sight was enough to make him tremble.
God, he was so much bigger in this form. You had to push hard to meet the hilt of his shaft. You raised your hips and dipped back down eliciting the deepest groan fleeing his lips. âThatâs a good girl,â he whispered. âFuckinâ good girl.â His head tilted back and the desire to claim you came back. He had to take you faster. Harder.
He dug his heels back into the mattress and slammed his hips upwards. The gasping air leaving your lungs, the wicked moans filling his ears. All of it coerced him to cum inside you- finally releasing his pent-up yearning. Loki couldnât stop the moans or praises leaving his lips. Your name peppered in with teasing curses and praises. Â âYou always know how to make me feel good, donât you, pet?â he prized as he took a deep breath to steady his exhaustion.
âMmm, yes sir.â You kissed him ardently, taking his breath away from his already spent lungs. You trailed your kisses down to his neck and onto his panting chest. Each kiss made your lips tingle and chilly.
âWe should probably get ready for dinner. What say you, my love?â
âHmm? Maybe in a whileâŚIâm not done playing with my Christmas gift yet.â You responded as your lips traveled further down towards his already hardening cock.
Loki smiled as he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of your warm tongue on his cool skin. âIn a while,â he repeated. âFuckâŚin a while.â
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pairing: theodore nott x gryffindor reader
summary: enemies with benefits with theo where they're constantly insulting each other but they still can't get enough. smut. au where characters at hogwarts are aged up to be 19+. mdni. / requested by anonymous.
author's note: co-wrote this with lily (@softeliza) <3 we honestly wrote this as a theo x hermione, but swapped hermione for reader
⧠read part two: following instructions (headcanons) â§
Theo's judging eyes watch as you dice the sopophorous bean before tossing it into your cauldron, your gaze shifting between your opened textbook and your cauldron. A bead of sweat drips from your forehead. You were meticulously following the directions, and yet something still didn't seem right about your potion.
Theo scoffs, shaking his head. What an idiot, he thinks.
"You're supposed to crush it." Theo says, demonstrating pointedly with a silver dagger and popping the squashed bean into his own cauldron. The cauldron bubbles, and the liquid shifts a shade darker.
"You're supposed to follow the instructions, which clearly say to cut it," you say through gritted teeth.
Potions was the one class Theo never followed the directions for, and yet he always seemed to be doing significantly better than you. You hated that.
"You know," you add with a huff, annoyance laced in your words. "Just because you don't respect the rules any other time doesn't mean you shouldn't follow a simple recipe."
There was something about pissing you off that gave Theo the right amount of joy to get him through the day. Hearing you huff at his words was like finding a jelly slug in a mountain of acid pops. It was glorious.
"Do you believe everything you read?" Theo asks mockingly, his eyes unmoving from the cauldron in front of him. He doesn't know why he was helping youâthis was meant to be a competition for the coveted felix felicis. Maybe it was because Theo knew you weren't going to listen to him anyway. "Besides, I respect the rules." Theo says, but even he can't keep a straight face at his claim, his lips tugging into a smirk.
"I believe everything I read in a textbook," you say, your eyes narrowing and your mouth falling open in shock. Was he serious? "You know, that book of words that literally outlines how to make the potion? How else would you know how to brew it?" You hope he doesn't notice the genuine curiosity in your question. You actually wanted to know how Theo knew what to do all the time. It was so infuriating.
"Natural intelligence and charm." Theo says coolly.
In actuality, Theo had managed to find a textbook filled with inscriptions, correcting the printed text with tips and tricks on how to brew a potion every time. But he wasn't going to tell you that. Theo would gladly and happily let you believe he was gifted.
Theo peeks at your cauldron and has to hold a snort back. It looked just about ready to implode.
"This is a simple recipe, huh?" Theo muses. "Is that why your potion looks and smells like absolute shit?"
"Maybe I just thought I'd throw you a scrap with this one. I mean, we both know you're in desperate need of some luck, especially on the Quidditch pitch. If anyone needs this win, it's you."
"Oh, so you watch me on the pitch, do you?" Theo says with a smug grin.
You roll your eyes. Curse him.
Theo stirs counterclockwise a few times and then once again clockwise. The potion bubbles again. This time, it shifts into its final colour form. Bingo.
Theo, with an expression beaming with pride, calls over Professor Slughorn to inspect the potion. You zero in on Theo's cauldron and let out a small sigh. You didn't need confirmation from Slughorn to know that Theo did it. That bloody asshole did it.
Slughorn tosses a single leaf into the cauldron. The leaf disintegrates, and Slughorn clasps his hands together and announces, "We have a winner! Class dismissed!"
As Theo receives congratulations from all around, you begin to tidy your workspace, empty your cauldron, and pack your things. Anger boils in your stomach. As much as you tried to avert your gaze from Theo, your eyes are drawn to the tiny vile Slughorn passes to Theo. With a triumphant smirk thrown your way, he tucks the potion into his pocket before cleaning his workspace.
"Try to use it for something other than trying to sleep with girls," you quip, clutching your books to your chest. The confident, holier-than-thou persona slips over you like a glove. It was a default shield whenever you felt threatened, especially academically. And Theo was often on the receiving end of it all. "I mean, I'm sure you could use some luck in that department, but I doubt that's what Zygmunt Budge had in mind."
"I'm doing quite well in that department, actually." Theo says. With looks and an attitude like his, girls were flocking to him like nifflers to gold. "Much like potions, really. They all just come to me."
Theo awaits your signature glare and snarky remark, but he was simply met with a silent shove to his shoulder as you headed to the door. His brows furrow, disappointed in the lack of repartee, before Theo's walking after you. He falls into step with you, following you through the dimly lit corridors of the dungeon.
"What's the rush, little lion? Can't stomach losing?"
"I'm not in a rush; I just don't want to be around you. Don't you have some dingy hole to crawl back into?" You fume, your grip on your textbooks tightens, and your pace quickens.
"You wound me." Theo simpers, clutching his chest in mock-hurt.
Being in Theo's presence was getting you more and more riled up. You felt like you were minutes away from becoming a human version of a Filibuster Firework. Theo loved when you got like this. He can't quite pinpoint the exact moment he realized why he liked seeing you so worked up, but he's quickly reminded by the staggered breathing and the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
Theo continues to stroll alongside you, an air of arrogance in each step he takes. You quickly realize you have no idea where you're headed. The echoing of both your steps, coupled with the hovering nuisance on your side, makes you let out a sharp, frustrated exhale. You turn to Theo, glaring daggers into his stormy eyes.
"Can you just go? You're soâugh." You growl, unable to find the proper words.
Theo's brows perk upward. There's something familiar about the expression you give him. He'd seen it before. Last time he'd seen it, the two of you ended up christening the boy's change room after a Quidditch matchâSlytherin should beat Gryffindor more often.
Before you can articulate your frustrations, Theo grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into a vacant classroom. The feeling of his fingers around your wrist sends a jolt of warmth straight through your body. Theo pins you against the door, your books falling to the floor with a sharp thud. He skillfully locks the door with a slight flick of his wand before muttering the muffliato charm and putting his wand away. Darkened eyes meet your gaze, a mixture of amusement and want in his eyes.
"I'm so what?" Theo demands. His hand caresses your cheek before roughly wrapping around the base of your throat. "Use your words."
Your mind goes hazy, as if you've been confunded, the moment you feel his hand on your throat. You'd never admit how much you loved when Theo did that.
With a shaky breath, you meet his intense gaze to say, "Infuriating."
The way you reacted to Theo's touch was unlike any other girl he had the pleasure of fucking at Hogwarts. You were just so obvious, and Theo had no shame in admitting that he found it all extremely arousing. Of course, your mouth would claim otherwise, but Theo always had a plan to occupy your pretty little mouth.
You bite down on your lip, stifling the whimper begging to escape. Your breathing is in sync with each other, and the sexual tension makes the air around you thick.
"Are you going to fix it? Or are you just going to stand there like an idiot?" You tempt, leaning up slightly, just to see if he'll close the gap between your lips and his.
"I don't know," Theo responds, keeping a fair distanceâonly enough for your lips to brush lightly against his. To keep you wanting. Theo leans into your neck, ghosting breathy, teasing kisses up until he's milimeters away from your ear. "Are you going to say please?"
"You've got to be kidding," you huff, shooting a glare at Theo as you try to keep your breathing steady.
You weren't exactly experienced, at least not like Theo. You had a few moments with others, but no one had ever gotten you to feel as good as Theo did. It enraged you that Theo knew how good he made you feel, but you also took pleasure in knowing that you must be riling him up just as equally because Theo always seemed to come crawling back.
You bring your free hand up, tangling your fingers in his lush, brown locks, before tugging his head back a bit so he could look at you. He groans at this. It was one of many acts that really got Theo going, and it just so happened to be where your hands gravitated to the most.
"Please," you say, the tiniest of smirks on your lips.
Anticipation runs through your veins. You didn't need to say anything else. By the way he was looking at you, his lustful eyes boring into your gaze, Theo knew you needed him right now.
"Good girl," he muses with a cocky grin.
The first time Theo had praised you like that, while laced with ridicule, it had elicited a whimper that had him reeling. Today was no different.
Theo moves his hand from your throat and down to your waist, expertly pulling you away from the door and onto the desks behind him. Theo wastes no time and captures your lips with his. One hand finds your thigh, teasing up your bare skin and under your skirt. Your hands find and tug at his belt. Theo unbuckles it and tosses it aside.
"Let's see if you can keep it up." Theo says hotly against your lips.
It was in your nature to be good. But with Theo, there was that bubbling voice inside you that beckoned you to misbehaveâto get under his skin. To be bad, all so he could teach you a lesson. Which is why, as Theo plants nippy, wet kisses down your neck, you can't help the words that blurt out of your mouth.
"Let's see if you can make me shake, likeâwhat was that bloke's name..." You trail off, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt for another kiss and wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him close.
There was no other guy, of course, but you wanted him to think otherwise. The mischievous glint in your eyes changes to amusement as Theo's eyes darken. His fingers drag possessively across the insides of your thighs. It was hard for Theo to imagine you with someone else. You two weren't exclusive by any means, but the way you'd whimper and dig your nails into his back had him feeling territorial.
"Shake?" Theo asks against your lips. There was a tinge of something in his tone, and, deep down, you wanted it to be jealousy. "I'll fucking make you shake."
Feverish kisses move down your neck, eliciting a whine out of you, his free hands taking residence on the base of your throat. He plants open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive spots along your neck, sucking softly on the skin, surely leaving a mark everyone would be able to see. Theo pulls back to admire his work. He's pleased. You, on the other hand, were equal parts excited and annoyed. Excited because the sensation made the blood rush to your cheeks and to your core, and annoyed because you had to explain the markings to your friends.
"Theo," you hiss. "You know better."
Theo doesn't listen, obviously. Instead, he moves down your body until he's crouched and face-to-cunt. Slender fingers reach under your skirt, hook onto your panties, and slide the garment off. In an instant, Theo's between your legs, lapping his tongue relentlessly over your clit.
"Oh my god," you gasp, one hand grasping onto the edge of the desk, your back arching instinctively to bring yourself closer to his tongue. Your free hand finds his hair again, your hips rolling to meet his movements.
Theo's smirks into your core, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels you roll onto his mouth. Strong hands position themselves on either leg, urging you to spread your legs wider. You try to obey his silent requests, but it's not enough. Impatience hits him hard, and he's repositioning your legs so they're slung over his shoulders, a firm hand pushing your hips down onto the wooden desk. The new position allowed him to be flush against you, his tongue circling your entrance and lapping up any arousal.
"Theo," you moan, louder than normal.
You could tell he was pissed. It'd always been your goal, especially in intimate settings, but Theo had never been like this. He buries his face between your legs, his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue works on your opening. He dips a finger in and withdraws it out of you slowly, contrasting his unyielding tongue. Your eyes flutter shut with pleasure.
"More," you choke out. "Please, give me more."
Your moans were fueling the already raging fire in him. Fuck, he needed to hear more of that. Theo uses his free hand to hold you steady, his tongue and lips unrelenting. He adds another digit inside of you, curling his fingers against your spot. Theo wanted to make you cum now more than ever. He wanted you to remember that even if you were fucking someone else, he was the only one who could make you unravel like this.
"Sit fucking still then," he growled against your slit, stormy eyes shooting up to look at you.
You fight hard to listen to him, desperately trying not to squirm. Theo was cruel enough to stop and leave you high and dry, so it was in your best interest to do as instructed. You dig your nails into the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep your focus on something other than the pleasure growing inside of you.
"Th-Theo," you gasp. "Iâ"
You're close, and you know what Theo wantsâwhat he always wants. Theo wanted you to ask for permission, and with the image of someone else messing with you fresh in his mind, Theo needed to know he had that control over you now more than ever. Breathy pants fill the room, and you fear you can't hold it back any longer.
"Fuck, please. Can I please..." You moan, throwing your head back against the desk.
"Please what?" Theo says roughly against you. If Theo's cock wasn't already erect, it would be now. Your moans and gasps of pleasure were truly something that needed to be studied. Who knew these delightfully ragged breaths could come out of someone so irritatingly uptight? "Words, Y/L/N."
The fog of pleasure Theo has you in has made it impossible for you to do the one thing you pride yourself on: following the instructions. Typically, Theo would remove himself and make you beg for contact. Today, though, his actions were ceaseless. Despite your strong will to be good, your body wouldn't cooperate.
"Oh my god," you whimper, your back arching as an intense orgasm washes over you. Your body jerksâno, shakesâand your moans are broken up by desperate gasps as wave after wave hits you.
Theo curses under his breath. As pissed as he was that you didn't ask, Theo graciously allows you to release on his tongue, lapping up your sweet fluids. He'd reprimand you later. As you come down from your high, your body collapses onto the desk. You've never felt anything like that before.
Theo stands and slides his fingers out of you slowly. His darkened, lustful eyes are trained on yours. As much as he enjoyed the view, Theo wasn't happy.
"Don't," you breathe. "I knowâI should have... I know."
"So much for following instructions," Theo says, disregarding your words. He licks your arousal off his fingers casually, and the sight makes you shift and clench your thighs together. He was the hottest irritant you've ever seen.
"Fuck off," you say with an exasperated huff. You prop yourself up by your elbows, slowly moving into a sitting position. "You didn't exactly help the situation."
So maybe Theo was being a bit of a prick. Not like he could help itâyou squirming and moaning for him like that triggered something primal in him. Theo didn't want to stop; he wanted to make you scream for him. Still, it really shouldn't have been hard to ask.
By the way Theo was looking at you, you could tell it would take more than a crass brush-off to wipe the icy glare and pouted lips from his expression. Delicate fingers grip onto Theo's shirt, tugging him closer to you. You ghost your lips against his, meeting his steely gaze. "Will you let me make it up to you?"
You don't wait for a response. Instead, you nip at his bottom lip before pulling him in for a slow, deep kiss. Despite his annoyance, Theo kisses back, placing a strong hand behind your neck to keep you in place. The kiss is full of passion, anger, and need.
You maneuver yourself off the desk, unbreaking the hot kiss, as you reposition so that Theo's the one against the desk. He acknowledges you taking charge, and he allows it because, quite frankly, whenever you did take charge, Theo found it extremely intoxicating.
Only now do you break the kiss, peering up at Theo as your hands fumble with his pants. He kicks them off just as you remove your own top, making a point of leaving your bra intact. Theo's breath catches. God, he wanted to bury his face between the valley of your breasts.
"So?" You ask again, a devilish smirk on your lips, your fingers making progress on unbuttoning his collared shirt. "Will you?"
"Go on, then." Theo says. It's not lost on him how much leniency he gives youânot just in this moment. Any other girl who disobeyed his instructions would have been tossed aside so he could move on to the next. But with you, as vexing as you were, you also very much intrigued him.
At his permission, you lightly push him back so he's sitting on the desk, giving him a much comfortable position to watch as you slowly unhook your bra, letting the garment fall to the floor. You can sense his probing eyes on you, and you can't help the sly smile that appears as you straddle him, one leg on each side of him.
Theo's hands find your waist immediately, slowly sliding up your sides, to your bare back, and then to your front. He squeezes your breasts, eliciting a breathy moan from you. Your skin was soft under his rough hands.
"And I thought you were going to let that ego of yours make a horrible choice for the both of us." You tease.
Theo's too enamoured with this new position (and view) to respond to your jests. One hand rests firmly on your jaw as he pulls you in for a kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. Meanwhile, your hand moves to stroke his length, feeling Theo grow even harder at your touch.
"Shit," Theo groans.
"Someone's missed me," you whisper against his lips. Your thumb teases the tip of his cock, evoking a slight twitch out of him.
"God, shut up."
Theo wanted nothing more than to wipeâno, fuckâthat smug expression on your face. And he's just about ready to take matters into his own hands, but you beat him to it.
Still wet from your previous orgasm, you were beyond ready to have Theo inside you. You lift yourself up slightly, guiding him to your entrance. He bites back a groan, his hands gripping your waist. You lock gazes as you slowly lower yourself onto him, your mouth falling open in a glorious 'o' shape as you take all of him into you.
While this wasn't the first time you had Theodore Nott resting deeply in your cunt, you took a moment to adjust.
"Are you going to move, or what?" Theo growls impatiently, bucking his hips and roughly nipping at the soft skin on your neck.
His impatience makes you smirk.
"Hey," you say, with a wry smile. You snake your fingers up to his hair, tugging his head back slightly to give you room to trail a path of kisses along his neck. You were going to prolong this and make you both ache for more. You didn't want to be the only one who was a moaning mess today. "If I'm making it up to you, then it's my rules."
"You know I don't give a shit about rules."
"Too bad."
This makes Theo's jaw clench. Before he can utter another quip, you're rolling your hips, feeling him embedded inside you. The movement feels good, but you know it's not enough for either of you just yet.
"God, I'm thankful your ego isn't the only thing that's big," you moan against his ear.
This makes Theo's jaw clench. You hear a string of curse words in another language, something you've noticed Theo does in moments where his brain had short-circuited. Enough sense, it seems, is knocked back into him as you can understand the breathless words, "And you take me so fucking well."
Theo's lips find the top of your chest, kissing down feverishly. His tongue flicks expertly against your right nipple as his hand moves to grip your bare ass from under your skirt. You arch into him, letting out a sharp gasp at the dual sensation. Despite his sentiment about rules, Theo lets you control the pace. He holds back the strong desire to thrust upwards into you, to fuck you hard.
"Oh, Theo," you whine as you continue to roll your hips. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and lift yourself up, almost completely off his dick. Ghosting your lips against his, you push yourself back downâhardâfeeling him go even deeper. You repeat these movements, your moans growing louder.
Theo can't stop the thoughts of how gorgeous you looked from clouding his mind. You weren't bad to look at normally, but seeing you fuck yourself with his cock had to be one of the wonders of the world. Only if that were a reality, Theo's not sure he could stand anyone else ogling you like this.
"Yes, that... that feels good." Theo groans, his cock throbbing from your movements.
You press your forehead against his, your eyes locking with his as you continue. One of the things Theo liked most about this little arrangement was your unnerving ability to keep eye contactâthere was nothing more sexy than seeing the woman you were pleasuring crumble. Eyes can tell you everything.
"I'm trying toâ" you breathe, rocking yourself against him. The movement wasn't nearly fast enough, but the way you were moving had him reaching depths you didn't know were attainable. "âto be good."
"Are you?" Theo asks between pants, squeezing your ass roughly. He leans into your lips. "Can you be a good girl for me now?"
You give him a small nod, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Your breath is quavering as you try to speak; your eyes re-lock onto his. "Am I not being good for you?"
This makes him chuckle darkly. Theo wasn't an idiot. He knew you practically yearned for his words of praise. The knowledge was something he took advantage of from time to time, withholding and dangling his praise in front of you just to see how far you'd go to make him say it.
To prove to Theo you were being good, you push yourself down onto him roughly, a whimper escaping your lips. You increase your speed, unable to hold out anymore, fucking yourself hard, deep, and fast on his cock.
"Fuck." Theo swears, and he can't help himself now. Hands keep you in place as he fucks up into you, cock hitting your spot repeatedly and mercilessly. He relishes the feeling of your wet core around him. Your clit presses against his pelvis at each thrust.
You took pleasure (literally and figuratively) in Theo's natural ability in knowing. He knew what to say, how to touch you so you were melting, and when to take back control. His hands digging into your hips told you everything you needed to know: Theo was going to fuck you senseless.
"I want to be good," you pant, your nails digging into his back, grasping for a release.
"Then you know what I want to hear."
He holds you flush against him, arms wrapping around you as he continues to thrust. He can feel his own pleasure grow. Your head falls onto his shoulder as you feel it building up in your stomach again. This time, you weren't going to wait until it was too late.
"Theo, please," you practically beg. Theo was the only person who'd ever make you feel like this, and you were past the point of caring whether he knew it too. "Can I cum, please? For you."
"Yes," Theo hisses. He was close too. "Cum for me. Now."
Your orgasm hits you hard and fast, your head falling back as you drag your nails into his skin. Theo continues to thrust up sharply, chasing the high for the both of you. You clench around his length, the sensation mixed with your moans pushing Theo over the edge.
"That's my good girl."
Theo's praise for you was not lost in the chorus of breathy moans and grunts of pleasure. His addition of the word 'my' made you shake even more as another wave of pleasure washes over you.
"Oh, God, yes, Theo."
His hand moves to the back of your neck desperately, guiding you into him for a passionate kiss as he spills into you with a moan.
Ragged breaths fill the room. There was always a moment of limbo after every encounterâa moment where the two of you stayed entangled and nestled with each other, savouring the proximity and stealing last, sweet kisses. You knew the moment you got up, the two of you would go back to despising each other again, until next time.
"So?" Theo asks after a moment, expectant of an answer, as if you could read his mind. "That dumb git you mentioned earlier. Was he better than me?"
His question makes you smirk, and you have to bite it back so as not to show how content you were that he had lingered on that thought.
"You don't want me to answer that," you say, giving him a small pat on the shoulder before getting up. You slip back into your clothes and adjust your hair.
The answer should have been obvious to Theo, but you weren't giving him the satisfaction of admitting it because it did nothing for your reality. This was as far as this would go. Theodore Nott was a pretentious asshole who just so happened to be a good fuck. There was never going to be more than that.
"You definitely exceeded expectations today, Theo," you say, gathering your books from the floor. "But you didn't do anything worth an outstanding."
With a swift flick of your wand, you unlock the door and leave Theo in the vacant classroom, already fantasizing about next time.
#if you squint this is theo x ravenclaw reader#theodore nott smut#theo nott smutt#theodore nott fanfiction#theodore nott imagine#theodore nott fanfic#theodore nott x reader#theo nott x reader#theodore nott x y/n#theo nott x y/n#theo nott x you#theodore nott x you#theodore nott#theo nott#*writing
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