#i just think there should be room for it in modern literature

[lackadaisycal-art]

What's your literature hot take?

Mine is that head-hopping is not inherently sloppy or lazy, and that the modern expectation to always have every chapter (or whole book) from one specific character's POV limits the potential for certain kinds of comedy, suspense and other narrative nuances

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNMATCHED

A/N: it's been like 6 months since i last posted something and honestly, i haven't even written anything, things are very shitty these days but i felt the motivation to write this quickly after watching 'tell me lies' and 'rivals' these past weeks so here we go! if student-prof type of fics are not your thing then don't read it

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNING: age gap, student-professor relationship

SUMMARY: Harry is very strict about staying away from students as a young and handsome professor, but there is one person he can't get out of his head and a Christmas party brings an unexpected turn.

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Harry hates these type of parties, mostly because he can’t imagine inviting dozens of students into his home, his private space, have the roam around and spend an entire evening with them, talking and pretending like they aren’t just trying to get a better grade at the end of the semester with their too friendly behavior. Or, in his case, some girls try to push the boundaries and flirt with him, hoping to hook up with him. 

He is not stupid. He has heard students whisper about him several times, he notices the heart eyes when he is talking in class and he has gotten several phone numbers on papers since he started his PHD studies and started teaching last year. His friends teased him about being the heartthrob of the faculty, but he didn’t think it would actually happen and to this extent. To avoid any possible scandals, not that he planned to make any, he has put on quite a rigid mask towards the students to scare them off from even trying, though that hasn’t stopped some of them from wanting to shoot their shot. 

He wouldn’t have come to this party, he would rather be home and continue his research that’s still not even close to being done, but Professor Bradford, or Stella as she requests Harry to call her, is the only person he gets along with in the faculty. She is 18 years older than Harry, but still younger than the rest of the old men who have been teaching here since probably before the declaration of independence was signed. Those men are the reason younger people don’t like classic literature anymore, with their outdated ways of teaching and unwillingness to bring something modern into their lectures they are scaring the new generations away. But not Stella. She is one of the reasons Harry went into his PHD and now he gets to work with her. He couldn’t just reject her invitation for her annual Christmas Party she holds for her students and some colleagues. 

Now he is standing by the wall, drinking mulled wine and just gritting his teeth, trying to calculate how early is too early to leave. A couple of girls have already tried to chat him up, they like to circle him, leave him almost no room to escape and then make him talk about school stuff, but then they slyly bring up personal things, hoping to break his usual character, but he sees through them always. 

Harry’s best friend, Niall always teases him that he should just give in and have fun with one of them. His morals are a lot looser than Harry’s, that’s for sure. 

Just as he is about to look for the bathroom, not to use it but to hide for a bit, another group of girls spots him and he can already feel his skin crawling as they approach him from down the hallway. He is quick to assess the situation, but he realizes he has no chance of fleeing before they reach him. 

“Profesor! So good to see you here!” 

And here we go. 

It goes the same, they are extremely nice and inquiring about his plans for the next semester and then suddenly they are talking about summer and Harry knows they are moments away from asking what he’ll be doing once the school year is over. One of the girls is talking about going to Italy on a yacht and the others chime in with their own ridiculously over the top plans while Harry is avoiding to even look at them, his eyes roam around the other guests. 

That’s when he sees her. 

Just down the hall he can peek into the kitchen and there she is, with a boy Harry assumes to be her boyfriend. He’s seen them around campus the past few weeks, he even waited for her after Harry’s class and saw them walk away together as he fought the way his stomach churned every time. 

Since the moment she walked into his class at the beginning of the semester Harry has been feeling like he is losing his mind. Whether it be the way she laughs with her friends before class or focuses with undivided attention as Harry explains something by the board, or says hello every time she passes him in the cafeteria, Harry can’t stop thinking about her for days after even though he knows such feelings should be banned from his mind when it comes to a student. Every time he catches himself thinking about her he wants to throw himself out the window, but he still can’t fight it. There’s something in her that draws him in and swallows him whole and it’s not just the looks. Unlike a lot of students who take his classes for easy credits or to drool after him, she is there to learn as much as she can and she’s had the most brilliant thoughts on certain subjects Harry has ever encountered, making him almost jealous he wasn’t the one to think about them. 

She is… unmatched. And forbidden, but impossible to ignore. She’s been his vice for months.

From where he stands it appears she is having a fight with said boyfriend, her always cheerful expression is now rather upset and confused while the boy seems to be over the conversation, almost irritated by her, dismissed. Harry tries to appear not too obvious about watching them, but he is also way too fixated on her to ignore what’s happening just down the hallway. 

He glances away just for a few seconds, but the next time he looks back he sees the boy stomping away, irritated, while she is left there, pulling on her coat before disappearing through the backdoor, swallowed by the darkness of the unlit back terrace. 

And before Harry could stop himself, he is already moving.

“Excuse me girl,” he mumbles disorientedly as he slips out of the small circle. 

He places his glass to a nearby table and then grabs his own coat from the wardrobe in the hallway before making his way outside. After her. 

The moment he steps out into the cold a short sense of realization washes over him that he definitely shouldn’t be here, that he is crossing a line, but then another voice in his head tunes it out, convincing him that he is just making sure she is okay and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Stopping by the door his gaze rakes through the terrace, but he doesn’t see her, until she spots her slouched form sitting on the bottom of the stairs leading out to the lawn. He hears her sniffling, but she hasn’t acknowledged his presence yet, if she noticed it at all. There’s a couple of moments of hesitation on his end, he can hear the rational side of him screaming somewhere in the back of his mind, telling him to turn around and just walk back inside, yet he still finds himself moving towards him and then that voice is silenced. 

“Everything alright?” Harry asks from the top of the stairs, but he startles her so much that she jumps to her feet and backs away a few feet. That’s when he sees her tearful eyes and red nose. 

“S-Sorry, I don’t–”

“Hey, it’s all good. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just checking in.”

She squints her eyes at him and that’s when he realizes she must not even see his face since the light is coming right behind him. So he walks down the stairs and then finally his face is lit and realization settles in her eyes. 

“Oh, Professor Styles. Hi.”

“Hello Y/N. Are you okay?” he asks again, to which she just chuckles bitterly. 

He can’t miss that even with tears running down her cheeks and her eyelashes stuck together, she looks so fucking beautiful it baffles him. He has to fight the urge to reach out and touch her tear-soaked cheeks. 

“Um, yeah, everything is… perfect,” she scoffs, reaching into her pockets, probably looking for tissues, but finding none so Harry grabs one from his inner pocket, handing it over to her, her fingers brushing against his for the shortest second as she takes it and then it’s over, but his skin keeps tingling. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles before drying her face as much as she can. “I’m good. Just…” She looks at him and changes her mind. “Ah, wouldn’t want to bore you with my nonsense personal drama.”

“Drama is never boring, have you learned nothing in my class?” he jokes and it actually makes her laugh. 

“This drama is not worthy of being taught in class though.”

“I bet some of the big names thought the same thing upon writing what we read in class these days.”

“So you’re saying I should write about how my boyfriend is fed up with me because I told him something he did hurt me?”

“That sounds like something I bet a lot of people would want to read about,” he smiles and when she mirrors it, he can feel his chest expanding. Somewhere way too deep in his mind an alarm goes off, but it quickly becomes one with the void and all he can think about is her. “Actually I can think of a few great pieces that are about similar topics.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, believe it or not, you’re not the first one to experience this.”

The way she looks at him is setting him on fire. The mixture of sadness, tiredness and gratitude towards his attempt to cheer her up is still making her glow in a way Harry has never seen before on any woman. 

“Do you mind analyzing one for me right now?”

“I’d be happy to.”

The party is completely tuned out for the two of them. First they actually talk about a novel, but soon it turns into sharing their favorite books and authors, their guilty pleasure reads,  recommendations for each other and even more personal bits Harry would never share with a student, but Y/N is the exception. 

They have no idea how much time passes as they stand outside and Harry ignores how the cold starts to sting his fingertips even in his pockets, because he knows that if they go inside this bubble will pop and he is too selfish to let that happen just yet. 

When there’s a short silence Harry notices that she is probably slipping back into what happened earlier and when she looks at him again he already knows she is about to share.

“I gave him a chance and explicitly told him not to fuck me over, because I can’t deal with that again. But all he has been doing is manipulating to believe that I’m always in the wrong.”

“It’s impossible for you to always be in the wrong.”

“I know. Well, part of me knows, but then I always go back to thinking that he is right, I must have messed up something.”

“That just proves that you have self-criticism, that you don’t just think everything you do is perfect.”

She sighs and looks away, her gaze distant as she battles herself inside her head, a feeling Harry knows very well, unfortunately. It doesn’t sit right with him that she is visibly struggling because of an immature guy’s untreated problems. She deserves so much more, but how can he tell that without crossing a line?

“Give it some time and you’ll see it clearer. Use your critical thinking on his actions as well, not just yours and don’t settle for less than your worth.”

“You think I did that?” she asks, eyes jumping back to meet his gaze. “You think I settled for less than my worth?”

There’s more behind her eyes than the words she said out loud and he is torn, because he can feel himself being pulled in more than ever, like she just opened the door the slightest and he has the chance to slip in. It’s the first time he senses something on her part and after all the yearning he is eager to take the chance. 

“I think you deserve a lot more, Y/N. You’re brilliant, bright and give so much to others, you should get the same amount if not more back. If someone can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”

For a second he wishes he didn’t say a thing, he regrets crossing the line and he fears her reaction, but then… 

Then he forgets everything. Because she is kissing him. 

It happens fast, one moment she is staring up at him with doe eyes, the next her lips are crashing against his, her hands grabbing onto the lapels of his coat. He barely recovers from the shock when she is already pulling away.

“I-I’m so sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, I just—Oh my Go–”

Her stammering is quickly cut short when he kisses her, his hands holding her jaw to angle her face perfectly and while her kiss was closed, rushed and panicked, this one is different. He is quick to beg for her to open her lips so he can explore as much of her as humanly possible, he is letting all the passions loose that he’s been locking up these past months and when she returns it just as eagerly it just pushes him even further. 

They inch back to the wall of the house and when he pins her against it a moan slips past her swollen lips, completely maddening him. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes against her lips, kissing her jawline, savoring the sweet taste of her skin that’s supposed to be cold, but it’s actually burning. For him. 

He keeps one hand on the side of her neck, the other one digs into her hip through her coat and she keeps pushing against him, while her hands wander under his coat, they are on his waist, back and when they move to his lower stomach, brushing against his belt, something snaps inside him. 

But before he could completely lose his mind the backdoor opens and he quickly sobers up, pulling her farther away from the corner so they can’t be seen. 

“...and that was actually crazy,” a girl speaks up, oblivious to how Harry has Y/N pinned against the wall just a few feet away. They are both breathing heavily, but she has her face buried in his shoulder while he covers his mouth with a hand, adrenaline racing through his veins. 

“Ah shit, I’m out of cigarettes,” another girl says.

“Mm let’s get out of here then. I think Max said they are having a little party as well.”

“Okay.”

Then the door opens again and the voices disappear, but reality hits Harry hard in the head.

He slowly pulls back, enough to look at her face and when he sees her swollen lips and slightly smeared mascara he almost combusts. 

Because he wants nothing more than to take her, right here and then everywhere else in the world, but he also realizes what he just did and this time his rational side wins. 

“Fuck,” he gasps as he jumps back, cupping a hand over his mouth.

“I wanted it–”

“Y/N, stop!” he cuts her off. “Fuck, this was a mistake.”

“But I wanted it! You didn’t–”

“I said stop!” he barks and she shuts her mouth right away. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

And before she could protest again or worse, kiss him again, he is already storming back inside, across the house towards the front door.

“Harry! I haven’t seen you all night!” Stella catches him, but he just wants to get as far away from this house and from Y/N as possible.

“I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later,” is all he manages to say before he is already out the door.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[mightyostanes]

Why Jews Aren't "Trying to Trick G-d"

(Note only secondary sources are cited in the bibliography)

For my second post I had originally planned on writing something more fun but unfortunately, I feel the need to write this. Lately I’ve seen quite a few people on twitter saying that the way Jews interpret Halakah is that Jews are trying to trick G-d. While this is obviously a bad faith argument designed to be shitty, I still think this subject should be explained in greater detail. Mostly because I think there’s a fundamental disconnect in the way people imagine religions should interact with their deity and how Judaism has historically interacted with G-d. Furthermore, due to the Haskalah and Counter Haskalah I feel that a lot of these ideas have been lost to a lot of Jews in the English-speaking world. Replaced by Platonism that has much more in common with Philo and Maimonides then it does with anything the sages actually wrote or believed. Or to put it in much franker terms the toilet demon Rabba Bar Rav Huna mentioned in Gittin70:A6 probably wasn’t a metaphor. Instead, it seems incredibly likely that both he and Rabbi Tanhum Bar Tanilai believed in a literal Sheyd that lived in literal toilets no matter how embarrassing that sounds. 

    The reason this bizarre tangent is important is because if you actually look at the biblical, rabbinic, medieval, kabbalistic, and hasidic literature it utterly destroys the idea that the relationship of the Jew to G-d is of one sided kowtowing submission. Granted, it’s quite easy to interpret it that way but that’s mostly due to conditioning in terms of what people think a theistic religion should be about rather than any wiggle room in the texts themselves. In fact, I’d wager most arguments against this have more to do with people’s idea of the Tanakh than the Tanakh itself. 

      The biggest reason for this misunderstanding in my opinion is that very few people actually know what a covenant is let alone its context. To illustrate my point, I’d like you to think back on the last time you made a covenant with someone or something. Assuming you aren’t a ceremonial magician the answer to the question just posed is probably never. In the modern world covenant has become almost solely associated with the Bible and has almost no context. Especially because the idea of the ‘New Covenant’ talked about in the works of Paul the Apostle has very little to do with what covenants historically were. Rather than statements of blind faith, covenants in the Ancient Near East were more analogous to contracts and treaties. There are even some scholars who think that the covenantal theology in Deuteronomy may be based on Ancient Near Eastern vassal treaties. (1)

    In these treaties a bigger state or kingdom would make a treaty for a smaller kingdom to accept fealty to them. (1) In these treaties, at least in paper, rather than being a slave the ruler of the smaller nation was supposed to be a junior partner. Said vassals would also continue to be junior partners to the larger power if they held up the obligations given to them by the treaty. (1) Similarly, just as the smaller party holds obligations to the larger party the larger party also holds obligations to the smaller party. Including ostensibly having to listen to complaints or suggestions the smaller party made. 

   In the Tanakh or Five Books of Moses, there are exactly three covenants mentioned that occurred between G-d and humans. These three aforementioned covenants are the covenant with Noah and his descendants once the Ark lands, (Gen 8:20-9:13), The covenant for Abraham’s descendants where an unknown light phenomenon signifying G-d passes through Abraham’s sacrifice (Gen: 15), and the famous covenant between G-d and the Israelites on Mount Sinai (Exodus 19-24). Shortly after the establishment of both the Abrahamic and Mosaic Covenants G-d or an emissary of G-d appears and holds a banquet with the covenant members (Gen 18:1-10, Exodus 24:9-18). In the Ancient Near Eastern context that these texts were written in, banquets and feasts thrown by a king or senior covenant partner were incredibly important tools for control or consolidation. In both the Neo-Assyrian Empire and in the kingdom of Mari not only eating with the king but being at the table with him showed that you were considered as part of the king’s metaphorical family (2). These constructed family hierarchies would be clearly delineated by how close one sat to the king and how one sat, with the people right next to the king being seen as close immediate family members analogous to sons or younger brothers. In the two previously mentioned covenants the Elders of Israel and Abraham’s family sans Lot were sitting with G-d or his emissary suggesting an incredibly close relationship instead of merely that of master and servant. Especially as the angels or heavenly host were not seated ahead of the human participants at the metaphorical dinner table. 

          This idea of man as junior partner and consultant is also seen in the way that humans can critique, give advice to, or argue with G-d and G-d takes their words into consideration. A famous example of this post covenant is Abraham giving G-d suggestions on what to do with Sodom and Gomorrah and G-d accepting his input (Gen 18). An even more extreme example is in Exodus 32 when Moses actually argues with G-d and seemingly wins the argument thus saving the lives of the Hebrews. Similarly, complaints were by no means unknown by the rulers of vassal states to their overlords. The famous Amarna letters addressed by Egyptian allies and vassals to Pharaoh Akhenaten are filled with complaints and requests, with a few even being acknowledged (3). Considering that Pharaoh’s considered themselves living gods this just adds more background to the precedent of complaining towards, making suggestions to, or arguing with the divine.

    Beyond the kinship of all the community of Israel, and not just a singular son, with G-d there are also many notions that have to be cleared up in regard to humankind’s place in creation. A famous Midrash Tanhuma Tarzia 5 has a Roman Consul asking Rabbi Akiba why Jews circumcise male children when G-d has them born uncircumcised. In response Rabbi Akiba shows the consul grain, created by G-d and bread which is that same grain altered by man. Rabbi Akiba then asks the consul which one is better, before giving the obvious answer that most people prefer bread. This little story besides giving a philosophical explanation for circumcision also gives a good summary of the main ethos of Rabbinic Judaism. That G-d made the world unfinished so that mankind in general and Jews in particular could finish it. To establish the kingdom of heaven on earth rather than merely waiting for it. The translation of ‘Tikkun Olam’ as repairing the world was meant to be understood literally and not just as a metaphor for social justice.

    Lastly and perhaps most shocking to an Abrahamic Gentile reader, the G-d of Judaism was not traditionally portrayed as unchanging or infallible. The idea only gained traction in rabbinic Judaism after Maimonides inserted it into his theology after borrowing it from Aristotelian, Islamic, and Christian ideas in the 12th century. Historically the G-d of Judaism has been shown to change their mind, and according to Moshe Idel is even affected by theurgy (4). As evidenced by many stories in the Torah where G-d explicitly changes their mind on what they want to do. The mutability of G-d’s mind in terms of human prayer and action carries over to the realm of Halakhic interpretation assuming the other party has a good point. The most famous example of this rabbinical overturning G-d’s decree is in Baba Metzia 59B where Three Rabbis tell G-d that G-d and Rabbi Eliezer’s interpretation of a ruling regarding an oven is invalid. They achieve this by citing Deuteronomy 30:12, and Exodus 30:2 stating that the Law is not in heaven and is for the majority to decide its correct meaning. Instead of smiting the group of Rabbis G-d simply laughs stating that ‘My children have beaten me’. Indeed, the Great Maggid even goes as far as to say that G-d, like a parent teaching their child Torah, actually prefers a novel interpretation instead of just parroting the interpretation given by the parent (5).

           In Pauline Christianity Deuteronomy 30:12 which states, “The Law is not in Heaven” has been taken to mean that Halakah isn’t binding in the kingdom of heaven. However, the mainstream rabbinic interpretation means that only living humans can truly follow the Torah and perform Mitzvot to their fullest extent. In the Talmud in Shabbat 88B there is one of many Moses vs angels battles found throughout Jewish literature regarding whether humans should receive the Torah. Just like all of the other stories with this mytheme, Moses obviously wins this battle and takes the Torah to Israel. What makes this story different is that rather than using theurgy to bind the angels or just beating the tar out of them, Moses defeats them with a well-reasoned argument. I’ll let the passage I copied from Sefaria speak for itself.

     Moses said before Him: Master of the Universe, the Torah that You are giving me, what is written in it? God said to him: “I am the Lord your God Who brought you out of Egypt from the house of bondage” (Exodus 20:2). Moses said to the angels: Did you descend to Egypt? Were you enslaved to Pharaoh? Why should the Torah be yours? Again Moses asked: What else is written in it? God said to him: “You shall have no other gods before Me” (Exodus 20:3). Moses said to the angels: Do you dwell among the nations who worship idols that you require this special warning? Again Moses asked: What else is written in it? The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to him: “Remember the Shabbat day to sanctify it” (Exodus 20:8). Moses asked the angels: Do you perform labor that you require rest from it? Again Moses asked: What else is written in it? “Do not take the name of the Lord your God in vain” (Exodus 20:7), meaning that it is prohibited to swear falsely. Moses asked the angels: Do you conduct business with one another that may lead you to swear falsely? Again Moses asked: What else is written in it? The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to him: “Honor your father and your mother” (Exodus 20:12). Moses asked the angels: Do you have a father or a mother that would render the commandment to honor them relevant to you? Again Moses asked: What else is written in it? God said to him: “You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal” (Exodus 20:13) Moses asked the angels: Is there jealousy among you, or is there an evil inclination within you that would render these commandments relevant?

-Shabbat 88B (Babylonian Talmud)

       The Mitzvot, something occasionally seen as higher and holier than the immanent aspect of G-d (6) were meant to be performed solely by humans. Because just like the angels, G-d lacks many of these physical imperfections that give many of the Mitzvot any real weight. Therefore, as the ones who do the most mitzvot, how we interpret and follow them is fundamentally up to us.

    Admittedly I could go on and on about the theoretical frameworks behind the ideas. Such as the status of the Torah vis a vis the status of G-d, or the tradition of prayer as legal battle with the divine realm but that’d be a whole other bag of cats. One that’d probably take 20 pages to accurately give my thoughts, thoughts that would be at best heretical to at least a fair number of Jews. So instead let us end this here, there is no way for Jews to cheat Halakhah because it fundamentally belongs to the Jews. It is our burden that we have to bear and our most cherished treasure. Even if it did indeed come from G-d, like any gift the receiver usually is the actual owner and the one who decides what to do with it.

Citation List for non primary sources

Koller, Aaron. “Deuteronomy and Hittite Treaties.” Bible Interpretations , September 2014. https://bibleinterp.arizona.edu/articles/2014/09/kol388003. 

Milano, Lucio. “Naptan Ḫudûtu Aškun". Practice and Ideology of Neo-Assyrian Banquets.” Thesis, Storia Antica e Arceologico Ciclo , 2013.Section 3. Eating With The King: The Earthly Banquet. PG 60-80

Nutter, Nick. “How the Great Kings Managed Their Vassal States during the Bronze Age.” nuttersworld.com, August 15, 2024. https://nuttersworld.com/civilisations-that-collapsed/managing-vassal-states/. 

 Idel, Moshe. Middot: On the emergence of Kabbalistic Theosophies. Brooklyn, NY: KTAV Publishing House, 2021. 

Idel, Moshe. “The Son of God as a Righteous in Hasidism .” Chapter. In Ben: Sonship and Jewish Mysticism, 531–85. New York, NY: Continuum , n.d. 

6. Idel, Moshe. “The World Absorbing Text.” Chapter. In Absorbing Perfections Kabbalah and Interpretation, 26–45. New Haven, Connecticut : Yale University Press, 2002

[yaoi-enthusiasts]

Seven. Virgins

Convicted Masterlist - Ryomen Sukuna Series

Warning: Rated 18+ | reader is abused by father | murder I dark content | smut | cursing | modern au

You and Sukuna had been married now for 3 weeks, and as much as the both of you would love to go on a honeymoon, you two were 18 year old’s who just graduated high school. You were accepted to a community college, majoring in literature, studying to be a book editor, while Sukuna had gotten into construction with Toji 2 years ago. He made decent money, it was enough to keep you guys comfortable. He built the house on his own, using the money he made in construction to build you your dream little home. He had the inheritance his mother left him when she died, and then his father Wasuke gave him quite a bit of money when he found out Sukuna was getting married. But Sukuna had no idea what the future would hold, so he put all that money into savings for you, while using the money he made to take care of everything else, he was quite the saver and penny pincher.

3 weeks into marriage and you both still have yet to become intimate. He would embrace you tightly, and kiss you all over your face, or grope your ass, and you felt him swell against you more times than you can count, but he had yet to make a move. “M’ home.” He grumbled, leaving his shoes outside the front door. “Hi Suku.” You smiled, as you helped him undress, and taking his clothes to wash. “I could do it.” He yawned. “No it’s okay. Dinner is on the table after you shower.” You said as you walked to the laundry room.

You both sat on the couch watching some old movie, hardly paying attention. All you could think about was how you wanted to have his cock wrapped around your— “Hey you ready for bed?” Sukuna yawned, snapping you out of your thoughts. You were blushing deeply, which caught his attention. “Y-yeah sure.” You said as you stood up, and followed him to the room. “Hey Ryo?” You started, “yeah?” He plopped into bed exhausted, “When are we going to… have sex?” You bluntly asked, which made Sukuna choke on his own spit. “Jesus Christ, give a guy some warning.” he kept coughing. “Sukuuuu.” You groaned, as you climbed into bed, then climbing on his lap. “Hey what… you minx.” He groaned, as he felt his cock swell against your clothed heat that you pressed onto his once softened cock. “Make love to me Sukuna…” You whispered in his ear, pressing down harder onto his now hardened cock. “Fuck…” he threw his head back, as you started to place wet kisses on his jaw, and neck, then sucking lightly. “Baby… not tonight…” He groaned, placing his hands on your waist to calm you down. “No… tonight…” You moaned, as you tried to put more pressure on your core that was aching to be touched. “Baby… Please…” Sukuna pushed you back, trying to get you off. “Why are you pushing me away? Huh!” You finally raised your voice, getting off of him, and standing up. “Baby…” - “No! Don’t “baby” me! Stop it! I want… I want to have sex with my husband.” You said upset, throwing your hands on your side in defeat. “Y/n… I do too… I just… Look… its really late, and I have to be up really early… I’m really tired, and have to get to sleep, damn it, I should have been asleep 2 hours ago… I promise you… Just give me a some time...” He groaned, as he reached out, and pulled you to him. Placing his head on your stomach. “I don’t want to rush.” Sukuna looked up at you, then kissing your stomach. You sighed, running your fingers through his hair, then retreating. “Fine…” you said as you lied in bed and cuddled up to him.

Now here you are, week 5, nothing… He had been working like a dog on this big project for work, and he was finally finishing up. You watched as he swung the front door open, stripping down, and going to the shower immediately. “Toji & I got approved for 2 weeks paid time off.” Sukuna said to you as he washed the dirt off of himself. “Really?” You said with wide eyes. “Mmhmm. Starting tomorrow, I will be off for the next 2 weeks. Toji is the day after. Thought you and I could take a little trip to the cabins, since it’s snowing up there.” He suggested. “That sounds so nice! When are we leaving?” You nearly jumped in excitement. “Today… Go get packed.” He smirked, making you smile big and rushing to your bedroom, packing anything and everything.

“There’s a hot tub, bring your swimsuit. Toji and his girl are gonna come down in 3 days.” He said to you, making you even more excited.

The drive was 3 hours, you couldn’t believe that this man had gotten off of work, and drove 3 hours to a cabin for you. He knew how much you wanted to get away and have a little honeymoon. You both got to the cabin, thankful that it was warm and toasty. He had hired a grocery delivering service, which came and stocked up for the next 2 weeks. He was thankful his dad had given him a shit ton of alcohol, bringing it to the cabin was going to be a blast. You both went up the stairs, into the master bedroom, he set both of your things down, then flopped on the bed. “Suku…” You climbed on top of him, kissing his jawline. “Tomorrow… I promise you baby… Please just tonight, I want to rest… I promise…” He kissed your forehead, feeling his eyelids heavy. You sighed, laying your head on his chest, and retreating once again. A few moments later, you hear a light snore, leaning up, Sukuna was passed out. “How do you go having a weapon like that in your pants, yet won’t use it on me?” You scoffed, but then falling asleep next to him.

The sun was rising, you saw the soft orange glow hit your eyes, as you felt a hand caressing your thigh. You woke up quickly, looking around, to see your husband loving on you. “Sukuna...” You moaned as you finally awoken. “Wake up.” His voice was raspy and filled with a tone you hadn’t heard before. “It’s early.” You groaned, covering your eyes. You felt the man cage you in, as he had his body over yours. Kissing your neck, sucking on it lightly. “Oh…” You moaned, as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I want breakfast.” He groaned, which made you laugh. “Well let’s go eat breakfast.” You tried to sit up, but he only pushed you back down, leaning up completely, looking down at you. “I bet you are as sweet as you smell.” He growled, leaning down to your ear, and biting it. You moaned instantly, realizing when he said he wanted breakfast, it meant he wanted you.

Sukuna took his time, pulling your sleep shirt off, then your shorts, sliding your underwear off along with it. “Fuck, look at you…” he moaned. You closed your legs quickly, feeling shy. “Uh uh uh, yur’ crazy if you think yur’ gon’ hide it from me.” He clicked his tongue. He had already left love bites on your breast, your nipples swollen, and tender. You were breathing heavy, and melting within his touch. “Suku…” you said with a trembling voice. “Hmm?” He said as he kissed down your stomach. “I- I love you.” You said, a tear slipping. He looked up at you, he was almost between your legs. “I love you too doll.” He smiled, kissing below your belly button. That was when you finally felt it, he had parted your folds with his fingers, then licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. “Oh… My god…” You arched your back immediately. “Taste even better than syrup my dear.” Sukuna moaned, as he dove in deep, sucking, licking, practically making out with your cunt. You arched your back, moaning loudly. You had never felt something so amazing, you had never felt so safe, yet so vulnerable. He started to thrust his wet tongue into your core, licking you from the inside and out. “O-oh.” You had your hands tangled in his hair, as he inserted his middle finger into your sopping wet cunt, and you instantly felt the stretch. He felt around for a couple of seconds, before he finally found that spongy spot, curling his finger, and tapping on it. “S-sukuna!” You moaned loudly, yanking his hair, as he inserted another finger, making you gasp for air. “Shh… shh… Feel it baby… You feel how yur’ falling apart on m’ fingers? You taste finer than anything I have ever tasted…” he shook his head side to side, making your orgasm rip out of you. You arched your back like you were a bow string. Snapping, you came into his mouth, as his fingers pulled your juices out, and he consumed you. You were breathless, you were speechless, this man had a mouth of a god, and he had no idea how he even managed to do that as a virgin. “H-how… You… Oh my god.” You moaned as he thrusted his fingers back in, and yanked yet another orgasm from you only 2 minutes later. Your face was stained in tears, and your fingers were sore from balling them in a fist. “Pl-please… P-put I-it in… P-put it in baby.” You moaned, calling him a pet name he didn’t hear too often from you.

He removed his boxers, letting his swollen cock hit his stomach, dribbling in pre already. “Ya sure?” Sukuna questioned, as he stroked himself. You nodded profusely, spreading your legs and nearly begging him for more. He ran his cock through your folds, using your juices as lubricant. “It’s gon’ hurt.” He said, as he pressed the tip to your hole. You nodded, as you pushed your lower half to take more. He threw his head back, and gripping your waist. “Slow down woman.” He grunted, clenching his jaw. “NO!” You nearly hissed, surprising him, by getting on top of him, and pushing his cock to your core, and sitting down completely on it, gasping out for air, as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Sukuna swore he saw stars, he saw God himself. You whimpered at the stretch, but refused to let go, you needed him, you needed this… You smashed your lips onto his, as you adjusted to his girth. You pulled back, as he looked down, and saw how you were bleeding. “Y-your hymen…” He huffed out, finally getting his vision back. “S-sorry…” You moaned out. “D-don’t say sorry. Y-you okay?” He questioned, as he gripped your waist, and caressed your sides, making you shiver. You nodded softly— “C-can you move for me?” You questioned, lifting up a little to give up some wiggle room. That was when he gently lied you down, still inside of you, pulling out a little, then thrusting slow and gently. You whimpered a moan, feeling him graze your sweet spot so beautifully. You raked your nails on his back, making him put his head on the crook of your neck, and bite lightly. He finally started to speed up and leaned up, to watch your fucked out expression, as you felt that tingle in your stomach again. “I’m gon’ fucking bust…” he groaned, pushing his hand down between your legs to rub your clit. “Cum with me baby.” He licked your neck, and biting your earlobe. That was when it finally hit the both of you like a wave, like a storm… You both finished in union, Sukuna spilt himself in you, and you coated his cock with your juices.

It went on ALL day, in the shower, on the bed, on the floor, in the living room, you bent over the hot tub, you bent over the kitchen island, you on the counter, you sitting on his face. You were licked, flicked, bit, rubbed to near rawness. You felt like your core had been beaten and battered, yet your body still craved for his touch. He had to stop his relentless thrusting, and started to jerk himself off, or you jerked him off, while he rubbed your clit at the pace you pumped his cock. It was 2 days later when Toji and his girlfriend arrived, Sukuna had opened the door, with a wrinkled v neck, that had god knows what on it stained, and his hair going in different directions, and sweats that were barely tied. “Man, you finally got laid?” Toji laughed, as he pushed past Sukuna, and set his bags down. “Sukuna…” You called for him, you knew they were there, but you needed him, and you needed him now. “Look… You two enjoy… I gotta go…” he looked like a frenzied man, rushing up the stairs, nearly cumming in his pants. “At least they finally did it… Bunch of horny teenagers.” Toji chuckled. “Toji, we 4 are all the same age.” She laughed, “Pfft, well you and I been fuckin’ since we were fifteen.” He winked.

Lets just say, you and Sukuna didn’t leave that room until the next day, feeling thoroughly satisfied, and fucked deeply, you swore you still felt him leaking out of you for days.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

My Leaking Blood Bag

Nurse Gale has a crush on his new patient, the anaemic lawyer Astarion.

+++

It was a snowy day in January when Gale met a new patient who immediately caught his eye. Astarion Ancunín suffered from celiac and Crohn’s disease, which caused iron-deficiency anaemia. As a result, he heavily relied on regular blood and iron infusions. Gale developed an immediate crush on him.

Trigger Warning (18+): Alternate Universe - Modern Universe, No Magic, No Vampire, No Wizard, Lawyer Astarion, Nurse Gale, Astarion Is Anaemic, Meet-Cute, Foreplay, Blow Job/Fellatio, Hand Job, Semi-Public Sex, Allergic Reaction, Vomiting, SickFic (kinda), No Beta - We die like Astarion after eating pasta

Read on AO3

It was a snowy day in January when Gale met a new patient who immediately caught his eye. Astarion Ancunín suffered from celiac and Crohn’s disease, which caused iron-deficiency anaemia. As a result, he heavily relied on regular blood and iron infusions. From the patient file, Gale learnt that Astarion had lived in Baldur's Gate until the end of December. While he prepared everything for the IV, he chattered like always.

"I'm sure you were made aware of the importance of a healthy, balanced diet, weren't you? To boost your body's ability to produce more red blood cells, vitamin B-12, vitamin C, and folate are important to help take in iron. Thus, you should consume red meat, dairy products, broccoli, dark green leafy vegetables, as well as citrus fruits, such as oranges and grapefruits, on a regular basis."

Astarion rolled his eyes.

"Do you think I'm stupid? I live with this condition since I was a child."

"Apologies. I didn't mean to offend you. I merely wanted to –"

"– help?"

Gale nodded and Astarion glared at him. Then, the latter sighed, running a hand through his silver curls.

"Thanks for helping me. It's really kind, but I don't need people to tell me what's good for me. I'm sick and tired of all the well-meant advice."

"I understand it must be annoying," Gale replied, "but I care about your wellbeing."

His patient snorted.

"Really? You don't even know me, darling."

"Well... I... hmm." Gale cleared his throat and busied himself with placing the cannula in Astarion's crook of the arm. The other man didn't flinch or made a sound, just stared at the wall with a bored expression.

"This room's so bleak. There are not even pictures on the wall. How am I suppose to pass the time?" Astarion complained.

"Would you like to read something?" Gale asked as he cleaned up the bedside table and tray. "I can offer you some magazines or classic literature." When Astarion made a face, he added: "Or a children's book."

His patient snorted again, but this time, he smiled while doing so.

"What exactly is categorised as a children's book?"

"Peter Rabbit, The Rainbow Fish, The Cat in the Hat, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Hobbit, Alice in Wonderland, and many more," Gale listed as he counted them off on his fingers. Astarion tilted his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

"How about Goldilocks?"

"If you'd like." Without further ado, Gale walked over to the wall shelf, picked up the mentioned book, and gently placed it in Astarion's lap. "Here. As you know, the infusion will take one hour. I'll closely monitor you for any signs of side effects. Do you have a history of such?"

"With blood transfusions, I sometimes get an elevated heart rate. With iron infusions, it's nausea, diarrhea, and dropping body temperature," Astarion answered dutifully.

"I see. I'll write it down and it'll be taken into consideration whenever you'll receive an infusion from now on," reassured Gale.

"Thank you, Mister –" Astarion squinted at the nametag, "– Dekarios."

"You're welcome," smiled the addressed. "If you need anything, call me. I'm right around the corner, measuring pills for other patients. I'll check in with you every fifteen minutes to make sure everything's alright and you don't have a negative reaction to the blood."

"I feel safer already," teased Astarion and Gale couldn't help but blush. The latter quickly left the room and tried to focus on his work.

After fifteen minutes, he checked in on his patient. Thankfully, he seemed alright and in good spirit. Smirking, Astarion gestured toward the book in his lap and said: "Goldilocks is deceiving!"

Gale raised an eyebrow, asking: "How so?"

Astarion's grin widened.

"The three bears are actual bears, not gay men. Where's the smut?"

A startle laugh burst out of Gale.

"It's a children's book. What did you expect?"

"Big, strong men with furry chests who help out poor little Goldilocks?"

The nurse kept laughing.

"Then you're reading the wrong book, Mister Ancunín."

"Am I?" Astarion looked up at him through long, dark lashes and bit his lower lip flirtatiously. "Do you have a book recommendation for me?"

Gale's face flushed. How did his patient know he was into erotic novels? Nervously, he toyed with the hem of his scrubs.

"I - uhm... The Art of the Night is a classic."

"Oh, please. That's so mainstream," sighed Astarion. "Don't pick the safe choice that's easily digestible by the masses. Give me something filthy and debauched." His grey eyes sparkled with excitement. "Come on, Mister Dekarios. What's your favourite?"

"The Song of the Nightingale!" Gale blurted out. "It's about a nurse who serves in the Reclamation War and falls in love with a brigade commander after she saved his life and nursed him back to health."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Is it steamy?"

"Y-yes."

"Perfect."

Astarion's knowing smirk caused Gale's blush to deepen.

"Excuse me, I - I have things to do," the latter stammered. "I'll check in on you in a bit."

Without waiting for a reply, Gale fled the room, deeply embarrassed about the conversation they just had. Astarion, on the other hand, didn't seemed bothered nor flustered at all, and when Gale came back fifteen minutes later, his patient was reading something on his phone.

"You actually didn't need a book to pass the time," remarked Gale, unable to hold back a comment.

"No," Astarion answered. "I was just curious about your reaction. Sorry about that."

"It's okay," Gale shrugged and checked the IV drip for air bubbles and leakage.

When the blood bag was empty, Gale carefully removed the IV line, cleaned everything up, handed Astarion a glass of water, and offered him a snack. Astarion chose lemon-flavoured glucose tablets.

"I like them. They're quite tasty," he explained. "Plus, they don't trigger a Crohn's flare-up."

Gale finished the rest of his mandatory post-infusion care: checking the patient's temperature, taking his pulse, observing him for any signs of side effects, such as rashes, shortness of breath, and dizziness. When he couldn't find anything suspicious, he let Astarion go to schedule the next appointment. Before Gale could lose sight of the gorgeous patient, he told him: "Neverwinter has only one hospital, and it seems like you'll return regularly. I'm looking forward to see you again, Mister Ancunín."

The addressed shot him a dazzling smile.

"Likewise, Mister Dekarios."

Astarion came by twice a month to receive his blood and iron infusions on separate days. Somehow, his visits always lined up with Gale's work schedule. Over the next few months, Gale learned more about Astarion through their casual conversations.

Astarion was a lawyer, born and raised in Baldur's Gate, who had moved to Neverwinter after a "terrible" event that he refused to elaborate on. The Baldurian was charming, eloquent, cunning, witty, practical, and smart, but also snarky, moody, and bitter. Gale was swept off his feet, experiencing the biggest crush since breaking off with Mystra. Mystra... She was the reason why Gale was in Neverwinter.

Originally, Gale had studied to become a doctor, but after his dispute with Mystra – his mentor-turned-lover – regarding his PhD thesis, he could kiss his dream goodbye. Gale had defied Mystra, had gone against her wishes, and had carried out his own haematological experiments on rats. As punishment for his betrayal, she'd accused him of plagiarism. Since Mystra was an established member at Blackstaff University and Gale had only been a student – a promising prodigy, but still just a student – the school board had decided to let him go and kicked him out of Blackstaff. Gale had tried to enter into multiple different universities, but Mystra's influence had made it impossible. Gale was black-listed. Deeply ashamed and hurt, he had fled to Neverwinter – where he was safe from the consequences of his folly – and had taken a job as a nurse instead. Despite everything, Gale loved being a nurse and was proud of his profession. Neverwinter was the northernmost, year-round inhabited place in the country. It was a serene, boring town in bumfuck nowhere, or, as the locals called it, 'the place where the hare kisses the fox goodnight'. Gale had been living here for ten years. Here, where everything was boring and nothing ever happened.

Until now. Now, Astarion had happened.

It was a sticky, hot summer night, and for some reason half of Neverwinter had decided to do stupid shit and get injured. After all, the hot days of summer could be counted on two hands, so, they had to be fully utilised. The ER was clearly short-staffed, and Gale, Karlach, and Rolan were running around like maniacs. A group of drunk teenagers had thought it was a good idea to skinny-dip, and one of them had almost drowned. Some reckless university students had jumped off a cliff and one of them had hit a rock and would most likely end up paralysed (Dr. Silverbough was operating on them right now). An over-enthusiastic dad had done some midnight DIY-ing and had lost a finger in the process. Someone had first-degree burns from handling fireworks incorrectly, and one guy had a beer bottle stuck up his ass after some kinky sex had gone wrong. It was rarely this busy in the hospital. It was the pièce de résistance when Astarion stumbled through the glass door and almost collapsed onto the ground. Only Gale's quick reflexes prevented the lawyer from hitting his head on the concrete floor.

"Good God, you're burning up!" Gale exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

"Allergic reaction," groaned Astarion as a violent shiver shook his lithe frame. "Had dinner with business partners. The restaurant had gluten-free pasta on their menu, but they clearly lied."

"What are your symptoms?" Gale asked.

"Stomach cramps, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, fever, alternately excess sweating and violent chills."

"For how long?"

"Six hours. Usually, I can manage myself, but it's really bad this time." Astarion whimpered as he was gripped by another awful convulsive fit, forcing him to bend over. "Please, help me. Do something. Anything! Just - just make it stop. Please..."

For the first time in years, Gale felt panicked.

"Okay. I... I get you some fluids and then... Okay. We got this."

"I've shat blood, Gale!"

"That's not ideal, but –"

"Oh, God!" Astarion groaned, stumbled towards the nearest bin, and was violently sick. There wasn't much coming up anymore, only water and bile, but his dry-heaving made Gale's stomach a bit queasy too.

"I'm going to die," groaned the lawyer.

"No, you won't."

"Bathroom. Gale, where's the nearest bathroom? I'm going to shit myself any second."

The addressed reacted quickly and dragged Astarion into the nearest, empty patient room.

"Get out," wheezed Astarion as he pulled down his pants in a frenzy.

"I need to monitor you to make sure you won't pass out, hit your head, or choke on your own vomit," Gale retorted stubbornly. It seemed like the lawyer wanted to argue, but before he could, he winced as his face turned even paler and new sweat was forming on his hairline. He all but collapsed onto the toilet before having explosive diarrhea.

"Great." Astarion buried his face in his hands. "I can never look you in the eye again. Please, God, kill me now. Show mercy."

Gale bit his tongue to keep himself from telling Astarion that he was being dramatic. The latter wouldn't like it. Wordlessly, Gale placed a trash bin next to Astarion.

"Just in case," he told him softly.

"Thank you," muttered the lawyer, and the nurse tried to ignore the tears that were streaming down the other man's face. "I'm so embarrassed. God... I'm such a mess. I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologise," Gale replied. "You're having an allergic reaction and your body's trying to help you purge it all right now. I know it's uncomfortable, but your body's not your enemy."

"Is it not?" Astarion looked up at him, tear-streaked. "It's just food. Completely normal, regular food that should nourish my body, not being rejected by it. Why can't I be normal? Why is it so fucking hard to just live and eat? I'm so sick and tired of my fucked up body!"

Gale didn't know what to say. For the first time in forever, he was speechless. There were a lot of first times when it came to Astarion, it seemed. He wanted to touch Astarion so badly, but it wouldn't be appropriate.

"I'll prepare the fluids infusion since we must keep you hydrated. Afterwards, you'll probably need a blood transfusion, especially since you've found blood in your stool."

"Just say 'shit', Gale," sighed Astarion.

"No," the addressed replied, pursing his lips. "I'm a nurse and insist on using the right technical term."

As hoped, it made Astarion chuckle a bit.

"You're such a nerd."

"Obviously. – Are you okay? Can I fetch the IV bag without the fear of finding you unconscious afterwards?"

"Mhm. I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"You're right, but I meant 'fine' according to circumstances."

Huffing a laugh, Gale left him alone to fetch the fluids and to prepare the nearby bed. Afterwards, he helped Astarion lay down and inserted the IV line via needle. He placed the bin next to the bed and positioned the call button on the side of the mattress for easy access.

"Do you need anything else?" Astarion shook his head. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes, but I really have to go help my colleagues. We're drowning in work tonight. I'll inform Dr. Oblodra about your situation and she'll check on you, alright?"

Astarion grimaced and asked: "Must it be her? Where's Dr. Hallowleaf? She's usually my doctor."

"She's on vacation, but I can call for Dr. Baenre instead of Dr. Oblodra."

"Please," groaned Astarion. "I can't stand Oblodra. She always looks at me weird."

Gale had no idea what that meant, but rushed out the door to get Dr. Baenre. Thankfully, the latter had just finished applying a plaster to a broken arm and was free for a moment.

"Minthara, could you please check on the patient in room 101? He has celiac disease and Crohn's and experiences a severe allergic reaction to a pasta dish he'd eaten."

"Why would he eat pasta if he's allergic? Has nobody any common sense anymore?" grumbled Minthara.

"The restaurant told him it was gluten-free, but it wasn't."

"Clearly. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here now. Why are such idiots allowed to handle food? They should lose their licence," Minthara huffed indignantly. It took all of Gale's self-restraint to keep from sighing.

"Mister Ancunín comes by regularly for blood and iron transfusions. He's one of Jen's patients. He's running a fever, vomited multiple times, and has bloody diarrhea. I hooked him up on some fluids and plan to switch over to blood later."

Minthara nodded.

"You're making yourself useful. Good. I'll pay him a visit immediately."

"Thank you, Minthara."

Gale sighed a breath of relief as he watched Dr. Baenre walk towards Astarion's room.

"Gale! Bring some pliers!" yelled Karlach. "Two kids with braces made out and got stuck!"

With a heavy sigh, the addressed rushed to the supply room. It would be a long shift.

Two more times, Astarion needed to use the bathroom and was visibly mortified when Gale insisted on staying with him for safety measure. The nurse even took a stool sample and the lawyer all but buried his face in his hands, burning up with shame. Gale didn't understand the problem. After all, it was his job to look after patients and Astarion just happened to be one of them.

When the bag with fluids was empty, Gale replaced it with blood. Astarion's fever had gone down a tad and it seemed reasonable to start with the second transfusion. Before leaving the room, Gale stroke a thumb across the lawyer's pale hand and told him: "I'll be back in fifteen minutes. If you need any help, don't hesitate to push the call button."

"Thank you," Astarion muttered. With a curt nod, Gale rushed out of the room.

For the forth time, Gale was explaining that it was a bad idea to shove a vodka-soaked tampon into one's vagina, when his alarm went off. He excused himself, burdening Rolan with this infuriating woman, and checked in with his favourite patient.

"What's wrong?" Gale asked, concerned.

"The blood bag's leaking," Astarion answered, pointing at the fine, red rivulet that made its way down the outside of the tube.

"Not that as well," sighed the nurse and tried to find the puncture. "What a stupid, leaking blood bag."

"But it's my stupid, leaking blood bag," remarked Astarion, grinning slightly, and Gale burst into laughter. After a moment of fumbling, the leakage was found and patched up.

"There we go," hummed Gale, satisfied.

"Thanks, darling." The lawyer smiled, but was clearly exhausted. "You always make me feel safe and taken care of."

"That's good." The nurse couldn't help but smile back. "Dr. Baenre informed me that we'll be watching you overnight to make sure you don't go into anaphylactic shock."

"Are you on the night shift?"

"Yes."

"That's good," sighed Astarion, closing his eyes. "Thanks for everything, Gale."

The addressed didn't know what to say – again – and thus, stayed quiet. Gale fussed with the IV drip and the blanket to keep himself busy. He hoped Astarion would recover quickly and without further incidents.

Finally, the hospital quieted down and the last few ER patients left the building. With a mug of peppermint tea in his hand, Gale made his way towards room 101. Despite the lights still being on, Astarion was deep asleep. The nurse couldn't help but smile softly at the sight. He'd grown fond of the lawyer over the past six months. Quietly, he moved across the room to check the IV bag and Astarion's vitals. After the blood transfusion, Dr. Baenre had prescribed another bag of fluids for Astarion. It was still half-full. Gale sighed a breath of relief when nothing was out of order. Astarion still had an elevated temperature, but seemed fine otherwise. He hadn't thrown up since the incident in the hallway and his bowels were no longer able to empty themselves. Everything seemed in order. Gale sipped his tea as he stood next to the bed and pondered his next steps. It would probably have been a bit creepy to just stay by Astarion's side until he woke up. Besides, Gale wasn't sure where they were standing. Were they friends or just two people who knew each other? Gale decided not to take the chance. In a burst of courage and spontaneity – Astarion liked the latter – he placed his latest erotic novel on the bedside table and quickly scribbled a message on a sticky note. Slightly ashamed, Gale left the room and resisted the urge to pack the book away again. He hoped Astarion could use it to pass the time. Gale said goodbye to Karlach and Rolan and greeted the morning shift that crossed his path as he left the hospital. The door closed behind him and the refreshing morning breeze greeted him. Gale took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air after the stuffy heat during the night. Yawning, he stretched, arms above his head, and watched the sun rise on the horizon.

Gale didn't see Astarion again until two weeks later, when he had his regular appointment. The lawyer seemed uncharacteristically quiet and down, but the nurse didn't dare to ask what was wrong. Gale carefully inserted the cannula in Astarion's arm and started the slow drip. Since it sometimes caused nausea, they delivered the iron solution as slowly as possible. So far, Astarion had never had any serious side effects, but Gale had always monitored him closely and dutifully. Everything had to go according to protocol.

"By the way," Astarion said suddenly, "thank you for lending me the book. It helped me kill time until I was discharged."

"You're welcome. Have you recovered well?"

"Yes, thank you for asking."

"Alright. Everything's ready. As always, I'll check in on you in fifteen minutes, and if you start to feel weird, just call me."

"Yes. Thank you."

Gale left the room and couldn't stop wondering why Astarion seemed so sad.

About twenty-five minutes into the procedure, Astarion called for him, and Gale rushed back.

"What's wrong? Are you sick? Is the bag leaking again?" the nurse asked, worried.

"No. I... I'm just a bit dizzy and cold," explained the lawyer, averting his eyes. It broke Gale's heart a little.

"Oh... I see."

He covered Astarion in an extra blanket, made sure that the trash bin was in reach, and handed the lawyer a lemon-flavoured glucose tablet to help the dizziness. Without complaining, Astarion put it in his mouth and chewed on it listlessly.

"I messed it up, didn't I?" he muttered, glaring at the bedsheets.

"Hm? What do you mean?" Gale asked, confused.

"You saw me puke, shit, and cry. I won't blame you if you refuse to go out with me now."

Gale's eyes widened in surprise and his heart skipped a beat.

"You want to go out with me?"

"I don't think you want that anymore," retorted Astarion, bitterly. "I messed it up."

"I'd love to go out with you!" Gale beamed at the lawyer, gently squeezing his hand. "You have no idea how much I want to spend more time with you."

"Really?" Astarion looked shocked. "You're not repulsed? Not even after everything you witnessed two weeks ago?"

"Of course not! What are you talking about?"

"But... but it was disgusting, and you had to watch, and..." Astarion seemed utterly confused, and Gale's feelings bubbled over.

"Can I kiss you?" asked the nurse, and the lawyer's beautiful, grey eyes widened.

"Yes. God, yes!"

Their lips brushed together softly – Astarion's were slightly chapped – and Gale placed a hand on the lawyer's jaw to tilt his head back for a deeper kiss. With a guttural groan, Astarion grabbed the front of Gale's scrubs to pull him closer. They got more frantic as they parted to gasp for breath before locking lips once more.

"God, I want you so much," whispered Astarion. "I dreamed of this moment for the past five months."

"Me too," admitted Gale. "I'm very fond of you."

For a moment, they stared at each other, their gaze heavy with lust, but also with affection. Then, Astarion said: "Kiss me as if we were in one of your filthy erotic novels. As if we were Nurse Victoria and Commander Holt."

He didn't have to tell Gale twice. The latter immediately leaned in for another kiss, slipping his tongue into Astarion's mouth and sliding their tongues together. He could taste the remains of the lemon-flavoured glucose tablet, but it was rather pleasant. Gale's lips wandered across Astarion's cheek, and he brushed his nose against the underside of the lawyer's jaw, before kissing his neck. Moaning, Astarion arched up towards him, silently begging for more. Gale inhaled deeply, smelling the lawyer's signature perfume, heavy with rosemary and bergamot. Citrus scents suited him well, and Gale was a little feral about it. A low, possessive growl escape the nurse as he kissed the lawyer's neck again, licking some sweat off, before gently sucking a love bite into the pale skin, causing Astarion to squeak in surprise. Gale licked where he'd just bitten him to soothe the sting, then, he lifted his head to gaze at the other man again. Astarion's pupils were blown wide, a faint blush painted his cheeks, and his chest was heaving. He looked ethereal, and Gale couldn't believe that he had the privilege of being wanted by him.

"May I?" Gale murmured, toying with the buttons of Astarion's dress shirt. The lawyer had come straight from work and hadn't had time to change.

"Yes, yes." Astarion nodded frantically and started carelessly tugging on the buttons until Gale stilled his fingers, kissed the knuckles, and opened the shirt for him. The nurse was nimble and fast, brushing fingertips across Astarion's nipples as he went, causing the lawyer to moan lowly. Goosebumps spread across pale skin as more and more of it was revealed. Each time Gale popped open a button, he brushed his lips along the newly exposed skin, eliciting gasps and little shivers of excitement from his lover. He revelled in the feeling of Astarion wreathing beneath him. When Gale had finally reached the last button and placed a kiss right below the bellybutton, Astarion whimpered. With satisfaction, Gale noticed the hard outline of the lawyer's dick through his slacks. His curiosity got the better of him and he delicately ran his fingers up the stiff length.

"Gale!" whined Astarion. "Fuck. Please!"

"Not here," joked Gale. "I'd prefer to take my time with you. To finger you open and eat you out before making love to you."

Astarion made a noise that sounded close to a sob.

"Don't worry, love. I make you feel good," Gale promised, unzipped the lawyer's slacks, and pulled down his underwear. Astarion's hard cock sprung free, slender and pale with a pretty pink hue. Like the rest of him, Astarion's dick was perfect. Gale's mouth watered and he swallowed before bending down and licking up the precum from the tip. Astarion whimpered and buried his free hand in Gale's hair, the latter's man bun coming undone like the nurse himself.

"Gale, darling, please," begged the lawyer. "Please get me off."

There was nothing he'd rather have done. Gale wrapped his hand around the base of Astarion's cock and gave it a long lick before slowly taking him into his mouth. It had been a while since the last time he'd done this, but he was sure that he could remember the right technique. He sunk down as far as he could without gagging before drawing back and tonguing at the slit. Astarion's moans spurred him on, and Gale started to fondle the balls too. The nurse was distantly aware that the monitors, to which Astarion was hooked up on, were beeping frantically. He paid them no mind, focusing on drowning in the taste and feel of the lawyer instead. Gale started to work himself up and down Astarion's length at an unhurried pace, enjoying the way his lips stretched around the comfortable girth and his throat clicked each time he deepthroated. Gale moaned as he imagined being fucked by this perfect cock, and pushed his own leaking hardness into the side of the bed to get some much-needed relief. Meanwhile, Astarion writhed beneath him in ecstasy, his hips spasming with shallow thrusts. His breath came staggered and harsh, the moans rose to a crescendo as Gale continued to eagerly slurp at his cock.

"Gale," Astarion groaned, his finger twisting in the nurse's hair. "I'm going to –"

His breath hitched as Gale hummed around him and, with a bitten-off cry of pleasure, Astarion climaxed, spilling into the hot mouth that eagerly swallowed it all. As Gale slowly drew back, licking his lips and savouring the taste, Astarion collapsed onto the bed, panting erratically.

"Holy shit..." The lawyer giggled. "That was fantastic, darling."

"Are you still cold?" Gale asked, cheekily.

"Hah!" Astarion let out a high-pitched cackle. "No. Not at all."

The nurse leaned down, capturing the lawyer's lips in a slow, languid kiss. Astarion sighed into it, his body going slack as he licked his own taste from Gale's tongue.

"Let me return the favour, darling "

"You don't have to," Gale objected. "I'm perfectly content the way it is."

Astarion looked up at him in utter surprise, but then, his face softened.

"I know I don't have to," he said, "but I want to. Come on, be a bit more spontaneous. Let me jerk you off."

Gale was too weak to say no, and thus, he stepped closer to the bed and quickly pulled down his pants. Astarion bit his lip in appreciation and, with a pleased hum, wrapped his cold fingers around the nurse's hard, leaking dick. Gale hissed at the sudden cold touch.

"Sorry. Poor circulation," Astarion apologised, looking guilty.

"It's fine," Gale replied with a shrug.

"Aren't you a gentleman?" smiled the lawyer and beaconed him closer for another kiss. Astarion started to jerk Gale off leisurely, exploring him with his slender, cold fingers. Gale had never been into temperature play, but he couldn't deny how much it turned him on right now. Astarion alternated between stroking Gale's balls, tugging his dick, and rubbing the tip. It was maddening and had the nurse gasping softly as his body arched into the touches.

"Next time, I want your gorgeous dick in my mouth and my ass," Astarion revealed. Gale groaned gutturally at the thought and bent down to capture the lawyer's mouth in another passionate kiss. Astarion kept toying with his balls and added teasing strokes in-between. Holding onto the side rail of the bed for dear life, Gale threw his head back and bit his lip to keep his voice down as Astarion stroke him to completion. He climaxed with a gasp, coming all over Astarion's hand and his scrubs. The force of his orgasm caused his legs to tremble, and he had to sit down for a moment to catch his breath and gather his strength. Meanwhile, Astarion grinned like the cat that got the canary.

"Seems like you enjoyed yourself," he remarked before sucking his cum-covered fingers into his mouth and making a show of licking them clean. Gale watched him, dumbstruck and speechless, as his brain died a little at the debauched, filthy sight. God, it was hot!

"Will you go on a date with me?" Gale blurted out.

"Aren't we doing this in the wrong order?" asked Astarion, smiling. "Shouldn't you have asked me out first and then ravished me?"

"I thought you like spontaneousness."

"Mh. I do. Especially this type of spontaneousness."

"We can cook something together to make sure everything's gluten-free and won't upset your stomach," Gale added, looking hopeful.

"I'd like that," smiled Astarion and pulled Gale down into another kiss.

[alienguts]

Bruce + Bookworm S/O (Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader HCs)

Warnings: none

A/N: just a little something i thought of while at work. Part 4 of Picking Up the Pieces is still in the works!

Despite being someone who has No Spare Time™, Bruce is very well read.

He was reading the classics by the time he was ten years old, so he's got the reading skills and the literary chops, he just doesn't have a lot of time.

While his favourite titles are by authors like Charles Dickens or Sun Tzu, he doesn't know a lot about modern authors.

Sure, he knows who Stephen King is, but he doesn't know Stephen King.

He's been asked at charity events for schools and libraries what he thinks of recent releases, and while he tries to have at least a vague idea of what's the hottest thing, he usually has a default answer.

Depending on what mood he's in, he either refers back to the classics, or plays on the 'dumb playboy' persona and says that he hasn't read a book since high school.

When he found out that you were a huge bookworm, he tried to become more knowledgeable about modern literature.

You likely met in a bookstore that he took Damian to and struck up a conversation with you over a book that you were reading the back of.

You'd noticed him numerous times while browsing and often overheard the store's staff talking about Bruce Wayne and his pushy son, but you never thought that he would ever talk to you.

Your first date was, of course, in the bookstore's café and he treated you to whatever you wanted, including books.

You didn't want to push your chances with him, but he was happy to get you that special cloth bound edition that you thought you wouldn't be able to afford.

The study is your favourite room in the entire Manor, and he learnt that quickly.

You get to have a Beauty and the Beast library in real life, things don't get better than that!

Most of the books there are old editions or academic journals that have been accumulated in the 100+ years people have lived in the Manor.

Eventually, some colour will be incorporated into the shelves and there will be an eclectic mix of covers in amongst all the brown spines.

There are times when Bruce has come home very late from a gala or from patrol and found you still awake, reading in bed.

"Sweetheart, I think you should get some sleep now." "Just let me finish this chapter first."

God help him if he ever tries to take a book out of your hands.

He's fought gods, monsters, serial killers, and weird giant crocodile men but he wouldn't even think about taking a book from you while you're reading.

[gilbertscurls]

Classroom Competition (pt. 3) ➵ Matt Sturniolo

003. THREE ── together

summary: two rival English teachers, you and Matt, challenge each other to an end-of-year competition to see whose class will come out on top.

The beginning of the new school year arrived faster than you expected. As you walked through the familiar halls of Somerville High, the faint smell of new textbooks and freshly polished floors filled the air. The sounds of students catching up after summer break echoed around you, but your mind was somewhere else.

A whole summer had passed since you and Matt had reached that… truce. And although the rivalry had cooled, your connection with him had only deepened. You’d stayed in touch throughout the break, texting here and there, even grabbing coffee once or twice—under non-bet conditions, of course. But as the school year loomed, the dynamic between you was still uncertain.

You reached your classroom and took a deep breath, pushing thoughts of Matt to the side for now. New year, new students, new challenges. Your room was already neatly organized, just the way you liked it, with desks in perfect rows and bulletin boards showcasing colorful posters about literature and writing. You smiled, excited to meet this year’s batch of students, already planning ways to top last year’s success.

Before you could get too far into your thoughts, a knock on the doorframe made you turn. Speak of the devil.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Matt greeted you with a playful grin, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed as usual. His presence filled the room, and you couldn’t help the slight uptick of your heart rate.

“Morning, Matt,” you said, setting your bag down on your desk. “Here to check on the competition already?”

Matt chuckled, walking into the room. “Just thought I’d see how you were settling in for the new year. You know, make sure everything’s running smoothly on this side of the English department.”

“Déjà vu,” you remarked with a smirk. “I’m fine. And this year, I’m planning on keeping that coffee-buying streak to myself.”

“Oh, really?” he raised an eyebrow, that familiar glint in his eyes returning. “We’ll see about that.”

You glanced at him, wondering if you were about to fall back into the same old pattern. But this time, it felt different—lighter, less charged with the need to outdo each other, and more like the friendly teasing you’d grown accustomed to over the summer.

“Actually,” Matt said, interrupting your thoughts, “I was thinking… maybe we should work together this year.”

You blinked in surprise. “Work together? As in… co-teach?”

“Sort of,” he said, leaning against one of your student desks. “I’ve got a few ideas for cross-class projects—something that might get both of our groups working together. Instead of competing against each other, we could try collaborating.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Collaborating? That’s new.”

Matt shrugged, but there was a softness to his usual confidence. “I figured, why not try something different? Besides,” he added with a grin, “I don’t want to keep beating you year after year. Might as well share the glory.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were genuinely intrigued. The idea of working with Matt, combining your teaching styles and approaches, was exciting in a way you hadn’t expected. And maybe—just maybe—it was the next step in whatever was happening between the two of you.

“Okay,” you said slowly, crossing your arms as you leaned back against your desk. “I’m listening. What did you have in mind?”

Matt’s eyes lit up as he began explaining his idea—something about pairing your classes for a joint research project on modern interpretations of classic literature. As he spoke, you realized how well your teaching styles could complement each other. Your structured, methodical approach would balance his more creative, out-of-the-box ideas. It could work. More than that, it could be fun.

“So, what do you think?” Matt asked, finishing his pitch and watching you expectantly.

You paused for a moment, pretending to consider it seriously before flashing him a smile. “I think… this could actually be a good idea. But don’t think for a second that I’m not still going to push my students to outshine yours.”

Matt laughed, his expression softening in that way it did when you caught him off guard. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

There was a beat of silence between you two, and for the first time, it wasn’t filled with the tension of competition or rivalry. Instead, there was something warmer there, something that felt almost like anticipation.

“I guess this means we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other this year,” Matt said, his voice quieter now.

“Looks like it,” you replied, your pulse quickening just a bit.

As Matt pushed off the desk and turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, glancing back at you with a smile that was both teasing and sincere. “Let’s make this year interesting.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “It’s a deal.”

And as Matt walked away, you realized that maybe this year would be different in more ways than one. The competition between you and Matt might be shifting, but something else—something unexpected���was definitely beginning.

Whatever it was, you were ready.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @wurlibydominicfike

[wystiix]

talk to me, please

❥ pairing: venti x gn!reader ❥ synopsis: Venti anxiously waits for a text from you to the point where he overthinks and nearly spirals into madness—will you please just fucking reply already? ❥ cw: crack, attempt at humour (kms), fluff maybe?? not proof-read so some stuff may not make sense lmao ❥ additional tags: lowkey kinda revolves around texting, venti's perspective, no pronouns for reader, modern setting, venti is a humanities major cuz i said so, does this count as socmed??? idk someone tell me i need to sleep it's 2am ❥ word count: 955 ❥ notes: bonjour hi hello kumusta. my foot is fucking asleep and my leg feels numb and my back hurts and i'm tired an it's 2am i have school i need to stop. okay so for context i was texting this girl and she wasn't replying so i went crazy, and then i thought "wait i could write a fic about this" and here we are. it was actually kinda fun writing this HAHAHAHAHA but i had to rush it cuz i have other stuff to do so uh it may be a bit quick. (see end notes after reading cuz i said so /j)

The clock ticked. It had been three hours. Venti stared at his phone, impatiently waiting for you just please, please, please reply.

Try to distract yourself, one may say, and mark these fucking words, he did.

He tried everything. From listening to music to doing the dishes, to cleaning his room. Oh, but that was not all.

For the past few hours, he reorganised his notes, desk and playlist, walked at least twenty laps around his dorm, ate all his snacks from the pantry like a fatass, cleaned up his closet and planned what he was going to wear a week from now, learned a new song on his guitar and even counted every single one of his ceiling and wall tiles.

There were exactly 146 tiles in his dorm. That number now forever haunts him.

Practically exhausted from being way too productive than he usually was, he slumped down on his bed and opened the app he used to text you. There was still no reply.

Venti buried his face into his pillow, letting out a groan of frustration.

It was incredibly frustrating and it nearly drove him crazy. Were you seriously that busy? Normally you would respond within a span of seconds, a few to thirty minutes at the latest. But fucking three hours?

He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. You both had been talking for over a week—he couldn’t afford to mess this up. 

But what if you suddenly lost interest? Oh, it felt far too early for that. Was he finally going to have that Mitski experience? Was he going to be those depressed poets who poured their hearts out through their ink on the paper when a single minor inconvenience happened to them? 

You were killing him. And it was not softly. Venti felt as if his heart was shattering into a million pieces.

Was this his destiny, his punishment for choosing to pursue such a depressing major in humanities?

How cruel the universe is.

He sighed in defeat, opening his notes app to write and exude a poetic, Shakespearean ballad about this before his phone suddenly buzzed.

Ding! You have received a new message from [Name]!

Holy shit has his fingers never moved so quickly before in his entire life, clicking on the notification faster than he could blink. Your sudden message almost gave him a heart attack, for fuck’s sake.

So much for living and breathing Shakespeare.

Oh, how his heart fluttered. A simple message, yet it had him forget about his lament just a few seconds prior and he found himself swooning, practically glazing your message as if it was the most fascinating piece of literature he had ever laid eyes on.

Venti paused, rereading your message 25 million times, unsure how to reply. Should he respond right away, or would that be too eager? He didn’t want to come off as desperate, but three hours of waiting had been excruciating. Perhaps he should wait a minute or two… No, that would be too long!

God he wanted to punch himself in the face for clicking that notification too fast, now he has to think of a response on the spot or else he’d look like an asshole.

He started to type out a response.

k, i see.

He paused, immediately deleting the message with a shake of his head. Too dry, he has to sound interested. I understand! Would you like to shift the conversation to a less taxing topic? Delete. Too formal. LMAOOO dw dw, what was it about anyway? Delete. ahh hope the essay didn’t stress u out too much!! Delete. i’m madly in love with u Delete. Had he sent that he would find the nearest cliff and leap off.

Venti sighed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Why was this so complicated? He wanted to sound interested, but not desperate; casual, but not indifferent. He ended up typing something simple and hitting send before he could second-guess himself again. Sometimes, being simple is the ultimate sophistication.

He fought the urge to chuck his phone across the room. Shit, was that too casual? How long were you going to reply this time?

There were immediate blinking dots.

The tension in his chest eased as he found himself giggling at your comment. He realised the way he was acting earlier was ridiculous, maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Venti felt the weight lift off his shoulders. The conversation was back on track, and he could breathe easy again. Just as he was about to put down his phone, the blinking dots appeared again, and he immediately reverted his attention back to it.

Another message.

What.

What the fuck. Was this real?

He put his phone face down, allowing everything to sink in.

What the fuck. Coffee? Tomorrow? With you? Did you just ask him out? Was this real? Was he real? Were you real?

The anxiety that lingered within slowly ebbed away as he stared at the ceiling tiles—the same tiles that haunted him earlier. However, they now seemed oddly comforting.

“Holy shit.”

Gods above, was this a blessing? Maybe his love life wasn’t so hopeless after all.

Venti’s gaze drifted to his closet, where he noticed that same outfit he intended to wear a week from now. A cozy, soft-beige sweater with a hint of cream peeked out from behind a row of neatly hung clothes, gently draping over a pair of charcoal chinos.

He grinned like an idiot, giggling and kicking his feet like a little child who just received their favourite toy. A string of “oh my god, oh my god” repeated endlessly in his head like a loop.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

❥ notes: hi so yes. yes i did what he did here. yes i counted my tiles, but it was my bathroom tiles instead. there are like 121 tiles in the bathroom, including the hidden ones. in this fic i just added the average number of tiles to that number which was like 25 tiles??? lowkey idk i just estimated. and yes i did plan my outfit a week from now, which is for church. yes i cleaned my room. yes i walked more than ten laps around my living room. i was restless. yes i was productive as hell. lmfao by the time i was done with the fic she replied to me so yay!! win!! also pls get the "you were killing him and it's not softly" reference i hope someone at least gets it or else i'm gonna cry myself to sleep. yeah anyways im gonna sleep gn <3

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi! Can I request some Genderbend Sleeping Beauty x Isekai Reader? (Please no princess reader I've seem them everywhere on qoutev)

Yandere Genderbend Sleeping Beauty x Iseakai'd Reader

Tending to a human man the moment you’d been dropped into this alternate world was not the ideal position. Originally being instated in the castle as a charity-case servant you hadn’t made any connection to the fairy tale. Not until the head butler brought you to a familiar trio of faeries; dressed in blue, green, and red. 

“My my their magical signature is quite–”

“Bizarre?”

“Unique?”

“--I was going to say, perfect for the worst-case scenario.”

Supposedly because of your outlier existence, the faeries had designated you to be their human help. Should the prince–Briar Rue fall into the curse of the spindling wheel he’d need constant care. It was a contingency plan, a tragic plan to set everyone in the kingdom to rest until the princess would return to save him with her kiss. Unlike the kingdom, the prince’s curse was cruel: continuing to let his bodily functions continue as he slept away. 

“It’s just in case.” 

“Yes, not likely at all.”

“--All because it just doesn’t work on you.”

“Mariwether!” “Mariwether!”

“Sorry, forget that I said that please!” 

That was why in the span of a week you were meeting and serving the cursed prince that had spent the entirety of his life in a forest. A position that would have many of the staff sneering at you as waited on the prince’s hand and foot.

“All of this is so overwhelming (Y/n)...I don’t want to marry a girl I haven’t met. Even when I’m so madly in love with another.”

The prince was doing an iconic Disney Princess mope, leaning against the barred windows of his room in the castle. You continued to fold away his forest attire, smiling to yourself as you replayed the animated version of the fairytale. 

“Well I have a feeling you’ll meet her sooner than you may think.”

He turned his sorrowful gaze to you, tilting his head at your ominous smile. He questioned you no further, opting to conversate with you about the ‘modern’ nuances of popular society. Which you were just as uninformed about as him. Needless to say, the both of you were on something of a learning curve, relying on the staff and fairies to fill the both of you in. 

Two days. 

Two days ago he was learning alongside you how to waltz. The day you were dismissed it was in an explosion of emotion. A reaction of his overwhelmed self in this stressful environment; had you sent away and retiring early. Living in such a hierarchy was new to you and your knowledge of the future meant nothing at the intensity of his order. That being said you didn’t blame yourself when the fairies arrived at you, heads hanging low with tears in their eyes. 

____________________________________________________________

As agreed upon you had begun your caretaking duties of the prince. Waking every morning to wash, dress, change his magic feeding trey, and placing the medieval equivalent of a diaper as the day forged on. Whether you are familiar with the task of caring for someone so intensely it soon becomes a habit for you. Becoming a part of a mundane routine for yourself. Care for the prince, have breakfast, read some outdated literature, and repeat. After the first couple of days, you got quite used to the hollow echoing chamber of an otherwise empty castle. Minding the unconscious staff and royal families; it was bliss. 

While you certainly had the time to teach yourself the rules and etiquette of the time, this couldn’t have been the healthiest way to go about it. Without the commentary or viable presence of others, you had begun to speak out loud. Talking to sleeping bodies and non-sentient objects had become you’re normal for the following month. A commonality of that time was being freaked out when any of the fairies decided to make themselves young; they were considerate usually catching your attention in a flurry of sparkles. A fair warning, for whenever they came to grieve.

Towards the end of the month, their visits had a different tune; singing their praises of the princess who was fighting the malignant Sorcerer king. As evident by the distant roars and green swirling sky, this would be over soon. 

“I-I am here to kiss the prince!” 

She came to the castle frazzled, wounded, and on shaky legs. You adamantly refused, practically fighting her to eat and let you treat her wounds. In fact, it was similar to how you had been treating the prince for the past couple of months. Shouldering most of her weight as you bathed and dressed her; a process that only seemed to embarrass you. You figured as a princess this might’ve not been so out of the ordinary making it easier for you to send her to sleep. After all that you scrambled to do the same to Briar, and with a sense of finality you carried out your routine. 

Cheering to the sleeping Briar, “What do you think of that Sleeping Beau? Your beauty is here and we’ll both be free!” 

Waking the next day you finally cooked for someone else, watching as the princess scarfed down her meal only to shake at the door of Briar’s tower. Having full intentions to give them their space, you were shocked by the forceful grip on your apron. 

“D-do you think it’ll work?”

“Of course, I do, your grace! I’m sure you will recognize that he’s someone you’ll enjoy kissing awake. Now if–”

“You have to come with me!”

“W-what!? H-hey!” 

Without heeding your struggle, she curled her arm around your torso easily hoisting you up along with her as she speedily ascended the tower to the sleeping Briar Rue. It was oddly easy for her to bring you to the room the prince was sleeping in. Leaving you in shock as she began to fiddle with her cape and kilted armor. 

“M-maybe i-if I take M-mom’s idea I’ll b-be m-more confident to kiss him!”

“Ah what was your mother’s idea?”

“....”

She went silent at your question; returning your curiosity with a blank stare before shaking her head. Scratching at the back of her head she mumbled to herself before anxiously gripping the handle.

“I–i’ll just wait until h-he’s awake then.”

“W-what?”

“A-anyway do you really think I can do this?”

“O-of course.”

Her nervous demeanor was grating on your nerves, probably because you were more than minutes away from seeing this whole debacle being solved. After minutes of deliberation the princess opened the doubled doors revealing the hauntingly beautiful image of the sleeping beau. She made an audible gasp at the sight. 

Shining in the angled light of the setting sun, the stained glass windows of his temporary chamber flashed the mosaic of colors across the sleeping prince. Blonde flowy hair splayed out around his crowned head. His face was still, cheeks oddly rosy and lips perfectly puckered with their own touch of red. He looked ethereal and you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Whether or not you were familiar with makeup in the modern world, this world wasn’t particularly fond of the attractiveness of healthy color. But judging by her continued awe the smashed berries you got were a good idea. 

“Whoa he’s the fellow from the forest…” She marveled at him tentatively rubbing at his folded hands. She bent forward slowly, lips slowly inching forward before she abruptly pulled away turning from the one act that would end this all. Her worried eyes darted around before falling on you widening with an idea. 

“H-h-how about we do this together?”

“Excuse me, what?!” 

“Like we both kiss him at the same time s-so that I-I won’t be l-lonely when I do this!”

“What! Why do you want me–a servant of all things to kiss the prince with you?”

It was a viable question; unless she felt threatened by you. But knowing the princess it would be for something less daunting—

“B-b-because! This is my first time k-kissing a prince!” 

You shook your head in disbelief but relented when she puckered her bottom lip at you; making the equivalent of prayer hands with her face. You entered the chamber gazing at the both of them before walking around the bed to his lower right side. 

“How about this Princess, I’ll kiss his hand and you will kiss his lips though I’m certain it is absolutely unnecessary.” 

“Alright! W-we er I can do this.”

With newfound confidence, she positioned herself near his face on the left side of the bed. She looked back at you while making sure you were also in position. To which you nodded urging her to go on. 

You originally weren’t going to follow through, faking your involvement but even as she went in for the kiss you still found her gaze flashing toward you. So you followed through lightly pecking the back of his hand, standing up you got to catch a glimpse of the magical moment. Pulling away from the waking prince she nervously peeked with one eye as Briar blinked his own eyes.

“Y-you? From the forest and…”

He looked to the right, blue eyes landing on you or they would have been if the three fairies hadn’t taken your place near the bed. 

“Oh, Rue!”

“You’re awake!”

“Yes but–”

“We must awaken the whole kingdom! We must celebrate!”

Any concerns the awoken prince would have had were brought to a hush under the cheers of the fairies and the castle’s jovial celebration. Their prince, to the kingdom’s knowledge, had survived the curse and was reunited with his love: Princess Phyllis of the neighboring kingdom. 

______________________________________________________________

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the wedding?”

“No no I think I’m ready for…the quiet once again.”

“Surely Rue would be happy to see you on his big day!”

“Yes! Yes! I can conjure up something for you! In blue of course.”

“Yuck, that’d be a crime! Obviously in red!” 

“Now here you go again–!” “Why I oughta–”

You stepped away from the bickering faeries, continuing to hug the fae in green. 

“Thanks again for letting me have that cottage, Floran. I really appreciate it.”

He shifted his glasses, magicking a basket full of food into your hands after you hurriedly adjusted your pack’s strap. 

“Deary it’s of no trouble, after all. We have no reason to use such a lovely space. And I’m sure it’ll offer you the quiet you’ve grown so used to.” 

He smiled wiping away imaginary dust on your shoulder as he held your upper arm.

“Just be weary, you know we won’t stay away forever now. We’ll be sure to visit.”

“And when you do I’ll be glad to welcome you.”

You both shared a laugh as you had begun to walk to the mule you were discreetly gifted by the royal family. It was decided that you’d be released from your duties both at your own request and at the faeries' discretion. With vague compliments, the royal family could quietly thank you for your mysterious role in ‘solving’ their Prince’s curse. Phyllis was adamant, as she could be, about thanking you but the fairies were stern about keeping quiet. During this time you found no time to speak or so much as look at Briar without it being from the perspective of a bystander by a passing celebrity. You didn’t mind. And it most certainly didn’t stop you from letting the mule lead you to the cottage Briar Rue had hidden in before, more than willing to enjoy the silence and relaxation of the cottage life. 

_________________________________________________________

Briar fought the urge to yell as Phyllis went into another tirade about her adventure. Sat near the window of the seamstress’ tower as she was fitted for her wedding gown. An event she and his parents eagerly insisted he attended. It was a brazen attempt to make them get along despite the obvious lack of interest on his side of things. 

“B-briar? Er-Rue? D-did y-you hear the l-last thing I said? A-about the d-dragon and the w-wounds I got? I-it’s kind of crazy y-you know b-because when I finally got to the c-castle–”

How did this wake him up?! 

It couldn’t have. He knows it. The nights he’s spent hearing warbled words and grunts didn’t make his heart pound for her. Or the warm touches along his chest and arms, they were evidence of someone else. But no matter how much he wracked his brain the thought of who remained a mystery. 

Faun assured him it was a small side effect, that the cloudiness of waking up was sure to hover over his consciousness for the next week. That was why he got tired every time he tried to recall the time before his cursed sleep. 

“B-briar? A-are–d-do you h-have any questions a-about that day?”

“No Phyllis I’m just trying to remember…”

“Oh okay. S-so, as I was saying (Y/n), was there and th-”

That’s what it was! That’s who it was!

The piece he’s been missing: the memories of the week before. His heart, straying from his so-called love for the mysterious woman in the forest to the clumsy handmaid. He remembered cursing himself and then cursing at (Y/n), sending them away while ignoring the pain in his chest. What could it be, to so quickly change the object of his affection? Was it a problem that when he thought of love all he could see was their face? And even if he was truly devoting his love to (Y/n) instead of the mystery maiden, who turned out to be Phyllis the princess, then what could he do? As a prince himself, he would have no choice but to abandon you in worry that his royal family would reject you for the nobility’s standards; if not for their own biases. It was an endless cycle of heartbreak that had no end. 

When the dark sorcerer’s curse came about, he was entirely lucid. Only refusing to follow the green foreboding glow to stew in his own grief. Audibly sighing at the entrancing orb, he only raised his head when the orb transformed into a figure.

“Come child, it is your time.”

“How can it be my time when all is so helpless.” 

He tucked his head into his folded arms, hiding his sniffles and bubbling tears as they fell onto the table below. Missing the smile that spread over the sorcerer’s face as he feigned a giddy pity as he patted the prince’s back. 

“There there, the faeries spoke of a true love’s kiss. Now I’m sure that you’ve found someone you love?”

The question was rhetoric, the sorcerer was well aware of his rendezvous with the princess in the woods. The sorcerer was certain of this, and it brought a greater smile to his face that he had already acted on this. 

“Y-yes…but–well–I’m not sure if it's true love! Since it’s changed so much…” 

Feigned sympathetic pats on Briar’s back, allowed the fireplace to morph. Lined in green flames a portal opened opening to the tallest tower within the castle where a new glowing orb waited patiently. 

“Now young Briar, the only way to know would be the ultimate test would it not?”

He sniffled, “What do you mean?” 

“What better test for you’re love than sleep that can only be broken by true love? Do you not want a method that is tried and true?”

“Tried and True?”

“Yes.”

Giving into the trance the prince rose from his seat, guided by the hand of the one who cursed him. Settled behind his back as he nudged him into the portal and in the direction of the green light. Aware of his curse he followed dutifully, wiping his tears and rubbing his dribbling nose. He came to the orb that materialized into a glowing spinning wheel, needle piked and practically begging for his puncture. Briar reached forward stopping just a hair’s length away to turn to the sorcerer who was growing agitated. Face full of worry and trepidation he pleaded with the horned man. 

“H-how will I know that the one who wakes me is the right one? What should happen if the one who stands above me when I wake is the one? There are those who might trick me or–” “Fine then.” 

The sorcerer’s voice boomed as he stepped heavily towards him, chest to Briar’s face he held a green flame in his hand. Blue eyes snapped to the flame registering the sound of a snap before the sorcerer pulled away. 

“I’ll let you hear everything.”

He opened his mouth to question the action, stopping to let out a scream as his ears burned. He stumbled to the side, nearly falling to the ground as he clutched at his ears groaning from the pain. The sorcerer groaned pulling a hand from the side of Briar’s face in the direction of the wheel. Pinpricking his finger, releasing the hand as the prince retracted his hand inspecting the wound. Eyelids drooping and knees buckling before sending Prince Briar Rue into the beginning of his eternal slumber. 

“There dearest Rue, you can hear everything. Even the cries and pleas of all those who come to mourn you by your bedside! I applaud you for your creativity, suffering for eternity will surely bring you an even crueler existence than I would have given! Hahaha.”

He was right. It was cruel to remember having doubted (Y/n) as they cared for him. It was they who had read to him and spoken to him while he was trapped in an uneasy slumber for the entirety of thirty days and thirty nights. Now he was meant to marry the mere attraction of his past, it was truly a nightmare. The only solace he could find was in their servitude. If he couldn’t have them in the way of a lover he’d have them in the way of a king. It sounded cruel but surely that was just because the thought was in his head.

It would all make sense the night before the wedding when he’d call them after the dreaded bachelor party. He’d confess his love within the solace of the private garden he’d been gifted, taking them under the moonlight and the stars as his witness. Oh, how he’d dread the morning! When he would have to repeat such false vows as he betrayed them one time last. But that would be the end of it, the rest of himself would be dedicated to (Y/n) and (Y/n) only. 

Or that would be if that wasn’t who he thought it was in the window—

“H-hey! T-that looks like (Y/n) r-riding on that donkey! Doesn’t it Briar?”

Rendered speechless at the sight of your riding form disappearing into the bustling capital city. He could only stifle a fit of frustration as he recognized the familiar trio of red, blue, and green. Post haste he attempted to leave the room stopped by the hand, and following consequences written all over Phyllis’ face. He’d wait for now but when he was done…they’d surely be hearing from the angered and fully awoken prince.

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

sorry but i think i lost your plot has to be peak literature because it's one of the only thing ive ever read from start to last update in under an hour

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 14

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,163

You get caught up in some hobbying.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, crafting, bead making

<Previous - Next>

Your relationship with the older vikings, men and women alike, as their sometimes delivery girl, sometimes shepard -though that was much less of a harrowing job now that the dragons were cool, and you were afforded the privilege of spend a lot less time hiding and running- sometimes portable laundromat and shiphand, afforded you certain knowledge that other people sometimes weren’t privy to, though Berk was an open floor for gossip.

Like how the twins were always looking down because their helmets were too shallow to balance themselves on their heads, which had the consequence of making it seem as if they were always up to something. Which, coincidentally, they were- Their mother complained about them a lot in between mentions of her husband and fawning over Stoick.

You learned how to cook some from Mrs. Ingerman, and you’d taught her a few words from your time period, which was nice. 

You’d had to do Snotlout's laundry and clean his room on more than one occasion, even had to pull it out of his basement room more than once, which you were thoroughly disgusted by. You’d learned a lot more about the guy from that experience than you’d ever wanted and had refused to take any of the Jorgensons’ laundry from then onward.

You’d even done things for Hiccup and for the Chief, mostly things he was unaccustomed to doing as he was too busy acting as the leader of the village and things Hiccup missed because he was too busy doing whatever he did out with the riders. You were sure Hiccup’d had no idea just the same as Snotlout. 

There were a few things you were certain to never bring up, including but not limited to a hastily drawn but very detailed sketch of your face shoved in a notebook tossed under his bed, not particularly helpful in terms of putting to rest the whole crush thing, or the small pail of screws he was sure to have brought back from the forge without his father’s blessing.

You were in denial a little bit, yeah. 

You should probably tell him. About the whole being in his room thing. But you wouldn’t. Definitely not.

It seemed, though, that despite this extra eye into the working world of Berk, you’d still ended up missing a few things.

Berk was… A community. You weren’t sure how you never realized that.

The Great Hall was filled with warm laughter, people patting each other on the back, men and women sharing stories about their kids and, often enough for you to take notice, Hiccup. It looked like raising him was a group effort.

Off in the corner were others at a table by shallow baskets which were shaped like oblong gold pans filled with fine powder and shells, men and women sitting along the side sorting dragon scales and grinding them down with flat stones and clearly chiseled pestels.

Dragons squealed and bobbed around your periphery, tossing and picking up what must’ve been colorful, neutral stones.

Large men and women and children hunched over the tables all over the hall, rearranged so that they were all closer to each other, parallel as they whittled away at things you couldn’t completely see, tables lined with leaves and the occasional plate.

It was well lit.

People filled the halls between tables with joyful conversation, playfully batted at each other and sat back. The whole space was bustling and also relaxing, somehow.

In the background was Ack arguing with some blonde woman, but even that was nice. You could tell he didn’t mean it and neither did she, shooting back just barely inaudible jabs with each other.

You were mindful of the basket in your arms full up with his laundry, just recently cleaned and aired out. 

You had stopped in your tracks at the sight, standing just before a short table placed perpendicular to the rest as if the lady sitting there was the guard to some booth or other. 

You looked down finally, noticing how she looked at you nearly eye level with a raised brow. She had plenty of wrinkles on her forehead, which told a lot about a life made by concern and stoicism. She also wore a large, very off white apron over a grayish vaguely beige long sleeve short and a long brown skirt, which you only just barely caught sight of as she lifted it up to wipe down something in her hand.

She had a shallow basket in front of her filled with what looked like beads and various strings, needles and small carving knives with wood shavings laid on the cloth-covered table around her.

“Hi,” You said, breaking the wall between the two of you. 

“...Hello, dear,” She responded, after a while, settling down her skirt and placing a colorful bead back into her basket. He picked up a needle instead, which you saw was already attached to a long string with beads all down the length. 

You wondered where they’d gotten the dye for it. Could dye even be used on glass? Was it glass?

Instead of asking those questions, you shuffled your feet.

You glanced at a white sleeve flopped over the side of the basket, which you held by a bar on the other side and pressed into your hip, “What’s going on?”

“Crafting is going on,” She said, plainly.

You nodded, “I like it.”

It wasn’t an uncommon sight to see Vikings wandering around Berk, trying their hand at leatherworking and carving and other things. Now that they had the time, being assaulted a lot less by Dragons, the Berkians indulged their more artistic inclinations, exercising muscles for skills they’d never been able to before.

“I mean, this is great. What started it?” You asked.

You wanted to join in. It might be nice.

“Oh, you haven’t seen? The pride of Berk, walking around with his little bead like a bird,” She chortled fondly, “Did you see it? I wonder who gave it to him? Lucky girl. He has, dare I say it, started a trend.”

A bird? You quirked your lips up at what was most certainly an exaggeration. You hadn’t seen anything like that. You failed to mention that you’re the one who made it.

You wondered if Hiccup knew about any of this at all. You didn’t. 

“How do you know it was a girl?”

You turned. The spoken voice belonged to one of the women you’d see before in the Hall. She came over, done fussing with Ack in the background.

She was also blonde, a brighter, more yellow shade with a few less gray hairs. And she was large, also, with broad shoulders and a strong presence. Her arms were the largest between them. 

She wore tight trousers and a large though not long tunic. Her boots were plain leather and looked to be of the pirate variety. 

You pondered the idea that they might be related, or at least good friends.

“Look at him!” The first lady put down her needle, resting it in her shallow basket again, a glass bead falling down the string as she did, gesturing with her hand, though there was no Hiccup in sight, “He’s so happy! So proud! The small thing. He’s got too much energy for his little bones to handle.”

You thought he might be offended if he heard her say that.

“Oh, don’t be delusional,” The one with big arms huffed, “And don’t let him hear you say that.”

“But I’m right!”

“You’re wrong! He’s no myth, sweetheart. You can’t go around treating him like one of your little stories,” She shook her head, crossing her arms. 

“The Ragnar is real!” She insisted, staring down the Ack lady, meeting her eyes until the other woman rolled her own. You could tell it was a disagreement as old as time itself, but like with the other woman’s squabble with Ack, there was no malice in it, “Beowulf, too.”

They were just putting on a show.

You felt your lips stretch wider. It felt good to be a part of, even as a witness.

“Well, anyways, I’ve been thinking of making it a regular thing. You know, putting it on a schedule. Craft nights…”

You nodded excitedly, “It’s very modern.”

“Do you think so?” She asked, pleased.

“You don’t think we’ll have better things to be doing?”

“Our ancestors used to do it, can’t see why we can’t.”

“Really?” You asked.

“Oh, yes. Read a passage about it once, saw a note or something like in one of the dragon books. Glass beadmaking,” She looked up wistfully, pausing briefly in her rhythmic sewing, “I always wanted to try it… But we had no forge, no beads, no time, then, either. I was just a little girl. But now…!”

She picked something small but shiny out of the basket in her lap, ooh-ing to herself.

You were on the outside, kind of, though not on purpose. Everyone was welcoming enough, though they were much too busy fighting with the dragons to notice much or throw a party or anything. You were never excluded but you always had better things to do, too, so, well.

But this was here, and it seemed convenient. 

“Dear, come sit down,” She squealed slyly, voice both quick and dragging, face gleeful, which seemed out of place on her wide, bult frame and stern face.

“Okay,” You said, beaming.

You stuck mostly to the woodworking bead types. 

The image of glass beads shattering midair was frightening, though you were sure that none of the dragons around here could reach those speeds. Flying that fast might be dangerous for people too.

Most of your beads were probably going back to Hiccup anyways.

Of course, you had your own handful of small colorful semi-porcelain.

You tried a bunch of colors of all different types, and ended up with a handful of each. It was cool, to the super-so degree, and it was free. It seemed good will did a lot, and community bonding exercises were meant to be just that and nothing else. There was a line of Vikings, adults and children alike, ready to do their own part and bring things in anyhow. 

Many Vikings used ground up dragonhide to dye and waterproof beads and to mix in with melted glass in order to give it a pretty stain.

It was interesting, especially now that many Vikings were using Dragons in place of a kiln, and how they’d set up small buildings with bricks and some coal and used those too.

It was disastrous, at some moments. There were many burns, mostly small, that people went up to Gothi for, saying their goodbyes in bummed tones. 

Gothi must have had enough of it because she came down eventually to manage the glassmakers and smack the unfortunate.

It was… nice. 

The afternoon light was surprisingly nice on your face. It felt a lot nicer and your chest felt lighter, the world awash with things bright and endearing.

You looked forward with a winning smile at Hiccup.

“You liked the one I gave you, right?” You held out a handful of blue glass and wood beads to Hiccup, “They’re doing craft days in the Hall. I made some.”

You had a bunch of others in pouches around your belt.

You didn’t have anywhere to put them besides. You had no dragon to ride, so in time you might favor the glass ones. You had trouble with a few of them. The dragonhide did a great deal to make the glass more sticky when it heated up.

“You’re going to see a lot more people around with beads on.”

There were not enough leaves and pouches for all your sorted beads so they were sort of mixed, but you got a hold of a good few before it was time to clean up and you fled before anyone could notice. The hall would still be active for a while.

“You started a trend, I think,” You said, matter-of-factly.

It was impressive. Trends usually fell to the Chief, who recently had been trying to approach you though he always got carried away by tasks before he could. 

Hiccup had a sort of goofy smile on his face which consisted of a slightly upturned lip and the framing of his two largest front teeth which dropped as, as it looked like, he snapped back into himself, “What?”

“Yeah,” You said after you finished unloading the rest of his pouches into his arms and turned to walk away.

You looked around as you fled, making sure no one was watching.

He looked down like he wasn’t sure what to do with all of them, and also a little bit put off.

You wondered if you overdid it.

A small weight shifted by your ankle as you walked, the coins you’d slipped into a side pocket in your boot. You were going to ask around for some seeds.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

I’ve seen a lot of hellenic polytheists say that the myths aren’t literal, and I’ve see your FAQ that explains how the myths ate symbolic. But that makes me wonder: how literal are the myths? Did the greeks think all of these stuff actually happened, and if so how would that translate to modern hellenic polytheism and how much should be take literally. Not only that, but should modern hellenic polytheists also believe that the gods have actual physical human forms that roam the earth? And we know mount Olympus doesn’t actuallu have anu gods up there, so how would modern hellenic polytheists view Olympus?

Hello anon and apologies for the delay! I would kindly ask you to refer to our ancients as "ancient Greeks", or "ancients", not just "Greeks". I'm certain your intentions are good, it's just that language does influence how people view us Greeks today. (Aka, the ancient Greeks were THE Greeks, while Greeks today are "The Modern Greeks", something else or imposters or people who want to pretend they are Greeks).

Ok, onto the answer!

The common people likely believed in more literal interpretations. They might not have believed every detail of every story, but they accepted the basic reality of the gods and their interventions in human affairs. Faith and nurture plays a big role on one's beliefs.

However, like Greeks today, they probably understood that the stories passed down to them were old and likely to be inaccurate or exaggerate a few things, but they kept an open mind anyway because information from previous generations and from the visions of holy people was and is appreciated.

Today modern people across religions might take their sacred texts literally, or interpret them allegorically - or fall somewhere in between. So if you have a grasp on that mindset, you're quite close to understanding the position of many ancient Greeks. Even if they believed the gods would appear in human form to them, the gods would remain in their view as symbols for natural forces and moral principles.

From the myth about the birth of Dionysus we know that Semele could not stand to see the "real" form of Zeus. This means that a view existed where the gods were considered to have a divine form that humans could not comprehend, and one more human, so they could come down to earth and communicate with humankind.

Ancient humans were as intelligent as we are today, and so they had their doubts. Hell, some philosophers were even atheists! In Aristophanes' comedy Ecclesiazouses we have concepts such as a form of communism. We have to understand these people had questioning and wandering minds like ours.

They were likely to notice how many new kings were, all of a sudden, claiming parentage from Zeus and other gods, and understood that not every religious story they heard was likely to happen. They also knew that many stories were there to explain natural phenomena. They told their kids "They say the seasons exist because..." but also left some room for realism and critical thinking.

Many educated Greeks, particularly in the Classical period, understood many myths as allegorical or symbolic. Philosophers like Plato and Xenophanes criticized literal interpretations of the gods as anthropomorphic beings, arguing that viewing the gods with human forms and flaws was arrogance.

As for Mt. Olympos it always had a religious significance like Jerusalem or Mecca. It is an impressive landmark on it's own so it was considered proof of mythical battles and formations that happened in older times. Besides, the higher you go, the rougher nature is to you, so you feel the might of nature and perhaps you interpret it in a religious way. This mountain has been a spiritual location of great significance irregardless of religion. I believe the Christian monasteries on the mountain are currently six (if not more), and even more smaller churches inside villages exist. Olympos has an important place in our literature until today, with the most known story being Olympos and Kissavos (a slightly shorter mountain) fighting about which one is the mightiest.

Gods belong both to the physical and the immaterial world so even if humans didn't see them when they climbed Olympus, that didn't matter as much. It was the choice of gods if they would appear or not, and actually their real home was "in the skies" - if not physically in the sky, then another plane entirely.

It's pretty likely the humans believed the gods would reveal their will in sacred places / temples / oracles in the area around the mountain. Such an important site is Dion, which had/has free-flowing water of excellent quality, which originates from Olympus.

I cannot speak for foreigners but the modern Greeks who are Polytheists likely view the mountain the same way. They know it's empty of the physical forms of gods but they still accept its spiritual importance and that the gods reside there - but in another plane that is not exactly understandable to us.

[xarrixii]

saw something and had words to say but nowhere specifically to say it so i'll say it into this vacuum:

man i just. i still hate language arts classes in the american education system. and i think i finally figured out why more than just "don't like writing essays in dumb formats or in general"

analysis

like don't get me wrong i've known it's been something to do with being forced on some level to analyze things deeper than i would normally care to on my own. like obviously that's frustrating and i stopped actually learning things out of it in middle school--but the obsession with being correct is one i've just figured out

in my last language arts class (called Modern Literature, pretentious english for "read stuff and analyze it a bit") there was a unit that was about reading some short stories and taking a little quiz on them that was summative.

i mean generally writers can write things with the intent that they symbolize or are a certain thing, but it was so stifling to come up with my analysis of the situation and then hear the teacher talk about it the next day with a completely different interpretation and not opening it as any form of like, analytical wiggle room

like clearly when i read the story i was supposed to get x answer when i read it. i don't exactly remember one of the stories/poems/whatever we read in that class but i think one was about something to do with a dad working for their kid all the time and complaining about it.

my interpretation was, hey that sounds unhealthy. maybe he shouldn't be getting like, angry enough for his kid to notice that and affect them. i think it's easy to guess where i would get a thought process like that from

but the teacher walked over and went, paraphrasing from bad memory, "well you know it's traditionally seen as the female role to take care of the house and kids, but he doesn't have that so he has to do everything. he's a parent whose love for his children is taken for granted"

and i have to nod along. pretending like yes absolutely that should've been the only possible analysis i could've gotten. thank you for that. how could "Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden lines like, "blueblack cold" and "banked fires blaze" and "splintering, breaking" and "chronic angers of that house" and "what did i know of love" possibly mean anything else in the context of someone else's experience.

why was i forced to present your correct answer simply because that was the author's original intent? why can my own experiences not influence my interpretation? why are you stifling that so that i can be correct?

anyway tl;dr: can we stop forcing people to consume media in a specific way. can we let them breathe. it's stupid that we enforce a "being correct" culture onto kids. they should be learning that things have nuance not that the world is made of cardboard cutouts

[writing-for-love]

A Small England Drabble

Fandom: Hetalia

Characters: England

Reader: Gender Neutral

Warnings: None

Note: First post, so idk if this is what you guys would be interested in. Hopefully someone likes it. If not, yell at me what you do want. <3

This was mainly just to get something posted. I know if I tried to perfect my first post, this blog would be abandoned. I'm not particularly proud of it.

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

Thankfully, the rain stopped before Arthur left his office. The weather was actually quite nice this morning, so he hadn't even realized it started raining while hidden away inside. Though, he couldn't complain. The sun was back out now and the streets were still cleared up. Everyone who escaped the rain must not have realized it stopped just yet.

Feeling particularly motivated, Arthur headed towards the bookstore he frequented when in high spirits. It was a chaotic place, with used books stacked wherever they could fit. Though usually a man of order, the tight aisles and full shelves did provide an enjoyable form of intimacy. Like how he imagined it would feel to be hidden away with a lover, though the lover in this case was a play by Shakespeare or a poem by Pope.

Seeing the building ahead, Arthur snapped out of his thoughts. There was a quiet jingle of a bell as he opened the door, then the smell of a library hit him. Smelled like a good evening, if only he had stopped for some coffee before this.

He squeezed past some boxes and shelves to the stairway. The section on classic literature was upstairs, between philosophy and world history. He might wander into those sections as well if the selection wasn't particularly good today.

Working through the maze-like room upstairs, he made it to his aisle just to stop in his tracks. Someone was already there, looking at a copy of Anna Karenina. They seemed engulfed in flipping through the novel. They were dressed cozy, likely coming here on a day off. Even so, the low light made the situation seem more intimate than it really should be.

Arthur knew they hadn't noticed him yet. He thanked whoever owned this building that they put carpet in, so his dress shoes didn't tap on the way over.

God, he really needed to take a break from Jane Austen. As he aged, Arthur had become an awful romantic, supposing he hadn't been one the whole time. To think he'd fallen so far from grace, to become nervous so easily.

Adjusting his suit jacket and coming back to himself, he slid into the aisle. Suddenly, the tightness of the space felt a bit more claustrophobic.

“Oh, sorry.”

He met their eyes as they finally noticed his entrance. They must have thought they were in his way. “No, it's alright! Sorry, I'm just skimming.” He put a hand up as a sort of surrender. He really should have just gone to a different aisle. The modern day has made him terribly socially awkward. “Have you read Anna Karenina?”

Looking up slightly at him, they giggled quietly. “Uh, no. I wouldn't buy it if I had.”

He tried to keep his cheeks from flushing, like he had any say in the matter. He should have gone to a different aisle. At least they had the decency to say the obvious kindly.

“Of course,” he pushed some of his hair back, “I'd recommend it. Good read. Anyway…”

They smiled a bit and held eye contact. Maybe he came off as cute? He could at least hope for that.

“I'll buy it then. It's on you if I don't enjoy it,” they teased as they shifted to hold the book more decisively against themselves.

“Of course.” He relaxed his posture a bit as some of the anxiety left him. "Though, how would I know?” He skimmed some of the shelves to look somewhere else. All that emotion for such a short conversation.

They shrugged a bit. “Maybe I'll have to give you my number.”

What? He looked back at them. Oh... Okay. He smiled, genuinely quite surprised. "Well... That hardly took convincing."

[kataisfuton]

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. 🗝️ …Futon, by Katai Tayama. A review.⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. 🗝️ …

⚠️This review is not Spoiler free.⚠️

🖋️Introduction.🖋️

Futon is a short story written in 1907 by Katai Tayama. It’s considered one of the first “I-novels”, which is a genre of novel that gained popularity with the Naturalist movement of Japanese literature in the 20th century. It is  a semi-confessional novel, which is classified by the story’s protagonist reflecting the author and the story’s plot revolving around a real life event of the author in question.

The story revolves around an author named Tokio Takenaka, a man relatively famous for his work, which causes him to receive many requests to tutor students personally. His life is boring, according to himself; his wife is boring, quiet and submissive, and his son is stress inducing. They were affecting his life. One day, he received a letter from a girl named Yoshiko, who wants to be a writer and she requests he tutor her. He, reluctantly, agrees, but the moment he sees her, he becomes infatuated with her; she is young, has a “modern” look and spirit to her, which came together with the modernization brought to the country during the Meiji period, and constantly comparing her in his head to his “boring” wife.  Time goes on, and his obsession also grows; however, when Yoshiko begins frequenting another student her age, Takenaka grows erratic, to the point of getting drunk and thrashing around, yelling at his wife and sister in law. He called on Yoshiko’s father, as the young man kept coming back to look for her, talk with him on her behalf, and the author began to suspect that him and Yoshiko had partaken in “unspeakable acts”. Yoshiko’s father agreed to return her home and put an end to the tutoring from Takenaka, which means that he would have to return back to his normalcy, and he is less than happy about that; with the final scene of the novel being the older man crying on top of the futon that had been left behind by Yoshiko.

📜Note:  This is a very “over the surface” summary, please read the novel yourselves, it’s very good. 📜

★★★★★★★★☆☆

📜Note: These are my personal opinions, and should not be taken to heart. 📜

✔️Positives✔️:  Starting off on a very strong note, it’s a very interesting story, it’s inspired partially by events in the life of the author, which leaves room for thought and wonder what exactly happened. The characters are interesting, and have personalities that make them easy to distinguish and understand, despite the descriptions of the characters and backstories not going into a lot of depth, which kind of abides to the rule of “less is more”. It’s also a very short story, I originally read it within a day, and it’s very digestible. And lastly, the writing is descriptive and not overwhelming.

❌Negatives❌: As one must share the things that they disliked of the works, probably the first one is the “unhappy marriage” trope, which I understand is part of real life Katai Tayama’s experiences, it just is not one I particularly enjoy, as well as the whole dynamic of professor and student. To put it bluntly, it’s not my cup of tea. Those are the only negatives. However, it is important to consider the historical context of the story.

The Meiji period, during which this story was written, was a period of Japanese history which was characterized by the “westernization”, or “modernization” of the country. It was a period of extreme cultural and political changes, which are not only reflected in the descriptions of the story, but also in the way of thinking of the characters, which also mimic the way people living in the country thought and acted. The Meiji period started in 1868 and ended in 1912. “Futon” was written in 1907, which means Katai oversaw the entirety of this transformation of society. The biggest cultural, political and economic changes were (in no particular order) the establishment of a constitutional government, the Meiji revelion, which kickstarted the period, the introduction of western science and technology and the introduction and blending of western ideologies with traditional Japanese values. This is mostly shown in the story through the comparisons that Takenaka does between his wife and her behaviour, to the young and studied Yoshiko, the mentions of the train, which, might I add, the railway system was implemented during this time, and the descriptions between the capital of Tokyo and Yoshiko’s hometown, as well as the differences between them.

📙The biggest reference is, obviously, the presence of the character named after the author of Futon, Katai Tayama, and the name of his ability being “Futon”, which was named after the novel; but something a lot of people gloss over is the fact that Katai’s futon actually has a name, and it’s “Yoshiko”, like the main love interest in the story; and lastly, the unrequited love storyline which involves him with Gin Akutagawa, which parallels, in a way, the story of the novel.📙

🖋️References.🖋️

📜Britannica, T. Editors of Encyclopaedia (2024, May 9). Tayama Katai. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Tayama-Katai

📜Britannica, T. Editors of Encyclopaedia (2024, December 16). Meiji Restoration. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/event/Meiji-Restoration

📜Britannica, T. Editors of Encyclopaedia (2006, October 13). I novel. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/art/I-novel

[stellar-constellations]

♱   ᜔  ׅ ꯭ Hello ! How's your day ? I hope it's going good !

Do you write headcanons with planotic relationships ?

If so , could you write headcanons with Kokushibo and teenage!gender-neutral!reader in modern AU , where reader just spends 90% of their time writing or drawing and they just .. fail every school subject possible.

Thank you in advance !

Platonic! Kokushibo x Teenage! Artistic! GN! Reader

Wordcount: 741 words

Kokushibo is a stern but calm parent. He understands you can't force learning upon someone who doesn't want to be learned, but he does want you to at least try to pay attention in class. Maybe you'll find a passion for something new?

Kokushibo looks over your report card, blank faced as he takes in all the comments and concern addressed from your teachers. He reads over the letter grades, seeing as you always aced art classes, but for once you had a D in history instead of an F.

"Good job..." he muttered, placing the paper down as he patted your head, then allowed you to scurry off and go do whatever. 

Whenever Kokushibo sees you writing, he's always secretly peeking over your shoulder so he could see what you're writing. He likes literature and books, maybe you'll share with him? If you share any of your work, he'll give you constructive-criticism. He'll never leave your writing on a bad note, always making sure to point out some good characteristics or writing choices you made. Perhaps you'll become an author? 

Kokushibo is always wondering what you're doing when he's away from you. It's normal to ponder about what your child is spending their time on, but he's always curious how your mind works and what's so joyful about coloring and writing.

Kokushibo is a consumer, not much of a producer. He sees things in front of them, processes the information, then moves on. Everything's just so black and white to him, compared to you and your artistically-inclined mind. You have such a vivid and colorful perspective of life, he should really be taking notes on this.

When Kokushibo has to go to parent-teacher conferences, he's always stone-faced as he listens to your teachers ramble on about you not paying attention in class or your poor performance. Kokushibo is usually zoning out while they're speaking, but he's thinking of ways to make the next school year more easier for you (and him). 

Kokushibo tries giving you colored sticky notes to write on to take notes, but you just end up doodling and creating small poems. 

Kokushibo tries to prompt you to watching online tutor videos, but right as he leaves the room you click off the video and check your favorite art apps. 

Kokushibo tries to teach you the subjects himself, trying to figure out if you have a certain way of learning such as hands on, or auditory, or visually, but he just comes to realize you simply have no interest in anything except arts. 

When Kokushibo gives up trying to teach you for the day, you allow him to use your glittery sparkly pens and doodle something on paper. He comes to realize maybe drawing and writing isn't so bad, I mean, if it makes you happy then just go for it. There's been tons of famous artists and authors who make bank and end up successful and happy in the future, maybe you're one of them.

Kokushibo's tried to make you study literature and the origins of art. If you're going to take an interest in those things, maybe you could learn something useful or insightful by learning their past or methods?

Kokushibo always has some sort of simple breakfast for you when you wake up in the morning (he's an early-riser). Before every meal, he's always telling you to wash off the lead marks and ink off your hands so you can eat. 

If you stay up late, Kokushibo is a little annoyed, but lets it go. It's more of a punishment to you than it is to him; you're the one sleep-deprived, not him. He figures you'll learn to go to bed early after you keep accidentally knocking your water on your papers when you start dozing off. 

Even though Kokushibo does tell you to try and cut back on your arts during class time, he can't help but appreciate your stubbornness. At least he knows you won't let yourself get pushed around by anyone, even your own guardian! If drawing and writing is your own coping mechanism or simply just a hobby you love, he'll support it. At least you're not doing anything harmful to your health, so he's glad for that. 

        Slowly but surely, I'm finding energy to complete requests that been in my inbox for months. It's so hard finding time to write due to all of my outside activities, and it's always so difficult figuring out what to write when I'm unmotivated or stuck in an all too common writer's block, but I'm chipping away my requests bit by bit!

        Want more Kokushibo content? Check out the Kokushibo masterlist!

[christineonthemoors]

Post 3 - I am Not Ready for Mainstream Discourse 

“But you really don’t need to be accurate. It’s just a book. That is not based on real life. It’s all art.” 

-Kharmel Cochrane, Casting Director for Emerald Fennell’s upcoming adaptation of Wuthering Heights (2026)

April of 2025 is a surprisingly decent time to dedicate a blog to Wuthering Heights. Even though the book was published almost two hundred years ago, there’s an abundance of chit chat resurfacing all about it because of the upcoming adaptation from Emerald Fennell. This director is famous (infamous?) for Saltburn and Promising Young Woman, and I have no commentary to add on these films because I have not seen them. In an effort to emulate The Great Gatsby’s non-judgemental Nick Carraway, I won’t condemn what I have not seen. However, I think there’s some room to critique a little bit of what we’re seeing from this new Wuthering Heights adaptation buzz, but before doing so, I want to clarify a few things. 

I have noticed that in online circles especially, it is particularly trendy to just express hatred and disgust from a point of pompous dissent – it’s very cool to be disgusted, and I think we should be quicker to celebrate than we are to criticize. Or, at least, criticize in tandem with offering a solution. On a personal level, I am really fighting hard to seek first to celebrate and be less harsh on artists. At this point, I am being verbose, but…“I'm inclined to reserve all judgement, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and made me the victim of not a few veteran bores…” 

In general, I refuse to be overly precious about adapting a movie to screen when I believe there is room for a bit of artistic liberty to allow for new and creative forms to take shape. Books aren’t rigid scripts, and filmmaking is an artform with unique customs that I don’t fully comprehend. I’d like to think I have an openness to new generations and their interpretations of Wuthering Heights. It’s a perennial classic to be enjoyed for the years to come – right? 

Okay, that’s enough moral cosplay – I can now embrace my role as a scathing, Scrooge-like critic with nothing but scorn for this imminent catastrophe. There was room for modern integrations of inclusivity for this movie, and perhaps living within my openness to bringing the book to a new generation of readers – Heathcliff has an essence that could be effectively captured by an actor from a non-White ethnic background. Instead, Jacob Elordi will be playing Heathcliff. I am willing to give him a chance to really make the role his own. But I am baffled by the choice of casting a White actor to play him. Oh, and casting non-White actors to play Linton and Nelly (Linton especially, whose privilege is a driving force in the novel). Well, whatever. I am less bothered by the casting choices and a few anachronistic costumes (yeah, that’s a whole other story) than I am what appears to be Cochrane’s philosophy of literature and cinema’s relationship. What is the purpose of bringing a novel to life in a movie? I suppose I could think of a few things. 

Give a stimulating visual dimension to things like dialogue and fashion (especially in novels from deeper in history) 

Pay homage to a great work of literature by respecting the integrity of the author and their plot 

Bridge the gap between readers and movie fans by offering a fresh medium for storytelling 

To be completely transparent with my feelings – I think the allure of the Wuthering Heights title is being used to market and profit from a redesigned story. Is that honest? Is that fresh? My answer is no. I am writing this not just to express my protectiveness over the book, but also just to bemoan the lack of novelty in modern storytelling and cinema. Are we really in such a creative rut as a culture that we cannot produce something new? Must we instead crank out fan-fiction about beloved novels to express our modern sensibilities that will soon feel cringey and dated? I suppose the old scripture is correct: What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. 

I hope those in the school of Kharmel Cochrane’s thought reconsider the purpose of cinema – yes, it’s all art, but let’s seek to make good art. I suppose it is one thing to use Wuthering Heights as inspiration for a truly new story. There’s plenty of subject matter there. Supernatural occurrences, forbidden love, class disparity, and generational trauma can inform a modern story of interest. But no, Fennell and Cochrane appear to be using Wuthering Heights as a foundation for their own story – which feels like an easy way out. It feels like stealing. And it feels icky. The online discourse I have seen about it seems to indicate cynicism and a lack of high hopes. I know no one’s asking me, but in case anyone decides to, I do have a message. Let’s be honest in our adaptations and creative in modern storytelling. Stop exploiting the intellectual labor of literary titans of the past and corrupting their work to express a flailing idea of what you think a story should be. In conclusion, I am still going to watch this movie. Even if it becomes inevitable that my only motivation is to create a snarky review, I still want to engage with the way Wuthering Heights shapes the modern age and pop culture. In my own little world where I feel exceptionally pretentious at times with my high and mighty literary opinions (in which the pretentiousness is only compounded by my Master’s degree and teaching career), I still want to find something to enjoy. I can’t even begin to articulate how fantastic it is to see contemporary discussions on the Brontes in the year 2025. Even if this move is a complete disaster, is there really any loss in the fact that there is more Wuthering Heights discourse in the air? This book regularly proves that history will not forget it.