#honestly its a book that sucks you in. i read it all in one day too.

[vampirebiter]

update on my brother borrowing fluids and girl flesh earlier. he binge read fluids this afternoon and just came to give it back and was like "oh my god dude?? that was the most fucked up book i've ever read.. it was so good but what the fuck..." lmao. now hes reading girl flesh and says hes gonna want to reread fluids when hes done

[avocado-writing]

hi!! I read your fics and I love your writing style! I was wondering if you could do something with a human reader, maybe she works in a bookshop or she’s a teacher? And it’s all cute because he finds her genuine??? Maybe some angst because she finds herself in danger? Idk sorry I’m rambling I just wanted something with a human reader 🧍🏻‍♀️💐

the place where the pages meet

logan howlett x bookseller!reader

4k words, rated explicit.

cocky!logan; awkward!reader; excessive book references; threat of physical violence (quickly averted); anti-mutant language & sentiments; smut (oral - reader receiving, penetrative sex). minors dni. thank you @saradika-graphics for dividers!

The sky is heavy with the promise of rain, and you suck your breath in through your teeth. It’s fifty-fifty on days like these: either people will seek shelter in your little store, or they’ll scurry away with the fear any purchases they make will get soaked and ruined.

God damn it, what kind of fool opens an independent book shop in New York?

You’re the kind of fool, apparently. Still, it’s your home, both figuratively between all the old paperbacks and literally with your tiny apartment on the top floor. Barely more than a studio, but enough for you. A piece for yourself carved out of this world. 

Outside it starts to pour. You sigh. Well, at least you know you’ll get one visitor today.

Charles, your dear friend and long-time financial supporter of your store, had called earlier to let you know that the usual face wouldn’t be coming to grab his order. It’s a shame, you like Ororo, enjoy sitting and sharing a pot of oolong with her on quiet days. Also she could have chased away this terrible weather for you. Ah well. 

“Who can I expect?” you’d asked. 

Charles had laughed, a warm and friendly sound. 

“Ahh, you’ll know Logan when you see him.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Charles. Between orders of rare books for his personal collections and en-masse copies of classics for the kids, he pretty much keeps this place running for you. Bless that man, honestly, because you’re not sure where you’d be without him. 

The sound of someone pulling up outside has you putting down your book and turning towards the shop window. 

A pickup truck parks up by the kerbside and you watch the man in the driver’s seat emerge into the rain. He cuts a fine figure, tall and strong, but you don’t get a good look at him until he walks through the front door. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome. 

Leather jacket now pocked with raindrops, very obvious white vest beneath it showing off his broad chest. He shakes like a dog to get the moisture out of his hair as he stamps his boots on the doormat, pausing only briefly to scrutinise its no admittance expect on party business slogan. 

“Logan?” you ask. He looks up and when his eyes first meet yours? Oh, a fire is sent down your spine. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking around to take in the place. You can’t tell if he’s impressed or not. He has a remarkably neutral face, careful, the sort of man who doesn’t want to give anything away about himself. 

“You’re… here for Charles’ books?”

He’s sauntering over to the counter now. Cocks an eyebrow. It goes right through you. Fuck. 

“That’d be me.” There’s a beat. “Why, you think someone’d try and steal them?”

“People can steal books!” you say, defensively. 

“People named Logan who you’re clearly expecting?”

You bristle, because he’s got you. Something flickers over his face for a second: a smile. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome and he’s an asshole.

Huffing, you fish the box out from under the desk and groan with effort as you lift it up. Logan takes it from your grasp as if it weighs nothing at all. Your fingers touch as you do. You try to ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says, easily.

“Mm. Mind the rain. It’d be a shame if you slipped.”

A proper smile crosses his face then, but he turns away too quickly for you to let it sink in. The bell on the door chimes as he heads back out into the rain.

Well, you hope you never see him again.

By the same time next week, you’re really hoping you see him again.

You’ve sort of not been able to get him out of your mind. He was kinda prickly, sure, but a welcome break from the mundanity of your life, and pretty good looking to boot. It’s probably just a pipe dream. You’re sure it’ll be Ororo again, and you can go back to the easy pattern of seeing your dear friend. That’s okay. You’re fine with it. Who needs a handsome man? You have your books, you have your store, you’re happy.

Yeah. You’re happy. 

Imagine your surprise, then, when you hear a motorbike outside your shop.

You must be blessed with street parking, because Logan pulls up right outside again. Same jacket, same well-worn jeans. He catches your eye through the window and you’re sure they glisten. You pretend to be engrossed in your book but it’s not fooling anyone, the words swim into soup on the page as you see him approach.

The door goes; he approaches the counter. Closer this time, you can smell him. Tobacco and leather. Fuck it’s good.

“You should wear a helmet,” you say, trying to be flippant. Logan lets out a single, solitary note of a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to hide it by looking for Charles’ order again. It’s a single book, a first edition you had to go through the backwater book depositories to hunt down. You’re the best at what you do, though, so it was no real problem. It’s why he always comes to you.

“Here you go. Let him know I’ll try and find the sequel if he’s interested, too.”

“Sure.”

Once again your fingers touch as you hand the book to Logan. No. No, this is too quick! You want to keep him here for a little while longer. He looks so out of place between the wonky shelves and hanging plants, it’s just perfect.

Your mouth tries to say two things at once: can you tell Charles I’ll have his other order ready same time next week, and, do you like to read often? 

Instead what comes out is, “can you read?”

You must wince when you ask the question, because Logan stands there transfixed. Baffled, just for a second.

“Can I… read?” he repeats slowly. 

I’ve failed you, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t stop your mouth in time, says your brain.

“I didn’t mean… of course you read… I just… I didn’t want to assume… maybe you didn’t like books… erm…”

“Yeah, I read,” he says softly, as if you are an old dog and he is putting you out of your misery. You fucking wish he would. Jesus Christ, it’s like you’ve never spoken to another person before.

You can’t find a way to recover this. Your cheeks are on fire. You’re going to explode and burn down your store. Oh authors, you are so sorry for using all these works as kindling.

You expect Logan to turn on his heel and walk out but he… doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back so that he can look at the shelf nearest to the desk. Runs his fingers across the spines before picking one. It’s slim, no more than the width of his finger; he puts it on the counter and fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami. You ring him up, punching the price into your old cash register, give him his change. His palm is soft as you drop coins into it. 

“See you next week,” he says, stashing both his book and Charles’ inside his jacket. 

“Okay,” you say, amazed you’re able to get any words out, and watch him walk away again.

He does see you next week.

The sun’s out, so he’s sans jacket, and oh fuck you can see how his arms are like treetrunks. The way this man has you reacting is unhealthy. You try and focus on the hardback in your hands but all you can picture is those veins which are bulging on his biceps, begging you to come and get to know them better.

“You’re always reading huh?” 

His voice makes you jump a little, you’re not expecting him to be so close. You look up. He slides his sunglasses up into his hair. Fuck it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Would you trust a bookstore owner who didn’t read?” you ask, bristling with the need to defend this little shop and your place in it. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Not an insult, just an observation.”

You sink back from attack mode, walls still a little high, but definitely coming down.

“How did you get on with the Murakami last week?”

Logan takes a moment to consider this, trying to piece his answer together in a way which won’t offend you.

“I liked it until the last chapter.”

You sit up in your chair. 

“Yes! A lot of people say that. It feels like it ends sort of abruptly, but if you just appreciate it for what it is, it’s a good book.”

He smiles a little as you speak. You fucking love talking about books, to a degree some people find absurd. You don’t want to babble though, so you force yourself to end your observations there.

Logan nods at the book in your hands.

“What are you reading now?”

You lift up your book so he can see the cover: A. S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. 

“It’s very good! Byatt has such a wonderful way of writing. I love fairy tales and there’s such a wonderful voice in this one. They made the titular story into a movie a couple of years back, it’s quite good actually, it has Tilda Swinton in it.” You’re floundering. Don’t stray too far from the normal lines of conversation. Mouth, for fuck’s sake stay on course, begs your brain. It doesn’t. Instead you ask, “do you… like Tilda Swinton?”

Logan raises an eyebrow and you know this is a man who has never once had to consider the question of whether or not he likes the actress Tilda Swinton. 

Mouth still talking. MOUTH STILL TALKING, your brain screams. It’s true. It is. You were too busy being horrified to notice.

What your mouth says while being unchaperoned is, “There’s a little single-screen theatre nearby doing a showing of it this week, actually, do you wanna come with?”

DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT. DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT?!

Logan doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. He seems just as shocked that you’ve asked as you are. But then, just as you want to cast yourself into the street so that a passing garbage truck might take pity on you and sweep you away, he smiles. It’s slow, but it makes him look so much hotter.

“Sure, why not.”

Oh mouth you genius. I shall never doubt you again.

“Oh, okay, great! Uhh, are you free Friday?”

“I can be. What time’s the screening?”

“Seven. Meet me here at six-thirty?”

“It’s a date.”

Fuck, it is a date, isn’t it. It’s a date!

Logan stands there, awaiting something. You’re confused for a beat, then go up on your tiptoes, aiming your mouth towards his.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… Charles’ book, honey.”

Hmmm, okay. Still time for the earth to just swallow you whole then, actually.

You sort of don’t expect him to turn up. You wouldn’t go on a date with you, all awkward edges and uncomfortable words. And he’s… the coolest fucking guy you’ve ever seen. 

Of course he won’t turn up. Of course he won’t. 

He turns up. 

He’s waiting for you outside the store, leaning against a lamppost, dressed in flannel and smelling like subtle cologne. You can’t help lighting up when you see him and hope you’re dressed suitably - your nicest pair of dungarees and a tight-fitting jumper. 

“Hey! You made it,” you say. 

“‘Course I did,” he replies with a little smile. Oh, you’re giddy. 

“C’mon, it’s not a long walk. It’s a nice night too.”

He lets you chatter as the two of you make the brief journey, content to have you talk his ear off about business and books. He’s happy to answer any questions you ask him about himself: what he does for a living, how he knows Charles, if he’s got anything else on his to-read list. The two of you skirt around the most obvious thing: if he lives at the mansion, he’s definitely a mutant. You can’t quite get the courage to ask him about it. Seems easier to just let it lie, so you do. It’s not that important anyway, you think, you like Logan, with or without any extra bits. 

When you arrive at the little hole-in-the-wall cinema, he gets the tickets and the popcorn and the drinks. You do your best not to feel absolutely pathetic by his side. Surely everyone here knows you’re punching above your weight with this absolute grade A specimen of a man? You’re so busy looking around the foyer to make sure nobody is staring that you almost don’t realise when he takes your hand in his.

“You with me, honey?” he asks, soft, low. You swallow thickly and nod because for once, you can’t find the words.

It’s not a very full screening, which is just fine, because you’re happy to be alone with Logan in the dark. You share a bucket of popcorn and a secret little thrill runs up your spine every time your fingers brush together. When that’s finished, he puts his arm around the back of your chair and you snuggle up against his side, cursing the damn plastic cupholder in the middle forcing you to keep a distance. 

One hundred and eight minutes. They’re not enough. You want to be here forever. But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and Logan has to pull his arm back; you hope the reluctance in the withdrawal of the gesture isn’t just your imagination. 

“What did you think?” you ask, standing up and stretching. Logan follows suit, mulling over the question. 

“It was… cute,” he decides. “I can see why you like it.” 

You beam. 

“I can lend you the book if you want. It goes into way more detail about the main character’s life at the start, it’s very stream-of-consciousness but I really enjoy it? It’s different to the other stories before it but definitely worth reading. I think that…”

You’re outside now, under the streetlights, fingers tangled easily with his, and when he stills you’re pulled to a stop too. 

“Hmm?”

He drops his grip on your hand so that he can put one under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. Your heart beats violently. He can definitely feel it. He knows. You don’t care. Fuck, he’s so near. 

“You talk a lot, huh?” he asks. It’s not unkind, the smile on his face is one of fondness, and all of your skeleton turns to jelly as you fucking melt under the affection in his gaze. 

“Please shut me up,” your beg comes out as a whisper, and he does. 

His lips are rough against yours, guiding, but sweet. The hair on his face tickles your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to kiss him with more enthusiasm. This is not a public-appropriate display of affection, and someone honks their car horn at you both, but it just serves to make you laugh against his mouth and keep going. His hands slide onto your hips and hold you tight against him. Possessive. Wanting. Covetous. 

“You know,” he says when he pulls back for air, still running his lips along the line of your jaw to the hinge beneath your ear, “when Charles told me I should go and get those books, he said I’d like the person who runs the store. Didn’t expect you to be such a gorgeous little thing, though.”

You, gorgeous! Logan thinks you’re gorgeous! You could do a fucking cartwheel in celebration. You don’t though, you’d probably give yourself a concussion. 

His hand goes to his pocket and his brow furrows and, for a second, you panic. Has he started regretting kissing you already? Another quick kiss calms that down though, settling the simmer of worry in your stomach. 

“I think I left my wallet in the theatre. Hold on, I’ll grab it, then I’ll walk you home?”

“Only if you come in with me,” you breathe, and once again your mouth has taken the reins on that one. Logan huffs a laugh, a little incredulous, but mostly pleased at your gumption. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

He leaves you standing there, feeling all tingly. This is happening. It’s fucking happening! Sometimes the stars align for a book nerd and a handsome guy wants to come up to their studio apartment. You thank Jesus, Buddha, Arthur C. Clarke - whoever is listening, they fucking deserve it. 

“You gonna fuck that mutant?”

The voice sends a chill down your throat. 

The trio of guys standing behind you do not look friendly. The biggest one, the one standing in the middle, sneers at your panic, crossing thick arms over a broad chest.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, puffing up a little. 

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you spit back, hoping that vitriol will deter them. It does not. Instead, they close in, hyenas around a cadaver. 

“Never had a human dick you down good enough, huh? Need a little help? C’mon baby, we’ll show you.”

He reaches out to grab your arm. You let out a noise of panic. 

At the same time, Logan’s fist collides with his face. 

The guy is sent stumbling back, spitting out a globule of blood. His friends step away with panic in their eyes. Logan moves in front of you, his bulk your shield, three metal claws extending from between his knuckles. 

Yeah. Mutant, huh?

“I think you were just leaving, pal,” says Logan in a voice which doesn’t bear messing with. The man bares his reddened teeth. 

“The fuck do you think you are, mutant scum--?!”

He lunges for Logan and the breath is sucked from your lungs when you see he’s pulling out a fucking knife, but another punch sends him flat on his ass. The blade clatters across the street and into the gutter. His friends grab either one of his arms and half stand him up, half drag him away.

“Shit, it’s not worth it—!” is their conclusion as they disappear into the night, shouting back expletives, blood trailing from their leader. Logan shakes out his fist, flexes his fingers; claws retract. He turns to you, slowly. 

“You okay?” he asks, hurriedly checking you over. You nod. 

“Y…yeah. Shaken.” you confess. 

“C'mon. Let’s get you home,” he sighs, and from the cadence of his voice you can tell he’s worried the night has been ruined. You place your hand on his bicep. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still… will you still come up?”

He softens. 

“If it’ll make you feel safer, sweetheart.”

It does. 

And that’s how you find him sitting on your well-loved couch in between your needlepoint pillows, looking around your tiny home as you make a pot of coffee to share. 

“Jesus, you’ve got more books in here than in the store,” he mutters. 

“Well, some of them I couldn’t part with. I like them too much. And, as you pointed out, I am always reading.”

You look around at the shelves stuffed into your flat, the dozens of them holding hundreds of novels, plays, poems. You love them all dearly. They all hold a special piece of your heart, you can remember where you were when you read most of them. (Downstairs while manning the desk is often the answer). 

“Oh, even this?”

You can hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He’s holding up a copy of Fifty Shades. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Christ, I read that as a professional courtesy to the art of bookselling. Got it for fifty cents at a thrift store. It’s crap. If you want some good erotica I can recommend…”

The sentence lingers unfinished. Logan raises his eyebrows. 

“You can recommend what, huh?”

The coffee is ready. You can smell its rich scent enveloping your little apartment. An idea forms. Creates a heavy anticipation on your tongue. Your brain screams at you. 

Locked. Loaded. Fire, mouth, fire!

“… then I’d recommend you take me to bed,” you say.

Logan stares, eyes wide. You’ve had an immediate effect on him. His pupils dilate. 

“I… honey, after earlier, I’m not sure if you should…”

You cross the room and sit on his lap, an easy feat when his legs are so thick and inviting. His sentence stops as you press your mouth to the pulse in his neck. Kiss. 

“I’m a consenting adult,” a kiss on his cheek, “who’s invited you into their home,” a kiss on his brow, “and is asking you to take them across their painfully tiny apartment and fuck them. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but Logan? I’ve been game ever since you first walked in from the rain.”

He looks up at you to double check that you’re telling the truth, then kisses you with such ferocity that you squeak. 

You do not make it to the bed. 

He undresses you there on the sofa in the middle of your bookshelves, between Brontë and Austen, beside Carter and Rushdie. Your clothes end up in a messy little pile on the coffee table. It gets kicked and the pile of literary magazines slide to the floor as Logan moves to take off his shoes, letting you drag his jeans down and off of him, cupping his cock in his boxers.

Fuck. Thick, heavy, large, you want all of it. All of him. 

He leans you back against your kitschy little pillows with book quotes on them and pulls your dungarees off, an act both ridiculous and endearing. He catches your knee in his hand and begins to kiss up your thigh towards your underwear.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he presses a kiss to your sex over the fabric. He grins up at you from between your legs. 

“That was the plan.”

He fucks you with his mouth like a man starved, luxuriating in the little sounds you make for him, pressing fingers inside you without any effort at all. You cum all over his knuckles embarrassingly quickly. He looks sorta smug. 

“Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you…?” he asks, licking a stripe along your sex to taste what he’s done. You huff. 

“Too long. You gonna fix that?”

It’s a challenge and he takes it as one. You strip off his shirt, making sure to get a good feel of his muscles as you go, kissing his pectorals and abs just because you can. He slides inside you with one thrust, one of your legs in a crook at his hip; the other with its ankle resting on his shoulder. He starts moving and the couch shakes but all you can do is cling on for dear life to the crocheted blanket. 

“Holy shit… so fuckin’ tight… aren’t you just the most gorgeous thing…” he hisses. You reach up enough to tangle your fingers in his hair and drag him down for a kiss, sloppy and charged with heat. His hand moves in between your legs and you cum for the second time that night, hissing with satisfaction as he spills inside you. 

You collapse onto the sofa together, your heavy breaths harmonising. When he pulls back to kiss you this time it’s softer. With intention. With reference. 

“Uh, you know, they’re showing To Kill a Mockingbird next week. Maybe dinner beforehand, if you’re interested?”

He laughs affectionately and you can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Sounds good. You’ll have to lend me the book first.”

Fuck yeah. You’re never doubting your mouth again. 

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk@starfleetteddybear

[reverieblondie]

Finding the Tiefling Bachelors Smut

A/N: I really hope everyone enjoys these hcs. Now these are just my ideas if you have ideas or things you feel like should be added please share! I would love to hear what you think! Huge shout out to @f4iryt3a for letting me use their Cal screenshot! I really appreciate it!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader

Rolan: Scholarly romantic, who endeavors to seek experience outside his books

Now I love the idea of Rolan accidentally finding smut/erotica. That dork would get embarrassed so quickly, but I know he would be intrigued as the new master of Razamaths tower. Rolan, of course, has made it his mission to quickly understand all the tomes and books found in its grand libraries. Through his cataloging, he discovered that not all the books are necessarily history books or grimoires, but there is a collection of books that are stories. Needing to flip through for a rough summary of the story quickly, it's when he scans the pages and pauses…

Ardent eyes trail over her shivering skin. His lips come over to caress her body, his hands sliding up her belly towards her breast. Rough fingers pinch and twist at her sensitive buds, making her tremble with a breathy moan. All while his lips trail down lower and lower…biting softly, licking down her mound. Her skin is like silk against his fevered tongue, and no doubt the lower he wonders, the sweeter the taste… 

"And to think you thought me intolerable…now look at you, love. Panting like a bitch for my tongue…" 

Rolan slams the book closed, his face burning a bright crimson hue. Now, Rolan isn't dumb; he knows what smut is, but he's never actually read it before…And now, as he keeps looking through the books near this one…it seems Rolan has acquired a bit of a collection. He keeps the collection of his newly acquired smut in a locked drawer on his desk.  

Now, on late nights, while he's been in his office for hours, his back is tense, and his neck and shoulders are filled with knots. He needs to let out all this unreleased tension, so his hand wanders down to that locked drawer to finish reading that last chapter… 

The book has been discarded but not forgotten as it lies on the desk. Rolan's breath is labored as he is hunched over his desk, feverishly fisting his cock, whimpering, and throwing his head back as he lets the images flash in his mind. Doe's eyes stare up at him, his hand with a tight fist of their hair…their tongue rolling and lapping at his ridges, tail rubbing their wet sex as he approaches his high. Fuck How he wished it wasn't his hand but their mouth eagerly sucking him, desperate to take all of him. Rolan's thoughts spur him on more, your nails digging into his tights, your throat so fucking tight, just like he is sure your pussy is. And where would you want in? Your gorgeous face? Your breasts? Or would you swallow?

Rolan's hips buckle faster, his loose hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his neck as he lets out a groan. He would give you all of it; he would make sure to show you everything he could do, how he would study your body just to get you to cum. How he would remember every moan, every tremble, and the way you feel wrapped around so tightly, your sweet voice trembling all those words he dreams you would say.  That's when he feels that wave rushes over him, his legs tremble, and a whimper "ah, a-h!" leaves his lips. Rolan has to brace his hand on the desk as he cums in fast spurts in his hand. Catching his breath, he looks at his mess… "Zurgan…" 

You and Rolan are friends, but you two still manage to argue most days, and you wouldn't like it any other way. Something about that grumpy attitude just makes your head spin. You want to get under more than just his skin; getting under him would be ideal. It's good that you're patient because you're just waiting for the snap where this teasing finally pays off, and he becomes yours. 

You find yourself waiting for Rolan to ask about some magical artifact you found. Honestly, you could care less; you just want an excuse to talk to him and tease him. Unfortunately, you must wait for him…might as well snoop a little. And what do you find in your snooping? A locked desk drawer, intriguing…with a trick you picked up astarion you get it opened to see books? 

Oh….smut books…with a clear theme, enemies to lovers; it looks like Rolan likes to argue as much as you do…you can work with this. 

Rolan walks through the door, "Okay, what do you have for me?" His voice catches as soon as he sees you sitting on his desk (something he says he hates), watching you read through his smut. 

You flick your eyes up to him, "Rolan… I never took you as a smut reader; I would think the Great Master would be too busy…" Rolan approaches you quickly and tries to snatch the book from you, but you hold it behind yourself, not making it easy for him. 

"Hasn't anyone ever taught you about privacy!" He stands right in front of you now, his flushed cheeks on full display for you. "Why are you embarrassed?" you taunt; Rolan sighs irritatedly as he struggles for the book. His body leaning in so close, his chest brushing against yours, his hips between your spread legs, his face getting so close to yours. Rolans is so desperate to get the book he doesn't realize how close he is. 

"Someone needs to teach you proper decorum!" his voice grumbles. "Is that an offer…" Rolan pauses as he hears you whisper in his ear; he turns to face you, his face already so close your noises brush together. Rolan swallows as his eyes flick from your lips to your eyes. " You're teasing me," he says lowly, dropping the book behind you; you wrap your arms around his neck. "Not unless you want me to." 

Rolan lets out a shaky breath before he places his hands on your hips, guiding you to wrap your legs around him. "Must you always have a comeback every time?" 

"What? I thought you liked my smart mouth. Perfect for arguing." Rolan gently lays your body down against his desk, his body over you, making your breath quicken, and your arousal ruins your panties with want. "How about I put that mouth to better use?" 

You two don't miss a moment to start stripping on one another. "What use? Oh, great master Rolan?" Rolan smiles and leans his now bare chest down, his lips pressing hungrily against yours. Before you can slip in your tongue, he pulls back, relishing in the whine you give from missing his lips. "Like making you moan my name." -Damn that cockiness… 

The next few moments are a blur of sloppy kisses, sharp bites to your neck, and the feeling of his hot tongue tracing over your nipples, making your thighs clamp tighter around his waist in a whine. Rolan eggs you on to say his name as his textured cock runs slowly up and down your wet sex. His body shudders with a groan from the feeling of your slick all for him. 

Rolan slides into you, whimpering along with you as you finally moan his name, "Rolan~" you can't help but arch yourself as he pumps into you deeper and deeper with every thrust. The more he rocks in you, the rougher he gets, as his nails dig into your ass, lifting your lower body off the bed as you keep clamping down on him from the praise he rewards you.

His cock hitting your G Stop, you feel yourself squeezing down on him as his hazy eyes look down at you with a lazy smirk; he's read enough to know what's happening to you, "Oh? About to cum? Come on… Don't hold back, cum for me."

It hits you like a wave making your whole body tremble as your orgasm on his cock, with a scream of his name. Rolan is quick to silence you with a moan of his own as he leaves a rough kiss on your lips. 

Zevlor: An Experienced Romantic

Okay, but can we all imagine Zevlor's shirtless body littered with scars and a nice set of reading glasses low on his nose as he reads some smut/erotica. (Ugh, the dream!) Zevlor, our oldest of the bachelors, has seen his fair share of smut; back in the day, it wasn't odd for some of the guys to hide erotica under their bunks. Though their books were quite different from Zev's. Sadly, those books have been lost to time and the descent. Maybe it was curiosity or the fact that a certain someone has been making his heart race every time they say his name. Now, here he is in the romance section of the library, trying to find one of those old books he used to own. Unfortunately, he only sees books he's not familiar with, so on a whim, he opens a random book…  

If someone walked by, it would tarnish her reputation. A high blood in the gardens this late with a man will surely cause gossip. Especially with her legs spread so wide and her guard positioning his cock so deep in her. Her soft voice moaning so heavenly, only causes his cock to throb more. He's meant to be guarding her…If anyone finds out… She's too important, too perfect to be with a man like him…

"I love you." Her voice, like sweet honey, draws him to hold her tighter, to rut in deeper. He drags his lips across her slick skin, tongue lightly licking the sweat from her neck. Finally, he reaches her ear, "Darling flower…I love you more than you can possibly know…" She clenches and flutters with a whimper, and his hips start to move faster…

Zevlor ended up checking out that book, along with three others the lady behind the counter recommended for him. It turns out they had similar tastes…He made sure to rush home so nobody saw what he had, and Zevlor made sure to put the books in a safe place…in his dresser drawer. 

It's another one of those sleepless nights. His eyes just won't seem to close, and his body won't relax. Maybe he should read a few chapters in his new book…just until his eyes get heavy…

Zevlor can't help but grunt as he feels his balls twitch, begging himself to stroke his girth faster, but Zevlor is patient… he knows what his body can take, so he continues his slow build. Zevlor spits on his other hand to lube his cock, making it slip faster within his hand. His grunts get louder as his hand moves faster, building up to his release. Zevlor shuts his eyes, focusing on the approaching wave of pleasure, his thoughts immediately going to you. Your body is bouncing beautifully as you ride the old hellrider. Gods, he wants to talk you through it and be your guide to your sweet pleasure before he fills you up. How he would dig his hands into the soft plush of your hips to help roll you deeper, cooing softly to you as you begin to babble, your pleasure starting to build to its peak. Gods, how he wants to hear your voice trembling his name… Zevlors hips start to roll at the thought of your snug cunt and your sweet voice chanting how it's too much and how you're coming to cum. The thought of your cum coating him is enough for his cock to throb as he lets his cum shoot against his abdomen. Zevlor sighs coming back down from his high. As he cleans himself up, he wonders, would you clean him up? Perhaps with your tongue? Zevlor shakes his head and chastises himself for the lewd thought. 

You and Zevlor developed a strong bond after everything; you two were supported by each other through getting past everything. Even though Zevlor decided to retire to a small farm on the city's outskirts, you two kept in touch through letters and visits. Part of you wishes that Zevlor would one day invite you to stay at his farm with him permanently…though you are unsure if that is just a silly dream of a lovesick girl… 

During one of your impromptu visits to Zevlors farm, you were helping him wrangle the goats, it turns out Philp the Ram is not a fan of yours… So that is how you found yourself crashed into the water trough after running from a grumpy goat. Zevlor was a slew of apologies as he helped you from the water and told you that you could borrow some clothes from him while yours dries. So, while you were looking for a shirt in his drawers, you found a book? Maybe a peek wouldn't hurt…

Turns out that Zevlor is quite the romantic…maybe it's time you confess…but you need to have a plan…

Zevlor was done setting up the tea, but you still hadn't emerged from his bedroom. Perhaps nothing fits you, right? Or maybe you are embarrassed? Zevlor sits pondering for a few minutes before he decides to walk to the room and check on you. You hear his heavy footsteps before you hear his Knock. "Tav? Are you alright?” With a deep breath, you tell yourself it's now or never. "Zev? I'm fine, but could you ... come in, please?"

Zevlor, never one to deny a request from you, opens the door; when he sees you, he thinks his heart stops at the sight of your bare thighs sitting on his bed in his favorite mauve shirt. Then he sees the book on his dresser, and his face turns an impossibly deeper shade of red. Great, you think he's an old pervert. Zevlor is about to explain when you cut him off, patting the spot beside you on the bed. He watches your face blush, "sit with me?" Zevlor sits beside you. The tension is thick in the air as both your minds reel, Zevlor panicking that you think he's a gross pervert, while you are working the courage to make your next move ... something romantic to impress him.

"About the book I-" It was so quick .... but you forget Zevlor was a paladin, a well-trained one at that. So when you turned to kiss his full lips, Zevlor caught your face between his hands. His eyes widen in surprise as he looks at your squished cheeks and puckered lips. Your face reddened, "I'm sorry, I was trying to be romantic... I should have asked to kiss you.” You manage to tremble out through your squeezed lips ...His eyebrows furrow and a slight laugh leaves him “you... Want to kiss me?” He lets go of your head, and it's your turn to laugh. “That and more... if you're willing?" 

Zevlar was definitely willing, willing to run his hands over your soft body, while you do the same to his hardened one, tracing his scars with tender kisses as you sang sweet praises into his crimson skin. His Kisses were so soft as your lips pressed together, slowly building up your hunger for more.

It could have been minutes, hours, hells, even days as you two explored each other's bodies. "Slow ... ride it slow ..." his deep voice whispers in your ear as you slowly roll your hips ."Beautiful ... look at you ...” His lips return to kissing a bruise to your neck as you look into the mirror. Your legs spread wide over his thighs, one of his hands on your hip as the other is wrapped around your waist, holding your front as steady as possible as he thrust So slowly into your drooling cunt. You can see your arousal dripping down his ridged cock as he moves it through your snug cunt, stretched so taut for him. Your hands are holding onto Zevlor for dear life as he molds your insides to his shape.

Zevlors pace steadily builds as your insides start to clench on him tighter, and your cooing gets higher pitched. He smiles and meets your eyes in the reflection as he slips his hot fingers to your twitching clit, rolling over it in quick circles So desperate to watch his lovely Tav squirt all over his girth again.

What could be more romantic than watching the one you care for come undone on you?

Dammon: A lover of erotica through and through

It is canon that Dammon likes smut, which inspired this whole thing. Damon isn't one to shout out from the rooftops what he enjoys reading, but he isn't shy about it, either. He enjoys reading smut/erotica, and he isn't going to be embarrassed about that. He finds that his favorite works are Bondage and Corruption Kink-based. Sure, the stories are undeniably hot, but the trust, the communication shared between two people engaging in that level of intimacy he's utterly addicted to…and his library will only grow. Still, he always returns to his rarer favorites…

His hand is cold compared to the burning flesh of her ass. She leans into the touch, losing her grip, but that only earns her a swat that furthers the rosy flesh to a fiery blush…" keep holding your ankles.." his voice is stern, and she wishes he would talk to her for hours like this, She grabs her ankles tighter mumbling a soft apology. He smiles and kisses down her spine in approval, "Good girl. Now, what's your safe word?" She feels his hand sliding across her ass, the tightening in her gut coiling further. "L-lavender…" she can't help but tremble, feeling his hand spread her blushing cheeks. "When do we say that word?" she's fully spread to him now, feeling dizzy in anticipation. "If-if I'm feeling overwhelmed, hurt, or just ready to stop." 

He muses at her, bent over, ready for him; he runs his oiled fingers over the metal plug keeping his eyes on her tight entrance…he feels his cock throb from the rush, she wants to slam himself into her ass, but he calms himself with a breath. "Very good, now I'm going to put the plug in, remember to breathe and that it will be cold…"

Dammon only occasionally has guests in his small house, so he has never felt the need to hide his books. So what does he do? He proudly displays them on his bookshelf, rotating out his favorites for a nice reread on his nightstand. 

No matter how many times he might read this book, it always excites him. After a long day of pounding away at scorching hot metal it can get a person tightly wound up…and what's better than an excellent book to help wind you down after a long day…

Turns out that winding down is not what his body had in mind for him tonight. It started off as it usually does, his hand lazily stroking his cock, while he read from his book, but as he kept reading, he couldn't help but think about when he saw you last, bright smile, tight trousers, and your shirt barely containing your breast. You always looked like a vision, and he wouldn't mind getting his mouth on if you only asked. Dammons thoughts go to you bent over his anvil as he pounds into your warm heat, his hands keeping your wrist behind your back as you moan for more to show you all he knows. Dammons bites his lip at the thought, continuing to ram his cock into the crease of his pillow folded between his legs. His hand is not enough, and neither is the pillow, but if he thrusts fast enough, he can almost trick himself. It's your plush thighs he's ramming against. Dammon lets out deep moans as he gets closer, his cock weeping at the tip as he thinks of how deep he could go… how he could explore all of you for him to devour. Gods, to feel you cum all over him, to demand more from you till your body shakes from overstimulation. The pleasure he knows his rigid cock could give you. The surge of his orgasm washes over him as his cum shoots into his pillow with a low groan at the instant relief. Dammon throws his pillow off the bed as he catches his breath, so much for relaxing…

After the end of everything, it only makes sense that you would keep in touch with Dammon; every good hero needs a good blacksmith, and Dammon is yours. He was always so reliable and fun to talk to. It only makes sense that you were running his way whenever your sword or armor was nicked. You two slowly boned and found yourself spending hours just sitting and talking to him, telling him your adventures while Dammon just smiled and worked. Watching Dammon work was also an enjoyable experience; he was always so passionate about what he did… you wonder if he's as passionate in other ways

Dammon had told you to come by his place to pick up your weapons, which he was repairing. Having to do some last-minute things, he had set tea out for you and had you wait in his quaint little home. You waited and waited, but he was just taking so long, so you decided to walk around. While you were walking around, you saw Dammon's bookshelf and looked to see if you two shared the same taste in books…

As soon as you picked up one of the books and started to read it, you just couldn't stop. You didn't know if it was shocking, curiosity, or interest ... but what you were reading was so intense, and you just couldn't help how your thighs were pressing together to help ease your growing arousal. "Enjoying the book ?" his voice chimed, making you jump. Slamming the book closed and trying to stumble out an apology, Dammon just looks at your increasingly flushing face, and his smile grows.

Finally, Dammon gently places his hand on your lips, his face completely unfazed as his calm voice asks, "Want me to show you my favorite parts? "- How could you refuse?

What turned into him reading them to you led to you reading it yourself as Dammon ideally played with your hair as he watched you; he Turned to you, finally sharing in a passionate kiss, to where you are now ...

Both of you stripped down to your underwear, straddling Dammons thigh as he leaves slow, sloppy kisses on the column of your neck, "We will start slow...to show you …"

Your hands are holding on tightly to his broad shoulders as his hands slide down your waist to squeeze your hips. His bright eyes take in your blush as he asks if you're okay if you're ready. With a shy yes, you two start as he starts to guide your hips to grind on his thigh; the feeling of your clit rubbing against him makes warm pleasure rush down your spine to spread through you. Dammon just watches your beautiful face contort to the pleasure, listening to your soft moans and trembling Whines, his cock growing stiff as the arousal drips from your panties to leak on his thighs. God, he wants to trace it with his fingertips and have you taste yourself, but he contains himself, telling himself to go slow with you. Dammon moves his hands up to your breast, groping you softly as you continue your soft grind.

You keep rocking back and forth, feeling the tightness in your stomach as you gradually build your pace. From how wet you feel. Dammon knows you are so close to that high, so he decides to help you more. His left hand lowers your bra as his lips kiss your perked nipples before his tongue carefully traces the sensitive skin, making you moan so softly. Then With his right hand, he slips two fingers through your soaked panties to play with your swollen little clit. The feeling of his rough fingertips toying and then pinching softly is enough for that coil to break within you as you squirt on his lap.

"I'm so sorry …" You say in a gasp, but Dammon only shushes you as he holds you to his chest, his expert fingers guiding you through your orgasm. "You have nothing to apologize for ... that's so beautiful, which makes me want you to do it again ... "You whine and bury your face in his neck from his sultry words. Damon can't wait to teach you more things.

Cal: Innocent but wants to learn

There is not enough smut about Cal, which is a shame; he is a cutie and deserves to be included in the Tiefling Bachelor lineup. Cal always thought that there was only one way to get sexual stimulation from a book and those erotic art books people hid in their homes. He had heard of the desire to seek them out. Well, now Cal's grown up, he has needs. It's while Cal is trying to discreetly find one of these books when he comes across smut. Curious why a book like this would be in this section. That is when he figures it out… 

He couldn't help how her strong body roused him. It was an accident coming across her during her bath, but even the warrior jumped to action and could pin him down beneath her foot. He just stared at her bare body, shining in the moonlight as the water dripped down her skin. He swallowed his suddenly dry throat as the need to lick up every drip off her body to quench his thirst, but only if she wished it. How he would be a dog for her… "Why are you spying on me during my bath? Are you an assassin or just a pervert?" His rehearsed lines over why he joined her on her journey evaporate from his mind.

"My lady…lady, I wish to serve your every whim…I wish to be your hand…it would be an honor to travel with a noble hero like yourself…" Her eyes narrow before she swiftly drops down to his prone form…Gods, please don't sit on him and reveal to her his aching erection… "careful with your wording… you could easily end up as a squire… or my chew toy.." he tries to steady his breath… "whatever my knight wishes…" she smiles…this should be an interesting addition to her travels… 

Of course, Cal quickly bought the book and immediately packed it for home as soon as he left the store. As soon as he got to his room after sneaking past his siblings, he needed to find a place to hide it. The last thing he needed was for someone to see that he had this book. So, after a quick scan of his room, he shoved the book underneath his mattress. Nobody will find it there, right?  

Cal was completely immersed in the story; any time he had time off, she was sneaking off to his room to read another chapter or two. Then, late one night, he found that the plot was thickening, and it was starting to stir something within him. Cal springs from his bed and quickly decides to take a cool bath; that should help cool him right…

The bath did little to ease him; all while he was in the bath, his thoughts kept wandering to his book… and you. Now here he is, his fevered skin feeling the sharp bliss of the bathroom's tiled wall against his back, groaning lowly as he fucks his fist. Cal knew it was wrong to think of you this way, your beautiful legs spread open… your hand teasing yourself as your sweet arousal drips more and more. Cal knew he shouldn't be doing this, but that didn't stop him from shutting his eyes tighter, buckling his hips more desperately as he chased his high. All those previous feelings of shame melt away as your sweet voice calls his name, your eyes lidded, telling him to "Watch me, Cal…taste me…" Fuck, his breath picks up as dose his pace mumbling to himself how much he wants you… what he would fo got "Ah, just to taste you… to have you cum on my tongue…" Cal stroked faster, whimpering and moans growing louder at the thought of you pushing him down and sinking your soft cunt onto his cock. The way you would ride him as you screamed for him was the final straw that had his cock spasming, "Fuck, fuck, Fuck!" Cal couldn't help but chant like a prayer as he made a mess over his clean body. Cal looked down at his ruined body, "Dammit… I need to rinse off again…" 

Cal was always a pleasant person to be associated with; your friendship started when he thanked you for helping end a squabble between his siblings. After that, you two kept running into each other. First, he sought you out for combat advice, which made you two have friendly chats. You two both find each other to open up about your troubles with one other. Cal says he admires you and all the incredible heroic acts you have done, but you admire Cal and his cheerful, never-giving-up attitude. The world always seemed just that bit warmer when Cal is near…  

When you saw that Rolan and Lia were out at the tavern without Cal, you were instantly worried about him. They had told you he was not feeling good, apparently, and that immediately made you need to go see him. So, with a key from Rolan, you made your way to the tower to check in on Cal. When you reach outside his door, you hear a sound that makes you worried…   

The air in your lungs ripped from your throat, causing you to let out a gasp as you saw him fisting himself under his blanket. You and Cal locked eyes; he immediately stopped and quickly apologized to explain himself as he was trying to get untangled from his sheets. Poor Cal fell out of his bed, crashing to the floor in a tangled mess of his bedding. Walking over to him, you crouch Where his arm hides his face. "I .. am so sorry ... I ... didn't mean - ""Cal?" Cal Swallows, "Yes ?" You carefully move his arm away so you can look into his eyes. "Do you want me to help you ?" Cal looked up at you with wide eyes before nodding quickly.

Cal's breath was labored as his sweaty hands gripped the sheets as he looked at you in awe. Your hands wrapped around his length as you -Kissed and licked his peddling tip, your eyes watching his adorable face. Then with a final smile and a whisper to relax and enjoy, you start sucking around him, your soft tongue - licking around his sensitive underside making his hip twitch and buckle. Cal thought he must have fallen and cracked open his skull, passing on to the next heavenly realm; how could it be that you, perfect beautiful you, are sitting on your knees eagerly, sucking and slurping on his cock; it just couldn't be real.

Then he felt his cock push to the back of your throat, and he couldn't help from throwing his head back and moaning your name. You relished in the feeling of his trembling as he came in thick spurts down your throat. You had to hold back from laughing as you heard him apologize. Standing up, you smile at his hazy expression and slight smile. You swallowed him down and caressed his cheek, giggling as he pressed frantic kisses on your palm, saying a thousand thank yous. Grabbing his chin, you smile at him as he asks those words you were hoping for. "I .. um. I have never done it, but could I help you ?' Turns out Cal is very good at following directions.

[grifffins]

🔮 The Fool’s Journey (Into Trouble)🔮

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

tags: Older Woman/Younger Woman, Slow Burn, Alternative Universe, No Magic AU, Age Gap, Oblivious Lilia Calderu, Yearning, Fluff

summary: I was just looking for a job, not an existential crisis—or a crush on my eccentric, older boss who calls me ‘baby’ like it’s nothing. Now I’m working at her tarot shop, falling harder by the day, and she has no idea I’m flirting. Desperate, I turn to my chaotic friends for help. What could possibly go wrong?

wc: 3.5k (Chapter 1/?)

a/n: this is like the first time posting in forever and I’m kinda scared, but Lilia&aaa really got me writing again. I’m so gay. No magic, just chaotic friends. Also, I aged Billy up because I can’t write kids.

also on ao3

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I’d been looking for a job for what felt like forever. The kind of soul-sucking search that made me wonder if I was doomed to an eternity of scrolling through online postings, drowning in rejection emails, and contemplating whether selling my soul to a demon might be a viable career option. But then, one rainy afternoon, tucked away in the classified section of an old newspaper, an actual newspaper, for God’s sake I found it.

"Seeking shop assistant. Must be comfortable with the mystical and the eccentric. Call: 555-3827."

Did people even put ads in newspapers anymore? And who still had a landline in this century? Curiosity got the better of me, and before I knew it, I was dialing the number, half-expecting it to connect me to a dusty relic of a shop run by someone who spoke only in riddles.

Instead, a smooth, lightly accented voice answered. “Yes, hello?”

And that was the first time I heard Lilia Calderu.

The shop smelled like old books and incense, and the air had that thick, mystical quality that made you feel like you’d stepped into another world. The walls were lined with shelves stacked haphazardly with tarot decks, worn-out copies of books, and shelves of delicate crystal spheres that seemed to hum with some unseen energy.

And then I saw her .

Lilia Calderu stood behind the counter like she’d stepped right out of an old eccentric novel. Her dark curly hair, streaked with grey, was pinned up in a loose bun, with wild tendrils escaping to frame her sharp face. Those deep brown eyes, sharp as a blade, met mine with an amused glint. She had the air of someone who had seen it all and was quietly entertained by it.

“You must be y/n.” She smiled, and something in my chest tightened. “I must say, I wasn’t sure anyone read the paper anymore. Yet, here you are.”

I nodded, feeling far too awkward in her presence. “Yeah. Thought it was a joke at first, honestly.”

She laughed softly, an elegant sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Many people do, but this shop has its ways of finding the right people.” She extended her hand. “Welcome to your new obsession.”

And boy, was she right.

Lilia mostly handled the tarot readings, slipping into that almost trance-like focus as she read fortunes with an effortless grace that made me want to sit there and watch her forever. My job was…well, everything else. Cleaning, organising, taking inventory, manning the register when she was busy. The shop wasn’t exactly bustling, but it had its steady flow of customers mostly the kind who came in with wide eyes and a quiet reverence, seeking answers in the cards.

Lilia and I quickly fell into a rhythm. We’d talk about everything and nothing in between customers, and though she had a dry wit and a quiet confidence, there was a warmth to her that made me feel at ease.

Unfortunately, I also had an embarrassing, all-consuming crush on her.

And Lilia, bless her oblivious heart, did not pick up on my subtle flirting. At all.

I’d linger a little longer when we brushed past each other. I’d compliment her hair, her outfit, the way she shuffled cards like it was second nature. I even tried playful teasing, asking if she’d ever read my cards and tell me if I had a shot with someone older and devastatingly charming.

Nothing. Just a soft smile and a gentle, “Ah, love is such a mysterious thing, isn’t it?”

I should’ve given up.

But instead, I called in reinforcements.

Agatha, Jen, Billy, and Alice had been hearing about Lilia this and Lilia that for weeks. It had gotten so bad that the last time I brought her up over drinks, Agatha groaned and banged her forehead against the table. “y/n, I swear to all the gods, if you don’t make a move, I will.”

Jen sipped her wine, nodding. “I feel like I know this woman better than my own mother at this point.”

Billy leaned in, far too intrigued. “She’s hot, though, right?”

“Billy. ”

“What? I’m just asking.”

Alice, ever the voice of reason, gave me a sympathetic smile. “Alright, we need a plan. Operation ‘Get y/n Laid’ is a go.”

I choked on my drink, while Jen rolled her eyes. “Or, you know, date. ”

Agatha smirked. “I vote chaos.”

And so, it began.

The plan was simple.

Step one: The coven (as my friends liked to call themselves, despite having zero magical abilities) would ‘accidentally’ drop by the shop to scope out Lilia. Subtlety was not their strong suit, but I’d given them a strict list of rules— no embarrassing me, no obvious flirting on my behalf, and under no circumstances could Agatha challenge her to a tarot reading battle.

Step two: Once they confirmed Lilia was, in fact, into women (something I was still trying to figure out without outright asking), they’d casually encourage me to ask her out.

Step three: Success. Or mortifying failure.

I should’ve known better.

The day of the plan, they arrived with the grace of a train wreck. The bell above the shop door chimed, and in they strolled. Agatha with her signature overconfidence, Jen trying to look composed, and Billy and Alice whispering conspiratorially behind them.

Lilia, who had been arranging a set of tarot decks, looked up with mild interest. “New customers?” she mused.

I winced. “Uh, yeah. Friends.”

Agatha stepped forward, extending a hand with a grin that was far too wolfish for my liking. “Agatha. Nice shop you have here.”

Lilia took her hand with that calm, effortless grace. “Thank you. I do my best.” She glanced over at me with a raised brow. “I see y/n has been spreading the word.”

Alice beamed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Kill me.

Lilia was polite but wary, and I could tell she picked up on something , whether it was the fact that they were clearly vetting her or just the general chaos my friends brought with them. But she handled it like she handled everything else: with quiet amusement and a touch of suspicion.

I could also see the way she lingered on me when she thought I wasn’t looking, the way she’d glance over when Agatha not-so-subtly hinted at my interest in “older, experienced women.”

And when Billy, in all his chaotic energy, ‘accidentally’ knocked over a shelf, Lilia just sighed and gave me a look that said, this is your problem now.

God, I was so gone for her.

I didn’t know if the plan was working, but when I caught Lilia watching me across the shop, her expression softer, more contemplative than usual, I had a feeling things were shifting.

I just had to make sure I didn’t screw it up.

The coven’s “casual” visit stretched far longer than I’d anticipated, and Lilia, ever the picture of grace and patience entertained their probing questions with a wry amusement that had me both sweating and swooning.

“So,” Agatha drawled, leaning casually on the counter, “how long have you been in town? A woman like you must have quite the stories.”

Lilia smiled knowingly, her dark eyes glinting. “Oh, I’ve been here longer than most would guess. The shop’s been in my family for generations, though I suppose I’ve... modernised it in my own way.”

Jen, ever the detective, sipped her overpriced coffee and murmured, “Modernised? You still have a landline.”

Lilia shot her a look that could cut glass. “It has a certain charm.”

I stifled a laugh behind my hand.

Billy, who’d been poking around the shelves, suddenly perked up. “So, Lilia, do you do, like, love spells?”

I nearly choked on air.

Lilia tilted her head, tapping a perfectly manicured finger on the counter. “Love spells are tricky,” she mused, her voice low and velvety. “You can’t make someone fall in love, you know. Only... reveal what’s already there.”

My face burned so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust. Agatha shot me a smug grin, and I swore I’d kill her later.

Lilia, however, seemed unbothered. If anything, she was watching me with a knowing glint, as if she’d caught the edge of something in my expression.

“Love is a delicate thing,” she continued, her gaze still on me. “It’s best handled with care.”

Jen snorted. “Tell that to y/n.”

I groaned. “Alright, you guys have had your fun. Let’s not traumatise my boss any further.”

Lilia’s lips quirked up. “Oh, y/n, it takes much more than this to rattle me.”

And with that, my brain short-circuited.

Once I’d finally wrangled my friends out the door—after no less than three separate goodbyes and a thinly veiled attempt by Agatha to invite Lilia to a “casual” group outing—I collapsed against the counter with a groan.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into my hands. “They’re... a lot.”

Lilia chuckled softly, arranging a set of tarot cards in a neat pile. “They’re delightful.” She paused, her voice quieter. “They care about you.”

I peeked up at her through my fingers. “They do. Sometimes too much.”

She gave me that soft, unreadable smile that made my stomach twist in knots. “That’s never a bad thing.”

There was a moment of silence, comfortable yet charged. I watched her work, her fingers deft and graceful, and I couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel like trailing over my skin.

Which, of course, led to me blurting out the world’s most humiliating sentence.

“So, uh... are you single?”

Lilia’s hands stilled. She looked up at me, one perfectly arched brow lifting.

Oh. Oh no.

I swallowed thickly. “I—I mean, just curious. You know, for... um... business reasons?”

She stared at me for a long beat before a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “Business reasons?”

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “I’ll shut up now.”

To my absolute horror, she looked amused . “No, I don’t mind the question,” she said, voice smooth and far too indulgent. “Yes, y/n, I am single.”

My brain froze. “Oh. Cool.”

I was going to die. Right here. In this shop.

Lilia leaned on the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And you?”

Me? Functioning? Unlikely.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “Very single. Like... aggressively single.”

She laughed, a low, rich sound that made my knees weak. “Aggressively?”

I groaned. “I have a lot of free time.”

She gave me a long, thoughtful look, and for the first time, I saw something flicker in her expression, curiosity? Interest? God, I hoped so.

“Well,” she said finally, “perhaps we should do something about that.”

I blinked. “Do something?”

Lilia just smiled. “You’ll see, baby.”

I was definitely going to die.

I called Agatha that night in full-blown panic.

“She called me baby, Agatha. She called me baby. ”

On the other end of the line, Agatha groaned. “And you didn’t throw yourself at her feet?”

“I panicked!” I hissed. “I just stood there like an idiot and nodded!”

Jen’s voice chimed in. “Classic y/n.”

Billy snorted. “You need to make a move before someone else does.”

Alice, ever the gentle voice of reason, hummed. “Maybe she’s interested in you, y/n. She wouldn’t call you ‘baby’ if she wasn’t, right?”

“I don’t know,” I whined. “She’s so cool, and she’s older, and I feel like a dumb kid around her.”

Agatha clicked her tongue. “You’re not a dumb kid. You’re a hot, chaotic disaster, and that’s charming. Now, listen, next time you see her, flirt intentionally. Make it obvious.”

“Oh yeah, because that’s gone so well before.”

“No more subtlety,” Agatha said firmly. “You need to show her you’re serious. Flirt, y/n. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could laugh in my face?”

“She won’t,” Alice assured me. “She hired you, didn’t she? That means she likes you.”

I sighed, flopping onto my bed. 

The next morning, I walked into the shop, determined. Lilia glanced up from where she was rearranging the display, her smile soft.

"Good morning, y/n."

I swallowed hard, shoving down the nervous energy bubbling in my chest. "Morning, Lilia."

She tilted her head, observing me for a moment. "You look... focused today. A special occasion?"

"Oh, uh... just trying to be more productive," I said quickly, forcing a smile and internally cursing myself. I had one job: flirt. Be charming. Sweep her off her feet. Instead, I was standing there like a starstruck teenager.

Lilia gave me an amused glance, completely unaware of the internal screaming happening inside my head. "Well, productivity is always admirable," she said, turning back to her tarot deck. "Let me know if you need something to do, baby."

Baby. There it was again.

I nearly tripped over my own feet on the way to the back room.

Later that evening, I flopped onto Agatha's couch with a dramatic groan. "It's hopeless."

Billy, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of popcorn, rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless. There's a difference."

Alice patted my knee reassuringly. "Tell us what happened this time."

I sat up, rubbing my hands over my face. "She called me baby again."

Jen raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And?" I repeated incredulously. "I blacked out! Just stood there like a moron and stammered something about productivity!"

Agatha groaned, sipping her wine. "You are acting like the least seductive person I have ever met, and I have literally watched you seduce people before. What happened to that y/n?"

I threw my hands in the air. "That y/n wasn't crushing on someone three times my age��who also happens to be the most sophisticated, intimidating woman I've ever met!"

Billy snickered. "You're acting like she's some kind of ancient vampire."

I glared. "She might be, okay? I don't know her life."

Jen smirked. "You could get to know it. Y'know, if you asked her out."

"That's not how this works!" I groaned, leaning back against the couch. "I need subtlety. "

Agatha rolled her eyes so hard I was worried they'd get stuck. "y/n. Sweetheart. You've been subtle for weeks, and she hasn't picked up on a damn thing."

"She has to know," I insisted. "She’s too smart not to have figured it out."

Alice smiled kindly. "Or maybe she’s just... not looking for it? You said she’s wary of the age gap, right?"

I sighed. "Yeah. I get the feeling she’s aware of it, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s just little things, like, if I compliment her, she brushes it off like I’m just being nice. She never takes it seriously."

Jen hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds like she's putting up a little barrier. Maybe she's worried it's inappropriate?"

Agatha smirked. "So we need to show her it's very appropriate."

Billy nodded eagerly. "Okay, Get y/n Laid 101 is officially back in session."

"Can we call it something else?" I muttered.

"No," Agatha said flatly. "This is what we're calling it." She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "Here's the new plan. We need to escalate. No more lingering looks and awkward compliments. We go big. We're talking bold flirting, unmistakable signals. She won't be able to ignore it."

I groaned. "Agatha, I don't do bold. I trip over air when she looks at me for too long."

Jen smirked. "Then it's time to fake it till you make it."

Billy grinned. "You know what would help? A little jealousy."

I groaned again. "No."

"Yes," Agatha said, pointing at Billy. "Yes. We make her jealous."

"Guys, this isn't a teen drama," I whined. "What am I supposed to do? Flirt with some random customer in front of her?"

Agatha snapped her fingers. "Exactly!"

Alice frowned. "That seems a little childish."

Jen shrugged. "It could work."

I buried my face in my hands. "You’re all terrible."

Billy patted my arm. "We're terrible, but we're effective."

The next day at the shop, I was feeling good. Confident, even. The plan was simple, escalate my flirting game, but not with Lilia just yet. No, I needed to show her what she was missing. And I was good at flirting. Really good. Just… not with her. Lilia was an enigma, a walking temptation wrapped in decades of experience and elegance, and I turned into an absolute idiot in her presence.

But with other women? That was easy.

The bell above the door chimed, and I looked up to see a gorgeous customer stepping in, tall, blonde, and effortlessly stylish. She glanced around the shop with interest, her gaze landing on me, and I caught the faintest flicker of a smile. I could work with that.

I straightened my posture, strolling over with a relaxed smile. “Welcome in,” I said smoothly, letting my voice drop just enough to be inviting. “Looking for anything in particular? Or just... browsing?”

She smiled, intrigued. “A little of both, I think.”

“Oh, mystery.” I leaned lightly on the counter, letting my fingers trace the edge of a crystal display. “I like that. Means you might need a guide.”

She laughed softly, tilting her head in a way that told me she was enjoying this. “And I suppose you’re volunteering?”

I grinned. “I’m more than qualified.”

We slipped into an easy banter, her eyes bright with interest as I smoothly navigated between flirtation and shop talk. She leaned in a little closer, and I let my gaze linger, deliberate and playful.

And then I felt it.

That unmistakable presence.

I glanced up and yep. Lilia was watching from across the room, her dark eyes focused, her expression unreadable. She was leaning against the shelf, book in hand, but I could tell she hadn’t turned a page in a while.

I ignored the way my pulse jumped and turned my attention back to the blonde, offering her a charming smile. “So,” I said, handing her a small charm, “this one’s for luck. Not that you look like you need it.”

She laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re good at this.”

“I try.”

Lilia’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, smooth, unhurried, but somehow commanding all the same. “y/n.”

I turned, heart skipping a beat. “Yeah?”

She strolled over, eyes flicking between me and the blonde. “Everything alright here?”

The blonde woman, oblivious, smiled. “Just getting some expert advice.”

Lilia hummed, arching a brow at me. “I see.” There was nothing in her tone that hinted at jealousy, but something lingered beneath it, something sharp and assessing. “Why don’t you help me with something in the back when you’re done?”

It wasn’t a request.

I swallowed. “Sure, just a sec.”

The blonde handed me the charm with a wink. “I think I’ll take this. Lucky, right?”

I rang her up, feeling Lilia’s presence like a shadow at my back the entire time. When the customer finally left with a lingering glance over her shoulder, I turned to Lilia with what I hoped was a nonchalant smile. “What’s up?”

She studied me for a moment, then gestured toward the back room. “Come on.”

I followed her, nerves prickling under my skin. Was she... mad? Intrigued? God, I couldn’t tell. She closed the door behind us and crossed her arms, regarding me with that maddeningly unreadable expression.

“Flirting with customers now?” she asked, tone light but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

I shrugged, leaning against the wall. “It’s good for business.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but she didn’t quite smile. “Mm. I suppose it is.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy with something unsaid. She tilted her head, studying me like she was piecing together a puzzle. And then, just as quickly as she’d pulled me aside, she turned back toward the shelf, and pointed at the boxes to unpack, business as usual. “Well,” she said, voice as smooth as ever, “let’s try to keep things professional, baby.”

And there it was again. Baby. The way she said it effortless, affectionate, and utterly devastating.

I cleared my throat. “Got it. Professional.”

But as I left the back room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Lilia wasn’t quite as unaffected as she seemed.

That night, I sat at Agatha’s with my head in my hands. “She pulled me into the back room.”

Jen perked up. “Wait, what? ”

Billy nearly dropped his drink. “Define ‘pulled into the back room.’”

“Not like that,” I groaned. “She just... I don’t know, it felt like she was calling me out for flirting, but it wasn’t clear if she was mad or—”

“Jealous,” Agatha supplied smugly. “She was jealous. ”

Alice, ever the voice of reason, frowned. “Or she thought you were being unprofessional.”

Agatha waved a hand. “Unprofessional, please. y/n’s been working there for weeks with no complaints. She definitely noticed.”

Billy grinned. “What did she say exactly?”

I sighed. “She told me to keep things professional. Baby. ”

Jen’s eyes widened. “She called you baby again? ”

I nodded miserably. “I’m losing my mind.”

Agatha leaned in with a smirk. “Then we escalate. She’s watching now.”

I groaned, burying my face in a pillow. “Why is this so hard?”

“Because you actually like her,” Alice said gently. “And that makes everything ten times scarier.”

I peeked out from the pillow. “So what do I do?”

Agatha smirked. “You keep flirting, y/n. But this time, aim it at the right woman.”

[ash-and-starlight]

Hello, I saw you say in your 2024 short book review that Iron Widow sucked? May I ask your reasons? I've had this book in my hands multiple times and thought of buying but never did, and by what you said, and accounting for us seemingly having similar tastes, I think you might give me a good idea about what to expect from the book and whether I'd like it?

So yes just. Your thoughts on Iron Widow and why it sucked would be awesome if you could find time for it

Have a nice day!

udhghh ok honestly the reasons are so many and i cant even string them together correctly so i really just recommend going on the goodreads page and reading the one star reviews bc they all illustrate point for point why i think it sucked so much. like ok reason one is that its simply not well written. like its marvel level jokey "oh he's right behind me isn't he" kinda writing. Reason 2 is that the plot is just all over the place nonsensical, there are in-universe things that you're just supposed to accept at face value but just make zero sense once u think about them for longer than 5 seconds. It professes itself to be a girlboss feminist narrative and its the furthest thing from feminist u could ever find. wu zetian sees herself (and is framed by the narrative) as the only hashtag woke hashtag empowered woman that exists and goes on thinking every other girl she meets is a dumb whore. this never gets disproved. she never changes her mind. (which is not WRONG per se but at least dont market it as a #feminist book just for clout). Also like. i was expecting for the heroine's story to bear some resemblance to the hystorical wu zetian's story and uhh idk if this changes later on but so far their stories dont rlly have a thing in common. AND i like the author a lot i think they're super knowledgeable & must've done a ton of research for this so why,,, did they decide to basically discard all of it,, and also it should've gone through a few more drafts,,, one beta reader at least- anyway the things that i DID like were the qi based mecha system. that was conceptually rlly cool and i always love a mecha situation. and the fact that the love triangle got resolved in an ot3 (..... not that i liked any of the characters enough to care...)

[thatdeadaquarius]

imagine if reader is given an ancient scripture from around the time humanity founded out how to write and do the alphabet (somehow it was preserved so well that you can still see the words with no issue)

and it's the most heart wrenching, soul crushing, tear inducing, hyperventilating, sanity disappearing angst, misunderstandings, hurt/no comfort, it gets worse but never better, major character death, unrequited love story to have ever existed in teyvat.

and after reader goes through the whole thing, they can barely talk or breathe properly with how much they're crying.

(even better, it was smut not angst and reader is staring ar the scripture, jaw dropped to the floor with shaking hands.)

STOP- I avoid fanfics like that at all costs 😭 id stop reading it after the first angsty event LMAO

Im like... too emotionally affected by fanfics, esp angst ones 💀

Its just, ppl who write closer to my generation or just very psychologically honestly, are like fucking deadly writers. Got my day ruined and shit w/just fanfics 😭

LMAO THE GIF IS JUST YOU ON THE SPOT NOT EVEN HALFWAY THRU-

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Short! Headcanons-ish

Stars: my first of the Fontians!! Fontainianes? Fontainains?? u get it

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: sobbing, discussion of vague smut/NSFW book at the end, okay for Teen/Mature audiences, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

no but it’d be hilarious if u got this crazy like hand-width deep tablet for each “page” of the book, like how every novel or info in genshin is like one page at a time 😭

Sumeru and other international academics are literally constantly harassing politely requesting your translation of these and sending them to you in whichever country you’re visiting at the moment

Fontaine was even more complex and pretty in real life than it could ever be in game and i can def see you at like Neuvillette’s office or a nice french fontaine cafe and just WHAM

huge ass tablet bc as much as the fic tortures you, you have to know what the fuck happens to these miserable idiots

Neuvillette, Clorinde, and Lynette are all the type to immediately try and dissuade you from reading it again, bc from their point of view you just pull out this huge old rock and start sobbing quietly about 10 mins into the read every time 😭😭

(unsurprisingly, Neuvillette would even go so far as to get the Marechaussee Phantom to sneakily steal ur most recent tablets of the story to hide them, which sucks for you LMAO)

Freminet, Wriothesley, Navia, Lyney, and Furina,all frantically try to distract you, and also theyre in order of who would be the most dramatic w/it lmao

NO BC I JUST HAD THE THOUGHT-

Ur tears absolutely are top priority to Neuvillette and Furina so when they inevitably find the memories in them (and the traveler too maybe)

of what the story is about, except its like all the feelings and stuff, so like its the best “translation” they get of the book so far, u best believe it rains for a week straight

it started out as a light drizzle, but as Neuvillette “read on” in ur tear’s memories if got worse HAHA

mans is out here trying to convince himself like, “this is a classic tragedy from eons ago, its about a human romance, im definitely unaffected, though im glad i could figure out what ails My Majesty so”

meanwhile the story gets worse and its just like that meme “ohHHhhhHH its got a little kiicckkk”

Neuvillette nearly floods the streets by chapter 5 when the miscommunication happens and then they cant get in contact with each other to fix it lmao

LMAO I JUST HAD A VISIONNN

ur in fontaine and while yes drinks were popular (like obv fonta)

business is rlly booming bc now everyone you know (like the Vision-users or archons Neuvill, etc) all have develop this habit of having a water bottle or drink on them to offer you when u start reading to rehydrate you 😭😭😭

Navia, Clorinde, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Lyney, Lynette all have a handkerchief on them at all times too 😭😭

Good God-

the moment you translate the now instant Shakespearean-level tragedy classic, it is a known tear-jerker thruout all of Teyvat,

like theres trigger warnings and age limits and shit 💀

◇

on another note,

if its smut,

ur desperately combing thru all the tablets and wall carvings and cave paintings to try and lowkey cover it up LMAO

and its not like a story with a smut scene either, its like what anon said,

just fully like the ao3 tag “Porn What Plot/Porn With Plot”

STOP

not u yanking the tablets out of Neuvillette’s hands when he curiously picks them up one time lmao

(he is now invested in getting these translated too bc of ur reaction lol)

☆

consider supporting me with an iced coffee? :0

Spooky Season! Spooky Season!! Spooky Season!!!

still not dead btw

just got hired at my new job so ive been training and busy!! :)

im a host at Olive Garden lol its weird and kinda hard, my feet hurt a lot and i havent had a full shift yet ;-; its a brand new one so it opens the 23rd

dw that eldritch one shot is still coming btw, just talking with betas and editing it now lol

hope if you read this you have a great upcoming weekend!!

Safe Travels Anon,

💀♒

☆

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657

[twistedminutia]

Which Housewarden Has the Most Practical Signature Spell?

This question was triggered by my thinking about the signature spells the housewardens have are… not always super useful under most circumstances. As this post will be covering all housewarden signature spells, there will be spoilers for Book 7 parts only available in JP.

Riddle Rosehearts. Signature spell: Off with your head. Creates a collar around the neck of the target(s) which prevents them from using magic.

It was Riddle’s signature spell that got me thinking about this in the first place, honestly. Mostly because his spell seems very practical on its face. He’s actually the housewarden who seems to use his signature spell the most, after Azul, which would make it very practical. Right?

Except his spell is only practical at all because of two specific circumstances. One, he is in a position of authority and able to deal out punishment to rule breakers, and two, he is in a location with a lot of magic users. In Twisted Wonderland, humans who use magic are much less common than humans who do not use magic. Outside of NRC, Riddle’s spell isn’t going to have much more use than a fancy collar about 90% of the time.

In summary, Riddle’s spell appears practical, but only because he’s in the perfect circumstances for it. If he was in different circumstances, it would be much less useful. 5/10

Leona Kingscholar. Signature spell: King’s Roar. Causes anything of Leona’s choosing within a certain radius to crumble into sand.

This is, again, a spell that is only practical under certain circumstances. It’s definitely a powerful spell, but you’re not exactly going to be whipping it out every single day, unless you’re a glassmaker (and even then, you need specific sand to make glass and we don’t know what kind of sand Leona makes).

That being said, it’s not like the spell has no practical uses. It’s an extremely powerful offensive spell and it means people would certainly be cautious about approaching Leona in a combat situation. He’s a prince as well, so we need to consider that he’s more likely to get targeted for political reasons. A powerful spell like his would be a deterrent and a means of protecting himself and defending others.

All in all, it’s another powerful spell, but it’s hardly one you’re going to get much use out of under normal circumstances. 4/10.

Azul Ashengrotto. Signature spell: It’s A Deal. By signing a scroll, Azul can take any power he chooses as part of a contract. If the terms are broken, the contracted party will have to obey Azul.

Okay, so this one’s a weird one. It’s been stated before in canon (I believe Jade and Floyd touch on this right around Azul’s overblot) that Azul does not HAVE to make a contract in order to take a power. He can just do it (he was using his signature spell when he overblotted, for example, without needing the contract). However, this is difficult to control (since he just sucks out ALL a target’s abilities instead of one) and it skirts along the lines of forbidden magic, so he uses the contracts.

Obviously, this limits practicality. To gain the power, he needs to get the target to agree to the contract and he needs to fulfill whatever his end of the bargain is. However, Azul is cunning and good at hiding his motivations to get what he truly wants. He can’t get people who don’t agree, but he can leverage people to get them to do so.

In general? This is the most practical spell we’ve seen so far. It’s got wide applicability (it seems to be implied in his backstory that he’s not limited to taking magic) and it’s something that can be used every day, even making it part of your job (which he does)! 9/10, subtracting a point for the inconvenience of the contracts.

Kalim Al-Asim. (What, were you expecting Jamil? Read the top again- it’s housewardens, not overblotters!) Signature Spell: Oasis Maker. Using only a small amount of magic, Kalim can create a downpour.

This is one of the spells that got me thinking about how practical some spells are, because this spell is discussed as impractical in story. Kalim states that the spell is mostly useless in a time of irrigation and running water. It’s good for some water fun, but not a super useful spell. In some ways, this could be seen as a reflection of Kalim himself, or maybe even how he sees himself: fun and flashy, but not really useful.

This makes it more interesting when, later in the chapter, Azul notes that the spell is incredibly useful in a different context! Go to a land without water and suddenly Kalim is a king. That’s why he’s wealthy in the first place- being able to create water made his family important. And it could be another commentary on Kalim- he’s really only fun and flashy in this setting, but he’s also more capable of being beneficial to those around him than he realizes.

So. Is Kalim’s spell practical? Well, yes and no. Azul’s right in that it’s more practical than Kalim was thinking, but that practicality is context specific. But being able to make clean water no matter what is useful in a lot of survival situations, and could help a lot of people, so… 4/10. Practical under the right circumstances.

Vil Schoenheit. Signature spell: Fairest One of All. Vil is able to curse any item with any condition he chooses.

So, uh. Does anyone else think this is like. Ridiculously overpowered? Might as well just give him the ‘do whatever you want all the time’ spell because that’s basically what this is. He has, in canon, paralyzed people with food, almost put someone into a cursed sleep with food, created acid, and paralyzed someone by getting them to touch lakewater. What. The. Hell. Are there limits on this spell? Is Vil perpetually one mental breakdown away from creating ‘you obey everything I say now’ water and dumping it over a crowd????

Okay. Rambling aside. This is a ridiculously practical spell. Clearly there are limits (I would imagine he can only affect so many people/things or hold it for so long before he can’t keep it up anymore) but it’s pretty damn strong. 10/10.

Idia Shroud. Signature Spell: Gate to the Underworld. Idia can open the gate to the Underworld in the S.T.Y.X. headquarters.

I feel bad but... It's not the world's most practical spell, is it? It's cool, and clearly necessary, don't get me wrong, but like. How often does this come up in day-to-day living? It might be practical for his job, I guess, but it doesn't seem to be useful in most circumstances.

I obviously can't rate this one very highly. Sorry, Idia. One point for its usefulness to his job. 1/10.

BOOK 7 SPOILERS

Malleus Draconia. Signature Spell: Fae Maleficence. Allows him to put people into ageless sleep while surrounding the area with a wall of briars and thorns.

This one's a harder spell to categorize, because we know what the spell has done so far, but we don't know it that's all it can do. I may be wrong on this, because I've only read the portions of the chapter that have come out in English, but it's not confirmed that this is the only thing his spell can do- like it's never been stated 'Malleus' spell puts people to sleep always.' It could be that this is the extent of his spell, but it could also be more like Vil's spell. If we'd only read Book 5 and he hadn't explained it, we could have assumed that Vil's spell could only be used on food. But it's actually much broader. I'm saying this because I don't want to rule out that Malleus' spell might be even more powerful or flexible than shown.

That being said, I can only judge on what I have. And what I have now is the ageless sleep bit. It's certainly not the most practical spell ever, though it could have its uses. As a defensive spell, it seems pretty good. You could trap an army with it, or create a protective barrier for your people until danger has passed. Still, I don't think this is a spell Malleus could use every day.

It's primarily for defensive purposes, so same as Leona's. 4/10.

[ddejavvu]

mei do you feel like ani is a butt guy or boob guy

send me dirty anakin thoughts <33

this post is 18+, minors dni.

I think ani is a you guy. I think he’s literally so enamored and enthralled and devoted to YOU and with YOUR body that he’d fuck absolutely any part of you and bust a fat nut.

He’ll drool all over your ass literally biting and licking and sucking the skin of your asscheeks until it hurts and he’ll only leave it alone if you let him redirect his bite to your thighs. Then it’s rinse and repeat, smearing his saliva all over your skin and sucking bruises into the flesh of your thighs. Of course he has a field day with what’s between your thighs but he is more than happy to slobber all over your ass and thighs and if you let him stick his dick between them from the back and hump your thighs he’s gonna cum buckets 🤭 god picture him slamming his rock hard, leaking, aching cock - practically purple from how strained it is - mercilessly between your clenched thighs as you let him fuck them - he’s babbling on about how fucking good it feels and how fucking tight it is and how fucking much he loves indulging in every single part of you and he’s gripping at your sensitive ass and slapping it so that the bruises he left there before sting again and you have to muffle yourself into your pillow to stop from shattering the windows with your screams 🫶

And your tits? God just kill him now because he’s the type of guy to stretch out all of your shirts because he just HAD to suck your tits while you’re trying to go to sleep at night. You’re reading and he worms his way under your book that’s propped up on your chest and he’s buried under your sleep shirt but he’s already sucking one of your nipples into his mouth and you’re like ?? ANI ?? DUDE. ITS ALMOST MIDNIGHT. THIS IS A 10PM ACTIVITY I HAVE WORK IN THE MORNING. But god knows you indulge him and you end up riding his dick while your tits bounce and he nearly breaks his neck trying to crane it down so that they bounce up and slap his face 🫶 deadass wants to suffocate between your tits like he will stop breathing down there bc he’s sucking on your nipple so hard that he forgets to and you have to flick his ear to get him to come up for air which honestly turns him on even more somehow

He looooooves biting your tit and tugging if that makes sense 🫣 he’ll take your nipple between his teeth and yank on it, he’s gentle enough but he’s just about as aggressive as he can be with it without hurting you 😵‍💫 he’s so animalistic with it, he’ll be panting against your spit-stained chest and take your nipple into his mouth and tug on it a bit until you’re squirming and begging him to either quit it or fuck you already because this is really doing you in

Prepare for a face load of cum if you ever let him fuck your tits btw. Whether you open your mouth for it or not he’s gonna blow his load while his dick is sandwiched between your tits and you’re gonna be splattered with his cum while he groans and growls and pants and watches it drip down your skin like the filthiest porno he could ever imagine 🥴

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Brother’s Best Friend (Azriel x Reader)

summary: you are cassian’s sister and have a thing for azriel

wc: 1K

a/n: this is my first fic ive written for tumblr since like 2014 i think so sorry if its absolute garage. this is also not proof read at all and honestly i wrote this while tipsy bc ive been nervous to write again so i’m just saying fuck it i’m sorry :)

warnings: slight smut/suggestiveness

You always looked up to Cassian since you were little.

Like most big brothers, he has always been protective as fuck, especially with growing up in the windhaven camp and becoming solely responsible for you after your mother died.

He shielded you from so much in your childhood because he wanted the best for you.

Like many little sisters, you thought Cassian and his friends were the coolest males alive and wanted to follow them everywhere.

You basically had three big brothers instead of one.

They would try to include you as much as possible, but sometimes they did certain things that you definitely should not be around and would find some excuse to get rid of you.

But at the end of the day, the three of them would stand up to just about anyone for you to protect you. And they did.

They only let you join the snowball fight once and then kicked you out because it wasn’t fair that you only targeted Cassian the entire time and that Azriel felt bad throwing snowballs at you.

Also you were a child and couldn’t throw far enough to hit any of them, but they still say you suck at snowball throwing to this day.

When you got older, you desperately tried to ignore the rumors you heard about the boys around the camp. No one needs to hear about their brother’s sex life.

When the four of you moved to Velaris and after everything with Rhysand’s family, they were all very protective over you.

Over time, you and Azriel grew closer. His close friendship with Cassian led to you becoming closer with him than Rhys.

He is soooo protective of you.

So much so that no one bats an eye when he scares off any male that tries to court you, claiming they are not worth your time.

“I’m not overprotective, I just don’t think that any of these males meet your standards.” Aka his standards for you

Having a shadow or two follow you around became the norm.

You and Azriel start to spend a lot of one on one time together, platonically at first. You two are definitely the comfortable silence type.

Reading your separate books on the couch together was a common occurrence.

You spent years trying to ignore the shift in how you viewed Azriel.

Neither of you are quite sure when you realized the change in your relationship, but one day you became very aware of how attractive you find him.

The shy and quiet boy quickly became the silent and mysterious male.

And Azriel isn’t quite sure when you went from being Cassian’s kinda annoying younger sister to a vivacious female with curves he can’t keep his eyes off of.

The emotional connection had been there for centuries through friendship, but once it became physical attraction, you both knew you were screwed.

One night after drinking at Rita’s, Cassian asked Azriel to make sure you got home safe.

The alcohol inhibits both of your judgements and you both end up in your bed that night.

“You don’t know how long I have wanted to do this. No other male even deserves the chance to try to make you feel as good as I do.”

He was your first (again because he scared away every single male who tried to come near you) and it was fucking adorable

Waking up next to your brother’s best friend is a different level of anxiety.

You freak out and tell him this absolutely cannot happen again. You make an effort to avoid being alone with him.

But obviously Azriel is not content with just one night after getting a taste of you.

He spends the next several weeks slowly breaking down your walls with sneaky touches and whispering dirty things in your ear when no one is watching.

Eventually you cave and end up at his door one night, pissed at him for succeeding, but also practically begging him to fuck you again.

And again. And again.

It took no time at all for the actual feelings to be revealed between you two and to start secretly dating.

And from there it’s months of sneaking around and pretending to be just friends in front of others.

Az feels sooo guilty about lying to his friend but you don’t want to tell Cassian because you know he will freak out.

He asks you so many times to tell Cassian because he hates lying to him.

And Rhys is so suspicious of you two but doesn’t want to interfere.

Eventually Cassian catches you two.

He enters Azriel’s room without knocking one night to ask some stupid question and finds Azriel with his face between your legs. We all know Az loves eating you out so obviously.

Cassian is pissed.

As in, he tries to fight Azriel.

But Azriel just lets him and doesn’t fight back because he knows he fucked up by not saying anything sooner.

You start screaming and put yourself between the two of them to get Cassian to stop, which makes Azriel immediately move to cover you in case Cassian doesn’t react quick enough to stop.

Cassian sees how protective Azriel is of you and how you were willing to throw yourself in front of Azriel to defend him and realizes this isn’t just some casual thing between you two.

It takes a couple days for him to forgive Azriel for lying. He forgives you within one day because you always have been able to use your puppy dog eyes on him to get what you want.

Eventually Cassian accepts your relationship.

But he threatens Azriel that if he ever hurts you, he will do something so severe that Az wouldn’t tell you what he said.

Cassian still makes an overdramatic scene of gagging every time you and Azriel are affectionate in front of him.

Which only makes you do it more to piss him off because that’s what sisters do.

[luveline]

Hello! I’m usually a silent reader but OMG the zombie au 😭😭 this series hits me right in the heart, but honestly everything you post is amazing!! You’re such a talented writer that your words create feelings, not just images, and they’re the most comforting, relatable, and heart wrenching all at once. No pressure, but I would love to see more of r’s recovery from her cuts! Maybe something happens when the survivors are moving that causes Steve to be extra worried? Thanks SO much either way!!

thank you so much 😭 I hope this is okay!! sry it took me ages. steve zombie au —steve looks after you again !!

You haven't been able to tell Steve why you're covered practically head to toe in little cuts beyond what you remember. Days now since the attack on The College, you vaguely remember an impact, which might explain your poor memory. Someone or something had hit you down, and when you woke it was in a pool of crushed glass, darkness like velvet enveloping the sky. 

"I don't know how you did it," he says, sitting between your legs, unperturbed by your state of undress. 

You're wearing a pair of mens boxers as shorts to grant him access to your sliced thighs without feeling naked. The worst stretches across your left thigh, stitched closed and weeping miserably. It's a horror —the cut isn't bad but the infection is, and if it doesn't get better, there's going to be a problem. 

"Desperate to get back to you," you say. You're not lying, but you say it like a joke. 

Steve laughs and rubs your one unscathed knee gently. 

"My poor love," he says under his breath, focusing on your stitches. He cleans around them with a damp strip of cloth poorly shorn. 

He moves up with a new strip to clean the top ones. You could do it yourself, but his fussing is nice. Relaxed against a pile of bed rolls, your arms crossed to avoid touching your stomach, which is also blanketed in cuts, you wince as Steve grows closer. 

"Can we take a break?" you ask. 

"Yeah." He puts down the bowl of linen strips and screws the lid back on the isopropyl. "Sorry, honey. I know it sucks. You've dealt with it all so well–" 

"Steve, you say this to me with a sprained knee." 

"It's not less true," he says, easing down with a boyish groan beside you. 

He turns to you as you turn to him, actual dirt on his cheek, stubbly and waxy in the dusk. You rub at the spot of dirt unhappily. He lets you touch him without complaint. 

"Sorry I'm a mess." 

"As long as you come back to me," he says. "I don't really care how much of a mess you are." 

"Don't, baby." You rub your face into his shoulder, feeling the muscle of his bicep under your palm. You don't want him to be nice to you like that, not while your skin is stinging like this and you're still feeling hopelessly terrified of the uncertain future again. 

"I gotta. I'm playing the romantic, doting love interest in our book." 

"What book?" 

"One I'm gonna write. Me and you and Robin at the end of the world," Steve says, dropping his head on yours. 

"Who's gonna read the book?" you ask quietly. 

"Everyone. When the world gets back on its feet again and the next generation wants to know what it was like, they'll have a great answer. Boy falls in love with girl destined to be constantly injured and reluctantly taken care of." 

"Ah, but I'm not reluctant," you say. 

"I can do your other leg?" 

"No," you whine. 

"That's reluctance." 

You sit together for a while. 

"You have to let me finish," he says firmly.

"I know… just. I love you," you say quietly. It's hard to explain it, but sitting with him as you are in the corner of a crowded room, it doesn't matter where you are, because you're with him. All these cuts and bruises don't mean a thing. 

"I love you, too." He wraps his arm around your shoulders. You wish you could see his face, but this is nice. 

"Do you ever worry we say it too much?" 

"No." He turns his face into the top of your head. "This is the right amount. But you can definitely tell me again, if you're worried." 

You thumb along a scabbed cut. "I love you. Thanks for taking care of me." 

"You're welcome. And you can make it up to me. I want a neck massage, you know, where you dig into my literal bones and–" he imitates a cracking sound. 

"I don't know why you like it so much." 

"Cos it's you doing it. Deal?" 

You sigh. Somehow, you feel as though you might have taken the short end of the stick. "Deal." 

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

somewhere in the haze got a sense ive been betrayed

pairing: ethan landry x reader

WC: 1.3K

warnings: blood mentions, stabbing, this is a scream fic its a little violent and graphic. SPOILERS LIKE ACTUAL CHARACTER SPOILERS DONT READ UNTIL YOUVE SEEN THE MOVIE

summary: people aren’t who they always say

A/N: i freaking loved scream6!!!!! literally wrote this the day after i watched the movie. gonna try and pop out a mix of angst and fluff for ethan cause i love my nerdy boyfriend. lowercase on purpose, sorry if that bothers you. if the chase scene sucks... mind your business, just skim the words.

masterlist

“hello?”

“hello… y/n. i’ve missed the sound of your voice.”

it was like you heard the stereotypical horror movie music play in your mind. your blood went cold and your body seized up from the bucket of ice water that just splashed over your whole body at the voice of the horrific ghost face. the way he spoke your name made you feel even sicker.

“what is it now? gonna sweet talk me for a second before you start saying vile words and then pop out from a corner ready to stab me?” you took slow steps through the living room, trying to scope out where the killer could be lurking.

he just laughed, “well you do know how this works. after all, you already went through round one in woodsboro, somehow surviving multiple stab wounds to your stomach. impressive.”

the deep drawl of his voice only caused nausea to roll over you in waves. with quiet steps as you listened to the narcissist as they just talked and talked, you hurried to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife from the wooded block.

“honestly why don’t we just do this dance, huh? i was in the middle of a very good book and i would like to get to the part where the love interest resolved their differences and had hot sex. plus i’ve done this before and i’ve been working out.” you just started to blurt things out, your anxiety kicking into high gear.

ghost face didn’t say anything back and it only caused your fear to grow. so you just hung up and speed-dialed sam knowing she always answers her calls.

“come on, sam. please please plea-“

“y/n? what’s-“

“he’s in the apartment. please get here fast… i love you guys.” you hung up placing your phone in your back pocket. you hoped to make it alive again, but as mindy said, you're all expendable in sequels.

the noise of something crashing to the ground made you flinch high in the air, a small gasp slipping from your lips. the grip on the knife readjusted to get a firmer hold as you peeked around a corner, seeing nothing suspicious. so you started to make your way towards the front door, hoping you could escape the killer before he gets you.

as just as you passed quinn’s room you stepped on a creaky spot. you froze for a second before running to the door, fumbling with the five locks. and just as you were on the last two, sweat causing the metal to be slippery, your roommate's door burst open and ghost face, dressed in his black cloak and the dirty mask came dashing at you with the classic knife held high.

you screamed and ducked away needing to circle back to the door. you were able to get a quick swipe to their bicep before running to sam’s room and closing the door closed. you took a breath until loud banging slammed against the wooden frame, almost bending the door in half from its weight.

with ghost face distracted on the door, you ran through the shared bathroom, shutting and locking each door as you entered quinn’s room. you pushed her dresser against the bathroom for extra hold. when it was in place you ran, knife still in hand, and went back to get the last locks on the door free and ready for your escape.

just as you pulled the door open, ready to dash down the steps, you were pulled back with arms around your waist and pulled into a solid chest. you screamed and kicked, the knife falling to the floor. ghost face threw you to the ground, back hitting the living room chairs. you turned to your stomach to try and go for a push-up into a run, hands tight on your ankles pulled you back. your hands scrambled for purchase on something solid.

then suddenly the most blinding white hot pain shot through your right thigh pulling a high-strung scream from your vocals. then he gave the knife a twist making the pain shoot to your spine, you felt frozen. he pulled the dripping knife out and his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you further down before flipping you over and straddling your waist making you immobile.

you tried to push his arms away, but his strength was must higher than yours as he plunged the knife into your stomach then pulled out then back in. in and out, in and out. multiple more times that you knew you wouldn’t survive this one.

you tried using your last bit of strength to push his looming face away. with a solid hold, you ripped the stupid mask off the killer's face and the sight before you taking the last bit of air from your lungs.

“e-ethan?” you rasped out, blood dripping from your mouth.

your loving, sweet, handsome boyfriend of five months now stared down at you with a sickening twisted grin on his lips, teeth poking out like fangs. his thick head of luscious curls that you would run your fingers through when making out or just laying with each other were matted down with sweat, and the urge to touch them came back on instinct.

limply you lifted your left arm from the floor and cupped his cheek, you saw the look in his hungry eyes switch for a second before snapping back into place. “e-ethan… wh-why? i- i thought you lo-loved me.” with a gentle swipe of your thumb over his skin, his eyes involuntarily slipped closed at the comforting gesture.

“i do love you, sweetheart. but i have to do this.” a gloved hand held the one on his face, you were scared and confused by everything.

“i- i don’t-“ “i need to complete my brother's movie.”

you decided if you could keep ethan talking maybe the others will show up soon and save you, “br- brother? you- you said you were an- an only child.”

“sorry sweetheart, but i lied. had to get close to you and your friends somehow, and having a fake identity helps.” he whispered, “landry isn’t even my real last name.”

your anger was spilling over the brim. ethan used you to get closer to your friends, you were just a pawn in this stupid fantasy of his. and it hurt because you thought he was the one, the goodness that you needed in your life.

with both hands you held his cheeks then slid them slowly up into his sweaty curls, nails dragging over his scalp pulling a groan from his throat and usually, you loved the noise but now all you saw was red. so with a good fist full, you pulled his hair hard and then slammed your head together.

it caused ethan to fall back, dropping his knife. with the last of your strength, you tried to slide away from him, tried to grab your phone and call sam or chad, anyone at this point. but your luck had run out and ethan gained back his upper hand.

he grabbed a chunk of your hair, head pulled back with your eyes pointed at the ceiling. ethan leaned over your left shoulder and whispered in your ear, “i did love you. but family is family, gotta stick by them. so, any last words, y/n?”

with tears streaming down your face, and blood closing off your throat, you sniffle out your last words, “i loved you too,” you said with every bit of honesty, “but you're gonna get killed like the pussy you truly are.” you seethed with a blinding anger.

and the last thing you heard was the roar of ethan’s cry as you felt the cold metal slice your throat open and your head slumping hard on the wood flooring. you died at the hands of the first boy you truly loved in this twisted world.

love does kill you in the end.

...

[whereisyourstar]

So Should I?

Part 5 of the Stand By, Hold Back, Be Patient series

Part 4, Part 6

Rating: SFW

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: Minor descriptions of harm to an animal, mentions of blood, mentions of animal abandonment, reader will never have savings again, is it really baby trapping if the baby is a dog and Jason loves it

The day is completely perfect. There's a light, faintly floral breeze carried from somewhere with wildflowers, and the sun just at the beginning of its descent is ever-so-slightly shaded by fluffy clouds. You're sat on the steps of the porch, soaking it all in while ostensibly reading a book. The pressure is on to finish it, the W.F. Muriel library back in town will be wanting it back in just a few days, but you're having a hard time keeping your eyes open at all right now, let alone on a page. The day is just so nice, and the air is cool on your neck, and it's so easy to just lean your head against the screen door and doze.

Heracles snores from somewhere behind you in the enclosed porch, and you smile. It's a lazy day, no walks planned for either of you, and you think that you both deserve this opportunity to do nothing but exist for a while. There's a comfort deep down in your bones being here right now—thanks, no doubt, to the fact your adrenaline hasn't had a reason to spike for days.

To that point, it's been two weeks since you last saw Jason. No visits, no chance encounters in the woods, not even a glimpse when you rumble to and from town in your truck. He's just…not in the area. Which, honestly, is a good thing. You've reminded yourself nearly every day of these last two weeks that it's actually a very, very good thing when a murderer isn't hanging around. You're relieved…kind of. A part of you, louder than you'd like it to be, is a touch insulted. You know he hasn't been visiting for you, but he'd seemed genuinely interested when the two of you were talking in the forest. He asked your name. You did research for him. Was it something you said? Was pushing the croissant onto him some kind of woodsy faux pas that you're not aware of? (You figure the towel you wrapped the croissant in is out there tumbling around on the forest floor now, because it definitely hasn't made its way back yet. At the very least, you hope some of those cute, fat birds you see on walks are able to use it for nesting material.) You can't help but feel it's your fault he's not around, and that makes the absence worse. Like you came on too strong, somehow, and scared him off. God knows it's not your first time getting ghosted by a guy, but this one does sting more than most. Add it to your list of accomplishments: successfully infodumped on Jason Voorhees and ran him off.

It sucks the most for Heracles, obviously, so you've been doing your best to make up for Jason's absence in the meantime. The older couple that runs the only cafe in town that'll let you bring a dog inside has taken a quick shine to him, and you've had to turn a blind eye more than once when Mrs. Fletcher "accidentally" drops a slice of bacon on the floor for him. They're good people, and despite Mr. Fletcher's insistence that it's not right for someone to be living out in those dangerous woods alone, they're nice to talk to. You like them, and Heracles does too, but that doesn't stop him from whining sometimes when you're walking back to the house, his big head turning this way and that in search of the person he misses most.

This train of thought wrenches you out of your dozy, comfy mindspace, and you force yourself to return to the book with a bit more force. You're out here to enjoy yourself, not get caught up in wondering where some guy is. Granted, Jason is quite a bit more than some guy. Whatever else he is to you, he's not entirely human, and that by itself marks him out past just some guy status.

As if summoned by your brain finally getting reinvested in the story, something comes crashing through the trees that surround your house with a urgency that says he doesn't care at all about doing this quietly. You catch sight of the mask first, then the rest of his massive frame barreling forward, and you're on your feet in an instant. Because that is undoubtedly Jason Voorhees, and not for the first time, you think he's really here to kill you. One hand goes to the handle on the frame door at your back, and the other touches the shape of the hunting knife on your hip, hidden by your shirt. And it may actually be the death of you someday, because while every instinct is creaming at you to get inside, you wait. You're grimly interested in what could compel a man to move like this if not to murder you.

Heracles is bouncing off the walls of the enclosed porch, all high pitched yips and the thunderous sound of his paws hitting the floor as he dances. At least someone is happy to see him. After this long, you're more than a little wary.

Jason doesn't give you a chance to say anything, because as soon as he's stepped through the last of the trees, he's signing your name. His shoulders heave with how heavily he's panting, you can hear every breath clear as anything. He signs your name near-frantically, then beckons you with a universal come here movement. You can just make out the shine in his eye and its boring into you with an intensity that makes you feel his urgency.

He's not killing you yet, so you release the handle and take a singular step down. "What's this about? What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, clearly frustrated and more animated than you've ever seen him, and fumbles with his hands when he signs you, touches his chest, then points off in the direction he just came. Dog, he signs, then shakes his head when he haltingly spells out Heracles' name.

Connections lock into place. "There's a dog out there? Is it hurt?" Yes, he signs instantly. You feel your stomach drop. "Oh, shit, okay—do you think we can help it? Can you take me there?" Another yes, and he's trying to get you to come forward again, but you've already turned around to get a look at Heracles through the screen of the door. "Okay, okay, um—stay here, Heracles. Stay. We'll be back. Please stay." There's no way to latch the screen door from the outside, and Heracles is probably strong enough to push it off its hinges without a problem anyway, so you really, really need him to listen to you.

Bless his little doggy soul, because though he quivers with excitement, he sits down on the floor and does not move.

You're down the steps without a second glance, and you say as you go to Jason, "I'm not as fast as you, but I'll try to keep up. Let's go."

It's all the encouragement he needs. He's pushing back through the trees instantly, clearly not interested in wasting time. He doesn't run, not quite using that insane, coming-to-fuck-you-up speed he's capable of, but you're pushed to something close to a sprint to keep up with him. The mostly walks have been doing you good, clearly, because it takes several minutes of twisting between trees and narrowly avoiding roots before your lungs start to really burn. This terrain isn't great for running to begin with, both uneven and steadily inclining, but Jason's massive stride makes short work of it, so you do your best to not fall. You don't want him deciding you're not worth the effort to wait for and just leaving you here, not with your sense of direction so completely reliant on Heracles. Then you remember that even he was panting when he got to you and if you had the air to groan, you absolutely would.

There's a stitch in your side that's gone from uncomfortable to pure agony when Jason abruptly just stops, and it's all you can do to avoid crashing into him. You have half a mind to tell him off for not giving you a warning, while the other half thinks about how incredible it would be to just keel over and rest right here on the forest floor, but neither is an option when you hear the unmistakable whine of a dog in pain.

You're pushing ahead of him before you've anywhere near caught your breath and your heart breaks into a million frantic pieces. Jason was right, there is a dog here, and it is very badly hurt. The sharp smell of its blood settles in your stomach with a wave of nausea, just as its panting, wide-eyed look cranks your sympathy up to eleven. It's a smaller dog, less blocky in the shoulders than Heracles, with long fur that's all chocolate and off white where it's not stained with blood. It lays on its side, its breaths shallow and pained, and from this distance you can see exposed skin and ragged-looking punctures.

You take a step forward and the dog growls hard. It can't have the energy to get up and snap, not with that injury on its side, but its eyes are white around the edges while it tries to keep you, then Jason, in its sights. "Shhh," you hush, lowering yourself so you don't look as threatening, then motioning for Jason to do the same. In your peripheral, you see him hunch in on himself, the white of his mask trained forward on the dog. "Hey, it's okay, we're not gonna hurt you. Can I come closer?" The dog whines again, but it doesn't growl, so you take another step. Then another, and another, until you're right up on it and you can lower yourself down to your knees. "That's it, that's a good puppy. Please don't bite me, there's a good puppy."

The dog allows you to brush your fingers through its dirty, matted fur, and you carefully inspect the wounds. The punctures are still somewhat fresh and deep enough to make your stomach writhe, oozing blood when the dog tries to sit up. You glance where the dog is looking and see that Jason is right there, crouched down and staring. It whines, looking from you to him with a trembling lower jaw. God, you hope he didn't do this to the dog. This looks like a bite to your inexpert eyes, and you don't think Jason goes around biting things to death, but the worry is there. You haven't come anywhere close to forgetting the way he drew that machete back when Heracles rushed to protect you. Still, you have to work with what you've got, and you do not want to deal with a strange dog biting you because of him. "Shh, it's okay, puppy, he's here to help you." You reach further up and press your fingertips to the dog's head and oh, your heart aches when it leans into the touch, its tail swishing once across the forest floor. To Jason, just as softly, you say, "We're going to have to move it. Do you have—?" And you stop yourself short, because you realize that of course Jason wouldn't have a blanket, or a towel, or anything to wrap the dog up in. All he has is that same green work shirt, jacket discarded with the nice weather, and you can't make yourself ask that he take it off. So you take a half-second to ask the universe why me before you shake your head, mutter a "never mind", and remove your own thankfully oversized t-shirt.

You don't allow yourself to focus on the way the air feels on your skin, or to think too hard on the bra you chose to wear today, and you certainly don't linger on the heat creeping up your neck from where you can feel Jason's attention. All that matters is the dog.

It cries out when you wrap it up in your shirt, but you do it fast and give it hushed apologies the entire time. You gather it into your arms—so light—and stand, nearly knocking into Jason's shoulder from how close he was crouched next to you. "All right," you start, voice more unsteady than you'd like. You're having a hard time looking at him just now. "I think you need to carry it back to my place. It needs a vet, and it needs one fast, and between the two of us, you're less likely to drop it by accident going back." It's downhill, sure, but that terrain isn't about to play nice with your equilibrium to begin with, and certainly not with your arms occupied. Jason starts a little when you adjust the dog, but you're not really looking for an argument, so you just move in close and press the bundled up creature to his chest. Your face scrunches up reflexively when you smell him—old blood and sweat and sebum and whatever else is on him—but the important thing is that he cradles the dog in a hold very much like your own, and the dog doesn't lose its mind in the process. It gives one singular warning growl, then decides it isn't worth the energy.

Jason does run this time. He's sprinting through the forest at breakneck speed and you, shirtless and still winded, have to use every last bit of your energy reserves just to not lose sight of him. Goddamn but the world has been missing out on a track star, his stride is just devouring his self-set path.

The world is spinning slightly when the forest starts to look familiar again. Every breath is like a million needles in your lungs, and there doesn't seem to be enough of it, but you finish strong. Jason's waiting for you outside the porch, and Heracles is bounding around at his feet—so that stay command definitely has its limits—when you finally break through the last of the trees. Sweat pours down your face, you're overheated and gulping down breath, but there's still work to be done. No passing out on the job, much as you'd like to.

"J-just need to get my…keys. Be right back." And in saying it, you realize that you left your house, completely unlocked, with your keys still in it. What a fucking day.

You grab your keys, your water bottle—half full and heavily needed—and make a pit stop to your room for the first clean shirt your grab. The tank top is as good as anything, so you wriggle into it, pick up your stuff, and are back out the door before the spots have even started to clear from your eyes. Jason can't speak with his arms full of dog, so you ask him to help you bring it to your truck, and his nod works as good as anything. You jog to the awning side of the cabin and, with some back-and-forth between you and Jason, manage to get the dog situated safely on passenger seat of the truck. For your part, you've never regretted more not having a backseat—fuck but maybe you should have dropped that extra 500 for the smaller, quieter car with more than two places to sit—so you just clip the seatbelt and pull it as tightly as you dare around the dog.

Then it's just…doing the damn thing. You shut the door and look up at him. You haven't had a moment to really process the last what, hour of this day? And you still don't, but you look up at Jason, and you can tell he's stressed. There's enough tightness in his body language that it would be comical if the situation weren't so serious. You just hold his eyes as reassuringly as you can while still trying to catch your breath. "I'll call the vet on the way over and make sure they're ready for the dog, um—will you be here when I get back?" He's just staring at you, head bent at an awkward angle to fit under the awning, but he manages to nod and a bright spark of relief catches in your chest. No time to examine that reaction. "Good, thank you. Can you keep an eye on Heracles until then? I don't think he'll go back in the house if I'm not there and I think…well, I know he missed you. So." The finish is awkward, punctuated by a half-shrug, but the point is there. A final nod, and Jason glances at Heracles, who has been driving himself to distraction waiting for attention from the man, like he's noticed him for the first time.

Leaving your dog and your still unlocked house, holy shit, you can't believe you forgot again, with Jason shouldn't be the weight off your shoulders that it is, but it allows you to refocus entirely on the new dog. You know Heracles is safe with Jason, and the worst he'll do with your house, if he even realizes you left it unlocked, is maybe just let himself in? Touch your stuff a little? Which, honestly, is fine. Fair trade for being so good with Heracles.

The dog whines continually through the drive, which breaks your heart into even smaller pieces, but there's nothing you can do about it. The whining is a good sign, it means the dog is alive, but you're already swearing to get a first aid kit together if this vet visit doesn't completely decimate what's left of your last paycheck. As it is, you take the first red light in Crystal Lake proper to give the dog a drink from your bottle, and the pale pink tongue that comes sweeping out is barely encouraging. Blood has already started to saturate the shirt it's wrapped in.

You're left to wait when the dog is finally handed over to the vet. The receptionist up front must see how visibly upset you are just standing there, so she tries to coax the dog's history from you. When you say it must be a stray and that you found it in the woods, she heaves an incredibly long-suffering sigh. "Yeah, that's a popular spot to dump animals, unfortunately. People just take them to the walking trails around there and leave them. Poor little thing…it was lucky you came along when you did." Not a single question for what you were doing out there, which you're grateful for—you're a little too strung out to hear another warning about how dangerous those woods are right now—so the two of you commiserate over how much people suck for a while. When she's called away with work more important that you, you take a seat and are treated to a visit from the only other animal and owner duo in the front office. Wriggles the turtle is a delight who lives up to his namesake when you stroke your nails over his shell. His owner, a kid who can't be older than fifteen, is awkward and a little sullen, but you do your best to keep the conversation going since it seems like she really does want to talk. If you can get Jason Voorhees to talk to you—and you do not think about you may or may not have scared him off before today—then dealing with weird teens is nothing.

By the time the vet in charge of the dog's treatment is finally able to break away and talk to you, it's been just over two hours and your phone battery has died. She's a tired-looking woman, short and draped in robin blue scrubs, who wastes no time with pleasantries. "She's stable now, and we've gotten her stitched up as well as we're going to be able for the time being. Depending on how tonight goes, she should be able to go home before the week's out, and provided she doesn't do anything strenuous, we're looking down the barrel of a full recovery. Looks like whatever had a hold of her left before it could do any permanent damage. Now," and here she crosses her arms and gives you an appraising look, "I'm required to inform you that she is microchipped, and the owner's name pulls up as a Mr. Ernest Lennox. I'm assuming that's not you? Or a boyfriend?" You shake your head and she sighs. "All right, well, we'll be contacting Mr. Lennox as soon as we can to let him know we've got his dog. Maybe he's looking for her. I doubt it, but what I need from you is confirmation that, should Mr. Lennox not claim this dog, you intend to take full responsibility for her vet bills. I hate this part as much as anyone, but we've had too many injured dogs come in and not enough people taking responsibility for them, so I'll need your signature before we proceed."

"What happens if I don't sign? If her owner doesn't want her?"

The vet doesn't flinch when she says, "Euthanasia. Quick and painless."

And obviously you're not going to let this dog die after you nearly burst a lung trying to save her in the first place. Your throat tightens at the thought. So you just rub a hand over your suddenly very tired eyes and say, "Yeah, that's fine, I…kind of figured I was going to pay for this anyway. I'll sign, no problem."

The vet cracks a smile at that, something brief and relieved that lights up her whole face, and she grabs the paperwork herself. She gives you a rough estimate on the bill and when you grimace, rushes to explain the various payment plans available. But you do sign and try to look over the payment plans like a responsible adult should.

With a promise to call you tomorrow depending on Mr. Lennox's decision, there's nothing to do but drive back home and wait.

It's full dark when you pull up to the house, the headlights of the truck briefly bleaching everything yellow-white before you back under the awning and kill the engine. Your body is feeling the exertion of the day now, all your limbs shake like jelly as you try to compel them into getting out of the truck, and you're exhausted mentally as well. It takes everything you have not to crumple into a boneless pile the second your shoes hit the grass.

But Jason's there, just like he said he would be, coming around the back of the house with Heracles at his heels. You summon a smile for your dog, who breaks into a run just so he can more quickly jump all over you, and you use some unknown reserve of energy to bend down and kiss the middle of his big, happy head. You're leaning against your house for support when Jason makes his way over, shoulders tense while he signs dog yes?

"She's okay," you tell him by way of greeting. "They're keeping her at the vet for a while, there's…they're going to try to find her owner first. Make sure she's not missing. But the vet seems confident that she'll recover just fine. Apparently they see a lot of coyote attacks, and she's in better shape than most." A massive yawn interrupts you and you're not feeling entirely awake right now. "Mm, sorry, I'm more tired than I thought. Lots of running today. The vet's going to call me tomorrow with updates."

Even in the dark and your exhausted state, you don't miss the way the tension just leaves Jason's shoulders. "You were really worried about her, weren't you?" you ask, and Jason's immediate yes hits you in a very soft place. You smile. "I was too. Thanks for bringing me out to her, and for not abandoning me in the woods—I know I slowed you down. Would've really sucked to leave a half-naked corpse behind." You're tired enough to joke about it now, but both his hands both twitch at the exact same time on either side of him, and you breathe a laugh. He can't be more uncomfortable about that than you were—serves him right for not being magically prepared for any situation thanks to his ghostly powers. Or however it works. "But we saved a dog today, so, y'know, perspective. We did a good thing, go us." This is delirious enough that it actually wakes you up a bit, helps you remember exactly who you're talking to. You straighten and rub a hand over your face, suddenly nervous. "Mm, okay, that's my cue to get to bed. Uh—I'll see you tomorrow? To let you know how things go with her?"

There's no hesitance in his nod, which brings back that little relief spark, nice and warm in your chest. For the dog, obviously—it's nice that you won't have to hunt him down, or wait until the next crisis to give him a news update—but also for that part of you that's still nursing the insult of his absence. And you are entirely too tired to think about it. So you thank him again for watching Heracles and manage not to collapse long enough for Jason to get a final pet in, then you tell him good night. The entire thing is so normal, so completely mundane, that it just serves as a strange cap for this weird, exhausting day.

The call comes mid-morning the next day, informing you that, to no one's surprise, Ernest Lennox suddenly has no knowledge of having a dog and can't imagine how his name got attached to that microchip. The responsibility for her care transfers entirely to you, like you promised, but the new vet on the other side of the phone is diligent in reminding you that this does not mean you have to adopt her. But you know as well as anyone from your consistent scouring of the local animal shelter's page that they're struggling to adopt out pets at the same rate they acquire them and the word euthanasia keeps circling in your thoughts. Plus, there's a bond there now—you can't save an abandoned creature's life then not care for it.

So you tell the vet that you'll be happy to bring your dog home when she's fully cleared. Then you stand up, stretch, and prepare to tell Jason the news.

He's exactly where you left him an hour ago when you ran out to the truck to grab your water bottle and he popped out of the treeline, scaring the daylights out of you. Those two weeks where your adrenaline levels returned to more or less normal are certainly up now, but even as you explained you had work to do and that you'd come tell him as soon as you knew something, you couldn't bring yourself to be upset about it. Rather, while you walk up to him and watch him watching you, you can't help but feel…pleased. And a little bad that he's just been standing here while you half-heartedly worked inside. Does he ever get bored? Do his legs get tired? What's his daily schedule like if he can afford to just stand around for an hour waiting on you?

"So," you start once you're a normal talking distance from him, "good news first: puppy's okay and she's responding great to treatment. Mediocre news: her piece of shit owner abandoned her out here on purpose, so I'm taking care of the vet bill." Fascinating minute reactions from Jason to both pieces of news—any physical stress he loses when he learns the dog is okay is gained back tenfold when you say the word abandoned. You remember how he reacted when you told him about Heracles' former owner, how he's always very careful with that wildly wagging tail, and feel something click in your brain. The mass murderer that stalks Crystal Lake is very keenly attuned to the injustices of animals, it seems. You're not sure how those mental gymnastics work—how does someone kill people so mercilessly, yet draw the line at animals? Wherever that soft spot comes from, you're all too happy to use it. "Now, for the part I really need your opinion on. I want to bring her home, here, to…you know, live with me. And I've kind of already told the vet I'm adopting her, but since I live here on your say-so, I wanted to check: are you okay with another dog hanging around full time here?"

And oh it feels like a gamble, prodding around the edges of the agreement already, but you're sure you're reading him right. He just stares at you while you silently steel your resolve, trying not to give away how nervous you actually are asking this. Then he tilts his head, not like he's letting it loll to the side, but like it's something intentional—like he needs to see this, or you, from a new angle. His breathing is even, hands still, and eyes hidden by the mask, but you can feel yourself being inspected. The urge to cross your arms over your chest and back off is only barely squished down.

Yes, he signs. And, shocking you to the core, he adds: thank you.

Did you teach him that? You can't remember, and it doesn't even matter, because you are abruptly overjoyed. You beam at him, already running through a list of the million and one things you need to do before bringing another dog home. "Yes! That's so great, um—thanks!" He stares, and while that isn't necessarily weird for him, it does make you feel a little shy. You don't expect people thank him for anything—for good reason—and you've just been piling it on recently. Are you making it weird? Do you care if you're making it weird?

That should, realistically, be the end of the conversation. The news update is given, you've gotten something you wanted—this is usually the part where he leaves. But he doesn't. At first you think he's just waiting for his requisite Heracles time, so you let Heracles out and watch with a nice fluttery feeling in your chest when Jason thunks his hands over Heracles' ribs in what's become a customary greeting, but even when Heracles wanders his way back to you…there's this sense of lingering. You're not really operating on a timetable with how flexible your job is, and it seems he's not busy with murder, so you both stay. Right there in the small clearing around your house that makes up a yard, remarkably similar to the first time the two of you spoke, only now you're not feeling particularly scared. Damningly, you're not even feeling uneasy.

You end up perched on the hood of your truck, not willing to stand when the option to lean presents itself, and just talk. You sneak some questions based off observations in there—("So do you like all animals? Or is it just dogs." Dogs. "You're missing out on appreciating the chubby little birds around here with that mindset, but I get it. Wait, if you like dogs so much, were you actually going to kill Heracles that first night?" Yes-no. "Did you want to?" No. "Huh. Well I'm really glad you didn't." Yes.)—and find yourself getting far too comfortable smiling up at that blank face.

Which means that you do, actually, have to inform him that he hurt your feelings. Just a bit. In a roundabout way.

"I've been waiting to tell you the rest of that story, by the way," you remark after Heracles has gone in for another round of pets from Jason, who kneels to pay special attention to Heracles' ears. The way his mask snaps up to you makes your breath hitch. "The Golden Fleece one. It's not every day I talk to someone who cares who Chiron is. I don't know, maybe I just read you wrong, but it seemed like you were having a good time. Were…you…?" The last part comes out unintentionally, a case of your brain screeching to a halt and your mouth going along without it. You abruptly drop your eyes and opt to stare at your left hand, splayed over the faded paint of the truck. You hadn't meant to actually make it a question, thereby opening yourself up to having to explain.Time to change the topic. "I'm, um, going to have to think about a name for the new dog. Maybe Medea, she marries Jason in the myth, but that gets…complicated. And not Hera, that'll get complicated in real li—oh."

How did he do that? While you've been babbling and undoubtedly making a fool of yourself, Jason has silently closed the space between the two of you. You don't even realize he's moved until his shadow falls over you and his massive hands land on the hood of the truck behind you, a metallic thunk that makes you jump. In the span of however long you took your eyes off him, he has completely boxed you in.

All you can do is tilt your head back and meet the twin voids of his eyes. You scarcely dare to breathe. "…is this your way of telling me to shut up?"

Jason slowly moves his head side to side. No.

That's not exactly a relief. "Then I'm not…entirely sure what's happening right now." You're instinctually leaning away from him, but if you moved forward just a little, you could tap his chest with your forehead. He's eating up your personal space like he has a right to it. There's that sense of anything could happen that you've had with him before, but it's not entirely unpleasant this time. Your heart is racing, adrenaline spiking, and you can't entirely blame fear for it. How long has it been since you were this close to someone and it didn't send you into a blind panic?

He's clearly not interested in talking the usual way, so you have to cast your mind back—what did you say to make him react like this? Were you too familiar? Or is this a positive reaction? Can looming like this be positive?

Another gamble, and if this one pays off, you'll buy a lottery ticket. "You make me so nervous," you tell him, a little above a whisper. "I never know if I'm saying the right thing, or if you even care, so I—I just keep talking around you. Incessantly, like now, and like…a few weeks ago, in the forest. And I think I made you uncomfortable, or upset, or…something, because it took a crisis for you to come see me again. See Heracles, I mean, but also…yeah, I was hoping that I was part of the equation, too. Somehow." And you do finally allow yourself a full breath, and the scent of him—an olfactory assault, the rancid smell of old blood strong enough to make your stomach flip—actually makes it easier to speak. You haven't even been this honest with yourself, but here you are, spilling your guts to a blank mask. "I meant what I said, we did a good thing, and I'm glad you got me so I could help. Just—I need you to tell me if I should back off. I know I'm assuming a lot based on one agreement, and if you're really just tolerating me because I'm attached to Heracles and you couldn't care less about anything I say, then that's fine. I'll stay out of your way when you want to see Heracles, or the new dog, and I'll mind my business. So…should I?"

Your heart is beating out of your chest. Asking him this while he basically has you pinned to the hood of the truck is scattering your senses too fast and widespread to catch them, but you know one thing. You are much, much less scared than you should be.

Jason makes you wait for it. His breathing is getting erratic again, like he can't pull enough air into his lungs, and you find yourself staring at the place his mouth should be. And asking yourself, for the very first time, if you would like to know what is underneath that mask.

Then he shakes his head, a definitive no, and you nearly collapse back on the hood of your truck when stress you didn't even realize was there rushes away, but he's not done. Jason lifts one of his hands and spreads it dead center on his chest, points two fingers toward the eyes of the mask, then turns them on you. He signs your name with a forcefulness that makes your heart do a little leap.

Whatever he just said was positive, you think, but it takes longer than normal to parse it out. You could blame being caged in like this, that you're feeling uncomfortable, but the sun overhead catches the glint off his eyes and you can see just how intensely he's actually looking at you, and—yeah, that's not it. But you do force your brain into overdrive, knowing that you've been silent for just a moment too long. "You want to see me?"

He nods and finally, finally straightens back up, putting a respectable amount of distance between the two of you again. Despite everything, you're caught by a strong urge to reach up to those wide shoulders and shake him. Which you don't do, obviously, but it's a near thing. He clearly has a concept of personal space, and while you're not displeased that he invaded yours, you still have no idea why he felt the need to get up close like that. But then again, you don't understand most of what he does, so the status quo hasn't changed too much.

You hop off your perch a moment after, glad for the distraction Heracles offers by pawing at your leg for some attention. From the ground, not quite looking at him, you say, "Well, I…want to see you, too." Then you ignore your still-racing heart and smile in his general direction, "So, you know, come back as much as you'd like. Or disappear long enough for me to go trudging into the woods after you, where I'm one hundred percent going to get eaten by a bear or something. Your choice."

Jason's shoulders lift a bit, just like they did the last time you said something he might have thought was funny, and you can't help but dissolve into a breathless little laugh of your own. This is your life now. Semi-pathetically asking serial killers to keep hanging out with you. And maybe you are losing it out here, isolated from the world, because Jason's hand shoots out to rub at your dog's neck until those bright little eyes roll back a bit, and you think you could do much, much worse.

The new dog has all of three hours to settle in at your house, a howling Heracles trapped in your bedroom until he's calm enough to make an introduction, when you catch that now-familiar shape in the treeline. It's an unspoken thing the two of you have established in the past couple days—he always shows up from the same direction, right out of the trees that face the front of your house, and you've taken to leaving the curtain on the window near the door open, so you know when he shows up. Not the most efficient system, and he's already had to tap on the window when your back was to it just to get your attention, but it works.

The dog is a sweetheart. She's healing wonderfully, and though she can stand and walk around a little despite the bandages around her midsection, the various medications she's on keep her mostly laying down. Even still, she wags her tail every time you come near, and has greatly enjoyed nibbling on pieces of boiled chicken while you stroke her soft, long fur. Her bed is right next to Heracles', and you've already seen her stretch her neck out to sniff at the Heracles-scented fabric, which you find encouraging. God you hope they get along. The thought of rehoming her due to incompatibility makes your heart hurt.

When you see Jason's mask peering into the window from the treeline, you can't fight back your grin. He hadn't been around when you got the call that the dog was ready to pick up, which means there's a very good chance he has no idea she's here.

So you go to where the new dog is once again sniffing curiously at Heracles' bed and softly pet her furry head. "Hi, puppy. Someone's here to see you." You manage to coax her out of bed with a few gentle calls, reminding yourself that it's good for her to walk so her legs don't atrophy too much, and when she's gotten a full-body shake in, you unlock the front door and guide her outside.

This is how you end up sitting in the clearing across from Jason while he holds the sleeping dog in his lap. She went to him so calmly, tail lightly swaying, like she'd known him all her life. He had signed your name three times while she sniffed around his ankles, and it took the fourth to realize what he was asking you. Once you showed him where it was safe to pet her and where to avoid, he climbed so slowly onto the ground and had barely settled before she hopped daintily into his waiting arms.

You're just watching, legs tucked up under you. There's something so curiously gentle about the whole thing—you'd been worried the dog would take longer to warm up to Jason, considering the way she growled when you handed her off, but maybe she remembers that it was him who held her so securely on the way back to your house. She's clearly not scared of him now, snoring softly while Jason pets his still-gloved hand through her fur. He hasn't taken his eyes off her since the two of you left the house over a half hour ago, and you smile at an unexpectedly lovely thought. You are likely the first person to see Jason Voorhees so enamored with something in a very, very long time.

"She still needs a name," you whisper, careful not to wake the sleeping dog. "Her old papers have her as Russet, but she must not have been called that often, because she doesn't respond to it. And I can't just call her 'puppy' forever." Jason nods a little, just to show he's listening, but he's still completely wrapped up in the dog. "I think you should be the one to name her."

That gets his attention, and Jason's mask whips up to lock on to your eyes. The angle's no good to see how he's looking at you, the day's cloudy enough to shade in the eyeholes completely, but you can practically feel the shock from where you sit. If you stretched out your leg, you could touch his knee with the tip of your shoe. Not that you're going to, but the novelty of sitting this close is still there. "Look at her, look how happy she is. My name's on the papers, but she couldn't more clearly be your dog. You're the one that saved her in the first place, so it's only fair."

By now you've delved further into the myth with Jason, and gotten sidetracked on so many tangents prompted by his questions that he's got a wealth of mythical men and women to choose a name from, if he wants. Not that you expect him to stick to your silly little naming convention—though you've been considering Penelope, liking that it's so close to puppy—but it's nice to know he has the option.

You realize too late that you have no idea if he can read, let alone spell a name to you. He's got your name, as well as Heracles', down perfectly when he signs them, but is that just muscle memory? He's completely mute, as far as you can tell, and only knew a few signs when you met him, so you don't think it's completely unfair to assume he's illiterate—which means you stand to be a huge, inconsiderate asshole by asking this of him. But his memory is good, and he picks up on things quickly…you've been fingerspelling every word you don't know when you sign to him, which means you've been spelling out a lot of long, complicated names recently. Could he have picked up the alphabet just from that? God you don't know, and the last thing you want is to embarrass him, or insult him, or—

Completely immune to your inner turmoil, Jason gives the dog's back a brush with the back of his hand, then lifts it to sign: A-B-B-Y.

The weight lifts from your chest instantly. "Abby," you say, testing it on your tongue. His nod helps the stress melt from your shoulders, and you finally reach out to touch where Jason's petting has made her fur extra warm. She sighs contentedly in her sleep, and Jason's next exhale nearly matches it. You have to bite your cheek to keep from beaming. "That's perfect."

[etheries1015]

BOOK 7 SPOILERS BELOW

I finally decided to suck it up and catch up with twst book 7, I stopped after seeing Silver cry because I'm sCARED OF BEING SAD 😭😭 anyway here's a few reactions I had to it 😭

And hearing about the update coming soon-ish to ENG servers I really need to read up

Lilia pressuring Epel like the old man he is 😭😭 I love the moments that they remind us just how old Lilia actually is and how he sees most if not all the students as if they were his children/grand children, making sure they get the most out of the party and drink...its giving "What do you mean you're not hungry? Absolutely not. Here Is at least 5 servings of whatever dish I made to help u grow big and strong."

Okay I didn't take a screen shot of it but the entire section where Lilia looked kind of guilty with Ortho about exchanging addresses because you just KNOW he probably isn't gonna check in, presumably because he doesn't want anyone to get More attached to him seeing as he is nearing the end of his life span (crying shaking throwing up)

THIS. THIS. THIS INTERACTION HE HAD WITH US. I LOVE HIM. I AM SO SILLY FOR HIM. I totally forgot I changed my in-game name from my nickname to my REAL name and when he said my name I verbally yelled "WHAT THE HELL" before giggling and kicking my feet hehehehe I'm clinically insane for him

But the fact that he acknowledged us as Malleus friend probably means we've spent a lot of time at the dorms or around Lilia for him to see how our friendship and interactions with him work, and it melts my heart hehe. Being part of the diafam fr. But honestly bro back me up, I'm tired of being called a hench-human 😭💀

I wonder just how bad we must look with everyone noticing the strange shift??? Either we REALLY made a scene (tripping over, going pale) or the twst boys are just that attentive to us and I think that is the sweetest thing ever 😭😭 Ace and Deuce is so sweet for thinking of us and trying to get us out while also being polite to the people who kindly held the party. Despite not being there long, ace and deuce is willing to skip out on free food and drinks in order to make sure you're okay and I'm just 😭😭 ANGELS. I LOVE THEM.

But also the way Lilia worries for you is so sweet 😭💜 I should write a fic of sick reader and Lilia, or reader trying to tough it out because I know for a FACT Lilia would not let that slide! (Hypocrite 😐)

I ACTUALLY DROPPED MY JAW WHEN SEBEK SAID THIS SHIT. I WAS. WHAT. WHAT THE HELL LMFAOOOOO 😭 thats fucking insane bro I actually found myself chastising him thru the phone, I would NOT let that discrimination against humans bullshit pass fr 😭 slap him right upside the head and give him a stern talking to. I like seeing Lilia get frustrated, he's so cute and UGH. Although it went in one ear out the other, Seeing Lilia mad is so hot if I'm being real with y'all rn BUAHAHA.

I didnt screen shot this either (and I can't fit anymore photos on this post smh) but Silvers nose being red and obvious he was crying but Lilia confused. DudE OF COURSE he was crying!!! You're his dad!! You raised him since he was a baby, he's just now going into adulthood and doing that WITHOUT HIS DAD who is going to a far away land! Sure, traveling is a thing , but honestly nothing beats having that support just a moments away. Silver is literally the sweetest and wants to support his dad , but who's going to support him????!?! Lilia is putting him in a position where Silver feels the need to be strong and hide his tears for Lilias sake, but of course this is hard on him, its so sudden, too! Being so close to your parent and next thing you know mere days later they are stripped away from your arms?!

I just want to give them all hugs. Lilia obviously has some issues and misconstrued ideas of love (a million people have made posts and comments on this, so I will not repeat it) and I just. Need them to all sit around and be their mediator while we go thru their emotional states.

Ugh. I was in my twst burnout stage and still low key am, but fuck does it spark so much passion in you 😭😭

[genderqueerdykes]

I’ve seen more and more people being affected by the pornbots in the trans tags. Does it annoy you too?

And just as a general check how are you doing?

that's actually a very good question- yes, it does

it's been happening to almost every queer tag but it's been particularly rough in the trans tags. trans people posting erotic photographs of themselves isn't something that bothers me, what bothers me is exactly what you mentioned, the bots. i can easily block certain tags to not see trans erotica but the porn bots just don't care

whenever i go into a tag like "trans" or "transgender" i'm looking to hear about others' experiences with being trans, look at some trans art, share other people's experiences and journeys with transition, and so on. i don't want to see random porn everywhere that has nothing to do with trans people especially. tumblr did not achieve anything in trying to ban porn because now its just everywhere again

and its not even good like at least in the past a lot of it was by trans people for trans people. now it's almost entirely scams. they existed before but they're way worse now. i report and block them whenever i'm able to but it's a nightmare. as someone on the asexual spectrum, but sex positive, i just don't want to see stolen images of random girls. again i don't mind if it's porn for and by trans people, especially because that can easily be blacklisted, but it's impossible to blacklist the porn bots because they don't play by the rules

trans porn is generally well tagged so that you can easily block that from showing up in your tag searches and dashboard, whereas the bots are trying to avoid getting blacklisted. it's frustrating. i'd rather people look at trans erotica instead, at least it would be on topic. this is just taking people's attention away from trans sex workers and it fucking sucks

also thank you for asking! i had to rest and drink a lot of fluids after the gastric emptying study yesterday. i have my consult for gallbladder removal surgery in 2 days, which i am looking forward to. i had no idea that was such a big issue, there were a lot of guesses being made before i finally got a CT scan. most doctors were humming and hawing about how my insurance "won't" pay for those scans... but it does. if they go about writing the referral and getting diagnostic information, my insurance pays for those types of scans. it's not just x-rays my insurance covers, but doctors assume it won't be covered due to me having insurance for very low income people (medicaid)

after surgery i'll have to talk to someone about my liver. i'm not sure how long i have to recover from gallbladder removal surgery, but we shall see. other than that i'm doing alright, just navigating the symptoms that's been causing most nights out of the week, reading some queer books i've borrowed from the library, talking with my neighbors, and resting. my neighbors are also disabled and are very kind, well, at least my immediate neighbors, and one at the end of the street, as well as an older guy who takes walks up and down the block very often. these people are all very kind. i like talking with them and hearing about their days.

i also give them any meat the food bank accidentally sends me which is good because i hate the idea of just throwing it out. i've been able to cook a lot of very nice meals lately now that i have some more pots and pans and cooking tools. i lost a lot of mine while moving but i finally have enough to cook reliably and more than one thing at a time :) i was given a lot of brown rice from the food bank because i can't eat meat and a lot of their items contained meat and i've found i like brown rice a lot, honestly more than white rice. it takes eons to cook but it's worth it, especially if you add soy sauce, sesame oil, or other seasonings into the water as it cooks

thanks for checking in! i appreciate you, take care

[pluckyredhead]

Did I just read your Super Sons primer from 2020 at 3 am on a Monday morning because I'm having a real normal one? Maybe?! I'm wondering how you feel about how they and their relationship has developed since then. IMO it's... Pretty bleak. 😩

I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT IT. (Also here's the primer for anyone who missed it.)

So I will say that 95% of everything Jon has been in since he got aged up has been hot garbage, but I do think the exception is when Damian is around. But let's take it from the top!

First of all, I don't necessarily think they should de-age him again. Generally speaking I think it's better storytelling to focus on fixing things moving forward, rather than undoing things moving back. Sure, if DC came up with some big cosmic event that reset Jon to 11, I certainly wouldn't complain, but I'd rather see them, uh...do literally anything with Teen Jon that doesn't suck.

But yeah, aging Jon up to begin with still makes me livid because:

I want my baby to have had a childhood.

It's fully character assassination for Lois and Clark. They would NEVER let their 11-year-old go to outer space with a supervillain. Lois would NEVER just abandon him out there, and Clark would NEVER respond with "Well, I'm sure he's fine, wanna have marathon sex?" I honestly have no idea what Bendis or his editor were thinking.

They have not done a single interesting with him since!!!

Putting this behind a cut because it got LONG. Also spoilers for Beast World in there.

I've said this before, but I have to assume that Bendis wanted to age Jon up because he wanted to write a Legion book. But he also in his wisdom decided to bring Kon back into continuity at exactly the same time, which means we have two nearly identical Superboys that DC didn't and still doesn't know what to do with. Kon clearly couldn't have joined the LOSH because he already had a team, but you know what Super teen was available, and not 11, and who has a history with the Legion that goes back almost as long as Clark's? KARA. But I will save that rant for another day.

And honestly, Kara dodged a bullet, because that Legion book was unreadable. Bendis at his most Bendis-y wall of text interrupt-y conversations and no plot. If I give Tom Taylor any credit it's that the second he got his hands on Jon, he torpedoed Jon/Imra as a ship. GOOD.

And when the LOSH book finally went out with a whimper (that JLA/LOSH miniseries! what was that!!!), we entered the Taylor Era. Taylor's quirks are less stylistic and more narrative than Bendis's. You can spot Bendisian dialogue at twenty paces, but a Taylor comic tips its hand when it sets up a really interesting premise or a really high stakes threat and then immediately undercuts it with a little wet fart noise of nothing. To wit:

Jon's starting college! This will be an interesting challenge for him to readjust to normal life after six years in a torture-volcano and an indeterminate amount of time in the future, and also considering he never graduated from sixth grade. I wonder what will - oh no he dropped out after three pages. (He has done NOTHING in his civilian identity since, btw. I guess he's too busy hovering just behind Dick at all times to work on his GED or whatever.)

Jon is going to confront Ultraman! Finally the comics will have to engage with all the trauma he must have - oh no Ultraman's dead.

Jon is trapped in the Injustice Universe! This is a really dangerous universe that might make him question everything he knows about - oh he just lectured everyone and flounced off home.

Beast World is a perfect example. Taylor seems to think that having a hero effortlessly solve a problem makes them look badass, but it's actually the effort that makes them look badass. So like, we spent five months keeping the Kryptonians and other A-class heroes away from the spores because the spores are attracted to power and if a Super got spore'd everyone would be in big trouble...but then in the last issue, they just have Jon fly up to everyone with a spore in them, wait for the spore to jump at him, and catch it? That doesn't make the Titans look smart or Jon look tough. It makes all of them look like idiots because it it was that easy, why didn't they do that in the first place?

On top of that, Taylor doesn't ever really earn relationships. Jon and Jay is the obvious one. Jay has no personality. There's no chemistry between the two characters. Jon might as well be dating a cardboard cutout labeled "Proof of Queerness." (Or "Bernard." Ahem.) But we're supposed to be like, yes, give Tom Taylor a GLAAD award for using queer characters as props, when he's going to turn around and kiss Chuck Dixon's ass on social for being homophobic about Jon? UGH.

Honestly worse for me though is the Jon and Dick relationship. Because Taylor is writing both characters, we're supposed to believe that there's this close mentor-mentee bond there? I don't think they EVER interacted before the Taylor era. (And don't even look at me with that retconned-in scene of Dick finding lost baby Jon. You're telling me that Superman, with his X-ray and telescopic vision, needs to call Bruce and Dick for help finding his own son? Fuck off.)

Anyway it all combines to make basically every Jon appearance for the past three years profoundly unsatisfying. Even the stuff that isn't by Taylor never goes anywhere. Remember when he was jealous of the Super Twins for two panels? And then everyone forgot about it forever? SIGH.

HOWEVER.

However.

If there is one thing that Bendis and Taylor and every other writer got right, it's that Jon is crazy bonkers in love with Damian always and forever. Jon has been written like shit since 2019, but he has also not wavered in his devotion for even one single solitary second.

THE EVIDENCE:

This is the first thing Jon does when he gets back to Earth:

He then tells Damian he's contemplating not joining the Legion because he'll have to leave Damian behind. Damian tells him to go and then come get him if it's cool.

Turns out the Legion is cool. Jon comes and gets Damian. The Legion isn't happy about it and Jon threatens to leave if Damian can't stay, while gazing adoringly at Damian's unconscious body cradled in his arms:

Eventually LOSH is canceled and Jon comes home and starts following Damian around by listening for his heartbeat. LIKE PALS DO!

Then Damian gives him a pep talk!

Then there's this ABSOLUTE CUDDLE:

The way Damian nuzzles into Jon's shoulder! Can you even stand it!

And then there's this:

The climax of Son of Kal-El, btw, is one of the several times Jon is saved by Damian and confides in Damian and turns to Damian for comfort or advice...and Jay is just sort of standing there off to the side. I am fully aware I have ship goggles on but the degree of emotional investment Jon has in these relationships is not the same.

Then they had a special issue teamup:

Then we got Dark Crisis, and I actually love this interaction between them, because they are very different people with very different upbringings and this feels extremely in character to me for how they would both handle the loss of their fathers:

But even when they disagree, they still instantly support each other. Jon comes back with information? Damian makes a plan:

Also, we got the 2022 Pride issue where Jon, Jay, and Damian go to Pride together. I know that story is...contentious...but leave me here with Damian sulking while Jon and Jay kiss, okay?

Then we get Adventures of Superman, which is objectively awful, but Jon does spend his whole time in the Injustice universe thinking about Damian like the seagulls in Finding Nemo saying "Mine? Mine? Mine?"

This whole arc is truly hilarious. Jon finds out that Damian accidentally killed Dick and his response is to a) go find Batman and yell at him for not supporting Damian enough for accidentally killing Dick, and then b) go find Damian to be like "Wow, that must have been really hard for you (accidentally killing Dick)." There's being ride or die for your BFF, and then there's whatever the fuck Jon has going on.

(Meanwhile there's an incredibly uncomfortable scene with him and Injustice Jay where Jay "tests" him by trying to get Jon to cheat on regular Jay. So. That happens.)

And then just this past month we got Nightwing #110, where we learn that Jon is still listening to Damian's heart:

He completely freaks out watching Damian in danger, and immediately intervenes when it looks like Damian is about to kill someone because he knows what matters the most to Damian. Also, this happens:

YOU WIN THIS ONE, TAYLOR.

AND THEN THEY BICKER I LOVE IT WHEN THEY BICKER:

AND THEN DAMIAN LETS HIMSELF BE VULNERABLE BY ASKING JON IF HE HURT ANYONE WHILE HE WAS A KITTY, AND JON GIVES YET ANOTHER SPEECH ABOUT HOW DAMIAN HAS NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG EVER, IN HIS LIFE, AND DAMIAN STAGGERS OFF, LEANING ON JON.

This isn't even getting into the Trinity backup stories in Wonder Woman, which, like...Tom King is not valid but Jon and Damian are such an old married couple in them? It's truly incredible?

It took me like 45 minutes to parse Jon's line here as the general 'you" and not specifically Jon saying Damian wasn't straight. But like..."That's for straight people, which has nothing to do with us" is a hell of a thing to say, Jonathan.

I ALSO haven't even talked about DCeased because it's a different universe, but! Jon sitting with Damian while he dies??? MY HEART.

IN CONCLUSION:

Yes, they should never have aged up Jon.

Yes, most of his appearances since have been terrible and bland.

But OH BOY, do he and Damian remain in love.

[royboyfanpage]

Hello, please don't take this the wrong way but when I first started getting into comics I really disliked Ollie for how he treated/reacted to Roy and the whole drug thing but many years and more experience later (I know the characters a bit better now and stopped reading bad takes on tumblr) I'm realising that theres a lot more nuance and apparently they've got a really close relationship these days?? So I was just wondering if you might be able to explain that to me because I'd love to get into more arrow stuff (honestly mostly fanficton because lbr comics are crazy confusing and expensive) but I'm struggling to shake the assumptions I made about Ollies character when I was younger

Hi anon! Thank you soooo much for this ask, I've been looking forward to answering it for hours and now I finally have the time. Ollie's one of my favourite fictional archers, and I adore talking about him at any opportunity because he is SUCH a nuanced character. So here's-

Why Oliver Queen Doesn't Suck

Mandatory disclaimer that this is my own opinions, other people may have different interpretations which is totally fine! Ollie's been around for over 80 years, there's a lot of content to read and a lot of conflicting characterisations, so other people may see him differently than me. Also disclaimer that much of this was written from memory. I fact-checked the date of Nixon's declaration of the War on Drugs and the Denny O'Neil quote, but the rest of this was from memory. Apologies for any innaccuracies, both for comics and context.

Now that that's out of the way, lets talk Snowbirds.

In order to discuss Snowbirds Don't Fly, one of the most important things to factor in is context. I understand it can be difficult to see through the historical lense of a time period in which the majority of people on this website, myself included, were not even born let alone reading comic books. However, it's still crucially vital to discuss what was going on in the real world at the time of its publication in order to engage in a rich discussion of the comic. Snowbirds was published the year that the War on Drugs officially began following Nixon's declaration of drugs as "public enemy number one" on June 17th 1971, just under two months before the release of Snowbirds part 1 in August of that year. At the time, drug addiction was very much seen as a moral failing, and the war on drugs focused heavily on the incarceration of drug users (particularly ones that the US Government wanted an excuse to lock away such as people of colour and pacifists against the war in Vietnam, but that's not relevant to Snowbirds.) While Snowbirds was absolutely not a perfect comic, it was created to show a more humanising side of addicts than the usual demonisation seen on the news. In the words of writer Denny O'Neil, “we chose Roy [...] to show that addiction was not limited to 'bad' or 'misguided' kids.” It was created to show that addiction was not a moral failing, and that anyone could fall into it due to circumstances, even someone we've already accepted as 'one of the good guys' for the past 30 years. Roy was used as the symbol of a good kid who made a bad mistake in order to humanise real young people who'd gone through similar circumstances. And where there's a kid, there's a parent, which is where Ollie came in.

Now, I very strongly believe that Ollie was not written to be the bad guy of Snowbirds. Not only was he also an established 'good guy', but he was a symbolic stand-in for much of America at that time, including the people who would be reading it. And, while Green Arrow is very much a character who brings with him a lot of strong political takes, villainising their readerbase would be a step too far. Ollie was a stand-in for the concerned and ill-informed parent, a character who's consumed all the anti-addict propaganda being spread at the time and internalised it. That's why the fact that it was his own ward struggling with addiction was so poignant to the story. Ollie was forced to re-evaluate his worldview after seeing someone who he knows isn't what the media says addicts are struggling with addiction. Snowbirds has such an interesting character arc for Ollie, seeing him struggle to combine the ideas of what he's heard and what he's actively seeing in his mind.

Now, the most infamous part of Snowbirds is, obviously, the slap. Full disclaimer, I am not saying that Ollie is in the right for that. He was 100% undeniably in the wrong for how he responded to Roy's addiction. However, I think a key component of comic books that people tend to ignore is the component of marketing. The writers wanted this comic to sell. It was a very important story for the time, and with the amount of comics being released it was crucial to them that people actually found the comic and read it, especially since it was one of the first comics released outside of the strict rules of the Comics Code. And what would catch readers' eyes more than seeing a superhero hitting his sidekick whilst said sidekick is surrounded by drugs? I'm not trying to discredit the panel, it was obviously a very significant part of the story, but there were external factors at play too.

A lot of the development of Roy and Ollie's relationship is seen in comics released post-Snowbirds, but even in the comic itself there's clear development, particularly at the end. Snowbirds Don't Fly is a character arc for Ollie of him adjusting his worldview in order to grow and better himself after recognising his own biases. And people tend to forget that Snowbirds ends with Roy hitting Ollie back, and what does Ollie do? He listens. He lets Roy get his frustrations out, and listens to Roy's perspective, and he's proud of him by the end of it, proud of the young man he is.

Okay, now that we've gotten Snowbirds out of the way, let's talk about-

Post-Snowbirds

There's a common misconception that Roy and Ollie having a close relationship is a recent development, which just isn't true. While it could've absolutely been explored in more detail, it's clear that Roy and Ollie reconciled post-Snowbirds. The earliest example that comes to mind is 1993's Green Arrow vol 2 #75, wherein Ollie and Roy refer to each other as father and son.

Keep in mind that this was written by Grell who is, at least in my opinion, one of the best references for Ollie. While they did have some issues in the later issues of the run preceding Ollie's death (the causes of the conflict I'm unsure of, they were on rocky terms during Connor's introduction but I don't know why, if anyone has context for that please let me know but that could've just been a choice Dixon made), it's clear to see that Snowbirds was not something that permenantly damaged their relationship. Ollie put in the effort following his actions, to better himself both as a father and as a person, and Roy recognised that and forgave him. Parent/child relationships are hard anyway, let alone under the circumstances Roy and Ollie are under as heroes, and the fact that Ollie actually recognised his own flaws is far more than many parents do.

If we go later, we can see Roy talking fondly about Ollie whilst Ollie was dead in Titans (1999), fondly recalling memories with him from his youth, as well as keeping a photograph of him on his wall.

While Roy does recognise that things with Ollie weren't always perfect, he does also acknowledge the good times between him and Ollie, and it's clear from the way he speaks that he holds a lot of love for him.

Later still, when Ollie returns from the dead, the duo reunite with fondness

One thing particularly that stands out to me is that, at this point, Ollie was missing many of his memories and Snowbirds was still fresh in his mind, with him bringing up Roy's addiction multiple times throughout Quiver as if it happened within at most the span of two years. Despite this, he still embraces Roy and treats him with love, making it clear that Ollie loved Roy even near to the Snowbirds era. There are more instances I could go into in Green Arrow (2001), but I'm running out of free time, so I'd highly recommend reading it :)

Aaaand later still, Ollie openly admits to having fucked up with Roy during Snowbirds.

He admits his failings, and demonstrates that he's got Roy's best interests at heart. He's not being selfish, he's letting Roy have his moment in his initiation as Red Arrow and staying in the background because he believes that's what's best for Roy. And-

He openly states that he loves Roy.

There's more in the current continuity I could reference, but I don't have the time to go through them right now and I'm definitely more familiar with content pre-52 (particularly 1994-2004 is the ten years I'd say I know the best), so hopefully this is enough.

Roy and Ollie's relationship isn't perfect. It has clear ups and downs, which is what makes them so interesting! Oliver Queen is a very loving, yet very flawed man, and to go either way of "evil abuser" or "perfect father" discredits who he is.

Anyway, your faves don't have to be unproblematic to love them. Ollie has a really compelling character arc during and after Snowbirds, and I like him a lot :)

For further reading, check out my masterlist on my pinned post, particularly Oliver Queen's B- Parenting, Snowbirds (1), and Snowbirds (2)