#but that of course has an effect on how I approached this book

[mavisthemae]

A side thing I really, really enjoy about the Murderbot universe is its lawyers.

For one thing, Martha Wells refers to "corporate solicitors", not "attorneys" nor "counsel". In one book (can't remember which), Pin-Lee refers to her General Counsel which is the apex of in-house practice.

Pin-Lee is close to perfectly written, she is strategic, sharp as a razor, pugnacious and ever so slightly too aggressive for everyone else's comfort, of course is a workaholic and is almost always up to her eyeballs in documents and drafting.

In Fugitive Telemetry, the second that Mensah even suggests displeasure at Indah Pin-Lee has begun her legal research, is preparing to advise and is champing at the bit to draw up a legal fireball. And she is not happy when the tack changes, but of course takes instructions and backs down. (I myself have never hissed when the opportunity to really go someone evaporates, but I have certainly felt it.)

And Pin-Lee is much more than a brain on legs. She cares very strongly about and for her team: in Exit Strategy she's well aware how dangerous a situation she, Ratthi and Gurathin are in, tries (not well admittedly) to buoy the others up and is sensibly cautious when Murderbot approaches her. When Murderbot returns to Preservation Space she's the one who makes sure that not only does it know it's free to leave again if it wants but that it has the means to do so (with the hard currency and fake IDs). She swears, drinks, parties and loves watching gruesome I-told-you-so media about hostile fauna.

She's sized up Murderbot and totally runs rings around it in her own domain - one of the funniest things for me in Network Effect (besides "no hugging") was the revelation that she'd written its contract with PresAux so as to try and keep it safe from itself. To its outrage.

The court system is never explained (with no apparent government, how are Corporate Rim judges appointed and their decisions enforced? Is there any appeal system? My guess would be that it's essentially treaty-based with each participating polity enacting the necessary legislation and the corporations entering into some behemoth multipartite Deed the breach of which brings the wrath of all the counterparties raining down...but that's circular, because - I'll stop myself here on the basis that very few lawyers will be reading this!) I'll buy it though as equivalent to the tech hand-waving. It's something that doesn't get explained because Murderbot doesn't need to know or care about the details for it and the story to get the benefit.

Pin-Lee, my unexpected sci-fi hero!

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[jetblack4realz]

beach days - jake "hangman" seresin

again, just clearing drafts. i'm not in love with this, but it's cute so have fun ig

summary: beach days with the gang lead to you and jake realizing how your relationship has changed. everything is different, but you certainly don't mind.

warnings: none

word count: 2.7k

______________________________________________________________

when maverick told you to show up at the beach in front of the hard deck wearing athletic wear, you didn't know what to expect. you could be conditioning, but that didn't seem like his style. you could be messing around, but you didn't have time for that. all you did know was that his location was strategic - penny was right there to watch as your instructor stripped himself of his shirt and approach the group.

standing next to phoenix in nearly matching sports bras and shorts, you waited for what he'd tell you.

"today, we're playing dogfight football."

half of you cheered and the other half looked confused. you grinned, high-fiving phoenix.

"offense and defense at the same time. boundaries are marked in the sand, hondo will be reffing. for those of you who don't know how to play, just watch the others and try not to drop the ball. rooster, hangman, pick your teams."

the two men grinned, standing next to each other as they surveyed the squad. hangman gestured for rooster to choose first.

"phoenix."

jake grinned. "bronco."

you smirked at phoenix, sending a wink hangman's way as you joined his side. the rest of the teams were chosen and you were quickly thrown into the game.

"bronco, center!" hangman instructed.

"aye, aye captain!" you cheered, propping yourself in front of payback with a grin, your team's foam football resting on your fingertips in the sand. "you ready?"

"ready to kick your ass," he answered. you laughed.

"you wish," you said.

"ready!" hondo yelled. you glanced behind you to see jake as your quarterback with a nice view of your ass. you rolled your eyes as he winked at you. "set!" your vision went underneath you, eying where the ball needed to be for it to make it to him. "hike!"

with a near-perfect throw, the ball was in jake's hands and you were rushing the other team. phoenix had the ball, looking at where to throw it. you ducked out of the way of fanboy's arms, running at rooster who was calling for the ball. coyote was ahead of you though, knocking the man to the side as phoenix eventually decided to just run it for herself.

"y/n you gotta get her!" maverick said, laughing as he was not about to tackle the woman. you booked it across the sand, phoenix moving to dodge you but you jumped forward, effectively knocking her to the ground. you looked up just in time to see jake score.

you jumped up with a cheer, pumping your fists. jake looked at you, running back to your team's side and double high-fiving you excitedly. he whooped, holding your hands in the air for a second before hondo tossed you the ball again.

"those of you who don't know the game, you starting to get it?" maverick called in question. "offense and defense. bronco defended phoenix from scoring and hangman's offense gave them a touchdown. understand?"

there was a vague grumble of agreement.

"you got phoenix?" jake asked with raised brows. you quirked a brow, bouncing the ball between your hands.

"of course i got phoenix," you answered.

he grinned. "do it again darlin'."

"aye aye captain," you said with a mock salute, laughing as you got back into position.

with a yell from hondo again, you tossed jake the ball and dove to the side, keeping fanboy from hitting you. you scrambled to your feet, eyes on phoenix - except it wasn't phoenix as quarterback anymore. it was bradley.

"uh oh."

you quickly switched tactics, running to the end zone, your eyes scanning for jake.

"coyote, all you!" you yelled, pointing at rooster. he began to charge and you continued running. jake was bouncing on his toes, letting your defense cover him for a second. but, he didn't see payback charging from the side.

"hangman! throw it!" you called and his eyes locked on you. he managed to get it thrown just before he got tackled and you braced to catch it.

and of course, you did, immediately turning to score. bob tried to run after you, but it didn't work in time.

"wooh!" you cheered, throwing the ball in the air behind you. jake was at your side in seconds, high-fiving you again.

"nice catch sweetheart," he grinned.

"nice throw," you answered, matching his grin.

the next round continued the same way, but with you as quarterback this time. you thought it'd be easy to get a few throws out to coyote and mav, but it was not. not with phoenix being as persistent as she is. you yelled out as she booked it towards you, just starting to run towards the other side of the makeshift field.

"jake!" you screamed. "freaking cover me, man!"

"just pass me the ball," he offered, a grin on his lips.

"no thanks babe, this one's all me!" you said.

you shrieked as rooster lunged at you, dipping to the side to avoid him. jake was running next to you at this point, just grinning at you. payback appeared out of nowhere and you stopped, ducking behind hangman and letting him take the brunt of the tackle. you laughed as you reached the endzone.

"got it again!"

"no, you didn't," payback said as he stood up, brushing sand off his arms. he pointed across the way and you saw bob on your side with the football in his hands. hondo blew his whistle, pointing to him.

"bob got it!"

"what?" you laughed. rooster whooped, running towards him and lifting the man onto his shoulders. his team cheered as he carried bob around. "lame."

jake circled his arms around your neck from behind, his chin resting on your head. "it's alright darlin', we'll get 'em next time." he surprised you big time with a small kiss to your cheek before he pulled away, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the start line. "come on."

you pulled your hand from his, laughing and pushing his shoulder. "what are you doing?"

"giving you encouragement! if we win you could get more than that," he promised, wiggling his brows.

"oh shut up, seresin. i don't want any of that," you told him with a roll of your eyes, hoping your words covered the light blush that spread across your cheeks.

"mhm, keep telling yourself that bronco," he said, still smirking.

"mav, i wanna switch teams!" you yelled, hand in the air as you smirked yourself. maverick laughed.

"fanboy, switch her."

it got competitive quick.

anytime jake had the ball, you were in front of him, smacking it to the sand. you tried to keep away from your ball, knowing you'd be thrown into the sand if you did. but, sometimes things couldn't be avoided and you ended up covered in sand with hangman in front of you, offering you a hand.

at some point, maverick had wandered off and y'all continued to mess around.

every time jake scored he cheered loudly, pointing at you. "wanna switch again?"

"never!" you yelled, turning to rooster and phoenix to come up with a game plan.

phoenix scored twice, you high-fiving your best friend before sticking your tongue out at the texan across the sand. he rolled his eyes, just getting back into position.

he then won another point, slamming the ball into the sand, the men behind him falling dramatically. you resisted the urge to laugh at the sight. he pointed to you again, but you just flipped him the bird.

"oh come on darlin', don't be like that!"

you flipped him both fingers as you turned to walk away.

"y/n, incoming!" phoenix yelled with a laugh just before you got lifted right out of the air.

"hangman, put me down!" you demanded, pulling at his arms.

"hey rooster!" he called instead. "wanna play chicken?"

bradley laughed, glancing once at phoenix. "sure!"

"wait, no-!" both you and phoenix yelled as you were tossed into the ocean. you gasped for air as you surfaced, repeatedly punching jake in the arm. "what are you doing?"

"come on sweetheart, let's kick their asses," he said with a smirk, holding his hand out to you. you glanced behind you at phoenix, both of you nodding and looking back to your respective boys.

"alright then," you nodded. he gestured for you to circle around and jump on his shoulders, but you took a different route. with one hand on his head and the other on his shoulder, you pulled him down as you jumped, effectively dunking him with your body weight. when he went under, you swung around and sat on his shoulders, making it that much harder to get up.

it seemed like you didn't do much to toughen things for him as he stood up, coughing, his hands on your thighs to keep you stable. you ruffled his dripping hair, pulling it out of his face and then letting it slap back down on his forehead with a laugh.

"you good bagman?" you asked. he patted your thighs as he coughed once more.

"fine, baby, thanks," he said. you laughed, letting him take your hands instead of your thighs to keep you balanced as he waded through the water towards where bradley was trying to breathe again, natasha on his shoulders laughing hard.

"good there bradshaw?" you asked with a chuckle. he reached up, slapping her arm and making her laugh harder. you looked down, squeezing jake's hands twice to get his attention before letting them go. "alright jake, lock in."

"oh don't worry bronco, i have no intentions of losing to rooster," he told you with a grin, peeking up at you best he can without knocking you backwards.

"good," you said.

"ready bronco?" natasha asked, a wicked grin on her lips as she held her hands up.

"go!" you exclaimed, the men beneath you two girls charging.

you and phoenix grappled at each other, trying to upset the other's balance while the boys tried their hardest to knock the other over. you grabbed one of her shoulders with both hands, pushing her sideways.

"kick his leg jake!" you exclaimed, continuing to shove phoenix to the side. you felt jake do just that and bradley stumbled. at that moment, both you and jake pushed them backwards and they went tumbling into the water, earning cheers from you and your fellow aviator.

hangman whooped loudly and you could hear bob and coyote laughing behind you guys. phoenix and rooster reemerged from the water, lighthearted glares in their eyes before they erupted in chuckles themselves.

"again?" you taunted, holding your hands in the air as a taunt.

"nah, i think bob and coyote want in," rooster laughed.

"i don't wanna go against bob!" you exclaimed.

"fine, go against me!" coyote called back, the two men entering the water with wide smiles.

you leaned down to whisper to jake, "you better be sturdy."

he patted your legs. "don't worry darlin', we aren't losing this thing."

you and jake ended the day as the reigning champs of chicken, even managing to convince penny and maverick to contend against y'all, but to no avail. you guys were just that good.

"good game, cowboy," you told him, patting his head as he held his hands up to help you down. you gracefully hopped off from behind him, the man turning to face you once your feet landed in the sand.

"good game, bronco," he replied, grinning. "now since i carried you the whole time, i think i deserve a ride, don't i?"

in a flash, you were underwater, hangman jokingly sitting on your shoulders as you tried to stand up. when you finally reached the surface, the man was tipping backwards, hanging onto you to try to remain upright.

"hangman, get off!" you laughed, pushing his thighs off your shoulders.

"no, you can do this!" he exclaimed, but at this point he was clinging to you more like a piggyback. you laughed again, grabbing his legs so he was more secure and trudging your way out of the ocean. "yes!"

"hangman, why are you making bronco give you a piggyback ride?" maverick asked, a hand on his hip as he watched them with an amused smile.

"because she is a strong, independent woman who can easily give a man a piggyback ride if she wants to," he answered, nodding at the captain. "or if her best friend tells her too."

"yeah, well her best friend is a fatass," you said with a laugh, dropping him on the sand as you moved to collect your keys and phone from phoenix. he stood up, wiping the sand off him as he followed you.

"need a ride?" he asked.

"nah, phoenix is taking me back," you told him as you grabbed your things from said girl.

"well, bradley wants to get chick-fil-a, so if you wanna come you're welcome, but i understand if you just want to go home with hangman," she told you, a look in her eye explaining that you in fact were not welcome to come.

"no thanks," you laughed. you looked back at jake. "hangman, i'd appreciate that ride now please."

"come on sweetheart," he laughed, swinging an arm around your shoulders and walking you to his sweet red 1996 ford f-150. you hopped in the passenger seat as he started up the engine.

"today was fun," you said as he pulled out of the parking lot and started towards your temporary apartments, only a block or so apart. you smiled at him. "thanks for making it fun."

he smiled at you, resting his hand on your thigh again. "i do my best."

there was something different about the way he had been speaking to you recently, the little touches, nicknames, heck he'd even kissed you on the cheek a few times in the last few weeks. he'd always been a flirt, but something in you said that this was different. maybe it's because whatever it was you had with him, it actually felt real.

to test this theory, you grabbed the hand that was still on your knee and held it in yours. he glanced at you and you waited for a response, only seeing the corner of his mouth pull up in a smile and you feel him squeeze your hand twice.

cool. this was okay.

he pulled up to your apartment, parking next to your red bronco. before you could say anything, he had gotten out of the truck and crossed to your side, opening your door for you. he held his hand out and helped you down, giving you a charming smile as he took your hand again. you both walked to your door, you quickly unlocking it but not making any moves to open it yet.

"today was really fun," he said. "i always have a good time with you, y/n."

you loved when he called you by your real name instead of just your callsign.

"i always have a good time with you too, jake," you said, smiling softly.

everything felt different, but a good different. for some reason, it felt like you were finally on the same page. and you were.

he grabbed your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss as he felt you reciprocate. you parted for a moment, readjusting your hands to be around his neck, his on your waist pulling you closer to him as you went in for round two. when you pulled apart next, he rested his forehead on yours.

"wanna come inside?" you asked with a smile. "just to watch a movie or something. make dinner."

"that sounds perfect," he answered, kissing your forehead.

things were different, hangman could feel it. but it was a good thing. it was going to be a lasting thing. and he couldn't wait to start it, kissing your temple from behind as you pushed the door open.

wow, you loved beach days.

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thanks for reading! leave a request in the comments or message me privately! i love writing, so if you've got an idea you need fleshed out on paper i'd love to be the one to do that for you

masterlist!!

[bigassmoth]

Sebastian Michaelis x (Knows hes a demon and doesnt believe a single thing he says) Reader

He is so dreadfully smitten- always singing your praises and complimenting you. Your reactions are neutral, sometimes annoying, sometimes amused, but never flustered. You doubt his sincerity.

Bonus points if before he grew to love you, he threatened you in some fashion. The first time in his life he has actually regretted being a dick.

Sebastian craves your attention, your concern, your acknowledgement. Initially he thought your resistance to believing his affection was cute. But the longer it goes on, the more your distrustful attitude becomes habitual- normal. He backs off fairly quickly because he realizes that trying to seduce or romance you will backfire. But the issue therein is he is hyper aware of you at all times, and has no way to direct this energy.

He does small things for you to lessen your workload- stocking your desk with ink, tidying your books, changing your bed sheets, adding medicinal herbs to your meals. Depending on your relationship, he wont tell you most of the things he does for you. On one hand he would adore your praise- but on the other he knows that you will only interpret his actions to be "quid pro quo".

Not that he doesnt get something out of helping you. Theres no level of degeneracy he wont stoop to for you. Laying in your bed with your dirty underwear to his face while he strokes himself dry. Licking your used utensils and dishware, chasing after the lingering taste of your mouth. He wouldnt be doing these things if you accepted his advances- hell, allowed him to attempt to court you! But knowing his nature, you have determined his infatuation to be fabricated. A joke that is the demonic equivalent to when the popular boy at school approaches you and asks if you want to date while his friends snicker in the background.

Your opinion of him would change (for the worst) if you knew the way he whines out your name. How harshly he grips his cock in frustration, incapable of being satisfied despite the puddles of cum in the bath. He tried getting release with other men and women but it only left him annoyed- rather than bringing him relief he feels apathetic. He likes sex, sex is fun, but he is reminded of one of the times he confessed to you and you rolled your eyes saying "Please crawl into the bed of another Mr. Michaelis, that way you will be too preoccupied to continue this charade."

He is grateful you sleep so soundly- that his demonic presence can have the effect of provoking fatigue as much as it does anxiety. He copulated with a gorgeous man, a stunning noble of french and russian blood whose pride crumbled in Sebastians hand like sand. But the satisfaction he got from degrading the young man wasnt fulfulling him sexually. Of course Sebastian would loathe to defile your sheets with such luxurious oils and perfumes. He washed himself before he eased into bed with you. Gently caressed your face and hair, pressed his ear to your chest to hear your heart--

"Whadda fuck?" Maybe you werent as sound a sleeper as he thought.

"Hello my dove." Sebastian, eyes glowing, purred at you.

"Oh its just you." You sighed and wiggled around until you lay in your side. Sebastian took advantage of the position by coiling his arms around you and kissing your neck.

"I have been lonely tonight." He confessed in your ear and smirked when you shivered. This was short lived as you then stuffed your pillow in his face.

"Alright thats enough, OUT."

[lullaby-lilies]

How they flirt with you {TROP Elves}

Considering this is my first time writing one of these, I’m starting with a small batch of characters and who better than the elves of TROP? But I’m very much open to writing for different characters within Tolkien’s world and, of course, from TROP! Actually anyone who walked on Middle-Earth. The Valar? Sure, why not!

┏ •◦ Galadriel, Elrond, Gil-Galad, Arondir, Celebrimbor •◦ ┓

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Galadriel

■ Calculated, laced with challenge, and guarded vulnerability. Galadriel flirts like one might wield a blade. Testing for weakness, dancing just close enough to wound or woo.

■ She stands tall, unyielding, but when intrigued, her eyes betray her. They soften not with warmth, but with recognition. You’ve caught her interest, and now she watches you like a predator circling its prey… or a queen considering a subject for her court.

■ Cool and clipped, but with sudden flashes of dry wit. She’ll challenge your intelligence with a single eyebrow raise or a quip like, “Is that truly your best argument?”

■ She rarely touches. If she does, it’s fleeting: a brush of fingers as she hands you a blade, the press of her palm against your chest to stop you in training. These touches linger in your mind far longer than in hers — at least, that’s what she pretends.

■ She will only allow flirtation if she senses you're her equal. She doesn't seek comfort — she seeks conviction, someone who might dare to stand beside her, not behind.

■ When she finally lets her voice drop — lower, more intimate — you’ll hear it for what it is: a fortress opening its gates an inch. “You… surprise me.”

⇢ ˗ˏˋElrond

■ Quiet reverence, layered in intellect and gentle affection. Elrond flirts the way rivers carve stone: slowly, patiently, but with undeniable effect.

■ He tilts his head when you speak, eyes gleaming with attention. His hands fidget when he’s nervous: tugging at sleeves, smoothing scrolls, brushing imaginary dust from books.

■ Soft, warm, laced with dry humor and the kind of intelligence that flatters without boasting. “You know… I find myself quoting you more than I’d like to admit.”

■ He always makes space for you in a crowded room. He’ll guide you gently by the elbow, offer his cloak before you ask, and pour your tea while distractedly scribbling notes about the way your eyes reflect starlight.

■ Elrond doesn't flirt for pleasure, he does so instinctively, seeking connection. He wants to understand you completely. Every word, every silence, every unfinished sentence.

■ He’ll give you something irreplaceable — a poem from his youth, a story no one else has heard — and say, almost shyly, “I’ve kept this… waiting for the right person.”

⇢ ˗ˏˋGil-Galad

■ Subtle and perfectly timed. His words are carefully measured, but his presence says everything. He flirts with restraint and watches to see if you notice the moment it cracks.

■ He never approaches too directly. He waits until your eyes meet across a corridor or hall — then inclines his head, ever so slightly. If he steps closer, it’s intentional.

■ Regal, eloquent, slow. He crafts compliments like wine — rich, refined, and meant to linger. “You wear the dusk well. It favors your kind of quiet fire.”

■ He never touches first. But if you brush against him, his response is deliberate. A slow turn of the hand to catch yours, a thumb brushed across your knuckles as if in contemplation.

■ Gil-galad has learned to love without showing it, to yearn without leaning. His flirtation is a series of calculated risks; each word carries weight. Each glance is a signal, a lock awaiting a key.

■ When he speaks plainly for the first time without titles, without strategy, it will shake you. “I have led armies. Held kingdoms. And yet… I find myself wondering what you think of me.”

⇢ ˗ˏˋArondir

■ Quiet, present, and deeply emotional. Arondir doesn’t flirt with words — he flirts with devotion.

■ He always notices your discomfort before you speak it. He will reposition a chair so the sun doesn’t blind you. He will step between you and danger without thinking. And he will never mention it.

■ Rarely speaks without meaning. When he says something personal, it feels like the world has paused to hear it. “You are… unlike any path I’ve walked.”

■ Carves small tokens for you. A leaf from a tree that only blooms once a year, your name etched in Quenya on smooth wood. He leaves them without ceremony, then pretends not to notice when you find them.

■ His love is not showy, but it’s constant. He’ll watch you with the kind of gaze that says, I would wait an Age for you. And mean it.

■ The moment he finally touches your cheek, eyes locked with yours, is the moment he’s decided — silently, permanently — that he is yours.

⇢ ˗ˏˋCelebrimbor

■ Excitable, intense, and terribly earnest. He flirts by accident… and then makes it worse by being too sincere.

■ Hair tousled from long nights in the forge, hands stained from work, he runs fingers through his hair when nervous. His eyes light up around you and he doesn’t hide it.

■ Fast-paced, bright, layered with admiration. He’s always a little breathless around you, like you’ve thrown off his rhythm. “Wait, wait, you don’t think this is brilliant? Look - look at this, tell me that curve isn’t perfect. I based it on your — well. Never mind.”

■ Constantly gives you things: a chain he meant to throw away but thought looked “nice,” a ring he insists is “just practice,” or a sketch he swears wasn’t you (it was).

■ He falls fast, and deep. But his fear of being used makes him hesitant to admit it. So he’ll bury affection in gifts, conversation, and genius-level distractions.

■ He’ll give you something unfinished and whisper, “I want you to be the first to see it… even before it’s perfect.”

[deansimagination]

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Warning: NSFW, cunnilingus, somnophilia

Summary: reader has recently started training but has started to have some crazy dreams about Az. Unbeknownst to reader, she is pushing her dreams into Azriel’s because she’s his mate. He does not have self control to say the least to deny her what she wants.

~

Recently, you had been having very vivid dreams. Vivid in the sense that you had been waking up feeling disoriented and like everything that happened in your sleep had actually occurred in real life. Especially the sensations. You felt everything, smelled everything, tasted everything. It wasn’t that your dreams were particularly dull prior to this new development, but they had never made you feel such things.

It seemed to have started a couple weeks ago. You had been working with Rhysand and the inner circle as an emissary between the Night Courts and the other courts in Prythian for a few decades now. Although you had been living with them for quite some time, you had never quite taken to any sort of training. However, when Nesta approached you a few weeks ago and asked if you would like to join her and the other priestesses, you gave her a reluctant “Sure….”

You really liked Nesta, and wanted to support her in her pursuit of doing something meaningful for these women, and for herself. You could see that her plans were already having a positive effect on her experience here in the Night Court, and they were healing some part of herself that you knew needed attention. So, although you felt that training had absolutely no pertinence to your job, you wanted to support a friend.

Which brings you to the start of this whole mess.

~2 weeks ago~

You had arrived 20 minutes early to the training ground, mostly due to pure nerves. Nesta helped you obtain some Illyrian leathers, which she promised would be comfortable to train in. She lied, because although they kept you warm as you stood outside, they did feel a pretty tight.

You didn’t want to just stand around as you waited for everyone to arrive, so you just started stretching your muscles. It had been quite awhile since you invested any real time in developing your physique, but at least you knew to stretch before doing anything extraneous. You thought this training might be good, just in case one day push came to shove you could at least defend yourself. However, you hadn’t really exercised because you were busy with court relations and were always traveling, and you also happened to love your body…. A lot. If there was one think you knew, it was that you were always confident in yourself, mind and body, which helped in all your work endeavors.

Now you weren’t so sure. You felt completely out of your element. This isn’t something you could maneuver yourself out of with your quick wit or an intelligent argument. You had to face this head on. As your anxiety was getting ready to fester, you were pulled out of your thoughts by a cool dark wisp brushing your ankles and wrists, which you quickly recognized as Azriels shadows. You turned your body around to see where he was, only to find him watching you with his arms crossed.

“Nice of you to join us” he smirked at the end of his sentence, almost sounding amused. You and Azriel had a good relationship, although you didn’t get to spend much time with him due to your travels. You did like him though, you guys had a similar sense of humor, liked a lot of the same books, could have very interesting discussions, and you both seemed to have a similar competitive streak.

“I thought it was finally time that I learn how to kick your ass physically since I’m getting tired of cards” you said as you crossed your arm, giving him a little raise of your brow.

“I think you’re in for a rude awakening, Sweetheart. I’m not sure you’ll ever be able to kick my ass… Physically of course, ” Azriel smiled as he took a few steps closer to you “you’re here early.”

“I was eager to start learning” you lied. He did not need to know about your nerves, although you guessed that his shadows had already alerted him of your fast heart beat and sweat gathering in your palms. He was about to say something when you heard a group of voices approaching, thankfully saving you from whatever embarrassing thing he was about to say.

Cassian, Nesta, and a fairly big group of her new trainees came into view. You were excited for these women but scared for yourself, so you prayed to the Mother that you would give yourself the same encouragement you were inclined to give total strangers.

(A Few Hours Later)

You were panting and sweating like you had been running for years. You had not expected the intensity that the morning held. You started with some strength building exercises, then moved on to some simple fighting movements. Azriel and Cassian had decided to do a simple demonstration for the group. But, as the sun had risen, the temperature increased significantly, which led to Cassian and Azriel shedding their leathers. Although you were trying to focus on the hand and foot movements of the two males in front of you, your eyes kept drifting to the sculpted chest of Azriel. You had never looked at Az in that way, although you found him very attractive. But now you couldn’t help how your eyes hungrily trailed the sweat beading from his neck, down his chest, quickly falling down a sculpted v into his leathers. Your mouth had suddenly run dry, and you licked your lips, very distracted by the sight in front of you. And, your distraction was apparently very noticeable.

“Y/N, I’ve been saying your name for a few seconds now. Seems like something has gotten your attention” Nesta quirked her lips, amusement clear in her eyes.

“No no… I’m just focused on the, um, lesson” you could feel the blush heating your cheats. Great, even you didn’t believe that horseshit.

“Well, I’m sorry to distract you since the demonstration is over. I just wanted to ask how you’re liking the training” Nesta asked, thankfully letting your little ogle session go.

“I like it, and it seems like I need it. It’s very challenging, which I thought I would hate but I actually enjoy” you told her truthfully. She gave you a genuine smile and fully faced you.

“I’m so glad! So you’ll continue coming” she stated, not leaving room for argument. You just smiled and nodded, happy that she seemed happy. Nesta looked over your shoulder, smirking to herself and quickly told you she’d see you later. You were about to reach for her when you heard a very recognizable deep voice.

“So, are you ready to kick my ass?” Azriel mused, challenge dancing in his eyes. He was still shirtless, his tattoos proving to easily (very easily) distract you for a second. This didn’t go unnoticed, as you looked back into Azriels eyes, and found them zeroed in on you.

“One day Shadowsinger” you tried to remain cool, but again felt heat on your face. You quickly turned around and rushed away from the training ground.

~Present~

Which brings you to now, and your vivid dreams. After feeling some sort of way toward Azriel during training, you were having some intense dreams about him, which only seemed to get worse as you continued to go to training.

In the last two weeks, you went to training every single day. You continued getting stronger and developing your skill, but when you were training you always had lingering thoughts of Azriel. You could always feel his eyes burning into you as he watched your train, sometimes coming to correct your form and give you advice. When he did correct your form, he would place his hands on you, which would almost always cause you to take a sharp intake of breath. It was like he was sending electricity through your veins every time he did it. And why did he always have to be shirtless? You’re sure he knows what he’s doing, but you would never confront him about it.

Your attraction for him was growing more and more, which was causing your dreams to be relentless. The first few nights has been innocent enough. Kindof. You were dreaming of him training you, shirtless of course, one-on-one. He was always so close to you, you could feel the warmth of his skin as he demonstrated what to do. You could smell cedar and mist and salt as he would step into your space.

That was the innocent start.

When he had started to correct your form and breathe his suggestions far too close to your ear, the dreams took a turn. In the dreams, he was still training you, but now he was getting closer and more confident. When he would correct your form, he would come up behind you and change the position of your arms. His hands would linger, slowly drifting down your sides down to your hips, where he would tighten his grip, then let go. When he would give you advice, he would come up behind you, his lips brushing over your ear as he whispered to you, his hand resting on your torso just under your breasts, holding your body securely to his. Your breath would hitch and you would turn your face away from his voice, giving him access. He would dip his head and run his nose along the crane of your neck, surely smelling the not so subtle shift in your scent. He would begin peppering kisses to your sensitive skin as his hand would begin to travel south.

He would make quick work with the ties on your leathers, and his hands would drift into the fabric of your pants. He would push your panties to the side and feel exactly how excited he was making you feel.

“You’re so wet sweetheart.” He would state.

“Azriel please” you would breathe out, to which he always responded, “Tell me exactly what you want to me to do to you.”

But you always woke up after that.

Azriels POV

Y/N coming to training was proving to be an incredibly difficult feat. Although I enjoyed spending time with her when she was back home from her emissary trips, it made keeping my little secret hard.

In all honesty, the bond had snapped for me several months ago. Although I had always felt an attraction to her, I was shocked when the golden thread laced my soul to hers, but just because I didn’t feel like Id had enough time with her. We always enjoyed each others company; she made me laugh and always drove me crazy when we would get into little debates, card games, or anything that had to do with competition. She had a fire in her eyes that I’m sure mirrored my own, her competitive nature always drawing me in like a moth to a flame.

Now that she was training, my self control was beginning to become loose. I had to see her moving about the training ground in her tight leathers, which did everything for her figure. And when I saw she needed correction, I had to be the one to do the correcting. I could not bother to think about anyone else putting their hands on her body.

Seeing her at training, however, was not the most difficult part. It was her dreams. She had no idea of the bond that was connecting us to one another, so she had no idea that she was pushing her dreams into my own every night. I knew they weren’t my own, they were always from her point of view, and they started immediately after our first training when I had seen her hooded eyes after seeing Cassian and I demonstrate.

She made waking up extremely difficult, I never wanted to leave her dreams. Where I was confident and she wanted me openly. Especially hearing her call my name, feeling her skin beneath my fingers, the scent of her breaching my senses. She is so perfect, and I want her so badly. Although I struggle with letting her find this golden thread in her own time, I pray to the Mother that she never stops training. I only get to feel her when I sleep, but the temporary bliss is worth the disorientation when I wake up.

~

We had successfully gotten through another day of training, which had involved some one on on time with Y/N. I was teaching her new moves and sparring with her, but I noticed she was pulling her punches.

“Stop pulling your punches Y/N” I instructed. She scoffed and shook her head, but the next punch she threw was, again, pulled. I quickly grabbed both her wrists and pulled her swiftly into my space. She looked startled and placed her hands on my chest out of reflex. She was glaring into my eyes as I looked down at her, but I only smirked.

“If you want to kick my ass one day, I need you to put your strength into your swings.” Her chest was rising and falling rapidly as she looked from eyes to my lips and back up to my eyes. We were standing entirely too close for what I would consider appropriate when I train the priestesses. But I couldn’t help it, Y/N is my beautiful mate and it was my instinct to want her body as close to mine as possible.

“Okay” she whispered, and the rest of training she heeded my advice. Although I wish she hadn’t, just so could correct her and breathe her in just a few more minutes.

~

I had already fallen asleep after doing some paperwork for Rhysand and having dinner with the Inner Circle, which had involved a lot of catching lingering stares and averted gazes from Y/N. I was in the beginning of her dream when one of my shadows began tugging at my hand to wake me up.

“What?” I whisper-yelled, upset that they had interrupted this time with Y/N. They continued to tug on my hand, dragging me out of my bed.

Theh brought me straight to Y/N’s door, urging me to step inside. I knew she was asleep because I had my (her) dream interrupted by my shadows. I twisted the door handle softly, being careful not to make too much noise. I quickly found her form on her bed, her hands gripping the sheets. The shadows continued to guide me until was I standing over her bed. I raised my eyebrow at them to ask why they brought me here but they just whispered “Yours.” But i understood more after Y/N called, “Azriel!”

My heart leaped into my throat and I immediately felt myself stiffen. I felt so wrong standing over her in her bedroom without her knowing, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away now that I was here. This woman really would be the death of my self control. As I was going through my moral dilemma, she gasped again “Az please,” lust evident in her voice. I reached my hand down and brushed my knuckles along her cheek, wanting to feel her skin. She lifted her chin as I ran my fingers along her jaw, entranced by her reaction. She whispered my name again, but I responded “Sweetheart” not exactly whispering. I could feel the timber in my voice as my own lust was consuming me. I could smell how aroused she was, and knew she wanted me, badly.

At the sound of my voice, her eyes barely fluttered open. She was not even half awake, she seemed to think she was still in her dream

She reached for my hand on her jaw, pulling me down to sit on the bed. Her pupils were so wide, almost black. I knew what she wanted and needed, but also knew she was still in her dreamland. She pulled my hand close to her mouth now that was sitting, using her fingers to bend mine so that my index and middle fingers were pointing out. She brought my fingers into her mouth and sucked them, her eyes drifting closed. I let out a sharp breath of air, watching her push my fingers to the back of her throat. I wasn’t sure what to do now, as she sucked, but she pulled my fingers out with a pop. She guided my hand down under her covers, and placed my hand over her pussy, her eyes still closed, as she whispered “Please Azriel.”

Although this seemed to be a bit of a gray area for us, Y/N being my mate (unknowingly), and her damn near asleep begging me to help her as she gripped my hand. But I just can’t help myself. With my other hand I lifted the covers and crawled in. I was already in my underwear having been woken up myself. I maneuvered myself so that I was completely under the covers, my shoulders slotted between her legs. I nudged her knees wide, so they would lie flat on the bed as she bared herself to me. She smelled so good, and she was already wearing no underwear, I had to lean forward and taste.

I ran a stripe up through her folds, already getting a tase of her wetness. She moaned loudly which only encouraged me. I began to circle her clit with my tongue when she shoved her hand into my hair. I started sucking, while entering my index finger into her pussy. I started moving in and out and she started rocking her hips into my mouth.

“Oh Az, I’m gonna cum” she moaned as she rocked her hips faster. I added another finger and started flicking my tongue faster. All I could do was moan back, vibrating her clit in my mouth.

Y/N pov

You came with a loud and crude moan, startling you out of the in between of your wet dream and real life. You had never cum so hard in all your life, but were shocked when you realized there was a head of hair gripped in your hand. You lifted the cover only to find your dream male (literally), eyes boring in yours, his chin glistening with the moonlight now hitting his face. You put your fingers under his chin, guiding him up to you. He followed, quickly settling his body over yours.

“Are you real?” You whispered. You didn’t know if this was real, it felt more real than any dream you had about him, and you were already previously dreaming.

“Yes, baby” he answered, looking to the side as if in shame. You brought his face back to yours, “why did you come here?”

“Because you called out to me” he breathed leaning his forehead on yours. You had never felt such intimacy, especially from someone you desired so desperately.

“How did you know?” You felt something glimmering in your chest, which you thought had something to do with an answer to that question.

“Y/N, your soul calls out to mine, your body calls out to mine, your desires call out to mine. Your dreams infiltrate my slumber Your thoughts fill my head. Your feelings have taken root in my heart” He searched your eyes frantically, looking for something. You felt your chest crack open, a golden thread weaving itself to male on top of you. You suddenly felt a wave of love, want, and need, all which didn’t belong to you. You gasped, eyes wide as you took in Azriel. You weaved your hand behind his head and brought his face down to yours, kissing him deeply. He kissed you hungrily, moving his lips against yours almost as competitively as you two played games. You didn’t want to fight for dominance, you were His and He was yours, equal in every way.

“Azriel” you gasped, tugging his hair back. He looked at you, seeming worried that he had crossed some line (that line has been crossed king).

“You’re my mate” you smiled so wide, tears springing from your eyes. He smiled down at you, relieved it was nothing bad. He nodded, kissing the tears that gathered on your face. You were filled with such joy, you and Azriel had always clicked so well, with undeniable chemistry. You trusted Him completely, he made you laugh, made you think, made you feel. You felt so blessed.

“How am I supposed to kick my mates ass in the ring for real?” You pushed his shoulder, and he let out a loud laugh, his face falling into your shoulder.

“I know other ways we can compete physically, but I’m not sure if there will be any losers” he winked and now it was your turn to laugh.

The end

[controversially-young-girlfriend]

read me like a book 💌prof. spencer reid x reader

💋 office hours with your fav professor. oneshot smut with softdom spencer and praise 💋

you’re prone to skipping an occasional lecture - 9am is just too early to be up! you’re a week ahead on your developmental psych notes! but you’ve never missed a class with dr. spencer reid.

as much as you enjoy the course content (and actually do the required readings) your mind goes blank once professor reid enters the lecture hall and his words fade into the background as you admire his curly hair and soft eyes. you’re almost mad he’s so hot because your lack of focus just landed you a C+ on your recent essay. you’re embarrassed not at your own academic efforts but rather the effect he has on them.

as usual, you doll yourself up before heading to class and take a seat right in the middle where dr. reid tends to lay his eyes while lecturing.

after the heard of girls auditing the class finish talking to professor reid, you approach the front of the class to ask about your essay.

you’ve always loved talking to him after class, getting a few minutes of one-on-one time with him. he’s different when not lecturing, and has an endearing awkwardness that you’ve become infatuated with. you loved when a simple question turned into what felt like a personal lesson.

“hi dr. reid, i’m wondering if i could discuss my recent essay with you?”

“definitely, however i think the next class is starting in a few minutes. would you be okay to discuss it in my office?” he tells you and you feel yourself get hot. you’ve talked to him plenty of times but never in his office, your mind immediately fantasizing about all the things you’ve imagined him doing to you in there.

you try and remain composed on the walk there, making small talk to not let any signs of your schoolgirl crush on him show.

he opens the door for you, closing it before walking over to his desk. you hand him the essay and feel your heart flutter when your fingers grace each others briefly. you try your best to follow the feedback he’s adding in red pen but you’re transfixed on the way he’s moving his hands.

you snap out of it when he softly says your name, “i hope you’re not discouraged by the grade. you’re a smart girl.” you hope he doesn’t notice how hard you’re blushing at him calling you smart.

“i know you understand the concepts but your analysis needs to remain objective. i would have given you a B if you stayed closer to the assignment outline.”

the feedback is fair but you’re worried about your gpa. “is there anyway to do some extra credit or raise my grade?”

dr. reid tells you “come see me back here before the next assignment is due and we’ll go through it together.”

you’re grateful but dreading the end of this conversation and having to leave his office.

“thanks professor reid! i really enjoy these post-lecture conversations.” you know your words are implying something more, but you’re wondering if it shows.

dr. reid replies “me too.”

you guys make eye contact until he looks to the left and takes a deep breath. “by the way, most student-teacher relationships end horribly. not to mention they’re pretty explicitly banned in the contract i signed to guest lecture here.”

“oh my god oh um i’m sorry i didn’t mean to say anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

“don’t worry, you didn’t say anything. i think you just forgot that i make a career out of profiling people.” dr. reid tells you with a slight smile on his face

“so what gave it away then?”

“you’ve been blushing for the last 15 minutes and stumbling over your words despite being a normally eloquent student in class. you’re leaned into me talking right now and i’ve caught you staring at me multiple times.” he says while smiling. you’re relieved he’s not mad, but can’t quite identify his intentions of telling you this.

“well professor reid, you’re good at your job. but like you said i’m a smart girl, so it’s only fair i get to profile you back.”

you can tell you caught his attention with that, feeling him getting a bit nervous but leaning in to hear what you have to say. your legs are now touching as you list the little traits of his you’ve noticed all semester.

“you have a whole fan club of girls who come to your lectures and wait to talk to you. do you give all of them the student-teacher relationship talk? or am i just getting special treatment?”

he puts his hand on your thigh. “do you wear skirts this short when you talk to your other professors.” you’re shocked at how far he’s going but you don’t want him to stop.

“you’re easy to read, princess. i know when you’re sitting in my lectures and thinking about me. you subtly bite your lip and stare, and i can only imagine what you’re fantasizing about. i’d guess you get off on me being your older professor, me fucking you bent over my desk as i tell you how how you’re such a pretty little slut for me.”

is he a profiler or a mind reader? you don’t want to let him win but he looks at you self-satisfied and starts talking before you can think of a reply.

“and i’d place my job on the line that you’re wet just hearing that.”

“well professor reid, i’ll leave it to you to prove your theory.”

reid pushes up your skirt and feels your soaked panties. you watch him smile before pulling you into his lap and kissing you.

the makeout deepens as he grabs your waist, slowly guiding it to grind against him as his tongue is in your mouth. you hold him by the hair until he leans back to look at you. through heavy breaths he says “i’ve been thinking of you since i saw you in my first lecture.”

he takes your shirt and bra off, moving kissing your lips, down to your neck, and then down to your chest. you take off his cardigan and begin working on his button up shirt, leaving you both shirtless against eachother. “you’re so beautiful like this.” he tells you.

you feel him adjust your legs to take off your skirt and panties. slowly teasing his fingers at your entrance, he quickly dips a finger in just to tell you “you’re so wet, so desperate for me pretty girl.” as you try and rub against his hand for contact. he’s right, you need him badly right now.

dr. reid rubs circles on your clit and you let out a soft moan. he watches your face as he slips his fingers inside. “fuck you’re good, dr. reid.” you can tell being called by the honorific turns him on by the way he gripped you tighter and sighed. he takes his fingers out from inside you and pushes them into your mouth. you give him a show, looking him right in the eyes as you work your tongue around them. “you’re such a slut for me, baby.” you’re shocked that this sort of dirty talk is coming from your nerdy, cardigan wearing professor.

he pulls his fingers out and you unbuckle his belt. you palm him which earns a slight moan out of reid. “seems like you want me just as bad” you tell him. you pull down his boxers and he grabs your hair into a ponytail. with his other hand he lifts your chin slightly to ask, “well how bad do you want me?” you immediately begin going down on him, eager to impress.

you’re blissed out listening to the praises coming from him between the heavy breaths. “so pretty baby”, “taking me so well”

he lifts your head up, “wanna bend over the desk, sweetheart?” you gladly agree, anticipating him as he grips your hips and plants a kiss on your neck.

he’s big but you’re savouring every inch of professor reid inside of you. thrusting slowly as you adjust to the feeling. he speeds up as he talks you through it, “such a cute little slut sitting in my lectures imagining me fucking you like this. you feel so fucking good baby.” you begin to unravel with pleasure.

you can barely form a sentence but manage to ask “have a thing for fucking college girls, professor reid?” you say between moans.

he thrusts into you harder and positions his mouth right beside your ear, “just the ones who come into my office in short skirts to seduce me.”

you guys won’t last much longer, he feels your core tightening around him. “i want to watch you cum for me.” he tells you.

you unravel in his arms, with him finishing soon after. he holds you in his arms as you catch your breath. “maybe your profile was right about me, dr. reid” you say to him lightheartedly.

“you can call me spencer. although there is a definite appeal to being called dr. in this context” he says.

you help rearrange the papers on his desk that were pushed off earlier and get dressed again.

“um don’t worry about your essay grade. if you ever want to do this again perhaps i can count it as extra credit.” he smiles and tells you.

“i’d love that. i’ll be here after every lecture.” you say with a massive smile on your face.

he kisses you once more, “now go study. i’ll see you next week.”

[feyascorner]

Astarion would never admit it, but the charming lines he uses as a constant attempt to seduce you are not all his own.

He’s talented, he knows, at coming up with the heart skipping lines, describing in detail the massive amount of so-called ‘adoration’ he says he can give. He knows how to flirt, and he knows even better that despite the way you roll your eyes, he’s starting to wedge his way into your heart.

But sooner or later, ideas come to an end. And he’s starting to think you’re incapable of falling in love if he’s used all his lines and you still haven’t approached him. Perhaps you just don’t do romance. But hope wavers. Why he’s so adamant on wrapping you of all companions around his finger, he doesn’t know. He knows you’re the most difficult to seduce, yet he can’t help himself.

You’re almost like a drug to him.

So, unable to quit, he turns to his books. They’re sappy romances, and many of the lines even manage to make him scrunch his nose, scoffing at the sheer disbelief of how unrealistic some of the scenarios are. But hours upon hours later, he picks out some of the most upfront lines, because he’s sure you’ll just ignore him otherwise.

He knows you have little interest in romance, but he wants to entice you. He wants to be good enough for you to look at him.

“I must confess that the moment I laid eyes on you, everything in my body and soul told me you were the one.”

You stare at him, eyes lidded and barely fazed. Puzzled, he has no choice but to continue.

“My heart beats terribly, my beloved, whenever I see you bathing in the glory of the sun. My breath quickens, but vanishes when you get a step closer. My very existence, it seems, is meant to yearn for you,” he rattles off the lines of the book, as enticingly as he can, with eyes so seductive that they almost appear to glow. “Your beauty is unmatched with any other. If you asked, I would die—“

“—a million times in the thorns adorning my own desire,” you cut in, and his eyes widen. “The skies could fall and I would use my bloodied body to hold you up again, against the starry nights as a star gleaming brightest in its competition.”

As you finish the line, he blinks, completely and utterly confused. “How did you-“

“It’s my favorite book,” you confess sheepishly.

Astarion, for the first time, sees you as you are. He sees you as the being who yearns for love, just as a young maiden would yearn for their prince—perhaps even more innocent. He’s read you completely wrong, and he feels his throat close up. “It’s…it’s a childish one.”

Your cheeks burn, and he thinks you almost look cute. He rips away from the thoughts though, appalled at what he just considered. “I think it’s romantic.”

“No kind of love is so ideal.”

And while your face falls, you lift your head to look at him with squinted eyes. “…next time, just make your own lines—-or, at least, don’t choose ones that don’t fit you.”

“Don’t fit me? How so?”

“I doubt we would’ve fallen in love at first sight. You had a knife to my throat.”

“A loving knife.”

You stifle a laugh, and he swears he can’t take his eyes off of you. “Well…if you want, I have other books in my tent if you want to see…I have a few you might like, or at least, help.”

He just stares at you, only realizing moments later that you were awaiting an answer. “Ah, of course, darling. I’d love to accompany you. Perhaps I’ll learn a new line or two, though I doubt any writing has as much charisma as myself.”

You smile softly, nodding. “Okay then. Come over tonight after dinner, and I’ll show you.”

And as you walk away, he thinks that rather than him doing the charming and you falling irrevocably in love with him as it should have gone, your interaction has left him charmed instead.

It seems the romance novels are more than just effective at their jobs.

[pettysreverie]

Thinking about Faerie!Reader who is the jewel of faery society. Since young, the elders doted on you and your generation-mates followed you in whatever you did. You were said to be the prettiest faerie in your generation. It was rumored that you would have oh-so many suitors.

CW: Implied Size Difference (pretty sure that’s it but let me know if I missed any)

Except…no matter how much older you got, your wings never came in.

You could be as pretty as you wanted to be—as talented and skilled as ever—but without your wings, you were nothing more than a failure. A dud. A mistake.

Then comes the coming of age ceremony, when you should be celebrating with your generation-mates—taking flight and reaching the canopy of the forest your clan resides in. The canopy—where all full-fledged faeries live. Where the big celebration is held. Where the suitors approach their intendeds and begin the courtship process.

A place you would never be able to reach. Not as you are.

Effectively shunned by all of those you’ve held dear for so long, you leave your home and trek through the oh-so foreign lands that surround the forest you once called home.

After a fairly dangerous and eventful journey, you manage to come upon a rather bustling city.

No, it is not like the beautiful forest you once knew…but it is not so bad either.

Maybe you get a job in the local apothecary, which makes sense given your extensive knowledge about herbs and the many remedies one can produce from them, as a result of growing up in such a lush forest.

You settle in okay enough. A steady job with a fairly nice boss. A quaint yet cozy room you’re renting next door to the closest book shop… things are going fine. And then this big behemoth of a man enters the apothecary one day.

You figure that he has got to be part orc or something, but you see nary a tusk nor green tint to his skin. Actually, you don’t see much of his face at all. He covers it up quite well whenever he comes in.

Not that you mind.

He’s a gentle and quiet customer, coming in every few weeks for a big supply of pain remedies. He leaves a very adequate payment, always over the price of his total.

The first few times it happens, you think it a mistake and try to correct it. But after simply not getting the hint, the large and quiet man wraps his equally large, and very warm, hands around yours and passes you the change back.

“Keep it, love.”

Oh.

Oh.

His voice…

It makes you positively swoon.

After that, whenever he comes in, you try your best to make conversation with him. To get a better look at him. He’s a rather slippery fellow, though. Somehow managing to evade your attempts rather gracefully.

Then, it happens.

On his usual day for pick up, he does not come.

And that’s just not like him.

Your boss tells you to simply wait for the end of the business day. So you do, and yet your handsomely voiced stranger does not arrive. With him being a no-show, your boss hands you the remedies that the man normally picks up.

Apparently, this has happened one or two times before. Procedure is to wait until the end of day before delivering it to him.

“Here’s ‘is address. It’s a bit of a walk. Think ye can manage it?”

And you assure him you can.

Not just because you want to prove yourself to your boss but, of course, because you also want to see the strange and quiet man that has claimed your attention so thoroughly.

So you follow the directions listed by your boss, trekking through the bustling city—your feet tapping against the cobblestoned paths as you imagine what he’d be like when you arrive at his doorstep. Will he be upset? Surprised? Maybe…maybe even glad?

By the time you arrive at the doorstep of his cabin, the sun is sitting just above the horizon line.

Your hand knocks against the hard wood door, your eyes taking in the quaintness of his home from the outside. It is just far enough outside of the city limits that the hustle and bustle has quieted into a gentle murmur.

So fitting for your handsomely voiced stranger, you cannot help but to think.

“Damn it, Johnny! I said I’m no’ in’erested in yer—”

You stare up owlishly at your stranger as he swings the massive door open as though it were nothing but a small scrap of parchment.

“Ah…sorry…”You squeak out, your hands reaching out to deliver his usual order. “Boss and I…we got worried when you didn’t come. Had me come delivery it.”

He just stands there, staring at you and then at the wrapped package you are extending to him from behind the usual mask that covers his face. You wonder if maybe he will close the door in your face. It did not seem like he was looking forward to any visitors…

“Come in.”He mutters, moving aside for you to enter.

“I’m sorry?”

“S’late…and a li’le doll like yerself shouldn’ be wanderin aroun’ late like this.”

You’re shocked by his words, even more so by his kindness.

Looking over your shoulder, you gaze at the darkening sky. Sure, you have found stability in the city. You have a lot more confidence navigating the cobbled paths and the swept avenues. But…well, he’s not wrong. It is getting dark.

And really, you would rather not take the chance of leaving now as the daylight continues to dwindle more and more.

“Okay…”You reply, one part excited for what could possibly unfold between you and this seemingly chivalrous stranger, one part nervous for the very same reason.

Just as you step through the threshold his deep, rich voice fills your ears…though only as a mumble. “I’m sorry…?”You repeat once more, so timid and hesitant. So worried that you’re already screwing this up.

“Tha name’s Simon.”He repeats, this time louder and clearer enough for you to hear properly.

You give him your name and follow him deeper inside. The entire time, his voice replays in your head.

Simon.

Simon.

Simon, your stranger, whom you will be spending this fateful evening with.

Now if only it will go well…

[s-che]

a game where we hurt each other

Last month, I played perhaps the most intense TTRPG session of my life as part of the Dream Library’s discussion of Bluebeard’s Bride, a game of “feminist horror” (more on this later) published by Magpie in a gorgeous print edition. Over the course of the month of October my guest lecturer/collaborator @marvelousmsmolly I collectively hosted three sessions of what was by far the most challenging game the Dream Library has ever discussed. 

We came to Bluebeard as the second part of our fall semester covering games of intimacy and monstrosity — a unit which began in September with Avery Alder’s Monsterhearts 2 and is continuing this month with Vampire: The Masquerade (If you want to get in on the VTM discussion and future semesters, please, come join). Both Molly and I suspected that Bluebeard was going to be both a quieter month and a riskier text — but opted to play through it anyway, albeit with some tools in place to make sure everyone knew what they were getting into with a book that doesn’t pull many punches. And with all that, the first two sessions went... fine? We had some lumpy pacing, some conflicting styles of play, some questions about how a game that really seems to encourage player bleed can possibly be played online, but for the most part things were fine. Not great, not bad — not worth the anxiety we’d had about them.

And “fine,” of course, doesn’t make for interesting conversations, so Molly and I took a step back. We talked about what was going wrong: a sense that neither of us quite felt comfortable hitting hard enough, even though we asked players ahead of time and at the start of sessions to tell us what was off the table. A frustration that player choice had trended towards the Bride as a detective/hero and not someone embodied in a world of horror. A confusion — once again — over what it means to “shiver with terror” in a discord call with some friends online. Out of that conversation came a new idea: rather than two more one-shots, Molly took some time to charge up a spirit bomb and put together some more formal prep, then recruited a group she felt could get together for a more curated experience. She wrote up her own excellent thoughts on what went down — along with a lot of session details — but you’ll have to join the Dream Library for that. 

The result of all that curation and preparation was that on October 23rd a group of four trans women — Molly, @jdragsky, our friend Mars, and I — sat down to play Bluebeard’s Bride knowing exactly what we were in for. We would be playing a transfem Bride, Bluebeard would be cis, and we would be hitting transfem-specific horror as hard as we possibly could. 

I’m going to quote from Molly’s reflection, where she wrote:

“Another really great aspect of running this game for this table is there was such a clear feeling that we all understood, wordlessly, what was going on... There are some moments in Allison Rumfitt’s gothic horror novel ‘Tell Me I’m Worthless’ where it felt like the author, a trans woman, was dropping phrases knowing exactly how her transfem audience would react... This had a twofold effect of both giving the players a chilling moment but also, a very brief but appropriate separation between fiction and player where could all grimace and be together in that discomfort before pushing on. People knew what I was doing. The problem with the original game is it doesn’t really want to discuss the politics of what “feminine horror” means. Because of this you’re really lacking some focus. I think a table of cis women could actually play bluebeard’s bride in the way we did last night and have it hit hard for them if they approached it correctly, I don’t think our experience was uniquely elevated by our trans reading, however that was one of several tools we used for that elevation.”

Setting aside the strengths and weaknesses of the original text, that sense of shared experience was key to our game and key to allowing us to hit — and get hit — really hard and trust that our coplayers were there with us. Compared to our earlier efforts (prioritizing safety by taking things off the table via lines/veils) tightening the topical scope from an ambiguous “feminist horror” to a specific transfeminist horror in the context of a chaser bf, in the context of an economic disparity, in the context of the medical pressures of transition in the contemporary U.K. allowed Molly, our lovely host, to hurt us knowing that we were all in it together and choosing to play this game. It transformed the horror from an obstacle in an adventure game into a thing we were seeking out: a pleasure/pain we asked to feel. 

In a games discourse that is — understandably — interested in protections which might be implemented anywhere, including at cons and home tables with much less of an art-and-politics interest, safety tools are often thought about as a negative thing, a preemptive cutting away of all the things which might end up hurting us. I think that’s part of why people can have a hard time filling out a lines/veils list in advance of a session. What are all the things in the world I’m sensitive to? What are all the contexts in which I’m sensitive to them? Good sensitive or bad sensitive? Sensitive enough to cause a scene? Sensitive enough to make it off the table? 

In place of that — and in a table with a really remarkable amount of trust — this final Bluebeard session leaned in, hard, to the things that hurt us. That was the game. Molly wrote a lot about kink in her reflection, and I think she was right to do that. The point of the game was to hurt each other and to feel, and it was a better game for keeping that in mind. It was an actual horror game, and not just a game with horror aesthetics. I agree with Molly that there was nothing essential about having an all-transfem table — I think what we did could be done by anyone, even with the base Bluebeard’s Bride. What was essential was having a table where we all trusted each other enough to play a hurting game and to know that we were there on purpose. It elevated Bluebeard’s Bride into a really fascinating, messy experience — one I can’t wait to play again.

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr Neil,

I want to share how I feel about Sherryl the supermodel from Good Omens. You've answered a question previously when someone felt that her representation was lacking empathy (re the visual effects note in the script book, although the scene was cut), and I want to offer my thoughts to help people who felt that way about Sherryl.

The book (Good Omens, not the scripts, which I haven't read) plays with dark topics and makes them absurd and fun, aiming the jabs at the systems that (mis)guide or harm people (there are Beliefs, the People who Believe them, and the odd ways of living that make sense to them). Famine's D-Plan sums up the diet industry and a culture of starvation: of course we don't laugh /at/ Sherryl, we understand (because of everything the novel sets up) that like every other human she does her best with the frameworks she's got. It's empathetic, because that's what Good Omens is. Understanding that let me reframe the knee-jerk reaction I had on my first read of the scene in the book.

[For the TV show, though, as you've explained in the past, certain things had to be adapted to the time. I wonder sometimes - because I know that you do these things well - how you felt about approaching Sherryl nearly 30 years later.]

I think the trouble for me was that the scene in the book felt cruel at first. Now, I think 'A skeleton in a Dior dress' beautifully sums up the sacrifice of her humanity to become New York's top model. It's death dressed up - that's how such extremely-ill supermodels *should* appear to us if only we were unblinkered. One should see plainly the actual violence in an emaciated person's appearance. Maybe growing up with early 2000s aggressive body-shaming British TV shows and an overweight mother of Sherryl's generation as well as personal experience of anorexia made the 'skeleton' image feel cruel, now-overdone and recognisable to the nastiest unhealed bits in my psyche.

I think the frightened human animal in me initially recoiled from the dehumanisation. The pit of me jerked at the descriptions of Sherryl that felt like real insults, pulled straight from mainstream body-shaming media of my formative years. Of course, Good Omens predates this - thin was in, religiously, and the scene was subversive then - but that was my initial bodily feeling, not a thoughtful response. I describe it to illustrate where the challenge was, after we've gone from skinny worship in the 90s, to domestic skinny enforcement, to skinny shame, to wherever we are now in the popular orthorexic fitness culture and clean-eating minefield etc etc. Starvation dehumanises, and Sherryl was sick to the point of being inhuman - the scene under a microscope might feel complicit in dehumanisation to the sensibilities of teens and young adults today (for the same reason that people in Trafalgar Square can't see England), but within the book it humanises Sherryl by showing you plainly what awful thing has happened to her.

What the book did for me was let me delight in a sense of humour that makes difficult things totally absurd and therefore perfectly understandable. It told me, everyone is doing their best (to the best of their understanding), and when the fun-poking poked at my own pressure points, it said, lovingly, yes, you too. Many things about the book are like laughing with a friend or receiving a warm hug - it makes the big things so silly, and shared, and okay.

Thanks :) x <3

I am glad that is how you saw her. That is how we saw her. (I'm reminded of the only time I was ever at a high fashion event, where I found myself profoundly shocked by the incredible thinness of the models, and how sorry for them I felt, and how I wanted to feed them soup and stew and sandwiches. And of a high fashion model I knew a little, when she went out with a friend of mine, who told me that some girls she knew used heroin to stop the hunger pains, injecting themselves between their toes, and later I learned that my friend broke up with her when he learned she was a heroin addict.)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

My Girl 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your brother’s friend from work starts hanging out a lot more often. (short!reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You carefully pull the pastry over the slices of apple a cinnamon. You twist the corners together to complete the effect and hold it in place. Your blossoms are your specialty. You'll sprinkle coarse sugar over the top before you put them in the oven but for now, they'll have to rest. Your mother still has food cooking for the main course. 

You start another one, roll it out the pastry, slice it just so, wrap, and twist…  

The front door clatters and you hear Isaac say hello to your mom on her way in, “where's dad?” He adds on. 

“He'll be home soon,” she chimes. She's indulging in some wine for all her hard work in the kitchen. 

You can't help but long for your bed and the book you left on your pillow. The real world is always so monotonous. You enjoy baking but you'd rather finish the chapter. Sigh, you suppose that comes with the human condition; you're obligated to acknowledge the non-fictional slog. 

“Hey,” the deep rumble cuts through the air like the distance approach of some lingering dragon in its lair. You pop your head up and look over as Sy sets down his usual courtesy; beer and wine. He looks at you then the pan you line with pastry and fruit. “Er, whatcha making?” 

You look back to your hands and finish the twist, “apple blossoms.” 

“Mm, I like apple,” he steps closer to the counter, stopping at the counter, wavering as if he's afraid to come any further.  

“Thanks, er, oh, me too,” you shrug awkwardly, “my grandma taught me.” 

“Ah,” he nods and looks to the side, scratching his beard as he puffs out, “how's… how's your book?” 

You rinse of your hands, drying them thoroughly, “it's alright. I read it before.” 

“Tolkien, right?” He wonders. 

You nod. 

“Ahem, yeah, I… I started… the Fellowship one… pretty good so far.” 

“Oh? You did?” You face him. 

“I pick it up on my break, get a few pages here and there,” he chews his lip and pats his front pocket, feeling along it before dipping his fingers into the fabric, his brow slanting, “I… I made this.” 

He slides out a long flat piece of metal. It's slender and delicate, corner rounded to an oval, with elven patterning along its face. You squint and lean in to have a better look. 

“Wow. What is it?” 

“It's for you,” he says abruptly, “I mean it's a bookmark. I made it for you.” 

“Me?” You wonder as your eyes round, “that’s…” you look him in the face, “why– you didn't have to do that, Sy.” 

“Eh, it isn't much,” he holds it out, “be good to keep your place and all. You never drink the wine or nothing so…” 

“That's… sweet,” you smile and accept the book mark, turning it over. Your name is wrought in beautiful calligraphy on the other side, “it's beautiful.” 

He's quiet as you admire his handiwork. You don't know what else to say. You didn't expect it. You wouldn't expect him to think that much about you. 

“Anything I can help with?” He breaks the stuffy silence, made more stolid by the radiating heat of the stove. 

“Um, no, I'm pretty much done,” you move the pan of blossoms to the other counter, “but thank you.” 

“Ain't no trouble,” he assures and taps the countertop with his thick fingers, “s'pose I'll see ya at dinner.” 

“Sure,” you say over your shoulder. 

You wait until he's gone and back up, looking down at the bookmark. You can't believe how nice it is. How delicate. How can someone like him make something so elegant? Once more you’re reminded of the brutish dwarves and their renowned creations. 

You'll have to do something for him. To make it even. You don't know much about Sy but you know about Tolkien. You're sure you'll come up with something. 

📖

You sit down for dinner. It seems a lot for just a Wednesday. You won't complain even if you would rather be reading. Your mom has put together a merry feast which could feed a king himself. 

The chair beside you scrapes out and you expect Isaac to elbow you as he always does. Instead, he takes the chair across from you. Sy claims the seat to your left. He’s so big, he can’t help but brush your arm with his thick one. You send him a meek smile and he nods. 

As you serve yourselves from the glistening roast and potatoes and medley of salads and veggies, your mother flutters around offering to fill glasses. When she finally sits, she can barely stay still. 

“So, I know this is a lot,” she begins, “but I have news I wanted to share and this is my little surprise celebration.” 

You quirk your head and Isaac barely reacts as he cuts into the pork. 

“I've been given a really big opportunity at work and I'll be heading up a new project,” she's shaking with excitement, “in London.” 

“London?” You echo and look around. 

Isaac chews around his confusion as he finally reacts but your dad only smiles at your mother. You try to muster some positivity but you’re too surprised. This is a bigger twist than any book you’ve read. 

“I'll be gone for three weeks,” she says, “so yeah, I'll miss you all. I know it's all very sudden but I can't pass this up and I know you'll be okay.” 

“What?” Isaac chokes down his food. 

“Congratulations,” Sy says, “that's big news.” 

“When do you leave?” You ask. 

“Friday.” 

“Friday?” You gasp. 

“I know it's short notice but there were details to be confirmed and–” 

“Mom,” you squeak, “that's… that's great. I'm happy. Just… surprised.” 

“What are we gonna do?” Isaac whines. He dramatically sits back and rubs his cheeks. 

Sy clears his throat, “you're grown. You'll figure it out. You should be happy for your mother.” 

“He's right,” your dad growls, “your mom worked hard for this.” 

“We'll be okay,” you wisp, assuring yourself as much as everyone else. 

“Won't be long at all,” your mother beams even as she gets teary-eyed, “I'll call you every day.” 

📖

After dinner, you offer to clear the table. You want to think. You’’ll miss your mom when she’s gone. You assume you’ll be doing much of the cooking in her absence. You don’t mind, she always does so much. But that isn’t the only thing that will go away with your mom.  

It’s just disappointing that you were away for college and finally get back home and she’s leaving. You wasted the time you did have. You shouldn’t have spent all those hours with the Fellowship. You should have spent it in reality. Funny how fast your perspective can shift. 

You finish up tidying as you hear the voices from the front porch. The smell of the apple blossoms lace the air with cinnamon. You take them out of the oven, they’re perfectly golden and some of the apply good noose oozes out the little slits in the side. You plate each with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and take them out two at a time. 

You elbow out onto the porch, the snap of the screen door announcing your arrival. Your mom and dad sit on the porch swing as Sy stands across from them leaning on the railing. You force out a ‘hi’ and hand your parents their plates before you step back. 

“I’ll grab yours,” you say to Sy, “does anyone want tea or coffee?” 

“Oh, peanut, you’re so sweet, I wouldn’t mind some tea... even though I’m sure I’ll have more than enough in England,” she chuckles. 

“Decaf, please,” your dad grins. 

“Alright, will do,” you say. 

“I’ll help,” Sy stands straight, “you’ll have your hands full.” 

“Aw, Sy, you are too much,” your mother preens. 

“Where’s Isaac?” You wonder allow as your hand hovers on the screen door. 

“Moping, somewhere,” your father scoffs. “let him come out for his own dessert, if he wants it.” 

“Oh, right,” you accept and as you turn, a hand grabs the door above yours and pulls it open. Sy is close as he reaches above you to let you inside. You flit ahead of him and he follows with his sturdy steps, pausing to leave his boots on the mat. 

“You don’t have to help,” you say as you grab his plate and offer it to him as he enters the kitchen, “I just gotta put the water on.” 

“Wanna,” he says, “leave mine there. Why don’t you have some?” He insists. 

“I will,” you assure him and reluctantly put the plate back on the counter. 

You turn and flip on the electric kettle. You take out your mother’s favourite mug and a tea ball. As you do that, Sy nears the counter next to you. 

“Where’s the decaf?” He asks. 

“I said you don’t have to,” you giggle out your nerves, “really, I got it.” 

“I said, I want to,” he shrugs, “I don’t mind.” 

You don’t want to argue. How can you? He’s being helpful and you won’t have much of that. Isaac and your dad work so naturally, you’ll be taking on more of the housework. You’re not unhappy at that prospect, you just don’t want things to change so fast. 

“You’re gonna miss your mom?” Again, his questions sound like statements. 

You wince and nod, “yeah,” you close the tea ball and hook the chain on the rim of the cup. He works diligently to loud the coffee maker, measuring out the grounds deliberately. You can’t really explain everything you feel. 

“Well,” he snaps the lid down, “if ya need anything, let me know.” He backs up and goes to the other end of the counter. He slowly turns the plate of pastry and ice cream, “make sure you get some too. Can’t be doin’ all that hard work for nothing.” 

He slides the plate towards him and lifts it. He turns his broad shoulders to you and stalks out. You hear the spook clink into the porcelain before he reaches the front door and he lets out a rumbling purr. Well, at least the dessert turned out. 

[jukari91]

Can i get a chee hoo

One of the best parts of the second Moana film for me is the part where Maui cheers Moana up.

Whether in the film through a song, a long conversation like in the novel or a flight with hawks-maui like in the picture books.

This part shows the great development of Maui and how important she is in Moana.

Right from the start, Maui tries to cheer her up with humor, he takes the shark head shape that made her have to hold back her laughter three years ago and pokes her with her oar like she did to him.

In the fanfic by CartoonJessie The Dance of the Demigods, these songs by Maui are described as intentional visions. I think that's an interesting approach.

In fact, there are no other songs in the film where the whole thing is in a completely different context.

But even if it is really just a Disney effect for Maui, it is of course meant to reflect Maui's thoughts and personality.

The song from the first film, 'Your Welcome', is about Maui and his past heroic deeds, and in the second film, 'Can I Get a Cheehoo', is about Moana and her future deeds.

In the song 'give me a Cheehoo' we see many details from the first film and we get an impression of how much the first adventure with Vaiana has shaped Maui.

Be it the star images or the shadows of Vaiana, which clearly show how much Maui has remembered even the little things from the journey.

Even the handing over of the rudder is a repetition and shows that he is letting her take the lead.

What I am very interested in is the advance announcement of the victory over Nalo and Vaiana's tattoo at the end of the song...

At the end, Maui almost proves himself to be a 'gentleman' when he lets her go first, as if it is made clear again that this time it is not a trap and he has not planned to leave anything behind.

The two of them are simply great in this part of the film.

[theamityelf]

The first time Celeste put makeup on Makoto, he noticed his classmates starting to act differently around him.

Taka kept stuttering and his face was as red as a tomato(from holding in laughter, he assumes). Mukuro wouldn't even look at him(probably because she did wanna laugh). Leon wouldn't stop staring and would always open the door for him(probably because as a joke). Chihiro always carried his bags and books(only because felt bad him). Mondo kept getting angry and frustrated with him and rarely talked to him(okay, he doesn't know why that one happens). And Junko kept calling him pretty boy(to make fun of him, of course).

He sees his classmates different behaviors and didn't think much of it once the whole 'Celeste doing his makeup' kind of becomes a thing, thinking they were probably making fun of him. (What he did not see, however, was his classmates being idiots while trying to impress him)

(previous post: class treating Makoto differently bc of makeup)

Kyoko and Sayaka both try to nudge him closer to understanding the effect he's having on the class.

"You sure are getting a lot of attention today," Sayaka says brightly.

"Yeah, it's pretty embarrassing, but part of my promise to Celeste was that I couldn't wash it off until the end of the day, so I'm kind of stuck with it. Hopefully, everyone forgets about it tomorrow."

"Embarrassing? Why?"

"Well, I know I look silly, and everyone's kind of laughing at me..."

"Not at all! You look cute! I'm sure everyone's just noticing how cute you look."

"Haha, you think so? You always have such a positive spin on everything."

Meanwhile Kyoko's approach is more like:

"Do you have plans for lunch today?"

"Yeah," Makoto replies. "Byakuya's kind of ordered me to go off-campus with him to a fancy restaurant, so he can prove something about how bad my taste is. I was worried we might miss class if we go off-campus for lunch, but Byakuya says the waitstaff will be moving at the speed of light to accommodate him. So now I'm just worried that we won't hear the end of it from Taka when we get back."

"I see. Has Byakuya invited anyone else out to lunch?"

"Not that I know of. Oh, did you want to come, too? I think he's in the library, now, if you want to go ask him together."

Kyoko hides a smile behind her gloved hand. "As tempting as that is, I was more curious to discuss the exclusivity of the invitation. Has he ever invited someone to lunch before?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. From what he's said, probably not."

"Interesting. Then something must be different about you."

"I think it's great that he's ready to start having friends. If I can convince him to take Celeste somewhere nice, maybe she won't put this stuff on my face again for a while."

"You don't like how you look today?"

"I don't know. It's...weird for me. And everybody's staring and laughing."

"Laughing? I think maybe you need to think more about the reactions everyone has had. Try to get past your initial assumptions and really pay attention. I believe you can figure this out yourself."

"Figure what out?!" Makoto asks, as she walks away.

[lilimaginebean]

five days — 五日

synopsis: In which Kaiser fell in love with his tattoo artist, or in which Kaiser has only five appointments to convince you to go on a date with him.

note: hi :)

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🥀 Day 5

"Well, at least I'm still alive, right?" you said, trying to comfort Kaiser, who was sitting next to you with the saddest aura ever.

The nurse finally came in, stared at you in confusion, and approached both of you.

"Again? In the emergency room?" she asked, you could do nothing but nod, "What now?"

"Allergic reaction. So crazy, who would have thought I could be allergic to a particular dried fruit that is only grown in one village in Greece? Right?" you said, trying to sound funny, but the sore throat made it sound more painful than anything else.

"OK, come with me, again," the nurse said as she took you to another room, giving Kaiser a dirty look.

How did this happen anyway?

After the last tattoo session, you finished one of your best masterpieces. The tattoo ended up being pretty amazing, and you weren't the only one who thought so, Kaiser couldn't stop complimenting you and your tattoo. Of course, that piece of art wasn't your only happiness, as you and Kaiser finally got to go on a date.

However, before the date began, Kaiser once again asked your uncle for permission to take you out. Maybe this time it was because he was no longer a customer, or because your uncle felt empathy for Kaiser, or maybe because of the expensive watch Kaiser had bought for your uncle; but he accepted. You both fled before your uncle could change his mind.

The two of you could finally be together. No exams, no work, just the two of you. What you didn't expect was that everything would go wrong.

First of all, the really luxurious limousine that Kaiser had hired broke down. That wasn't too bad, as Kaiser had only hired it to get to the place he wanted earlier. Finally, they arrived at the first place of the date, which was a really nice picnic with some of their favourite books. It would have been great if it hadn't started raining. At least you two were able to save the books.

But it didn't stop there. He took you to the next stop, which was ice skating. Unfortunately, when you got there and were teaching Kaiser how to do it, some hyperactive kid went too fast and hit you, causing you to hit your head on the ice. So basically you were knocked out for a few seconds, and that ended with you going to the emergency room to make sure you were okay without any side effects. Luckily, it wasn't anything serious, so they let you go and kept the date.

The cherry on top? For dinner, Kaiser took you to the most expensive restaurant you've ever been to. Everything was going well until you found out that you were somehow allergic to one of the weirdest things the chef used. So you were checked twice in less than 3 hours to see if you were physiologically OK.

When your second check routine was over without a hitch, you returned to the waiting room and approached Kaiser. He was slumped in his chair, but fortunately his cap hid his frustration.

"Shall we go?" you asked him in a gentle tone.

He got up, took your hand and left. The two of you walked in silence to your apartment, you didn't know what to say to make him feel better and he was too mad to even talk. Once outside of your home, you stared at Kaiser, who had a sad expression on his face, and suddenly his stomach growled and demanded food.

"Just kill me," Kaiser admitted, feeling defeated by everything.

You chuckled.

"Come with me, I'll see what you can eat," you opened the door of the building where your apartment was and followed you inside.

Once inside your small but cosy apartment, you made him sit down in the living room and went into the kitchen. A few minutes later you returned with a plate of veggie sandwiches. You sat down next to him.

"Don't be sad, I really had fun with everything you planned," you said, comforting him.

He just picked up the sandwich, took a bite and stared at you.

"It's not that bad." Kaiser admitted, "Your lame veggie sandwich, I mean, the date went horribly. I really expected the date to end differently, not with me eating this."

You approached him.

"Hey the date hasn't ended yet, we can still turn it into something wonderful" you said confidently.

Kaiser stared at you curiously, wondering what you could do to turn this awful moment into at least a decent one. You stroked his hair, leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead, then on the cheek and finally on the lips.

"Better?" you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

He left the sandwich on the plate and gave you all his attention.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," Kaiser confessed in an enthusiastic tone, as if he were a fan who had just met his idol, "But… I bet you can do better, Liebling," he said in a cocky tone.

"Trust me, I can" you answered in the same tone

"Prove it."