#every time i think of the phrase 'put me down' my mind goes to that jenny nicholson bit when shes making fun of

[dailyclarice]

Worm Clarice... Wormice.... Yrs! Pls.... I'm three years old

DAY 16: nooooooo!! Why did you turn her into a worm!! What the fuck.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XIV)

Chapter 14: ‘Why should I blame her that she filled my days with misery’

Hi! Here is new chapter! Today, we have… Christmas shenanigans, and Andrew’s family! Some misogyny in the academic world. Also, Saoirse’s back!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3578

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

No Second Troy

Why should I blame her that she filled my days

With misery, or that she would of late

Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,

Or hurled the little streets upon the great,

Had they but courage equal to desire?

What could have made her peaceful with a mind

That nobleness made simple as a fire,

With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind

That is not natural in an age like this,

Being high and solitary and most stern?

Why, what could she have done, being what she is?

Was there another Troy for her to burn?

The room was quiet as Andrew finished reading the poem. Unusually quiet. The heavy kind of silence that filled a room after art had drawn emotions from the depths of all the hearts who had listened. Even Andrew was uneasy at the thought of disturbing it now that it had settled in, now that it filled every corner.

Saoirse wasn’t sure what was the reason behind such an emotional response to the poem. The words were beautiful by themselves, of course. Her professor had introduced the poem right before reading it out loud, and perhaps the aching came from knowing that Yeats had written this poem for Maud Gonne as she rejected him once more, and was choosing to marry another man. Of course, such sentiment, phrased with such poetry, was emotional. But Saoirse couldn’t help the thought that came to her mind, as she was pretty much certain that such pain came mainly from her teacher.

There was something in the way he read poetry that tugged on her heartstrings every time. The way his deep, quiet voice moved across the words in such an intimate way that she forgot she was in a classroom. But this time, he seemed more emotional than usual. His voice shook in the middle of a verse, his tone was deeper than it should have been. His hand was slightly trembling as he readjusted his glasses upon his nose, his head still bent as he kept staring at the page.

But then he looked up again, a small smile tugging at his lips, as if he hadn’t shattered Saoirse’s world for a moment. He put down the book on his desk, buried his hands in the pockets of his grey pants, leaning back against his desk. Like it was easy to read like this, like life could go by unchanged after such a moment.

There was a flash of mischief in his gaze, and then his smile widened a little.

“Sassy…”

Some students chuckled at the comment, but Saoirse didn’t. She was still struggling to find back her footing into reality. And then Andrew looked straight into her eyes, seemed to notice her distress, frowned a little at the sight. He checked his watch. There was but five minutes left to their class for this week. He moved on.

“Erm… so… this is the poem you’ll have to work on for your essay. I’ll remind you of the specifics I want for this exercise, but I’m already warning you about something tricky with this poem, because… like… there is a trap you must not fall into. As you could be tempted to… erm… focus only on the love side of the text, and you absolutely must focus on that… but it’s Yeats. You can’t dismiss the political context in favour of a purely romantic reading, especially considering Gonne’s own convictions about an Irish independence. So… be careful not to minimise that side of the poem.”

He gave them more instructions for the essay, and Saoirse wrote down all the details, even though she couldn’t shake the thought that the way he had read that poem… there was something so personal in there, something that seemed to echo within him, or maybe it echoed within her…

The class was dismissed, Sean heaved a tired sigh, rubbed at his eyes before he started packing. He was sitting next to her, the way he always did. And she liked that. They were friends…

“I need to head to the library before our next class,” he told her. “I haven’t finished preparing Y/L/N’s class for tomorrow. I need to finish reading the excerpt and write down some notes, or I’ll be too lost during tomorrow’s lecture.”

“I’ll help you if you want. I’ve finished it.”

“Ha, but that’s because you’re so fucking organised… a real pro…”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway at the gentle teasing. Meanwhile, Andrew had walked closer and he was now standing in front of her, a worried expression painted on his features.

She blinked up at him. He seemed a little shy now that he had to talk one-on-one with her, although the smile he offered her was benevolent.

“Are you alright? You seemed upset at the end of the class, I just wanted to check in on you…”

He stared at Saoirse with expectant eyes, and she couldn’t help the surprise that was painted on her features.

“Erm… yeah, I’m good. I’m just… I guess I was really touched by the poem, that’s all.”

“Oh… alright. Good. I thought you were upset over something else like… the workload or something.”

“No, no… I just liked the poem a lot.”

Andrew chuckled at that, visibly relaxing. He hummed, his hands back into his pockets.

“Hmmm… such a sucker for longing, this William…” he joked, making both of his students chuckle.

“Yes, and… I don’t know… the way you read it… I was genuinely touched by it.”

He blinked, tightened his jaw a little, but the same kindness was still written in his eyes as he answered.

“Hmmm… we all find parts of our lives that connect to poetry, and art in general. That’s why we make art, that’s why we engage with it too. We all have emotions to express and understand and process, and whether it may be through our own production or through the work of others… what makes a piece of art worthwhile is how relatable it still is, despite the passing of time.”

Slowly, Saoirse nodded, pondering on her professor’s words. It made her want to dissect every piece of art she had ever encountered through that scope, through that longing for communication, for being understood, for speaking when words failed…

“Well, have a nice week then, and good luck for the essay. And don’t forget to have fun over Christmas despite your studies!” Andrew smiled as they parted.

As Sean and she walked out of the classroom, heading for the library, she remained lost in thought. December had come now with its load of grey clouds, biting cold and the first layers of ice over curbs, rooftiles and windows. There were no leaves left on the trees that grew across the courtyards, but the grass was still as green, even if patches of it were tainted with white. As she breathed, condensation clouded her world, and it made it as unrecognisable as her own thoughts.

Yes, her professor had spoken with emotions that made the text more beautiful than it should be, but there was more to it, a reason behind how upset she still was about the whole thing. Something personal, a reason that was there, in her chest, and yet she couldn’t fathom what it was, couldn’t put a name on the problem.

“Shite! Those fucking steps are so slippery! Jesus Christ!”

Sean laughed as he had almost fallen, walking up the few steps leading towards the entrance of the library. The round sculpture that decorated the space before the entrance was visible behind him, although his body, as he bent over with laughter, was hiding a part of it.

She stared at him as he laughed, the sound infectious enough to draw a smile on her own lips. When she reached the first step, he reached out to her, holding gently the sleeve of her warm coat, with a smile on his lips that told her in silence I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall.

The tugging at her heart told her that maybe, just maybe, a part of the answer was there…

Andrew was humming a tune you didn’t recognise but you didn’t really mind. On the contrary, as you read an article on your computer screen, the sound made you smile.

He was in a good mood, clearly, had been all day. The upcoming Christmas break was at fault, without a doubt. He had mentioned that he would spend a lot of time with his family in Wicklow for the holidays. He would spend New Year’s Eve with you at the party Frank and Sam were throwing though, but Christmas was a precious moment he wanted to spend with his parents and his brother. Only a few days left of work, and you could both take a break from reading articles, preparing classes, grading essays…

You looked at him for a moment, or rather, you stared at him, that was a more appropriate verb for your action. He kept on humming softly, you didn’t care what the song was. It was a soothing sound, one you could have been lulled into sleep with. He was focused on typing something, you had no idea what. He had let his hair loose today, was wearing his glasses that reflected the light of his computer screen. He was wearing a brown shirt that fitted him a little too well to your liking.

Too well, indeed… it wasn’t helping your torturous thoughts.

You had to stop thinking about that kiss. It was nothing special, it didn’t mean a thing. And you didn’t want Andrew at all, you wanted Frank. You wanted Frank and you knew it, so why were you staring at Andrew like this now? Why did you keep thinking about that drunken kiss?

Or… to be fair, kisses…

He let out a triumphant exclamation, turned to you with a grin. You had to pretend that you weren’t already staring at him.

“I’m done! Christ, the exams are going to kill me one day.”

“Finished the questions?”

“For all my classes. It’s done. I’m not touching it again, not changing anything, that is enough.”

He checked the time on his watch, but it was barely 11 o’clock. Too early for lunch break. And yet, his leg was trembling, you guessed he felt restless.

“Want to take a walk?” you asked. “A coffee?”

“Aren’t you busy?”

“I’m sick of this article, it’s not even a good one. Let’s take a break!”

He grinned, the kind of bright smiles he seldom wore. Oh, he often smiled, but this kind of bright grin, of relaxed joy… he seemed to save those only for people he truly felt comfortable with. Your heart felt all warm at the thought that you were one of these people.

“You seem particularly happy today,” you pointed out, unable to refrain the fondness in your voice.

“I am!” he nodded as you walked out of your shared office. “My brother is coming over for Christmas. I’m relieved, he was working on a project in Mayo and wasn’t certain to make it. But he’ll be here to pester me about how to cook meat, and claim that the best Star Wars movie is episode five when…”

“We all know it’s Rogue One.”

“I can’t believe you’ve just said that, I’ll act like you haven’t said anything.”

“Rogue One is excellent, what are you talking about?!”

“It is excellent,” he nodded. “It’s definitely the best one after the original trilogy.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“I’ll ignore your terrible taste in Star Wars movies if you’re free some time this week.”

“Free?”

“You keep on claiming that you’re a killer at Mario Kart, and yet all I hear are words, and I don’t see any proof to back up that claim of yours.”

“Oh, so you want to get your arse kicked, then? Suit yourself, I’m free whenever you want.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“My place.”

“I’ll bring the wine.”

“Deal.”

You hoped he hadn’t noticed that your playful banter had lost some of its strength as he mentioned alcohol. Or more precisely, the prospect of getting drunk with you, which, last time, had led you to…

No! There was no need to think such thoughts! You didn’t want Andrew, you wanted Frank, and that kiss was a drunken mistake. Andrew had agreed, hence showing that he didn’t see you as more than a friend either. He wanted Sam anyway…

You heaved a sigh as you entered the cafeteria though. In front of the coffee machine, Ian and Patterson were chatting together. You tried to ignore them, but they greeted you and Andrew politely before returning to their conversation. They remained nearby while Andrew was preparing coffee for you both.

And of course, they were talking about their favourite topic of conversation… criticizing women.

Or rather, their second-favourite topic, you reckoned. They loved gloating about themselves more…

“Of course, the sources were all over the place, if women were rigorous enough, they would have more access to research jobs…” Ian said, making Patterson chuckle while Andrew was glowering at them over his shoulder, but decided to say nothing.

You threw them a disgusted look as well, one that didn’t go unnoticed. But you weren’t in the mood for arguing today. All you wanted was to escape the room with Andrew and go back to laughing with him…

… and maybe thinking about his lips again.

“Oh, I bet our ‘expert’ has something to say about that,” Patterson said, looking at you with a mocking smile.

“Not today, no,” you shook your head.

“Why not? Too tired? Busy week?”

“Just… not interested.”

“Not interested?”

“In wasting my time on you,” you clarified.

Andrew turned to you, a surprised yet impressed look on his face. Meanwhile Ian and Patterson were stunned by your tone.

“That is barely polite…” complained Ian.

“Oh, sorry… was insulting half of humanity not impolite, perhaps?”

“Now, that’s quite enough, we weren’t employing that tone!”

“God, you’re insufferable, both of you.”

Andrew blinked as he stared, stunned by your sharp tone as well. Although, he didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest. He was rather… impressed.

“Insufferable… that’s highly unprofessional.”

“And you’re highly irrelevant 99% of the time you open your mouth, so maybe spare us all the boredom?”

Andrew couldn’t refrain a laugh, drawing glares from your two colleagues, but he couldn’t have cared less.

“I hope you don’t have a good day,” you concluded the discussion with a tight-lipped smile, taking the cup of coffee Andrew was handing you, and he followed you out of the room while Patterson and Ian were fuming after you. You ignored them though, merely walked back towards your office.

Andrew was staring at you in silence still, and when you turned to him, you threw him a questioning look.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” you asked, making Andrew finally look away, blushing.

He shrugged.

“Nothing, just… I like that side of you.”

“What side?”

He laughed, gently nudging as you walked down a corridor together.

“Your ruthless side. You’re kind of… terrifying, when you want to be.”

“And you like being scared?”

“I’m not scared. Just… impressed. Intimidated as well. You’re intimidating.”

You tried to hide the way you were smiling by drinking some of your coffee. The fact that Andrew was rolling up his sleeve as he changed the topic of conversation back to something lighter again wasn’t helping…

“Mom!”

“I don’t want to hear it…”

“He started it!”

“I am too old for this…”

“I didn’t start shit, you loser! You’re the one who started this!”

“You have no taste whatsoever… and you pretend to be an artist…”

“Oh, sorry, professor, do you want to grade my essays or are you simply going to lecture me on ‘how to be a boring arse’?”

“I swear to God…”

“Stop it! Both of you!”

Both Andrew and Jon fell silent, glowering at each other from across the table.

“I swear, you two… how old are you both? You’re still bickering like you’re a pair of five year-olds!”

Andrew opened his mouth to protest, but one look from his mother made him fall back to silence.

“You boys are too old for this,” she stated, a final statement that would close any debate, and both of the brothers knew better than to argue. “And I am too old for this.”

Meanwhile, John was looking at the scene from his own spot around the table, trying hard not to laugh. While Raine was pouring herself some water, there was the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as well.

“Jon, I’m glad your project in Mayo is working out fine, honey,” she congratulated her eldest son. “Tell us more about it.”

And Jon did, he talked about the new short-film he was shooting, talked about his colleagues, about his difficulties and the fun he had as well as their meal went on. Meanwhile the rest of the family listened and questioned and teased and joked around. And it was such a lovely afternoon. Outside, rain was pouring but in the Byrnes’ home, it was sunny and bright. Warm with love; the kind of love that whispered in the quiet that everything would be alright, eventually.

Andrew had missed this. If he didn’t live far away from his parents’ home in Wicklow, he didn’t come that often. Not as much as he would like, at least. He had a busy life of his own, after all. Jon had been away for three months, and he would rather die than admit it out loud, but Andrew had missed his brother terribly. The place felt empty when they were not all gathered together.

It was the day before Christmas, and in a few hours they would all be heading to see their relatives and spend the evening with them. Andrew would be driving, Jon and their father would criticise his itinerary, claiming to know a better route, while Raine would hum to whatever tune would be on the radio, and in the trunk there would be the food they spent their day cooking, enough of it to feed a whole battalion.

But for now, it was still just the four of them. And Andrew basked in the radiance of it all, in the simplicity of an ordinary day spent with the people he loved most on this earth, without adventures or anything exciting happening except creating memories.

He watched his brother babble about his job, his mother pouring everyone some water without asking if they wanted any, his father sneaking a piece of food to Elwood under the table.

Andrew wished he could live this day over and over and over again…

“What about you, Andy?” John asked after a short silence. “Preparing for exam season?”

“Everything’s ready,” Andrew answered with a tired sigh. “Just… busy.”

There was a moment of silence, and Andrew knew the next question that would come before his brother would ask it out loud. He had been expecting it all day, after all.

“And… what about Sam? Are you still in contact with her?”

“Yeah… erm… I’ll see her for the New Year, actually.”

“Is it really healthy to keep seeing her like that?”

“I want to keep seeing her.”

Jon narrowed his eyes as he stared at Andrew, in that way he hated so much. The way that made Jon the big brother judging the bad decisions made by the youngest.

“I really hope you’re not hanging onto her.”

Andrew grew quiet, knowing what would come, he had been expecting it, and in all fairness, his family was right. It wasn’t healthy to cling onto his ex that way, to want her back, to attempt to get her back when she was engaged to another man.

He couldn’t help it though, he just… couldn’t help it…

“Andy…” Jon heaved a sigh that withheld so much unspoken judgement it made Andrew’s blood boil.

“I haven’t asked for your opinion…”

“She treated you so bad, Andy! She broke your heart!”

“I’m not asking for your opinion, Jon!”

The room grew quiet again, until Raine reached across the table to hold her son’s hand.

“You do whatever makes you happy, Andy. That has always been what we have wished for both you and your brother. That you would both be happy.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Now, that being said… I think you deserve better than her.”

Andrew rolled his eyes.

“You’re my mom, or course, you do.”

“No, your mother’s right,” John added. “Sam is lovely, but… you deserve to be treated better. I think… I think you could be loved better. I think you could be happier with someone else.”

“Alright, let’s talk about something else,” decided Raine. “What about that new colleague of yours? That you keep on mentioning? Y/N?”

Andrew’s face lit up at the sound of your name, but he didn’t notice. His family did though, and they all shared a look.

“She’s well! Adapting, trying to get her footing at Trinity, I guess… but she’s doing okay.”

“You’re becoming good friends, I reckon.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think we can say we’re good friends by now.”

“Hmm… and nothing more?”

“Mom…”

“I’m just asking!”

“Nothing more. None of us is… looking for anything like that at the moment anyway.”

“Hmm…”

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me… There’s nothing there, just… we’re just good friends. Really good friends.”

Why did this answer felt like lying though? Why was his heart dropping as he spoke the word ‘friend’?

For a second, the mere blink of an eye, he could feel your lips on his and…

No! No… it didn’t mean a thing…

“Anyway… she shut Ian and Patterson up the other day, like… it was crazy.”

“Really?”

“Hmm… yeah, like…”

Andrew started rambling about you, failing to realise that he jumped from one anecdote to the next. Raine and John exchanged a knowing glance, smiled.

They merely hoped their son would wake up soon.

[yourangel137]

Imagine making out with Diluc and accidentally pulling his hair only for him to like it.. a lot

I love Diluc and I couldn't help writing about pulling his gorgeous hair

Genre: Suggestive

Pair: Diluc X GN!reader

Warnings: making out.... Lots of it

Word count: 668

Summary: Spoiling your sweet boyfriend never ended this well before

Genshin imagines masterlist

You feel so spoiled all the time with a boyfriend like Diluc. He always seems to know exactly what you love, spoiling you with everything you want. Last time it was simply a shirt you thought looked cool, he bought it for you almost instantly with the usual phrase: “Don’t mention it, it’s just a shirt.” He seems to love seeing your happy expression every time he gifts you something, but that’s exactly why he also keeps doing it. Today you decided to spoil Diluc for once, thanking him for all his love and attention by giving him his favourite food, his favourite perfume and watching your favourite series together.

You’re able to give him the butterflies he rarely feels and the smiles he rarely shows. Your kind gestures makes his cheeks flush a soft pink colour, and his palms slightly more sweaty than usual. His mind is filled with you and only you, simply because you spoil him for a day. “Is this how you feel when I spoil you?” He asks, his eyes focus on your lips while his brain goes wild with thoughts on how to possibly thank you for such a great day. “Yes Diluc, I do feel like that when you spoil me too~ It feels nice doesn’t it?”

“Mhm...”

Your cheeks flush a bit once you notice the look in his eyes, the look of want and love. Before you could comment on it, he leans in and gives your lips a soft kiss. “Thank you...” Diluc simply says before he leans in once again to give your lips another kiss, this one deeper than the other, his hands cupping your cheeks gently. You didn’t think he would become so touchy after simply being spoiled for a day, but the neediness in his kisses makes you realize this might not have been such a bad thing to do. While his tongue fights its way inside your mouth, your brain shuts down and your heart beats faster. His hands, once cupping your cheeks now make their way down your body, asking for more in a simple yet very effective way. Without a second thought you break the kiss and climb on top of his lap, putting your arms around his neck and continuing the make out session. You can’t help but let out soft noises while his hands do their magic on your body and his tongue fights for dominance with your own.

You feel his hands slip under your top, simply touching your bare waist with his warm hands. Simple touches like these always seem to make you want more and Diluc knows that. He breaks the kiss with a chuckle, “Want more? You’re moaning quite some.” He says with a cocky smirk. You lean in again and softly nibble on his lower lip, causing him to groan softly, you too know exactly what makes him more needy. “Maybe..” You answer, giving him a small chuckle too before you continue the make out. Your hands untie Diluc's hair-tie, letting his hair down after it being tied the whole day. You softly stroke through his hair while his lips still desperately seek yours. Accidentally you tuck on his luscious locks, having your fingers tangled in one of his knot. Expecting him to comment on it, you hesitantly remove your hands from his hair, but what you didn’t expect was the loud groan of pleasure coming from Diluc. ‘He likes it?’ You ask yourself, testing it out again, softly tucking on his locks of red and hearing yet another gorgeous, needy groan. You pull away from his mouth, eyes wide seeing his appearance before you. His cocky smirk is gone, instead his cheeks are flushed red and his eyes are half lidded from pleasure. “Oh? Did my boyfriend enjoy his hair being tucked?”

“Shut up and just kiss me again.”

You smirk, it seems this new information can be used more often in such situations. You’ll be sure to remember this for next time.

Hope u like it <3

Much love,

Angel

Posted on: 22-05-2023

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for making my daughter morning baskets?

Okay so this has been going in circles for almost a month and I feel like I'm losing my mind, so getting external opinions.

I have 2 sisters, A and B. A is happily childfree, B has 2 kids, (6 and 2), I have 1 kid (1). We were all together at Christmas, and Sis A asked how daycare was going (we started doing part time daycare in September). I said it was good, I was getting the time to focus on work when I worked 3 10s the days my daughter goes to care, and then half days the 2 days she's home.

I also mentioned that I'd recently started doing morning baskets for her. My phrasing was something like 'I started doing this silly Pinterest morning basket thing, but it's actually working really well for us, so that's nice.' Sis B mentions that she's seen the idea, but didn't really think it would work for her. I said that makes sense, her mornings are different than mine (she is a SAHM and homeschools her 6 yo).

Conversation moved on to other things and I thought nothing of it, until after the holiday Sis A messages me that I was cruel to Sis B, bragging about making more money than her, and should apologize. I ask what she's talking about and she says the morning basket thing. I clarify that while some people do printables/coloring in their baskets, my kiddo is still eating crayons, so I'm literally taking a couple books and toys that she already has and putting them in the living room so that it's the first thing she sees in the morning. I've found that since there's only about an hour between waking and leaving for daycare, it's helpful to not have her drag every toy she has out for me to clean up later. When I said that my sister's mornings are different, I mean that she's staying home and also doing school/prek activities with her kids, so it's a very different flow of the day. I explained all of this to Sis A, who maintained that I was bragging about my income.

Concerned that I was the AH, I contacted Sis B, because I wanted to apologize even if it was just a misunderstanding. Sis B has no issue, says she's not discussed it with SIs A at all, and further that she assumed I meant her kids' school activities when I said her mornings are different (which is exactly right). Also, because Sis B's youngest is a year older than mine, a fair amount of my kid's toys are hand-me-downs from her, so she thinks the 'bragging about toys' comment it silly. Fair, honestly. I move on.

Until next time Sis A calls. 'Have you apologized to Sis B yet?' Telling her about our conversation and that she's the only one who wasn't on the same page has no effect, she maintains that Sis B is just 'feeling too shamed' to tell me how she really feels. She's now telling our extended family that I'm 'lording my wealth' over them both, and I've got aunts telling me I should apologize. But to whom? For what? AITA??

~~Example of a basket, in case info is helpful: stuffed dino, dino hotwheel car, a couple of books about dinosaurs, some blocks to round it out. This is all stuff that we have already, I'm just grabbing some things around a loose theme the night before.

What are these acronyms?

[viridianevergarden]

This again. I just want to break down my thoughts here so bear with me.

(I did the math and calculated ~ 7.9k people voted that 55%) 💀

First of all,

Elain doesn’t just enjoy gardening for the aesthetic, but rather for the fruits of her labor through hard work. Spring Court’s flowers and nature are only in bloom by magic (The High Lord’s). Not work. Not labor. But rather for convenience and aesthetics (to embody the very domain that one, being Tamlin, High Lord of the SC, resides in). That, to me, goes against Elain’s very enjoyment of the craft of her gardening.

Couple that with the fact that she has completely neglected using those gloves that Lucien gave her. She put them down after they were gifted to her, not even bothering to look at them as if she didn’t care for them. She doesn’t seek protection from the labor of her craft. She doesn’t want to make it easier. She enjoys the challenge. I think Feyre’s perspective on that made it clear.

And again, why would Elain in her right mind willingly go to be with her younger sister’s abusive ex? Why would she? I’m pretty sure she is well aware of what transpired between the two. That she is aware of Tamlin’s actions. Especially when he is partially, if not entirely, responsible for her life quite literally being turned upside down. Having her mortality stripped from her and her love and happiness (or simply content) gone along with it. If she is so visibly uncomfortable with Lucien, who was an accomplice, I’d imagine she would also hold animosity or discomfort for Tamlin tenfold.

Secondly,

Regarding mating bonds being rare: This is a story that encompasses a main group of protagonists. 3’s are SJM’s specialty. Just because 3 brothers may get with 3 sisters does not automatically mean that mating bonds aren’t rare. As a fae romance series with mating bonds clearly being a significant staple throughout, we will encounter mating bonds. Especially with our protagonists. That just seems like logic to me. Even then, it’s been stated and shown time and again that not every mating bond works or is positive. That just because two individuals have a bond doesn’t mean they’ll have good chemistry.

Also take into account that our dear Inner Circle is not the entire continent of Prythian. The Inner Circle does not equal the entire population. So therefore, a small group of mated individuals ≠ a common occurrence.

What’s wrong with the storyline matching up to have a 3:3? Is the perfectionism so wrong? I think that the phrase “too perfect” should be replaced with “complete/completion”. One last brother to one last sister is the remaining piece of the puzzle. Yes, you can argue that the cliche of 3:3 is boring or too simple but this is SJM’s world. She is a cliche author. She always has been.

Lastly,

I believe that Tamlin has had his redemption arc. If you want to call it that at least. In my opinion, he doesn’t need one. His prime arc is over. The series is way bigger than just Tamlin now. I simply see no reason as to why SJM should take more time for Tamlin , who arguably has done more than enough, rather than anything else. I feel like it’d be a backward progression.

Not every character has to be redeemed.

Not every character should be able to find peace or become good after selfish or morally questionable acts.

Not every character calls for major development.

To me, it’s just bad writing to redeem and develop every single character.

Even then, Tamlin is a well written character. He doesn’t need more depth. (I think this post alone proves that people don’t understand him already). He doesn’t need Elain to come in and “fix him”. No one can. No one but Tamlin himself. And we see that if anything, he’s wasting away rather than trying to help himself. He’s wallowing in his grief, anger, and hatred. Be it for others -like Rhys- or himself. It’s on him. Hell, even Rhys tried to help him. Yet he remains unmoving. That is Tamlin’s choice. Elain shouldn’t need to be his catalyst for change. He should.

To Conclude,

I see no logical reason again as to why people think this is a possibility. It just seems like a terrible writing choice for the story of ACOTAR. Of course, SJM can indeed surprise us. She wields the mighty pen after all. But then again, why would she turn around and completely dismiss 4 books of chemistry with a certain shadowsinger just to pitch our third sister with someone like Tamlin or Lucien? If she had planned to do so before, why would there be 4 books worth of obvious chemistry? It’d be a waste. If she has planned or plans to have Elain go with Lucien or Tamlin, why hasn’t she written any semblance of true chemistry between them? If Elain should allegedly have a balance with Tamlin or Lucien, why isn’t there any chemistry? All I’ve seen from Elain is obvious discomfort.

“I thought it was obvious…” - SJM

I could write more about Lucien and Elain’s dynamic but I think that is a whole different matter that doesn’t pertain to the current topic so I’ll leave this here. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[poughkeepsies]

okay twist my arm here's my fic rec list

category: the most underrated fics that have never once left my mind since I first read them and I genuinely think about at least every few weeks in no particular order

(disclaimer that this list does not include a great majority of my beloveds' works but that's because I picked at random from the list of at least 30 that I've compiled over the past few days)

Tell Me Anything - AnnaNSmith/@annansmith - 5.3k

“Hey, Eddie?”

Buck’s voice rings softly in the quiet. A casual lilt on his tongue as he says his name.

“Hm?”

“Tell you something?”

Shrugging, Eddie keeps his eyes fixed at the ceiling above him.

“We got time.”

--

Or, how Buck shattered Eddie's entire world one night by confessing his love to him.

2. shout if you want my heart - hattalove / @hattalove - 5.8k

“I’m not even in the neighborhood of mad,” he says, instead of vomiting any of the thousand feelings warring inside him. “But Buck. This would’ve—this took you hours.”

“I’m good at multitasking,” Buck says, and Eddie can practically hear him shrugging over the phone. “I did all the cooking after I put Chris to bed, and then I got up a little earlier to get the cleaning and laundry done. It was nothing.”

Eddie’s starting to suspect he’ll have to wait for Buck to come back to make him understand that, actually, it kind of was everything.

or, eddie has a tupperware-induced emotional crisis.

3. find a way to you (if it kills me) - foxwatson / @eddiediazes - 19.5k

It’s something about the way Eddie phrases it. Something about the combination of his words and the way he’s staring down at the floor, and the flush in his cheeks and the way he’s fidgeting. Buck thinks, abruptly, he’s going to ask me on a date.

“Well I - wanted to tell you first, and I need someone to watch Chris, anyways - I know he’s getting old enough now he doesn’t like feeling like he’s got a babysitter, so I was hoping - sorry. Not the point. Uh. I have a date on Saturday.”

Just as abruptly as his own hopes had come soaring up above the cloud cover of his own unawareness - they go crashing back down to the floor - to the basement, and into the mud. “A date?” Buck rasps out.

or - the one where eddie decides to start dating again, buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief

4. Finding Home - S_lycopersicum / @slycopersicum-in-disguise - 4.4k

"Buck!" Eddie yelled as he turned his key in the loft door and dumped his suitcase inside.

He immediately got a startled "Eddie?" in response, and thank God for that because if Buck had been out running errands it would have been the last damn straw. But he was here, where Eddie needed him to be, and pounding down the stairs from the stupid platform thing he had instead of a normal bedroom. "Is everything OK?"

"No! You won't answer your goddamn phone and my house is full of bees."

5. counteroffer - buckleyseddie / @buckleyseddie - 25k

There’s a flicker of something across Buck’s face, but he quickly goes back to grinning. “You just want me at your beck and call.”

“Maybe I do.” Eddie shrugs. “You owe it to me.”

Buck sighs, as if put out, but Eddie can see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Okay, then what's it gonna be?”

Eddie hums thoughtfully. He takes his time trying to think of something good. “What about-” he starts.

And that’s the moment Buck licks his lips and Eddie’s eyes dip down to them. And before he knows what comes over him, before he can think the words through, they’re out of his mouth.

“A kiss,” he says.

Buck blinks at him. Eddie blinks back.

“You want a kiss,” Buck repeats, eyebrows rising.

***

Or in order for Buck to make it up to Eddie, Eddie suggests that Buck gives him one hundred kisses.

6. keep me as your finish line - thatbuddie (talktothesky) / @thatbuddie - 33k

“Oh no, we’re not doing this.” Chimney pops a bubble with the gum he’s been chewing as he moves one of his fingers back and forth to point between The-Man-who-isn’t-Buck’s-man-he’s-just-The-Man and Buck. “You didn’t drag me to the gym just so you can ditch me to fuck some guy in the showers."

Buck lowers his voice, leaning forward as if trying to make the words’s journey shorter between him and Chimney so they can’t escape and reach anyone else’s ears,“I wouldn’t fuck him in the showers.”

Chimney’s response is wordless in the form of an eyebrow raise.

“Not anymore, okay?” Buck clarifies, rolling his eyes. “That’s not who I am now."

(spoiler alert: Buck does fuck the guy in the showers. but that comes after nicknaming him Big Beautiful Brown Eyes, finding out his name is actually Eddie, becoming his best friend, and falling madly in love with him.)

7. bring me a higher love - KiaraSayre / @starsandatoms - 7.4k

The A-shift works 4/20, Buck gets accidentally high, and Eddie suffers.

8. home stretch of a hard time - spiritsontheroof - 4.2k

When Buck tells him that he’s engaging in a “year of possibilities” in which he isn’t saying to no anything, Eddie isn’t surprised. It’s exactly the kind of thing Buck would get himself into to break this slump he says he’s been in. He’s changing his life, or so he says.

9. tying you to me - rarakiplin (gmontys) / @hoediaz - 5.3k

“Diaz?”

The man — and it is Eddie Diaz, Buck can’t not see it now — blinks, and in a split second his expression shutters closed. “Buckley.”

Buck wonders if he looks different without Diaz’s blood on his face.

-

or, eddie and buck meet each other at rock bottom

10. Four Can Keep A Secret - Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars - 20k

When Ravi and Hen accidentally see Buck and Eddie, who are trying hard to keep their new relationship a secret, in the middle of a romantic moment, they try to make them confess without the rest of the station finding out. Shenanigans ensue.

[wqxianwriting]

Maybe f!reader is a tomboy (hate that phrase… dresses traditionally masc and bummy almost always?) and has to dress up for an event with Nick (or maybe both of the boys doesn’t matter). And it’s not like she doesn’t know how to dress fem and do make up and hair, she actually can do it very well, she just doesn’t bother lol. But what would the reaction to see her looking like a fem queen for the first time be?

Just wrote things on my mind 😔💜 he’s adorable he loves you very much. | Headcanons w a scenario!

Nick Nelson:

Excuse him as he picks his jaw up off the floor, gets up off his knees after they collapsed and as he goes ahead to order a new heart because honestly. He just died.

Alright first off, he doesn’t mind what you wear of course, as long as you’re comfortable and nobody is forcing you to be who you’re not/force you to wear things you’re not okay being in

I think he’d be a liiitle conflicted seeing you awaken into your divine form, let me explain:

Number One: He’s seen you in traditional masc looks that he thinks, “??? Is someone forcing you to do this?” and it triggers that LITERAL feral mode so you’d have to calm him down.

Number Two: You next have to deal with him hovering over you while you’re doing your makeup because not only is he fascinated he just can’t help take his eyes off of you – as if he does on any other occasion but don’t say anything.

Number Three: He will plead to hold you like right as soon as you’re about to leave to the event 💀 “Hold on… you mean no cuddles before you leave?” ,, “Nick. I have five minutes to run to this event.” ,, “Let me drive you?” 🥺 PLEADE?

Adding on the fact he’s absolutely adoring you while you expertly put on the makeup he asks you questions like, “Do you typically like wearing more traditional feminine things?”, “Does it make you uncomfortable?”, etc etc

He kind of thinks of you as a new person but not in the sense he treats you differently from before, he just wants to brush up on some boundaries, ya know?

TEACH HIM HOW TO DO YOUR HAIR AND MAKEUP LIKE HE WOULD MELT 🥹

For some reason he has a suit in your closet? So while you’re combing through your hair, you see his silhouette peek out behind your door through your vanity. “Nick, honey, what are you doing?”

He laughs suspiciously before widening the door, placing his hands on his hips and tilting his chin up. In all his glory stands Mr. Nelson, in a classic black and white suit. He wiggles his eyebrows at you and, “Allow me to be your king for the evening, My Queen.” He then awkwardly bows.

It takes every part of you not to laugh nor yeet your comb at him. “What…” Is all you manage to squeak out.

He then walks over to you, guiding the hand that was tangled in your locks into his own. He wraps his other hand around your waist, very much giggly. “I love this look.” He plants a soft kiss on your forehead and it makes you flustered right off the bat.

“Really?” He nods in affirmation, twirling you around your bedroom and admiring the way your dress flans out before resting back down against your legs.

He rocks you back and forth, sometimes giving you a spin. “Do you not like wearing dresses and makeup? Is this your first time looking this way and you’re just a first time expert at everything?” He jokes but you hear the curiosity in his words.

“Not very often, if at all, really. Special events if they require it.” You toss your comb on the bed before wrapping your arm around his neck. “And maybe I am, but not in this case. Sometimes I wanna wear makeup or just mess around with it so I’ve practiced here and there.”

He pauses.

“Wait have you been wearing makeup some of the times I’ve seen you and I’ve never noticed?!”

Your grin. “Maybe.” He scoffs and sighs in self-disappointment. “Why?” You pull him closer and give him a peck on the lips.

“Because? Isn’t that something I should notice?” You raise an eyebrow and he continues, “I don’t want you to feel as if your efforts are wasted by me not noticing.”

“Nick, if I ever feel like dressing up it’s not necessary for you to notice every bit of detail. I’m content lazing around like a bum without all the fancies.” He laughs at your words, “Though, seeing your reaction to this look definitely makes me think I should try a few other things someday~”

“That sounds sooo suspicious…” Nick narrows his eyes at you but you can see the faint blush on his cheeks. “Can I try helping you with your makeup or hair someday?”

This surprises you and you crack a grin. “Would you like to be my test dummy as well?”

“What?!”

“Well as my boyfriend, I think that’s an unspoken rule, no? Let your girlfriend give you a makeover, mhm.” You nod like it’s law.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing?”

“Well yeah, I said it’s unspoken for a reason.”

He looks so done with you.

In the end though, days you do feel like wearing things a little more feminine he goes shopping with you for different clothes, accessories, even those damn hair rollers.

99.9% gonna be confused as hell but he’s got the spirit and loves coming up to you with different things expressing how good you’d look thought he sneaks a cheesy comment, “You’d look stunning in anything.” With a shrug.

Takes every FIBER AND MUSCLE in your limbs to not jump this man with an uproar of kisses in the middle of the freaking store.

Either way he loves anything you wear even if you showed up one day to his house in a trash bag. He loves anything you do with your hair and look, hoping you feel satisfied in the results yourself.

(Also please bring him to that event you’re going to, he wants to show you off pspspsps like YEAH that’s my lover mhm, yeah I know she looks like a goddess. Did you know she did this herself? A professional? She might as well be. – drag him off before he can continue LMAOO)

Side note: Nick tries to act like he’s some posh fancy little man so, he’s insufferable with his… whatever you wanna call this; “Ah yes dear, this dress looks absolutely divine on you, though you look exquisite everyday.” or acts like the two of you are royalty. Just a silly little guy. That is indeed your boyfriend.

(It’s a great distraction he loves to do if you’re not typically comfortable dressing up more feminine when the time comes)

ALSO COMPLETELY RANDOM but if you’re not comfortable wearing traditional feminine clothing I… LMAOO he would absolutely be the type of significant other that wears them along with you. You buy a new skirt (just for it to be locked away with the others fr) and he’s in the room when you open the package, right

He’s like, “Why don’t you try it on?”

You explain why before pointing to the drawer at the bottom of your dresser before tugging it open and wow! So many damn skirts lmao, majority were given to you by some of the girls you know that say they didn’t wanna throw them away but weren’t wearing them anymore so it’s your responsibility now 😁🥰

He asks if he can grab one, you shrug in confusion and he takes one. Five minutes later, explain to me why you’re both standing infront of your body mirror, both bare legged but twisting around in the skirts. You both don’t look bad 😌 Like Nick would say, you look absolutely divine.

In conclusion, he loves when you dress up and is absolutely starstruck by the different attires you wear but he’s faaaar from giving up on your usual style. He cheers you on when you go out of your comfort zone – or even if it is in your comfort zone and you just don’t want to wear such things frequently, he’s still cheering you on!

He admires the way you’re very precise with your makeup, he admires how you style your hair and he carries the days you decorate your strands with different accessories (like flowers or clips etc) deep within his heart and don’t even get him started on your outfits. Even when you’re not dolled up he always thought your sense of style was really nice and even asks you often to help buy some more clothes for him or help pick out things to wear, aha.

I’m sure we all expected it but no matter what you look like he thinks you’re absolutely talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, beautiful, gorgeous, charming, admirable, stunni-

cOUGH. anyways

[projectbluearcadia]

Kneel.

NSFW Submissive!Lucifer x GN!MC Spice Rating - 3/4 DON'T BURN YOURSELF

[ Scenario: It's a quiet evening, and the first thing on your mind is to make him submit to you. You're going to top, and he's going to be a red-faced, begging mess by the time you're finished with him. ]

Lucifer is an adorable little sub.

Wordcount - 1890

smutty notes (consult if you haven’t read my smut before.)

“I’d like to see you try.” Those were Lucifer’s words to you when you offhandedly mentioned topping him, before you had gotten into a relationship with him. The man is a control freak, and he cringes at the idea of giving it to anyone. But his little dare buzzes inside your head every time you hold hands or share a quiet kiss. He doesn’t think you can top him? He doesn’t think you have the mettle for it? He might know you better now, but that little condescending smirk gets on your nerves. 

You want to absolutely wreck him.

You decide to get him comfortable, but nothing more. Even if he’d never try to make excuses to you, you didn’t want him to try and blame it on sleep deprivation or demonus. This is going to be all you. 

And there you sit together, cuddled in front of his fire, watching Mammon’s wads of printed money curl up and turn to ashes as you make idle chatter with the eldest of the seven brothers.  

“You know, it’s quiet today…” you suggest, just a few centimeters away from his ear. “We could… do something fun together tonight…” You trace your fingers against his face, and he leans into your hand. “Couldn’t we?” 

“I have been feeling as if I haven’t been seeing enough of you lately,” he chuckles, and you can’t help but feel touched. You internally promise to make him writhe in pleasure for that. “Do you want to…” His words are lost as you kiss him, prodding your way into his mouth and taking your sweet time to gently shift on him, knowing you’re already starting to ignite his libido. 

He stands up and takes you with him, about to drag you to bed before you abruptly stop kissing him, prompting his curiosity. Did you not want to go that far after all? You imagine that’s the thought on his mind as his deep red eyes linger on your lips before returning to your own eyes. 

You run your hands through his hair, dragging your fingers across his face before you lean in and place a heated kiss on his neck, a weakness you had discovered a few days ago. He shudders, and you call up the power of your pact with him, letting it surge through your veins. 

“Kneel." 

A sharp hiss spills through his teeth as he obeys, and he shoots you a glare, only to make a startled sound as you put your foot on his upraised knee, leaning down towards his face. You must have quite the excited look on your face because Lucifer blushes when you firmly take his chin in your hand. It looks like you’re not going to get reprimanded for this particular misuse of your pact. 

“I call the shots right now, Lucifer, not you. Do you understand me? Answer yes or no.” 

“Yes.” That was actually easier than you expected. Pity; you were going to punish him thoroughly if he said no. You suppose that could be for another night if he was going to be cooperative. 

“You’re going to do everything I say, with or without the pact. So stand up and strip for me.” 

You take your foot off his knee, and he straightens, seeming to momentarily debate whether or not he wants to try to take the lead from you before he glances at his door. “It’s locked, honey. Go ahead,” you add gently, and you watch with amusement as a touch of pink colors the tips of his ears. Adorable. 

Lucifer starts to undress, his fingers steady and careful as he works through each button and tie, pulling article after article off without complaint. He must trust you a lot, although you suppose that goes without saying. 

Before long, Lucifer is nude in front of you in all of his beautiful glory, his “friend” gazing longingly between your legs. 

“Good boy.” The phrase rolls off your tongue, and for a moment, you regret saying it. He hates it when you do that, but judging by the way he shifts, he doesn’t dislike it right now. “Now we can go to the bed.”

You take him by the hand, and he follows you—eagerly, it seems—to his bed before you push him down onto his sheets, leaving him looking up at you. You take your shirt and pants off, deciding to give him something nice to look at. Besides, it’s hot in the room (how Lucifer prefers it), and you’ve been waiting for the opportunity to take off your sweat-stained clothing.

“No, stay down,” you scold, pressing your hand on his chest as he tries to get onto his elbows. 

“I want to touch you,” he murmurs, and you press your finger to his lips. 

“No,” you say again. “You’re going to behave. Give me your hands.” Now he’s showing a little resistance, actively resisting your attempts to tie up his wrists. 

“Let me touch you,” he complains. 

“No,” you growl before you chant an incantation that glues his wrists to the wall behind his bed. “You only get to touch when I say you get to touch. That was bad, Lucifer. Apologize.” 

“This can’t hold…” He pauses as he struggles to escape. “You’ve been practicing.” 

“Of course I have,” you reply, climbing on top of him, and he stops struggling. “I wanted to dom you so hard that you wouldn’t be able to deny that you’re actually a cute little sub for me.” You lean closer to his lips. “You feel this position? You see where you are right now? Get used to it, honey.” He closes his eyes and lets out a soft groan. 

“MC, please don’t shake your hips like that.” 

“How many times do I have to say that I call the shots right now?” you ask lowly before you litter his neck down his collar with bites, earning you several low groans from Lucifer’s mouth. “And you still haven’t apologized to me. I think a punishment is necessary, don’t you?” Lucifer visibly shudders under you, and you smirk evilly as you draw your fingers slowly across his lean, sculpted chest. You alternate between the pads of your fingers and your nails, giving him just the lightest touches, and before long, you’re teasing around his groin. 

Emphasis on teasing. 

He bucks his hips when you brush your thumb against his base, and you can’t help but chuckle. 

“MC,” he groans, and you finally decide to wrap your hand around his length, watching with pleasure as his brows furrow. “Your hand feels… nice.” He closes his eyes as you slowly stroke him, finally giving him what he wants. 

“Of course it feels nice; it’s my hand,” you reply. “You want me to go faster, don’t you?” He swallows and nods, shifting in his restraints, and you give into his desires, biting your lip as you watch him get closer and closer to release, his breathing getting erratic and heavy. He won’t groan for you yet. No, not yet. 

“MC!” he gasps as you let off a moment after the word “cum” is on his lips. 

“No,” you purr, kissing his cheek before you notice you caught some of his precum on your hand when you took it off him, and you decide to take the opportunity to lick it off. Interestingly, a bit salty. 

“MC, please,” he pants, and you can see his control is rapidly slipping further and further to the wayside.

“Please what?” You glance your fingers against his tip, and his leg twitches under you. He could easily lift you with it, but he knows damn well if he does, he’s not going to get away with it. Ah, bliss. “Do you want me to make you cum, Lucifer?” 

“Yes,” he groans. “That isn’t obvious?” Still a little backtalk, hm? 

“Of course not,” you croon before you go back to stroking him, taking care to work him up again. Over and over again. “I need to know what you need before I can give it to you, don’t I?” His arms work harder against your enchantment, and you can feel his desperation draining away at your magic, but at this point, you don’t care. His red-splotched canvas of a face is too beautiful to resist.

“MC, please, I want to cum,” he moans out this time, but you still refuse him, leaving him shaking and panting. “MC, please, I am begging you.” 

“You’re not begging hard enough, honey.” 

“Please don—” His voice starts to give out as you go back at him, giving his tip extra attention, drool starting to spill from his mouth as he screws his eyes shut, bucking his hips desperately for you. “Please, I’ve been patient. I’ve been good,” he begs, and at this point, he’s broken free of your spell, but it seems like he’s either still under the impression that it’s still there, or he’s actually really enjoying being teased to insanity. 

“You want to cum this badly from a little bit of orgasm denial. You’re pathetic, Lucifer,” you chuckle, and he’s panting and twitching under you, aching for you to touch him just a little more. You're not even sure if the insult hit him. 

“Please,” he begs, and his eyes start to fill with tears, his face so red that you could have mistaken it for a cherry. God, how could he be so damn cute? “I want to cum. Please. I can’t take it anymore.” 

"I think you can take a little more though?" you loftily reply, placing a kiss on his lips. 

"No more," he rasps. "Please, MC, I'll do anything…" 

"Are you crying, Lucifer?" you murmur against his lips, and he finally moves his hands to cover his eyes. You move them aside just a little forcefully, breaking his resistance. "It's okay, honey. You can show me. Is it really too much for you?" 

"I want you," he groans. 

"Answer my question, or you won't get me." That was a lie, but he didn't need to know that. 

"I… can take more if you want me to," he sniffs, his voice shuddering, and you can't resist that face. 

You start stroking him again, and this time once you notice he's close, you don't stop. 

"Be good for me and cum, Lucifer," you purr against his ear, and he loses everything with a sordid yell of your name, his hot semen splashing both of you. That little outburst made you just a little… impatient. You smile as you watch him come down, his breathing slowly calming down. "Feel better?" 

"Yes," he mumbles.

"Do you want to take a break?" He shakes his head.

"No." 

"Are you lying to me?" 

"Of course not. I want to have sex with you until one of us can't speak." 

"That will be you." 

"I wouldn't mind that." 

BONUS:

You spoon Lucifer after you're finished, and it occurs to you that Lucifer really didn't need to be pushed that hard.

"Hey, you submitted really easily. I thought you were adamant that I couldn't top you." Lucifer rolls over to look at you. 

"I like being the dominant one, but I love you, and I love it when you top me. If you want me to keep being your bottom, then that works fine for me... But if you tell anyone, and I mean anyone about this, you're not getting away with it." 

[notmorbid]

miss subways.

dialogue prompts from miss subways: a novel by david duchovny.

every day here is like a new stanford experiment.

my inner judge never has rehabilitation in mind.

if i'm not busy learning or being born, i'm busy dying.

you want me here, but then you want to ignore me.

one step forward, one half-step back.

i like the phrase 'making love'.

fuck you, asshole.

to the victors go the nomenclature.

gods are immortal, so they're patient.

not even i can stomach scientology.

what is the sound of one hand clapping?

i don't want to be famous. i don't have the clothes for it.

my identity can't be longer than a tweet.

i saw an opening. i decided to be the bad guy.

you're not going to start biting the heads off live bats, are you?

it's true, then. you can't take it with you.

you worried so hard for so long.

i'm sorry, i didn't get your last name.

you called me? what are you, 103 years old?

jesus would not go to nobu.

i don't mind you thinking outside the box. i mind you thinking outside of my box.

either lie down completely or stand the fuck up. it's gonna kill you in the middle.

you sound like oprah, except mean.

i want to live my life, not document it on instagram.

you lie to yourself and you lie to me.

to save something, something must be sacrificed. that's the way it goes.

we can't police our dreams. don't judge.

it felt like a death.

if i own something long enough, i start ascribing feelings to it.

that billy shakespeare, he got everywhere first.

i'm a reader, not a writer.

come on, let's get you cleaned up.

did i call you last night?

i was a different person with a different life. i've never had a dream like that.

there's nothing more boring than listening to somebody else's dream.

i can be a good shrink or a good friend. not both. choose.

i can't remember the last time i got laid.

don't be such a pussy.

i feel like i'm coming up short.

this is no time to come out of the closet.

was i a disappointment to you?

i like seeing things the way i do.

which version is the real you?

don't worry. there won't be a quiz.

the future is as random and fated as the past.

so much of life necessitates looking away.

have you been crying?

you forgot your trigger warning.

what i want has very little to do with anything.

spare me the faux shame.

when do the exceptions just pile up and make a new rule?

i like structure. i like to know i've done my homework.

i have to go to confession.

i don't know what to pray for.

the prayer is the god.

you stabbed a priest?

i need to change the past.

i'm losing you to that place you go.

shut the front door!

what would the perfect life look like?

you have the coolest, most beautiful eyes i've ever seen.

sing you to sleep? i don't really know any songs.

you don't know any songs? that's not possible.

i think i've always wanted to be taken advantage of by a gigolo.

you seem too smart to be an actor.

little lies make bigger lies possible.

there's something you're not saying.

there's a lot i'm not saying. i'm sure there's a lot you're not saying, too.

take the reins. write your own story.

i'm sorry you heard that.

i screwed up. you're not gonna love me anymore.

we all know better, but we're human. we screw up.

how do we know our character unless we step outside it and look its way, now and then?

is it my business? you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.

i feel tall enough to ride this rollercoaster.

maybe you don't see yourself the way i see you.

you understand fine. you're just too nervous to comprehend.

people fall in love in difficult circumstances. most songs are about it.

let's agree on a moratorium on questions like "how did you know?".

well, stop guessing. start knowing.

just because i'm funny doesn't mean i'm not lethal.

you're already in the game. you have no choice but to play on.

don't tell me what i want. don't put words in my mouth.

where has playing by the rules gotten you?

maybe you have more power than you think you do.

one of the lies we tell children is that reason will get them through this life.

in order to love, you have to know what death is.

as first kisses go, i've had worse.

there's such a thing as too much history.

i want to be with you, but not like this.

i'm quite forgettable. that's like, the most memorable thing about me.

do you actually believe in past lives?

this conversation requires more wine than i currently have.

is there something else you'd like to ask? i get the feeling there is.

[soraviie]

Hi i love your work! can i request a scenario for a jealous jimin. Thank you! You can hurt me with the angst and melt me with the fluff, i don’t mind. Thank you!

yessss.....give me jealous Jimin! tis bit angsty lol

You do not know who was the fool that coined the phrase of "green-eyed monster". The ones that bored into you, apathetically watching the drunken, shameful stumble from the front of the club to the car were not green, not even the brown you adored so much. Black. Pitch black. Hateful.

Sliding into the car you're greeted by stifled silence. You put on a seatbelt, shrinking further into the seat as the driver takes off back home. Jimin was always so colourful, so bright, like a whole specter of rainbow, so it was no surprise his jealousy complex had its starkly different hues.

One of mad, rough sex was deep burgundy; yellow for the little envies that could be soothed by a simple, innocent kiss, playful ire more than anything; cool purple was for making you jealous in return, toxic, something that you hated and he vowed to never do again after that first and last time but this one, this one was by far the worst.

Black. The absence of light and colour. Where he didn't touch you, didn't even acknowledge your existence. Should he do so much as look at you, his gaze would be filled with vile disgust - you were sure of it.

You did this to spite him, really but what they said was true what goes around, comes around. Being with Jimin was not easy. How could it possibly be? He was perfect. Everyone wanted him. He was...he was. And you were not. His jealousy was a mixed hotbed of all you wanted and everything you feared. He was jealous, he loved you. He was jealous, he was angry at you. He loathed you.

"I don't hate you. Are you stupid?"

The light snarl in his tone cuts through the choked up atmosphere with one violent stroke. It seemed that he wanted to project an air of impassiveness, like he couldn't possibly care less but the tension in his shoulders says otherwise.

"Don't call me stupid," you slur, focusing all your attention on the loose skin next to your nails. You rip it, claw away a part of your dirty flesh. It provides cool, washing relief. Though his face is turned to the window, glaring blindly into the night, jaw working in a tight clench, Jimin's hands come to rest on top of yours, halting the anxious movement. He hated when you did that.

"Sorry," he mumbles but the second that innate gentleness threatens to take over, his face falls blank once more. "Do you love me?"

"Of course, I do!" you turn to him, squirming anxiously in the seat. Had you been sober, you'd not been this upset but truly you can't stand him being angry with you.

"How much?"

"With my whole heart!"

His stare caresses your face, slowly dripping up and down as if in deep thought.

"Are you sure?" he hums, lips curling into growl. "'Cause I'm not all that certain."

"Let me make it up to you," you clutch at his hand with fraught desperation. Even he seems to be taken aback by such an outburst. You were not known for egregious displays of emotion.

"You think riding me whilst drunk is going to do the trick?" he scoffs, venom pouring out of every twisted expression and lilt of voice. "Something so cheap will substitute as apology?"

You dart your head down, ready to cry. The alcohol was really getting to you. Tomorrow you'll be ashamed for not being more independent, more self-sufficient and prideful. You know that and Jimin knows that and even though he was a possessive little fuck, ultimately he was kind.

Two fingers lift your chin upwards, forcing your eyes to settle on his face.

"Promise, you're mine and I'm yours," he demands sternly. "Promise you won't ever, ever do this shit again. _______________ promise me now or I'll," his breath stutters and he falls silent, glancing away. "Like I could ever leave you," he mutters bitterly.

"I promise," you fervently nod along with your words, almost breaking the seat belt from its place. "I promise!"

He sighs, the whole sum of his anger leaving all at once until there's nothing but a tired body and mind left behind.

"Let's get you cleaned up at home, alright," he mumbles heavily, wiping away a tear you did not notice slid down. "You're a mess."

send in a picture of the boys and I’ll write a scenario

[moondaeznuts]

Debut or Die episode 58-60 behind the scenes

machine translation below the spoiler cut like always

Soheun

Episode 58-60 Behind the Scenes

There were candidates for the bear on Big/Keun Sejin's whiteboard. When I put it together it seems like traces of Sejin's worries

(candidates)

(final bear drawing)

(IM USING THE PANEL FROM TAPAS BY THE WAY)

2. The Alien Moondae on the left is from the storyboard. As I soon saw the storyboard, I felt overwhelming despair from the talent so I tried my best to replicate it through drawing (on the right)

3. This episode left an impression on me when I read the original, so I had a lot of trouble with Moondae's psychological portrayal. As with every important episode, each stage of writing and editing was engraved in my mind, so when I closed my eyes before going to bed, I would replay the manuscript in my head from the first cut. I would like to thank the PD and assistant writers once again… I also remember having many discussions with Jang Jin. The same goes for directing the title, how and to what extent Moondae's facial expressions are shown, how to reveal emotions in parts where facial expressions are not shown… etc… Personally, I put a lot of effort into the effects of the flashback cuts.

4. The gummy snack that Ahyeon brought is the same ones that he had in episode 16. It seems like he chose that one since Moondae liked those the most among the snacks shared so far

(gummy snack) ep 59 and 16

5. Just like Sejin’s last post, Jangjin writes down the entire text in the chat room, even the parts that aren’t used. Every time I received a confirmation, I was surprised by how realistic it was…

6. There are many other things I paid attention to, and I worked hard to include them in the manuscript, so I hope they were conveyed to readers as well~~! happy new year Please enjoy the next episode as well!

<Jangjin review of episodes 58-60 which is going to be a bit long an serious>

I feel like I've climbed a big mountain.. As always, but especially for this episode, I received a lot of help from Soheun in setting the tone. When working under limited time with lots of details, there were parts that I missed, but Soheun looked at them with the reader's eyes and caught them again. In the process, there were times when the interpretation was completely different and I had to redraw them or discuss one or two minor scenes for a long time. It must not have been easy for the animator to carefully look over the storyboard with a lot of work and limited time. It wasn't easy for me either, reading the original and adapting it, to shake off the first image that was stuck in my mind, understand the collaborator's interpretation, and find my rhythm again. That's how much we both thought this episode was important and wanted to convey the emotions the original gave us. I enjoyed this process a lot. I have often used the phrase ‘The beauty of collaboration’

The process of thinking about where to show as a mirror that reflects a good original work was truly the fun of collaboration. From the beginning, the episode was planned to be contained in 2.2 parts, and while the previous episode was finished in a quick pace, this time we utilized a lot of POV, flashbacks, narration, cuts, close-ups, etc. to capture Moondae's psychological state. For visual effects, we utilized lighting, shadows, effects, etc., and Soheon took extra care in lighting and flashback effects.

Let me introduce two parts that I discussed with So-Heon to maximize the visual effects…

1. Flashback scenes

The two flashback scenes in episode 59, the scene where he recalls the performances he has done and the meetings with fans, I wanted to give the feeling that everything was shattered like a dream at night with the sound of a fist being struck.

In the case of Moondae recalling his fans in the same episode, Soheun had the opinion that it would be nice to feel like all kinds of affection and support towards oneself are passing through one's hands like grains of sand or smoke. So, the images were corrected to give the overall impression of waving.

2. Expression of the 'Original Park Moondae'

This is also expressed in the original work, but the suspicion about Moondae, the original owner of the body, grows, and Park Moondae (Ryu Gunwoo) distrusts him, and the misunderstanding is raised again through the explanatory note. I don't know how you will feel, but as I continued to read that part, my sympathy for Moondae grew a lot. Even if he had originally planned to drop out, I wondered what school was like for Moondae, who had to leave school without being able to completely explain the unpleasant incident, and who had no adults who could stand by his side. While thinking about the same thing, I ultimately decided to direct with the idea that this is the kind of previous Moondae that Moondae currently has. It is also an image that I came up with while thinking about the development of the novel, so it will also bring various feelings to readers who read the novel.

I wanted to wake up. I think it's because I've been working with this mindset since the storyboard, but when Soheun's drawings and directing were added, I felt a bit touched. It was a scene that I had prepared and nervously for since the beginning of the webtoon, so I think I spent the next three weeks feeling anxious and nervous until the end….ㅠㅠ After we've overcome a big hurdle… We'll run to another big hurdle. I ask for your support until the end, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the holiday…!

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #12

Candy Crush 🍬 / Eldritch Nightmares 👁️

It was Patrick’s idea to put a candy bowl out at the front of the store, years ago when they’d first opened, to make it seem friendlier to families with children and people who might feel intimidated by the phrases body milk or facial polish. 

“Um, I don’t know how to tell you this,” David had hedged, wringing his hands together, “but my vision for the store is actually not that family-friendly.”

Patrick had laughed. “Oh, I know,” he’d said. “But that’s not good business for a community like this one, so we’ve gotta sand down your edges juuuuust a little.”

David had complained then, but it’s been a long time since then, and he and Patrick have come a long way, if the rings on their fingers are anything to go by, and Patrick has also been pretty judicious about sanding down his own edges, so David feels like maybe the scales are even now. Well — the metaphorical scales between them, at least. Patrick is certainly tipping actual, literal scales. And soon, David’s going to sweet-talk him into getting onto the old-fashioned balance scale he found on Etsy for entirely too much money and keeps in the storeroom for um, reasons, the main one being that Patrick says it’s way too unsubtle to keep in the house. Which isn’t totally unmerited, because the one time Alexis had slipped into the storeroom looking for the wine stock, she’d seen it in the corner and had made fun of David over text about it all day, and the last thing he needs is a repeat performance every time he hosts a holiday or has her over for brunch. 

Anyway. The scale stays. It has its uses. 

And, David is finding, so does the candy bowl.

“You know, this really wasn’t what I had in mind when I suggested it,” Patrick remarks as David does a lap around the store, straightening display items and making lines of product uniform, and casually grabs a fistful of candy on his way back around to the register. “I know you’re morally opposed to children in the store, but commandeering the candy isn’t going to prevent their presence.”

David unwraps a mini Snickers bar. “It’s not for me,” he persuades, brushing it against Patrick’s lips. “How far did you say you were from your goal weight?”

A pink tinge heats in Patrick’s round cheeks. “Not fair, David. Engaging in kink at work is not in our business contract.”

“Our marriage contract, on the other hand …” David wheedles, walking his fingers up Patrick’s big belly. “I just think that since we’re paying for the candy, we should get to enjoy some of it, too.”

Patrick’s lips are curling up at the corners, which means David’s almost got him convinced. “We could enjoy it at home.”

“Okay,” says David, “it’s not like I haven’t also proved that I am very willing to provide you with candy at home, too.”

“Provide,” echoes Patrick. “I think ‘shower’ would be the more accurate term.”

David drops his hand to grab at the doughy rolls that spill over Patrick’s belt. “I just think that you’re passing up a very attractive offer. Especially if it stays this quiet. You need something to focus on if the weather keeps everyone out.”

As if on cue, the rain outside gets louder and heavier. Patrick casts a sideways look at David. “Why do I feel like you choreographed that?”

“Um,” says David, trying and failing to look innocent. “Because I have a gifted sense of dramatic timing?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” says Patrick, and he finally takes the candy from David’s hand. “Okay. You get to do this today, but we shut it down if someone comes in.”

“Very fair,” allows David, already on his way back to the candy bowl.

—

It rains all week, and if Patrick weren’t the one in charge of handling their finances and making everything balance out at the end of each month, David would be worried. As it is, he’s already making mental lists of Costco goods they have on hand if the store goes under. And sort of regretting all the Sarah McLachlan he put on the store playlist.

“Hey,” says Patrick, nudging him with his shoulder where he’s standing by the register, nose only inches away from the rain-streaked window. “What’s the face for?”

David furrows his brows. “Am I making a face?”

“Yeah. A glum plum kind of face. I can see it in your reflection.” There’s the creak that David has come to recognize as Patrick settling his considerable weight onto the metal stool they keep behind the counter, mostly because David is too old to be standing all day but refuses to choose footwear with arch support. Patrick, for all of his impressive size, has pretty good endurance, probably because he still hikes every other weekend and religiously puts those gross little orthotic inserts in his Dockers.

“Okay,” says David, “it’s not that I’m, like, glum, per se, and I know that, like, this store is not exactly the staple establishment that the general store was, but it’s been, like, several days since we’ve had more than one person in here, and it’s getting, like, a tad  worrying.”

“David,” says Patrick, in that soft, smooth, reassuring way he has. “The store will be fine. We will be fine. The fact that we don’t have to pay rent on this space puts us a lot closer to breaking even than we would be if we were in that strip mall in Elm Glen.”

“Excuse you, I would never have rented space in a strip mall. Let alone one that still has a Radio Shack.”

“It’s just an example,” says Patrick, except now it sounds like his mouth is full. David pulls his gaze away from the rain-soaked square and the music video in his head. 

Patrick’s got a pile of fun-size candy bars piled on the counter next to him, and he’s unwrapping another as he chews.

“Oh, now you’re on board,” says David, crossing his arms. “A final plea for my goodwill as our business goes under, I see.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “The business is not going under, David. I won’t let it. I know you need to be kept in luxury skincare and cashmere.”

“My skin is very delicate.”

“I know,” says Patrick, leaning forward to pat his cheek. His belly cants forward in his lap, sagging forward to dip farther between his thighs. And his thighs, god — his thighs, pushed even wider from the way he’s sitting on the stool, are heavy with cellulite that, in the right lighting, David can even see through his khakis sometimes. “Trust me on this one, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

David plucks a candy bar from the pile. “I’m choosing to interpret this as your way of saying that my taking care of you at work is now on the table.”

Patrick lets him pop the candy bar into his mouth. “I’ll let you have that,” he says finally. “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“At the end of the month, you put me on that very expensive Etsy scale.”

“Yes,” David says breathlessly. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Also, I’m changing the playlist. The energy in here is grim.”

—

Patrick groans and lifts his belly so that it sits in a wobbly mound on the counter. David’s head snaps up instantly from fussing with the layout of the towels.

“Are you okay?” he asks, hurrying over, and Patrick nods, massaging his underbelly.

“I think I need to let my belt out another notch.”

“Oh,” breathes David, and Patrick grins. 

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that.”

“No one’s coming in,” says David, grabbing the box cutter from under the till. “We could go do it in the back. Or I can watch the register while you do it.”

“It doesn’t have to be right now,” says Patrick with a little smile. “I’ll live until we get home.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be uncomfortable,” David tuts. “When was the last time you had to loosen it?”

Patrick rubs at his soft chin where it doubles. “Man, a while ago. Around three-eighty, maybe? I’m on the last hole of this one, so buckle up.”

Not even the pun can stop David from whining and instinctively grabbing a mini Twix from the stash he’s begun to keep at the counter to shove in Patrick’s mouth. “How much do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, twenty pounds or so? Twenty-five? We could probably figure out how many pounds per hole if we wanted to. Could be some fun math.”

“Okay,” says David, pointing the Twix at him, “I love you so much and I desperately want you to outgrow all of your belts, but I must blacklist the phrase ‘fun math’ from our relationship.”

“Oh, I’ll do the math,” says Patrick, accepting the Twix bar. “You can just enjoy my findings.”

For that, he gets another Twix before he’s even done with the first. 

— 

The rain continues. The candy bowl ebbs lower every day, despite how often David refills it. By the week before Halloween, Patrick can’t do up even his largest belt, and his button-downs are starting to strain against the heavy sag of his belly. 

“I know it’s not the end of the month yet,” says David, somewhere between hesitant and hopeful, “but outgrowing your belts seems like a pretty sizable milestone, so I was thinking that maybe … we could …”

Patrick shoots him a knowing glance. “You just want to put me on the scale.”

“I mean, yes,” says David. “But it’s not like that will change, so we could always, you know, do it today and then again at the end of the month. It could be more incentive to, um, work towards your goals.”

There’s a long, agonizing pause as Patrick unwraps a Reese’s and pops it in his mouth. He makes David wait as he chews, and then he palms his belly and sets it jiggling as he swallows. 

“Mmmm,” he says, stretching his chubby arms over his head and letting not just his button-down, but his undershirt come untucked. His stomach tumbles out, pale and dimpled and perfect, and David experiences a rare moment of total speechlessness. 

“Oh my god,” he manages finally. “This is obviously a yes, right?”

“Yes, David,” says Patrick, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s a yes.”

He practically yanks Patrick into the back room and steers him toward the scale in the corner. Patrick steps on agreeably, then looks at David, who’s been too overcome by the idea of the scale to get weighed down by the particulars.

“Soooo,” he says, drawing the word out as he inspects the sliders and metal brackets and such. “I don’t … actually know … how to use this.”

“Oh, really?” says Patrick politely, and he somehow makes it sound like I know, David.

“I guess I can wait until we get home,” David sighs. “Excruciating as it may be.”

“Well, I have something I think might cheer you up,” says Patrick, stepping off the scale and hugging him from behind. The huge, plush weight of him suffuses David, and he feels the tension melt from his body as he sinks back into him. “I stood on the scale at home this morning, and we couldn’t read it even if we tried, because it zeroed out.”

David springs out of Patrick’s arms. “Oh my god, excuse me? And you were just going to keep this from me?”

Patrick’s struggling not to grin. “Let’s say I was just waiting to deploy that information at a specific time.”

“So we’ll have to replace that,” says David, not a question so much as a plan he’s making in permanent ink. “With a very high maximum. And I’m going to feed you as much of that candy bowl as I can before we close today. If you want that.”

“Oh, yeah,” says Patrick, folding David back into his arms. David nestles his head on Patrick’s shoulder and inhales, exhales his soft fresh air scent. “I want that.”

In the next room, the bell over the door goes off as someone enters the store. Patrick’s eyes go wide, and he hurriedly, lumpily tucks his shirt back in and makes for the counter. But even still, he turns around before he gets to the doorway and grins at David.

“See?” he says, nodding at the scale. “We’ll even be able to afford a nice one.”

[72eli]

Through My Eyes

Nervously she bit her lip and re-read his text: <Go into your dressing room. Wear nothing but your robe. Light a lavender scented candle. Turn off all of the lights except the ones around your makeup mirror. Sit in front of the mirror, but do not look into it. I will call you at 8, so be there by 7:55. Sit with your palms up, arms resting on the arms of the chair or your thighs. Close your eyes, and let your mind go blank. Breath in through your nose for five seconds, hold each breath for five seconds, exhale through your mouth for five seconds, and then wait five seconds to take another breath. Continue to breathe that way until I call, allowing your mind to remain blank. Pretend that your thoughts are on a white board, and every time a thought goes on the white board you have to erase it. Concentrate on keeping the board white. When I call, open your eyes to answer the phone, and put it on speaker. Leave it on the table in front of you. Do not look at the mirror until I tell you to, and when I tell you to, look in the mirror and listen to me. Do not speak unless I ask you a question.> She put her phone on the counter and followed his commands, feeling her body and mind start to relax.

She was startled out of her reverie by the opening bars of Wonderful Tonight as her phone rang. He’d chosen that as his ring tone on her phone over her protestations that her hair wasn’t blond. “I don’t care,” he said. “I like that everyone turns to see this beautiful lady that’s walking around with me.” She quickly answered the phone and activated the speaker. His voice, low and melodious, sweet as honey with a bite of bourbon, greeted her. “Good evening, Beautiful. Now you can look at the mirror. This isn’t going to be nearly as painful as you think.”

[“Right,” she thought, as her brow furrowed deeply.]

“And stop frowning!”

[“Damn it,” she thought. “How does he know that I was frowning?”]

“Tell me what is the first thing you notice when you look in the mirror?”

[“My eyes?”]

“That’s right, kitten, but don’t phrase it as a question – state it as a fact. Your eyes are the window into your soul. Look at them intently. Your gaze is piercing, like you could see right through someone. And yet there’s a softness there, a sparkle like the welling up of the sea. Your eyes make me feel like I need to step up my game to keep them alight and glowing.”

“What do you see next?”

[“My lips.”]

“Ah, yes, your lips. See how they form the center of your face, just below your perfectly crafted nose. Look closely at the color. Notice how red they are. Notice how that color contrasts with the rest of your face, and how it makes your lips stand out. Now look at the shape. Purse them. Smile. Open your mouth, and close it. Notice how soft and supple your lips are. Take your finger and run it gently across your lips. Now you know how they feel to me when I do that.”

“What next?”

[“My skin.”]

“Smooth as silk. Soft as a baby’s bottom, and looking like it was carved out of alabaster by a master sculptor. Gently run your hand over it. Your hand is much softer than mine, so imagine how your skin feels under my hand.”

“Let your robe fall off of your shoulders and lift your chin. Take your hand and trace the line of your chin back towards your ear and down your neck. Notice how gracefully your neck curves down from your face, like a swan. Feel your pulse beating under your hand.”

“Look lower. What’s the next thing you see?’

[Blushing furiously. “My breasts.”]

“Swelling like the waves of the ocean. Beautifully proportioned in all aspects. So nicely rounded, so soft and yet so firm. They fit in my hands perfectly and they feel wonderful. Look at how your nipples stand out against your pale skin, like they’re yearning for attention.”

“Stand up. Now what do you see?”

[“Ugh. My stomach.”]

“Those very things you dislike about it are attractions to me. They are the mementos of a woman, a mother, a survivor of life. Every mark, every bulge, every line is a testament to all that you have been through. They should be celebrated every day. I enjoy kissing every one of them and running my hand across them. They remind me of all of the things that have molded you into the woman you are.”

“Sit down and close your eyes. Think about what you’ve just seen through my eyes. I want you to remember every detail of everything I just said. And any time you look at yourself, you will recall what I saw, and you will forget your negative thoughts about yourself and smile. The next time we’re together, I will sit behind you and reinforce what I just told you.”

“Now, since I haven’t talked to you all day, open your eyes and tell me about your day.”

[cookiecomics]

Anonymous Coward asked: sometimes it’s not even just whiteness (referring to a tweet of yours) but just like how pervasive every part of it can be. ignorance of culture, policing and harassment of others, assumptions about what everyone else’ experience should be. Like sometimes it isn’t even visible but you can just… tell???? how much a space is affected by whiteness as a concept (idk if im making sense. anyways)

No, you get it lol. It isn't something you can see if you're not outside of that bubble, but you can feel it and at times it's very unbearable. White people a lot of the times do not notice how white a space is and how it trickles down to accepted idea, accepted faces, perceived kindness and grace. But I also cannot understate how people don’t find it odd how hard it is to find black folks in the same fandom spaces as everyone despite us being huge nerds just like everyone else and folks don’t think about why that is you know? They don’t see a server and ask if it’s safe for black folks, they don’t wonder these things because they feel comfortable and that’s what matters. Honestly, being in fandom feels like that time I went to a karaoke party and I was the only black person there and everyone was playing songs I had never heard in my life.

 I couldn’t relate, I couldn’t engage, I had to smile the whole time because I need to be having fun right? Even when given the power to pick a song, to play a song I know that no one else can relate to would kill the vibe. There’s always this element of ‘you compromise not us’. At that same party a song with slurs was put on and there were yt folks singing at the top of their lungs. The other half were not or skipping the slurs when they show up and they thought that was enough. They thought not being racist themselves was enough. No one asked how I was doing because I have to be fine lmao. Anyways, that’s what it’s like to be in fandom where you can hardly find people that look like you or understand you experiences while everyone else is having fun. I’ve been sitting here wishing I could talk about specifics (I do have them) but unfortunately, I do not think that’s a good idea and the last thing I want is negative attention rn, so I’ll try to be as vague as possible. 

Plus people would hella disagree with me lmao. The safest example I can talk about isn’t even p5 specific, but I spoke about this with a friend on why Geto isn’t one of my favourite characters or more broadly why I don’t ship satosugu. I like Geto just fine mind you! I think he’s cool. And I think Satosugu is a great ship. However. I invite you whoever is reading this to imagine why I, a black person, may not exactly jive with a character whose favourite insult and dehumanizing phrasing is to call people he sees as beneath him as a monkey. I’ve never even touched satosugu fic lmfao because dear lord, I couldn’t in the manga and I wouldn’t willingly subject myself to that. 

Not saying it happens, but to be in character, I imagine it would lmao. And the same goes for Morgana! I saw a tweet the other day like “I don’t trust people who don’t like Morgana.” And I see this tweet like twice a week, (different people mind u) And every time I’m like, I simply did not enjoy Morgana calling Ryuji a monkey. It made me uncomfortable, (it’s not gonna make every black person uncomfortable but I know Plum was at least taken back by it) but to open up that discussion would make me look aggressive wouldn’t it? ESPECIALLY again, Ryuji is very black coded but I’m not touching that topic with a ten foot pole. People don’t really think too hard outside of their experiences and it’s alienating. Not to mention when I brought up a conversation about experiencing micro aggressions the overall response despite having a larger account at the time was silence and disappointment, by people I thought I was closer with than that too. 

It was a wake up call and I haven’t been able to feel right in the fandom since. Absolutely nothing would happen or something minor would happen (like Hazbin releasing a fucking Slurs shirt which thanks Viz. And this is coming from someone who laughed at the joke in the show because it was *just* the show) and it would dredge all this pain up all over again. Anyways, that’s my ramble, it sucks fandom is like this but I don’t see that ever changing because as I told Plum, bringing up race in their spaces is something yt folks do not like to do so

(https://retrospring.net/@CookieComics/a/112944476253264310)

[tuxebo]

sometimes i want to get back to writing long fics, but then i remember i have mouths to feed (yes, you). anyways, i was talking about the viktors in my last post's tags and i wanted to elaborate on that.

okay, when i say rookwood is husband material, i never said he was good husband material. while the reason you relationship would work is because of small moments that are really sweet. you may think he's changed, but he'll act like it never happened right afterwards.

the way you meet is probably the most tragic part of it all and sets the tone of the rest of your abusive relationship. so, you happened to be a halfbreed (wizard x smth, most likely veela or siren) that he planned on selling but decided to keep for himself. alternatively, you could have been trying to protect some animals from poachers but he still took the animal and you. he's a greedy scoundrel.

he won't hurt you, per se, but he will trophy wife the life out of you. personally i wouldn't mind that, but i could see why many people would. this isn't your average trophy wife, this is something else. he brings you everywhere in a "buy animals or materials from me and you might bag yourself a beauty like this one" kinda way. at the same time, you would not be the beauty the customers bag because your his, gout a brand and all. mhm, he 100% puts his name on you somewhere.

now, you may be confused. that isn't husband like at all, and i agree. we need to look into the finer details here, my dears. in letters, on the rare occasion he doesn't bring you along as some marketing ploy, he writes your name like it is that of a saint's. you can see in each pen stroke, it is some of the most gentle movements your lover has ever made. after long days of hard work, yelling at his workers and standing around as they do all the work, he finally has time to think about you as he winds down.

he holds you all the same as well. like a creature he want's to be gentle with but has no clue how, so as a result he just watches from afar. you have your own room and he has his, objectively yours is just nicer, and you have people waiting on your every need and want. he won't bother you or talk to you the longer you are together, aside from times you'd bump into each other in his manor or stand face to face with only a bookshelf between you.

someone very similar is another viktor, viktor krum. now he is not abusive unlike someone we know, he's definitely a watcher as well. he shows his care and love with his eyes, and sure there's more as well.

now not entirely unlike rookwood, he will drown you in expensive things. look at him, he's been a professional quidditch player since before he even became an adult, he's a wealthy guy; by ethical means, i might add. he doesn't only lavish you in clothes or jewelry, but whatever hobby or career it is you have. you like astronomy? have a planetarium! you're a writer? have the entire library from beauty and the beast. your wish is his command.

which brings me to, he is so princess bride coded. if you take nothing from this post at all, take this one thing. he has a similar phrase to "as you wish" that he says whenever you tell him something, while it may seem like a "whatever, i'll just do what you say to get it over with" response, he actually means to say "i love you" each time he says it. it is rare that he goes out of his way to speak, even rarer that he outright says he loves you, but in his eyes and actions you know he means it.

krum is actually very smart loves, think about it. if you want to go on about a certain topic, he'll keep up just fine. for starter's, he's read the books he's seen you read in case you want to talk about it, also he's just a naturally intelligent guy. it's how he could keep up his grades and quidditch, a lot of things he just knows.

pause, he does that thing where he'd very, very gently bounce his leg while you're sitting on his lap and telling him something. vodka in one hand and a look in his eyes that one would have when look at their entire world. oh my, hand placement on the waist too, not even in that kind of way but he's just o perfect.

[wsdalt]

Hello! Quick question about Felps characterization if you don't mind!

Mainly, do you have any tips on speech patterns? Like, repeated phrases/how they're repeated, and general voice things like that? (Genuinely the one thing I struggle with most ._. )

okay… unfortunately voice is also one of the things I struggle with—at least to put it down into words as an explanation? I’m not fluent in Portuguese which means a lot of dialogue quirks I’d otherwise pick up in English I probably miss. also this is off the top of my head so… maybe I’m just missing stuff due to bad memory in general oops

that being said: I will give it my best attempt \o/

(if anyone who is fluent in Portuguese would like to add on or correct anything I’m saying please do!)

firstly I would like to direct you to @/echotune’s mcyt character voice cheatsheet because I’ve written up bits for his character to go there before. It’s not exactly specific phrases, but I think knowing how he’ll react in certain situations can help make up for not knowing his exact phrasing? or for speech patterns being lost in translation

tone:

Felps’ voice goes high pitched a lot. This is kind of hard to write sometimes—or at least to continuously write in a scene because he kind of just throws his pitch around whenever—but you can add it there. It’s usually when he gets heated about something or… feels strongly about something in general? /if he’s defensive about something? But not really if he’s sad I think. and it’s not all the time so don’t worry about trying to incorporate it every time one of those situations hits

…on the opposite side of that he’s also very… deadpan I suppose? he can deliver absurd lines very casually and deadpan/serious, or absurd lines casually with a smile, or just really really commit to the bit. maybe I mean dry. he can say things very drily

aka 2 part 2: maybe obvious but just to clarify: committing to the bit means incorporating whatever emotion he needs to to commit to the bit. so he’ll fake being upset for example

laughs a lot while speaking, but can also stop himself from laughing fairly easily—specifically regarding the above two points

bursts into tears… fairly easily? but specifically surrounding Richas + he cried at Cellbit and Roier’s wedding. it’s usually only briefly and he kind of tries to suppress it a bit

there’s a specific warning tone he’ll use if someone says an innuendo… to him? I suppose? where he kind of just says the person’s name with that tone (I use “warning” or “chastising” to describe it—depends on what vibe you want in the scene) sometimes repeating their name. It’s always lighthearted though

specific phrases:

(disclaimer: see above note about me not being fluent in Portuguese. I’m trying to grab from when he speaks Portuguese rather than I when he speaks English because I often write him as “speaking” in Portuguese—just translated to English for fic purposes)

“pelo amor de deus” / “meu deus do céu” aka “for the love of god” / “my god in heaven”

I actually don’t think he repeats much? compared to other streamers?* the cc says “valeu valeu” (“thank you thank you”) when thanking subs from memory, but other than that I can’t think of much…? If he does repeat himself it would probably be moreso adding onto his previous sentence and rewording it a bit (*a lot of streamers end up repeating themselves because they’re talking to chat and sometimes this bleeds into how they talk in general). I think you mean more like… phrases that come up a lot, but this is still a good point

I think he throws around “man” and “bro” (the Portuguese equivalents: “velho”, “mano”) a lot, but not necessarily during serious moments (which is why this has faded out of how I write him, but I’m trying to bring it back for less serious moments)

“Sabe?” “Entendeu?” “Né?” “tá ligado?” To be honest I use “you know?” in English for all of these except Né which I write as “right?”. Né is kind of an “innit?” if that helps, but I’m not going to make him sound British so I use “right?” instead. The actual (google translated, sorry) English versions: “sabe?”—“you know?”, “entendeu?”—“understood?”/“understand?”/“got it?”, “tá ligado?”—“are you aware?”/“is it connected?” (which I’m kind of taking as “is it connecting?”) i feel like in Portuguese those last two are a bit more casual…? than what their English counterparts are, which is why I stick with “you know?” as a cover-all. but I could be wrong!

he adds “inho” (etc) to a lot of words. the best English translation is putting “little” before a word

I think your best bet is to watch some Portuguese streams of his—preferably with another character so you can listen to how he speaks with other people not just chat. this can include Richas! But I hope this helps a bit \o/!!

and again—if anyone who knows Portuguese better than me has anything to add or correct please feel free \o/!!