#i was rooting for this to be bad in a good way. unfortunately‚

[teatraps]

I don’t really know how to put this into words, but imma try. I feel like ppl focus a little too much on Ella and Mrs. Valden’s deaths as personal experiences. And what I mean by that is it feels like they sometimes get treated as the sole cause of any of Edgar’s troubles and worries while kinda skimming over Sarai’s abuse. And I mean actually breaking down all that Sarai’s abuse implies, not just jump cutting to when Edgar kills him. Granted I think that also comes with how idv’s storytelling works, no time for slow burn. There’s little mention of the trust Edgar did have for Sarai before Sarai started to become more blatantly abusive/exploitive which is part of what made his abuse all the more insidious.

Furthermore, I feel people treat what happened to Edgar too much like a personal tragedy. Like it was removed from everything else around him and the family deaths and Sarai’s abuse were just unfortunate events that just so happened to happen to Edgar. When in reality, at least based on what his 3rd letter is implying, all of those things happened BECAUSE of everything else around him. Ella’s death, Mrs. Valden’s death, Sarai being able to get away with abusing Edgar so long; all of that only happened because the culture of the aristocracy allows it. In Sarai’s case, even rewards it. The environment Edgar grew up in plays a major role in what led to the tragedies in Edgar’s life, but I feel it’s one of the more under talked about aspects of his character. He doesn’t just hate the aristocracy to hate it, he also recognizes that the aristocracy’s culture enabled basically every major bad event in his life.

That’s another reason why his 3rd letter is so important, it’s because it marks the point where he tries to get away from it. Killing Sarai was not the ���fix-all” to Edgar’s problems, leaving the aristocracy was. This is why he still has art block even after killing Sarai. He’s still stuck with the same aristocracy either way. By not acknowledging the way Edgar’s environment was part of the reason things ended up the way they did, it makes his bitterness at the aristocracy seem unfounded and like he’s just angry at the other people around him for no good reason. It negatively affects a lot of his storytelling by not acknowledging this part since it’s not only the root of his problems, it’s also a key theme for game 5’s plot line. Everyone in that group is dealing with an unhealthy family situation which affects them in many different ways. This theme doesn’t hold up as well if Edgar’s example of this gets skipped over. And that’s not even covering how his example is arguably the MOST important because it’s the only portrayal to show cutting off the unhealthy family dynamic and trying to push forward past them.

I’m just kinda sick of Edgar’s disdain for the aristocracy being treated like a random add-on to his character and not a deliberate character choice made to further his and the overall narrative.

[echthr0s]

[letterboxd log 2024 | 58/?] ⪀ We Need To Do Something, 2021; dir. Sean King O'Grady

[bijoumikhawal]

*sees a long post from an American comparing Cardassia to the USSR/China* *rolls eyes and keeps scrolling*

[goldentigerfestival]

I love the vocal nuance in this exchange, but also posting this for my differences posts because this is one of the changes that infuriates me the most. Yuri didn't threaten Ioder, did not threaten him with a weapon, and just said he'd punch him in a lazy, half joking voice (half joking as in, he really doesn't want to hear that - that's just his way of saying so; but that's not the voice of someone who is super angry and threatening).

My other huge grievance is that this is a recurring issue between them in the dub. Yuri is pretty much always vocally rude to Ioder. Ioder has done nothing to wrong him or anyone and has only ever done good for the people where he's able to.

Yet despite Ioder being nothing but sincere, honest and polite with Yuri, in fact even happy to see him here and there, dub Yuri is outright tonally rude to him leading right up this scene where he threatens Ioder in this dark voice. Meanwhile he's actually just supposed to be… lazily telling Ioder he'll punch him in his Yuri Lowell way of saying "I don't want to hear that".

The dub really just wanted to turn Yuri into this dark edgelord and I hate that for my goofy, silly boy.

[intheholler]

the appalachian murder ballad <3 one of the most interesting elements of americana and american folk, imo!

my wife recently gave me A Look when i had one playing in the car and she was like, "why do all of these old folk songs talk about killing people lmao" and i realized i wanted to Talk About It at length.

nerd shit under the cut, and it's long. y'all been warned

so, as y'all probably know, a lot of appalachian folk music grew its roots in scottish folk (and then was heavily influenced by Black folks once it arrived here, but that's a post for another time).

they existed, as most folk music does, to deliver a narrative--to pass on a story orally, especially in communities where literacy was not widespread. their whole purpose was to get the news out there about current events, and everyone loves a good murder mystery!

as an aside, i saw someone liken the murder ballad to a ye olde true crime podcast and tbh, yeah lol.

the "original" murder ballads started back across the pond as news stories printed on broadsheets and penned in such a way that it was easy to put to melody.

they were meant to be passed on and keep the people informed about the goings-on in town. i imagine that because these songs were left up to their original orators to get them going, this would be why we have sooo many variations of old folk songs.

naturally then, almost always, they were based on real events, either sung from an outside perspective, from the killer's perspective and in some cases, from the victim's. of course, like most things from days of yore, they reek of social dogshit. the particular flavor of dogshit of the OG murder ballad was misogyny.

so, the murder ballad came over when the english and scots-irish settlers did. in fact, a lot of the current murder ballads are still telling stories from centuries ago, and, as is the way of folk, getting rewritten and given new names and melodies and evolving into the modern recordings we hear today.

305 such scottish and english ballads were noted and collected into what is famously known as the Child Ballads collected by a professor named francis james child in the 19th century. they have been reshaped and covered and recorded a million and one times, as is the folk way.

while newer ones continued to largely fit the formula of retelling real events and murder trials (such as one of my favorite ones, little sadie, about a murderer getting chased through the carolinas to have justice handed down), they also evolved into sometimes fictional, (often unfortunately misogynistic) cautionary tales.

perhaps the most famous examples of these are omie wise and pretty polly where the woman's death almost feels justified as if it's her fault (big shocker).

but i digress. in this way, the evolution of the murder ballad came to serve a similar purpose as the spooky legends of appalachia did/do now.

(why do we have those urban legends and oral traditions warning yall out of the woods? to keep babies from gettin lost n dying in them. i know it's a fun tiktok trend rn to tell tale of spooky scary woods like there's really more haints out here than there are anywhere else, but that's a rant for another time too ain't it)

so, the aforementioned little sadie (also known as "bad lee brown" in some cases) was first recorded in the 1920s. i'm also plugging my favorite female-vocaist cover of it there because it's superior when a woman does it, sorry.

it is a pretty straightforward murder ballad in its content--in the original version, the guy kills a woman, a stranger or his girlfriend sometimes depending on who is covering it.

but instead of it being a cautionary 'be careful and don't get pregnant or it's your fault' tale like omie wise and pretty polly, the guy doesn't get away with it, and he's not portrayed as sympathetic like the murderer is in so many ballads.

a few decades after, women started saying fuck you and writing their own murder ballads.

in the 40s, the femme fatale trope was in full swing with women flipping the script and killing their male lovers for slights against them instead.

men began to enter the "find out" phase in these songs and paid up for being abusive partners. women regained their agency and humanity by actually giving themselves an active voice instead of just being essentially 'fridged in the ballads of old.

her majesty dolly parton even covered plenty of old ballads herself but then went on to write the bridge, telling the pregnant-woman-in-the-murder-ballad's side of things for once. love her.

as a listener, i realized that i personally prefer these modern covers of appalachian murder ballads sung by women-led acts like dolly and gillian welch and even the super-recent crooked still especially, because there is a sense of reclamation, subverting its roots by giving it a woman's voice instead.

meaning that, like a lot else from the problematic past, the appalachian murder ballad is something to be enjoyed with critical ears. violence against women is an evergreen issue, of course, and you're going to encounter a lot of that in this branch of historical music.

but with folk songs, and especially the murder ballad, being such a foundational element of appalachian history and culture and fitting squarely into the appalachian gothic, i still find them important and so, so interesting

i do feel it's worth mentioning that there are "tamer" ones. with traditional and modern murder ballads alike, some of them are just for "fun," like a murder mystery novel is enjoyable to read; not all have a message or retell a historical trial.

(for instance, i'd even argue ultra-modern, popular americana songs like hell's comin' with me is a contemporary americana murder ballad--being sung by a male vocalist and having evolved from being at the expense of a woman to instead being directed at a harmful and corrupt church. that kind of thing)

in short: it continues to evolve, and i continue to eat that shit up.

anyway, to leave off, lemme share with yall my personal favorite murder ballad which fits squarely into murder mystery/horror novel territory imo.

it's the 10th child ballad and was originally known as "the twa sisters." it's been covered to hell n back and named and renamed.

but! if you listen to any flavor of americana, chances are high you already know it; popular names are "the dreadful wind and rain" and sometimes just "wind and rain."

in it, a jealous older sister pushes her other sister into a river (or stream, or sea, depending on who's covering it) over a dumbass man. the little sister's body floats away and a fiddle maker come upon her and took parts of her body to make a fiddle of his own. the only song the new fiddle plays is the tale about how it came to be, and it is the same song you have been listening to until then.

how's that for genuinely spooky-scary appalachia, y'all?

[moonstruckme]

OMGGGGGGG

the first kiss was so cute!!! perfect!! james was so sweet and gentle w her😍😭😭

can’t wait to see there dynamic from now on

Thank you gorgeous! I held onto this so I'd have something to post this last part to, hope you don't mind <3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

James is buzzing while he makes breakfast the next morning. Golden morning light pours in through the front windows, brightening the kitchen and warming his back where he stands in front of the stove, the buttery smell of pancake batter wafting up from the pan. He’d gone to bed later than usual last night and slept hard but woke jittery, desperate to do something about the commotion in his chest. 

A run hadn’t done it, nor had replaying the previous night in his head, and now he’s convinced he won’t be able to rest until he can kiss you again. It’s your fault, really. Your little sighs, your careful touches, the way you’d tugged at the roots of his hair when he asked you to, like all this time you’d only been waiting for permission. You’ve fucked him. James will never be able to get over it. Now, all he can think about is getting more. 

He’s made more pancakes than a family of five could eat when he hears the stair creak. 

“Good morning,” he says, turning around just as you pad into the kitchen, quiet as a ghost. 

Your eyes are bleary, but they still manage to widen slightly as you take him in, along with the precarious tower of pancakes beside him. You’re in that sweatshirt he loves so much, sleeves hanging limply from your hands and hem hitting just above your knees. 

“Morning,” you say, softer than soft. 

“How’d you sleep, lovely?” 

You shrug, not quite looking at him. ���Fine. You?” 

James grins. “Beautifully. You want some pancakes?” 

Your gaze goes again to the stack beside him, and he can practically see the quip brewing in your eyes. Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. Are you planning to feed an army?

“Sure,” you say in that same quiet voice. “Thanks.” 

James studies you, intrigued. “Great. C’mere, sweetheart.” 

He plates up a few pancakes, keeping one eye on you as he does. You seem disinclined to look even in his general direction, finding distractions with the stove, your plate, the weather outside. 

“How’s this?” He turns around with the plate. You take it cautiously, by the complete opposite end to avoid any possibility of making contact with his hand. James’ heart warms at the way your fingers just peek out from the sleeve of your sweatshirt to grasp the plate. He wants to kiss you until you don’t know what day it is. “Too many? Not enough?” 

“This is good.” 

“Yeah?” He doesn’t let go of the plate. He tilts his head, trying to catch your eye, but you evade him. He has a hunch that if he were to touch your face (and god, does he want to) he’d find it burning hot. “Are you alright?” 

Your eyes flit up to his for a half a second before fleeing again. You hum, the sound tense and pitchy. “Mhm.” 

“You sure?” he asks, matching your soft tone. “Don’t go getting shy on me now.” 

You look like you stop breathing. 

And ordinarily James might feel bad, but post-kiss James cannot be prevailed upon to treat you as cautiously as he ordinarily might. Unfortunately for you, your secret’s out. You’re lovely, you’d said, voice soft and breathy and mere inches from his own mouth, I like having you around. I do. I really like you. Also unfortunately for you, post-kiss James knows things. 

He slips his palm alongside your face, working his hand behind your ear and letting his fingers burrow into the hair behind it. You melt, leaning into the touch. Your eyes meet his. 

It’s grueling work to keep from smiling. “What’s wrong, angel?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, still quietly but now with more of yourself in your voice. 

“Really? Because you’re acting like we’ve just met.” 

“Don’t you—don’t things feel different to you?” You seem almost distressed, eyebrows hooking upwards just slightly, pretty eyes imploring. Your voice softens again, now more with intimacy than reticence. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk with you about.” 

James lets his smile loose, thumbing at the skin behind your ear before letting you go. “We can talk about anything you want,” he says simply, grabbing his own plate and leading you into the living room. 

You’ve got a perfectly good kitchen table but almost never use it, each preferring to eat your meals on the couch. He flops down, careful not to tip his pancakes onto the cushion as he crosses his legs underneath him like you’re at a sleepover. 

“So, have any fun dreams last night?”  

You smile. It’s as heart-stoppingly lovely as always, and James thinks his own probably doubles in magnitude in response. 

“A couple,” you admit. 

“Oh? What about?” 

Your smile goes sheepish, bottom lip slipping in between your teeth as if to impede its progress. You fork clinks against the plate as you start cutting up your pancake. 

James’ brain short-circuits. 

“You were in my dream,” he blurts. 

Your eyes flit up to his warily. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. It was one of those weird, super vivid dreams where nothing really happens, you know?” You seem to relax a bit. James douses his pancakes in syrup, starting to cut them up as he talks. “We were here, and someone had spilled something on the rug—probably Sirius, to be honest—and it made this huge stain. I’d tried to pour baking soda on it, but the whole box had collapsed and it got everywhere. We were both sitting right there scrubbing with literal toothbrushes, and I think I was worried you’d be upset with me but you were just laughing.” His heart warms at the pseudo-memory, the hazy feeling of contentment that had permeated the dream. The sound of your laugh, exactly as sweet as in real life. “Your hands were totally covered in baking soda, and the rug was ruined, but we were both laughing our heads off.” 

You’re smiling again, a small, knowing thing. “Had you said something to make us laugh?” 

“No,” he says honestly, “I think it was you.” 

James is aware that he’s barely functioning. It’s almost too much to talk and cut his pancakes at the same time while you’re looking at him like that, like he’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen. It makes it both a relief and a disappointment when you drop your gaze. 

“Do you think the stain might’ve been a premonition?” you ask. 

He raises his eyebrows. “How do you mean?” 

You laugh, and he’s instantly spellbound, caught somewhere between fantasy and reality. It takes him a second to realize you’re touching the edge of his plate, tipping it up. James looks down. It had been nearly falling off his lap, his pancakes cut up into tiny pieces and syrup pooled near the rim. 

You look up at him, seraphim with the morning light brightening your features and the hint of a smile playing on your lips. He thinks of how soft they’d felt on his the night before, the way they’d fallen open like welcoming him home. 

“You were almost spilling syrup onto the rug,” you say, that rare and beloved teasing lilt to your voice. “It would’ve taken more than baking soda to get that out.” 

“See?” he asks. “You know how to talk to me just fine.” 

You look surprised, then self-conscious, though not nearly as bad as when you’d come into the kitchen a few minutes ago. He covers your hand with his to keep you from going anywhere. Sets his plate on the coffee table. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Your eyes are wide. “Again?” 

“Yes, again,” James laughs. “And again after that, preferably. Only if it’s okay with you.” 

You shake your head, looking something akin to bewildered. “Yeah. Yeah, please.” 

He starts to lean toward you, and you meet him halfway. Already, it’s a bit different. There’s no tentative stillness, no slow yielding. Your lips are pliant and eager, parting and closing around his like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Your fingers wind in his hair without instruction, and James responds by placing his hand in that spot you’d seemed to like it so well last night, the material of your sweatshirt soft beneath his touch. You taste like his pancakes, the syrup sweet on your tongue. 

“Keep talking to me,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your lips worshipfully, “okay?” 

Your voice is breathless. “Why?” 

“Because I like you.” He tugs at you, wanting you closer. “And I think I’ve put in the work for you to warm up to me, if it’s all the same to you.” 

You make a tiny, amused sound. “Fine,” you say. You grow bolder, kissing your way up his cheek, the top of his eyebrow, until your nose is nestled in his hair and your lips are caressing his forehead. “Consider me warmed.” 

James grins, unable to help himself. He thinks that becoming your friend didn’t go quite as he planned, but he feels as though he won in the end.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

big question. i'm cis (afab) and my gf is trans (amab) and i'm sorta having a hard time reconciling something. i've been a hard line feminist since i was about 8, by 12 i was a practical library on everything and anything womens lib. i'm spending a lot more time around trans people especially my gf now and i'm sorta struggling to reconcile the trans experience with my feminism. like- i'll see trans women being like "i hate my body :(" "my voice is awful" "i need [x thing to try to pass] ugh" and like my first thought is always "NO! THATS HOW THEY FUCKING GET YOU!!! THE PATRIARCHY WANTS YOU TO HATE YOURSELF SO YOU ENSLAVE YOURSELF TO CAPITALISM AND LIVE IN A CONSTANT STATE OF NEED FOR NEW PRODUCTS TO WARD OFF THE EVER PRESENT SELF HATRED BROUGHT ON YOU BY SOCIETY" and they go "well then how do i pass/transition?" and i honestly don't know and i also don't know how far it goes before its no longer dysphoria but instead the intentional subjugation of women by patriarchy for profit. i wanna help my fellow ladies but i honestly don't know how to like- apply the feminism i was taught as a child to trans women and i want to learn as soon as possible so that i can start doing it like yesterday

hi there,

I'll be honest: if it feels hard to apply the feminism you learned as a kid to your trans friends, that's probably because the feminism you were taught didn't have trans woman in mind.

luckily, the answer to this is something that I consider to be feminism 101: what a woman does with her body is, ultimately, her fucking business.

listen: I agree with you that the beauty industry(TM) is evil. it's misogynistic, it's exploitative, it thrives by making women feel bad enough about themselves to make them spend money on shit they don't need, etc. we all know this.

now, having said that: women who like makeup or wear heels or get laser hair removal or whatever other asinine thing are not my oppressor, nor are they my enemy. dare I say, we have bigger problems.

we also need to consider that many trans women are coming to these choices from a VERY different place than many cis women are. while I think my fellow cis women really benefit from reminders that they're allowed to stop shaving or wearing eyeliner or dieting or whatever, that's because most of us have had those actions forced on us from very young ages and may genuinely need a hand to feel secure breaking out of those behaviors.

the majority of trans women are not coming from a background where they were encouraged to partake in the same personal grooming habits and modes of presentation as cis women; many of them have, in fact, been ostracized, bullied, threatened, and otherwise hurt because of forays into forms of presentation that are considered feminine. no matter how good your intentions may be, approaching your advice indelicately can, unfortunately, make you come across as no different than any transphobe on the street trying to enforce cisnormative societal expectations. it also must be said that, for many trans women, the ability to "pass" is a matter of security - for having their status as women recognized at all, and to avoid harassment and abuse in public spaces. if you live in America, like I do, politicians in power currently have an extremely explicit anti-trans agenda that can make it harrowing to be visible as a trans person, and trans women in particular are frequently targeted for violence.

there are absolutely critiques to be made the way the many trans women are expected to perform hyperfemininity. the notion that someone is duty bound to drastically change their appearance in order to transition at all is itself extremely rooted in cisnormativity, and "passing" is often contingent on being young, thin, able-bodied, reasonably wealthy, and hewing as closely to Eurocentric standards of beauty as possible. that's not awesome! but that's also not the fault of any individual; no trans person asked to be born into a world where gender norms are so narrow and failing to pass can come with a very real risk of physical danger.

also, if I can circle back to this: again, women who participate in aspects of the beauty industry are not our enemies. there are always going to be some number of women who enjoy doing their makeup or like spending time fussing over their little outfits or want breast implants or whatever. some of those women are going to be trans. my official feminist stance on this is that I don't give a shit, because I believe in bodily autonomy even when it involves things I would not do personally and the choices that individual women make about how they want to style their little meat body don't even crack the top 100 things that I'm worried about right now. it's actually kind of vitally important, politically, that trans people be able to safely pursue their preferred gender expression; while it's not particularly revolutionary for a cis woman to go outside all dolled up, whether a trans woman can do that safely is a pretty basic litmus test for how safe a given space is for queer people. it's a ridiculously low bar, and many places will still fail to clear it.

so, yeah, I don't know, dude. be there to talk to your trans girlies if they want to start unpacking some of the pressure they feel to conform to a very rigid idea of womanhood, but whether or not they can walk down the street in your neighborhood safely is a WAY bigger issue than whether they decide to do voice training or not.

if you really want to cut to the root of the insecurity and vulnerability that the beauty industry thrives on exploiting, your time is much better spent working to ensure the trans women in your life feel safe and supported and have a community where they can find support regardless of how they look.

necessary disclaimer I'm a cis girl, any transfemme folks please share your voice here and feel free to clap my ass if I've said something out of line.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

King To The Rescue- Thranduil x Modern!Reader

Summary: Reader accidentally hurts themselves when they trip over and Thranduil comes to save them

Word count: 1, 167

Walking through the forest of the woodland realm filled you with both joy and sadness. Parts of the forest were still lush and green, filled with life and happiness, but unfortunately most parts were taken over by a great poison, leaving the once beautiful lands to be dark and dangerous.

You weren’t sure why you were brought to Middle Earth, both Thranduil and Gandalf had their theories, but both you and Thranduil believe it might have to do with the poison taking over the lands. To better understand it, you decided to walk among it. Thranduil had agreed to let you do so, as long as you didn’t go too far and wander into the spiders.

He had spent over an hour drawing up different maps and explaining where you can and can’t go. Even though you were not of this world and not as wise as the race of elves, Thranduil still was very protective of you, so protective in fact that this was the first time he had let you venture here alone. Every other time you had walked these woods, it had been with either Legolas, Tauriel or 2 or more guards.

You suppose the reason for Thranduils care was because you were chosen to help heal his lands, and he wanted to keep you safe. It would be stupid to think it was any other reason, although you did sometimes fancy it could be.

Perhaps Thranduil wanted to take care of you for more reasons then just to help him. You try to ignore those ideas though. An elvish king having feelings for human of a different world just isn’t how things work, though it’s hard to ignore that it might be true.

Hard to ignore the way he looks at you when he thinks you can’t see, the way you’re able to make him laugh, the way he shuts down anyone who would try to talk poorly about you, mostly it was hard to ignore his touches. The way his hands felt on your hips when you first started learning to ride a horse, and he’d help you on and off. How his eyes seem to linger when brushing a piece of hair out of your face, or even the way he seemed to always offer his hand to help you stand or walk along uneven ground, even when you didn’t need it.

These thoughts of fancy seemed to cloud your head so blindingly, that you didn’t notice the change in terrain, or that there was a giant root coming out of the ground. Before you had time to catch yourself, you felt the earth thud against your chest and a throbbing pain in your ankle.

Gently twisting your body around, you assessed the damage of your ankle. Looking down you see it’s already starting to swell, but despite that, you try to walk on it. There was no patrol out at the moment and you were sure no one would hear you if you did call for help.

With the assistance of the large tree, you begin to stand from the ground. As soon as you put pressure on your ankle however, you realise how bad of a decision that was. A loud yelp leaves you as you once again fall to the ground.

Hitting the ground with your fist in defeat, you decide calling out would be your only option, you could crawl but you’re pretty sure that would just lead to you getting more hurt.

Turning onto your back, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down and smell the lushness of the forest before you. If you were going to call for help, it had to be a good call, and you couldn’t do that if you were hysterical and unfocused.

Opening your eyes again, your calmness helps to push the growing pain aside as you begin to call for help.

“Someone! Help me! I’ve hurt my ankle and I can’t move! Help me!” You shout to the canopy of large trees above you. You’re not sure who will hear, but just hope your message is clear and loud enough.

Closing your eyes and beginning to breathe once again, you prepare yourself to make another call for aid. Luckily, however, as you open your eyes once again, you see none other then the king himself, kneeling beside you with a look of deep worry on his face.

“What trouble have you gotten into now?” He smirks down at you, but his eyes are still filled with worry.

“I tripped over and I’ve hurt my ankle.” You explain, trying not to sound pathetic.

“Ah, so that was the terrible howling I heard. And here I thought the spiders were being hurt, well an elf can dream.” He jokes with you, trying to calm the situation.

“One could only hope. Now I can wait here while you get help to lift me ba-.” Before you could finish your sentence, you felt Thranduils strong hands under your body as he began to lift you from the ground. There’s that touch of his again.

Looking into his face, you expect to see frustration or anger, but you see nothing but care as he stares back at you.

“I’m sorry if I’m too heavy.” You blurt out, not knowing what to say in this moment.

Thranduils rarely seen sweet smile shines onto his face as he looks ahead of him, beginning to take you back to his castle.

“Humans are always so funny. Elves are a lot stronger then the race of men, you feel no heavier then lifting a kitten.” His smile grows as he looks down at you.

Looking into his eyes and feeling his strong arms and hands so sweetly touching you, those thoughts of fancy seem to return with a vengeance.

“Does that mean you’ll feed me milk and scratch behind my ear?” You joke, trying to push your romantic thoughts from your head.

The silly question made Thranduil laugh in a way you’d never seen, it’s like his usual brooding self was washed away with sunlight and star shine.

“Perhaps I might just do that. Let you curl up by the fire and give you a ball of yarn.” He smiles down at you, as you now approach the doors to his kingdom.

Such a joke and such a smile does nothing to calm the feelings that grow in your heart, but you suppose you’ll just have to live with it.

Little do you know however, the image of you cuddled up to Thranduil by his fire as he takes care of you, fill his heart with a similar feeling. He too tries to push them away as he places you on a medical bed and elves begin to help you.

Stepping out of the room he tries to shake his own fancy from his head. How could such a bright and sweet person love an old and bitter elf as himself?

[littlegrapejuice]

Saved his life | LS2

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x Reader

Summary: You come to check on Logan after qualifying at the Dutch GP, hoping to lift his spirits.

Author's Note: ok so this literally came to me in a dream😭 logan's replacement was announced on tuesday (still crying about it btw) and istg i woke up wednesday morning after having lived this plot during my sleep

F1 MASTERLIST🏎

You had been seeking him out after FP3, and were once again seeking him out after qualifying. Logan was nowhere to be found and you worried about the state he mentally was in since his crash. The backlash from his team as well as journalists had blown out of proportion, for they were all focusing on the damages suffered by the car before considering the health of the driver.

Similar to you, Logan's fans were doing their best to support him and wondered about how he was doing. You had seen many comments online about people complaining that neither Williams - as in James Vowles - nor commentators had expressed an interest in the well-being of the driver, only talking about ruining a newly upgraded car - which would be proven illegal later on.

Scouring the paddock, you were now going from garage to garage looking for Logan. Obviously, you had first gone to the Williams one but without any success in finding the American. You hadn't even known at first if he was actually at the track, but a quick shot of him on the TV screen had confirmed you that he was indeed in his garage.

This is why as soon as qualifying ended, you had waited for George to come back to the Mercedes garage so that you could notify him that you were leaving for the time being. You had plans together later tonight, meaning that he didn't mind you doing whatever you wanted until then.

And that's thus how you were still walking around the paddock, praying that it wouldn't take much longer to find Logan.

As you then thought you had seen him from afar, someone obviously had to come up to you and stop you in your tracks. You turned around at the tap on your shoulder and was met with a blonde driver, but not quite the one you would've rather faced.

"Hi Max," you said with a smile.

"Hey, you alright?" He asked both because he was genuinely interested in your answer and because he couldn't help but notice you frantically looking around.

"Yeah, I'm good! Congrats on P2, that's great at your home race." You gave a last glance to the side and decided to temporarily abort your mission as you had unfortunately lost sight of who you thought had been Logan.

"Thanks, I wish I could've gotten pole but I'll get the first place from turn one so that's alright."

"I'll be internally rooting for you, but you know I'll have to stick to my roots and publicly support my team."

"Of course," Max replied. "The Red Bull garage is always open if you ever feel like changing your mind. We also probably have better food than Mercedes." He let out a smile at your laugh before scratching his throat, as if he was thinking about his next words. "Listen, I-"

"Sorry Max," you apologised as you checked your watch and got afraid you would miss logan leaving the track. "I'd love to talk more with you but I was on the way to do something important so please make it quick."

"Yeah, hmm... did you have the chance to visit the city and its surroundings? I was thinking that..." Max hesitated before he saw you nodding at him, silently telling him to continue. "We could grab a drink or some food later on, and I can show you around? Seeing as this is my home country, I'm pretty familiar with it so I could give you a proper tour and you'd see things that you would never see with a regular tour guide and-"

"Sounds lovely yeah!" You felt pretty bad for interrupting him once again, but the clock was really ticking and you were getting more nervous. "I already have something planned for tonight though, so maybe another day?"

"Well, there's only tomorrow left then. After the race?" He suggested with hope in his tone.

"I'll get back to you on that. Depending on who's winning, I might be celebrating someone else you know."

"Of course, but I'm pretty confident that I can score another victory here."

"Great, then that's settled! Super cool to chat with you Max, I'll see you later." You waved at him and quickly started walking again to the direction you had last seen Logan several minutes ago.

You were gone so fast that you hadn't even heard Max telling you that he would text you his request again, as he had sensed that your focus had been on all but your exchange with him. You liked Max to be honest; he was a really sweet guy and could easily match your energy as a fellow yapper. However, he had chosen the worst moment to strike up a conversation with you. Thinking about how you could repay it to him next time you'd see him - probably tomorrow, all your stress was going away as you finally found the person you were looking for.

You stopped close enough to him that he would notice you, but a few metres away so that you had time to catch your breath without it being too obvious that you had been almost running around for him.

As he called out your name, you couldn't help the smile that lit up your face.

"You're good?"

"I am now, thanks. Been searching for you, you know? You're quite hard to find," you told him in complete honesty with a light laugh.

"Really?" Logan was surprised by your words. He hadn't expected anyone to come talk to him today, except for his teammate Alex or a couple drivers texting him for a check up.

"Yeah," you nodded. "I couldn't see you after practice earlier and I thought talking to you face to face was better than a text so yes, I was looking for you."

If you and Logan weren't surrounded by hundreds of people, he would definitely shed a tear at your kindness - not like anyone was actually paying attention to the both of you as you were on the side of the path. He didn't think a headline consisting of F1 Driver Logan Sargeant seen crying while talking with F1 Driver George Russel's long-time friend was a good idea though.

"And you wanted to talk to me about something important?" He wondered.

"That's what I said", you replied. "I wanted to talk to you, about you, I guess."

"That's not super-"

"It is," you immediately interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. You knew what he was about to say and you were definitely not letting him give voice to his thoughts. Seeing as he was still taken aback by your words, you kept going. "You're important, Logan. More than a random chassis, or an engine, or whatever they put in the shit car that they make you drive."

Hearing your own sentence, you were about to apologise for the strong opinion - Logan was driving said car so you didn't know if you were right to comment on it - but the chuckle that came from the American stopped you from doing so. It didn't last long as Logan quickly covered his mouth, thus shutting down the sound, but you suddenly wished you could hear it again.

And not because you're trash talking his team, but because you're, let's say, watching a movie together and a funny scene comes up; or because you're walking around a park and he laughs at your clumsiness when you almost trip on a random rock.

You just wished, right now, that you weren't at the track, in this paddock, with all those cars and people around. You just wanted to be with him, in a quiet place where you could just enjoy each other's presence without having to worry about a team principal that didn't take his driver's needs into account or about journalists that couldn't seem to see the human aspect of a driver behind the suit and helmet.

Your thoughts were however soon interrupted when a hand appeared in front of your face.

"Hello? Earth to whatever planet you're on?" Logan had a smile on his face. He wasn't laughing anymore but he didn't seem annoyed either at your silence. "Did you get lost in your mind?"

"Possibly", you answered with a nervous laugh. "Sorry, won't happen again."

"It's fine, don't worry."

You could see Logan was genuine in his eyes. The way they were being lit up by the sun suddenly made you wonder about what was hidden behind it. They often say that eyes are the mirror of the soul; but for now, you could only see yourself in Logan's.

"Hey Logan," you said after a few seconds of silence. He glanced down at you, which you took as a sign to continue. "Do you wanna hang out with me tonight? I- hmm I have this dinner with George, Lando, Alex, and their girls. And it could be nice of you to join. I mean, if you want to of course, and if you don't have anything planned already but yeah, that'd be cool. I'd like that."

When Logan didn't reply, you started to think that it was over and that your stress was so obvious, and that he wasn't going to accept the offer. But then:

"I'd love to." Your gaze was now filled with hope, until the next words left Logan's mouth. "But I think I need to be alone tonight. It's absolutely not against you or the others, but today hasn't been the best day for me as you obviously know and even though it could lighten up my mood, I'd rather focus on tomorrow's race."

"Oh, hmm... okay, yeah... I totally get it, no problem."

Logan was not dumb; he noticed your immediate change of attitude as you lowered your gaze, so he decided to add on to his explanation:

"It's just a raincheck, you know? I'm not going out tonight, but I'd absolutely be down for another day if we both find the time. Sounds good?"

"Yeah!" You nodded with a smile. "Raincheck, okay, got it."

"Sorry to cut this short, but I gotta go for now." Logan gave you a smile before checking his phone. "I'll get back to you for a hang out, but thanks for taking the time to talk with me. I truly appreciate it."

"It's normal, we're friends so... I wasn't really thinking twice about it."

"Then thank you for that as well. We'll see each other later, right?"

"Of course," you confirmed. "Race's tomorrow so at least then, goodbye for now Logan."

"Bye, take care."

He gave you a quick hug before departing, and next thing you knew, he was gone. You then turned around, ready to exit the paddock and go back to your hotel, so that you could get ready for your dinner tonight with your friends.

.....

"George, hey!" You called out to him as you saw him from afar. "Thanks for waiting, sorry I'm a little late."

"No problem," he replied. "I sent Alex and the girls inside to keep us a table. We're just missing Lando, but I think he'll be here soon."

As if on cue, you had received a text. Thinking it was from the curly haired man, you opened it in front of George before reading the sender and the content of the message.

Hi! Regarding our conversation from earlier, I decided to formally ask if you wanted to grab dinner with me tomorrow night after the race?

A smile unknowingly took place on your face, and George couldn't help but notice it.

"What's got you all happy?" He asked before adding a comment. "You're even blushing so I guess this is not Lando."

"It's no one," you said as you immediately locked your phone before George could look at the screen. "Just a friend I'm supposed to catch up with tomorrow."

"You have friends other than us in the Netherlands right now?" A familiar voice questioned from behind you.

"Lando!" George exclaimed as the last of your group was finally here. "Hey mate. Congrats on pole. Good quali you did there."

"Thanks man." Lando glanced at you while the three of you started walking inside the hotel, towards the restaurant. "So what's this about a friend of yours?"

"Drop it Lando," you replied, annoyed - although you could truly never be annoyed with him. "I'll tell you all about it when it's over if you still wanna know after the weekend."

"Of course I will! I'll even bring that up in the groupchat so you'll have to tell this wonderful and absolutely not suspicious story to everyone," Lando laughed as he nudged your side.

Thankfully, neither George nor Lando had brought up the topic with the others, even though they were still curious on what you were hiding. You were glad that they didn't because how could you even explain to them that you would be going out to dinner with a fellow driver? You honestly didn't think they would mind, but you also didn't want them to go and bother said driver when you knew that the paddock's walls had ears everywhere.

Hoping that it would be fine to reply to the text later, you had therefore waited until you were back in your hotel room to agree to the offer. Tonight's dinner had been amazing and you were always happy to spend time with your friends whom you didn't see much, but tomorrow's would be something even more special as it would actually be your first time hanging out one on one with the driver you were maybe fancying.

Before forgetting, you also decided to notify your friends of your plans - omitting the driver aspect of the 'friend' you would be seeing after the race - so that they wouldn't be surprised to not see you attend any celebration. Of course you would try and spend some time with the winner if he was part of your friend group, but at least you were in the clear to not go party all night with them.

.....

And you had never once regretted not attending the party that had celebrated Lando's win at the Dutch Grand Prix. He had told you that day after the race that you would have a myriad of other chances to attend another one as he was planning on winning more and more often - which he did.

Tonight's party, however, would be in your honour. As well as Logan's. And you couldn't see yourself anywhere else than here, in front of him. You truly didn't think you would one day end up in this situation, and neither did he. Logan hadn't really expected to experience such an event in his life, but he eventually did, all thanks to you.

You had saved his life. That day, when you reached out to him after qualifying, was unknowingly a turning point in his life. He had been at his lowest. He had known what would certainly happen following the Grand Prix; he had been expecting to be let go after the disastrous performances he was giving.

Knowing didn't make it less painful though.

He did get dropped by his team, Williams, which you cursed for as long as you could and still did from time to time. And even if Logan had achieved being a Formula One driver - which no one could ever take away from him, he had still felt like he was worthless after it happened.

He hadn't known how to process the sudden end of his short time on the grid and felt lost for a while, wondering about what would define him as a person now that the dream he'd had since he was a child was over.

But you had made him believe that it wasn't the end of the world and that something else was waiting for him. He could've ended it all, but you showed him a glimmer of hope and he chose to keep going, see what else was in store for him. He still had a future. And he had been right to trust you, as he was now here, facing you and about to be making you his. Only two words left to say before doing so.

'Thank you', he mouthed to you before the long-awaited sentence was to be heard out loud. "I do", he then confirmed without tearing his gaze away from your face.

..........

Okayyyy so this it lol

Hope y'all liked it🫶🏻 this was my 1st time ever writing for a driver since i got into motorsports and I feel really happy w it!! Thanks to my brain for making me dream ab logan, i think it kinda helps me cope regarding him not being the grid anymore (i miss him sm chat)

Idk when I'll write again for a driver if i ever do so, but don't hesitate to give feedback on this so that ik how to approach a future work🤍

[infiniteimaginings]

Hi!!! I was just wondering if you could do general dating hc with Andre or Robbie from Victorious! It's alright if you can't have a good rest of your day/night!:)<3

We look good together (Andre Harris x GN!Reader)

Summary: The students of Hollywood Arts talk about what it's like seeing you two together. Pronouns: You/Yours, They/Them Warnings: None Word Count: 2.3k A/N: I don't write head cannons! Sorry I'm just bad at them! I had an idea of how I was writing this in the beginning and then it turned into something completely different, lmao. Here's the friend group talking about how healthy the couple is lol! <33

André Harris was the guy everybody liked. He was handsome, he was kind, smart, musically talented, supportive, and one of the most laid back people at Hollywood Arts.

No one was surprised when André started dating you, it was going to happen at some point. They were mainly surprised with how the dynamics of your relationship worked.

The relationship everyone was used to, wasn’t the best example for relationships. Jade and Beck broke up multiple times and the entire school was still questioning how and why they were still together.

Regardless, everyone was rooting for you guys since your relationship seemed to be the opposite of theirs. In other words, you’re a couple that people actually enjoy inviting places.

The main group: Tori, Beck, Jade, Cat, and Robbie, (and Rex), all sat at their typical lunch table, waiting for you and Andr é.

Jade groaned, placing her hand in front of her eyes, “Why are we waiting?” She asked, face in it’s typical neutral fashion but, it was clear she disliked having to wait in order to get lunch. 

Tori scrunched her nose at Jades current discomfort, “We’re waiting for André and-” 

“Yeah, yeah, his obsession. What do they have to do with anything?”

Beck looked over to Jade and put his arm around her shoulder, “They’ve been dating for months.”

“Yeah, get over yourself.” Tori told her, moving her bag to grab her phone. She began typing out a message to André, asking when he would get there since Jade was already antsy.

Cat ran her hand through her vibrant red curls, adjusting her top. “I think it’s sweet, they look cute together.”

Jade tapped her fingers on the table, “You think everything is cute.”

The redhead simply laughed, showing her dimples as she shook her head, “You don’t think anything’s cute!” 

A voice from the end of the table spoke up, “You’re just mad that everyone likes their relationship more than yours!” 

The comment caused everyone to turn to that person and Robbie was looking down at…Rex. 

Jade smiled with closed eyes, “Shut your puppet up or I cut off all his little limbs and run his plastic head over.” She spoke, eyes widening slowly before narrowing into a nasty glare.

Robbie rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, “He’s not really wrong, it seems like you don’t like them coming together because they get invited to more things than you.” He mumbled, cowering under the dark haired girl's gaze.

“Why would I care that they get invited to places? I barely like anyone here.” She grumbled, leaning into Beck with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, I unfortunately hang out with the same seven people everyday.”

As she said that, a voice spoke from behind them, “They get invited because they bring the energy up instead of dragging it to the dark parts of our memories that we don’t want to touch.” The voice caused everyone but Jade to jump. 

When they all turned, they were met with the oddest friend they’ve ever made at the school, Sinjin Van Cleef. They had no idea whether that was against their will and he was just around a lot, or if they knew him by choice. They never questioned it. 

Beck shook his head at the typical antics of the boy, “What do you mean?” He asked.

Sinjin lit up and moved his way in between Beck and Tori, “I am so glad you asked.” He spoke, already beginning his story, “Just last week…”

It was tech week, preparing for the next show was a usual occurrence at Hollywood Arts. What wasn’t a normal occurrence was Sinjin being the only person to work everything for a few hours since his crewmates had a project during that period. He was the only person with a free period and had to work on the tech since it was currently a disaster.

As he was trying his hardest not to get frustrated and ultimately give up, you and André walked in, smiles on your faces as you talked about anything and everything. André left his phone during practice before the bell, so you guys decided to get it during your free period instead of interrupting class.

You had continued talking to André, looking around at the lights on stage until you looked up and noticed the curly haired boy tapping on his board for some portion of the tech. You tapped on André, bringing his attention to the seemingly irritated boy.

“Hey Sinjin!” He called, grabbing the boy's attention. Sinjin took off his headphones and gave a half wave to the two, “Hey guys.” 

You waved back but, both of you could tell something was wrong. 

André walked a little closer, Sinjin leaning over the rail to keep eye contact. “What’s up man?” André asked, concern lacing his voice since he could see Sinjin's face was blotched with red, as if he was about to cry.

Sinjin sighed, rubbing his eyes and explained the situation. “The rest of the tech crew can’t come in for this period because of some project.” He began, you and your boyfriend nodding along as he spoke. “We have checks tomorrow, so I have to get all this done before the period ends or we’ll have to delay the show.” 

You hummed, “What all are you guys getting checked?”

“Mics, lighting, and the electric steps.” Sinjin answered, reminding them of the scene where the two characters run up the moving stairs, singing with each other. “Without the crew it just takes longer to hear the feedback from mics, to test the steps and see if they really work, and if the lighting hits right.”

You and André looked at each other, almost having a silent conversation before shrugging and turning back to your friend.

André put his phone back on the chair and took your hand, leading you to the stage. 

Sinjin stood to look at you guys better, “Um, what are you guys doing?”

You shook out your nerves a bit and tilted your head, “What does it look like we’re doing?”

“We’re going to help you set up for checks tomorrow.” Your boyfriend answered, walking to the table on stage with the mics. He handed you one of the mics, strapping his own on, “Do all the mics need testing?” He asked, adjusting his hair so the mic would sit comfortably. 

Sinjin sighed with a smile, relief filling him when you guys said you would help and he shook his head. “Just mics 4, 7, 19, and 23.” He informed, to which the two of you nodded. 

You put your mic on, André making sure it was on right. “So, two runs with the mics, alone. Then we could do…” You trailed off, André finishing your aloud thoughts, “A couple runs with mics and lighting, then a few with the stairs.”

And that’s exactly what the two of you did. The two of you knew the choreography since you were in the performance.

You both helped Sinjin with everything he needed and even a bit more with your personal sights, even going as far to hear from outside the door just to check the feedback. All three of you spent the free period finishing up what Sinjin needed.

Once he reached the floor where you guys were packing up, he adjusted his glasses and thanked both of you profusely.

You waved your hand, “Don’t worry about it, anything to help!”

André shook his head, “You’re our friend Sinjin, if you’re ever in that situation again just text us.”

“He’s serious, and so am I. We’ll always be free.”

 Sinjin finished the memory with a sweet smile on his face, “I have never been helped like that.” He told the group, hands clasped together. 

“That’s because you’re a borderline stalker.” Jade replied, head bobbling as a thin smile painted her face at how Sinjin's expression fell.

Beck sighed, huffing out a breath, “Stop it.” He mumbled to her and she rolled her eyes and shook her head, placing her chin into her palm.

Tori hummed a bit, “I think they’re just helpful people on their own.” She shrugged, playing with the holes in the table. “As a couple they just have a different type of…energy.” She tried to explain, which everyone understood.

Cat nodded and smiled widely, “That’s why I think they’re so cute together! I mean have you seen them when they’re near each other?” She asked, remembering each time she’s seen the two of you together.

You were practicing choreography for a project you had with two other students, in one of the empty practice rooms. André was helping with the original music aspect, and he was the only other one there since Cat and the other person in their project hadn’t arrived yet.

When Cat finally did get there, you were near the end of the choreo, and she felt terrible. She entered the room quietly, trying not to interrupt.

When you did finish the choreography, André stopped playing and turned to you with a bright grin, his eyes shining as he looked at you. You walked over to him with a matching grin and stood in between his legs, hands on his shoulders.

“That was absolutely amazing choreography.” He whispered to you, rubbing your sides.

You were breathing a bit heavy but chuckled nonetheless, “Your fantastic original song is why it feels so put together.” You whispered back, your comment causing him to laugh a bit.

The two of you stayed in that position, whispering sweet nothings to one another as you both felt the warmth from each other's hands.

André pulled you in a little closer, lifting his head up to meet your gaze in that position and you lifted one of your hands to cup his face. You leaned down and placed a small kiss to his lips, humming against them when you pulled apart.

Cat couldn’t hear it well but she was sure she heard the two of you whisper,

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

Tori poked her bottom lip out as her eyes were wide in adoration, “That is so sweet.”

Cat pointed to her before clapping a bit, “I know! It was so cute!” She responded, smiling and shimmying her shoulders.

Robbie didn’t quite understand, and he tilted his head, “I don’t get it.” 

“Of course you don’t get it, you have no romance in your life…ever.” A ‘voice’ called from below him, belonging to Rex.

Robbie shook his head and ignored the puppet, “I mean I don’t get it, they’re supposed to like each other. So what if they do it in private?” He asked, his point getting across to all of them.

Tori tilted her own head, “It’s not just in private though. They show that kind of affection all the time and…” She paused, trying to find the right words.

Beck apparently knew the right ones as he swooped a hand through his hair, “Their affection towards one another extends to how they treat other people.” He explained with a nod of his head. “Therefore, making them an extremely likable couple.”

Jade pursed her lips, “Those are just two experiences, for all we know they probably don’t even…what is it..” She mumbled, “Communicate, or whatever.”

Tori raised her brow, pulling up her phone before showing Jade a few pictures. “They got André a custom guitar and a keyboard that his favorite artist used in concert.” She began, holding her finger up when Jade tried to speak, “And his grandma likes them.” She nodded along with her own words, dropping something everyone was surprised about.

“That doesn’t mean-”

This time, Beck actually cut in, “André pulled strings and got them as a backup dancer for their favorite singer's music video.” 

“But do they communicate? You don’t know.”

Cat pursed her lips to the side, “I’m sure they communicate if they’re still together.”

“I mean Beck and Jade are still together, so clearly communication doesn’t mean much.” A voice from Robbies direction spoke out.

This apparently brought Jade to silence as she clenched her jaw and her eye twitched. That was until she suddenly stopped and she blinked at the group with a weird look, “When did this become a share circle?”

“When did what become a share circle?” A voice asked from the side of the table.

You and André sat at the end of the table, it was a little cramped and once they all realized, the main group's eyes went straight to Sinjin. The curly haired boy stood with his mouth in a line, waving goodbye as he walked away.

André’s arm was around your waist and you were holding both of your phones. “Sorry we’re late, the teacher held us back for a minute.” You explained, André confirming with a nod of his head.

“What were you guys talking about?” André asked, raising a brow at everyone, minus Jade, smiling at them.

Tori stood up and shook her head, “Nothing.” She spoke suspiciously with a smile, everyone standing up after her, including you and André.

Jade rolled her eyes, “They were all talking about what a great couple the two of you were.” She spoke, her expression neutral.

The two of you looked at each other and then back at your friends, “What?” You asked simultaneously.

Beck walked with Jade, his arm around her shoulder still, “You two just look good together is all.” He spoke, walking past you. 

The rest of your friends agreed, beginning their walk to the restaurant you guys decided you were going to for lunch.

The two of you were a little shocked so you were stuck, hand and hand, standing in the lunch plaza of your school.

You looked at your boyfriend and shrugged, “I mean, they aren’t wrong.” 

André laughed and shook his head, “Nope, they’re not.” He hummed, walking with you to catch up with your friends. “We do look good together.”

[twst-drabbles]

Heartslabyul 8

Summary: Ace and Deuce are fighting again. You watch from the window how the rest of the plant nymphs handle this, because you’re kinda in pain from a not so good fall, and horrible sleeping posture.

(Every time I imagine these little plant nymphs, I always imagine a kazoo playing in the background. Specifically for Ace and Deuce.)

While you’ve been slowly upping your daily activity, your body is by no means a tough one. Years upon years of just isolating yourself in your house and rarely venturing beyond the needed groceries really put a number on you. You’ve only started hiking, but even with the best safety measures, it was only a matter of time before you ate shit.

It was just real unfortunate that it was your knee that took the brunt of the fall. Never have you despised moist weather and mud more. You did hobble your way back home, and at first it wasn’t really all that bad, but then after a day of rest, the pain just got worse. It’s not enough to warrant a hospital visit, but you definitely can’t stand to put much weight on it.

Today is a day of suffering for you. If you didn’t want to do things before, you definitely don’t want to do anything now. You don’t even want to go outside to do your usual sun bathing routine.

Haa… you’re going to have skip Riddle’s tea party. He’s not going to like that. You really don’t want to do anything.

Which is why you didn’t bother getting up from the sofa when you saw Deuce pounce on Ace’s head. Ace screamed and ran around as a distressed chicken would, arms flapping and trying to pry Deuce off, but Deuce continued to whale on him.

You tapped your cane on the window’s edge. “Hey!”

But they didn’t listen, too caught up in whatever plant nymph arguments they’re having.

You shrugged. Oh well. They’ll probably solve it eventually. It’s happened before, where Deuce tried to use Grim as a steed but ended up crashing into Ace’s tulip garden project. At least this time, they’re not biting each other.

Off to the side, you heard a loud leaf whistle. So loud that it even temporarily stopped Ace and Deuce’s fighting. There was shuffling, lots of shuffling, and then there was a storm of Cater’s, all packed together and kicking up dust as they ran towards Ace and Deuce.

Trey, atop the shoulder of the front most Cater, looked very focused, as though on a hunt to take them down.

Oh. Oh, Ace and Deuce probably did something bad huh?

“Oh wow.” You turned off the TV and adjusted yourself, wincing when your knee twitched. It isn’t as swelled as it could be, but ugh, the muscles within hurt. The burning was horrible when you woke up this morning, but at least it’s stopped now.

To your right, there was a set of sharp clicks and clanks. You take a look and found Riddle to be there besides you, his little table and chair right next to your elbow as he set up his tea set.

Riddle attempted to return your gaze with grace and poise, but the stiffness of his body and the slight frown on his face told you all. He’s grumpy. And annoyed, but is trying so hard to keep it all in via that prince-like attitude.

You chuckled then pointed to the flattened Ace and Deuce after failing to fight off the stampede. “Aren’t you going to do something about that?”

When Riddle looked towards them, both Ace and Deuce’s head popped up and looked upon their main flower with dewy, watery eyes.

Riddle blinked, thinned his eyes, then sat himself on his chair and sipped on his tea, fully and completely ignoring them.

“Guess not, huh?”

Ace and Deuce flattened further, practically sinking into the grass beneath them, probably drowning in misery now.

Oh they definitely did something. Whatever they did, it wasn’t against Riddle but probably Trey or Cater. Or both of them. Either way, Trey is looking down upon them with crossed arms and eyes full of disappointment, now that the battle-fire vanished from him.

Riddle, with the help of his root system, set down your own teacup. One of the newer cups you’ve recently bought and placed in the shelf inside the shed. At the bottom of the teacup, there was an image of a hedgehog, napping the world away.

It was soon filled with Riddle’s own tea mixture. Riddle has stopped sipping his and stared unblinkingly at you. He’s watching, waiting for you to drink it all up. He’s not very good at hiding his concern for you.

You sipped, nice and slow, and laughed when two Cater’s carried off Ace and Deuce towards the little bathtub spring they’ve recently built. Trey followed with his brushes, and comically sized toothbrush on his back.

Riddle sighed and all the tension on his little shoulders left him.

“I’ll be fine.” You relaxed as well. “I just need a few days. I just took a really bad fall, is all.”

There was a light hum from Riddle as he sipped his tea. He grumbled a little, but fell silent upon you lightly patting his head. He huffed in embarrassment, but ultimately didn’t stop you.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Jessica Wildfire

Our friends and family think they understand their immune system because George Carlin explained it to them in the 90s:

"Where did this sudden fear of germs come from? What do you think you have an immune system for? It's for killing germs. But it needs practice. It needs germs to practice on. If you kill all the germs around you, and lead a completely sterile life, then when germs do come along you're not going to be prepared. What are you gonna do? I'll tell you what, you're gonna get sick and you're gonna die and you're gonna deserve it because you're f-ing weak and you've got a f-ing weak immune system."

George Carlin was right about a lot of things, but he was wrong on this one.

(He got plastic wrong, too.)

Unfortunately, this part of his 11th HBO standup special became permanently lodged into the American cultural memory. I only saw it once as a kid, but it stayed with me for the rest of my life.

Not even AP Biology could dislodge it.

I, too, used to think you built your immune system up by exposing yourself to harmful germs. How could the great prophet George Carlin be mistaken on something that made so much intuitive sense, especially when you dropped a few f-bombs in there? I also thought it was a good thing to exercise your way through a cold. Then I opened myself up to the possibility that I was wrong.

In the words of Carl Sagan, I'd been bamboozled.

In early 2020, this Carlin bit inspired countless reaction videos that still litter the internet. Anti-science zealots have used George Carlin's monologue on disease thousands of times over the last four years to ridicule masks, vaccines, and clean air. Everywhere you look, that piece of standup looms in the background, and it's getting revived again for bird flu. But even George Carlin got the idea from somewhere else.

You can trace this misguided notion back to hygiene theory, proposed by David Strachan in 1989. Strachan argued that a whole range of health problems in the late 20th century had roots in "a lower incidence of infection in early childhood." Basically, our immune systems weren't getting enough exposure to bacteria and viruses. He was mainly talking about the rise in childhood allergies as the result, but the media began printing loose interpretations of his studies and jumping to conclusions that less exposure to disease was a bad thing in general. So the public developed the idea that somehow getting sick was good for you. So began the myth of the "bored immune system" that needed practice in order to stay healthy. Gurus and quacks latched onto this idea. So did talkshows.

And then comedians...

It wasn't until 2003 that Graham Rook offered a more accurate description of the situation. As he explained, "microbes have evolved into an essential role in regulating our immune system... the microbes involved are not infections, but friendly microbes which make up our human microbiome. These are acquired by exposure to other humans or animals and microbiota from our natural environment."

This became known as the "old friends hypothesis."

The old friends hypothesis now serves as the dominant model for how microbes work with our immune system. According to immunologists, kids need to be playing outside more and eating fresher, healthier foods. That's what helps their immune systems.

Getting sick all the time just hurts them.

Like many debunked ideas, hygiene theory and the myth of the bored immune system have become entrenched. A couple of years ago, hygiene theory got repackaged as "immunity debt." Now Americans, Canadians, and many Europeans think they need to get sick to stay healthy. The elites have absolutely no problem with that. It saves them countless billions to let everyone continue thinking they're better off letting diseases run around in their cells.

So:

Your immune system doesn't work like a muscle. It doesn't get stronger the more it's exposed to different harmful germs.

It doesn't need practice.

Phillipp Dettmer gives a vivid, accessible breakdown of the immune system in his 2021 book, Immune. You can show it to any internet troll who brags about their knowledge of the immune system. Dettmer destroys misinformation, explaining how your adaptive immune system actually works, as well as your gut microbiome.

As many articles and books explain, your body has an innate immune system that already knows how to fight off pathogens. You can help your immune system by feeding it the nutrients it needs. (That's an entirely different article.) You can protect your immune system from pollution, cigarette smoke, and other toxins. But genetics determines a lot of your immunological makeup. You can be born with an immune system that doesn't work the way it should, and it's not your fault.

You also have an adaptive immune system that stores chemical blueprints of pathogens in memory T and B cells. According to a 2024 article in Nature, these cells respond better to specific pathogens your body has seen before. Those blueprints last only as long as your memory cells. Sometimes those cells mature and stay around for years, even decades. If they don't, then your body won't remember the pathogen.

Your body doesn't need exposure to viruses.

Your immune system responds to harmful microbes and it can develop memories from previous infections. Most of the time, those memories apply specifically to that specific strain, variant, or clade of the virus. For example, immune memory to one type of adenovirus or rhinovirus doesn't confer automatic, guaranteed protection against all of them, and there are hundreds.

Sometimes, cross-protection can happen, but it's limited and hard to predict. When it does, like with the original smallpox vaccine, it's a big deal. If that were easy, we would already have a universal coronavirus vaccine and wouldn't have to update flu shots every year. Most of the time, getting sick with one virus doesn't train your body to respond any better to other viruses, especially when those viruses aren't related.

Victoria's state department of health puts it very plainly:

"The immune keeps a record of every microbe it has ever defeated, in types of white blood cells (B-lymphocytes and T-lymphocytes) known as memory cells. This means it can recognise and destroy the microbe quickly if it enters the body again, before it can multiply and make you feel sick. Some infections, like the flu and the common cold, have to be fought many times because so many different viruses or strains of the same type of virus can cause these illnesses. Catching a cold or flu from one virus does not give you immunity against the others."

You can add Covid to that list.

Some research has suggested that because catching one virus activates your innate immune system, your body's broad layers of defense offer brief protection against other pathogens. Viruses also compete with each other, meaning that infection from one virus can ward off others. That's called viral interference. Neither option means your immune system benefits from exposure to viruses.

We can't explain all of the human immune system in a single post, but here's the point. It's way more complicated than George Carlin explained. There's a lot more going on. It's not as simple as training your immune system by giving it practice.

That's not how it works.

It just sounds good.

No credible doctor or immunologist recommends building your immune system by welcoming viral and bacterial infections into your life. The costs far outweigh the benefits. Many viruses exact a price on your body and your immune system. Getting infected over and over again makes you weaker, not stronger. Vaccines don't work because they give your immune system practice. They work because they allow your body to develop a memory of a pathogen without all the risk.

Many viruses, like the flu, often leave lasting damage even when your immune system fights them off. Your immune system actually does some of that damage itself by attacking infected cells. In the wake of flu, your entire body including your immune system needs time to recover. During that stage, you're vulnerable to opportunistic infections. Other viruses, like measles and ebola, disable your immune system and even wipe out memory cells.

That's also what Covid does, among many other things.

You can't develop full immunity to viruses that evade, attack, and disable large parts of your immune system. Sometimes you can develop partial immunity, but the virus still invades and still does damage every time. Just because you can recover from these infections, that doesn't mean you're better off afterward.

Think of it like this:

Your body already knows how to heal its skin and bones. You don't have to teach it how to do that by cutting yourself or breaking your arm.

As it happens, many westerners also think bones grow back stronger after they're broken and scar tissue is tougher than normal skin.

That's also false.

Scar tissue remains functionally deficient in many ways compared to uninjured skin. Broken bones form a temporary calcium callus that's stronger than ordinary bone, but it's eventually replaced.

These misguided ideas fit in a culture obsessed with tough love, the idea that abusing someone somehow builds their character. And while it might make you interesting, it's certainly not "good" for you.

Sometimes I wonder what George Carlin would think about having one part of a standup special used to endorse bad science and eugenics. I'd like to think he would have a problem with it.

There's a lot you can do to boost your immune system.

Getting sick isn't one of them.

[wishful-sinful-9]

WANNA BE YOUR DOG

Chapter Five

Cagefighter!Logan Howlett x Reader

Chapters | Masterlist

cw: smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, piv, no protection, kind of soft!dom logan?

Logan is seething. 

He can see it, clear as day, the way her presence is slowly killing you. You’re reserved: distracted at your job, quiet in the car, untouchable at home. And Alison? 

She’s been moping on the couch and keeping you up late with her ranting. It pains him to see how tired you are; getting home from the bar already exhausted, only to spend another few hours comforting the girl you had told him was “like a sister”. 

Part of you knows you should be angry; you daydream about tearing the door open, marching over to her and shouting, screaming about how much she’d hurt you. Then you’d see her – eyes ringed red – and there was no energy to do it. 

Give her that second chance, you tell yourself. 

-

You look up at him, perplexed, as Logan guards you from putting your key in the lock. 

“Promise me something.” He demands. 

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll go straight to bed.” You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off: “I’ll take care of Alison. Sleep. Promise?”

You grit your teeth and sigh, “I promise. Okay?”

He moves out the way. 

-

Logan doesn’t bother to be discreet when he checks his watch. It’s been nearly two hours, and Alison was still whining next to him. 

“I’m keeping you up,” she sniffs. 

“It’s fine.”

“You’ve been so nice to me, thank you. Thank you.”

Logan shrugs, “Just being a good host.”

It’s been three nights of this agony and his patience is waning thin. He would have snapped during the first thirty minutes of the first night, but the vision of you sleeping soundly kept him rooted to the couch. 

A hand on his forearm jolts him from his thoughts, the unwelcome visitor blinking up at him. “I don’t know what she’s told you, but I’m not a bad person, y’know?”

He tenses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do. I feel terrible that I hurt her feelings, but really, she should’ve seen it coming.”

“Right.” 

“I liked him – loved him – the minute I set eyes on him. She knew that. It was bound to happen.”

“Mhm.”

“And we’re all adults, aren’t we? We can forgive and forget? There’s no ‘boyfriend stealing’, just unfortunate circumstances.”

“Whatever you say, Alison,” he mutters, glancing down at her blankly. “No ‘boyfriend stealing’.”

“Right, so I can do this.”

And she kissed him. 

-

It was noon when you woke up, rubbing sleep from your eyes, your usual relief at the realisation that you wouldn’t have to work tonight replaced by the dread at the realisation that you would have to comfort Alison for longer. You remained tangled in your covers for a few minutes more. 

Dragging yourself out of your room, your attention is immediately drawn to Logan’s back, hunched over the stove. Then, it’s drawn to your couch, no longer a mess of blankets – and devoid of a crying girl. You check the bathroom: empty. 

“She’s gone.” Logan says simply. 

You curl your fingers into fists as you step into the kitchen. “Where?”

He takes the pan off the heat, “To a hotel. I paid, don’t worry. But she’s not welcome back.”

“Logan!” 

“I made bacon.”

You bury your head into your hands. “It wasn’t your place to do that.”

Logan looks at you for a moment, settling the storm of emotion that threatens to shake him before he speaks. “If I didn’t, she would’ve never left.”

“She was hurt.”

“So were you.”

You straighten up at that to glare at him. “It doesn’t matter what happened in the past! I’m an adult, I’m over it, and so’s she!” 

To your fury, Logan’s face doesn’t shift at your raised voice. 

“If you’re over it, why are you shouting at me?” he asks, gently. You blink at him. There’s no anger in his tone. “Why are you letting this get between us? Why aren’t you letting me in?”

You sigh and step forward, reaching up to smooth your hands over his broad shoulders. He brushes his palms against your elbows. “You haven’t exactly let me in either, Lo.” You point out softly. 

“I know,” he grumbles. “I want to. I don’t know why I can’t.”

You crane your neck, your face closer to his, your lips a whisper away from his. “You can.” He says your name. “Let me in.”

He cups your face in a searing kiss. 

-

Melting. That’s what it feels like: you’re melting into him, as he lets an arm wrap around your face and pull you close. 

He licks into your mouth like he’s been starved – and he has, having had the time you were in his lap on repeat in his head for the past few weeks. When you break, gasping for air, he attacks the sensitive spot at the base of your neck he had memorised from that night. You tug at his hair lightly as he sucks onto it, somehow not mortified at the idea of a massive lovebite colouring your skin. He groans at the action, sending heat flooding right through you. 

You breathe his name, “I want you so bad…”

“Don’t. Say that.” He grits out, kissing you firmly. “I won’t– keep it together.”

And to his delight, your kiss-swollen lips curve into a smile. “God, please don’t keep it together, because I can’t.”

He collects you into his arms like you’re little more than a feather and crashes his lips onto yours once more. 

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pressing against where his jeans have grown tight, feeling yourself pulse desperately at the sheer ease of him picking you up. He presses your back to the wall and gropes at your hips. 

Logan’s lips leave yours to begin a trail of kisses, down your neck, your torso – he lowers himself onto his knees, hoisting you into a more stable position: elevated against the wall, your legs over his shoulders, his hands gripping your hips as he looks up at you, as if worshipping an altar. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, fingers edging at the waistband of your little sleep shorts, itching to get at what’s inside. 

“Yes, Lo.”

He begins to hike them down your thighs, but in his eagerness forgot his own strength; they ripped, a diagonal tear from the crotch up to the waistband. 

For a moment, you both stare at the damage. “...Whoops,” Logan says, then simply rips them completely off of you. 

A breathy laugh escapes you as he promises to replace them, cutting you off when he noses at the dampened fabric of your panties. 

“You can rip those too if you want…” you offer shakily, feeling his hot breath against you. 

He smirks, and with a single hand, does just that. The scraps of fabric fall lazily around your thighs as he leans in close again. 

 “So wet,” he gloats, and as the tips of your ears start to go pink, he licks a stripe through your folds, bumping your clit with his nose. You whine loudly. 

If he was starved kissing you, he’s completely ravenous eating you out. You keep your grip firm in his hair, spurring him on as he works his tongue. Licking at you, flicking inside, routinely sucking your clit. You feel your vision begin to blur, your mouth hung open as you moan wantonly, a pressure building up in your lower abdomen. Logan murmurs praises into you, good girl and let me hear you and taste s’good. 

You cum, tipping your head back.

He sets your wobbling legs on the ground, only to lift them straight up again once on his feet and kissing you. You can taste yourself on his tongue as you kiss back dazedly. 

Once more in his arms, he carries you to his bedroom and sets you down on the bed to strip his shirt off. You sit up, clamouring for his belt, fumbling at the buckle. He gently brushes you off, reaching for the hem of your shirt. 

“Lemme see you,” he mumbles.

You help him lift your shirt and scoot backwards as he sinks a knee into the mattress, lowering himself towards you. “You’re so beautiful.” He palms your breasts, finger and thumb coming to teasingly pinch a nipple. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you breathe, laying back as he brackets your head with his elbows. You run your hands over his torso, feeling the muscles flex and admiring the forest of chest hair that reminds you this is a real man, caring for you. 

“No?” he chuckles, kissing you as he shifts his weight on one forearm to reach between your thighs. You squeak as his thick middle finger runs up your slit, gathering your arousal and pressing inside. “Relax, sweetheart, I need to stretch you out..”

“I want you to feel good too,” you whine. He grunts appreciatively as you cup his erection through the denim. 

“Don’t worry about me, baby.” He adds another finger, curling them so well you abandon his bulge and grab his shoulders, practically purring. He swirls circles against your throbbing clit with his thumb, easing in a third finger. “So tight, shit…”

“Mm!” You close your eyes, head sinking into the duvet. 

“You ready for my dick?” His voice is low and gravelly, tickling at your ear, and you nod wildly. “Words, gorgeous.”

“Yes, Lo.”

His jeans and boxers come down with one pull, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip at the sight of it: achingly hard in his grip, red and leaking. And huge. And approaching your entrance. 

Your hold on his shoulders tightens, and he reaches for a pillow to situate under your hips. “It’s okay, I’ll go slow, tell me to stop if you need to.” He murmurs into your neck, pressing a comforting kiss into the skin there. You feel the head of his cock slide against you, gathering your slick before pressing against your entrance. 

You croon as he enters inch by inch. He whispers encouragingly against your hairline. Your nails begin to dig into his back, and he feels a brief disappointment at the thought that the red marks will disappear immediately. However, that is quickly forgotten as he lets out a straggled groan at the feeling of your tight heat squeezing him, not even all the way in yet. He gives pause to let you breathe, squeezing your waist supportively. 

When he finally slides home, you feel him brush against your cervix. You compose yourself, adjusting to the full feeling. “Move.”

“You sure?”

“Please, Logan!”

He pulls himself back, until only the tip remains inside, then pushes all the way back in. You moan. 

He fucks into you so deep it makes your eyes roll back. It’s not necessarily fast, but the way he slams against that spot is so delicious it brings tears to your eyes. He’s surprisingly vocal: groaning and grunting at the feeling of you wrapped around him, sucking him in, clawing at his back. “That’s it, my girl, oh… there? There?”

He hits at an angle that makes you wail, and begins to thrust at a quicker pace, pelvis grinding into your clit. His dog tags are swinging and his skin glistens with sweat. You admire him as he admires you: the movement of your tits, the tears beginning to track down your face. He kisses them away as you squeak out a mantra of ah, ah, ah, ah… 

When you cum it’s glorious: your mouth hanging open with a final cry, your cunt squeezing him tightly, white painting his cock and trickling from your hole. 

He kisses you sweetly, pulling out. You sit up slightly, confused, before being immediately pushed back down as he presses your thighs to your front – folding you in half. 

“Another.” He growls out. 

Instead of pushing straight back in, Logan holds just beneath the pulsing, angry, crimson head of his cock, and slides it against you. Up and down, catching on your entrance enticingly. 

“Logan…” You try to wiggle your hips temptingly, but he’s got you pressed down too tight. 

He stops the teasing drag at your clit, and then-

You squeal; he begins to tap the head of his cock against your swollen clit, grinning down at you deviously. 

“Logan! Please, please–”

“Please what, baby?”

You whine brokenly. There’s an animalistic glint in his dark eyes. “P– please– fuck me, Lo, put it in!”

He plunges into you in one go, your back arching at the immediate assault on your cervix. He’s somehow even deeper at this angle, and now faster, fucking you into the mattress at a primal pace. 

You can feel your climax start to build quicker. Logan is aware he won’t last as long either; he brings his thumb to your clit to rub tight circles as you approach the edge. 

“That’s it– fuck, fuck, close, baby?”

Your lips can’t form a reply, instead responding in a high, drawn-out moan as you cream on his cock, the feeling a crashing wave wracking your body. Your release triggers his; his thrusts faltering and his hips grinding into yours as he fills you completely. 

You both pant, exhausted. You make a pained little noise as Logan slips his now-soft dick out of you. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, telling you how good you’ve been for him. 

-

Bathing in the post-sex glow, you lie together. You’re curled into his side, his arm banded around you, rubbing patterns into your bare skin with his thumb. 

“Logan?”

“Mm?” He kisses your forehead. 

“That skanky bitch made a move on you, didn’t she?”

Logan chuckles, tucking your hair out of your face. “Damn near shoved her on the floor.”

You sit up to kiss him, smiling against his lips. 

“Wish you did.”

@viviannagiorgini @maximumchilddreamland @vinaluvsu @policedeer @curlies-world @twinky-wink @willow-t @nobrihere @marshymallo @jasmines-greentea @pink-jello-fish @unlikelygalaxygiver @yakbuttersoup @mikariell95 @introvertreader20 @fictionalmen-dilflover

[squidprinceofwinterfell]

The way that The Boys portrays sex (especially in season 4) is soooo transparently rooted in bad messaging. For such a "liberal" show, it is committed to portraying any sex acts that are considered off the beaten path (fetishes, anal, even casual sex) as something only the depraved, villainous characters would be interested in and it's a clear reflection of their morals.

The Tek Knight dungeon episode alone lampoons BDSM roleplay, tickle fetishes, and food/fart fetishes. They're all shown as either downright laughable, or GROSS and DEPRAVED sex acts that any decent person (in this case, Hughie, the audience stand-in) would be disgusted/appalled by. The poor way the show has dealt with Hughie's repeated sexual assaults this season is another post all by itself.

The villainous shifter character, who has stolen Annie's likeness and identity, brags about doing "butt stuff" with Hughie, which apparently the morally righteous, Christian Annie would never do. Compare that to the Deep, for example, who was so bored by the monogamous relationship with his wife in season 3 that he fucked an octopus. Now he has a casual sexual relationship with Sister Sage, where it's stated multiple times that they do anal. What does it say about people who enjoy anal sex if three antagonists (one of whom has sexually assaulted multiple women and partakes in beastiality) are their only representation? What's next? Are we going to learn that Hughie and Annie only have sex missionary style, in the dark, to show that they're the good guys?

The morally grey/downright bad characters are portrayed as enjoying casual sex, sometimes with multiple partners (Sage with the Deep and New Noir, Ashley with Cameron Coleman and Adam Bourke, the Deep with Sage, Coleman's wife, and his octopus lover, etc). This may not be bad by itself, but when the Boys are all in/were in/want to be in loving, committed relationships (Hughie/Annie, Frenchie/Kimiko, MM/Monique, even Butcher/Becca), it certainly implies there's something bad about casual sex if only the bad guys are doing it. Don't even get me STARTED on Herogasm.

Now, I don't think the show is doing this on purpose necessarily. I think it stems from a combination of things - The Boys has set itself up as a show that is raunchy and shocking, and therefore it must one-up itself every season no matter the cost, and it has a rather juvenile attitude that sex, especially "freaky" sex is always funny.

It's unfortunate that so many people who partake in the fetishes and sexual acts that were skewered on the show felt singled out and made fun of for something that is, frankly, not a big deal and not a reflection on their moral character at all. I hope that going forward, The Boys treats its sex scenes with more care and really considers the message it's inadvertently sending but after this season, I don't have much faith left.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

Sway The Stars Which Dazzle Like Pearls

Pairing: Din Djarin x female!reader

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Warnings: reader is mute due to trauma that isn't specified and uses sign language taught to her by Din, everything in italics is being signed.

A/N: I feel like I haven't written anything in forever and I was worried about not being able to get this done in time and that if I did that it wouldn't be good enough anyway. But, here it is, good or bad. If I got anything wrong as far as communicating via sign language, let me know so I can do better! My fic for the Summer Lovin' 2024 writing challenge. @pedgito @chaotic-mystery

The planet they land on seems to have an eternal night, a never ending full moon and black sand beaches. Here, the stars reflect perfectly in the still waters, a mirror image of the galaxy spread out above. She walks down the Razor Crest's ramp silently, assessing these surroundings with a sharp eye.

He watches her squat down on her haunches to scoop up a handful of the dark sand, crushing it around between her fingers like she's feeling for the quality of an expensive fabric woven on a far off planet. Her face gives little away of what she is thinking.

Din doesn't know much about her past, about what happened before he found her stowed away on the Crest and petrified of her own shadow after his (first) explosive departure from Nevarro, the tiny green kid in tow.

All he knows is that she can't talk. The words are there, he can see them tumbling around behind her eyes, but they seem to get clogged up in her throat, like a gummed up hyperdrive. So he'd started teaching her to sign.

Her footsteps crunch the gravel-sand as she makes her way over to his side, brushing her hands together to clean off the excess sand but some grains still cling to the creases between her fingers, almost sparkling in the moonlight like jewelry. She pins him with a questioning gaze and signs

'Why?'

"Why what?" he motions backs and she fumbles another word, face scrunched in frustration until she finds her rhythm

'Why are we here? Bounty?"

Din shakes his head, considering what he would call this little excursion between jobs before he replies with

"Pitstop, for fun"

"You do fun?" she pulls her mouth into a smirk, pleased at her little joke.

Din tries not to sigh. He's glad they can communicate so freely now, it's light-years better than their rough early days where any movement to sudden or big had her flinching away violently. But he has no idea how she learned to put so much sarcasm into her gestures. Not that he minds now. Anything is better than seeing that unfiltered terror in her eyes.

"Come" he turns and takes a step toward the gently lapping waters edge but doesn't hear her follow, he turns back with a questioning tilt of his helmet

"What is it?" she asks, expression concerned, still rooted in place

"Something good" he assures

"Promise?"

"Yes."

When they reach the water, the ship and the sleeping green child inside it are only a few yards away, a hulking silhouette jutting out of the otherwise flat landscape.

Pulling off his gloves and tucking them safely away, Din crouches down, the toes of his boots touching the water. His companion mimics him, watching carefully as he slowly submerges his hands in the water before carefully feeling around in the wet sand below.

She taps her knuckles into the soft place just below his beskar pauldron, knowing from unfortunate experience not to catch the armor with her bare hands, furrowing her brows when he turns to look at her, seeing her ask

"What are you looking for?"

"Just wait" Din says aloud and she leans back to sit properly on the ground, still curiously watching him dig around, one of her own hands drawing meaningless shapes in the sand beside her.

It takes him a few tries before he finds it, a small orb made and shaped by time and natural forces until it was washed ashore, waiting to be found.

Sitting back beside her, Din holds out his find nestled in the palm of his hand. It stands out stark white and shining in the odd moonlight.

She signs something he doesn't recognize at first, she watches him for a moment, waiting, and then tries again

"Diamond"

"No, pearl" he says out loud and signs it once, twice, then watches her repeat the motion.

The first few times are uncertain as her eyes dart between her hands and his, studying the movement he makes which shapes this new word. Then a couple more times, each with more confidence until

"Pearl" she signs, grinning over at him

"Good" Din smiles beneath his helmet, holding out the pearl to her, an offering.

"Mine?" she quirks a brow at him, still uneasy with receiving things she doesn't feel she has earned.

Din just watches her, hand outstretched and waiting patiently for her to accept this small gratitude.

Eventually, with the barest brush of her fingertips across his naked palm, she takes the pearl. Holding it reverently, worry flashing across her face before she curls her hand around the gifted treasure.

Din had learned to sit with silence long before he met her, so he turns his head out toward the water, then upward just a little, like he's watching the stars.

He isn't. He is giving her the privacy to feel those sometimes tumultuous emotions that come with receiving a gift.

She frowns at her closed fist, lips pulled down in a deep scowl. If her eyes look a bit glossy, she would never admit it. There's a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, a roiling feeling that urges her to not accept this. Not to trust.

But she can see the Mandalorian from the corner of her eye, pretending to watch the stars, nervously rubbing the tips of his fingers together and smearing the gritty sand there until it sloughs off and back onto the beach.

Her courage feels like a finite thing, urgently flopping around in her chest like a gasping fish on land. She leans over closer to the Mandalorian, sees his helmet shift but not quite turn fully toward her as she wraps her arms around his bicep, the pauldron on his shoulder cold even through her shirt.

Hugging him feels like a monumental leap, her cheek pressed against the mudhorn sigil on his beskar shoulder. Her courage has waned and she feels weak, vulnerable, but the little pearl clutched in her hand reminds her that it isn't gone for good.

That it is okay to lean into her companion, her friend, who seems like a forever sturdy rock in the storm that has eclipsed her life.

Awkwardly, arms still wrapped around her Mandalorian's arm, she tells him

"Thank you."

Din makes a sound of acknowledgement, smiling gently beneath his helmet and watching her from the corner of his eye. Her face seems content and his chest constricts in pride, to see that he has hopefully earned her trust enough for her to relax in his presence.

"You're not even looking at the stars" she softly accuses, leaning forward to fully grab his attention

"Neither are you" he retorts.

She huffs a small laugh, tilting her head and raising a hand slowly toward the smooth metal cheek of his helmet. She guides him so they are face to face. Sort of.

They stare, her watching the reflection of the stars in the visor of his helmet, wondering just a little if his eyes are bright beneath all this beskar. If he's looking at her as gratefully as she is him.

Din watches her face, unsure about the hand she has on his helmet, but far more distracted with trying to decipher her expression. Joy seems too big, maybe contentment?

Either way, neither one of them is watching the stars turn above them, a precious pearl clutched between them, a symbol of more. Of hope.

[venusloverblue]

Brewing Hearts

harry potter x reader

warning: fluff, fluff and fluff

word count: 1k

this is part 1, i will soon publish the next part, stay tuned!

You never thought that one day you would fall in love the way you did when you met Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the one everyone at school calls "the chosen one." It seemed cliché to you that love had knocked on your door along with him. Your friends thought it was romantic, but you, without a doubt, found it absurd. Why did it have to be him? There were so many boys to fall in love with, but no, your stupid heart wanted the one who didn’t even know you existed. Your life had become a bad tragicomedy; every time you crossed paths with him, you felt your body go numb and your voice disappear. Your best friend called it a “romantic attack.”

Today, you had Potions class with the not-so-beloved Professor Snape, and it was important that you didn’t miss it since you had to turn in an assignment you had been working on for weeks. You hated Potions classes; you never had the best results, and that was the root of your disdain for them.

You were running through the corridors with a backpack on your shoulder, heading to the classroom where the class would be held. You arrived just in time, right as the last Hufflepuff student entered. When you walked in, you scanned the room for your desk partner, but you didn’t find them. You thought you’d have to do the class alone, something you didn’t enjoy. When you got to your spot, the class was about to start, and at that moment, Professor Snape appeared and gave the task for the day: an assignment that had to be done in pairs.

― Professor Snape, my partner didn’t come. Who do I do the activity with? ― you asked after raising your hand and being given the floor.

― Well, you can do it with Mr. Potter, who is also alone ― he said with a disdainful expression when mentioning the boy you liked.

Your body froze. Of all the classes where something like this could have happened, it had to be in Potions. He was going to find out that you were good for nothing, that you weren’t at his level to even think of going out with him. You wished the ground would swallow you up and never spit you back out.

― Is everything alright, Miss Y/N? ― The professor’s question pulled you out of your thoughts. You nodded and turned to see Potter walking toward the seat next to you. You felt your heart stop; it was like a dream and a nightmare at the same time.

With the problem solved, Snape went to help some students who had requested his assistance. Meanwhile, in your section, Potter was getting ready to make the potion. Your mind was racing, trying to think of a way to start a conversation.

― So… they abandoned us, huh? ― you said with a nervous laugh.

― Yeah, it seems that way. Shall we start?

You nodded enthusiastically. In your mind, you promised yourself you would do your best so the potion wouldn’t end up a disaster. In just a few seconds, you both decided that Harry would handle the cauldron while you passed him the ingredients and read the instructions. This spared you from any embarrassing moments in front of him.

By the end of the class, your potion was bottled and ready to present. For some reason, you had a good feeling that you had done it right. When Snape approached your area and checked that everything was in order, he begrudgingly gave you an excellent grade. You couldn’t believe it; that had never happened to you in his class. You were so excited that you even hugged Harry. It took only a second for you to realize what you had done, and unfortunately for you, there was no turning back. You pulled away so fast it seemed like Harry had caught fire.

― I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I’m so excited that I didn’t notice. Forgive me, Harry ―. Concern and embarrassment were all over your face. You were about to pray for a hippogriff to come flying and take you away.

― Don’t worry, Y/N, it’s fine. We did a great job, and I liked working with you. We should do it again sometime ― he said with a smile crossing his face. Just when you thought you couldn’t be more in love with him, you received one of those smiles that made you want to cry with happiness.

Class ended, and everyone rushed to escape from the dungeons. In the hallway, you heard someone shouting your name. When you turned around, you saw Harry running towards you with something in his hand.

When he reached you, he stopped, a little out of breath.

― Y/N, you forgot your notebook.

You checked your backpack and realized he was right. You probably left it behind because you were thinking about him, something that didn’t surprise you at all.

― Yeah, you’re right. Thank you so much for bringing it to me ―. As you were about to say goodbye, Potter interrupted you.

― Would you like to go out with me sometime? We could go to Hogsmeade and have a drink at The Three Broomsticks, if you’d like.

It was either a joke or the best thing that had happened to you in a long time. You lost your voice and the ability to move; you were having a “romantic attack.” Before answering, you thought about the thousands of possibilities of what could happen if you said yes, and no matter how crazy it seemed, in all of them, the ending was a very happy one for you.

― I understand if you don’t wa…

― YES… yes, I’d like to go out with you sometime! ― You didn’t let him finish his sentence, shouting your response.

Harry couldn’t contain his smile of excitement.

― Great! How about next weekend? We could meet in the hall three hours before dinner.

― Sounds good, see you there then ― you said as you waved goodbye.

The moment you were out of his sight, you ran off to find your best friend to tell her about the long-awaited and desired moment.