#do my assignment for me uk

[helpmyassignment160]

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[art-from-the-juice-box]

sorry for the lighting but i feel like you can still tell what’s going on and it’s not like a portfolio picture so yay ya yay stuff from school now that it’s properly started :) we were doing self portraits inspired by books from the library and mine was a collection of sci fi movie posters which is something i’ve never done before :]

[terrainofheartfelt]

sweet thing one of liz's top ten love songs of ever

[lesseraive]

it is impossible for me to get a perfect grade in a class bc i'm always like hey if i don't do this one assignment i'll still get a passing grade that's all that matters

[moinsbienquekaworu]

Good evening beloved (though hopefully you are already sleeping bc it is v late), I started reading that comic you had mentioned and omg. I am very in love with this for totally hinged reasons. The dynamics here are god-tier. In a very non-horny way this is easily one of the best explorations of the batfam dynamics I've read (though obv the smut part doesn't hurt any lmao). Thank you for reccing it!

Anyway may you have a good night and sleep well!!

Yoo!!! I'm glad you like it it really did Something to me years ago lol. Not enough to get me into the DC universe but y'know. I'm so so glad past me stumbled upon it at random like this and the stars aligned in such a way that I could blindly rec you something you like haha. Enjoy the experience! (and there's probably more fun stuff on the website for these characters, though I don't know about dynamics)

[harrybrookk]

Students often ask if can i pay someone to do my essay due to procrastination, time constraints, and tough tasks. However, hiring someone effectively offers quality and convenience.

[annabelle--cane]

every episode next season is going to be like

gwen (on two hours of sleep, every monster in the uk trying to hit her up for their salary and assignments, no idea what she's doing): alice, my employee whom I feel is worth less than me, go do this extremely dangerous task so that I may reassert my feelings of control by using my power to exploit a subordinate

alice (at the end of her rope, in free fall breakdown mode): idc if you kill me or fire me or whatever but basically if you asked me to hand you a pen I'd stomp on it and eat the pieces in front of you. so.

celia (has dreamed of watching sam fall through the rift every single night): does anyone else here love the feeling of not being responsible for loved one's deaths? cause I sure do, I really enjoy not being guilty, and this is because I have never lied to or betrayed anyone ever in my life. my conscience is so clean that they actually call me sinless celia.

new employee who came on board two days ago: uh

[freakyformula]

Getaway

Summary: Reader is stressed out about school and Oscar helps her relax by inviting her to Silverstone.

Writers comment: Not proofread nor actually thought through I'm sorry in advance.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, fingering, oral (both receiving), safe sex.

Word count: 1,6k

You felt the autumn breeze against your skin as you walked home along the grey UK streets. All you wanted was to drift off to sleep and skip the rest of the day. But then, you realize that you have a school assignment that you have to finish, the deadline is today.

”Fuck…” you mutter to yourself.

Your attention is turned to your phone as it starts to vibrate. You light up when you see Oscar, your boyfriend's name on the screen.

”Hi Osc.”

”Uh oh, someone’s not happy…” He knows you like the back of his hand.

"Yeah well I've got so much homework and all I want is to relax." You complain.

The whole way home, you and Oscar talk, and as always, he cheers you up and when you open the door to your apartment your energy levels are restored again. Oscar had that effect on you.

OSCAR POV

Oscar sits at Silverstone and the McLaren hospitality as Lando walks up and sits down next to him, having listened in to the conversation Oscar and his girlfriend just had.

"Is she okay?" Lando asks with a tinge of concern as Oscar frown when you end the call.

"Yeah… She's just tired." Oscar smiles back at his teammate.

"Mate, make her happy and invite her here! No, demand she comes here, for her own good. I think she needs some time away." Lando exclaims.

"Yeah Lando, you're probably right. How do I convince her though?"

"Tell her you'll win if she comes." Lando quickly comments.

That night, you facetime each other as usual, and that is when his plan gets put into action.

"Hey, babe?" Oscar calls, "I've booked plane tickets for you for tomorrow, you're coming to watch me race. You better start packing your bags."

"You did what?!" She panics.

"You heard me."

"Ugh, Oscar, I don't have time! I've got so much stuff to do." She mutters under her breath but Oscar has no trouble hearing what she said.

"Y/N, you're literally finishing up on that assignment as we speak and there's no deadlines coming up in weeks. I'm sure you can make time for me, it's only a couple of days." Oscar comments.

"…I hate and love you so much, Oscar Piastri." She smiles at him with tears threatening to run down her cheeks.

And just like that school was out of her mind. She was focused on the race weekend and got busy packing outfits and showed them off to Oscar, giving him a tease of what was to come.

Saturday went well, and the two McLarens ending up at the front for tomorrow's race.

At the hotel, Oscar is sitting on the bed, nervously waiting for her to arrive. When his phone pings, letting him know that she's on her way to the hotel, he runs down to the lobby to welcome her.

"Welcome to Silverstone, my love!" Oscar hugs her tightly.

"Hi Osc, I'm so happy to see you."

"Shall we?" He says as he leads her into the elevator.

The vibe is instantly there, and he can't seem to tear his eyes and hands off her when they step out of the elevator, finding their way to the room.

Oscar walks behind her and holds her close, pressing his hardening member against her back. The height difference was notable like this, Oscar was considerably taller than her.

Her clear annoyance with the key card not working tells him that she wants this too.

When it finally opens, he pushes her inside, closes the door behind him and throws her bags to the side.

He walks closer, their lips almost touching. He creeps down to her jeans and unbuttons them.

"Eager, are we?" She asks him.

"You can't blame me, I've got the world's most beautiful girl in front of me."

She chuckles at his comment, and looks up at him amused.

Y/N POV

The feeling of him against you felt like heaven, and you grew more needy by the second. You needed him right now.

You slide your hands under his tee and study his strong torso with your fingertips. Slowly, you grow more courageous and move your hands further up, until Oscar takes the hint and gets rid of his shirt while he is busy kissing you. He starts at your cheek, working down your neck and crouching down to attack your chest.

His treatment makes you let out a small moan, making him giggle.

"You're so pathetic, my sweet girl. A little kissing and you're already moaning like a good little whore."

Hearing his degrading words makes you look away, embarrassed.

Oscar doesn't like that and grabs your hair to turn you back to look him in the eyes.

"You're my good girl, are you not?" He asks as he leads you into the bedroom.

"I'm your good girl." You confirm.

"Then kneel and suck."

You gulp and do as he says, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his shorts while you look at him. He grabs your hair and fixes it into a makeshift ponytail as he pushes your face against his already rock-hard cock.

Desperate to be good to him, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out for him.

"Oh my lord... Ready?" He checks in.

You nod and bend forward and take a taste of his tip. You slowly go deeper with each bob of your head, making Oscar moan. You can feel his thighs shaking from your treatment as you steady yourself on them with your hands.

He must have been too carried away because when he starts pumping into the back of your throat, you begin to gag and the tears start to stream down your cheeks. He quickly pulls you off, apologizing immensely, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

Helping you up from your knees, he grabs you under the ass and carries you to the bed, throwing you onto the sheets. He quickly follows and lands next to you and starts by pulling your oversized hoodie off and then moving on with the jeans. Much to his surprise, you didn't wear a bra under the hoodie. The two peaks were looking at him invitingly and he gladly accepts, moving down to suck and massage them, moving from one to another.

You're a moaning mess at this point, bucking you hips up towards him. You deem Oscar too slow and grab the lining to your string panties, starting to pull them down when he grabs your hands.

"Let me do it, love." He states as he pulls them down, looking at the creation before him, in complete awe.

He leans down and kisses your red and tender lips, sucking them even more raw.

You let out a disappointed groan as he parts the kiss but quickly lighten up as he moves down to your aching pussy. He parts your drenched lips with his fingers and tastes you, letting out a desperate moan. He can't stop himself, and dives in, completely destroying you.

You're practically screaming at this point, and as you realise how loud you are, you try to silence yourself but quickly fail when he nibbles at your puffy clit, making you yelp.

He starts to tease your entrance with his middle finger, circling around it and collecting the wetness.

Slowly, he slides it in, making you moan loudly again.

"Jesus, my love, you're so wet and tight for me.", his words make you moan even louder.

Then, another finger.

When he starts pumping and ravaging your pussy with his mouth, you can't hold back and let out a desperate scream.

"Schhhh… It's okay, Y/N. Are you gonna cum for me?"

The only answer you can manage to get out of your lungs is a quick "nghyeah" which only spurs Oscar on.

He pumps even harder and his tongue is probably exhausted from the pleasuring.

When you feel your orgasm wash over you, you stop breathing. Your whole body freezes, making you see white. Grabbing anything you can, which happens to be a pillow and Oscar's hair, you scream out and catch up on your breath as you come down from your high.

"Do you think you can take me now?" He asks with a smirk on his stupidly adorable face.

You nod and he quickly grabs a condom and you help him put it on.

You pick your legs up and he hovers over you, admiring your dripping heat again before he takes you.

He lines up with your pulsing entrance and reads your face when his large member intrudes you. The stretch is painful at first but soon subsides and all you can feel is pure fucking pleasure. He starts out slow but picks up the pace quickly, destroying your pussy.

Usually when having sex with Oscar, it wasn't just you two fucking, but rather you two making love and doing something special to each other. Looking after one another, one could say.

Oscar didn't like the term "love makers" but that's what people probably would brand you as.

This time though, things felt different. Things were more intense, and the pace was quicker. Why, you didn't know, but you assumed it was because of you being apart for a couple of weeks.

"Are you gonna cum once more?" He breathes out.

"Yeaaaah…" You yell lazily, and with that, you cum again, and Oscar soon following, being a yelling and cursing mess. As you realise how pathetic you both sound, you burst out into laughter.

"What?!" Oscar asks.

"We sound like a pair of horny teenagers!" You laugh hysterically.

"Well… We kind of are."

"Very true." You comment.

"So anyway… Round two?"

[cheriladycl01]

Crash into my life - Lance Stroll x Civil Servent! Reader

Plot: You work in a fancy government job, pretty boring 9-5 but Lance Stroll and his insurance claim makes your job that little bit better

Your job wasn’t exactly fun, wasn’t exactly boring. It was one of those jobs that you’d got it at a young age and worked your way up through the ranks as you’d got better and better and because it was safe and something you were good at you stuck with it.

To keep it short and sweet you were a civil servant. Not like 007 kind of crazy stuff but you did work for MI6 in their fraud, tax and insurance department.

You basically took over insurance claims that were over a certain threshold and had to go through the government for … whatever reason whether they are a foreign National claiming in the UK or something.

Usually it was boring matters such as Chelsea Football Club claiming compensation for things as simple as water damages etc. You didn’t even really get to see anyone, you had the data and you analysed it against the scenario and hey presto you made your pay out.

Your favourite time of the year was winter. More claims came through and life was more unpredictable thanks to the whether. Delayed train into London St Pancreas? No tubes working so you have to make the 20 minute walk to your office building from the station. Slipping on ice, it was the only excitement you got in life which was honestly kind of sad.

For you it started at as a normal Monday. You woke up at 7am, brushed your teeth, got into a nice corporate appropriate outfit, got on the train, got a coffee from Pret before heading into your building.

That was your routine, and you didn’t often differ from it unless you had holiday booked. But working a 9-5 Monday - Friday often meant that you

But it felt like there was a different buzz today around the building like there was something going on.

When you all went into the morning briefing for the cases you’d get today, everyone was way too excited for 9am and the start of the day. You sat down next to your office buddy Shiv and looked around confused.

“What in earth is going on with everyone?” You ask looking over at Shiv who’s typing away on her laptop taking in information.

“Apparently there’s some really interesting cases to work on up for grabs today” she explains and you nod knowing once every blue moon some exciting things would crop up and have the whole office acting like kids on Christmas.

You’re all still waiting for the department boss to come in, joining in conversations about what could possibly be happening today.

“Ladies and Gents please take a seat for the meeting to commence. Thank you. Thank you” he offers smiling and everyone gets comfy.

“So we’ve got some exciting stuff today. I’ve formed a team to deal with the Train Networks Claim, that’ll be Shiv, Brayden and Ravi” he says and they all nod writing in their pads what tasks they’d have to do today.

He went through all of them apart from you, before dismissing the meeting. You were slightly confused and therefore packed up yours things a little slower than everyone else to see if you could stay behind and ask why you hadn’t been given an assignment.

“Y/N could you stay behind so I can talk to you for a moment” he asks and you nod, going to the end of the long conference table where he was stood.

“I like you, you’re young and learn quickly and I want you to progress more than you already have so I’m giving you a really important case. You’ll actually get to meet the said person affected, he’s … of high value so be considerate of your wording when talking to him. Alright thank you, here’s the case! Have a report to me by Friday” he offers and you nod happily. You take a seat opening up the material seeing the name of the claimer immediately.

Lance Stroll

You read through the facts, apparently he crashed his Aston Martin driving down the M1 to get to Silverstone into some sort of government van.

After analysing some of the data yourself, a knock comes on your office door from one of the younger interns.

“Erm, Y/N there’s two men in suits here to see you?” She asks rather than tells you, it wasn’t common for people to come in and out of the building due to the confidentiality of the work conducted here.

“Send them in please, but before you do ask them if they want anything. Tea, Coffee, Water” you smile and go back to reading another report from a police officer who was on the scene of the accident.

You watch as two men walk into your office space. One looking younger maybe the same age as you and one looking significantly older which you assumed was the dad.

“Good morning” you smile lightly before going back to some data on your computer. They took a seat, patiently waiting for you to address them.

Lawrence, who you’d just read about in the report who was indeed the father, cleared his throat as if to get your attention.

“Give me one minute Mr Stroll and I’ll be right with you” you smile, still nose in your computer.

“We’ve come all this way to the city centre to see you it would be appreciated if you didn’t waste our time” he huffs and even just from this reaction a bubbling of excitement started in you, just at the promise of actually seeing a client and talking to them in the flesh.

“I understand that, but I won’t be able to tell you much unless I see all the data” you say looking up at them through your glasses. This time you notice Lance and how he’s just sort of staring at you.

“Can I help you Mr Stroll?” You ask looking over him.

“No, I’m all good. Take your time” he smiles and you nod. In 5 minutes you believe you’ve combed through enough data to talk to them.

“This is awfully interesting I almost never get to see the people behind the claim” you smile happily and they both nod.

“Okay so so far from what I can see is there was a crash in your vintage Aston Martin that was for an event at Silverstone, the race track and that you got into a collision with a government van trailing a foreign national?” You ask.

“In short terms, yes … but” Lawrence tries to declare.

“And you weren’t present Mr Stroll” you say looking in the direction of the older man.

“No I wasn’t” he huffs out.

“Okay, then I will ask you to just step out my office while I get an account of the events from your son, if that’s alright with you. Just down the corridor there’s a waiting room there, help yourself to the food and drink in there” you smile hoping to butter him up a little to get him out.

“Alright” he says before taking his leave.

“Okay Mr Stroll lets…” you start but he interrupts you.

“Lance, please just call me Lance” he offers and you nod.

“Well Lance, it’s not … looking great” you start of slowly and he looks at you shocked.

“What do you mean? Your guys went into me?” He says raising his voice slightly and you give him a stern look that has him sinking into his seat.

“Don’t come into my office and raise your voice when I’m doing my best to help you!” You exclaim placing a pad in front of him.

“Sorry it’s just that my dad isn’t happy already that i totalled a car that was needed for race day” he sighs rubbing his temples.

“Ahhh so you’re an F1 driver. Or is it NASCAR because of the accent?” You ask and he looks shocked as if you were supposed to know who he was.

“Er F1” he offers and you nod.

“You any good?” You ask writing done some more notes as you watch the camera on the government vehicle as Lance’s car didn’t have one.

“Excuse me?” He chokes out and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I mean im currently looking at your claims for a super car that you totalled and so I can’t help but ask if your any good” you tease and once he heard the tone he gets it and just rolls his eyes.

“Oh haha laugh it up” he says and you do.

“Im sorry but this is quite possibly the most fun I’ve ever had in this job. It’s rather boring most days so I’m just making the most of it” you smile and he smiles back.

“Okay I can see that they did in fact turn into you. And of course I’m here for the people. The issue is where your Canadian. I can pay out what the car was worth when you originally brought it, but 50,000 for the fact that it was an accident on our part” you say and he thinks for a moment.

“No” is all he says and you look over at him in shock.

“Sorry? What do you mean no, no is my final decision” you say crossing your arms.

“I would like to add something else to the 50,000 on top of the car value” he smiles and you nod, wondering what it could possibly be and admiring the boldness of his statement.

“Id like to take you out to dinner” he smirks and your head shoots up from your laptop.

“I- i cant do that… it’s not professional. I could get told off. I could loose my job.” you admit knowing that if people were to find out about your payout and think it was bad then they’d be asking questions to you.

“Oh come on it’s just dinner to say thank you for being so … helpful” he smiles leaning forward in his seat and you shake your head.

“Fine, dinner it is” you smile.

That was the start of something way bigger than just dinner.

y/user

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y/user: Work has been rather interesting lately 👀🏎️

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lance_stroll: thank you for having another look for me 👍🏼

-> y/user: 🫣you’re welcome Mr Stroll

-> lance_stroll: you’re making me feel old ☹️

user: is that whose car I think it is bestie?

-> y/user: it sure is 🏎️

user: need to catch up soon babe, Pret tomorrow morning?

-> y/user: sure thing!

user: Civil Service < Serving Cu*t 🥰

Instagram Story Caption:

Back in the Office wiv Shiv 🌸

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[freakingholland]

I need some fluffy Remus x f! Reader. Reader is a need-of-touch Person, plagued by the similar issues like Remus (insecurity/ anxiety, lack of self esteem, feeling of not deserving love & happiness, depression, and can be impulsive). History of bullying at school, family issues (fighting parents, mean relatives). On a very hard hitting depression day, Remus learns of her troubles, a friendship develops. Both afraid to „ruin“ it with their feelings. A deep cuddle part :)? Thank you very much!

"Let's stop pretending" - Remus Lupin x teacher!Reader

A/N: Hello! Thank you sm for this request! You didn’t specify if you want it to be older or younger Remus so I went with teacher Remus and teacher Reader – I hope you don’t mind! I loved working on this piece and I hope you’ll like it! Also this was my first time writing something so emotional so please go easy on me!

If you or anyone you know is struggling please consider seeking help. Here are some extremely helpful hotlines: 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: 988 (US) STAND! For Families Free of Violence crisis line: 888-215-5555 (US) National Domestic Abuse Helpline in the UK: 0808 2000 247 (UK) Crisis Services Canada Suicide Prevention Service: 1-833-456-4566 (Canada) Remember, you are not alone and things can get better. Virtual hugs - Tori xx

Summary: Sometimes the most influential people, the closest to one’s heart, get the worst of treatments. But true love will always shine through the toughest of times. And that’s what happened with Remus and his partner. (emotional hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, romance)

Warnings: not proofread! descriptions of low self esteem, depressive mood, descriptions of anxiety and worries, heartfelt confessions, teacher x teacher relationship.

Word count: 1.7K +

If you enjoyed my work: Ko-fi.com/freakingholland

questions/requests/ideas here! - rules here

masterlist

my AO3 archive is here

Sweaty, breathless. With a knot painfully tightening in your stomach. With an unrested mind, thoughts colliding with one another and blurring together. Was it the weight of your new function? Was it the memories of your own school years? The taunts, the whispers, the isolation - all of it suddenly felt too close, like it had never really left. But you shook your head, forcing yourself to breathe. In and out.

You were safe now—or so you told yourself. On the other side. Teaching, not being taught.

A bottle of water, your beloved quill, some chocolate, books. You nervously clutched your most needed belongings with trembling hands. You hurriedly skipped up the stairs towards your newly assigned classroom keeping your things close to your torso.

As you were approaching the top of the staircase you were greeted with a small smile from a man walking downstairs. One that you couldn’t help but return despite the tightness in your chest. A fellow professor – judging by the look of his robe. He was wearing a sweater that at first sight seemed just as soft as his gaze. His soft facial expression and scent briefly shook you from your overwhelming thoughts.

“Good morning.” he said calmly. You stopped in your tracks.

“I feel like we know each other,” you said hesitantly, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

He nodded gently, with a spark of recognition behind his ocean blue eyes.

“Hmmm we do… it’s been so long. Good to see a familiar face. Remus. Remus Lupin.”

“It really has been. Nice to see you too,” you replied, a weird sense of relief creeping in.

Remus Lupin. Of course you remembered him. He had been a well-seasoned fifth year student by the time you had started your first term at Hogwarts. Though you’d never really spoken directly, you were aware of him. Your paths crossed briefly when you were a prefect for Ravenclaw at a time of his own prefect duties for Gryffindor.

You loved being a prefect, it had been a rare reprieve. It gave you an excuse to roam around the castle, to lose yourself in the beauty of it. While many younglings found the darkness of Hogwarts unsettling, to you it was a genuine comfort, a place where you could gather your racing thoughts in peace.

“I’m sure we will see each other more often. My class is just around the corner. If you need anything dear you know where to find me.” He tilted his head in the direction of the stairs.

“Now if you’ll excuse me ma’am! I have to sign some documents at Mrs. McGonagall’s office. We shall see each other later?”

“Certainly. See you later Remus.”

It was hard not to admit that his warm welcome caught you off guard. What surprised you was that, despite having barely interacted in the past, he seemed to hold some sense of fondness towards you. Regardless, his gesture was undeniably kind.

-

You and Professor Burbage sat side by side, your mugs of coffee warming your hands as you exchanged stories about the last week’s antics from your lessons.

“…and then he- “you began, only to be interrupted by a familiar warmth on your shoulder.

“And who is that?” a familiar voice teased from behind.

Remus peeked between you and Professor Burbage with his very own cup of coffee.

“Good evening, Remmy. Please have a seat!”

“May I?” he asked without really waiting for an answer before pulling up a chair.

As Remus sat down, his knee brushed yours briefly under the table.

“You’re like two peas in a pod these days,” Burbage commented, her eyes darting between you with a knowing grin.

“What can I say dear Charity…?” Remus began, his tone mockingly serious.

“You have to have somebody to complain to when you’re marking awfully written papers.” You finished for him.

“Exactly. Out of respect for our sanity, of course.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” she asked.

Remus raised an eyebrow, but his smirk gave him away. “Yes, that’s precisely what we’re calling it. Survival through shared suffering.”

 “Mhmm, shared suffering,” Charity said under her breath before taking a long sip of her coffee. She glanced at her watch.

“Well well I’d love to banter with you for a little longer but some of us have lessons to prepare for. Good night,” she said, slowly rising from her seat. She gently smoothed out her robe.

“Goodnight, Charity,” you said, trying to ignore the subtle heat spreading through your cheeks.

-

You were moving rice from one edge of your plate to another, trying to make it vanish with your sight.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Remus said, breaking the silence.

Forcing a smile, you replied, “It’s nothing, just tired.” He gave you an attentive look and nodded slowly.

“Dearie if you need to talk, you know I’m here,” he said gently.

„I know, thank you…”

Your rational side begged you to stop, to bury the feelings before they ruined what you had. But your heart had other ideas. It kept slowly but surely tearing you apart with unrelenting tension, increasing with every single one of Remus’ gestures, remarks.

His hand had barely brushed against yours, and it was enough to fuel the ache in your chest. You wanted to lean into the warmth he offered, wanted to let the comfort of his company wrap around you like a blanket, but you simply couldn’t.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you. You needed to leave. Needed some space.

“I... I must…go set up the classroom.” You said firmly getting up from your warmed up seat.

As you stepped into the hallway the cold air hit your face, making you more focused on your breathing. The feeling was sort of like the one on your first day teaching. Except this time you were walking away from him, the one person who had brought you so much comfort. With each step, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were letting something so important slip right through your fingers.

You slammed the door behind you, taking out your anger on the object. You couldn’t help but cry it all out. You slid down to the floor and buried your face between your knees.

Remus couldn’t stand it any longer. He set down his mug with a thud and followed you.

He hesitated for a moment, but the instinct to check on you was stronger than the quiet voice in his head telling him to stay away. Gently pushing the door open, he found you, sitting on the cold stone floor next to it.

He sat down beside you without a word. The silence was growing thicker if that was even possible.

“I don’t deserve this Y/N…” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“You are right…you don’t deserve such treatment, “ you whispered back.

“I... I don’t know what’s happening anymore, Remus,” you choked out, your shoulders shaking. “Everything feels like it's falling apart, and I can’t keep pretending it’s fine.”

“That is not what I meant love.” He locked his gaze with yours, eyes glistening in the warm sunlight. He took a deep breath.

“I don’t deserve someone like you. I’ve spent so long convincing myself that I shouldn’t get close to anyone, and yet… here you are. Without even trying, you’ve become everything to me.” His voice wavered.

“You’ve brought light into places I thought would stay dark forever.”

“I’ve hidden from who I really am… from what I’ve been through. I convinced myself that I wasn’t worthy of any of the good things, especially not you.” His words made your chest tighten.

“But you are worthy, Remus. You’re the most caring person I know. I wouldn’t have survived being here if it wasn’t for your constant support. I owe you the beginning of this chapter of my life.”

He looked down, his voice quiet as he murmured, “I don’t know how to accept that. I don’t know how to feel like I’m enough for you.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I have to be honest with you, Remus. I don’t know how to just be your friend anymore. I’ve tried, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel the way I do.” Your voice cracked, and you turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I never thought… I never dared to believe you could feel the same,”

“I’ve spent so much time telling myself you were out of reach,” he continued.

He paused, his hand hovering uncertainly before finally brushing gently against your cheek, as if afraid you might pull away. “I need to say this, Y/N. It’s been eating at me for weeks now, and I can’t keep pretending it’s not there.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You turned to face him. More tears welled up in your eyes. But this time they were happy tears.

Without thinking, you closed the space between you, wrapping your arms tightly around him. His embrace was immediate.

“I’ve tried to ignore it... but the more I’m with you, the more it’s hard to deny. I love you too,” you murmured into his chest, your voice muffled. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

As he held you close, the world felt like it had finally righted itself.

You soaked in the relief. And the warmth that seemed like it was completely out of your reach just seconds ago.

You stayed intertwined for a while, slowly digesting the good and the bad. Giving yourself space to let everything sink in.

But then, as the two of you sat there in silence for a while, Remus shifted slightly and let out a soft chuckle.

“You know,”

“as romantic as this moment is, my buttocks are absolutely freezing.” You couldn’t help but laugh through the remains of your tears.

“Oh, so now you’re saying my breakdown spot isn’t up to your standards?” you teased, pulling back just enough to see his face, which was now decorated with a playful smirk.

“I’m just saying, if we’re going to spend the night clinging to each other and crying some more maybe we could do it somewhere else. My butt’s about to become part of the stonework here… have some mercy for an old man.”

“I will as long as I am allowed to call you my old man.”

“I suppose I could let you get away with that... but only because I’m feeling generous.” Remus grinned, planting a kiss on your forehead.

Thank you for reading! Stay whelmed xx

[mariacallous]

Salman Rushdie has just published Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder. In August 2022, he was giving a talk at the Chautauqua Institution in New York. Hadi Matar, a 24-year-old from New Jersey, rushed the stage and stabbed him 15 times. It was astonishing that Salman survived. He lost the sight in one eye and sustained terrible injuries, but he’s still with us and he’s still writing, and unlike Hadi Matar, he’s still worth hearing.

We think of fanatics as stalkers with an obsessive knowledge of their targets.  Like the antisemites who compile lists of Jews in the media or the homophobes who so focus on the details of gay sex they might almost be closet cases

Most terrorists and bigots are not like that. They are like soldiers in an army who kill and hate for no other reason than tradition or men in authority have told them to kill and hate. If we were less fascinated by the pseudo-glamour of violence, we would see them for what they are: dullards and jerks.

In Knife Salman is almost as angered by the sheer lazy stupidity of his wannabee assassin as his violence.

“I do not want to use his name in this account. My Assailant, my would-be Assassin, the Asinine man who made Assumptions about me, and with whom I had a near-lethal Assignation … I have found myself thinking of him, perhaps forgivably, as an Ass.”

The ass “didn’t bother to inform himself about the man he decided to kill. By his own admission he read barely two pages of my writing and watched a couple of YouTube videos”.

That was enough, apparently, along with a little light indoctrination in the Levant.

We know from Matar’s mother that her son changed from a popular young man to a moody religious zealot after visiting her ex-husband in the Hezbollah-controlled town of Yaroun in Lebanon, a mile or so from the Israeli border.

“I was expecting him to come back motivated, to complete school, to get his degree and a job. But instead, he locked himself in the basement. He had changed a lot. He didn't say anything to me or his sisters for months.”

Salman quotes a wonderfully perceptive line from Jodi Picoult

“If you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it’s not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”

Rushdie is openly contemptuous, as he has every right to be.

“I see you now at twenty-four,” he writes, “already disappointed by life, disappointed in your mother, your sisters, your father, your lack of boxing talent, your lack of any talent at all; disappointed in the bleak future you saw stretching ahead of you, for which you refused to blame yourself.”

This has always been the way. Readers old enough to remember 1989 when the Ayatollah Khomeini ordered Salman’s execution for writing a blasphemous satire of Islam’s origin story in the Satanic Verses,will know that Khomeini had not read it. Nor had the furious demonstrators in the streets or the regressive leftists and Tory ministers who upbraided him for the non-crime of causing offence.

Those of us who had read the book pointed out that it was a magical realist fiction which contained sympathetic accounts of the racism Muslim immigrants in the UK suffered. Indeed, the Tories of the day loathed Salman, we continued, because of his confrontations with official racism.

But after a while we fell silent. Pleading with his enemies felt demeaning. It gave them undeserved credit, as if they were reasonable people, who could be swayed by evidence rather than just, well, pillocks.

In Knife Salman attempts an imaginary conversation with his persecutor.

OK, he says, Islam, unlike Judaism and Christianity, holds that man is not made in God’s image. God has no human qualities, it says.

But isn’t language a human quality? To have language, God would have to have a mouth, a tongue, vocal cords and a voice, just like a man. The terrorist’s understanding is that God cannot be like a man, however. So, God could not have spoken to Gabriel in Arabic. Gabriel must have translated his message when he came to the prophet.

The angel made it comprehensible to Muhammed by delivering it in human speech which is not the speech of God.

Thus, the version of Islamic instruction Matar received in his basement when he switched from playing video games to listening to Imams was an interpretation of a translation.

“I’m trying to suggest to you that, even according to your own tradition, there is uncertainty. Some of your own early philosophers have suggested this. They say everything can be interpreted, even the Book. It can be interpreted according to the times in which the interpreter lives. Literalism is a mistake.”

For a while, Rushdie says he wants to meet Matar again at the trial, as if he wants to have the argument in the flesh.

He tells a story about Samuel Beckett, which could only have happened to Samuel Beckett.

Beckett was walking through Paris in 1938 when he was confronted by a pimp named Prudent, who wanted money from him. Beckett pushed Prudent away, whereupon the pimp pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the chest, narrowly missing the left lung and the heart.

Beckett was taken to the nearest hospital, bleeding heavily. He only just survived.

You will never guess who paid for his treatment. James Joyce, of course, he did.

Anyway, Beckett went to the pimp’s trial. He met Prudent in the courtroom, and asked him why he had done it. This was the pimp’s reply: “Je ne sais pas, monsieur. Je m’excuse.” (I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.)

But the more he thought about it, the less Rushdie had to say to his enemy. The idea that you can have theological arguments with a man who wants to kill you for writing a book he hasn’t even read felt ridiculous.

Although popular culture is full of stories about murderers, and true crime podcasts top the charts, killers and fanatics are nearly always less interesting than their victims. More often than not they are just thick. Nasty and vicious, but thick first of all.

We are about to see the stupidity of fanatics deployed on a mass scale. Two thirds of Republican voters (and nearly 3 in 10 Americans) continue to believe that the 2020 election was stolen from Donald Trump, and that Joe Biden was not lawfully elected. They think it because that is what Trump told them to think.

Islamists told Matar that Salman was an apostate, and that was all he needed to know. Trump told Republicans the election was stolen and ditto.

If Republicans were consistent people, they would not vote for Trump in 2024. What would be the point? They would have every reason to fear that the deep state would rig the 2024 presidential election as it rigged the 2020 presidential election.

But they will vote for him because, once again, that is what he tells them to do.

In the end there is a limit to how much attention you can pay the vicious and the stupid.

They are not interesting enough, as Rushdie concluded with marvellous disdain as he contemplated the life sentence Matar will face.

"Here we stand: the man who failed to kill an unarmed seventy-five-year-old writer, and the now 76-year-old writer. Somewhat to my surprise, I find I have very little to say to you. Our lives touched each other for an instant and then separated. Mine has improved since that day, while yours has deteriorated. You made a bad gamble and lost. I was the one with the luck… Perhaps, in the incarcerated decades that stretch out before you, you will learn introspection, and come to understand that you did something wrong. But you know what? I don’t care. This, I think, is what I have come to this courtroom to say to you. I don’t care about you, or the ideology that you claim to represent, and which you represent so poorly. I have my life, and my work, and there are people who love me. I care about those things.”

[the-ace-with-spades]

I need a fic where Ghost and Soap are on the run but like, framed and on the run.

They're on an assignment, just the two of them, to co-lead a team for the prevention of assassination for some big-name politician (dunno, I like to think this would happen either in usa or in the uk...) and it's all done and they're about to pack their shit and go back to base when Soap gets an encrypted call from Price to tell him that a video of Ghost killing the same big-name politician is on the telly

It's not Ghost, obviously, but it's someone of Ghost's posture, in Ghost's gear and Ghost's mask.

Also obviously, Soap doesn't believe it.

They get surrounded pretty fast by the local SWAT-like team and Soap makes Ghost use him as a hostage so they can escape with a minimal amount of maiming -- Soap is pretty sure Ghost could escape on his own, but it'd be a bloody mess that would follow him after he was proven to be framed.

Of course, Ghost tries to get Soap to leave once they're out of the danger zone. He does not.

Cue Ghost and Soap on the run while Price, Gaz and Lasewell try to find out who is framing him.

Simon's existence was erased so much that there are no pictures of him anywhere so instead, his APB has a sketch and a description. Problem is, the scars on his face were included, and way too characteristic to miss them (whether it's the glasgow smile or other scars, dunno, but you get my point). At first, it's really hard to move around because scars/mask + Simon being like 6'4 and built like a tank scream 'notice me'. Simon grows out a beard - it's red-ish blond colour so he ends up dying his hair red too. He absolutely doesn't care but Soap mourns because he's barely started being able to see Simon's face and hair and now it's all changed up.

Soap doesn't have an APB at first, but after a couple of days he is named as complicit (because he's seen helping Ghost run) and his photo is out. He has to shave the mohawk because it's too eye-catching (he's fucking bald and he hates it). He has to rein in his accent because he is described as glasgowian scottish. He can't call his maw so he sends her a random postcard he picked up a few towns ago and sends a short and cryptic message, hoping she believes he's not a terrorist.

Soap also finds out Ghost knows way too many shady people and knows way too easily where to look for even more shady people if he needs something the former people don't have. They steal shit out of necessity, often clothes and food, but sometimes they pickpocket cards and wallets. Some days they sleep in the car, some days they stop at questionable motels or hostels, and some days they don't sleep at all. They have burner phones but don't contact Price at all.

There would be a mandatory 'taking care of each others' wounds' scene (no bandages, please, you rarely use bandages in healthcare nowadays) after a dangerous run-in, a mandatory 'pretend to be a couple to lose the trail' and after that, an awkward 'there was only one bed' scene where things happen for the first time and they have a sloppy handjob or two.

They're probably trying to escape the country but can't do it via air because of the APBs and have to make their way to some shady port and even shadier ferry or cargo ship that won't run their fake passports in the system if they pay well enough.

Ghost is surprising Soap once again with an off-shore bank account and a knowledge of whichever country they're in's language. They move somewhere less crowded but not small enough that two Brits would be weird. Some people refer to Ghost as Soap's husband.

Weeks or months go by.

"What if they can't prove I didn't do it?"

"You faked your death once, love, I think you can do it twice."

[elodieunderglass]

Immigrating in adulthood means that I get the exciting experience of being surprised by life around me. I didn’t grow up with them, you see.

Yesterday the surprise came in the form of a moth the size of a thumbnail. I was hanging up laundry when I saw it - the first impression was a small fly, with a dense quickness and buzz. I could identify “moth” by its gestures, but I was enchanted by the brilliance of the graphic design - the sweet velvety purple-brown color set against the bright gold - and the gratified, lavish attention it was paying to my variegated oregano. It was tremendously excited by some mysterious property of that oregano. I mean, I get it too, but I hardly ever do an interpretive dance on it. It reminded me of a cat romping on a fresh catnip plant.

After research, I was happy to meet the MINT MOTH or SMALL PURPLE AND GOLD, which just goes to show that moth-namers - more than any other natural historians - understand the assignment. They give you two choices, both good, both descriptive, and conveying the essential character. Trustworthy folk, your moth people. My moth-fancying friend, who goes out of her way to meet new moths, has a Facebook album called Much Ado About Mothing and goes to local mothing meetings, sometimes posting the minutes, which only reinforces my take here; these people are trustworthy, diligent hands to place problems in.

I like the Linnean name too: Pyrausta aurata, the ‘aurata’ meaning gold-adorned, gilded; and Pyrausta possibly being a reference to a Greek mythological insect, which is exciting because you don’t get many mythological insects. but you’d better research that for yourself, as I didn’t see a single source I liked very much.

And best of all I liked the description of its habits. The Mint Moth loves mint and marjoram, and is a delightfully common visitor in gardens that grow these. In the wild, it follows watermint and wild marjoram. These plants form forage for its polite caterpillars, who barely affect the host plants at all. And if you have a garden in the uk with mint and marjoram, a very tiny creature the size of a thumbnail may come and roll around in it.

Now, I have mint and marjoram - but it really wanted that oregano, which was interesting to think about - something worth exploring and understanding better, even though it isn’t the food source of its caterpillars. Oregano is a member of the Lamiaceae family, which mint and marjoram belong to, so it clearly has something that mint moths like; and even though the marjoram is right next to it, it was clearly worthy of deep mothy investigation. Who knows what’s in the mind of a moth! I hope if any caterpillars emerge from this little dance, they’re happy with eating oregano…

Hurray for little visitors who bring surprises.

[thebreadbin23]

Nobody talks about how difficult it is to be a student w/NPD!!

Hi! I’m bread, I’m a psychology student with both autism and NPD, and I don’t see a lot of traction about how these disorders play into academics, so I’ll start!:

Grandiosity, especially with an autistic’s photographic memory, makes lectures feel “worthless”. I can cover the material at home. Last year, I attended 5 lectures, and passed the year with a 76 (UK student whoop! For those who don’t use the UK grading system, it’s a pretty solid indication of a first). This DIRECTLY feeds into my delusional narrative of “I’m the most capable student here, I’m going to redefine the field of neuroscience” when in reality, I can’t be bothered to sit in a lecture.

Ignoring assignments and coursework to “protect” from an ego hit, causes bad grades, therefore ensuring an ego hit is taken. I often am paralysed by the fear of not doing fantastic work 100% of the time, mainly because this damages my fragile delusion that I have built my entire academic life on. However, this causes my work to often not be submitted, meaning obviously, my grades drop. It’s a viscous cycle.

Other students are “below me”, I haven’t been able to make any friends. When I think about the people on my course, I am absolutely certain that “none of these people have the same drive as me, none of them have the same ability or ambitions”. Automatically, I subconsciously see them as “unworthy” and “wasting my time”. This makes it super hard to make friends.

Stigma, stigma, and more stigma. Whilst autism is slowly loosing its stigma, the same cannot be said for NPD. I’m terrified to even mention how this impacts me truly, I lie to student support and word my issues to seem like they’re just autism, which means I don’t get the correct support. We don’t see a lot of NPD rep in academics (barring the stigmatising, outdated research about us), which makes it hard to even imagine having a career with NPD, let alone in the psychology and neuroscience field. Sometimes I feel like this is for nothing, and I’ll end up like the stereotype says I will.

[genderqueerdykes]

Not expecting a reply but wished to express (as a transfeminine person) thanks for your post regarding transandrophobia, had been seeing a large amount of my trans mutuals on this site begin to buy into a perception of transmasculine people which was an identical duplicate of those held by members of the TERF movement here in the UK, that they are entitled, immature, incapable of self determination and unneeding of liberation. Despite awareness that any individual can adopt cruel beliefs and that it might be comforting to do so (and despite awareness of this sites history of bullying campaigns targeting highly specific marginalised groups) I was confused as to why so many people found that perception in any way legitimate, especially during a time in which trans people of any assigned sex are so conspicuously in peril.

i wanted to thank you for taking the time to send this, i really appreciate you!

honestly, having so many transfeminine people step forward and say that this is making them uncomfortable has been amazing. it really is the minority of people behaving this way. most transfeminine people do not want to see someone else being hated for their gender or assigned sex- i mean, why would we want that...? that's what people do to us, why would we ever benefit from doing it to someone else?

a large amount of my trans mutuals on this site begin to buy into a perception of transmasculine people which was an identical duplicate of those held by members of the TERF movement here in the UK, that they are entitled, immature, incapable of self determination and unneeding of liberation.

dead on the money, i could not have articulated it better if tried. beautifully worded. people, whether or not they realize this, are 100% parroting terf rhetoric when they treat trans men this way. this behavior was born in terf circles, and now it's spreading to other people. people are not realizing that they're being radicalized in a way that harms other people. terfs hate trans women, of course, we know this, but they hate trans men and mascs as well, and that's not a good thing. i have no clue why people look at terfs and rad fems and go. they're evil for hating trans women/transfems. but they're BASED AS FUCK for hating trans men and mascs. like HELLO?

i have no idea why people look at rad fems and go "wow they're actually so based for hating men that is so awesome they're right all men are evil girlboss gatekeep gaslight fuck men uwu but i promise i don't hate trans women!!! i'm not a terf i don't hate trans women! terfs hate trans women and i'm not like that! i can't be a terf if i don't hate trans women hating trans men is good because all men are bad!!!!!!!!" why are you agreeing with ANY of their politics? they hate ALL trans people: that is a bad thing! hating any group of trans people is a bad thing! that is transphobia!!! people seem to think that terfs only hate trans women which is so far from the truth. why do people think it's okay to condemn part of their beliefs but not all?

like y'all wake the FUCK UP rad feminism is not progressive! you do not look cool for saying you hate trans men and transmascs! you are not pushing queer rights forward. you are not lobbying for trans women if you throw trans men under the bus.

I was confused as to why so many people found that perception in any way legitimate, especially during a time in which trans people of any assigned sex are so conspicuously in peril.

this is exactly what i don't understand. i do not understand why people think that attacking a group of trans people will somehow lessen our suffering. as if splitting up and fighting with each other will somehow bring down cisheteronormative patriarchy.

how does any of this help anyone? like seriously. how? please explain to me how this helps anyone. how does this help trans women get access to gender affirming care? how does this help trans women who are single mothers? how does this help trans women of color who are dealing with racism on top of transmisogyny? how does this help trans women who need medical care? how does this help trans women find jobs that won't turn them away for being trans? how does this help trans women who are scared about coming out as trans? how does this help trans women who live in transphobic towns and countries? how does this help trans women find community support? how does this help homeless trans women? how does this help trans women who need help with addiction? how does this help trans women escape domestic violence? how does this help trans women who are too poor to stay afloat?

thanks for stopping by, i really appreciate this message, and it does a lot of people good to hear other transfems who are not okay with this. your message will do a lot of good, so i think it's very important to publish. :) take care of yourself, thank you so much for being a compassionate person! this was a very insightful ask, thank you!

[absolutebl]

I Cannot Reach You - Kimi ni wa Todokanai REVIEWED

This image perfectly captures how I feel about this show. You ready? I wasn't.

I Cannot Reach You

AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai

Japan 2023 - 8 eps 20 ea approx 2.5 hours

Themes, main tropes & archetypes: friends to lovers, tsundere/sunshine, self acceptance, self worth, high school BL, live action yaoi, soft romance, kindness

Rating? 10/10

Yeah, it happened again in 2023.

Adapted from a manga.

The moment I finished binging this show I was thinking about writing about it and re-watching it. This is a sure sign that I adored a piece of media. 

This is a wonderful BL.

Truly well executed, with smooth filming and lovely acting, both of a simplistic style that felt slightly more Korean than it did Japanese. It reminded me a little bit of Seven Days and a little bit of Takara and Amagi, and since these are my two favorite high school JBLs obviously I was bound to adore ICRY.

But what it reminded me of more than anything was Cherry Blossoms After Winter.

Odd for JBL and KBL to be so closely linked. 

Like CBAW show, ICRY is classic live action yaoi.

Like the MOST classic of CLASSIC.

All the JBL tropes. I mean look at that image above? It's rooftop assignation, kabedon, and a handhold ALL AT ONCE.

There was also multiple runnings of the gays, surprise kisses (one on a bridge), and shoulder leans.

There is even a “seme looses control to desire” scene which leads to dub con. There is an abject apology after but still - you’ve been warned. 

The premise is: smart sporty hot (and hella gay) Yamato has a long standing crush on his silly sunshine sweetheart bestie, Kakeru. Yamato is also stiff, self isolated, shy, and has only ever really managed to get along with Kakeru. I love this kind of pining seme so damn much, it probably biased me. 

Unlike most uke, Kakeru starts to slowly figure out that his best friend is in love with him by ep 2 (let the chaos bisexual identity crisis commence).

So do some of the friends around them.

The story thus revolves around Yamato trying to unsuccessfully suppress his desire, and Kakeru trying to figure out if he can return Yamato‘s affection.

This biggest barrier is actually Kakeru's feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness (when compared to Yamato). But this is tempered by his genuine kindness which forces him into act with integrity around his dear friend's love and strive to fix everything (even himself) to prove worthy of it - whether he can ultimately return it or not.

Kakeru's struggles are pitted against Yamato‘s repressed need that keeps bubbling over and figuratively (sometimes literally) attacking Kakeru with romantic, emotional, and physical intensity. 

Quick pitch:

This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen. Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way. This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt almost honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen.

I’m not gonna lie, I dithered over whether to give this a 10/10 and nearly didn’t. But there is nothing wrong with it AS A BL.

And it's so GOOD to ALL of its characters and they are so good to each other. It's quiet, and because of that and its goodness, it will get overlooked, but I LOVED IT.

It's not one of those that BL outsiders will get and you must like Japan's style to enjoy it. But I'm in it. It's for me.

What am I hung up over? Even the kisses are good.

10/10

I CAN'T RECOMMEND IT HIGHLY ENOUGH

Welcome to a very elite club. I gotta change all my best of lists now.

I am sorry to tell you how difficult this show is to get hold of. It deserves a much wider distribution. As of Nov 2023 I do not know where to legally find it internationally with eng subs. Please check the comments for updates.

It's on Netflix in some countries!

Try to find it, you won't regret it.

(source)