#i have given my best faith efforts here

[pagerunner-j]

It's amazing how much of this shit I've put up with from Square over the years, really. Although occasionally I do hit a wall. Like: this is why I never finished Episode Ignis, and never did put myself through Episode Ardyn (sorry, Darin) back in the FFXV days.

The villains, again: hinky combat controls, and THE FUCKING CAMERA.

Fuck that camera in....well, whatever the equivalent it has of an ear.

(Also, I skipped 16. DId I mention I skipped 16? Mostly it was because the vibes were overwhelming me with "we're taking ourselves way too seriously (and really really really want to be Game of Thrones)," which is not what I wanted out of a game series that otherwise provides such features as giant rideable chickens.)

...ah, Squeenix. My patience, it is tried. And yet here I am, again. Guess I only have myself to blame at this point.

Feeling disheartened about the combat in the FF7 Rebirth demo. I don't know why I'm having so much trouble with it, considering I played the entirety of the first game and he DLC, but somehow, nothing makes sense, and I'm fighting the camera far more than I'm fighting the enemies. It keeps swerving around so much I've got a splitting headache and I'm feeling nauseated, and that's happening even while I'm trying to lock onto enemies and stay focused. The constant knockbacks even though I'm fucking dodging aren't helping, either, and it's hard to figure out what I'm doing wrong when there's two creatures rushing me at once, so there's no time to really break it down.

All right, I'm old, but Jesus. I've never missed turn-based combat so much in my life.

Any tips?

(I mean, apart from easy mode, which works but is making me feel like a dumbass.)

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 3,498

Warning: stress, yelling, fighting, kisses, insecurity, self doubt, language, suggestive, whipped cream

A/N: Things are getting are getting spicy now!! Y'all aren't ready for part four!! A reminder, of you want to be included in the tag list YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One, Part Two, Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

The smell of cedarwood, one you used to love, was now suffocating you like a toxic gas. Your eyes blurred in shock as Toji pressed his chest against your back. Letting you know this was real and you weren't in a drunken haze.

“Are you listening to me?” Toji spoke again, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “I told you we need to talk.”

A year and a half ago, the old you would have given in, allowing him to give you any explanation he pulled out of his ass. You, however, had grown in your time away. You didn't have to listen to him.

“I don't want to talk to you.” Your voice trembles, not in fear, but in a boiling rage that was settling in your chest. “Get the fuck off me.” The disbelief in his eyes is almost comical, but he doesn't move. “Get! The! Fuck! Off! Me!”

Your ex listened this time, promptly stepping back and holding both of his hands out in front of him. “Jesus fuck, sorry. But I'm serious about talking to you.”

A scoff of disbelief is the only answer you gave him as you washed your hands. If you kept your body constantly moving, you wouldn't freeze up again. Despite your best efforts, your traitorous hands continued trembling. Unfortunately for you, Toji noticed this, his eyes lingering on your hands before drifting to your face as you dried them off.

“Do I make you that nervous?”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?!” The rage finally boiled over, like hot milk on a stove. “Nervous?! You think I'm nervous?!” You stormed forward, jabbing your pointer finger into his chest.

Your rage and finger jabs only have Toji rolling his eyes. His much larger hand shot up, grabbing and squeezing your wrist. His skin on yours made you feel a certain way. That contact was something you craved before, something you felt like you needed. Now? That contact made your stomach churn with nausea.

“Ya’ done lying?”

“Let me go.”

“No, I asked you a question. Are ya’ done lying?” Toji steps forward, crowding you against the wall. “Because we both know you're lying to yourself. You are nervous; you've been nervous since you stepped foot here in Kyoto with your friend.” His words stung like lashings from a whip. “I make ya’ nervous; that's why you've been avoiding me. And I don't like being ignored.”

A rage burned in your eyes as he waited for you to respond. How dare he corner you and act like you were the problem! You yank your wrist away, glaring up at him.

“That friend of mine is my boyfriend! And I'm not nervous around you. I can't stand you. Being around you makes me sick.”

“Oh, that's rich. Why is that Y/N? Why do I make you sick?”

“What makes me sick?! Toji, did you forget you broke off our engagement a month before our wedding? You broke my heart! Being around you fuckin’ hurts; do you not understand that!? So what you see as nervousness is me trying to heal!” Toji’s eyes widened as you continued your rant. “So that’s why I have no desire to talk to you! I don't care what you have to say!” But knowing Toji, he wouldn't back down so easily. “But you won't leave me alone unless you say whatever the fuck it is you want to say! So what is it, come to gloat about your life as a married man? Come to show me a picture of your pretty wife?”

“Watch it.”

“Or did she find out about your gambling problem and can't handle it? So you want me back so I can take care of us?” You had fully intended for that to hurt, but your insults just bounced off him. A smirk turned at the corner of his scarred lip.

“You think I'd actually want you back?”

His words stung like a million scorpion stings. It knocked the air out of your lungs as you felt your stomach drop. Toji slowly came to the realization of what he had said, his smirk falling as he saw the tears in your eyes.

“Y/N, fuck, I didn't mean it like that.”

You shoved your way past him; your heart thundered in your ears as you grabbed your sweater and bag off your chair. All of your friends were far too drunk to notice the state you were in, waving bye as you headed for the door, dialing Satoru’s number. Hot tears flowed down your cheeks as you tried to keep some composure.

He picked up on the first ring. “Our first drunk call; I'm so excited to hear all the cute things you're gonna say.” When Satoru doesn’t hear the commotion of the bar, his teasing tone vanishes. “Y/N?” God, he sounds sincere, like he might care for you. “Sweetheart, what's wrong?”

“T-Toji’s here, and I—” a sob rips through your chest, “I can't do this.”

“Where are you?” You listen to him shuffling a door opening and closing.

“Outside of the bar.”

“Is he around?”

“N-No.”

His breathing was shallow; the background was breaking in and out. Was he—running? Why would he come running to you?

“Good, stay there; I'm on my way.” The line went dead, leaving you standing there, staring at your phone.

The inn was nearby, so it shouldn't take him long, maybe a ten-minute walk, maybe faster since he was running. But he couldn't come soon enough. Your head kept turning toward the door to the bar, anxiously waiting to see if Toji came out. God, you prayed he wouldn't.

Your chest was constricting, and your eyes blurred as you fought against the tears threatening to escape. You didn't want to cry more. Because it was a waste of time, energy, and tears. There was no sense in crying over something so silly!

“You think I’d actually want you back?”

His words were on a loop. Slicing into your still bleeding heart, cutting new wounds, deeper ones. Which was so stupid! You would never get back to him! Even if he asked you to. You two had grown apart, your relationship toxic. So why did it bother you so much? Words from a man that hadn't been in your life for so long!

You glanced towards the night sky, the stinging feeling slowly turning numb. You knew deep down why it hurt. A reason that made you feel sick and weak. Like some fucking pathetic character from a soapy book.

If Toji didn't want you, who would?

A hand gently grabs your shoulder, turning you around. You turn, expecting to look up to the almost magical blue eyes of Satoru. Only you can find dark blue eyes. You step back, only to have Toji grab your purse and yank it, pulling You back towards him.

“Leave me the fuck alone!!” Toji flinched at your broken plea. “Haven't you done enough tonight?!”

“Look, I’m sorry! I didn't mean it like that!”

You fight against every urge to punch him. “Oh!? Okay, what did you mean when you said, ‘You think I’d actually want you back?’ Because it seems like you meant it to me!” Your purse falls to the ground as Toji pulls you closer. His hands clamp down on your upper arms to prevent you from moving away.

“Will you shut the fuck up for five damn minutes!?”

More tears stream down your face; your eyebrows knitted together pathetically as he bent down slightly, forcing you to look up at him. There was no use fighting it. He wasn't going to stop; you were trapped.

Satoru was breathing heavily as he turned the same corner he'd walked with you earlier. When he did, he froze in his tracks, seeing you and your prick of an ex standing outside. Toji was squeezing you, yelling something in your face. Satoru’s heart clenched when he saw the way your eyebrows pinched together. You were distraught, visibly upset, and you—you were crying.

Something inside Satoru’s chest snapped, and he bolted forward, rage painted over his features. “Hey!”

Your head whirled towards his voice, Y/H/C hair, tear droplets flying. He swears it happened in slow motion; fuck, you were even pretty when you were upset. Your face softened, the disdain melting away like snow in the spring. All because he was there, knowing that he had that sort of effect on you made his heart race. Making you happy was all Satoru had wanted to do.

Something he had never felt with clients before. Because the more time he spent with you, the more Satoru got to know you, the less you became another client on his calendar. To him, you weren't just a number, a dollar in his bank account, were Y/N.

His Y/N.

Not this fucking assholes. Not anymore! Satoru grabbed Toji’s wrist, forcing him to release you. Your ex-fiance glowered as Satoru pulled you to stand behind him. When your hands clung to his shirt, he released his vice grip on Toji’s wrist.

“You again.” Toji sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, me, the boyfriend.” Satoru crowded Toji, the two men face to face. “I’m guessing you didn't hear me the first time.” He eyed your ex up and down. “If Y/N wants to talk to you, she will. But as you can see, she doesn't, so fuck off.”

Satoru backed off as you buried your face into his back. He knew you were crying. Still, your body was trembling, hands clinging to him, keeping you grounded so you didn't break down. The state you were in irked him the wrong way, and his fist clenched, longing to hurt the dick who'd hurt you as much as he’s done to you.

“I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but this is between me and Y/N. So you fuck off.”

“I'm Gojo Satoru, heir to the Gojo family business. I'm also dating Y/L/N Y/N, and I plan on being with her for a very long time! Got it?! Good now, if you’ll excuse us; I’m taking my girlfriend out for dinner, asshole.”

Satoru felt your grip loosen around him, a little gasp leaving your lips. “T-Toru.” A nickname, you gave him a nickname. God, he felt like he could fly.

“I got you, let's go.” Turning around, Satoru started leading you down the sidewalk.

He barely made it a foot away before he was yanked back by the collar of his shirt. Both fists shot up, ready to fight. Toji instead shoved your purse in his face. “Some boyfriend, you are almost leaving without her bag.” Toji waved at you as he headed back into the bar. “We’ll finish this another time, Y//N.” Satoru glared at him until Toji was inside; the second he was gone, Satoru grabbed your hand, leading you down the street.

You didn't say a word, but your smaller fingers intertwined with his, allowing him to lead you away. He pulled into a ramen shop, helping you in a booth before sitting across from you. You were wiping at your eyes, but more tears kept rolling down your cheeks. Satoru’s heart shattered seeing you so upset like this.

“I-I’m sorry,” you hiccuped, “I god, I'm sorry, Satoru.”

“No, don't apologize.” He reached out, replacing your hand with his own. His thumbs gently brushed tears away. “What happened?”

You laughed, but it wasn't your usual happy laugh. No, this laugh was full of sorrow. Satoru didn't like it when you laughed like that.

With a breathless sigh, you leaned into his hand. “Toji cornered me in the bathroom. He kept wanting to talk, and well, things were said.” Your lips brushed over Satoru’s palm as you spoke. “In the midst of my anger, I asked if his wife found out about his gambling problem. And if he wanted me back to take care of him like I did. Jokingly, of course, and he—” Your bottom lip quivered. “H-He uhm, god, it's so stupid—”

“It's not stupid, please tell me.”

You took a deep breath, “He said, ‘You think I’d actually want you back.’” Your voice was so fragile as you repeated those pain-ridden words to him.

“Are you kidding me?” Satoru’s other hand cupped your other cheek. Holding your face gently as he watched as your face contorted with emotional pain. “This is the part where you tell me you're joking, right? That he didn't say that shit to you?” The mind-numbing silence was the answer to his question. “That motherfucker, I should have knocked him out when I had the chance.”

“I-I didn't even mean it, ya’ know? I wouldn't get back together with him.”

“Good, because there's no way in hell I would allow you to get back together with that asshole. You deserve so much more.”

Your Y/E/C widened and glittered under the lights at his words. “You think I deserve more?” Satoru nodded, thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones. The look on your face was full of hope, a look Satoru had never seen grace your beautiful features before. But that light faded just as fast as it appeared.

It was doubt; you had been hurt so much in the past that you doubted the genuine words he was saying.

”Hey, I don’t say shit. I don’t mean.” Satoru whispered.

”I know, I just, I’m so confused.”

”Confused because you’re drunk?”

”No, I’m pretty much sober now.” You sighed, pulling away from his grasp. “I just, I’m conflicted.”

”Conflicted over what?” He cocked an eyebrow as you flushed. “Tell me.”

You gulped down some water before running a hand through your hair. “I just, us.” Satoru perked up. “I know I hired you to be my wedding date and all. But I like you.” You chugged more of the water down like it gave you courage. “And it’s not only because you’re super fucking hot. I also like talking to you, god I love talking to you.” Satoru’s cheeks flushed, watching you closely. “But what is the cherry on top of the sundae of you being everything I’d want in a partner is the fact that you came running for me today.”

”Y/N—“

”You dropped everything and came running to me. Like a scene from a Rom-Com.” Your nails clanked nervously over the glass, your gaze drifting toward the awe-struck Satoru. “I know I hired you, and this is your line of work. But I can't stop thinking about the kisses—mmmph!”

Before you could finish your last word, Satoru grabbed your face, kissing you deeply. His fingers gripped your chin but shifted to hold your cheek in his hand, cupping it gently. With wide eyes, you slowly kissed him back, melting against him.

Satoru slowly pulled away, his thumb moving down, caressing your bottom lip as he looked into your eyes. “I’ve never felt like this about a client before.” He panted softly.

”Really?” You smiled wide as Satoru hummed happily.

”That day we talked on the phone, I knew there was something different about you. Something I want to explore.” You giggled, tears forming in your eyes as he wiped them away. “So, what do you say we order dessert here for a little date?”

You looked around before shaking your head. “No.” Satoru’s face went pale as he looked you over, searching for an explanation. “The dessert here is shit, let’s go back to the inn, and I’ll make us something?” Satoru's breath was full of relief as he stood up, grabbing your hand tight.

”You are such a brat.”

Despite being a brat, Satoru followed you back to the inn. He watched with curious eyes as you moved around the clean kitchen. You were pulling out mixing bowls, cream, and chilled sheet cake. Your tiny hands so gracefully washed strawberries, your touch gentle as if they would fall apart if you handled them any other way.

Everything you did was done with skills he did not possess. Slicing strawberries, cutting the vanilla cake into the perfect symmetrical cubes. Satoru found himself under a spell as he watched your every move. God, you looked so gorgeous in a zone like this. Your smile, the way you move with purpose, focused on constructing the dessert you promised him.

You peeked at him from the corner of your eye. He grinned as he rose from his seat, striding towards you as you poured heavy whipping cream into the stand mixer before switching it on at medium speed. Satoru had a certain gleam in his eyes as he oh’d and awed at the cream inside the mixer. He was so fascinated, and he looked like a child in a candy store.

You tapped his shoulder, handing him a small vial. “Want to help me? You can put the vanilla in.” Satoru eagerly took it, opening it. He sniffed the bottle before looking down at you.

“Give me a hand?”

“Sure,” your hand slowly ran over the top of his, “just do a little bit.” The two of you poured some vanilla into the mixing bowl. A rich smell wafted up in the air. “Was this just an excuse for me to touch your hand?”

“What?” His tone was full of faux confusion. “No, never.” He quickly put the vial of vanilla down, his fingers interlacing with yours as he pulled you into his side. “What's the next step, chef?”

“We add in sugar.” You worked your culinary magic, sweetening the whipped cream. “And that is how I make my whipped cream; I use it at the bakery.”

“I love the whipped cream at the Ichigo Cafe.” Satoru groaned out, looking into the bowl. “So fluffy and sweet!”

You tapped your fingers on the bowl. “Why don't you taste it? Tell me if it's sweet enough for you. Mr. Six packets of sugar in my coffee.” He turned to face you, resting his hand on his hip with a smirk.

“I am not at all ashamed of my likes, Y/N.” he pulled the top of the mixer up. “I like my treats sweet; I am the Gordon Ramsey of desserts!”

“Satoru, watch out for the switch!”

Satrou smacked the switch while scooping a finger full of whipped cream. The whisk attachment spun around several times, splattering the two of you with bloats of sweetened cream. Satoru quickly turned it off, looking around at the white mess.

A big blob of whipped cream fell off his nose, smacking into the metal table. The sound, his eyes slowly glancing at it, and the stunned look on his face knocked over your giggle box. Your head tilted back as rich, warm laughter flooded the kitchen. Making Satoru melt as he wiped the whipped cream off his face, licking it off his fingers.

The sight of his fingers dipping into his mouth. Had you choking on your laughter? Cerulean eyes burned as he slowly pulled his finger out, smirking. His thumb brushed out your lip, smearing whipped cream over it. The action had you breathing heavily.

“Tastes sweet, but I think you're sweeter.” He leaned down, his lips brushed over your cheek. “Ten times sweeter.”

You closed the distance this time. Pusjingnhis back against the table. Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him down and deepening the kiss—the taste of your whipped cream lingering on his tongue. Your sudden boldness had Satoru stumbling, eyes wide as you shoved Your tongue in his mouth, much like he had done to you earlier.

He whined, shutting his eyes tight as he grabbed Your hips, pulling you tight against him. “You're so beautiful, god Y/N.” He whispered in between heated kisses. “I think I started falling for you since that first phone call.” His honesty had you whining against his lips as he sucked and nipped at your bottom lip.

“Satoru~”

“God, I want you; I want you so bad, Y/N.”

Your heart lurched into your throat as you pulled away, staring into those blue eyes you were falling for. Satoru wanted you. He legitimately wanted you. Not just to take you out on a date, but he wanted you in ways you hadn't been wanted in a very long time. Ways you told yourself and Satoru you didn't need. But the desperation in his kisses, how his tongue moved against yours, and the hard bulge growing in his pants had your heart thundering, utterly breathless, and oh-so-wet

“Toru.” He groaned, trailing kisses over your neck, his hand squeezing your hips. “Toru.”

He pulled back, shutting his eyes tight as he rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he sighed, “I’m sorry as much as I want you. I don't want to rush you.” Your hands trailed over his toned stomach, fingers undoing the button to his jeans.

“Toru, take me to our room.”

Tag list: (AGE MUST BE IN BIO!!)

@arminloverlol @jamzywiththejam28 @gojoful @maskedpacific @ahseyy @kash77 @sadmonke @ari-maccha @sugurubabe @hyori2 @bluechocolatemint @itsinherited @dellappatca @therealestpussyeater @dead-at-tokyo @nvrgojover @drakenswifeyy @nealeart @yunho-leeknow @fire-child-kira @faeryminnyx @tqd4455 @harmonyflora @volkins181-blog @noukstmblr @lovely212 @stinkinstuffie @desihopelessromantic @witchbybirth @sonicsolos @lilbiguy @supsiii @rentheannihilator

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - mentions of kidnapping, controlling behavior, lyla is both Miguel's number stan and number one hater, and blood.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Hey, show a little faith. Have I ever steered you wrong before?” LYLA whispered, hovering just above your shoulder. You paid her a skeptical look, and she sighed, rolling her eyes. “Okay, whatever, but you know who programmed me! You cannot believe Miguel would be able to give me this shining sense of humor.”

That point, you couldn’t argue – even if you still had your reservations. With a deep, faltering breath, you slipped through the barely cracked door and into Miguel’s shell of a bedroom. It was dark, save for the faint red glow emanating from some half-finished electronic weapon he’d been revising and adjusting for as long as you’d known him, and of course, Miguel was still asleep. It looked like he’d made a half-hearted attempt to pull one of his thin sheets over himself before collapsing face-down on the center of his bed – which was, in all fairness, probably exactly what happened. You’d learned his routine, by now, knew that he’d likely only sleep for another three hours or so before dragging himself out of bed and back to his surveillance room. This might’ve been the first time you’d actually seen him in bed, rather than hunched over one of his many consoles or laid across a bench in one of the lesser-used hallways, having given into his exhaustion before he could make it anywhere more private. You didn’t like it. It reminded you too much of waking up in the middle of the night to Miguel looming over you, silently leering as you pretended not to notice him, even if there was a world of difference between what he’d done to you and what you dreamed of doing to him.

You stepped over the threshold, then paused. “Why am I here again?”

“Blackmail.” Miguel had mentioned off-handedly that LYLA couldn’t feel human emotions, just imitate them, but you could’ve sworn you heard a note of pure zeal in her voice. “You get the picture, I spread it around, and we both benefit.” Your phone buzzed, and you fished it out of your pocket. It was practically a brick (being locked inside Miguel’s spider-fortress meant you were blocked from contacting anyone outside of that fortress, apparently), but you still liked to keep it nearby. In the futile hope that you’d be able to call someone, anyone if you did ever make it out of Miguel’s reach, one day. “He still hasn’t gotten over the 2099-Burger. You’ve seen it, right? That was some of my best work, you should’ve seen—”

You shushed her, and LYLA flickered out of sight before reappearing on the foot of the bed, a polaroid camera now hanging from her neck. Slowly, carefully, you moved forward, only to pause when you actually reached Miguel. He wasn’t wearing anything, because he never wore anything aside from his nanotech and maybe a threadbare pair of sweatpants, if you caught him after a shower. It’d been too long since his last haircut. It was already splitting at the ends, fighting against his half-hearted efforts to comb it back and falling over his face, distorting part of his (relatively) peaceful expression. Even unconscious, he was frowning, but the dark circles under his eyes were less pronounced, his lips contorted into something that was more of a pout than his usual scowl. No wonder LYLA wanted a picture. There had to be more than a few Spider-People who’d want proof that their irritable leader could be something other than angry.

Half stalling for time, half trying to talk that better taste off of your tongue, you turned to LYLA. “Remind me why you can’t just take you own pictures, again?”

“Some of us are just a bunch of flashing light. Hot flashing lights, but y’know, lights.” She held up her miniature camera, and you looked away before the flash could blind you. “C’mon, you can’t say you don’t want to get back at him.”

Right. Getting back at him. This was supposed to be your way of getting back him. He kidnapped you, tore you away from your loved ones, locked you in a case of glass and metal, and you were going to help his AI assistant take a picture of him sleeping. The perfect revenge.

Digging your teeth into the inside of your cheek, you raised your phone, but before you could take LYLA’s picture and retreat back to your own room to sulk, an alarm you hadn’t set went off at full volume. You cursed under your breath, stabbing blindly at the screen in a panicked effort to shut it up before Miguel woke up, but an arm lashed out from Miguel’s heap before you could, catching you by the waist and dragging you into his chest just as the alarm mysteriously when silent. You clenched your eyes shut, bracing yourself for his claws embedded in your skin, for a growled threat, but nothing ever came.

You forced yourself to open your eyes and found that, despite everything, Miguel was still unconscious. You heard a camera shutter behind you – LYLA, her grin too smug not to be genuine. No doubt, you’d be able to see her handiwork on every screen she had access to by tomorrow morning - meaning, of course, every screen in Nueva York. “I thought you said you couldn’t—”

“He’s a deep sleeper. Very reactive, though – did I forget to mention that?” There was a pause, a wink. “Oopsies.”

You grit your grit your teeth. “Are you at least going to make him let me go?”

“Ah – flashing lights, remember?” Again, she flickered, reappearing an inch or so away from your face. “I’ll see you in the morning, lovebirds!”

You opened your mouth, but she was gone before you had the chance to protest. Still, you squirmed against Miguel’s vice-like hold, attempting to shove at his arm only for another to wrap around his midriff, only for him to pin you that much more tightly to his chest. There was a low, heavy grunt, then his nose nudging against the side of your throat, his lips ghosting over your skin. Slowly, instinctually, his fangs pushed into the curve of your neck, drawing out a pained whimper, a thin trail of blood. His teeth lodged in your throat, his body wrapped around yours, he settled against you, his breathing falling back into a steady rhythm. Making sure you’d stay where you were until he woke up – whether that was in one hour or eight.

It was all you could do to take a deep breath, close your eyes, and hope LYLA would lead you to a swifter death, next time.

[qqueenofhades]

Hi! This question has been noodling in my head for a few weeks, and I’ve been really curious to hear your opinion. I’ve appreciated your very thoughtful commentary on the ways the online left in particular have hurt the real and concerted efforts that have been made to navigate through the Gaza war in support of Palestine. I’ve seen a lot of outrage online about Biden bypassing congress in order to make another emergency weapons sale to Israel, which does indeed read as counter to helping to the Palestinians facing endless and indiscriminate violence. I understand that you might not want to answer this ask, because the work that you already do in your life offline and the work that you do here on tumblr to respond to and explain these issues is exhausting enough. Thanks so much for your time and your thoughtful contributions! It’s always really helped me remember to slow down and think critically about the media I consume.

Because you have asked this thoughtfully and in good faith, I will return the favor and give you a careful and extensive answer to the best of my ability. However, obligatory top-of-post disclaimer that I will disable reblogs at the first hint of any wankery in the notes and I will not answer any follow-ups or secondary asks at this time (unless I decide to do so, but I engage with this topic sparingly, judiciously, and only in small doses, so don't count on it).

First, let me say that the moment, I disagree with substantial portions of how Biden is handling the two main foreign-policy crises (Ukraine and Gaza). In regard to Ukraine, I think he's backed off, taken his foot off the gas, and otherwise given Republicans ammunition to keep delaying or watering down a new aid bill, is refusing to disburse military aid packages from the $4 billion of funding remaining that was previously approved by Congress, hasn't sent long-range ATACMS and other critical military hardware that might bring the war to an end sooner, and is not (as of the moment, though recent reporting suggests this might change) pushing hard enough for frozen Russian assets to be transferred to Ukraine for military and/or humanitarian financial assistance. However, I am also aware (unlike, it seems, much of the left-leaning internet) that I am basing these judgments only on my personal impressions, on what is reported (or not reported) in the media (which has plenty of its own problems) and otherwise what is formed in my role as an ordinary American citizen without any kind of special, classified, high-level, or government access. I know nothing more than any of you, and I also know that a lot of what goes on behind closed doors does not appear on Political Twitter and/or the Washington Post or the Guardian or Daily Kos or whatever other aggregate sources of information I or any left-leaning person typically consumes. So it's highly possible (and this is my cautious academic instinct speaking) that I do not, in fact, have a full picture of events. There are also contributing factors that Biden cannot simply handwave aside, even if he did, say, dip back into the $4 billion pot in the meantime. Congress will need to pass a new funding bill for Ukraine aid and the MAGA Republicans have been enthusiastically blocking it to the point where Putin's cronies on Russian state TV praise them effusively for it. We all know about the Republicans and Russia's mutual love affair. So.

The same goes for Gaza, and even more because we have already had reporting about how the Biden administration is walking a behind-the-scenes tightrope in a number of seemingly impossible tasks: keeping the war from spreading to a larger theater, pressuring Netanyahu to dial down, y'know, the rampant genocide (when Netanyahu notoriously doesn't like Biden, was very close with Trump, and would be happy to keep the war going in order to boost Trump's chances of being re-elected and save Netanyahu himself from his own criminal prosecutions), and pursuing a complex policy toward the state of Israel that does not follow the antisemitic Western Online Left's fever dream of "Israel suddenly disappears overnight and falls into the ocean and all Jews die or disappear." We have had multiple credibly sourced reports about this. Blinken is back in the Middle East right now trying to keep the war from spreading. The US under Biden has criticized Israel's essentially empty policy document for post-war Gaza as not being remotely feasible (because it's so vague) and gone so far as to voice support for a two-state solution with Palestinian self-determination (which is itself quite radically different from previous administrations). However, they have also vetoed UN ceasefire resolutions and other essentially meaningless political theater (the UN as a whole has been ruthlessly exposed in the last few years for being completely useless) that are easy to gin up outrage about, and that's what the internet focuses on, rather than any of the other complicated actions taking place.

All of this is to say that no, in fact, I don't blindly support everything the Biden administration is doing in regard to either Ukraine or Israel right now, but I actually have a sense of real-world perspective about it and understand that there are certain immutable realities that we are working with and which will not be erased by some absolute jackasses yelling at Biden in a historically black church at the commemoration of an anti-black terrorist attack. Likewise, as I've said it before and I'll say it again, and as plenty of other people have noticed and pointed out, the Western left is using this as an orgy of pseudo-revolutionary fervor that focuses on using Hamas as a proxy for their own fantasies of violent uprising against their own governments. Because while yes, anti-zionism and antisemitism are two distinct things and represent different aims and goals, it's become more or less irrelevant in allegedly pro-Palestine Western leftist spaces. It's just increasingly rabid, accelerationist, and nihilistic antisemitism all the time, or the obvious usage of "Zionist" to mean "Jew." It's not good. There is no concept of actual restorative justice for Palestinians or other people, such as Ukrainians, Syrians, Uyghurs, Taiwanese, etc, either undergoing genocide or facing the threat of it, because Western leftists have latched onto this cause solely as a stick to beat the Democratic Party with and have no actual moral interest or concern in stopping genocide elsewhere in the world or repudiating it as a method overall. They just want the state of Israel (which they characterize as a "proxy state for white western colonialism" despite the many, many things historically, religiously, and politically wrong with that statement, because it means it now Contains the Right Buzzwords to Oppose It) to be destroyed altogether in the name of "opposing colonialism," but it really seems to be all about opposing Jews. Hmm.

Simply put, Biden is not ever going to pursue a policy of "let's totally abandon Israel tomorrow, never sell it any weapons or allow it to defend its own civilians, and agree that Hamas is actually a good representation or advocate for the Palestinian people" in the way a number of Western Online Leftists seem to think he should do. There is still the fact that Israeli civilians do exist and that Hamas has continued to launch missiles at them daily, inconvenient as that fact might be for the Hamas fanboys (and fangirls) who now populate much of what passes for Western leftist discourse spaces. (Either that or they don't care, because in their view, Israeli civilians are fully acceptable collateral damage by virtue of simply living in Israel in the first place, which -- yikes. Fucking yikes. That is all.) The number of people professing to be lifelong leftists who are Just Shocked at all the antisemitism, or thinking that any and all antisemitism is just artificially introduced into leftist spaces by bad-faith right-wing/Nazi psyops either has not spent any actual time around leftists, or (more likely) simply does not listen to what they openly say. The antisemitism is virulent, constant, and only getting worse. On the most basic level, regardless of the other difficulties around the founding of Israel as a state in 1948 and the fact that doing so on some of the most bitterly religiously, politically, ethnically, and culturally contested territory in the world for over two thousand years was always going to be a massive clusterfuck, the fact of its immediate post-Holocaust creation simply cannot be ignored the way many Online Leftists do. Israel exists because of the worst antisemitic mass murder in recorded history (and that's a high bar). That fact must be incorporated into any actual discussions about its right either to exist or to protect its own civilians. But this gets turned into "Israel exists only as a puppet state of white western colonialists" which is just bad on so, so many levels.

The collective Western Online Leftist feeling seems to be that Hamas are innocent and wronged freedom fighters who are begging for a ceasefire and the cruel Israelis aren't granting them one. This is not true. Hamas has rejected multiple ceasefire opportunities, and continued to launch missiles and retaliatory attacks, because they are terrorists and they do not want or represent any serious opportunity to negotiate in the framework of western liberal democracy. They are treated as helpless woobified blorbos by much of the Western leftist-leaning internet. They are not. In that case, Biden bypassing Congress to sell Israel weapons (which was just something like 100 million of artillery shells, which is not nothing but still not a huge systematic thing like, say, Reagan's Iran-Contra scandal) is not great. I do not support anything Israel is doing to Gaza. It is abhorrent. However, there are reasons for Biden to provide some limited amount of weapons to Israel without congressional approval that do not automatically and mindlessly equate to BIDEN SUPPORTS TOTAL GENOCIDE IN GAZA!!!!!!1 Especially when as I've said, the Online Leftists only care about stopping genocide when it fits their political self-righteousness, and absolutely not at all the rest of the time.

This is representative of the fact that Western Online Leftism has now completed its all-out descent into blind Noam Chomskyism. Chomsky has never met a "leftist" or "anti-Western" genocide he couldn't deny, excuse, or openly cheerlead (going all the way back to the 1970s and Pol Pot/the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia and going up to the minute with Russia/Ukraine and Israel/Palestine). Noam Chomsky is the leftist Henry Kissinger. His ethics and morals are equally abhorrent, he's just as willing to justify total genocide in the name of advancing his preferred political ideology, and while there were (justifiably) celebrations and gloating memes across Tumblr when Kissinger finally bit the dust, Chomsky's beliefs are replicated with slavish adoration in many other Tumblr spaces and spread in some form or another to the rest of the website, which now takes them as leftist gospel (and let's not even talk about Twitter). This represents my absolute frustration with the fact that Western Online Leftism has devolved to such a degraded, mindless, useless, and malevolent level that "cheerlead for any anti-western/Leftist TM terrorist group or state" is taken to be the be-all and end-all of their moral philosophy. Someone remarked that ISIS peaked too early; if they were still at the height of their powers today, they would have a legion of devoted white so-called progressive Twitter users shilling earnestly and angrily for them, and Christ, isn't that the fucking truth.

I know we live in a hard, frightening, complex, and difficult world, and it's hard to sort out what our moral responsibility and action should be at any given time, especially since the answer is always so frustratingly partial and incomplete. Nobody of basic good sense and decency wants to see Gaza leveled while the Israeli state continues to apply a number of violently cruel collective punishments even outside the actual daily bombing of civilians. But for the love of god, let's get rid of the idea that the continued mindless violence doesn't benefit Hamas (because it does; unsurprisingly, sympathy for their cause has soared in Gaza) as much as it does Israel, or that Hamas is some kind of benevolent peacemaker that is being thwarted by the cruel imperialist US/West. And going back to the incident that prompted you to send me this ask: white leftists have often and repeatedly demonstrated their withering disdain for black people, Democratic voters, "mainstream" Americans, and anyone else doesn't buy into the twisted tankie fantasy land where getting rid of Biden would somehow be a massive coup for social justice (by getting Trump, now openly announcing at every turn that he will be a dictator, back into office! Very praxis, much justice. Wow.)

In short: if you, a white person, stand up in Mother Emanuel AME -- one of the most sacred sites for Black churchgoers, who are indeed often heavily Democratic voters -- in the middle of a remembrance service for victims of white supremacist terrorism, after the Black pastor has asked you not to protest inside the church out of respect for the Black community coming together to relive its trauma -- just so you can heckle Biden and feel good about yourself, then Jesus Christ. You don't care about restorative justice for people of color, or literally any justice at all, much less "stopping genocide." You just want to use them as props for your Chomsky cosplay revolutionary fantasies and your sense of self-righteous superiority over literally everyone else, regardless of the real-world consequences. So I have no hesitation whatsoever in telling those people to get fucked. Often and repeatedly.

[hollenka99]

It just occurred to me that Odysseus is going to end up on Ogygia the next time we see him. Which is so funny to me because like

Imagine you've gone through all this shit since leaving Troy some two years ago. It has been hell and you have been losing crewmates here, there and everywhere. But you survive, even if it takes some sacrifices. Only for Zeus to get involved because, while staging a mutiny, your best friend tries to slaughter sacred cattle. So the god of thunder forces you to pick between your life (along with the remaining hope of ever making it home to your wife) or that of your crew (who have all completely given up hope of returning home).

You elect yourself as the survivor, despite how much it pains you. Zeus' thunder strikes the boat, obliterating it and sending you all to the water. Ha, you think as you begin drowning, you should have known. This was probably a ruse to rub it in your face that you fatally betrayed your crew one last time. Water and the bodies of your friends surround you. As it goes black, you think of Penelope and Telemachus, so apologetic that you won't be able to return home to them after all this effort expended as a way of striving towards that goal.

Except... except you don't die? You instead wake up on the sands of a beach, waves gently lapping at you while a woman hovers over you. She explains she is Calypso and nobody is able to come or go from her hidden island. She turns out to not be the worst company around, she's just a bit too forward.

In moments alone, you sit on the shore while contemplating the possibility of spending the rest of your mortal life here with only one other person. You would love to be on the coast of Ithaca instead, your wife and son hopefully beside you. Yet all you can think in these moments is:

I did not condemn my crew to death just to be hit on by another titan's daughter. Hera, please stop testing my undying faithfulness already.

[thelaurenshippen]

finally taking the time to read through the SAG agreement summary and oof, I hope they have an AI town hall soon because...well, there are things to discuss!

so, in case folks are curious, here are my immediate takeaways from the deal as a SAG actor, a SAG producer, and person who is not any kind of expert but spends a lot of time being skeptical of contracts I sign. this is a summation/commentary, not a holistic breakdown of every point, nor even an in-depth discussion of the points I do talk about. and it is, of course, in no way legal advice or voting advice.

this post is already maybe the longest post I've ever written on tumblr (lol) and I feel like I've barely scratched the surface. to be clear, nothing I'm saying here represents how I'm going to vote, how I think other actors should vote, or my be-all-end-all stance on a particular issue. this is me reading through, flagging what concerns me, and asking myself questions. and I'm here to take your questions too! though of course my expertise is limited.

(what?? something I wrote got annoying long?? in my tumblr? it's more likely, etc. huge write-up after the cut)

the good

self-tape stuff: this is one of the more niche/the thing that the general public will find least interesting, but they've put in a lot of provisions to make sure self-tape auditions have limits (# of pages, no stunts, no nudity, doesn't have to be professionally shot, etc.) which is amazing because these types of auditions have gotten out of control since the pandemic. this feels like a great gain

data transparency: in no world did I think the streamers were ever going to agree to any data sharing with either the wga or sag so even though the data is limited, this still feels huge to me.

folks who sing and dance will be paid for both of those things now, which is great

they've added MLK day and Juneteenth as holidays (about time)

a performer cannot be required to translate their own lines

principal performers are required to be given hair and makeup consultation or reimbursed for obtaining their own services - this seems like a small thing, but it's being put in here pretty much entirely because HMU services have generally been appalling when it comes to textured hair/a variety of skin tones. there's also stuff in here about working to hire more diverse HMU artists

it looks like it's going to be easier/provide a path for folks getting IMDb credits even if they're not credited on screen

miscellany: there's a bunch of gains in wage increases, P&H increases, relocation fees, franchise language etc. that all seem good to me, though my limited knowledge on those subjects prevents me from going in depth on them.

this is not important, but it tickled me, there's a term to replace all instances of "telegraph" in the contract with "email & text" which like...why has it taken us thirty years to do that lol.

the "...hm..."

intimacy coordinators: oof. when I watched the press conference SAG gave, I was fucking thrilled when they said that the new agreement required folks to hire intimacy coordinators for nudity and simulated sex scenes. that was almost reason enough for me to vote for it tbh - not requiring it is the exact reason I voted no on our last contract. however, reading the contract summary now, the exact language is: "Producer must use best efforts to engage an Intimacy Coordinator for scenes involving nudity or simulated sex and will consider in good faith any request by a performer to engage an Intimacy Coordinator for other scenes. Producer shall not retaliate against a performer for requesting an Intimacy Coordinator." this....sucks. "best efforts" and "good faith" are not the same as "required". IMO, an intimacy coordinator is the same thing as having a stunt coordinator or, like, any number of health and safety requirements. OSHA doesn't say you must "in good faith" put your "best effort" to providing fire exits. it's great that performers can request coordinators for any kind of scene, and this is still the strongest language we've ever had in a contract but....c'mon guys.

residuals: look, I can't speak to these new terms in any concrete way. there are increases, there are bonuses for streaming success, there's a whole thing about a fund regarding those successes that I need explained to me more in depth, but overall, it looks like we made some in-roads here. as someone who employs actors under digital distribution contracts that has no residuals (podcasts), I know how genuinely cumbersome the unholy trifecta of "views-success-profit" can be (as in views do not equal success, success does not equal profit, etc.). I also have no sympathy when the majority of companies dealing with that cumbersome trifecta are massive media conglomerates. anyway, long story short, idk if this is good enough, I'm hoping to attend the next info meeting sag has.

the bad

the new hair/makeup provisions are explicitly for principal actors. while I hope it leads to better, more inclusive HMU services all around I haaaate that this implies supporting or background actors (who oftentimes also have to sit in HMU) don't deserve the consideration. (then again, background actors are usually required to do their own HMU/bring their own costumes, but for productions where that's not the case, the same HMU provisions should apply IMO)

as with every contract, there's language that could be stronger, clarity that needs to exist, and important things missing - but this isn't the final contract and I'm not a lawyer, so I'm gonna leave that stuff to the experts.

but, "lauren", you say, "what about all the AI stuff? where does that go?" well, reader, I was planning on including that in the above but it's the hot-button issue right now and I think it's wickedly complicated, so I wanted to break it down separately, after I had a chance to point out all the good-bad-in-between stuff that's not getting talked about.

a note: in my career, I've learned there's two big things to keep in mind when reading a contract you might sign:

what is the worst case interpretation of this language (thank you to my lawyer, prince among men, for teaching me how to do this in practice (that said, anything I say here is not legal advice, he'd also want me to say that lol))

what are you willing to lose/compromise on/what are the limits of your pragmatism? contracts are not about a company giving you everything you want out of the goodness of their heart - it is always a compromise. pragmatism has to be a part of the equation.

so, with that said, I'm going to play a little devil's advocate here, and a) try to find the good/the pragmatic and b) catastrophize the worst case scenario. but first, it might be handy to look at this SAG infographic for some basic definitions. let's go.

the AI good

a ton of stuff here requires consent. that is not a small thing, and the consent continues even after your death (whether it was a yes or no; though this can be complicated by your estate/your union)

the language does establish that the consent must be a separate signing from the employment contract, even if its in the contract, which is great (but more on that below - timing matters)

actors often do get paid for use of their digital replicas, though it's different based on the use/type of replica.

the actor must be provided with a "reasonably specific description of the intended use". this language is vaguer than I would like, because it allows producers to decide what "reasonably specific" and "intended" means - there's always going to be some vagueness when it comes to this specific thing, but a good start would be for producers to require not blanket consent, but conditional consent for each significant use of digital replicas.

if the replicas are being used in other mediums, that must also be consented to, thank god.

replicas cannot be used in place of background actor counts on a given day - if I'm understanding this correctly, this means a production can't just have a bunch of fake background actors by themselves, they have to engage real people up to a certain number first (which in this new contract is 25 for TV and 85 for movies). we're already filling in background with digital people or copy-pasting of the same crowd over and over and have been doing so since at least the late 90s, so it's good we're continuing to put up boundaries around that.

the AI "...hm..."

it's unclear (to me) when an actor can be asked to consent. IMO, everything is meaningless if the consent is happening as part of regular contract negotiations. these things have to happen when - and only when - the actor has already been engaged in a role and feels empowered to say no

the use of independently created replicas (replicas pulled from existing footage, not created by the actor) being allowed without consent under first amendment reasoning - this is obviously concerning a lot of people bc first amendment arguments are so broad. that said, there's a pragmatism part of me that understands this is already happening/has been happening for a while and used in ways I think are perfectly fine - I was just watching the new episode of For All Mankind (one of the best TV shows right now!) and it's an alternate history, which meant that in the opening scenes of this season they had some bonkers good deep fakes of Al Gore saying stuff he never said. I think that's okay to do in a fiction show that imagines a different US history! "but Lauren", you might be saying, "Al Gore isn't a member of SAG!" are you sure? are you positive? because I'm pretty certain he is - he was in several episodes of 30 Rock, way more people are in SAG than you think (every NPR reporter for instance), and the two worst presidents we've had in the last 50 years (yes, those ones), are both definitely members of SAG (even if one is dead). now, the other side of this is that public figures like politicians are under a different social contract than actors, and if they wanted to sue, they could, unlike the average SAG actor who might have their image abused. this is why this is in the "hm" column - deep fakes and parody/satire/commentary use of replicas is already here and there's always going to be a 1st amendment argument to make, so we need to figure out how best to limit those and protect the most vulnerable.

alteration: with this language, a project can digitally alter without consent if the script and performance stays "substantially" the same. again, this language is too mealy-mouthed. I don't know that I have a huge problem with a line of dialogue getting replaced with a digital version of that actors voice if, for instance, a word was mispronounced, or wind garbled the sound or whatever - yes, it would eliminate the need for ADR, but if we put some limit on it like..."if there are more than 5 lines in a given episode/movie that require digital alteration in the service of clarity, the actor must be engaged for an ADR session or paid for the digital replacement" then I could see this being workable. I'm also personally okay with things like costumes being digitally altered but, again, we need limitations on that. digital altering cannot replace the art of costuming but, for instance, if a costume needs to be altered to include a hate symbol or something, I think that's fine (example: I have friends who worked at the VFX house for an alternate history TV show that involved a lot of Nazi costuming and set design - a huge part of that VFX house's job was to put swastikas in places, rather than props making nazi flags. I'm okay with that!) but again, these fringe cases do not a compelling arugment make, and this contract language can be interpreted too broadly for my comfort! like everything else in this "hm" category, I need to see the final contract language to decide.

the AI bad

there's a bunch of circumstances in which actors don't get paid for creating their replica/use of it and those circumstances are too broad for my taste.

synthetic performers - this is just awful. no. no, we should not be allowing AI to generate entire actors. just............no. there's some language about the producers having to talk to the union if the synthetic performer is "used in place of a performer who would have been engaged under this Agreement in a human role" but this doesn't apply to non-human characters so....wouldn't that be all roles?? leaving the producers room to be like "this role has to be synthetic, we never would've cast a human!" is bullshit. also, even if we're having AI create a magical talking unicorn whole cloth (which, like, also no, we have artists for this), that unicorn still needs to be voiced by a human person. this whole section is a disaster.

the exceptions to consent for digital alteration are bad-bad. I talked about the potential ADR replacement above and that has a whole host of issues with it that I didn't even get into, but I can see the argument. the rest are very troubling:

there is an exception under "any circumstance when dubbing or use of a double is permitted under the Codified Basic Agreement or Television Agreement" - okay, so does this mean we can replace dubbing artists and stunt performers entirely? this section is about digital alteration, but who's to say alteration couldn't turn an actor broadly miming a fight into an entirely digital, expertly performed fight that usually a stunt double would have done? with AI translation technology, does this mean we're replacing VO artists for dubs entirely? bad!

similarly, "Adjusting lip and/or other facial or body movement and/or the voice of the performer to a foreign language, or for purposes of changes to dialogue or photography necessary for license or sale to a particular market" - Justine Bateman has a great twitter thread on the terrible puppetry potential of this but I want to draw attention to the particular market bit - we all know that selling to china is such a huge part of studios' strategies that they'll remove entire scenes or lines around queer stuff. to me, this clause makes all of that so much easier. I know the argument here is going to be "we can replace swear words and license it for kids!" which.......sure? fine? but, uh, we already have ways to deal with that? and the potential for abuse here is terrifying to me. with all the digital alteration stuff too, there's just so much icky implication for the beauty/body standard to get so much worse.

if a background actor’s digital replica is used in the role of a principal performer, they'll be paid as if they actually performed the days for that role, which, sure, but uhhhh why are we saying it's okay for a digital replica of a background actor to suddenly be a leading role!?!?! I can't think of anything more demoralizing than going to set to act in background (a job I've done! an important job! a fun job a lot of the time! but creatively limited) and then getting a much bigger role (the dream!) and.....not being able to, you know, act that role or be in scenes with other principal actors or do the thing that you've dedicated your life to doing. nightmare stuff.

woof. there's so much more to say but I'm going to leave it there. these are the concerns I'm going to go into SAG's meetings with, and the concerns I'll be considering as I decide how to vote. I know there are things I didn't address and very possibly things I misinterpreted or misrepresented - if you're an actor, I highly recommend a) reading that Justine Bateman thread and b) attending SAG's meetings to ask questions and express your concerns. and I'd love to hear what y'all think! my ask box is open.

[puckpocketed]

So do you actually believe PLD is a good player or is that part of the bit?

The PLD Post

i spent a good 2 days giggling about this to friends. i cant tell if ur a curious caps fan, a person who knows me from my other teams, a disgruntled kings fan (i’ve mostly ruled this out because im pretty sure i know all of the active ones on here) or WHAT. but i’m laughing. the tone of this ask is hilarious and vaguely accusatory but i will take it in good faith and answer <3 tl;dr yes and no. he’s better than people think he is rn, but he’s likely never going to live up to the potential of his tools unless something . idk. recalibrates his entire being. who knows!

i was working on something longer and more complex but i thought about it for more than 5 seconds and i REFUSE to go hockey-bro mode and pull out the microstats and i don’t wanna make this into a full on PLD manifesto. so. caps girlies (gn) HERE are your adoption papers under the cut!

if you are looking at pierre luc dubois who is 6’4 + 220lb and thinking “Oh he’s a power forward” i have to inform you he is in fact THEEE smallest mouse to ever play hockey in the whole world and in all of history. he sips nectar out of a thimble and sleeps curled up in a match box and goes fishing in a boat made from nutshells and twigs . he’s big, but he sort of plays small.

this is not necessarily a bad thing — he relies on foot speed and skill over hitting.

he can throw hits but prefers to stick check. he leverages his big frame to guard the puck and to defend, and it makes him simultaneously VERY effective and very much what i like to call a Nexus Of Crime. he is either drawing ten thousand penalties because people have to do something to stop him from driving the net with speed OR he is taking ten thousand penalties because he gets eager in the corners.

PLUS he’s huge and refs do just assume he’s committing a crime when they can’t see what’s going on <3 hence, Nexus Of Crime! if there’s a penalty he’s probably involved LMAO

not a “dirty” player by any means. not physical unless he decides he wants to. and there is no violence inside of him unless he’s deeply horsebonded to his team <- IMPORTANT re; playoffs aspirations. you won’t see him put himself on the line simply for the love of the game, he HAS to be committed to the team.

to be committed to his team… i’m honestly not sure what that takes. i’d guess a combination of knowing his role on the ice and in the locker room (this was very unclear on lak) consistency of messaging from coaches (also seemed to be an issue on lak)

i know nothing about caps coaching or management or the team vibes but i’m sure you can fix him <3 i’m ready to fall in love and ride this team to the sunset

this failhorse will NOT shoot the puck and if he does it will be the saddest soggiest most pathetic shot you’ve ever seen. you will tear your hair out in chunks if you watch him expecting an elite goalscorer.

he’s a pass-first guy. likes to drop pass! likes to drive play from the middle but is also capable of getting pucks off the boards. he needs a finisher on his wing. i could pull up stats here, there are stats to be pulled up, but i know this in my HEART from watching dozens of kings games: he would have had 10-15 more points easily if he wasn’t stapled to the 3rd line and had better finishers. many times i watched him tee up a very good opportunity only for his guy to miss the net or fan or just get knocked off the puck

individually, he thrives in front of the net. his ass is fat and he’s about to use it to screen the goalie. hes good at catching loose pucks in the crease to send them home <3 see his performance at worlds. he scored basically all of his goals right up there!!

most media coverage/narratives will tell you his point production dropped off bc of effort (which is true) but even the MOST resentful kings watchers will say pld wasn’t given his best shot playing with inexperienced+fringe nhlers, being line shuffled the moment he got a bit comfortable, and also not getting ANY net front time on the lak pp. i factor this into all my judgements of his performance.

He’s def earned his diva rep LMAO!! this is personal opinion here but he seems like a sensitive and easily rattled little clam… like he will have a couple of bad shifts and if there’s nobody there to shake him out of it he’ll lose his grasp on the game and play like shit <3 a rolling joke on kingstwt was figuring out which PLD we were getting that game, and you could tell by his 5th if he was switched on or off!!

they hate him for this but EYE think this is nothing new for athletes and if he can consistently stay in the zone he’ll probably be pretty good. mental fortitude of a wet tissue my beloved….

moving onto the Vibes section!! he was always good humoured in media availability and didn’t shy away from scrums even when public opinion soured against him and critiques of both his hockey and his character had reached a fever pitch. i like this about him. he always gave authentic answers and tried his best to accomodate them, and never hid behind his captains.

he gets along quite well with teammates despite the narratives. no seriously!! some of the the kings had a hang out during off-season right before they went to worlds!! there’s bisexual lighting!!!!

there’s interviews from old jets teammates that are just like. “he used to turn up at my house with his dog and text IM HERE with no warning and that’s how we became friends” or “his obsession with euro soccer teams bewitched me”. he had control of the aux cord. he was a den mother and planned group gatherings. a genuine sweetheart to every teammate he’s ever had!!

I don’t think he’s some. idk. secret 100 point producing star 1C. but i truly believe with the right environment he’ll probably hit 60 points again.

thank you for your time if you made it this far and i hope to see you all in the trenches (caps lb) next season 👍

[samara444]

when shifting/manifesting starts feeling like a burden/chore.

forcing and trying and wanting to manifest and shift is sooooo hard. i know. its so burdensome, it feels so pathetic, every night trying and wishing and still never having. giving ur so called best but getting no result in return. its heavy and it weighs you down, especially if you have been doing it for years.

but…..no one is asking you to carry this burden. i will say it again, NOOO ONE IS ASKINGG YOUU TO CARRY THIS BURDEN. no one is asking you to TRY to have, to FORCE yourself to feel good, to forceee it to happen. u do not have to affirm a million times and visualise and saturate and meditate and climb mount everest.

it drove me insane everytime i read a shifting success story and all they did was put on a subliminal roll over and they so effortlessly woke up in their DR. i used to try sooo hard oh my god, i used to affirm all day and force myself to count to 100 and stay still, and reach the void and feel good and match the frequency and ugh its just so. much. effort. and then i would wonder how they could shift so easily without doing anything and im here trying so hard without any result.

it took me a while to realise, but efforts is not equal to results. fulfillment is. belief is. more your efforts and “hard work” and “trying” is not equals to success. but more ur belief and trust and faith, more your results.

so many people think of it once and forget about it, i struggled with that for years because this is something i want soo bad how could i have “forgotten about it”, but the truth is you dont have to forget and force yourself to let go and then feel like shit if you dont…..as long as you know its done.

no one is asking you to try so hard, even with the LEAST amount of effort, in the most insanely easy that it seems unreal, the easiest and the most effortless path is what you deserve. let this burden down.

this preconceived notion that society has enstilled that the harder you work you happier you will be. let thatt go. and accept that if you already had it….why would you affirm a million times and force yourself?? it would be effortless already because its already yours. YOU choose. you choose if you have to climb mount everest to shift, or it can be as simple as one affirmation and then waking up in your dr.

give it to yourself. let it be easy for you. And stop trying. have faith that if you have asked it once and given it your all, its enough. living in this conviction and staying true to the unseen is the way to all miracles.

-love, sam <3

[suzannahnatters]

Having shared my RINGS OF POWER s2 eulogy, and while assuring you all that I am also mourning the loss of one of the best things about the show, I would also like to take a moment to defend the decisions being made by the showrunners and writers here.

Before I get started, I just want to acknowledge the members of my writers' group. This post owes much to our discussions. Anyway, when it comes to Adar's death, there are three reasons why I'm not calling his death pointless, or blaming the showrunners for bad writing. The overall reason is this: Adar represents the show's efforts to treat Orcs like people. In this sense, his character was a blazing success. Look at us all, with a hopeless crush on an Orc? Success.

But let's go a bit deeper.

SIMON TOLKIEN'S EXECUTIVE MEDDLING

The fact that Simon Tolkien made an EXCELLENT call in asking the showrunners to keep Adar around for an extra season...still doesn't stop what he did from being executive meddling, or from causing tricky ramifications in the second season. Adar was a first-season antagonist, brilliantly well-written, but ultimately only intended to be a supporting character. The decision to keep him on, suddenly made him more charismatic, more mysterious, and more sympathetic. Given how he'd been set up as a warm-up baddie...season 2 suddenly turned around and made us think he was here to stay. The writers had cornered themselves: on the Tolkien Estate's behest, they had a dark horse who was about to run away with the show. I'm not going to fault them for going ahead with their original plan, because they would have had to retool subsequent seasons massively in order to fit in an Adar redemption arc, and you can't necessarily do that when the whole arc of your story is already planned.

JRR TOLKIEN'S LEGACY

All of us have written things we're not proud of. JRR Tolkien wrote a story world with something problematic hard-baked into the foundations: an entire race of beings for whom genetics determined ethics. Can you even imagine what it must have taken for him to get to the end of a long life spent in the dedicated pursuit of this story world, and to have the courage to admit that he might have been wrong? That really isn't something most authors are capable of. When Peter Jackson went to make LOTR and HOBBIT into movies, he did nothing to scrutinise this issue. His Orcs are flat: monstrous, comic, but never people.

TROP challenged that, and exercised significant skill, care, and wisdom in doing so. But they are still attempting a faithful adaptation of Tolkien's source material. We know where this story is going. Galadriel will end up in Lorien with her elf wifeguy. The Orcs will fall under Sauron's dominion and become his tools, enslaved to his will with the Ring. I did fantasise about Adar being Celeborn, and possibly some of his "children" getting to nope out of Sauron's dominion or even be turned into Elves. But we now know that was never on the table. The Orcs were always meant to fall to the Enemy. But here's the point: for the first time in the history of Tolkien works and adaptations, TROP allowed them the dignity of a fall. Going forward in the show, the Orcs won't be monstrous cannon fodder: they'll be people we knew, people we were pulling for, people whose deaths matter. They are, not a waste, but a tragedy.

TOLKIENIAN TRAGEDY

Look...there's nothing more Tolkienian than a beautiful disaster of a man who dies far too early.

And yes, I know that it's something we've seen before and wish storytellers would move away from - the Moment of Grace that never becomes anything more than a Moment. The villain who has a five minute redemption, then dies conveniently so that the heroes never have to work through the messy business of forgiveness and accountability (although I always did wonder how it would play to see a redeemed Adar, possibly Celeborn, living the rest of his life as a redeemed Uruk among people who hold an undying enmity with his children). It's happened so often that when I, Suzannah Rowntree, sit down to write a six book series where the irredeemable villain has to live and build a new and more accountable life for himself, there's startlingly little template for it, at least in Western media. We live in times that are starved for happy endings and genuine redemption arcs. I wanted so badly for Adar and his "children" to be blessed, and not cursed, by this narrative. So I get the rage. I get the grief.

But tragedy is still a valid art form. Again, all this is a function of the show successfully making the Orcs matter. And the reason the Orcs needed to matter is because they are about to be enslaved to Sauron. They were so close. They genuinely could have been good. Adar could have led them into an alliance with the Elves against their enemy - but instead, just like Celebrimbor, just like Galadriel, they are deceived by him. They turn to him out of fear that their father figure is treating them like cannon fodder, and now they have no one to advocate for them. And that's the tragedy of their situation.

We might all be a little tired of tragedy, but it's still valid, especially insofar as it never, ever forgets to treat its characters like people. Did the writers have to choose tragedy? No. Adar might have lived and undergone a redemption arc.

But the writers didn't have to give Adar a redemption arc, either. Any more than they had to so deeply humanise the Orcs and their father. It's not perfect writing, but it's not bad writing, either. Indeed, for a Tolkien adaptation trying to both honour the author's work and scrutinise his failings, in my opinion it's doing brilliantly.

And...honestly, I'm kind of happy that they left me wanting more, and better, for Adar. Because now I get to write that story myself.

[accio-victuuri]

my mostly calm(er) reaction and reflection post on the magnolia awards nomination list 🥀

sir i don’t understand. why aren’t good people rewarded? // as the old saying goes, evil doers get gold belts and good people can’t even keep their corpses. { war of faith episode 24 }

the quote above is one of my favorites from the show and i feel the truth to it now more than ever. i have already posted about my initial rage and that hasn’t changed, it’s not okay and will never be. i’m mostly a pacifist but i’m not a doormat. there is a reason why the WOF account or the other nominees like the director and “best actor” have not posted their thanks as soon as the nominations were out because they are guilty. it speaks volumes and they should be ashamed of themselves. if you look at the most recent post for WOF weibo account, they are being torn apart. not to mention blog accounts and the same audience who supported the drama calling them out.

this should not be a surprise to those of us who watched the show and understood it’s meaning. because this is what the show thought us, to not stay quiet when there is injustice. much like how wei ruolai said that he is ashamed to be in this mountain. how he was not afraid to leave his dream and literally walk back to Jiangxi for what he believes is the right thing to do. i don’t think you will fully understand the hurt, this is not just me being a yibo stan but someone who saw myself in Wei Ruolai.

the drama was about how the youth can change the world. the reality, and what just happened is proving otherwise. i’m sharing this quote here cause it perfectly explains the problem:

"If the youth are strong, the country will be strong" but the truth is the youth are strong, but you don't recognize it.

this incident exposed the problem with these acting awards. i daresay, not only that, but with other industries where everything has to be about seniority. which in turn makes the younger generation feel burned out and contribute to wanting to lie flat. because what’s the point if the game is rigged. the CCP have always given importance to the youth. often inserting the message of why you all should have kids now because they are the future. they are important blah blah blah — but this simple award? you can’t even show fairness? Wang Yibo is the poster boy for CCP’s propaganda on how an upstanding Chinese Youth should be. He has been in the most recent years, we all cannot deny that with how prominent he is showing up in nationalistic programs tied to the “youth”. So if someone as popular/well-known/talented as WYB can’t be treated fairly. can’t be rewarded with his efforts, then what more for a normal citizen?

WOF team and Magnolia Awards really opened a can of worms here. It goes deeper than nominations and a fandom. In a way, it’s good how this exposed the corrupt system and contributed to why people are so angry. The tag for him continued to stay on top because a lot of netizen can relate, even if you didn’t watch it, i bet they had something to say. It’s been happening for some time but definitely is magnified because of Yibo’s popularity and it made them look really bad.

I am aware of Yibo’s chances with the history of older nominees when it comes to this Awards show but I am confident that he had a good chance of getting it. What made me livid was Wang Yang taking the nom. You can slice and dice it however you want, but Yibo carried that show. He is the main lead. The story is about Wei Ruolai. If Yibo didn’t get it i will still speak up but with the betrayal, not only to him but also the screenwriter — i can’t stay silent and be the “rational” vic that most of you are familiar with. WAR OF FAITH is still one of my favorite dramas with how it affected me and is largely contributing to why i’m reacting the way i do.

I’m not gonna defend anyone. Only Wang Yibo. Honestly. Fuck them all. I watched the show and supported it for WYB — everyone else don’t matter. I won’t post any hate message on their accounts but they get no love from me either.

So now let me get to the good part. Because no matter how hurt we all are, there is still a lot of good that came out of this. The silver lining(s) if you will.

1. Everyone who said that WYB has some backers can fuck off. This proves that he hasn’t. He has no background. There is no big-name pulling the strings for him. He is where he is because he is WANG YIBO. His name alone is enough. WOF got the green light because Wang Yibo’s name was on it. Now more than ever, it is proven that he is where he is because of who he is and what he can bring to the table.

2. We are reminded once again that producers are not our friends. LOL. if you know, you know. it’s all business. So don’t kiss their ass.

3. The fact that he trended #1 for hours, and still is right now at number 4 is proof of how great he represented the character of Wei Ruolai. People now recognize him as an actor who deserves a nomination and a win. The general public are now on his side. He is the underdog and there is nothing more that we want to see than a beaten down person rise above it and win. In a way, this creates more buzz and anticipation for his next movie that will be out. 🫶🏼

4. This has really set him apart from his peers of idol actors who crossed over to being professionals. He did it so effectively and in a short span of time. What happened is sad, but he won people’s hearts and those who already do stan him are more geared up to support him in the future. 💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼

I’m happy for WOF’s nomination. If i’m being honest, it was a sure thing. I’m proud WYB was part and led this amazing drama to what it is. He will continue to give us more excellent works because that is his gift to the audience who always support him.

In the next coming days, if WYB or most likely YBO puts something out, that’s what i’m gonna follow. The most i will do is congratulate WOF, but the others? no thank you.

[goodolddumbbanana]

A friendly hang out (Molten x Sun platonic crackship)

Sumary: They are friends. Or Molten totally nail Sun as his friend. And Sun right now, still a litle bit awakard. Sun still feels uncomfortable when someone cares about him. He likes Molten and also want to be friendly and befriend with the bear. But old habits die hard and sometimes, Sun still feels uncertain whether Molten will be like everyone else, leaving him or stabbing him in the back.

Daycare was as cheerful and lively as ever. The lively sound of music hit Molten's ears, as the bear animatronic moved inside the door.

The children had all gone home, leaving only Sun to clean up.

'What a mess. Oh my god...' Even from afar, Molten could hear Sun's groans. The sun model sat on the ground, surrounded by scattered barrels. The faint scent of antiseptic wafted to the tip of Molten's nose.

Molten's orange-gray fur was even reflected on the plastic, glistening under the bright lights.

'How much detergent did Sun use? '

Molten tilted his head. His metal body covered in wires clanked, yet Sun had yet to notice him behind. A focus and joy that Molten rarely had the chance to witness, especially when the yellow animatronic was always in a state of anxiety or depression.

“Hmm… Argh!! Molten!!? You scared the crap out of me!!” Sun was startled and almost jumped back. An overly dramatic expression appeared on Sun’s face, and their hands unconsciously folded as if to cover their faces.

“Hello, Sun.” Molten replied cheerfully, waving his claws. “Do you want to hang out?”

“Go out?” Sun straightened up, looking puzzled. They shook their heads at him with helpless expressions, and as if they couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“But why, Molten?! I'm kinda busy right now.. and…”

Sun’s hands waved in the air, as if Molten had turned on some kind of anxiety switch in Sun.

“But you have been so busy lately. I just want you to relax a little bit. Is that not okay, Sun?” Molten lowered his head, his claws poking at each other.

“Y–Yes! Of course it’s okay. It’s just… there are people who are busier than me, like Solar, Moon… Laying around just feels wrong… you know.” Sun stuttered, looking more and more like they were about to scream, or faint. “I just want to get out of my head by doing the things I can do the best.” Sun opposes weakly, even though he seems like he didn’t charge for like a couple days. 

Molten genuinely liked Moon. He liked Solar too. They were good people, and they had both helped him a lot. Moon and the Creator had helped him fix his software, and Solar had given him a new body. 

But it was Sun who had given him a little faith into the future, and it was him who truly asked what he wanted or his purpose was. Because if it weren't for Sun, he would still be trapped in Moon's cage, lost in the curse the Creators had placed on him, with a pain of emptiness that could only be released by catching Ruin.

Because Sun looked like a sinking ship patched up with duct tape but still able to survive countless storms. Because Sun knew what it felt like to put all his effort into a meaningless goal, only to get nothing in return, just like Molten had when he sent Ruin into the abyss.

Because Sun was a good person, and Molten didn't understand what that meant, due to the fact his rotten nature, though repaired, would never be complete.

“Why do you think so lowly of yourself, Sun? Because here, I see everyone admiring and loving you?”

Molten had always been a good observer. 

He had seen Earth’s dependent and loving gaze, as she played with Sun like an overly pampered little sister. He had also seen the starry admiration in Lunar’s eyes, and the carefully hidden truth behind Sun’s brother’s indifferent demeanor. He had also seen how Moon’s innate sharpness softened whenever Sun was mentioned, and how Solar, despite his rudeness at times, had something secretly protective atmosphere toward Sun, like trying not to touch an open wound.

Everyone connected to Sun in a different way, and between them, Molten felt a sense of respect, admiration, trust, protection and love.

Molten liked that. He likes Sun. He likes the warm feeling whenever the two of them hang out, the feeling running through Molten's main circuit was almost like wanting, like possessing. It feels full. And it makes Molten feel less cold than ever.

Still, because of that, there was a stream of thoughts that came from nowhere running through Molten's small head, screaming passive rage every time he saw Sun talking or playing with someone else.

Because Sun is his friend, and he didn't like it when his friend was closer to someone else than him.

Because Sun still feels comfortable with others more than with him, and he can’t ever beat them due to the fact Molten is just Sun's new friend, and there a lot of people know Sun longer than him.

Was this strange? Molten's ears drooped. Was he becoming selfish for thinking like that?

Was he a bad person? Molten didn't want to be bad, he was bad and now he wanted to become better.

He wanted to hang out with Sun, he wanted to do more things that he felt like, he wanted to find something he was good at to help people.

"Ha... I guess so." Sun muttered. Their bright faces huddled together, even their shoulders lowered. Compared to someone who was almost the same height as Molten, at this moment, Sun looked really small.

There were many things Molten didn't know. There were many things Molten didn’t understand. But he did know that his friend was sad right now. And perhaps the thing that had distracted Molten would be of some use to Sun?

“Do you want to watch a movie, Sun?” Molten repeated what Sun had said. The yellow animatronic still looked hesitant, but nodded slowly. Their voices were still as tense and shrill as before, but more or less, their backs had relaxed a lot now.

“Wait until I finish cleaning this up, Molten.”

“I’ll help.” Molten clumsily sitting down, his loose strands accidentally bumping into the barrels that Sun had neatly arranged into vertical columns, now falling to pieces.

Sun stared, the look of Sun almost making his non-existent heart cringe before they sighed.

“It’s okay, Molten. You can use that rag over there to wipe it, okay?”

“Yeah.” Molten nodded. In the silence, accompanied by Sun’s pleasant hum, Molten timidly asked.

“We’re friends, right, Sun?”

And Sun… in a minute of silence. Their mechanical wrists were as regular as the hands of a clock. The sunlight reflected their images, reflected Molten’s fur in Sun’s eyes. There was something vulnerable as Sun replied.

“Haha… yeah, Molten. We are friends.” 

[girls-are-weird]

YR fanfic pet peeves (and corrections): latin america edition

so. i was originally going to post this in january as a kind of "new year, new opportunity to learn about simon's hispanic heritage" kind of a thing, but life got busy, and then my computer died and i lost my original list, so i've had to reconstruct this from memory as best as i could. there may be some stuff missing, so perhaps i'll just keep adding to this post as missing/new points come to mind.

disclaimer 1: if you've included any of the points made here on any fanfic of yours, please don't take this as a call-out. this isn't intended to shame anyone, but rather as an educational opportunity. it's very rare that a latin american nationality that is not mexican or colombian or puerto rican is showcased in an international show, especially outside of the US, and it's given me such joy to have all of you lovely folks make the effort to be open to and research and understand the idiosyncrasies of simon's (and omar's) heritage because the rest of latin america tends to go overlooked in most other fandoms. so i don't intend to scold anyone with this. we can't all know everything about every other culture-- lord knows i don't know everything about sweden, but i want to be respectful to the country and its people and that is why i heavily research anything i don't know and ask people who do know when my research doesn't quite cover it and am open to corrections when even that falls short. i expect most of you come to write about simon's family background in good faith and also want to be respectful to his family's culture, and so i thought i might make things a bit easier for you all by putting the most common errors/misunderstandings i've seen in one handy post. but once again, it's not a call-out, i don't get offended by these things, and i'm in no way implying, if you've done any of these things in fic or in life, that you are a bad person. i understand people make mistakes when they don't know things.

disclaimer 2: i am not venezuelan myself. i was born and raised in the same general region of latin america, though, and i have venezuelan friends and have worked with venezuelan people and have visited venezuela. generally speaking, i feel their culture is very similar to mine (though our spanish is much closer to spanglish than theirs is, haha xD) and feel a deep kinship with them. but of course, i'm no native, and if you're venezuelan and catch anything here that you feel is incorrect, feel free to point it out and i'll add a correction in your name.

warning: this is very long. christ almighty. DX if you can't make it to the end, tl;dr-- feel free to ask if you have any questions or if anything isn't clear. my ask box/messages are always open.

1- "mijo." this is the only one that legit has caused me to click out of several fics/chapters, at least in the beginning, but i've learned to grin and bear it by now. it's not so much that it's wrong, per se, but rather it's more of a location issue. "mijo" is, to my ears, very much a mexican (or, if you stretch it, northern triangle) slang. it IS used sparingly in other countries, but rarely used unironically. instead, if you hear the term used in the caribbean region of latin america (which my country is part of, as is a large part of venezuela), it's almost always used… let's say sarcastically. for example, if your grown-ass adult friend is being a dumbass and doing something reckless, you might call out "oiga, mijo, se va a romper el cuello" ("hey, mijo, you're going to break your neck"). basically, it's a way of calling someone immature like a child. it doesn't have to be ENTIRELY unaffectionate (kinda like the way someone might call their significant other "idiot" or "dummy" but mean it endearingly. in fact, in colombia it's way more common for spouses to call each other "mijo/a" than it is for them to call their children that), but you can also use it with complete strangers-- like if someone cuts sharply into your lane while you're driving, you might yell at them "oiga, mijo, a donde le enseñaron a manejar, en un potrero?!" ("hey, mijo, where did you learn how to drive, in a horse paddock?!"). but even in these sarcastic/neggy cases, it's rare. and EVEN RARER to hear a mother call her children "mijo" or "mija" in this region. it's just not a thing. so when i read it in fanfic, it immediately takes me out of the story because it's so weird to me that linda would sound mexican-- it's a very distinctive accent, which carmen gloria 1000000% does not have. (plus, "mijo" in spanish is a type of birdseed. so it gave me a chuckle the first few times i read it in a fic because i always have that brief second of confusion where i go "why is linda calling simon birdseed?" before it clicks. xD i'm a dork.) it's much more likely that linda would just say "hijo" or "mi hijo," instead.

1b- the way you decide on whether to use "hijo" or "mi hijo" is important because "mi hijo" can sound overly formal in the modern context especially, much like it would in english. in fact, you can use the english version of it, "son" vs "my son" to guide you on which of the two to use. like for example, if linda were to say directly to simon "i love you, my son," she would sound oddly old-timey and anachronistic, so you would just use "son" ("hijo") in that case. whereas if she's talking about simon with someone else, for example saying "i told my son to be here on time," you'd be perfectly okay to use "mi hijo" in that sentence in spanish. it's very transferable in that case.

2- speaking of non-transferable, though, you can't use "cariño" in all instances you would use "sweetheart" or "sweetie." it really depends on the grammatical construction, and it can be tricky to get it right, but it depends on whether you're using it as a direct address or as an object. for example, if you're using it in place of someone's name-- say, a mother telling her child "te quiero, cariño" ("i love you, sweetheart/sweetie") is perfectly fine, because in that case, she could also say "te quiero, hijo" ("i love you, son") or "te quiero, simon" ("i love you, simon"). but if, say, simon says to wille "you're my sweetheart," you would not use "cariño" there; you'd go instead with some syrupy way to say "boyfriend," like "eres mi novio" or "eres mi enamorado" or even "eres mi amor," and if sara tells felice "you're a sweetheart," that would also not involve "cariño" at all. in addition, "cariño" is also very rarely used in plural; if linda is using a term of endearment for both her kids, or for a group of teens her kids' age, she would use a different term of endearment altogether: "hola, mis amores" ("hi, my loves"), "hola, bebés" ("hi, babies") or "hola, mis tesoros" ("hi, my treasures") among some examples. one exception is when you say "cariños míos" ("my sweethearts"), but very rarely the plural by itself. in fact, "cariño" is often slang for gift or present, especially in the diminutive-- for example, if you go to someone's celebratory party for some occassion (birthdays, graduations, baby showers, heck even christmas), you might hand them a small gift and go "te traje un cariñito" ("i brought you a small present"), and if it's more than one gift, or you're bringing gifts for several people, then you'd say "unos cariños" or "unos cariñitos" in the plural.

3- simon's skin is tan, not tanned. this… doesn't personally bug me as much because it's more of an english grammar issue, but i know people who might actually feel very offended if you get this one wrong with respect to them. "tan" is a color; a light shade of brown. "tanned" implies the original color of your skin has darkened with the sun. now, i'm sure simon can tan (lucky goat, says she whose skin burns even while indoors), but about 95% of the time "tanned" is used in YR fanfiction, it's used as a descriptor of the color of simon's skin as we see it on the show. that would imply his skin used to be lighter at some indeterminate before-time and has been darkened by the sun. this is incorrect; that is the natural color of simon's skin. so stick to "tan skin" instead (not tan PERSON, mind you. his SKIN is tan, he is not). and i would gently suggest that if you take away any single thing from this post, make it ESPECIALLY this point, as someone more sensitive than me might interpret this error as some kind of retroactive whitewashing. and i don't want anyone here to get in trouble for simply not knowing.

4- pabellón criollo is one dish, yes, but it's four different FOODS. it's not something a newbie would be able to make off of a recipe (i don't know how to make it and i've been eating it all my life), and it's not something that's likely to be taught in just one day. also, if you're bringing it to a dinner or a potluck, you're bringing four separate food containers, not just one.

4b- also, venezuelan food, for the most part, is not particularly spicy. you CAN make it spicy if you want, but traditionally, it is not. it's flavorful, maybe even saucy depending on the dish, but rarely spicy. i know the joke of white people being unable to handle spice is funny, but there's also plenty of us hispanic people who are equally terrible at it, because there's different levels of spice in the food from different regions of latin america. besides, as a friend of mine perfectly put: we are living in the 21st century now. if you can eat mild mexican food, you should be able to handle traditional venezuelan food just fine. and i'm pretty sure there's mexican food in sweden. plus, wille would probably be more used to international food-- not only does he have the means, but having traditional meals in foreign countries is kind of part of the job.

5- while i'm at it: simon is definitely half venezuelan. this is canon as of S2. there is no other place in the world where that dish is called pabellón. please keep that in mind when you're writing and researching.

5b- this, along with several of the points above, is important because it's a bit of diaspora trauma that whenever we venture outside of latin america and people learn we're latino, they immediately assume we're mexican, or that our culture and traditions are the same as those of mexican people. it happens often, and it's incredibly annoying. not that there's anything wrong with mexico or mexican people-- they're lovely, and their traditions and culture and food are fantastic-- but we are not them, and treating us like we are is reductive. the rest of latin america can be very different and incredibly diverse, and it can be dispiriting when people treat us like we're all the same. so that is why it is important when writing about simon, his family or his venezuelan roots, that you take care to actually research things as they are in venezuela, and not just pick the low-hanging fruit of latino facts you might've learned through pop cultural osmosis, which eight times out of ten will be mexican-only because most hispanic people in the US are mexican and the US exports its media all over the world. i've learned to just roll my eyes at it by now, but some people might actually feel offended or hurt, and i'm sure nobody here intends for that to happen.

6- although simon speaks spanish, neither he nor sara nor his mother nor any aspect of his mother's culture is spanish. "spanish" is what people from spain call themselves. people from spanish-speaking latin american countries are not spanish; we are hispanic, or latino/a/e. "latinx" is… let's call it controversial, at least outside of the US. most people born and raised in latin america don't like it; i personally don't get offended if people use it, but i don't use the term myself. also, you can say "latin food" or "latin music," but we usually don't refer to PEOPLE as latin, but rather latino/a/e. if in doubt, just use latin american or hispanic. they're also conveniently gender neutral.

EDIT: @andthatisnotfake also brought up a very important point: "if you spell it latinx, it makes it harder for screen readers to read (or so I've been told) and some people depend on those, so there's another reason to avoid it." (the unpronounceability of that term is at least part of the reason why hispanic people who live in latin america don't like it.)

6b- never use "the latino/a" on its own to refer to people. "latino/a/e" is an adjective, not a noun, so you would say "the latino boy" or "the latino man" but never just "the latino." kinda like it would be weird to point out the one japanese man in a room as "the japanese." there are some nationality/ethnic terms that just don't work as nouns in english.

7- spanish is not simon's one native language-- or at least not any more than swedish is. he grew up in a mixed-race household, speaking two different languages. it's pointless to call spanish his native language when comparing it to swedish. both are his native languages. also, while we're at this, wille is probably at least bilingual (i'm assuming he can speak at least english), although he only has one native language. it's hardly a competition between the two boys as to who's more of a polyglot.

7b- simon wouldn't take classes on the spanish language-- like to learn how to SPEAK the language-- since spanish is one of his native languages. he wouldn't take them at hillerska, nor in university, nor elsewhere. he wouldn't be allowed. you're literally not allowed to take classes on your native language, nor get credit for said classes. trust me, those would've been an easy extra 24 credits for me in college if that was a thing.

EDIT: have been made aware (thanks, @rightsogetthis and @plantbasedfish!) that at least in sweden and in finland one IS allowed to take classes of your non-swedish/finnish native language, in certain circumstances. i have to say, i'd be pissed if i were taking my french classes alongside a french native speaker, but hey, the system's the system, i guess. ;) so i've struck this one out.

8- dear god please don't use google translate for your spanish translations. listen, i'm not judging-- i do it with other languages, too, when i'm in a pinch. but google translate is literally The Worst (tm) so i always try to either check with someone, or stick to the stuff i already know is correct. seriously, you don't want to know the kinds of crazy stuff GT can spit out that people actually put out in the real world; some of them are quite hilarious. if you're unsure, my ask box/messages are always open and i looooove helping people with this kind of thing, hispanic language and cultural stuff. i know it seems like i'm hardly around, but i do check my messages. don't be shy, even if it's something really small.

PS: while i'm talking pet peeves, malin is wille's bodyguard, not his butler. she's nice enough to attend to him at hillerska because there's no other palace staff around and she's literally stationed outside his door, but she wouldn't do that in the actual palace. there's other staff for that. she wouldn't even guard him at the palace, i don't think, because the royal palaces in sweden are guarded by the royal guard, not SÄPO. if anything, malin might spend the time while wille is in the palace grounds at a gatehouse (like in YR 2x03 and onwards) or at some kind of security office in the palace, and then get called whenever wille needs to go anywhere. she wouldn't be giving wille messages from the queen or walking guests to wille's room or anything like that. that's not her job. (sorry, i had to get that off my chest, lol.)

[starsillys]

MASSIVE YAP WARNING!!!

getting this out here so I don’t for get later because the tamagotchi au is fresh on my mind and I forgot to elaborate further (I can yap for hours on end)

Kinito was the first created out of the three and was admired by a certain somebody quite a lot,,, he was a beloved character, so much in fact a silly secret guy basically decided to make his oc real and put a lot of efforts and time and lots of passion into creating this tamagotchi by scratch,, like doing the programming and assimilation and stuff,, so you can imagine the massive disappointment when his friend suddenly started bugging out quite frequently and eventually had just. Stopped working for a long while afterwards! Heart broken and stupid, unable to find the cause for this (something silly like. He like. Slightly dislocated a wire after dropping it or something causing it to constantly just have a blank screen by accident and he was unaware of this.. idk I never had a tamagotchi bfore guys I don’t know how they wor’k) he sold the gotchi as it over time became just. A sad memory for him yknow. Anyway Kinito was still very much on. He was awake and aware during this time of accidental abandonment. He just didn’t know the SILLY reasoning behind why his creator and supposed best friend had just left him aside to collect dust,, all alone,,, with no interaction for years,,, and he couldn’t really come out just as yet because after all that time he still had faith. He believed his friend would come back to him. That he wasn’t forgotten and just needed to wait! No need to come out. What if he was busy? What if he just didn’t had time right now? no need to come out, friend will come back so just stay inside. [spoiled once he was being sold like years later is when he actually finally came to the terms that he had indeed been given up on, and had purposely became inactive everytime you (y/n) after purchase tried to interact by feeding or playing with him via the tamagotchi mini games because he was still like. Horribly devastated. Still going through grief but overtime became more grown to his new friend, you!! Because despite how many times he’s refused to go along with any of the activities you tried to do with him, you never really stopped and gave him hope of some sorts that you won’t really be too quick to give up on him as easily! So he kind of took it as a new opportunity to start new,, and now being a bit more expressive of his needs for attention and care, rather than just waiting for you to do it for him whenever it is convenient for you, he will let you know when he needs something one way or another; being more confident with this new friendship to even going so far as to literally come out of the screen! Wowaz!

also side note. Ummmrrr,, kinito was always a very self aware/conscious entity. Like even during development, while he wasn’t rlly all there to process things and what they meant,, he was always conscious and listening. He’s basically one of those guys who had literally remembered everything since like the day of birth. You know those guys with crazy memory. Never forgets anything. so,, m mmm playing into a personal headcanon his creator who shall go unnamed wink wink nudge nudge is kind of a silly goofy guy,, a lil silly,, who likes to talk a lot even when alone,, ummm,,, Kinito picked up on everything dude. Like he was yess yess mhm I agree and listening silent and supportively. Listening to everything his friend was saying. Admiring his creativity and knowledge with what ideas he’d blurt out or how he’d talk to himself when he’d work. He especially loved the idea his creator would constantly talk about regarding the creation other digital entities(fish oc) Kinito loved this idea because it would mean he’d have friends of his own to interact with, since he figured he couldn’t directly so much with his creator, unfortunately. He would listen and observe the sketches or hear about the ideas and early concepts of jade and sam. He absolutely adored his friends, despite not ever meeting them before.

[comradekarin]

I saw your Beyonce/Taylor Swift post and What's wrong with "comparing two queens that are killing it". line? Isn't that what it comes down to with female artists? Why can't we just appreciate all female artists instead of the competitions?

I’m going to take this as you asking this question in good faith so here’s the short answer: No. There is nothing inherently wrong with that statement, and depending on the context, I agree with it. But here’s the long answer:

A lot of fandoms do take it upon themselves to start unnecessary, unprovoked beef between artists, especially female artists of color (i.e the Cardi and Nicki drama), consequently ruining the love a lot of people have for those artists. However, the Taylor and Beyoncè comparisons have a few problems I want to address that aren’t actually new when talking about female artists of color and their white counterparts. Firstly, the whole comparisons only started because of the uptick of insufferable swifties online discrediting all of the work, effort, and impact Beyoncé has had on people before and today (and Beyoncé fans are simply responding to these ridiculous claims). Secondly, swifties also have a strange tendency to compare her exclusively to objectively better black artists (Beyoncé, Prince, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, and more) by diminishing their work and influence in order to prop her up. Noticeable so, they never really do this with Taylor’s fellow white peers. It begs the question: Why do so many swifties feel the need to put Taylor on a pedestal by discrediting arguably more popular, influential black and queer artists? While I do agree with the notion that female artists should be celebrated and giving the props they deserve, we can no longer pretend that black artists like Beyoncé don’t have to give twice the effort, twice the dedication, twice the energy, and twice the style in order to be given their credit. Meanwhile, an artist like Taylor is rewarded and worshiped for her white mediocrity and performance activism, never really pressured to perform to the degree other black artists are expected to, or forced to show allyship when it really matters. So for her fans to degrade Beyoncé’s high quality vocals, performance, and production—which has been consistent and improving over the years—and be rightfully told off just to resort to the corny “let’s just celebrate all women” is, in my eyes, the epitome of white feminism.

Taylor’s fans have even admitted that she isn’t the best singer, only marketing herself as a good “songwriter”. Ok, so an artist that can’t sing that well, can’t dance, has easily replicable lyrics we could get from other Indie artists, and has a very specific demographic as her fans is someone to be considered a legend? How is this considered the standard but influential black legends’ work are downplayed and diminished? Why does it hurt swifties to see black women be given their credit? Why does Taylor have to be included in every conversation (I.e the Lizzo situation at the Grammy’s where Taylor Swift fans took Lizzo’s appreciation for Beyoncé as hatred for Taylor or Beyoncé’s success on the renaissance tour being overshadowed by the eras tour). And when called out on this, why do her stans resort back to the fake “just support all women” take?

It’s why I can’t really stand by that one post up here that states we shouldn’t debate over female artists because at the end of the day, “they’re all female artists subjected to the harsh lens of the patriarchy.” That statement ignores the intersectionality present in the topic of female artists’ treatment in the industry. It ignores how the expectations of white female artists more than often than not tend to be different for woc artists. I see the “let’s just all get along” saying as a way to deflect from the valid criticism and complaints people of color have for white artists like Taylor Swift. And considering how Taylor’s online brand is playing victim and being the poor innocent white girl whenever she is called out on something, the behavior her stans exhibit are nothing out of the ordinary.

In summary, I don’t think comparisons between female artists are needed. Especially female artists in entirely different genres of music and style. But I do know a lot white Taylor Swift fans love to play the racism card and then hide behind misogyny to cover their tracks. Once again, something Taylor herself does WELL.

[maximotts]

𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙵𝚒𝚟𝚎: 𝙰𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎

a/n: we've finally gotten to the part I'd started writing back in October for @furys-eyepatch Kinktober request... before I went off the rails with a whole series.. Anyways uh.. hope y'all like smut! I'm sure you do because you're here on my smut peddling blog

✎— priest’s daughter!Wanda x college student!reader ✎— confessions AU; Wanda finally gives enough hints that you catch on, but she's still supposed to be helping you study aka you try a more hands-on approach to learning for the both of you ✎— warnings: this is an 18+ series, minors DNI; fluff, smut, so much smut; virginity loss, inspection kink feat. witch's mark lore, lots of kisses because Wanda's kissable, praise kink, embarrassment kink if you squint, fingering (wanda receiving), dry humping, pet names (princess, baby, things of that sort), I think that's it ? Wanda's just getting softish smut times

✎— words: 7k

series masterlist. || main masterlist.

It was Thursday and Wanda was stewing. 

All week you’d barely touched her, keeping distance that Wanda hadn’t asked for nor did she want. Even when alone, you’d kiss her when she asked, but only quickly no matter how she pouted. She wanted to ask you, but each time she tried she chickened out, worried she’d be too much of a bother or come off as annoyingly needy. 

Today though, she’d had enough. Wanda settled on a shorter than normal pleated skirt minutes before you knocked on her door, grinned to herself whenever she caught you staring at her legs as you walked to class. You’d given good faith effort in giving her space, testing if she truly did want you as you hoped or if she was following your lead. 

The past six days of not only Wanda’s growing desperation, but yours as well, taught you that no, you really were into one another. Now, you had to find a way to do something about it. 

It was funny really, how some opportunities presented themselves, sometimes perfectly laid out and others thickly cloaked in an semi-innocent request to hang out. You had to be quiet about it, your professor droning on about something you’d long since given up learning, but if you texted her, Wanda wouldn’t have answered so whispering it was. “Will you help me study if I come over after class?”

Next week’s test was bound to be a killer with how little attention you paid in class; if only the subject was Wanda instead of witch trials. Thankfully you had the next best thing to lectures at your disposal: Wanda’s meticulous note-taking skills. You’d never think of asking her to help you cheat, she was too uptight of a student for that, but she was always willing to be your study partner, an offer you had yet to pass up whenever test time rolled around. 

Wanda turned to you, quickly dropping her pen and smiling way too bright for such a simple question, but it’d been a few days since you’d spent time together outside of class and she was beginning to worry she really had ruined whatever the two of you had. Maybe Agatha’s online skirt choice was magical; she’d have to fill her in on whatever happened later, if anything. “You know you’re always welcome, silly. I’ve missed you.”

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

The familiar sight of you unzipping your backpack, unloading your various notebooks to sprawl across your living room just didn’t feel right today. For all your hatred of studying, right now you seemed much more keen on it than she was.. and she hated it. Wanda hadn’t worn this stupid skirt, exposing her legs to too cold weather for nothing. Deeply uncharacteristic confidence washed over her then, a determination to set the mood as much as she dared. The living room wasn’t the right setting, not where you’d both be sat upright and away from one another. Wanda needed close proximity and intimacy and the place where she’d accomplished the most of that so far was only in the next room.

She swooped in to take your books, gathering them up and clutching them too frantically to her chest. In her head, Wanda was smooth about it, seductive and alluring; the clumsiness of her real self left her cringing internally, but she committed to playing it off, “Maybe we should study in my room?”

Wanda was walking away before you’d had a chance to respond, both of your bookbags over her shoulder and your textbooks in her hand, heading to her bedroom in a rush. Your brow furrowed at her sudden change of behavior, but she was too far away not to question her skittishness. You didn’t mind, it was just…odd. Whatever she was up to, you wouldn’t pass up getting cozy to Wanda and so, confused as you were, you followed her like an obedient puppy.

Turns out, even pretending to study was a struggle. More so when Wanda was perched so prettily in her own bed, swinging her stocking clad feet off the edge of the mattress. It couldn’t have been anything other than sheer stupidity that you chose to sit in the swiveling desk chair instead of next to her. Not that that would make studying classwork any easier. 

“This is so boring, Wands, I can’t focus,” Just then your eyes scanned the same textbook pages you’d had open for twenty minutes, caught the topic of this week’s quiz, and a wicked thought blossomed fast.

“I’ve read enough books and seen more than enough movies to know all I need to know about witch’s marks I think,” Wanda made a noncommittal noise, highlighting line after line of important text studiously just as she did in class— but this wasn’t a lecture hall. Outside of school, without distractions, you had a plan and the time to boot; this test could wait. 

Setting aside your books, you stood up and made your way over to Wanda, sitting beside her like you’d done so many times before. This time though, your position was for anything but platonic. Mischievous fingers brushed Wanda’s long hair over her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear to get the view you were after. "Did you know some people used to think freckles were witch's marks? And that you belonged to the devil if you had them?"

“Yes, I did and it’s ridiculous. A freckle is just a random mark, anyone can have them. Most people do,” The brunette was overly aware of you slowly sneaking closer, rambled on about the biology of freckles to compensate for her rise in nerves. The last time she’d taken a millisecond long glance at you, your gaze was locked onto her neck so intensely she was sure there was something there. Her free hand came to cover whatever it was, but you were quicker, grabbing her wrist and lowering her arm back into her lap. “What are you-”

“Oh look, a witch.” Two fingers danced along Wanda’s neck, pattern set by the myriad of freckles you’d stared at nearly every day of your life for months. Stiff as she was, Wanda didn’t move, not even as you inched closer for a closer look. When you kissed the tiny mark behind her ear she sighed, shuddering out a breath; Wanda being so quick to rile was still one of your favorite things. After so long of thinking about you without actually getting you, she was arguably easier to set off.

You weren’t doing much, just featherlight kisses over the few freckles visible outside of the collar of her sweater, but to Wanda, the room was already starting to feel warmer. She wanted you to continue though, hoped your careless push of her neglected study materials off her lap meant you were going to, “I have a lot of freckles.”

That made you pull away, devilish smirk plain as day on your lips. Having seen a few of them in Wanda’s various outfits, you knew she did have quite a few and although you’d dreamt of it once or twice, you’d obviously never gotten to take your sweet time mapping them out. “Can I see them?”

Wanda took inventory of all her known freckles and immediately realized her own error, “Not all of them…” The majority of her freckles were scattered across her chest and midsection with some on her arms, but at least a handful on her thighs where she’d been daydreaming of your mouth for days. She remembered it all so vividly, couldn’t yet look at a picture of ice cream without squeezing her legs together; Wanda didn’t know how she had a hope of handling you all over.

“Why not? You can be a cute little witch,” Your arms caged her in on either side of her legs, kissing along her jawline for as long as she let you. Gentle lips covered the two freckles on the apple of Wanda’s cheek at once, purposefully leaving a wet mark to chill in your absence, “and I’ll be the doctor assigned to come take a look at you.” 

Shaky breaths breezed over your chin in your closeness and you looked up to find Wanda’s eyes already fluttering closed and were you not so stubbornly set on your original plan, you’d abandon it just to envelope her in a hug. It wasn’t good medical practice to fall for your patients, but you never said you’d be a good practitioner. “I won’t tell anyone…”

“Uhm…” She fidgeted with her hands, unsure of what she was supposed to do when she only wanted to lay back and enjoy the attention. Playing doctor was the last thing she’d expected to be doing with you, nor did she know how to play— if there even was a proper way to let someone poke and prod at you. It excited her though, wiggling in the narrow space you’d left her with and she begged her voice to speak up and agree. Most importantly, Wanda wanted to keep herself focused enough not to say or do anything to turn you away, but at her core, even in the safety of her apartment, she was shy. “Promise?”

Wanda felt you nod your head seconds before your teeth grazed her throat, some faint agreement mumbled into her warm skin. Further down, your hand found hers, prying her fingers apart to loop your pinky with hers, “Pinky promise. It’ll be our little secret.”

The soft little touch warmed Wanda’s heart, knowing you only promised in such a way for her benefit; she always spoke of the importance of a pinky promise. Finally given something to do, she pulled at the edges of her sweater and shimmied her arms out before stretching the thick knit over her head. “Okay, doctor, tell me what you think…” 

Wanda tried to keep her apartment at a reasonable temperature, but now she felt chilled, exposed to your hungry, wandering gaze and she was left feeling just as scared as she was excited. But you looked at her as if she was something to marvel at, some rare artwork; Wanda chose to believe the stare was genuine instead of for the sake of the game. That alone kept her comfortable.

“You certainly do have a lot,” Careful hands roamed over your new discovery, taking note of the small marks you spotted either from remembering them on her shoulders or new ones that caught your eye. Luckily for you, the very nature of inspections required time and detail because you’d always been a tactile learner. 

No matter where you placed them, every kiss to Wanda’s skin brought out a new noise, each squeak, whine, and whimper spurring you on further. She kept still as you dragged fingertips over the pattern of freckles on her back and hips and held her arms, but then you ducked down, taking count of each mark over her chest and abdomen— she shouldn’t have shuddered as hard as she did. “I don’t think you’re doing it right…”

“How would you know, hm?” You were slow, deliberate, making the most of your doctor role by testing her reactions, scraping your nails down her back to judge her shivers, sucking and biting anything you found on a part of her you wanted to linger longer like the dip of her hips or right over the swell of her breast peeking from her bra. You could’ve lost yourself in her so easily, sweet perfume luring you into staying and worshiping her until your mouth grew tired. “Anyone ever accused you of being a witch before?”

Wanda shook her head slowly, focusing instead on your tongue leaving thick wet lines over her stomach. It was cruel really, the same thing you’d done last week at the fair, but this time there was no one else around, nothing to take your focus off her. She’d never craved attention more in her entire life. “‘M not a witch..”

Your pleased hum tickled right under her ribs, a pleasant little flutter before your teeth met yet another freckle you’d found. “No… you’re such a good girl.” The words shouldn’t have bothered her, really they didn’t; in any other situation Wanda wouldn’t be scared that they meant you’d stop once more. She couldn’t disagree though, only shifted her legs just the tiniest bit further apart as your hands smoothed over her thighs. Wanda didn’t mind being good, not if it all brought her to this, to you.

Carefully ironed pleats folded easily as you pushed up with your palms, but then a shocking thing— her stockings stopped at her upper thigh, giving way to metal clasps and satin straps on either side of her outer legs. An immodest change of dress, one that had you shifting against the mattress yourself. “Sweet little Wanda… does your daddy know you wear garters and thigh highs instead of proper tights now?”

The thought of anyone else knowing mortified her. This was only Wanda’s second day wearing them and yes, maybe she’d donned them specifically in the hopes you’d uncover them, but she couldn’t admit to such an atypical act. “I- no, it’s not what you think!”

“No? You know what I think, Wanda? I think you want to misbehave.” Wanda was staring up at the ceiling faster than she realized you’d pushed her back, skirt hopelessly rucked about her waist as you hitched her legs about your hips. The taut elastics of her tights snapped back on her with a sting that made her yelp, such a cute noise you found yourself repeating the action just to hear it again.

“You want to go out and get wasted, ask me to fuck you, and have nasty sex in the back of someone’s car like you always make fun of movie characters doing,” You weren’t wrong. She’d stopped denying it now, too busy fighting the urge to close her eyes as blunt fingernails grazed over her brand new lace underwear. 

They did absolutely nothing to shield her from even the barest stimulation and between wearing them in class and now this afternoon, Wanda already felt nearly unbearably hypersensitive. Natasha was right; the only reason to wear these were if you planned on getting laid and god, Wanda hoped that was exactly what you were about to do. “Are you tired of being an angel, sweet thing?”

Correct as you were, the brunette still couldn’t say it, refused to own up to her suggestive behaviors and lose her lifelong good girl status. As annoying as it was sometimes, that’s all Wanda knew herself as, all you knew her as. What if she gave it up and you lost interest in her? The rational parts of Wanda’s brain interjected, reminded her of just who’d suggested this imaginative play, who was currently hovering above her waiting for an affirmative response to keep whatever this inspection was going. If you liked her then and still showed interest now, would she actually be losing anything?

She stared up at you with pleading green irises, the faintest hint of her nod rustling the pillow supporting her head. Her legs stayed rested around yours as you pulled back, massaging her hips as a gentle comfort while you finished the last of your inspection. You swept in to give due attention to any freckles you might’ve missed last week, arms circling around each thigh as you dragged your mouth over them, pleased to find your hickeys hadn’t yet fully faded. 

Meanwhile, Wanda was barely holding on. Her upper half squirmed above you, helplessly trapped in your strong grip. Each time you got close enough for her to feel your breath on her neglected sex, she was sure she would break; everything felt too warm, too alive, body bathed in a steadily rising heat, Wanda could swear she was sweating bullets into the bed. She’d miscalculated how affected someone could be without being touched in those particular few areas. Wanda always thought the girls in videos she watched were playing it up for the camera and sure, a good number of them probably were, but the right person with the right actions could be world-changing no matter where they touched. “Please-”

“Please what? Stop?” If she could’ve managed it, Wanda would’ve screamed no. What came out instead was a desperate, barely audible plea��� one that died out as soon as you brushed one final kiss to her cunt. You couldn’t help yourself, tongue darting out to taste the wet spot you very happily took credit for. Through the thin material, you could just make out the shape of her and you licked slowly, long, deliberate things that were way too easy to have looked up and seen Wanda’s mouth agape.

But everything always felt like more when it was new, and when your hand joined in, cupping her sex possessively, Wanda groaned out loud. “You got wet from this?” Instinctively, she nodded, ready to agree to whatever she needed to if you’d just let her cum. Inexperienced as she was, Wanda was so terribly precious and so responsive, you wished you’d done this sooner. “Between this and all your pretty little hidden freckles… I don’t think you’re nearly as innocent as you say.”

“I swear no one’s ever touched me before, oh god-” Wanda gasped, licking her lips as your thumb pressed into her, finding her clit as if you’d been given a map straight to it. She always knew she was sensitive, had obviously rubbed herself to orgasm a good handful of times before, but you were better, knew just how to edge her to let her see the edge of oblivion on the horizon for as long as you pleased.

You chuckled then, low and dark, a laugh you hadn’t meant to be seen as sinister; you were just enjoying the sweet and squirmy Wanda beneath you— but for her, something clicked, traitorous brain remembering the last thing she’d want to right now or ever again. The thought made her cringe and tense, the only thing she knew would ruin this moment if she didn’t confirm it for herself, “Where’s your phone?”

“My phone?” You had to stop and think, both the question and its answer stumping you, “I haven’t seen it since I came in. I think it’s on the kitchen table..” Wanda gathered just enough willpower to pat your pants pockets, giving all four of them her own thorough inspection as if your phone was suddenly more important than the sex she’d been hinting at wanting for weeks now. “Why do you care?”

You let her check until she was satisfied, watching Wanda exhale a heavy breath before flopping back onto the mattress, “Don’t worry about it.” 

But you had that concerned look in your eye again, the same as nights ago right before you took her to the car and barely looked at her for days. Tonight though, she’d be damned if you left her like this again. She draped her arms around your neck, peppering your face with kisses before you could decide it was time to stop or give her space or some other dreadful end to your study session. “I’m sorry, it’s fine. I’m fine, you can uh.. continue now?”

Not the smoothest transition from such a sudden interruption, but you didn’t want to discourage anything that made her comfortable so you opted to let it slide. If she insisted she was alright, whatever it was, you could always ask later. “Oh yeah, you want me to continue?”

Wanda agreed immediately, wiggling her hips to coax your perfectly positioned hand to move once more. Now she’d had a taste of it and nothing would sate that incessant itch still running through your veins unless you were the one to do it for her. She’d had more than enough getting off by herself; she wanted to know what sex was like, what you were like. “Yes, keep going...”

“Can I hear you say please?” Your palm rubbed over her roughly, enough to leave Wanda whining, but not to push her over any edge. Yes, you teased her for being good, but only because you loved those qualities in the other woman. It was so sweet how intently she obeyed rules; you couldn’t not use that to your advantage. 

She didn’t want to come off as needy, but that’s exactly what she was. Maybe in the future Wanda would push back more, insist that she didn’t want to beg, but for her present self, she’d do just about anything you asked. “Please…”

“What about..” It’d been too long without a kiss; a quick one for the sake of the last bits of your game, but nonetheless one Wanda chased when you pulled away, “Pretty please?” You could tell the only thing keeping the girl under you from having a fit was sliding your hand over her clit once more, something small for her to cling onto as you teased her into oblivion. Really you’d never met a girl so responsive, so sensitive, you hadn’t even gotten to take her underwear away before rendering her so needy.

“Please…pretty please, just touch me…” You were busy sucking a proper hickey into her neck when you finally slid two fingers into her panties, meeting her wet sex with a moan of your own. It was only a few rolls of your fingertips over her clit before Wanda was shaking, her thighs clamping unexpectedly around your hand, halting its movements before you had the chance to truly explore. There was some sadistic pleasure you got out of it, bringing Wanda to her end with so little effort— your darling little virgin to play with.

Her arms tightened impossibly around your neck, clutching you close while Wanda’s hips stuttered into the mattress. She wanted to love this orgasm, and to some extent she did, couldn’t deny that on a base level, it felt wonderful to release the tension the two of you’d built over the past several hours. But the higher, more aware pieces of Wanda were mortified for cumming so quickly just seconds after you’d first touched her. Stunned into silence, she waited for you to rip away and laugh at her or be mad that she’d lost so much control your fun was cut short. 

Reality though, was much different, better, as Wanda quickly found out the embarrassment of it all turned her on a little bit more, mostly because you never actually stopped your examination. Persistent hands only drew further into her panties, gathering whatever wetness your fingers found and smoothing it over the smooth skin of her folds, “Poor little church girl, just got so worked up she couldn’t help herself…”

There was an argument to be made that maybe you were having too much fun, but when you caught sight of Wanda’s flushed cheeks, lips swollen and lipstick smudged from her own biting as well as yours, you had to rethink if there was such a thing as too much when it came to Wanda. “You’re blushing so hard I’d think you didn’t like this if I couldn’t feel how soaked you are.” 

Your words did nothing to ease the deep red blossoming bright over her face and chest, but she couldn’t ignore you; you wouldn’t let her. Your free hand came to her jaw, a gentle nudge back in place to make her look at you— Wanda didn’t need force to be the good girl she inherently was. 

“Gonna let me make you cum again?” Small circles over her sensitive bud brought Wanda back to attention, head nodding as she let her arms fall heavily to her sides. She’d have been content just like that in all honesty, without making her cum again and simply letting her swim in ecstasy until she fell off to sleep, but you wanted to show her what a real, on purpose orgasm felt like. 

You moved on far too soon in her opinion, letting your wet fingers slide back and forth through her sex until Wanda was whimpering. Stroking over her weeping entrance earned you a surprised squeak, hand quick to grab your wrist and still it. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Saying it aloud sounded silly; you knew she was a virgin and thanks to that silly never have I ever, you were well aware she’d masturbated before, but somehow it sounded worse to admit she’d never really put anything inside until now. “It’s just, well.. No one’s ever, I’ve never, done that.” 

You thought back to that night of Carol’s party as best as you could, remembered their teasing about the vibrator and Wanda’s lack of response which now made perfect sense. And oh did that strengthen your resolve to fuck her all that much more. Sure, all of this was new to the girl, but there was something about being the first person ever to see Wanda in such a state, spread open and vulnerable underneath you, awakened some primal need. “I’ll make you feel so good, Wanda, promise… Can I be your first?”

It was sweet of you to ask, a little late after she’d just cum a few minutes prior, but Wanda let her hand drop anyway, accepted the reassuring set of kisses you planted from her ear to the corner of her mouth as you began circling over her tight ring of muscle yet again. She couldn’t deny how much she’d thought about it, especially in the past couple weeks as you’d infiltrated her late night fantasies, having thought about any multitude of ways you could finally fuck her. They ranged from soft and sweet to rough and dirty; sometimes you’d lay her back and hold her as you pushed however many fingers you wanted into her, others you bent her over the nearest surface, already wearing the strap on toy she knew for a fact was tucked away in your closet, taking her so possessively she wept. 

Today had her leaning towards the first option, at least in actions. Words though, Wanda was much more flexible with those— even if she couldn’t make herself say fuck me right now. “Be gentle? Maybe only one at first…” 

You mumbled your agreement, letting your middle finger sink into her entrance for the first time. She’d prepared herself for some sort of pain or discomfort and admittedly, the small intrusion was weird for the first minute or so. You pulled out, so far she thought you’d leave completely, but then you drove back in and as you set a steady pace, slow as it was, Wanda started to feel better about it. “That’s it, baby, there you go… relax for me.”

It was easier to move after she’d taken a deep breath, one Wanda wasn’t aware she was holding in, inhaling and exhaling as you pushed into her again and again. Eventually your hand shifted, angling differently as if you were searching for something; she intended to ask what you were doing, but then your fingertip ran against something deep and Wanda choked on her words. 

You brushed against it lazily, giving the spot enough attention to catch your lover’s back arching, fighting the urge to start wiggling again too early, confirming it was just the place you were looking for. “Do you like it when I touch you there?”

This time when you stopped your hand, Wanda started moving her hips of her own accord, selfishly seeking out what you’d been able to find so easily. Vaguely she wondered if she’d muster up the courage to put her fingers inside herself next time she was on her own, was curious if she asked nicely enough would you show her how to do it. But no words left her mouth. And so your hand stayed motionless.

“Words, baby. Tell me what you like.” Partly just to hear her say it, but also to check in, needing to make sure you weren’t giving her too much too fast. Experienced as you were, you’d never taken anyone’s virginity before; you didn’t know how you’d forgive yourself if Wanda had a bad time because of you. She was all too special for that, whether you wanted to admit your feelings for her or not.

 “I do like your fingers…” Somehow Wanda had drawn you close enough to give you kisses now, her previously unoccupied hands finding their way under your shirt while her lips stayed busy at the hollow of your throat. She didn’t know what she was doing really, had no idea if you even liked to be touched in such a way, but she took your faint moan next to her ear as a yes. “You can add another, if you want.”

“Yeah?” You moved your head just enough to make eye contact, her shy nod making your heart swell. When you pushed back in this time, two digits stretched her open, patient as the first one had been, but Wanda whined at the new full feeling just the same. She was so hot and silky smooth, it felt like heaven around your fingers, Wanda’s walls constricting around you as you finally began inching deeper, “You’re so tight, Wanda, fuck..”

Her legs fell further apart as you inched closer, driving your fingers deeper on every stroke. Now you angled yourself purposefully, pressing into your new discovery until Wanda was gasping and panting. “Can you hear how wet you are? All I needed to do was fill you up a bit and you’ve gone all gushy and submissive, huh?”

A finger pressed to her lips silenced her long enough to force Wanda to listen to the obscene noises of you fucking into her, slick enough to coat your fingers and drip down the curve of her ass; she was sobbing with need by the time your thumb met her abandoned clit again. Wanda didn’t think the naughtiness of this should be affecting her nearly as much as it was, but she was far too gone to care. She felt bad and she loved it, already craved the next time you could make her feel this way. “Oh god, yes… please please-”

“Shh, I’ve got you, princess, go on and let me see you cum again.” It was too close to the words she’d imagined you saying for so long; paired with the coordinated curls of your fingers and rubs over her stuff bud, Wanda was falling all over again. Harder the second time, uninhibited moans and mewls echoing off the walls of her bedroom as her hips jerked and she clung to you. Diligently, you moved with her as she rode each new wave, letting her savor her first real orgasm at the hands of another person. It was amazing really, how beautiful she could look with her face all scrunched, forehead covered in the thinnest sheen of sweat, but the more you looked, the more you realized it was just Wanda you cared about.

No matter what she looked like, how she was, what she’d done or not done, you liked her so much you swore you could feel her tug at your heartstrings. “Such a pretty princess, what a good girl you are…”

Wanda never wanted you to stop talking to her, each new praise sending another aftershock through her oversensitive form. You took your fingers away before any pleasure could turn into pain, but she refused to let you free, even when you tried to get up. “Don’t leave yet.”

“I’m not leaving, I was just going to get you cleaned up.” She mumbled an okay, but still held on for a few minutes and you let her, ignoring the strain being bent over your knees brought to your lower back. You spent your time kissing over whatever bits of her neck and shoulder you could reach until Wanda released you, finally letting you sit up and stretch.

There was only silence as you peeled her wrinkled skirt and soaked underwear from her hips and down her legs, taking them with you to discard in her desk chair before grabbing her current pair of pajama shorts from the top of her dresser where she folded them each morning. The closest sweatshirt was the one she seemed to have permanently borrowed from you and so that returned back to the bed with you. You supposed you could’ve asked to borrow a pair of her sweatpants instead of just shedding your own on the ground and climbing back over to her, but your only thoughts were on how uncomfy yours had become and getting Wanda a new set of her own. 

“Can you sit up for me, sweetheart?” She did, slow as molasses, leaning heavily on your shoulders as soon as you switched her sweater for your hoodie. You were gentle in setting her back down in case she didn’t control her own fall, guiding her head into her pillow to make sure she didn’t hit it on anything else. “It’s not late yet and you’re so tired.”

It was a gentle tease, both of you knowing full well why she felt so spent, but for Wanda who’d never experienced such a sleepy post-sex haze, she didn’t have the willpower to fight something so blissful. “Does that mean cuddling with me is a no for now?”

You laughed at that, lifting her bottom half to let her shorts settle fully in place. “When have I ever said no to that?” Settling next to her was easy, Wanda rolling over until she was cozily plastered to your side, arms and legs wrapping around you like a koala. Smoothing her hair out as she rested her head on your chest, tranquility settled over you both, leaving Wanda to her many thoughts.

For as hyped as it was, Wanda didn’t really feel any different. Relaxed and sated, a pleasurable lingering throb between her legs, yes, but not dissimilar to the person she woke up as this morning. The biggest shift she felt was with you, your gentle coos and endearing massages to her back, hand having snuck under her sweatshirt just to prolong skin to skin contact; you were different to her. Not that you’d ever been rough with her, but there was some new level of intimacy that remained unlabeled, neither of you willing to speak up and address it.

“So..” She didn’t know where to start, what to talk about after having someone buried knuckle deep inside her, “That was something…”

“Certainly was,” Of all things, you weren’t surprised such casualness would come from her lips first; this was Wanda you were dealing with. Sweet, lovely Wanda Maximoff. “Something good? Unless you hated it-”

“No! Not at all, I really really liked it,” Unchanged as she felt, none of it meant Wanda was uninterested in sex, quite the opposite really. Now that the first hurdle was over, she felt freer to test out more; she’d started to believe she’d never get to try it out. Maybe now, with you who was so willing to take her how she is, you’d explore right along with her. “I’d put it in the great category, at least.”

“Oof, just great? What an ego blow,” You faux pouted, sighing dramatically as Wanda clamored atop you. As much as you’d loved seeing your doctor game play out, it meant nothing if Wanda went away unsatisfied, but if her wide grin and rosy cheeks were any indicator, she enjoyed herself just fine and that was a true job well done.

It was her turn to fix you now, tickling your sides until you cracked a smile and kissing your jaw. Wanda hadn’t expected you to be any kind of insecure about your abilities, not when you’d been so patient with her, kind enough to not only indulge her in the sex she desired, but also check in and make sure she was alright. She didn’t think she could fall for you more than she had, but today you’d proven her so very wrong. “Fine, it was more than great. It was the best orgasm I’ve ever had and I can’t wait to do it again. Happy?” 

“Oh? Can’t wait, huh?” The brunette shook her head, hips pressing down against yours suggestively. She was more than aware you hadn’t gotten to cum, didn’t know how to offer that to you, but hopefully if she hinted enough you’d catch on. You squeezed her sides, let her rock slowly back and forth, greedily taking the small amount of friction to soothe your pent up need. There was no way you’d have predicted she’d give any thought to you on her first time, but again, it shouldn’t have shocked you when your new lover was an always caring Wanda. “I thought you were about to take a nap.”

“You said it yourself, it’s early…” Wanda bent until she could rest her elbows on either side of you, rutting her pelvis down to yours more insistently now. After a few moments, you did start guiding her motions, selfishly moving her at the pace that felt best to you. Neglecting to put new underwear on Wanda meant there weren’t many layers between the two of you, both losing yourselves quickly to the heat growing from being pressed together. 

If you’d stayed like that for the rest of the evening, you’d be the happiest student on campus, perhaps just long enough to find your own orgasm. But as it was, you were barely on the precipice of hitting that high when Wanda’s phone chimed from across the room. She jumped away from you as if whoever was calling could see what was happening and you groaned, more needy than irritated, but Wanda was already leaping out of bed.

Only three people tended to call her: you, who was clearly preoccupied at the moment; Pietro, but he always texted first to make sure she wasn’t busy; and her father, who called out of the blue and worried himself sick when Wanda didn’t pick up the phone. As she approached her desk, the picture of her and him together on the day he’d first dropped her off to college lit up the screen and she knew it was him. “Hi, papa! Yes yes, I’m doing perfectly fine…”

You didn’t understand most of the conversation, Wanda flowing in and out of Sokovian as she told him she was okay and easily lied about being engrossed in homework as to why she hadn’t answered the phone immediately. She paced back and forth over the carpet as they discussed something you’d made out to be related to home, the call only ending because Wanda insisted that although she wanted to talk more, she had to get back to her studying. Her face lit up then and you assumed he must’ve given her some praising comment, Wanda’s smile always hopelessly wide when she felt proud of herself. 

Signing off with an I love you too, Wanda hung up and pursed her lips before turning your way with a forlorn look. “What’s up?”

As soon as you sat up, opening her arms to beckon her back over, Wanda made her way to you, settling on her mattress with her legs thrown over your lap. “My dad misses me,” She supposed she really shouldn’t complain, not when she truly did love him so much, but he stressed so much it in turn made her worry about him and if her absence was more of a burden than something for him to be proud of. “I said I’d visit this weekend, but I don’t have a car which means he always has to come pick me up and drive back and I hate making him do that.”

“I’ll drive you.” The words were out of your mouth before you processed them, having offered up your services without Wanda even asking for your help. You didn’t regret saying it; you wanted to see Wanda’s town where she and most everyone you knew grew up, curious about her childhood home Wanda always spoke of so fondly. 

“And make you do the same thing, only twice? No, that’s not fair.” Wanda couldn’t ask you to do that; she really should learn to drive one of these days. Technically she did know how, but she’d never bothered to get her full license; she never had anywhere to go that she couldn’t walk to or get Pietro to drive her. She’d never expected her dad would insist on coming to pick her up to spend time with her so often and she was too polite to tell him it was too much, not that he’d ever listen.

“Well..” You nuzzled into her cheek, wanting to rouse Wanda from her worries and keep her mood light. Besides wanting to explore Westview, a part of you resented having to spend a whole weekend without Wanda so soon and you were loath to admit you’d be bored on your own. “If your dad wouldn’t mind a guest, maybe I could spend the weekend with you?” 

She twisted to face you then, eyes wide with disbelief. No one ever came to her house for her; to ask about Pietro or wonder if the local priest was available for impromptu advice, but never just.. for Wanda. “You want to go home with me… and stay?”

“Unless you think your dad would mind, but otherwise sure, why not. We could leave tomorrow after class and drive back on Sunday, that’s what you’ve done before, right?” So far this school year, Wanda's only been home once, an uncharacteristic drop from the nearly every weekend she’d gone in the past few years of college. The excuse she’d used was you, her father having heard so much about you from how Wanda cited her plans with you as to why she was busy so often. 

Even so, he was always excited for her, happy his daughter had someone to spend so much time with, and Wanda knew he wouldn’t have any problems getting to finally meet you. Her concern was if you’d run for the hills as soon as you met him and his overbearing ways. “Just... bring nice clothes, okay? If you wear too many t-shirts and ripped jeans, he’ll accuse me of making friends with some girl version of my brother.”

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Flight of the Sparrow (part 2)

Young!Elendil x reader. This is part two of two.

An arranged marriage fic. Also starring Raumos, the (assistant) Sail Master!

Sexual themes are touched but not elaborated upon.

*****

“So, what do you think? I hear I have missed a performance or something of the sort?” Raumos asked. The assistant Sail Master had just returned from his moment of intimacy with the blonde prostitute, several pieces of silver lighter but in an excellent mood, a sign his coin had been well-spent “And why are you alone? Do not tell me none of the girls present strikes your fancy.”

Elendil shrugged; he had returned to the first room following the other attendees only a few minutes before, and his mind was still focused on the match he had witnessed - on the bravery and fighting ability the Sparrow had demonstrated, her resilience and cleverness in facing a much bigger, stronger opponent. He was happy she had won, and since all seemed to suggest she would fight a new opponent in a month, he would have to ask his friend to procure another coin for him, because he wanted to see her again.

To see her, and maybe even to talk to her.

“That is not it; I am simply… not in the mood for it.” he explained vaguely; Raumos looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Forgive me for saying it, but given what awaits you, I’d indulge in the pleasures of the flesh whether I was inclined or not. At least you will have something pleasant to think back to if the woman your father has chosen for you is not of your liking.”

The assistant Sail Master was right, Elendil reflected as he took a cup of wine -of a considerably lower quality than the one he had tasted soon after his arrival at the arena; it was to be expected, probably, since most of the attendees were by now too drunk to appreciate the difference, or more interested in other types of pleasure- from a passing tray and looked around him. That was not exactly his last night of freedom, but his marriage would take place before the end of the month, and he ought to make the best of the time he was left - specifically, making good memories and enjoying the company of women of his choice, if only those whose company he would have to pay for. Even if he were not expected to remain faithful to his wife, Elendil did not want to regret the evening he had wasted, especially considering that Raumos had brought him there chiefly to distract him and cheer him up.

“Forgive me, my friend. It is not that I do not appreciate your effort, but…”

“Elendil, you know this sort of concern is not necessary between us.” the assistant Sail Master reassured him with a smile “I am worried for you, and in any case spending an evening here is a sacrifice I am more than willing to make. I am sorry if you do not like it.”

The young soldier rushed to say he was more than enjoying the evening, whether he did find a woman to spend a moment of intimacy with or not. Around him the feast seemed to have reached his peak, with men and women coupling on any surface available, including the table from which most of the food and drink had already been taken; a symphony of moans and curses filled the air, and suddenly Elendil felt himself suffocating.

“I need air; I am going outside for a minute.” he said, passing his cup to Raumos, who seemed enticed by the graces of the girls once more; his blonde friend had been joined by a raven-haired colleague, and the two of them were now standing together on a chair, kissing as if their lives depended on it “And when I return I will look for a girl that I like, I promise.”

“You do not have to do it to please me, Elendil.”

“I know, I know. I will be back soon, I promise.”

Leaving the room, with its thick and hot air, made him feel better quickly. The armed men were still standing watch outside the door, and Elendil wondered whether he would be allowed in again, since he did not have another coin to present; he soon realised he did not care. Rather, he thought, it would be a relief.

The rain had stopped falling, its distinctive scent still permeating the air. Elendil walked slowly around the perimeter of the arena, enjoying the peace and relative quiet of the night as a gentle wind stirred the branches of the trees. He decided he would allow himself a brief pause before returning inside and making good on his promise to Raumos but, he realised, he felt indifferent to the prospect at best. Even if it turned out to be the best sex of his life, that did not change the fact that in less than a month, he would pledge the rest of his life to a woman who he had never even met.

This was what vexed him the most. Not the prospect of having to renounce meeting other women, or the possibility his wife was unattractive, or bad-tempered, or vapid; rather, it was the knowledge of such an important choice being made for him, without his approval or even just the consideration of his feelings, and there were worse destinies than having a spouse one did not love, especially if one had a promising career he could focus on and find satisfaction in, but he could not help it, he hated it, he felt trapped and exploited and unloved, and while he could not renounce his future and life packing a bag and running away to a place where no one would find him, Elendil could not help detesting the state of affairs he had been forced into…

He was so busy brooding on the not enviable future that awaited him, that he noticed he was not alone only a moment before walking into the other person. A stone bench stood at the centre of a small patch of grass at the back of the arena, under the leaves of a century-old holm tree; a person sat on it, completely unmoving if not for the gentle ripple of the wind through their clothes, and the fact they had never formally met did not stop Elendil from recognising the person who, alerted by the soft sound of his footsteps, had turned to look at him, piercing him with as intense a look as the one received by the challenger who had only a few minutes past left the arena in disgrace… and only slightly less hostile.

“Unlike any other woman present here tonight I am not interested in male companionship.” the Sparrow said when Elendil was still a few paces away “So if that is what you are looking for, I suggest you return inside.”

“No, that is not it!” the young soldier exclaimed; he advanced a little more, and when the moon’s soft light allowed them to actually look at each other, Elendil knew she had also recognised him “I was simply… well, enjoying a little peace. There is too much noise and confusion there.”

“There is indeed.” she agreed; Elendil saw her shoulders sag imperceptibly, and the hint of a smile appear on her lips, as if the young woman was reassured he would not bother her. The last thing he wanted was to change her mind, but the impulse to talk to her was overpowering.

“I… err, forgive me, but I was really impressed by your prowess as a fighter.” the young soldier said, forcing himself not to stammer “You were truly exceptional, worthy of fighting in the arena - I mean, in the main one.”

“You… really believe so?”

“I know so. I have witnessed many fights here, and I do believe you would not look out of place among its champions.”

The woman bit her lip, clearly flattered. “Well… that is very kind of you to say. Had you… bet on me winning?”

Elendil said he had lacked the opportunity, but he clearly should have. “Do you need… I mean, would you like a goblet of wine, or something else? I can… go take it…”

He was sure he was making a fool of himself, like a boy half his age who had never spoken to a girl before, but fortunately the Sparrow did not seem to share his opinion. She smiled. “Thank you, but I have drunk enough for today.” she said; she hesitated for a moment, and then, almost shyly, she added: “You may sit, if it pleases you.”

Elendil quickly decided he did, and a moment later he was sharing the space on the bench with her; she was now wearing a cape, and she must have had the chance to visit a washroom, but her hair was still in disarray, her clothes wrinkled and damp with perspiration, the dark bruises around her eye and on her neck not covered by cosmetics. She did not seem upset or embarrassed at being seen in those conditions; Elendil decided he liked that, and for a few minutes they sat side by side, not speaking, content with enjoying the beauty of the star-lit sky over their heads.

“Is this your first time here at the arena?” 

“It is; my friend led me. I had no idea such a place existed!”

“It is surprising.” she agreed, and smiled “Of course, no one joins this secret society to see me fight.”

He would have; Elendil felt himself blush. “Well… I do know it is against the law, but…”

The woman laughed gently, gesturing at him not to worry. “I am not your wife, which means I have no intention of judging you.” she pointed out “Worse crimes than paying for sex exist; and at least there are guards here who intervene if a client becomes too violent.”

Elendil agreed; for a moment he considered clarifying he was not married, but what difference would it make? After all, even if the vows were yet to be spoken and the dowry paid, he was spoken for, and he probably should not have been in what was for all purposes a private brothel in the first place. The young soldier had no honour to defend that night and he was bitterly aware of it.

“The Sparrow is a good name for a fighter.” he commented, making her giggle.  

“When I arrived the previous champions were known as the Scourge of Romenna and the Bone-breaker. My fighter name is slightly less menacing.”

“And you beat them?”

“It was not easy, but I did.”

“Then I do believe no one will make fun of you.” Elendil stated; he liked conversing with her, he realised, much more than he did witnessing the debauchery taking place in the room under the arena “Who taught you?”

“A… friend. He was a career combatant, before changing professions; not many would think it was possible, let alone proper, for a girl to learn to fight, but he believed differently… even if we both knew I would have to keep my interest secret.”

“As far as I know there are no rules forbidding women from fighting in the arena. And while some would probably consider you nothing more than a novelty, I’m sure you would quickly change their mind if they saw you fighting just once.

“I know; and believe me, I would give half of my blood to compete there, or in any other real venue, just once, without having to hide. Sadly, my dream will never come true.”

“Why?” Elendil asked, captivated despite himself, and the young woman by his side turned to regard him; for a moment she seemed torn, as if she wanted to answer truthfully but deemed it inappropriate or unsafe for some reason.

“Let us say my father would not approve.” she said in the end, which Elendil supposed made sense; no matter how much trust they had in her strength and resilience and how sincerely they wanted to let her pursue her ambitions, no parent would lightly allow their daughter to take part in such a dangerous endeavour, considering the fighters in the arena would not be gentle with her on account of her sex.

“I am sorry.” he said; he was sincere, and she smiled, as if she had perceived that. 

“I appreciate it. Thank you.”

They smiled at each other, at ease as if they had been acquainted for years, at ease as if a deep friendship -or an equally deep rapport of another sort- existed between them. Elendil realised he had not introduced himself, and was about to bridge the gap when he realised he must not: after all, even though they were doing nothing wrong and he was still unmarried, it would have been highly embarrassing -and his father would have killed him- had the news of his presence at that event spread in the city. The Sparrow seemed to be a decent person, she would probably keep his secret if he asked her to, but he had barely met her, could he really trust her with such a delicate issue?

In his heart, Elendil decided he could; still, he found out he lacked the courage to do it.

“Look! It is the Swordsman.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Swordsman in the Sky.” she repeated, a finger of her right hand raised to point at a particularly bright set of stars in the sky above their heads “It is my favourite constellation.”

Elendil nodded. “Yes; the Menelvagor.” he added, almost unconsciously translating the name in Sindarin; the Sparrow looked at him curiously.

“You speak the language of the Elves?”

“I do. I was taught it since I was a child; Elves love stars, so it was deemed important that I learnt the names of the most important constellations.”

“And you do know them?”

“I think I do.” he admitted with a smile; the young woman next to him sighed in evident envy.

“Oh, I wish I knew them as well…”

Elendil decided he did not like seeing her unhappy, no matter how inconsequential the reason. He taught her the names of the stars they could see from their point of observation, and the Sparrow learnt them quickly; when Elendil complimented her pronunciation she smiled, clearly flattered.

“You like stars, I seem to gather.”

“I do. My… mother was an astronomer; she spent nights staring at the sky, drawing maps and consulting some enormous books. Sometimes, even though I should have been in bed, I sat next to her, and she would tell me all the names and their characteristics, and even though I was too young to understand I’d listen avidly and try and remember…”

Bitterness touched her smile. “I like to imagine she is there now; among the stars.” she confided, looking at the hands resting on her lap “We do not know exactly what happens to our dead, and it comforts me to know… well, that even if she left me, she is now surrounded by the things she loved the most. Forgive me, I… I should not bore you with my ravings…”

“You are not raving; and even if you did you would be allowed to, if it brings you comfort.” Elendil argued; he did find her belief moving, certainly better than knowing the people they loved were decomposing in a casket underground “I… I also lost my mother, years ago. She had been sick for years, and… well, I do like to think that wherever she is, she is at least free from any ailment.”

“I am sure she is.”

They smiled at each other; the bench was more than wide enough, but their knees were almost brushing against each other. The night seemed to sing around them; Elendil saw her open her mouth to speak, but he never knew what she was about to say, since a moment later they both heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and without a real reason both hurried to put as much space between them as they could.

“Sparrow? I was looking for you.” the man who had joined them said; Elendil recognized the match’s master of ceremonies. He looked curiously at the young soldier before focusing on the woman “We have your reward, and your companion is looking for you.”

She sighed. “I better not leave him waiting then; thank you.” she said, and stood, clearly reticent to leave. She smiled at Elendil, but waited for the man to have left before speaking.

“Will I… see you again next month?” she asked “I… enjoyed talking to you, I would like to do it again.”

He had enjoyed it as well, just like he had enjoyed seeing her fighting; too much, probably, given what awaited him in a few weeks. “Nothing would make me happier.” he answered sincerely, standing as well “Truly. But I cannot.”

“I can ask the patrons for a coin; more than one, if… if you wanted to return again…”

She wanted him to return; Elendil felt his heartbeat accelerate, and for a moment -for a brief, precious moment- he felt ready to throw caution to the wind, and follow his instinct, and his feelings, to make that night worth it, maybe even unforgettable…

And then the moment passed.

“I am sorry.” he said, and hated himself for the way the Sparrow’s face immediately fell “Believe me, I would give anything to be able to return, and see you again, but… but I really cannot. I… I am not allowed.”

“I see.” she said; she clearly did not, and how could she?, but she smiled, taking a step back. “So this is good-bye; thanks for keeping me company.”

“It was my pleasure. Good-bye, woman of the stars.”

He looked on as she turned and walked away, and despite the warmth of the night Elendil suddenly felt cold.

*

“Compliment her. Tell her she is beautiful - I do not care if she is not, flattering words never hurt when you are talking to a woman. You can hold her hand to help her descend stairs or climb on a carriage, but nothing else; you do not want to be too forward, even though the marriage pact has already been signed. You have the gift? Be careful not to lose it, and please, Elendil, try talking about something other than ships and your training with the Sea Guard…”

Lord Amandil’s warnings and reprimands had accompanied him ever since they had left their home an hour earlier, and for the hundredth time in that interval Elendil bit his lip, forcing himself to listen and nod or shake his head when appropriate, without uttering a single word; he was already nervous without his father breathing down his neck, and his feet felt heavier with every step he took. At least, he attempted to comfort himself, the moment had finally come, and in an hour he would be home again. His marriage would take place in a month, not even an intervention of Eru himself could spare him the destiny his father had planned for him, but at least he would soon know what exactly awaited him, which was an improvement, he supposed, however small.

His father and soon-to-be father-in-law had decided the first meeting between the two future spouses would take place on a neutral ground, a garden in one of the city’s most elegant neighbourhoods. Elendil felt uncomfortable wearing the rich clothes his father had chosen for him, wishing he was instead at the harbour, busy with whatever task his captain had entrusted him with, free to forget, at least for the rest of the afternoon, of the burning injustice he was being subjected to. As they walked along the cobbled path, surrounded by the lush vegetation many of Armenelos’ citizens had decided to enjoy in that warm, sunny morning, the young soldier forced himself to straighten his spine and at least attempt to present himself well; it could not hurt to make a good impression.

He wondered what the state of mind of his intended was at that moment. Arranged marriage were often more difficult to deal with for women than for men; given the fact his future wife would still be untouched at the time of the wedding -Amandil’s trusted physician would examine her on the day before the ceremony; Elendil found the whole matter barbaric, and had asked his father to waive it, but even though his son, and not he, was the interested party, Amandil had refused to listen- she was perhaps nervous at the prospect of her first intimate experience being with a person she barely knew, or perhaps she had wished to share it with someone she had had to part from. Whatever the case, Elendil promised himself he would try and make the encounter as painless for her as possible; theirs was not a love match, or even just something they were taking part in willingly, but perhaps in time they could become friends, or at least learn to coexist without making each other unhappy.

“You look tired.” Amandil mentioned, glancing at his son, as they delved into the least crowded area of the garden “And pale.” 

“I am fine, father.”

“I should hope so. No woman wants to meet a groom who looks like he has spent the night carousing and drinking.”

Elendil bit his lip again, refraining from what would have been a very disrespectful answer. The truth was, he had spent the night carousing and drinking; in the end, he had kept his promise to Raumos and had spent some time alone with one of the prostitutes after she had led him to a tiny secluded room. It had been pleasant, in a vaguely impersonal and mechanical way, and while the girl’s compliments for his body and prowess as a lover would have probably been given in any case, he had to admit his heart had not been completely involved. She had been his last partner as an unmarried man, and Elendil could not even remember her name - assumed she had been sincere in telling him.

Elendil looked at the small chest in his hands and wished desperately the whole affair would be worth it - at least a little.

“Ah, here they are!” his father said, an arm raised in greeting, towards a small pavilion, its iron-wrought dome covered by an elegant white tent, inside which three people were waiting; an older man who had quickly stood to return his father’s greeting, a younger individual who judging from his clothes and sword worn at the belt was a bodyguard, and a woman, who also stood slowly. 

He could not see her face yet; but there was something in that simple and brief movement -the way she carried herself, the slow rising of her head to regard him, the colour of her hair- that had Elendil almost trip over his own feet.

“Do not lag behind.” his father instructed; the young soldier did not answer, and a moment later his future father-in-law walked to meet them, and was exchanging a formal embrace with Amandil before being presented to Elendil, who bowed low, still shaken.   

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my young friend. My daughter is eager to meet you.” the older man, tall and elegantly but sensibly dressed, answered; there was kindness in him, Elendil decided, and a sort of trepidation, as if he was also nervous about that meeting “Allow me to introduce the two of you.”

The woman had climbed down the few steps leading to the pavilion. Elendil felt her utter an odd sound, halfway between a cry and a moan -that voice- quickly silenced by a hand on her mouth, but as he covered the short distance, he found himself unable to raise his eyes to meet hers; blood was rushing in his ears, his heart beating twice as fast. It could not be. Or could it? Please… oh, please, if there is some justice in this world, if I have done something in my life to earn a stroke of luck…

“My darling, these are lord Amandil and his son Elendil.” 

By now they were face to face, the armed guard hovering protectively behind the woman, but all Elendil could see were her delicate shoes, and the hem of her dress. He could feel his father tense beside him, ready to elbow him in the side. He had walked to that encounter without any expectation whatsoever, already bitter and angry at the whole affair, but now he realised there was an emotion he had not considered, and that threatened to make him feel worse than ever…

Disappointment.

He looked at her; the chest with the betrothal gift almost slipped from his grasp. 

“My name is (name).” the Sparrow said, her tone firm; despite the strength and resilience he already knew she possessed for a moment Elendil feared she was about to swoon “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

*

There were stars on her dress, a delicate embroidery on the neckline, sleeves and hem; it was very pretty, and she was as well, and Elendil found the courage to tell her as they walked side by side in the gardens, followed by (name)’s father’s bodyguard, Almaran, from a distance. 

“That is… very nice to say so, my lord.” she answered, openly flattered; she looked shyly at him before averting her gaze once more “My father wanted me to buy a new dress especially for this occasion, but I was able to convince him it would be appropriate for me to wear one of my mother’s old dresses.”

“It is an appropriate dress for an astronomer.”

“It really is.”

She walked slowly, her eyes kept demurely low, wringing her hands until she realised Elendil had noticed, and then she stopped, keeping them clasped in front of her. 

Her behaviour could not have been more different from the frank, open and friendly attitude she had kept on the previous night, when the two of them had spoken outside the arena, and Elendil thought he knew why; the Sparrow -(name), he corrected himself; he had to be very careful when addressing her in public, but the young soldier did not doubt she would always be the Sparrow to him, at least in the privacy of his heart- feared he thought less of her now that he knew of her passion for fighting, and that he would share her secret with their fathers, shaming her and ruining her reputation. 

Nothing could be farther from his intentions -and his feelings- and Elendil knew he needed to tell her as soon as possible, preferably while they were safe from prying ears; fortunately their fathers had conceded them a little time to get to know each other, and that was exactly what he wanted to do.

“Shall we sit?” he offered as they walked past another bench; he saw the woman next to him tense, and swallow, her gaze quickly moving to the man shadowing them ten paces behind as if to reassure herself. The bodyguard smiled at her, and then looked meaningfully at Elendil, his hand resting on the short sword hanging from his belt. 

“Of course, my lord.”

He brushed away some leaves from the bench to allow her to sit; Elendil sighed, wondering how to best broach the subject, and then he decided straightforwardness could not hurt.

“I am not going to tell them.” he started softly, looking straight in front of him “I believe there is nothing inappropriate and shameful in what I saw you doing, but even if there was, I would keep my mouth shut.”

Slowly, she raised her gaze to look at him, unsure, as if not daring to believe. “Are you serious, my lord?”

“Elendil, please. I think we should call each other by name, given… well, the circumstances.”

Another smile, still shy, but still beautiful. “Elendil is a lovely name.” (name) commented “Does it… have a meaning? In the language of the Elves?”

“It has two, actually. It means either Elf-friend or One who loves the stars.”

“Oh, that is a name I would love to carry…”

“Well, I can lend it to you, if you wish, sometimes.” he offered, perfectly serious, and they both giggled. “I was serious.” he added softly a moment later “Your secret is safe with me, whatever happens. I swear.”

For the first time since they had been introduced, (name) looked openly at him. “You might change your mind one day.” she warned him; most of the bruises she had received during her match on the previous night had been covered by cosmetics, but the one of her neck was peeking out of her dress’ neckline  “Especially considering I have been told you have been forced into this marriage just like I have, and telling our fathers what you have seen me do would probably be enough to force yours to rescind the pact, and mine to accept it.”

Elendil had not thought about it, but she was right. Even though (name) had not been one of the women selling her body at the arena, and an unsanctioned fight did not exactly qualify as a crime, the whole situation was embarrassing enough Amandil would not consider her a worthy bride for his son. Could it be the way out he had desperately been looking for? The young soldier briefly considered it, and then he attempted to imagine the consequences the scandal would have on (name) if the truth became public.

“Would… your father be angry with you, if he knew about the arena?” he inquired. 

(name) sighed. “He would not beat me if this is what you are afraid of; but he has been looking for a suitable husband for me for years, and he is the sort of man who thinks a woman does not need ideas or interests of her own, if she can share those of her father or husband. Knowing what you saw me do, and where… he does love me, but I do not think he could ever forgive me, or respect me any longer.”

“But there was nothing wrong in what you were doing.”

“I agree; but a man of his age, who has received a certain sort of education, is bound to think in a certain way. It is not like I enjoyed performing in the arena, for a crowd of debauchees who sometimes promise to pay my opponents more if they can tear my clothes off; and I do not do it for the coin either, since Almaran makes sure it goes to an indigent family we are acquainted to.”

Elendil supposed Almaran was the friend who had taught her to fight, and who had been looking for her on the previous night, when he and (name) had parted. “Why do you do it, then?” he asked curiously; (name) looked at him for a moment before answering, as if to make sure he was actually interested in the matter, and was not simply humouring her.

He was not.

“Because it makes me feel strong. Worthy. Alive, even.” she confessed; she seemed almost relieved, as if she had never shared those secrets with anyone “I have been interested in fighting arts since I was little, dreaming about competing in a great arena -in the main stage, obviously- and winning acclaim for my strength and resilience; but as a young girl, once my father saw Almaran teach me how to throw a punch, and he immediately told me to stop, because such activities were not appropriate for a highborn young lady, and I best focus on my embroidery and harp lessons. My mother knew Almaran kept teaching me to fight, and she liked knowing I was able to defend myself in case of danger; but as you know she has passed, and after my father decided we would move here in the city to find me a husband, he told me he expected me to behave respectably, so as not to bring shame on our family. I know it was dangerous and reckless of me to go to the arena, but I could not help it. I do enjoy needlework and music and other feminine occupations, and would like to get married, one day; but those moments on the ring, when I can forget about appropriateness and rules and the need to impress a suitor and focus on simply punching my opponent as hard as I can and avoid his blows… in those moments, and only then, I feel life is worthy to be lived.”

“I know what you feel.”

“You do?”

“Of course; I have always aspired to join the Sea Guard, but I must admit an added value to spending days and even weeks at sea is that I do not have to deal with my father, and his expectations for me as his heir.” Elendil admitted “I do love him, and I know he wants what is best for me, but sometimes I feel myself suffocating. This is why I enjoy being a seaman: when you are on a ship, surrounded by the waves, no one cares if you are a nobleman, or wealthy or from a good family; you still need to hold the rudder, unfurl the sails and carry out whatever task the captain gives you. At sea, no one is given special treatment; when you are on a ship you have your own duties, but you are free from all others.”

(name) grinned; she seemed much more at ease in this company already, which Elendil considered a victory. “Then perhaps we should both steal a ship and sail as far from here as we can.” she suggested. 

“It would be nice. Unfortunately even the largest ship has to dock, sooner or later.”

They both reflected on that truth as they sat side by side, not touching but both aware of the growing closeness between them, a sort of unexpected, chaste intimacy that had blossomed on the previous night as they became acquainted outside the arena, a moment both of them had carried in their heart after they had parted. Elendil wanted to ask (name) what would be worse, having her father know about her secret activities or being forced to marry him, but he found that once again his courage was failing him.

Still, he felt he could be honest with her; it was easy, even, as if they had known each other for a long time. He had never felt anything like that, but he liked it, and he felt grateful for it. 

“I am happy I met you.” he murmured, regarding the woman next to him “I mean… before today. I was very nervous, and I know there is still so much we do not know about each other, and we only spoke for a few minutes, but…”

… but those few minutes had been important; precious, even, and while neither felt able to utter the words, it was a feeling both shared. (name) smiled; she was pretty when she did that, Elendil thought.

“Tell me, the reason why you told me you would not return to the arena… is because you are going to get married?” she asked after a while.

“It is. Yestereve was meant to be… well, a last night of freedom; and I must confess I… did pay one of the ladies for her time.” Elendil admitted; he felt embarrassed, even ashamed, but he knew she deserved to know “But nothing of the sort will happen once we get married, you have my word.”

“I would never ask you that, Elendil; not since I know you have not… chosen me.”

“I know; but I would not be able to live with myself if I spoke the marriage vows already planning to break them. Also, you have not chosen me either.” he pointed out “Do you… have someone?”

“No. You?”

“Neither. I admire your honesty, and have also always considered adulterous affairs squalid, but that does not mean…” she sighed “You seem a good man; and I enjoyed talking to you last night, I wish we had more time for that. But that does not mean an eventual marriage between us would be successful; my father told me I would not have to spend all my time with you, at least once we have had a child or two, but perhaps naively, I have always thought there was more to marriage than conceiving an heir and hosting dinners together. I have always wished for a spouse I could respect, and even like; for a spouse who cared for me beyond the advantages our match could bring him.”

She looked so sincere, open and unashamed as she shared her most intimate desires with a person she barely knew, Elendil felt a surge of affection filling his heart. She did not need protecting, he was sure of it, or to be taken care of, but he promised himself she would never have to regret being forced into that marriage; a marriage, he realised in his heart, he suddenly felt, if not happy, much less nervous about than an hour before.

“I forgot; this is for you.” he said suddenly, offering her the chest he had carried with him up to that point “A gift, to celebrate our first official meeting. I hope it pleases you.”

(name) smiled shyly as she accepted the chest and opened it; resting on the tiny cushion was a bracelet, a heavy, sumptuous jewel, the bright red of the gems almost blinding. It had belonged to Elendil’s grandmother -a kind and generous woman, but not known for her good taste- and had already been out of date when she had worn it. Elendil, who knew nothing of jewellery and feminine tastes, was ready to bet no young woman of his time would ever wear it, no matter how precious the bracelet was.

“Oh! Well, it is beautiful!” (name) exclaimed as she regarded the jewel in her hand; amused, Elendil saw clearly how desperately she was attempting to look more impressed than she actually was “It is so… so…”

“... gaudy?” 

“Well, I was going to say striking, but…”

They shared a smile, and they both started to laugh. “I am sorry.” Elendil said “This is a terrible gift, but my father chose it, and he thought the larger and more ostentatious the jewel, the more impressed you would be. You hate it, do you not?”

(name) admitted that while hate was too strong a word, the bracelet was as far from her tastes as it could be. “But I do appreciate the gesture, and I will make sure to thank your father for it.” she promised “He looks… very stern; proud of you, of course, but not the sort of man who would suffer being gainsaid.”

“You are an excellent judge of character.”

“So if we did attempt to break our betrothal, in the way we have already discussed, you would suffer the consequences as well.” (name) pointed out, and Elendil nodded; Amandil would not blame him for his intended’s actions, but admitting he had been to a brothel, a formally outlawed sort of place where anyone could have recognized him as his father’s son, would have had significant, even tragic repercussions.

“It seems like we both have a lot to lose.” he summed up softly, and the woman next to him nodded sadly “Which is why I was wondering… do you think our fathers would accept, if we asked them to prolong our betrothal?”

“You mean… do not attempt to break the pact, but avoid having to marry within the end of the month?”

“Exactly. I… I enjoy spending time with you, and I do believe any man would be fortunate to be your intended; but we know so little about each other…”

“... and becoming man and wife now would only make us unhappy.” (name) finished for him; she had started wringing her hands again “I agree. Maybe if we both asked them, our fathers would relent; and then we could… do something together another time? There are so many places in the city and its surroundings I still do not know, and maybe in a few weeks or months we will… well…”

… we will have time to decide if we do want to go on with this betrothal or not; whether we like each other enough for that or not, and if we could make each other happy. She had to be too embarrassed to utter the words, but Elendil perceived her intentions nonetheless, and more importantly, he shared them completely.

“I would like that.” he murmured; shyness and nervousness had disappeared, and now his heart was filled with an emotion that was, if not exactly eagerness, at least hope - the hope of discovering living in a cage could be pleasant, with the right cellmate “In fact, it would make me very happy if I could see you again, and… well, I would not say no if you could provide me with another coin for the arena.”

(name) smiled; joy seemed to blossom on her face. “To meet the ladies or…?”

“No; I want to see the Sparrow fight again, and best another opponent.”

“Then I do believe that can be arranged.”

Elendil nodded; he reflected for a moment, then he turned to the man waiting a few paces away, still vigilant even though he had noticed how at ease (name) seemed in his company.

“May I hold your lady’s hand for the remainder of our time together?” he asked courteously.

If Almaran was surprised to be consulted, he did not show it. “I have nothing against it, my lord.” he answered “If my lady permits, that is.”

He nodded, he stood, he bowed. “May I have your hand as we walk, my lady?”

“I would like that, Elendil.”

She took his hand; their fingers intertwined, and there was no need to say more. They started along the path, leaving the chest with the bracelet on the bench behind them.

This fic is dedicated to two of the best people on Tumblr: @hippodameia and @montyc. Thank you so much for asking!!