#if you don't like the book don't read it! but don't limit your horizons by never picking up something that doesn't neatly fit into your vib

[cherrychapati]

i think lots of us forget what truly makes art and media so captivating; the ability to he transported into a different point of view, and to view the world from a new perspective, one that you never would've understood had you not stumbled upon the narrative that you're reading. pigeonholing yourself into a genre seems so common nowadays, but media consumption has always been about understanding how other people see the world we live in!!

[withleeknow]

moonstruck.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst if you squint; they're in love <3, mentions of menstruation, there's a bit about orpheus and eurydice so you're not familiar you might want to look it up beforehand idk, not as edited as i'd like. not a lot of warnings here tbh it's just pretty mild and mellow saur 🤷‍♀️ (also i don't exactly love this but i hope you'll still tolerate it anyway lol) word count: 4.7k playlist 🎧: moonstruck - enhypen // this is how you fall in love - jeremy zucker ft. chelsea cutler // pansy - taemin // tightrope - zayn

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho is the kind of love that you thought only existed in movies and fairytales. Make-belief, too good to be true, out of reach.

When he rests his head on your shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep like he’s been doing for the past hour or so, you give into the urge to stare at him in wonder. An angel on earth, if there ever was one.

His long eyelashes that you could only dream to have, the slope of his nose, his pink pouty lips, his impeccably sharp jawline, and even his fluffy hair that’s ticking your cheek as you look at him as if you don’t get to see him like this every day. But that kind of beauty is something that demands to be showcased in the world’s most exquisite museum and admired by anyone who comes across it.

Minho is beautiful in every sense of the word.

And you adore him. You do. You love him with every single beat of your pathetic little heart and then some.

Surely, you must’ve saved a nation in one of your past lives to deserve someone as ethereal as him.

Turning your face to the side, you press a kiss against his forehead. The touch makes him stir awake, eyelids fluttering open as he groggily looks around and stretches out his limbs, in the limited space that he has anyway. His sleepy voice asks you, “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. I think they said we still have about forty minutes before we land. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Minho shakes his head, covering his mouth when a yawn forces its way out. He straightens his back to his full height sitting down, then slumps against the seat a little bit. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while his hands find one of your own to hold in his lap.

He rubs the skin of your fourth finger for a moment before he eventually stills, lightly snoring again while you look out the window, gazing at oddly shaped clouds and blues and the reflection of the sun on the waters below.

–

After you’ve checked into the hotel, freshened up and readied yourselves to explore the scenery, Minho takes you down to the beach. It’s a little chilly, spring hasn’t yet settled into summer. Even with a light jacket on, you still shiver every time the wind rushes by like it’s playing with the waters. But it’s nice – the sea breeze in your hair and the sunlight on your face, your lover by your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as you walk along the shore together. The blue of the sea almost blending in with the sky where they meet somewhere out there on the horizon. Seagulls flying overhead, families enjoying their relaxing vacation, children playing in the sand way down the shoreline where all you can make out are blurry silhouettes dancing about.

It’s paradise on earth. It’s an escape that you desperately needed. Exhilarated doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when he told you that he’d booked a Jeju trip for your anniversary.

He’s always been the perfect partner. Always knows just the right thing to do for you whenever you need a pick-me-up. He may not seem like it, but Minho is beyond caring and considerate. He’s a man of few words but he certainly makes up for it with his actions.

��Hey,” he says, pointing somewhere ahead of you. “Remember what happened there?”

“Hmm?” Your eyes try to follow the direction of his finger, until they find a spot where two people are sitting, watching the water in front of them, content smiles passed between lips as they talk animatedly. “Didn’t you confess to me there?”

He smiles as the memory resurfaces in his mind. “Did you know I almost chickened out?”

You two started out as friends way before you got together.

Three years ago, just a few months after you’d both graduated from college, Minho asked you to go to Jeju island with him. You thought it was a little strange – though not that strange since you had been on trips with him before, but it was always in a group setting with all of your other friends. Never just the two of you.

Nonetheless, you agreed. You wanted to get out of the city anyway. You needed a change of scenery to clear your head and to recharge. Everything was starting to become too much for you - being 22 and in limbo. You felt like you kept falling behind no matter what you did. Everyone was moving forward and you were running in place no matter how hard you tried to get out of that slump.

Everyone around you was outgrowing you and your little life, and all you could do was pretend you were fine.

It was one of the lowest you’d ever felt, and you suppose that was why you said yes to Minho’s invitation. A vacation didn’t seem like it would help much, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

A few days away, with nothing but the sun and the sea to help you get out of your own head.

A tropical paradise and Minho. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were worse things you could think of.

That, and the fact that there had always been something between you and him. Not crazy sexual tension or anything, but just enough of a noticeable spark. An inkling of something that neither of you ever acted upon.

“Did you?” you ask. “Didn’t you plan the whole trip back then to confess?”

“What? No. Why would I willingly do that when you could’ve rejected me? Then I would’ve been stuck in a hotel with you and on the plane ride back.”

You squint at him. “Then why did you take me on that trip?”

Minho shrugs. “Friendship trip to cheer you up.”

Years with him and he still makes you feel as warm as he did the first time you kissed. You gaze at him with what must be the world’s most lovestruck look plastered on your face. You reach up to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, then watch as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“You did confess though,” you argue.

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t planned,” he tells you. “You just... We were sitting right there,” he tips his chin toward the same spot again, “and you had my jacket on because you were cold. You were watching the sunset and you looked so pretty. I couldn’t help it. Almost chickened out though.”

You stop walking, and this makes him stop too. Minho glances at you with his head slightly tilted, wearing a puzzled expression.

“You never told me that,” you say.

“You never asked.”

Pouting, you tug him toward you until he’s close enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck. Minho is good, so incredibly good for you that sometimes you can’t possibly fathom how you even deserve him. He never meant to get anything out of it; he just saw that you were struggling and wanted to make it better for you.

Maybe you didn’t do a very good job at pretending, not if Minho could see right through you.

Before him, you had a fear of heights. Not the literal kind, but rather the kind of heights that often accompanies big leaps, big changes. A fear of falling, maybe that would be more accurate. Falling and failing and hitting rock bottom with no way to climb back up. A fear that you would always be stuck with this life forever, trapped in an existence you never asked for. A fear that no effort to escape your reality would be enough, and you’ll always be trailing ten steps behind even if you try twenty times as hard.

You pull him down so you could properly kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly like he was made for you, like he’s the only person you’re ever meant to kiss in this lifetime. You can taste his smile, minty and happy as he moves against your mouth, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you to his body by the small of your back.

“If I had known,” Minho pulls away slightly, mumbling against your lips, “telling you that would get me brownie points, I would’ve told you ages ago.”

You roll your eyes with affection.

“So all this time,“ he says, “you thought I asked you on that trip just to get into your pants?”

“You did get into my pants on that trip!”

“Let me remind you that I only wanted to do something nice for you. You were the one who almost jumped my bones right then and there after I said I liked you.”

You slap his chest as he throws his head back in a hearty laugh. Minho takes your hand in his once more as he drags you along, savoring the cool sea breeze and the golden daylight dancing on glittering waters before the sun bids you goodbye.

Minho is the kind of love that makes you want to curl up into a ball and ugly cry for an hour straight.

In a good way, of course. In the best way possible.

So that’s what you do, on a fine Tuesday afternoon, sitting on a couch surrounded by three cats as you wait for him to come home, perfectly sheltered from the harsh sun outside.

He returns eventually, toward the end of your crying session. When he sees the pile of tissues on the coffee table, soaked with your tears and snot, his heart nearly falls out of his ass.

Minho drops everything, rushing to you like you’re on the verge of spontaneous human combustion because clearly, this is a normal reaction to have when you come home to a girlfriend who’s been sobbing in the dark for god knows how long.

That, and the fact that said girlfriend doesn’t cry very often. Not by herself and certainly not in front of others.

Doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the occasional bouts of tears whenever shark week closes in, though.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Another rush of tears breaks as you look at him. You wipe your eyes and your nose with the tissue you’re currently holding, before throwing it on the table to join the pile you’ve accumulated.

You launch yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The sudden force takes him aback, makes him gasp a little.

He freezes as you cling to him like a desperate koala, before his hands slowly land on your back, rubbing slowly, hesitantly, as though he’s afraid he’s hurting you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

“PMS,“ you hiccup your answer out, to which Minho only responds with a relieved Ah, his hands now moving more assuredly on your body.

“Anything hurt? Sore?”

“No. Just… missed you today. Love you a lot.”

There’s something saccharine in his gaze when he pulls back and regards you with his big doe eyes, softened and endeared, yet there’s still a twinkle of mischief peeking through the sugary glaze.

He moves to make himself comfortable next to you on the couch but still makes sure to keep a hand on you so you don’t grow impatient.

Once he’s effectively squished between you and the armrest of the sofa, he says, “You missed me so much that you started crying? You could’ve texted me, or called. I would’ve come home sooner, crybaby.”

“I didn’t cry because I missed you. I cried because I love you.”

He pretends to think for a moment. “I honestly can’t tell if I should be offended or not.”

You jab a finger at his ribs.

Sure, the mere thought of Minho brings tears to your eyes sometimes. It’s not really a secret anymore.

There’s something about him, just him, how wonderful he is and how all of the stars in the sky must have aligned themselves to make you and him happen. He’s the love of your entire life, there’s never been any doubt about it. Your other half, perfect for you.

You’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and you’re positive that you will never feel this way about anyone ever again. Your love for him runs so deep, so powerful that it overwhelms you at times, drowns you in nothing but affection for him and only him. A love that spreads like wildfire through your calm and sacred forest.

It’s cliché beyond words, that one day you would be having these thoughts about someone. You used to watch this kind of sentiment romanticized in movies, used to cringe and laugh at sappy lines in books and TV shows though there was always a part of you that longed for that kind of love.

You didn’t talk about it often, not even with the people closest to you. You always found it a little embarrassing to admit that you wanted love. To love and to be loved. There was something so utterly vulnerable in the act of yearning and isn’t it such a scary thing? To be vulnerable? You never saw the appeal in showing someone the deepest, darkest parts of you.

What if they leave? What if you bare yourself to someone and they deem you not worth staying for? How would you come back from that kind of rejection?

You suppose it always held you back - the fear of being open that goes hand in hand with the fear of being left behind. Maybe you have more fears than you’d like to admit.

Then came Minho.

No, that doesn’t sound right.

He didn’t come crashing into your life like a tidal wave and unraveled your every belief.

He was always there by your side, a calming presence that you could lean on when things got tough. A friend, a solid foundation. He’s the relief after every monsoon, the first day of sun after a long and harsh winter.

He saw you for who you were, all the messiest parts of you, and loved you anyway. In spite of your mess? Because of your mess.

He taught you that love isn’t always extravagant gestures and grand declarations that Shakespeare would applaud.

Love is acceptance. Love is staying with you on your gloomiest days and holding your hand through your dreariest moments. Love is lingering glances by the doorway before he goes to work because you’re half asleep but you’re still trying to reach for him even in your dreams.

It’s sharing joys and burdens alike. Reminders to eat and gentle wake-up calls. A photo of you in his wallet, a silly picture of him as your phone’s wallpaper. Giggling with him after he tells a joke not because of the punchline itself, but because his manic chortle is even funnier.

Love is Minho cradling your face in one hand and holding onto your shaking fingers with the other, his steady gaze holding yours, and his voice whispering gently in the darkest of nights, “Your storm is my storm.”

At the end of the day, love is pretty simple. Love is him.

“Do you ever think about Orpheus and Eurydice?”

Minho laughs, the sound vibrating where you lay your head, his hand still absentmindedly rubbing the skin of your waist over your shirt. “No, I don’t think about Orpheus and Eurydice.”

You figured as much.

Your fingers trace invisible patterns on his chest as you hum your acknowledgment. Then you ask, “If it was me, if you were Orpheus, would you look back?”

His hands pause their ministrations, a little taken aback by the question you suppose. Your brain tends to pingpong between the most random things sometimes.

“You know,“ he says with an even voice, though the corner of his mouth still curls upward in amusement. “Other people just ask the worm thing.”

“The worm thing is boring. And we both know you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was a worm either.”

“That’s true. I don’t like worms,” you agree, chuckling while your boyfriend scoffs. “Answer the question, would you look back?”

There’s no right answer because you’re not expecting a correct response. It’s a hypothesis that can never be tested because you aren’t a nymph and Minho isn’t a bard with the ability to sway all life with his music. It’s a silly thought but it’s one that you’re curious about nonetheless, just to hear what he would say. Why not?

You’ve read many interpretations of the tragedy. In some, Orpheus hears Eurydice stumble and turns to catch her fall. In others, he can’t hear her at all. The story will forever be among your favorites, one of the things that never fails to turn you inside out no matter how many times you mull over it.

Minho is quiet for a moment. You think he’s about to shoot back with a witty retort that he always has up his sleeves, probably something about how he would find a loophole and trick his way out of the deal, or that he would personally fistfight Hades to get you out of the underworld. This wouldn’t surprise you at all.

Instead, he says, “Yes, I would look back.”

But regardless of how you choose to view the myth, the ending does not change. Orpheus always turns around.

He turns around because he loves her.

Minho’s fingers slip under your shirt to brush your bare skin, angling his head sideways so he could kiss your forehead. 

Maybe he’s just saying it for the sake of being romantic, for the sake of saying what seems to be the right thing. It’s an answer that you can never give substance to, but you believe him with all your heart.

You believe him. You do.

“If it’s you, I would look back.”

Minho is the kind of love that eclipses the sun and dims the light of the moon. The kind of love that drowns out all the noise and makes everything a little more bearable. Not just the most horrible things – your fears and struggles alike – but even the smallest, most mundane things.

If there’s one thing that you absolutely hate, it’s the smell of nail polish. You hate the way it lingers in the air even after the bottle has been capped, hate how the smell of toluene stains your fingertips even after washing your hands several times with scented soap.

Though, the only time you try to tolerate it is when Minho convinces you to stay in and pamper each other. Pizzas that he picks up for dinner and tiramisu ice cream for dessert. Face masks and fancy candles that you save for special occasions. SoonDoongDori napping on various surfaces in your living room, an old vinyl playing from the record player he got you for your first birthday you shared together after you started dating.

You each take turns doing the other’s nails on the carpeted floor. It’s become somewhat of a tradition that you indulge in every month, where you would spend cozy Friday evenings indoors just because neither of you can be assed to indulge in a “proper“ date night. Being hermits together sounds infinitely more appealing to you than any other alternative.

“I’m not done,” you say, snatching Minho’s hand back after he pulls it away to admire your work. You blow on his fingers to make sure that the layer of black polish you applied earlier is dry, then you’re reaching for a bottle of beige polish sitting amongst the ones scattered on the floor. You take a tiny brush from the nail kit - one that’s rarely ever touched because neither of you knows how to do nail art - and dip it into the sand-colored polish.

“What are you doing?“ he asks, watching as you trace some squiggly lines on his middle finger, the lighter color settling nicely on top of the black even if he has no idea what you’re trying to draw. “What is that?”

“Soonie,” you say simply. “When you flip people off, you can show them Soonie.”

You don’t need to look at him to know that his attention is fixed on you even though he doesn’t give you a response. You feel his gaze on the side of your face, soft and warm and never leaving for even a second. He doesn’t say anything while you work though, maybe he doesn’t want to mess up your concentration while you’re so engrossed in what you’re doing. He only chuckles at your answer, then nothing afterward.

You don’t mind the lack of conversation. It helps you focus better on what you’re doing because you’re no artist by any means. You can’t draw to save your life, let alone master something as intricate as nail art, but this is therapeutic. It’s perfect to help you unwind after a long week - doodling your beloved cat on your boyfriend’s nails while Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls sets the ambience. You’ll get the ice cream when you’re done with your impromptu project, along with a little headache from inhaling too much of the polish scent perhaps, but isn’t that a small price to pay?

You take your sweet time with the teeny tiny details, like Soonie’s delicate whiskers and the darker strips of fur on his face. He still turns out a little wonky, a little lopsided here and there but it’s not like you expected it to turn out like a Picasso.

The real Soonie seems to sense a disturbance in the force when he wakes up from his nap and saunters toward you curiously. You pick him up and sit him in your lap so he doesn’t come too close to the fresh polish on Minho’s nails. “Look,” you say with a proud smile, pointing toward the small cat doodle. “That’s you.”

He studies it for a moment, focused on your portrayal of him but then he’s quick to decide that he’s not interested anymore before wiggling away from your lap to go join Doongie on the couch. You chuckle lightly, watching him as he walks off, wondering if this is what it will feel like when your future children enter their teenage years.

When you turn back to Minho, he’s still staring at you, a dazed look in his eyes as he blinks slowly, his hand resting limply on his thigh.

“What?” you ask. “Do you not like–”

“Marry me.”

The rest of your question dies in your throat, wilting away like cherry blossoms when summer nears. He doesn’t break eye contact, still that dreamy gaze when he peers at you. Nothing has ever changed in the way that he looks at you.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. You think anyone would be when their boyfriend drops a proposal out of nowhere while you’re doing each other’s nails in your comfiest sweatpants.

Everything that you’ve been afraid of comes bubbling to the surface, every doubt, every fear, even every fleeting insecurity. They manifest as a ringing in your ears, a buzzing in your head that makes it hard to think about anything at all.

But then he shuffles closer, closer and closer until his warm breath fans your cheek, his nose nudging your cheekbone gently. It’s similar to what Doongie does sometimes when you’re lounging in bed and he just wants some love.

When Minho takes your hand and laces your fingers together in his lap, everything stills. The rumbling comes to a halt, the distant thunder fading slowly into the background of your mind palace until it’s reduced to mere white noise. “Marry me,“ he says again, and his voice is so tender that you ache. Tender and sweet and so full of wonderful adoration. If you ever have to describe what love sounds like, you would say it’s him and his voice, right here and right in this exact moment.

“A little dramatic to propose just because I drew your cat.”

He chuckles, presses a kiss to your cheek before he ducks down to deliver another kiss on the side of your neck. Then he pulls back, just enough to get a clear view of you and your now glassy eyes.

“Bottom drawer in our bedroom,” he tells you. You can’t lie; you have half a mind to leave him here and go check. “I bought the ring two months ago, but I knew I wanted to marry you two years before that. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do it but I realized the perfect moment doesn’t exist, because every minute I spend with you is perfect. I love you so much. It’s not because you drew me my cat, by the way. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.

“I love your weird brain and your blanket-hogging ass. I love that you’re crazy enough to listen to a song literally over a thousand times without getting bored. I even love you when you set ten alarms in the morning and still manage to sleep through all of them. I know you hate your smile but it’s my favorite smile in the world. Did you know my favorite color is the color of your eyes? The best part of my day is when I get to come home to you and the kids waiting for me. I want all of you forever. I promise I’ll love you twice as much on days that you don’t love yourself. When we’re old and gray and we look like raisins, I’ll let you go first so you won’t have to spend a single day alone. I’ll–” He stops when you let out a teary giggle, no bite in his voice at all when he says, “Please don’t laugh at me during my big romantic speech.” 

It only makes you laugh harder, though it’s just as emotional. If you focus on the other part of his sentence, you’ll only crumble into a million pieces right here.  “How very romantic of you to include the visual of us as raisins in your speech.”

Minho rolls his eyes – fondly, of course. When he pretends to squirm away from you, you tug him back by the collar of his shirt to plant an apologetic kiss on his lips which he eagerly accepts.

“Please continue,” you say, smiling against his mouth. “Tell me all the ways that you’ll love me.”

“You ruined it. I retract my proposal,” he grumbles, but his arms betray his words when they tighten around your frame, holding you close to him to steal another kiss. Then another, and another, until your faces are wet with tears and you realize that you’re both crying.

“I’m sorry,” you say through sniffles and tears. “Please keep going.”

“Make it up to me first.”

“How?”

“Marry me,” he repeats a final time. “I’ll give you a better speech on our wedding day.”

Years and years from now, when you’re old and gray and look like raisins – as he so poetically put it – you’ll remember this moment down to every miniscule detail. How the cats’ peace is disturbed by your tearful giggles and the strange look they give you before wandering out of the room, in favor of somewhere without two crying idiots. How the record starts skipping but neither of you can be bothered to do anything about the obnoxious sound. How the material of his shirt feels when you bunch the fabric in your hands because you need to kiss him, need him to be as close as humanly possible.

You’ll remember the sob that he hiccups when you tell him through choked up whispers, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” and how his lips feel when they tremble against your skin. You’ll remember the way he holds onto you like a lifeline, because he’s always been your salvation for as long as you’ve known him. You’ll remember what happens after, later that night when he finally slips the ring onto your finger. The words he whispers into the crook of your neck, “You mean the world to me,” and the emotions in his voice when you both realize this is the start of the rest of forever.

You’ll remember everything, all of it, every clumsy touch and every graceless kiss. Ugly crying on the floor and yet, it’s more perfect than anything you can ever dream of.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 13.07.2024]

[gold-onthe-inside]

asylum

n. def. the protection granted by a state to someone who has left their home country as a political refugee

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: a few months into dating spencer, you become peeved by penelope's boyfriend's constant presence at the apartment, and spencer offers a quick and easy solution. content warnings: none word count: 0.9k a/n: this was a quick little 1am fic, please enjoy

You liked your dates with Spencer, quiet little affairs, huddled in the corner of a cafe as you both swapped stories from work. You’d do your best to make your work sound more interesting than it was, and he’d do his best to limit the gore you were exposed to.

Finding quaint bookstores and hunting rare books, or buying secondhand books for the other to read. You’d always fancied more contemporary books, he liked the older classics, so trading meant expanding horizons. He had been horrified at your habit of annotating books for about five minutes, then telling you all about how Mark Twain used to do the same thing, writing in the margins of his books.

Going to foreign film festivals, Spencer whisper-translating the trickier dialogues for you, his hand laced in yours, smiling to himself when you’d nestle your head against his shoulder. This was the new normal. You were his girlfriend. He was your boyfriend.

After an awful week trying to catch a sadistic killer, Spencer was eager to spend Saturday curled up on the couch. He changed into his ‘old-man pyjamas’ as you liked to tease him, half-asleep on the couch with one of your novels propped up on his lap, when he heard you come through the front door using his spare key.

"I've gotta move out," you complained, dropping your bag on his coat stand and toeing off your sneakers before walking over to the couch. "I mean, seriously, Penelope's been bringing Kevin to the apartment almost every day, it's so weird," you said, flopping onto one end of the couch as he sat up.

“Tell me they’re not being loud,” Spencer said, grimacing a little.

"I don't want to find out," you groaned, collapsing onto his shoulder. "I really didn't think Kevin would be such a permanent fixture." It had been two weeks into dating that Spencer had found out about your distaste for Penelope’s boyfriend — knowing your best friend and roommate deserved better than some unkempt, disheveled, unhygienic (and to you, very unattractive) analyst.

"He's not that bad, is he?" Spencer asked, gently maneuvering himself to pull you onto his lap, and you let him, more than okay with physical intimacy.

“I mean, he makes her happy, I guess,” you said, pursing your lips as Spencer’s hand trailed over your arm. “And he can keep up with her intellectually, but… I dunno, I just feel like she’s settling for him.”

Spencer’s hand drifted down your side, absentmindedly rubbing your hip. “Settle is a strong word, don’t you think? I mean, she obviously loves him.”

You chewed your bottom lip. "I suppose," you agreed, reluctantly. "Either way, being around him is just... uncomfortable. And Penelope keeps telling me it's fine if I stay, but like... I don't wanna walk into the living room and see them making out... or worse." You shivered slightly at the thought of it.

Spencer chuckled, and his hand wandered back up to your midsection, massaging lightly. "Well, you are more than welcome to stay here," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "I have plenty of room."

You peered at him. "Just so I'm clear... Are you asking me to move in?"

There was only the slightest hesitancy in Spencer's voice when he finally responded. "If you wanted to. No pressure or anything, of course. But, yeah, I thought it might be nice. Living here, I mean."

You wet your lips, thinking about it. "Are you sure? I mean... we've only been dating a few months."

"What, you get sick of me already?," he asked, feigning hurt. This was a big deal that he was offering, and he desperately wanted you to say yes, but he wouldn't push the subject if you resisted. He was terrified of moving too fast.

"No! No, of course not, it's just... It's a big step, I don't want to rush into it," you said quickly. "Have you thought about it?"

Spencer smiled at your immediate denial. You didn’t have to reassure him so vehemently, but it was always nice to hear it nonetheless. He relaxed into the couch cushions a bit more, his hand moving over to play with your hair. "I have," he admitted. "I'm not necessarily in a rush, either, I just figured... it was an option."

You hummed, thinking about it. You did like the vibe of his apartment, and it was a lot closer to the station than Penelope’s place, and you always ended dates wishing you had more time with him. And you liked the mundanity of your dates, even the simplicity of lacing your hand through his while you both traipsed around Quantico’s greenery on a lunch break. The potential of moving in flashes before you — lazy Saturday mornings, breakfasts together, going to the farmer’s market on Sundays, sleeping with him more often than you did now.

“Okay,” you agreed, looking at him with a soft smile. “I wanna move in with you.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Spencer realized that you had said yes, and his shoulders slumped with relief, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah? You're sure?" His voice was hopeful.

"Positive," you murmured, kissing him gently. Spencer returned the gesture with fervor, pulling your body a little more on top of his, his hands moving from your sides to rest on your waist. He pulled away, breathless, and leaned his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes.

"I'm moving in," you repeated, breathlessly.

"You’re moving in," Spencer agreed, his eyes bright and excited.

[lusmeitli]

But like of each thing that in season grows

Summary: How a kind gesture can lead to something more. One shot.

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Christmas fluff, mention of off screen assault, some swearing, lots of snow, books, poetry, smutty smut.

A/N: Okay, look. It just wanted to get out. You’re thrown in without a warning, nor a floatie. Apologies for the liberties taken to interpret and manipulate characters to dance after my will once more. Obviously don't read if you're a minor.

9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9

The greatest ideas were conceived in the shower. That was a scientific fact.

You liked facts. You did not like uncertainties or speculation. The feeling of being in limbo was something that didn’t sit right with you.

So as you were in the shower, working the conditioner in your hair, the idea was just there. It was simple, humble, but beautiful. Your hands slowed and stilled. And then your mind rebooted and went at lightning speed, planning things out. You needed to write things down.

You stepped out of the shower hurriedly, towelling down your body, before realising that your hair felt different. Cursing, you stepped back under the water to rinse off the conditioner.

*****

You hated staff meetings. Particularly third Thursdays staff meetings, because they dragged on and on. The weekly mission reports were presented and Fury insisted on inviting some guest speakers. He called it “Horizon Thursday”.

In your opinion it narrowed rather than widened it. Today’s guest speaker was Quinn Harris, cyber security specialist. You suspected self-proclaimed, but you hadn’t bothered doing a deep dive on him.

You were sat on the increasingly uncomfortable chair, rows of employees in front of you, the Avengers at the very front. Rogers had delivered his usual military style mission report, the other members of his team trying to look alive, though you suspected Romanoff and Banner were asleep, as they were both donning sunglasses.

“What you need is a quantum computer and it’ll solve all your problems with encryption.”

“They might as well propose using block ciphers,” you murmured under your breath, turning the page in your book.

Meanwhile, a hand shot in the air at the front. “Excuse me, Mr Harris.”

The man smiled. “Mr Stark, do you have a question?”

“Well, not so much a question for you, but I would very much like the opinion of another expert on what you just said. You know, before anyone here thinks about investing in your product, which, let’s be honest, would be me. I’d like to be sure it’s the right thing.”

Fury rolled his eyes and sunk back in his chair.

There had been talk about getting that dude in? You must have zoned out for that part.

Harris’ face fell for a second, but he honed his features and forced a smile. “Of course.”

“It just so happens that we have an inhouse expert,” Tony got up and scanned the crowd. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

Everyone uniformly turned to look at you. Everyone.

You felt the moment one particular pair of eyes set on you. The amount of times you had spoken to one another had been limited to the missions you were needed on, for hacking. You’d had his voice in your ear a few times and it did things to your body that made you feel like a system overheat. You never really saw him during missions though as your job was very much office-bound.

Today, he wore the damn leather suit. Whilst Fury didn’t give a fuck, Rogers very much was all about the professional appearance of the Avengers. What you didn’t understand was why everything looked better on him. The black and green possibly was the best colour combination there ever was. The other day Bucky had worn a Slytherin pullover and even though it very nicely accentuated his physique, it looked nothing like the colours did on Loki.

You swallowed hard when you felt his eyes on you. They seemed to see right through you, even over the distance of the seven rows of chairs.

And then you felt the weight of all the other pairs of eyes on you. That was a lot of people. You gulped and pushed your glasses back up the bridge of your nose - a habit you couldn’t break. 

“Y/N,” Tony called, bringing you back to the matter at hand. “Stand up and look at me.” His voice was gentle. “Start breathing again. Good. Now tell me what Harris is not telling me about the quantum computer.”

You adjusted your glasses again and cleared your throat. “It’s a solid proposition, I suppose,” you started, “however, one I would expect from a college freshman, certainly not from a cyber security expert specialist.”

Murmurs erupted, but you ignored them and rattled off your thoughts.

“Can a quantum computer crack asymmetric encryption algorithms? Yes. And yes, we all know that thanks to Shor’s algo the maths problems are only polynomial. Also, we know this applies to discrete log problems, too, therefore, all we’d need is a large enough quantum computer. Of course, he,” you gestured to Harris, “would have to build one first, which as you can guess is very costly. However, this entire presentation is based on the assumption that quantum computing is the end of asymmetric cryptography. And that is such a blatantly ignorant approach, with complete disregard for the safety of the members of our staff that are entirely reliant on the encryption cracking working on all their devices during operations and missions. And this whole quantum computer only works if you have a network connection.”

“So you’re suggesting there are hard problems that a quantum computer can’t solve?” Harris said, chin jutting out, arms crossed defiantly.

“Don’t be silly, of course there are,” you huffed. “I coded new post-quantum asymmetric encryption algos three years ago and tested them on several sites I am not authorised to disclose that have quantum computers. Not one of them cracked the simplest of those codes, in any of the over 5,400 attempts they ran over the past three years. So this presentation is… rather embarrassing in its sloppiness.”

“Well,” Harris’ lips were a thin line now. “I’m sure you have a ‘much better’ suggestion then?” He actually raised his hands to add the quotation marks.

“Actually, I do. I developed our own version of a quantum computer, at - and I’m only guessing here - a fraction of the price you’d charge Mr Stark, which can crack both symmetric and asymmetric encryption, works on all of our staff’s devices, portable and stationary, works offline and is about the size of, uh, a thumbnail.”

You pointed to your thumb, because in your humble experience men like him struggled to accurately size things.

Tony smiled and turned to Harris.

“Okay that concludes today’s meeting.” Fury got to his feet and patted Harris’ shoulder. “Looks like we’re good, but thanks for coming.”

People around you stood, some nodding at you as they passed. Tony caught up with you in the hallway. Before he could say something you blurted out: “Did I say something wrong? Was I rude again?”

He smirked and pushed the button of the lift. “He needed putting into place. Totally fine by me. You did great.”

“Stark!” bellowed Fury from down the hall and Tony winced.

“Excuse me, mother’s calling.” He turned and left.

You sidled into the lift with several other people. The cabin stopped a few floors up and people got off. That was when you noticed Loki on the other side of the lift. Up you went and after another stop you were alone with the Asgardian god. The cabin seemed to shrink.

You both watched the numbers climb, the lift hummed, Loki’s leather suit creaked softly as he crossed his hands behind his back.

“Could you please enlighten me about Shor’s algorithm?” he suddenly asked, looking at you.

You had a heart palpitation. Surely that was what it was. He was so impossibly tall and sculpted and… here.

“Um,” you pushed your glasses back up, “it’s a quantum algorithm for finding the prime factors of an integer.”

Loki’s face looked blank.

“It, er, essentially it finds the prime factors of large numbers a lot faster than conventional computers do. Which we use in encryption. The large numbers, that is. So it cracks codes faster.”

“Ah,” he said, head turning back to continue staring at the number display. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you croaked out.

The urge to facepalm burned under your fingers, but you resisted. As soon as the doors slid open on your floor, however, you fled and sought asylum in the ladies’ toilets, banging your head against the wall of the stall.

*****

Operation Great Idea was in full swing.

So you’ve had a little personal setback, but that didn’t deter you from the objective. You had compiled a list, one you were confident was accurate based on your intel and research. That very list was neatly folded in the deep pocket of your coat as you walked through the cold rain on this late November afternoon.

Yes, you did something you’d never done before - take an afternoon off - and were trying to evade puddles on your way to the bookshop. Could you have ordered the books online? Most of them, certainly. But your late mother, an independent business owner, had ingrained in you to support local shops. You liked bookshops, they reminded you of her and of simpler times.

Your timing was excellent - of course you had researched when the shop was least busy - and you practically had the shop to yourself. And so you walked, dragging a pull-along basket behind you as you searched the shelves for the books on the list.

Sometimes, there were different editions there and you stood for a while, feeling the weight of each book in your hand, the feel of the embossed letters on the spine, the scent of the pages. You wanted it to be just right, so you took your time.

Some of the books you would only be able to get in a little second hand bookshop, tucked away in a side street. You had called beforehand and the owner lifted a box from under the counter to show you what she had reserved for you. As soon as your fingers made contact with the books you felt absolutely giddy.

Back at the Tower, you spent two entire evenings wrapping books after work. When you were finished, you leaned back, looking at the neatly organised stack. Yes, you were ready. Now all you needed was an exorbitant amount of luck for the next 24 days.

*****

You watched Loki stare suspiciously at the first parcel. He was sitting in the communal kitchen, Thor next to him. 

“Why would it be hexed?” Thor asked. “Simply because the sender is missing?”

Loki just gave him a pointed look.

“Come, brother, aren’t you curious to find out what is in this gift?”

“Loki got a present?” Steve asked as he pulled a bowl out of a cupboard. “Did I miss his birthday?”

Before Loki could say anything, Thor shook his head. “He’s worried it has been tampered with.”

Roger’s brows furrowed. “How did it get into your possession?”

“It was on the floor outside my door this morning,” Loki complied, sighing.

“FRIDAY would have picked up on any foreign substances or intruders in the tower,” Tony said between gulps of coffee. “He now can detect traces of magic, too. ‘Course, he went apeshit over your magic, but we got it under control, eventually.”

“That’s what all this ‘Alert, alert, magic detected, caution advised’ blaring at five in the morning was?” Scott bustled in.

A slight tinge of red shaded Loki’s complexion. “I have to practise some time.”

“Thought you were born with it?” Scott interjected, helpfully.

This earned him a glare. “I was born with the aptitude for magic and sorcery. It takes a lot more than mere talent to achieve this level of proficiency.”

“Several centuries, in fact,” his brother supplied. “Now then Stark here says it’s safe. So open it, brother!” Thor clapped his hands together. 

Loki indignantly and very reluctantly slid the parcel towards him and pulled on the simple string that held the wrapping together. The paper fell open to reveal one of the books you had picked.

From your vantage point of, well, your computer screen, you zoomed in to get a better look at him.

“Oh, a book,” you heard the onlookers muttering disappointedly, quickly losing interest and going about their business once more.

But Loki just sat, staring at the book. It took him a good few minutes to pick it up. And he did what you had seen him do many times before. He weighed it in his hands, fingertips running over the cover, the spine. Then he opened the lid. To anyone else it might not have been noticeable, but to you it was: he inhaled the scent of the book. And finally, there was the smallest upturn of his lips.

You exhaled, relieved. One down 23 more to go.

*****

Over the next week you were too busy testing the new firewall you had developed to check on Loki’s reaction. Sometimes you felt a little self-conscious, scared even that he might not like the books or think this was from a stalker. Which technically you had indulged in, stalking that was, but only to find the perfect books for him. And then sometimes you would get worried that someone else might have found the presents.

But you knew he had received every single one of them, for every evening, when you passed the common area you saw him sitting on the couch with the latest offering in his hands. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but it looked as if his tense shoulders had started to relax a bit.

Another couple of days went by and as the decorations started to pop up in the Tower and the first snow fell that didn’t immediately melt or turn to mush you felt happy. Perhaps it also had something to do with the fact that a certain someone walked differently. Maybe it was your imagination. But he seemed even taller these days.

*****

“Did it work?” you heard his voice in your ear a couple days later.

The data set was streaming on the screen in front of your eyes. “It did. Give me a moment to inject the virus, then you can disconnect the USB cable.”

“Can I still talk to you?”

Your fingers on the keyboard stilled for a moment, surprised. “Of course. The program runs through your phone, not through comms.”

There was a little pause, before he said: “I have a question. About a Midgardian tradition.”

You wrinkled your nose, scanning the code rushing over the screen. “I’ll try my best, but I’m rubbish at traditions.”

The audible outbreath sent shivers down your spine. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“What’s your question then?”

“Tell me about the Yuletide calendar.”

45% done. “You mean the Advent calendar?”

“Precisely.”

This was dangerous territory you were treading on. “Oh, it’s a fun thing for kids, really. To make the wait for Christmas a bit more exciting and I guess more bearable. It’s nice to get a little something like a toy.”

“Is it always toys?”

69% now. “Well, no. My mum used to get me an advent calendar that had these lovely drawings behind each door. I hung it up in the front room and we’d open it together every morning.”

“I suppose it’s a nice custom,” he said, before asking, “What about grown ups, do they have advent calendars?”

83%. “Sometimes. There’s all sorts: beer, wine, beauty products, chocolates - you name it, it probably exists somewhere.”

“Books, too?”

The question threw you, did he know it was you? A light was blinking on your screen.

100%.

“That’s it, Loki, the virus is uploaded, you can unplug the cable now and get out of there.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You heard a crackle and the comms was handed over to operations again. As you finished running the decryption programme on the data Loki had extracted, you kept hearing his voice in your head.

“Books, too?” Were you busted?

*****

Security breaches were both an insult as well as an admittedly welcome challenge to you. Someone had tried to flex their fingers - and you had a very good idea who - to break into Stark’s network. They had managed to pierce a little hole into the outer layer of the firewall, but they didn’t know that you had several back up plans in place and you enjoyed watching them work. However, as you scanned over the intruder’s code you devised a new security strategy.

You were in the middle of coding a nice little primer for a new layer - unexpected because of its simplicity, but a tough little nut to crack - when someone cleared their throat next to you. You looked up to find Loki, his eyes fixed on you. You blinked, looked around, but no one else was there, and back up at the god.

“Can I, uh, help you?” Smooth. You facepalmed internally.

“I realised I have never been in here,” he said, looking around the room, then back at your desk. “You have a lot of monitors.”

You waved your hand dismissively. “Just the standard three.”

“What are you doing now? Or is it a secret?”

“It’s not a secret at all. So we’re currently under attack. Relax,” she said when she noticed him tense, “cyberattack. Someone’s knocking at our backdoor, trying to see if they can get in.”

You motioned to one of your screens. “This is the intruder’s code. He’s trying out lots of keys to see if he can get in. And this,” you pointed to the screen next to it, “is our defence mechanism.”

“Extraordinary.” Loki’s low voice murmured. He was close. You turned your head and nearly had a heart attack at just how close. His sharp profile was illuminated by the blue glow of the monitor, his hair falling to his shoulders, one hand splayed on the desk, the other resting on the back of your chair. He looked beautiful. Perfect. He was leaning closer to the screen so he could see what was going on. Your breath hitched.

And then he turned his head.

Something that sounded an awful lot like a squeak escaped your throat.

Loki lifted an eyebrow. “Am I making you nervous, Agent Y/N?”

You pushed your glasses up your nose and leaned back, just an inch. “No?”

Loki’s eyes drifted over your face, before they met your gaze again. “Is that a question or a statement?”

“A… a statement,” you mumbled and, for good measure, added, “sir.”

His eyes darkened, a smirk curling the left side of his lips. “Are you scared of me?”

You tilted your head ever so slightly. “How can I be scared of you?”

“You’ve heard the stories, undoubtedly.”

“I did. And if I believed everything people told me and not looked beyond I would be incredibly shitty at my job.”

He smiled at that. It was small, but there, and it made him so attractive you felt your stupid heart starting to pound in your chest. Could he hear it?

“Do you like to read, Agent Y/N?”

Another adjustment of your glasses. “I do.”

“What would you say is your favourite book?” His voice was low and smooth.

His hand moved from your desk to the side of your face, where he gently pulled on a tendril, before he brushed it behind your ear. The back of his fingers skimmed your cheek for less than a second, but it sent you reeling. It was as if an electromagnetic pulse was slowly wiping clean your hard drive. You couldn’t think.

“Um, err, Jane.. Jane Eyre.”

He hummed. “I wonder why? Is it because she’s abandoned and rejected all her life?”

You shook your head slowly. “No. Because she’s forced to leave home, into a life she didn’t choose. But when she is given the freedom and space to grow she learns to be the master of her happiness.”

His eyes followed the curve of your neck and back up again. It almost felt as if he was touching you. “Interesting.”

You swallowed again, before he stood upright, nodded at you, turned and left. 

Your heart was pounding. And then your computer beeped and your attention was back on the screen.

“Oh pants…” Your fingers started flying over the keyboard. “Not today, Harris. Or any other day.”

Nine more books to go.

*****

He was onto you. Of course he was. After all, he was the God of Mischief and Lies. If anyone would find out who was behind this, it would be him. Personally, the preferred outcome was that he never would find out.

You had asked yourself often over the last 18 days why exactly you wanted to do this for him. But that was just it. You really had no other motive than wanting to do this for him. Maybe because you sympathised with him, being stuck somewhere far from home, feeling lonely and not really integrated. Maybe you had projected your own feelings onto him a tiny little bit. Possibly considerably. However, it was done with the best of intentions. You wanted to make this nice for him. The run up to Christmas. A little bit magical. He must like magic, he was a sorcerer after all, wasn’t he?

So what if you had started dreaming of him at night. He would lean over you as you sat at your desk, in all his tall- and broadness. This time his hands would be touching you. And he’d lean in to whisper into your ear. Admittedly, not words you would necessarily associate with such a situation.

When you would wake up you knew where to place the things he said to you in your dreams. He’d said them to you during missions. And yes, “how much longer till the download is complete, Agent Y/N?” was not remotely as sexy as “I’m going to ravish you now, thoroughly” would have been, for example. But your brain only had so much to work with and it worked for you.

You noticed a few things, however. Loki was around more often, probably just a silly coincidence, or you had started to pay more attention. He looked at you now. You’d look up and find him already looking at you, sometimes a little smile crossed his lips, but mostly it was just something with his eyes, they seemed… warmer, maybe?

However, to your horror you discovered that you had started to blush. Every single time this happened. So you spent a lot of time in the ladies’ toilets, splashing your face with cold water, only to see it even more flushed than before. Apparently, all the books you had read lied about that ‘splashing your face with cold water to calm down and not make people notice’-thing.

But it all boiled down to the fact that he was onto you. Maybe he was humouring you and seeing where this was going. Maybe he had found out already and you made him feel awkward. Or he was waiting for the opportune moment to expose and humiliate you. You weren’t sure which.

Right now it didn’t matter. You were so tired you could hardly see properly anymore. So when you decided to crash on the sofa in the common room, because it was halfway to your room, you didn’t think to check if anyone was there.

That was mistake number one.

You collapsed onto the sofa with a groan, eyes closed, head leaning against the back of the sofa.

“Fuck. My. Fucking. Life,” you complained to the universe. “Can you please make the appendage of that misogynistic wanker fall off already? For fuck’s sake!”

Mistake number two.

Someone chuckled. It came from rather close to you.

Dread filled you. Foul language was not tolerated in the workplace. To be fair you could argue that the common room was not your workplace per se, however, you did not want to start arguing with HR because they were absolute savages in the art of word twisting. Or just savages full stop.

Carefully, you cracked your eyes open. And there, on the sofa right next to you, sat Loki. One leg was stretched out in all its glorious length, the other bent at the knee, his forearm resting over it, the book in his lap now closed, one of his slender fingers acting as bookmark. For a moment you wondered what it would feel like to be the book.

“I hope it’s not my appendage you’re asking to be removed,” he said with a smirk.

You grappled to sit up, horrified. “Of course not! That would be awful… I mean, a terrible thing to wish for… you’d… err… such a loss of such a beautiful… I mean, I can only guess… but… um, err… heavens, please make me stop talking…”

You hid your head in a throw pillow, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

Mistake number three.

The sound of a low, rumbly laugh made its way to your ears. It entered your system like a virus, leaving your limbs feeling weak and yearning. Was Loki laughing? You lifted your head and watched him, highly bemused at your idiotic display.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard. You felt a hard tug at your heart. Goodness, if this man wasn’t already a god, you’d have to declare him one. If he were the head of a religion you would throw out your atheist views and follow him to the end of the multiverse. He looked absolutely breathtaking. Then again, when did he not?

“I’m so sorry,” you started to apologise, “I don’t know what-”

With superhuman speed he moved and sat next to you, his finger on your lips. The feel of his digit on your mouth felt more intimate than any sexual intercourse you’d ever had.

And then he leaned in.

He was so close your cells were basically breathing him in. His eyes were locked onto yours and nothing would have been able to make you look away right then.

“Do you want to know what book I’m reading right now?” His quiet words did things to your insides that were not legal.

You just about managed to nod, his finger still in place.

“‘The Remains of the Day’ by Kazuo Ishiguro. Do you know it?” He waited for your affirmation. “It’s about a man who is in love with a woman. But he doesn’t tell her. When they meet again after decades, she tells him her life would have been different if she had married him. And you know what he does? He still won’t admit his feelings to her. He walks away from her. The first time he lets her go, the second time he walks away.”

You remembered the book very well. You had picked it out for him, after all.

“It’s a cruel story, Y/N. A love that is never acknowledged, nor consumed.” Loki’s eyes drifted from yours down to your mouth. His finger slowly traced the outline of your lips. It was too much, your eyes closed.

“Do you think love is this cruel?” Loki asked quietly. You felt his words as he spoke them almost onto your skin. So close.

“It-it can be,” you whispered. “But maybe, maybe that wasn’t the point of the story.”

“No?”

You opened your eyes to find him looking at you. He’d moved away a bit, giving you some space, waiting for you to elaborate.

“Maybe the point was to show that he chose his job over love. Twice. You can call it dignity or pride, but at the end he’s alone. Without love.”

“What about you, Y/N? Do you have love in your life?”

You weren’t able to look into his eyes. Slowly, you got off the sofa. You turned back to him to respond to find he’d stood up, too.

You looked down at your shoes. His shoes were black, of course, polished, perfect, like him. Yours were several seasons old. Worn. A bit of the shoe sole had started to peel off at the top of your toes. The bit you always kicked into the floor when you worked.

Your eyes wandered up his trousers, black, to the belt, his pullover, also black. He looked effortlessly elegant, poised. You, on the other hand, looked a mess, even in your work attire. Your heart grew heavy at the realisation. Your dreams were stupid. Turned out your heart was even more stupid. And suddenly you felt incredibly small in more ways than one next to the tall, powerful god.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you said: “I have known love, once. A long time ago.”

With that you pivoted on your heels and left, leaving Loki alone in the common room.

*****

Harris was an absolute tosser.

He just couldn’t leave things be. He insisted on trying to show you up, so he tried and tried to hack his way through your firewalls. Of course he had tried to hide his identity and it had made you chuckle, because you seriously had no idea how he could ever dare call himself a cyber security specialist if he covered up his tracks like a novice hacker.

In a way it was cute, but it was getting to the point of obsessive stalking and you frankly were rather tired of this little game by now. Particularly, since it kept you from your nice, warm, comfortable bed well past midnight.

However, Harris seemed to have changed tactics and started to badmouth you in the industry. Even Fury had called Tony and asked whether he should be worried, because Harris had dug up some hacking you’d done when you were much younger and much less ethical. Really it was unhinged, but everyone worked through teenage years in their own way.

You only knew this because you happened to be in Tony’s office and he had Fury on loudspeaker. Tony had pacified Fury without batting an eye, then hung up and asked if you’d be okay with him paying Harris a little visit, preferably as Iron Man. You had both laughed it off. But it bugged you.

So when you were on your way back to the tower from the compulsory (for all employees) counselling session and someone grabbed you, you weren’t surprised to come face to face with Harris. He didn’t lay a finger on you. No, he got two goons to do that for him.

Later, as you stumbled out of the lift and along the corridor, trying to make your way to your room, someone blocked your way.

“Speak of the devil! Y/N! We were just talking about you.” Tony. Other voices around him.

You kept your head down, thinking of how to get out of this unnoticed.

“We were just wondering if– Y/N? What happened?” You saw Tony’s hand reach out for you, but you flinched away.

Silence fell for a long moment.

Then a movement. Shoes appeared in your line of vision. You knew those shoes well. They had been on display on the couch for the past 22 days, attached to an Asgardian god.

He slowly held out his hand, palm up. An assurance, no harm. You gave the slightest nod. He moved the hand up and placed a finger under your chin so carefully you wanted to sob. The faintest of pressure had you lift your head to look up at Loki. His eyes scanned your appearance, stopping at your bruised hands that were trying to hold together your coat, taking in the blood splatters on the fabric, your busted lip, the lopsided glasses, the badly bent temple dangling off its hinge.

You never understood the expression ‘his features darkened’. You did now. Loki’s face transformed and you saw for the first time what a dangerous man he could be. Power radiated off him. You were glad it was not directed at you. His nostrils flared and you almost heard how much he was clenching his teeth.

“Names,” he ground out.

A hot tear rolled down your cheek and now that it started it didn’t want to stop. His eyes softened, something akin to vulnerability flitting across his features.

“H–Har…”

“Harris?” Tony asked softly. You nodded, still looking at Loki.

Loki rolled his lips in his mouth, his thumb swiping ever so lightly over the skin of your chin, before dropping his hand and walking to the lift in long strides.

“Nat?” Tony asked, the spy already by your side.

“Hold up, Reindeer Games!” Tony hollered behind you, as Romanoff led you down the corridor to your room. “I’m coming, too…”

It felt as if you were having an out of body experience as you were peeled out of your bloodied coat, your clothes and body assessed quickly but gently. She pulled out her phone after she ushered you into the shower.

“Tony? No forced intercourse, but lots of bruising…,” was all you heard before the hot spray of the water ran into your ears, blocking all noise out.

*****

Your glasses were fixed and you could see properly again. That was important, otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to see Harris’ face on the news as he was escorted - handcuffed - from a courtroom and shoved into a police van, followed by the two goons who had helped him.

When you turned from the screen above the cashier, you saw Loki next to Tony across the canteen, looking at you. You walked over, clutching your sandwich.

“So, um… thank you,” you said, gesturing to the screen, “for that.”

Tony put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently, before his eyes gazed behind you. “Is that a double cheeseburger I see? Excuse me.”

And off he went, leaving you alone with the Asgardian god.

You shuffled your feet, studying the floor.

“Thanks again-”

“Are you okay?” 

You both said at the same time. You laughed quietly, looking up at him. He smiled. You’d never seen Loki smile.

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

You wanted to say so much more, do so much more, like hug him. But he was a god. You weren’t exactly sure what the protocol was for hugging gods. The awkward silence thickened.

“So, I’ll see you around?”

He was still smiling. “Yes. See you around.”

You were fairly sure you were blushing as you scampered off, back to your office.

*****

Bryant Park was one of your favourite places to be in New York. For one, it was right behind the public library - your heaven. For another, it was close to the Tower and you could wander the paths under the lovely trees. The park was very busy as it was Christmas Eve and people wanted to while away the time in the Winter Village until the big day. But as the ice rink closed down and the skaters came off, noses and cheeks red from the cold, the park started to empty.

You sat on a bench under one of the trees, gloved hands deep in your coat pockets, a woolly hat and scarf keeping you warm. Your head was tilted back and you watched the snowflakes dance and twirl in the cold wind.

“Y/N,” someone called.

Loki stood a few metres away from you, a black coat making him look even taller. He was not donning a hat or a scarf, he looked comfortable with the cold. The snow clung to his dark hair, a soft dusting was on his shoulders. You envied the snowflakes.

You got to your feet and he took a few steps closer, looking down at you.

“Were you enjoying the activities?” Loki asked, nodding to the ice rink.

“No, I just… I just like to sit here,” you said, feeling a bit silly. “I like the trees and the snow. It’s… peaceful.”

He nodded.

“How about you? Fancied a turn on the ice?”

He laughed and you watched the cloud mix with your breath. Now you envied your breath.

“Actually, I was looking for you.”

“Me?”

He took another step towards you. “Yes.”

“Why? Did something happen at the Tower?” Worriedly, you fumbled your phone out of the coat pocket and checked it.

A large hand covered it. You looked up. “Nothing happened. I wanted to talk to you.”

Nervously, you glanced down at his hand that still covered your phone. If you hadn’t been wearing gloves your hands would have had actual skin on skin contact. He dropped his hand to his side.

“Am I in trouble?”

He shook his head. “I… I wanted to thank you.”

“What for?”

His hand pulled a book out of his pocket. “For this.” He slid it back in the folds of his coat.

“Oh.” You didn’t really know how to feel or react. You knew he’d been onto you, so it was no surprise he’d sussed it out. He was, after all, the God of Mischief and Lies. But you had to give him kudos for letting it play out.

“Um, you’re welcome.” You bit your lip.

“You don’t know what this meant– what this means to me.”

It was impossible to look at him.

“I was dreading this time of year here on Midgard. But your incredibly generous advent calendar made it feel… like when I first visited here with my mother.” He grasped your gloved hands in his. “I miss her dearly, so thank you. For giving me this.”

You were too choked up to say anything, so you just nodded.

“Can I enquire what your reason was?”

It was so cautious, as if he was worried it might scare you off. And yet, the question threw you, most likely because you had been asking yourself the very same thing from the moment of its conception in your shower. It was just there, a need, an urgency you didn’t know where it came from or why it existed. It was something you had to do. Like breathing.

But over the course of the last few weeks, particularly the last few days, it had become painfully clear why you did it.

“I wanted, no, I needed you to be happy.”

He squeezed your hands gently. The tips of his shoes, his shiny, polished shoes, now touched yours.

“Please look at me.”

So you did. He looked different… vulnerable maybe.

“Why do you need me to be happy?” The question was another cloud and you breathed it in, let it fill your lungs.

“Because…” You were afraid to say it, to admit it. But something in his eyes made you courageous. Either that, or foolish.

“Because I watched you, during missions and in briefings and ops planning. You started to believe what they said about you. And it’s not true. There’s so much you don’t share, don’t tell them and I see it. It’s right there in your eyes. And I didn’t want you to lose yourself. And it’s selfish, I know, but I need you to be happy… because if you are, so am I.”

“If you think that’s selfish, then I am guilty of this notion, too.”

Loki raised his right hand to run the backs of his fingers over your cold cheek. “I knew after three days it was you. I wanted to see where this was going, what your motivation was. And I… when I saw you after Harris… I was filled with so much rage and fear. That I would lose you. Before I had you.”

He leaned his forehead against yours, you closed your eyes, heart beating out of your chest at what you were hearing. Was this a dream?

Loki’s voice was just above a whisper. “Can I? Have you?”

You moved away slightly to look into his eyes. “Yes.”

He leaned in, his hands splaying on your back, as you stood on your toes. The moment his lips touched yours, you felt a current run straight to your heart. It was as if your brain rewired, the missing piece of the primer clicked into place and unlocked everything.

Snow was falling as Loki kissed you under the tree. You didn’t hear the whistles and hollering of passerbys. You didn’t feel the cold wind. You felt elated, buzzing even.

“Your phone is buzzing,” Loki murmured against your lips.

“Hm?” you said dreamily. 

“Your phone is buzzing,” Loki smiled, “someone’s calling you.”

Quickly you pulled out the damned device. Before you could even say your name, you heard Tony say: “So sorry for disrupting, Y/N, but we got a slight issue here that needs your expert skills pronto.”

You hung up, burying your head in Loki’s chest. His laugh rumbled in his chest. “We’ll talk more later.”

Breathing in his scent and holding onto him, you weren’t ready to let go. “Promise?”

*****

“Oh god, yes,” you sighed in absolute bliss. “That’s the spot, right there.”

Your groan sounded through the kitchen. You deserved that after three hours of extra work on Christmas Eve.

“Here?” Nat asked.

“Yes, yes! Please don’t stop,” you begged, putty in her hands, eliciting more noises from you.

“Maybe you should try yoga. Your shoulders and your whole upper body are so tense and full of knots. There’s a class I go to tomorrow at lunchtime, if you want to join me?”

“No time,” you murmured. “Heavens, Nat, what else can you do with those hands?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she teased.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Banner interrupted, grabbing Nat by the hand and dragging her to the door. “I’m happy to share my girlfriend’s masseuse skills for a severe case of muscle lock, but I’m afraid I have a personal request now.”

You opened your eyes to catch Nat winking at you, a slight blush on her cheeks as she was pulled out of the room. “So I’m your girlfriend now?” you heard before they disappeared down the corridor.

You laughed and turned in your stool. Thor, Scott and Loki stood staring. Thor at the ends of his braids, Scott at his fingernails, Loki at you. Eyes intense and dark. You swallowed.

“Y/N, a word, if you please,” Loki said, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and marching out of the room, with you trying to keep up with his long strides, your coat and shoulder bag in your other hand. 

He didn’t say a single word until you reached his room - it was closest - and the door shut behind you, locking the outside world out. He pushed you against the door, arm placed against the wood above your head, body leaning into yours, not quite touching.

“That was… a rather interesting display,” he remarked quietly, his breath puffing against your face as he spoke. “In future, I would prefer if your keening was reserved for me.”

Your hands found the buttons of his shirt. “That sounds like an exclusive right to me.”

“It most certainly is.” His lips hovered over yours.

Your index finger slipped in the space between two buttons. “A right that needs to be earned,” you whispered, your finger grazing his skin.

His breath hitched ever so slightly. “Do not challenge me, darling,” he leaned in, his body moving against yours teasingly. “It might be,” his mouth brushed against your earlobe, “too taxing for you.”

You scoffed, but his lips silenced you. His stance shifted as he picked you up and placed you on the nearest surface - a sideboard - and stepped between your legs. He broke the kiss, to cup your face. For a long moment he just gazed at you. The heat in his eyes seemed to intensify, turning you into a needy mess. He made a show of taking off your glasses, folding the temples and carefully putting them on the side board next to you. Your core clenched.

He held out his hand for you to hop off the furniture. You took it and he took to your lips.

It was quite possible that several things fell off on your way to Loki’s bedroom. When you pushed him into the wall to open the damned buttons of his shirt, a picture might have fallen. A vase, perhaps, when he picked you up and spun you around so your back was against the doorframe next to the fragile ornament. Your head hit the heavy frame of a painting, rendering it lopsided, when Loki feasted on your throat, and you tilted your head back to allow him better access.

Kissing, licking, nipping, sucking - he was intent on leaving marks. Your fingers somehow were in his hair, keeping his head in place. Soft, his hair was so soft. A sharp contrast to the teeth you felt pulling on your skin. His ministrations drew a long moan from you.

Loki smiled against your skin. “Yes, my siren, sing.”

Your back hit the mattress and he crawled over you. His hair a curtain, screening you off from the rest of the world in your own sacred space. His shirt hung open, your hands reached out, tracing each line, each dip. His tongue against yours mimicked the motion of his hips that rolled into you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, meeting each movement, as if you had practised this dance many times before. He pulled away to tug off your pullover. His fingers pushed up your bra and then he sucked your nipple into his hot mouth, making you arch your back.

“Loki, please.”

You didn’t really know what you begged for. More, probably. More of this, more of him.

He pulled you up so you both were kneeling on the bed. Shaking hands fumbled with clothes and fastenings and then you were both naked. Your breath hitched at his beauty.

“Can I…,” you started, voice sounding hoarse. You looked up at him. “Please let me worship you.”

Something flickered across his face - surprise? He gave a curt nod and then watched every single one of your movements.

You took his right hand, tracing each finger with yours, the veins on the back of his hands. You brought his hand up to your face, cradling it to your cheek, before kissing the palm of his hand. One finger at a time, you sucked it into your mouth, to the knuckle, your tongue swirling around the digit, before releasing it and pressing a kiss to the tip, before moving on to the next.

Your hands traced the skin of the inside of his arm, his veins, the rise and fall of his muscles, and up over his shoulder, across his chest to his left arm, which you gave the same treatment. Each birthmark, each scar was kissed. Your hands skimmed over his chest, your lips followed the path. Loki’s breath stuttered when you sucked on his left nipple, before you released it, softly blowing on it. It puckered. You bestowed the same treatment upon the other nipple.

“Please, lie down,” you whispered and he complied.

You lay next to him, kissing his forehead, your fingers running through his hair along his scalp, gently tugging. Onwards, to kiss the curve of each eyebrow, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, his chin, along his jawline to his ear. You felt his body shiver when you breathed: “You are so beautiful, inside and out.”

Then your teeth closed around his earlobe, gently pulling. A deep moan sounded through the room. Up until now he had let you do whatever you wanted to and not touched you. But his restraint waned and his hands splayed on your back, pulling you flush against his body. You kept going, your lips now worshipping his delectable throat. He tilted his head back to give you better access.

“Herregud,” he rasped as you kissed, licked and sucked on his sensitive skin. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard, his hands growing slack on your back.

You kissed the dip between his collar bones and worked your way down his torso, lips kissing, hands caressing. Further and further you went, along his abs, dipping in his belly button, following the trail of hair below. You leaned back a bit, to look at him. He was fully erect, heavy, swaying slightly. The purple mushroom head gleaming with pearls of pre-cum, thick veins running down the shaft to his pubic hair.

You licked your lips, curling one of your hands around his base, the other cupping his testacles. Then you looked up at him. He was up on his elbows, staring down at you hotly, biting his lips as he watched you in anticipation. You made sure to have and maintain eye contact and then you took him into your mouth.

He hissed, his head falling back, a loud moan following when you hollowed your cheeks to apply suction, the salty taste of his precum on your tongue.

You moved your hand up his length, still sucking, giving his testicles a gentle yet confident squeeze. Up your mouth went, your tongue circling his slit, before sucking him back in. The third time you did it, his hands clasped your shoulders.

“Stop.”

You looked up at him. Loki was breathing hard and you let his cock slide from your mouth with a wet ‘plop’.

In an instant your back was on the mattress and he hovered over you.

“Please don’t misunderstand,” he explained, voice rough, “I loved it, but I have plans.”

He settled between your legs, eyes locked on yours, hand on your thigh, pulling your leg around his waist. His hand slid up, splaying over the fullness of your ass, before giving it a firm squeeze, then sliding over the globe and dipping between your legs. When his slender digits made contact with your aching centre, you cried out. Your whole body was throbbing with need.

“All this nectar is for me?” he rasped. 

You nodded.

“Oh, I have to see this.” And in one fluid motion he sat back on his heels, spreading your legs with his hands, looking at your dripping wet centre in amazement.

“Wait a moment,” he said, before he scrambled off the bed and disappeared in the corridor, only to come back a few moments later to resume his place between your legs. He handed you something with a smirk. Your glasses.

“I want you to see me.”

You put them on, your heartbeat accelerating. You bit your lip in anticipation. He looked up at you, his hot breath puffing against your wet core and then his flat tongue licked you all the way from your entrance to your clit. Your fingers fisted in the bedsheets, eyes falling shut in ecstasy, mouth open in a silent cry.

“Look at me.”

You did. He started a rhythm of licking, sucking and lapping that had the coil inside you wind up and tighten impossibly in no time at all. You fell back onto a pillow. Then he slid two fingers inside you and your hands dove into his hair, tugging, scraping.

What a visual. Loki between your legs, eyes burning into yours, humming and moaning against your clit, fingers sliding in and out of you, curling just at the right time, at the exact angle you needed. It was as if you were a book he’d read a thousand times before. Your toes curled and then you fell into the abyss. You moaned out his name over and over as the orgasm washed over you, leaving your legs shaking.

Loki moved up your body, placing kisses on your thighs, your tummy, your breasts, before he brushed some hair out of your face. You took your glasses off, he placed them on the bedside table. His eyes searched yours.

“I need you, Loki,” you managed, pulling him down.

He kissed you deeply, slowly, the taste of you on his tongue. His hips rocked forward and he slid inside you all the way to the hilt. Loki stilled and broke the kiss, resting his damp forehead against yours.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

Your fingers caressed his back. Unable to form words, you nodded. Then he moved. His hips rocked into yours in slow, deep thrusts. He filled you so well, stimulating places inside you you didn’t know existed. Your hands ran over his back, down his sides, making him shiver. He watched you, eyes dark but warm. One hand found your swollen clit and his fingers circled and rubbed, applying the pressure you needed to fall into oblivion again. Your feet pressed into his ass cheeks to bring him closer, deeper and his name fell from your lips over and over.

He rocked inside you as you rode out your orgasm. You opened your eyes to look at him in wonder. Never had you seen anything as beautiful as Loki. He seemed to glow from the inside. Maybe it was your imagination. You lifted your head, cupping his face to pull him in for a kiss. His tongue moved languidly against yours, savouring the intimacy.

Then he started moving faster, pulling one of your legs up to rest the calf against his shoulder. Deeper, you wanted him deeper. You couldn’t get close enough. His mouth was devouring yours in a needy kiss, all tongues and teeth now as he pistoned faster into you, your hips meeting each of his thrusts. His lips found your nipple, sucking, pulling on it, moving to its sibling. You couldn’t believe you were on the verge again already. Never before had you been able to orgasm more than once during intercourse.

The room was quiet but for the moans, the heavy breathing. You were so wet that your coupling’s noise was wonderfully dirty, edging you both on even more.

“Look at us,” Loki commanded and you did.

Nothing had ever been so erotic as watching him fill you, stretch you, sliding out, covered in your juices. His fingers were on your clit again, rubbing, circling.

“I don’t know if I can…”

“One more, darling, give me one more,” he insisted, breathlessly.

His hips moved faster, as did his fingers and you were there, on the edge. Loki’s eyes met yours and he knew. His movements stuttered, pupils fully blown, jaw slack, a drop of sweat sliding down his temple.

“Cum with me,” you whispered, your fingers dragging down his back, possibly breaking skin, squeezing and pulling his ass into you.

And he did, propelling you into bliss with him. Your name fell from his lips in a string of Norse profanities. His cock pulsated as the hot ropes of his seed marked your insides as his, your pussy eagerly clenching around him, making sure every last drop would be spent inside you. His movements slowed and then he stilled, buried inside you.

Loki’s lips pressed onto yours in a tender kiss. You stayed in the embrace until you both caught your breath. Then he pulled out of you, your mixed juices running out of you. He could have cleaned you up using magic.

But Loki got out of bed, got a wet flannel from the bathroom and gently cleaned you, kissing your tired body, before sliding back into bed. He pulled you into his arms, your hands joined over his heart, legs intertwined and you both lay there, in your bubble of utter and complete happiness under warm covers, watching the snowflakes dance outside the window in the early hours of Christmas Day.

Christmas Day!

“Oh, wait here!”

You scrambled off the bed and ran to the door, forgetting about your nakedness, pulling your shoulder bag from under your coat. You pulled something from it and brought it back to Loki. He was sitting up, forearms resting on his knees, an intrigued look on his face. 

“Merry Christmas,” you said.

He looked at you and then at the present you held out to him. He cocked an eyebrow as he took it and pulled the fabric ribbon off. His hands parted the paper and then he grew completely still.

“Where in the nine realms did you get this?” he asked after a few moments, voice sounding rough.

“A friend of mine got her hands on this a while back. I thought you might like it.”

He stared at the book, transfixed. His slender fingers caressing the embossed letters on the front and then he lifted it to take in the scent of the pages. His eyes closed.

“Do you? Like it, I mean?” You were worried about this book. It had cost an arm and a leg, but you thought it would be worth it.

“Like it?” Loki asked, finally looking at you and pulling you on his lap. “My mother used to read me his poems when I was a child. I rediscovered it later. This is…”

He was searching for words, failed to find them and instead kissed you, hard, hand fisting in your hair. After a long moment, he broke the kiss.

“Thank you, love.”

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, stroking his pulse point.

“Will you read it to me?” you asked, a bit out of breath.

Nodding, he sat against the headboard, you curled up against him with his arm around you. He made sure you were both tucked under the covers. Then he opened the book and cleared his throat.

“Kormákr Ӧgmundarson ‘Sigurðardrápa ‘Drápa’. This is one of my favourites, he wrote it for the love of his life.”

His fingers wandered up your arm.

“Brunnu beggja kinna

bjǫrt ljós á mik drósar,

oss hlœgir þat eigi,

eldhúss of við felldan.”

His digits absently stroked your ribcage, skirting over the side of your breast. The rhythm and intonation of his deep voice made you clench your thighs.

“Enn til ǫkkla svanna

ítrvaxins gatk líta,

þrǫ́ muna oss of ævi

eldask, hjá þreskeldi.”

He paused, closing the book and brushing his lips against the skin of your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut.

“What-what does he say?” you all but stuttered.

Loki kissed along your collarbone. Humming against your skin.

“The bright lights of both

her cheeks burned onto me

from the fire-hall's felled wood;

no cause of mirth for me in that.”

His hands cupped your breasts as he sucked and teased one of the nipples. Your hands tugged on his hair, desperate for him again already. You felt his need hard and heavy against your thigh.

“By the threshold I gained a glance

at the ankles of this girl

of glorious shape.”

Loki moved to lie between your legs, hands sliding over your breasts, your tummy, your thigh, down to your ankle, lifting it to wrap it around his hips.

“Yet while I live

that longing will never leave me.”

His voice faltered as he rocked his hips forward and your bodies were joined once more.

“That longing will never leave me,” he repeated like a vow, eyes serious and warm.

“Nor me,” you pledged, before you lost yourselves in the physical expression of your feelings once more.

~ fin ~

[realcube]

NEED you to write more for kiyoomi i am BEGGING

SEA STONE ☽｡⋆

synopsis ☀ you're at the beach with sakusa and play a little prank on him!

tags/tws ☀ omi being sassy smh, mentions of drowning, sappyyyy, timeskip but sfw, maybe ooc idk & fluff

wc ☀ 1.4k

you ask sakusa to go to the beach with you and he agrees. it's that simple.

had atsumu or hinata witnessed that, they'd likely think you used some sort of black magic on him or a mind control spell. and in a way, you do have him in an — almost supernatural — trance. he's utterly bewitched by you.

so if going to beach is what it took to see even a glimpse of that pretty smile of yours, it was infinitely worth. although, as one may imagine, he's not a big fan of the beach. sand clinging to body, blistering heat beating down on him, limited space packed with sweaty bodies, amateaur volleyball; it's all just very unpleasant.

but he finds a way to deal with it. he rolls out his towel and umbrella, to protect him from the sun, and settles down with a good book. though he's only partially reading it, he's mostly watching you frolic through the water and mess around with the damp sand. you were so playful and fun, it enchanted him. occasionally you'd run back up to where he is to plant a kiss on his cheek or ask him to reapply sunscreen on your back, that was his favourite part.

you understood sakusa's adversity to the ocean — there's definitely some gross stuff in there — but you just loved swimming too much. gliding through the cool water, the seaweed tickling your skin and waves crashing gently against you. it's a once-in-a-year experience that you had to enjoy, but if sakusa didn't want to do it with you, that was alright, it was already sweet enough that he agreed to come with you. although he never outright said he didn't want to swim, you got that impression from the fact he was wearing an unbuttoned white shirt and matching trousers.

eventually, the sun began to cast an orange glow as it slowly set over the horizon, and many people had packed their things and left by now, so you figure it's about time you and sakusa do the same. as you're walking back towards him, you feel your ring slip off your finger a bit, but you promptly push it back on.

that is, until you have an idea.

a harmless prank, really. you take your ring off and slip it under the material of your top, then you rush over to sakusa with a frantic expression, to which he looks up with immediate concern.

" 'omi! i think i lost my ring in the ocean and i'm not sure what to do! i swear i had it on me when i came over here the las—"

sakusa hastily places his book down and stands up, resting a hand upon your wet shoulder and quickly interjecting, "don't worry, (y/n). we'll find it."

you nod while clutching your hand, your look downwards, which he assumes is out of shame but really you are trying to hide the evil smirk creeping onto your face.

"do you think it may be in the sand?" he asks, collecting the towel off of the ground to wrap up your poor, trembling figure.

you shake your head, "no, it probably slipped off while i was swimming."

sakusa sighs out of his nose. that is exactly what he didn't want to hear. "alright, honey." without another word, he relucantly starts making his way over to the shore, with you following suit.

just as he reaches it, he bites his lip, standing right before where the sea meets the sand, watching intently as the water spills forward against his toes. you stand behind him, snug in the towel, and prompt, "are we gonna look?"

he looks at you over his shoulder, with a dull glint in his eyes. the ocean is just so disgusting, filled with all sorts of creatures, and he loathed getting wet, it was such an annoyance. but seeing your sweet face, knowing your longing for something, what kind of husband would he be if he didn't at least try to help? he'd do anything to stop you from being sad. though he did momentarily consider perhaps just buying another ring.

without any further delay, sakusa puffed out his chest and rolled up his trousers to his knees and hesitantly stepped into the ocean, cringing at the feeling of sand between his toes. the contaminated water making contact with his pristine white trousers also killed him a little, but it's all worth it for you, to see that smile.

speaking off which, once he was knees-deep, he turned around to look and furrowed his brows when he noticed you hadn't entered yet, "(y/n). aren't you going to look with me?"

you shake your head, wearing a cheesy grin on your face that only confuses him more. "it's okay, kiyoomi. i was only kidding about my ring being lost. look, here it is." you pull it out from it's hiding place and slip it back onto your finger, "i just wanted to see if you would get into the water and help me look for it."

sakusa sighed, again. ususally something like this would piss him off, but you only amused him. "of course i would, (y/n). i'd do anything for you, i thought you knew that."

you blush a tad at your husband's kind words, then motion for him to come out of the water. "you're the best, omi. but you can get out of the water now."

he blinks, looking down at his feet sunk into the sand, "this isn't as bad as i thought. maybe next time we c—"

"no, seriously, omi, get out!—" you try to leap forward and grab his hand to pull him out but it's too late. the big wave you had seen rushing towards you came with such speed and ferocity that it knocked sakusa right off his feet, leading to him falling back into the water.

thankfully, you are able to grab his arm in time to help him upright again, so he isn't submerged for too long. and although some may say you just saved his life, he doesn't look awfully impressed with you after he gasps for air and wipes the salt water away from his eyes, with a single seaweed draped over his shoulder like a very ugly shawl.

fully soaked now, he grits, "let's just go."

rather unbothered by the tide, considering you were already wet from swimming, you nod sympathetically and lock arms with your boyfriend, guiding him back to your stuff while trying your best not to burst out laughing, "good idea."

he huffs and tosses a strand of dripping hair away from his face, "seems like i'm the only one who has those anymore."

"you've been spending too much time with atsumu. his attitude has really rubbed off on you." you titter, gathering all your stuff, "or maybe that wave knocked all the sense out of you."

"that might be true. the ocean does make people stupider, clearly." sakusa raises his eyebrows, watching you take all the stuff while stands with his arms crossed.

"oh wow, maybe i should've left you out there for longer. maybe instead of my ring, you could've found yourself some manners." you throw the blanket at him, since he isn't holding anything, which he catches frantically.

"you're ring wasn't even there to begin with." he turns around to look at the ocean, catch off-guard by how gorgeous it look in the sunset.

"and neither were your manners!" you retort, glancing at him to see his reaction, only to find him staring off into the distance. you follow his gaze and gasp slightly at the ethereal sight.

it's sobering, watching the golden sun lower over the ocean, casting a hue pink and orange over the sparkling water. the perfect end to the perfect day. it made you wonder if you'd ever see something so beautiful ever again, though that's not a thought you shared with sakusa, as he knew he'd wake up next to you tomorrow.

he gulped and turned to you, and you beamed at him, instantly leaping into his arms. he stumbled a little but quickly found his balance and held you against him, close.

"thank you for coming with me today, 'omi. i had so much fun."

he smiled against your damp hair, and kisses your jaw, "you don't need to thank me. going anywhere with you is always my pleasure." his hands run down your arm until they find yours, and they graze the back of your fingers, brushing over your glittering ring, "because you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

[todayontumblr]

Thursday, July 6.

Rhonda Perkins would like to fight you.

I mean, you've got five hours to kill...

...and say, speaking of killing, it seems you've got a decision to make. You could sit squashed in your seat and spend the time reading a book. You could flick through the inflight catalog of overpriced, well, just about everything. You could stare out of the window at the majesty of the cities shrinking into the palm of your hand; becoming lost and adrift in the mists of clouds; looking out over endless tides of white and endless blue expanse above you; at the changing vistas of sea, landscapes, and cities. You could listen to music. You could even have a little sleep. You sit and graze on snacks, with your eyes staring empty and happy into space, and your jaw chomping down rhythmically like an airborne llama. You decide to browse your phone, albeit within the limits of airplane mode. It is then, as your eyes gaze vacantly at the screen in your palm, you receive a most unexpected notification.

Because here, on this flight from Los Angeles International Airport to Newark Liberty International Airport, New Jersey (thank you @bastardofthebog), it seems you managed to get yourself a rather good seat. A window view, ample leg room, and the only seat on the plane in which you can actually lean back, kick back, and relax. It's near the toilet, and there is no one sitting next to you. The crying baby is at the back of the aircraft; it's basically in another postcode. Your seat is also near the front, next to the trolley for overpriced drinks and snacks (you don't actually buy anything, of course, it's 2023 after all, and times are tough. But it's great to feel like a VIP.) It's conveniently next to the emergency exits in case of... well. You know. In case.

This prime seat of yours has not gone unnoticed; this much is evident from the notification on your phone. Rhonda Perkins is on this same flight. Rhonda Perkins has noticed your seat, and she likes what she sees. What you have to understand is when Rhonda Perkins likes what she sees, she gets what she sees. She weighs 108 lbs and she is 5ft 2 inches. She surveys the top of your head leaning back into the chair. Her fierce gaze, direct and cast downwards, rests upon the horizon of seats like a menacing sunrise. The inexplicable notification on your phone informs you that Rhonda Perkins would like to fight you for this prized place on your journey toward New Jersey. The passengers don't know, but they will. The walkway is clear. You feelin' lucky, kid?

She is waiting x

[asraxfile]

DON'T

sypnosis: an adventurous and a brave gryffindor like you couldn't help to get attracted to a cunning and independent slytherin like Soyeon. genre: suggestive forbidden love typa, hogwarts au pairing: slytherin!Soyeon x gryffindor!fem!reader warnings: cursing, suggestive content(HEAVY make out session, Soyeon touching readers 🍒) word count: 1.1k

A/n: i was inspired by the song DON'T by Ari Abdul especially that one part "Oh you say that you want it so baby come get it" something like that was STONED in my mind. Enjoy reading my potter neverlands ^^

The sun finally set under the horizon as the full moon made its way to light up the sky over Hogwarts. Many students are already going to their rooms early because of the passing night. A young gryffindor like you still stayed in the library to finish some tasks for tomorrow’s astronomy class.

Not many students stayed in the library especially at this hour, but you loved some alone time with your head in the books. Raising your head up you scanned the area and inhaled the fresh new air the autumn wind brought between these castle walls. Without getting distracted you manage to continue your work. Your pen scribbling on the paper and rustling through the book’s pages were the only sounds in the library at the given moment.

After quite some time you were finally finished with your homework. Stretching your arms and back you pick up your stuff and put them in your brown bag. Your Herbology book, Potions Class book and finally, your Astronomy homework. Swinging your bag on your shoulder and fixing your mixed orange and reddish tie you were ready to exit the library, but a dark moving silhouette caught your eyes before you left. Quickly moving in the direction of the movement, your heart skipped a beat.

‘What the fuck was that?’ you thought to yourself as you held out your wand tightly. Looking around there was no sign of any living soul, until a very familiar person came out from between the shelves.

“Why so scared, Y/n?? I thought gryffindors were brave.” Her voice was mockingly seductive, but you were glad that it was her.

"Soyeon," you exhaled out, lowering your wand. "What are you doing here?" Asking her, she stepped closer to you, with a usual smirk tugging at her lips. "Couldn't resist a bit of late-night sneaking out," she said, her tone being lazy and curious. “And maybe I wanted to see you.”

Your heart raced at her words, the feeling of her close presence making you flustered even more. "Here? In the library? It's risky." You started, "That's why it’s so fun," she replied, taking another step towards you. The moonlight streaming through the windows highlighting her sharp features, making her look even more attractive. Her black hair shined with her Slytherin brooch and tie. You glanced around, ensuring no one else was there, before whispering,

"You know what,” you started, your voice filled with desperation and security. You were sure no one was in the library yet and this was the perfect time to make a move. “Fuck it.” cursing out, you pulled Soyeon in a lustful and rough kiss. You couldn’t keep it in anymore, everytime you see Soyeon in the halls and can’t take her hand to walk her to her next class, or to sneak quick kisses in the halls, all of it made you so frustrated—all because of the stereotypical rivalry in between your houses. Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Soyeon reading all your intentions for the night, she let herself in the kiss and grabbed your waist roughly, taking the dominance. She spinned you in a different direction and walked you to a table, not breaking the kiss she also needed and wanted for days. She hated to be limited especially when she couldn’t keep her limit of having some kind of attraction for you. It’s like an invisible thread brought her and you together just like that. You felt the table poke you from behind, right over your hips, as you grabbed the edge of it for support while your other hand held Soyeon’s cheek. Soyeon snaked her hand right behind your neck and slightly pulled your hair. Spreading your legs with her knees she takes a step closer to your crotch.

Leaving out a slight moan at the pull, Soyeon breaks the kiss as she puts a hand on your mouth, making you crave more. “Shh, you don’t want them to catch us, don't you?” She teased, exactly how you wanted, as both of you looked around to scan the area again.

After seeing that the coast was clear, Soyeon leaned onto you, her breath sending chills down your spine as she whispered in your ear. “You drive me insane, you know that?” She asks while rubbing your now exposed thigh from under your skirt. “And you love it.” You said, booping her nose as you pulled her by the waist, your bodies crushing onto each other.

Soyeon’s hand slid higher up your thigh, now sending shivers through your entire body. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” she breathed against your lips. “Then don’t hold back” you whispered, your voice trembling with desperation.

You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her even closer. Making Soyeoun let out a low grunt, her lips moving to your neck, kissing and nipping at your sensitive skin. You tilted your body back, your hands giving you support as you leaned on the flat table, making more access for Soyeon to you. The feeling of this forbidden meeting made every touch, every kiss, feel electric and magnetic.

You tugged at her tie, loosening it as you pressed your body against hers. Soyeon’s hand slid up your uniform shirt, her thumb brushing against your lips. “You’re mine,” she whispered, her eyes locking onto yours with a tone that made your knees weak. “All yours" you agreed, capturing her lips in another quick kiss.

Your hands found their way over her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin against your fingertips.The need to be as close to her as possible consumed you both. Soyeon’s lips traveled down your collarbone, her kiss becoming more intense now. You could feel her hand roaming around your warm breasts with purpose, exploring every inch of your torso. Just as things were getting even more heated, a distant sound of doors opening echoed through the library. Both of you froze, listening intently.

Footsteps.

Someone was coming.

“Shit,” you muttered, your heart pounding in your chest. You quickly pulled away, trying to compose yourself.Soyeon’s eyes were filled with frustration. “We need to go,” she said, her voice hushed. “But this isn’t over.” “It never was,” you agreed, straightening your clothes and fixing your hair as quickly as possible.

“Meet me tomorrow night?” She nodded, her expression commanding. “Tomorrow night,” you repeated, her giving you one last, lingering kiss before stepping back into the shadows. Both of you slipping out of the library, going your separate ways, your heart still racing with the thrill of the encounter. As you made your way back to your common room, you couldn’t help but smile, already looking forward to the next time you could steal away with Soyeon. The heated tension and a playful relationship you have with her was all you needed to make your night much more interesting or better said—risky.

[nyxtickled]

Late to the party about the anon hater, and I enjoy your responses to them and everything, but I genuinely wish you wouldn't give these pissant, penny-ante, troglodyte shitheels your necessarily limited time and attention. They really don't deserve it at all.

Did make me think about relationship anarchy, though. Specifically: admittedly, the average house plant probably has a slightly wider social circle than I do right now, but I think I'm probably the only person I know who knows what RA is. I'm not there yet but between me and the horizon is a point at which I can actually Get Out There and Mingle enough to apply any relationship philosophy, and for a variety of reasons that are neither here nor there RA definitely appeals to me, but even if I understand it very well (and I'm not claiming to) that doesn't guarantee I can communicate it well.

Obviously the core of it is just empathy and respect for others' fundamental dignity, which any good relationship (style) should have. But on an immediate, practical level, say you meet someone you're into who doesn't know what RA is; what are you doing to get the message across that this a Thing You Do that you want them to be able to choose intentionally to practice with you?

okay first of all, iconic.

second of all, i can completely relate on the RA front! it’s very minimally known in my circle, outside of places like Feeld (a dating app for nontraditional relationship seekers). in terms of explaining exactly what it means to me and my intentions with practicing it, i usually start off by comparing it to non-hierarchal polyamory; that’s the closest thing that people tend to be a little more likely to understand.

so basically what it could generally look like is first me introducing that i have a partner/wife that i am nesting with, and that we practice RA.

“what’s RA?” relationship anarchy! it’s a style of non-monogamy, similar to non-hierarchal polyamory where my partner and i date separately and stray away from terminologies like “primary,” “secondary,” “main,” or “side” partners. there’s much more to it than just a lack of hierarchy though!

[now hypothetically let’s say the conversation has continued and there’s been expressed interest in developing some sort of relationship]

this would be the part where i encourage them to learn a little about RA to see how they feel about it based on their own research. there’s a translated Relationship Anarchy Manifesto which can be read here, very succinct and straightforward in terms of the ideological practices. then there is the Relationship Anarchy Smorgasbord which is a good jump-off point for defining the things you’re both looking for in a connection at that very moment, and then identifying the overlap and determining where you’d both like to begin:

and then ofc there are the more in-depth readings i might suggest, like rn im currently really enjoying the book Relationship Anarchy: Occupy Intimacy! by Juan-Carlos Pérez-Cortés. but i mean, it’s not like they HAVE to do a bunch of deep learning about it (although if they want to enter into a relationship with you they probably should want to wholly understand the relationship style you practice lol).

at the bare minimum, this is the stuff i’ve shared with people who were into me and didn’t know what RA was. sometimes they’re just like “oh cool!” and that’s about it, other times (like with my wife) they’re like “oh i love this let me learn everything i can about this” and it works out really well.

lmk if that answers your question, or if i need to clarify anything else i’d love to try! <3

[sunnysam-my]

Dark Academia is a subculture and it isn't problematic, just misunderstood.

I am so tired of people that aren't a part of this community shitting on dark academia literally any time it gains popularity again, claiming that it's pretentious, elitist and racist. It's not problematic, at least not in a way most people criticise it for.

What all of those people don't seems to understand is that there's the dark academia aesthetic and there is the dark academia the subculture. Even when they do understand they still put people who are only interested in the fashion and overall vibe together with people who are dark academia.

Why is dark academia a subculture?

First let's start with what even subculture is?

It's a cultural group within a larger culture, often sharing a collection of values, beliefs, rituals and traditions. Despite what many believes, it doesn't have to have any connection to music, like Star Trek and Star Wars fans, but there's no need for having a shared fandom at all, like the gays, bikers and youth.

Participation in the dark academia subculture is not limited to following a specific set of fashion. It suggest preferred activities, hobbies, philosophies and lifestyles. The focus is on reading and expanding one’s horizons, on becaming the best version of oneself no matter the cost, especially by engaging in classical literature, history, foreign languages, mythology, art and philosophy. On top of that DA is actually connected to certain music (classical and neoclassical) and fandoms.

The (incorrect) criticisms:

1. One of the more common criticisms of dark academia is that of its superficiality and pretentiousness – that it is more a fetishisation of intellectual life than real intellectual life. "Instead of being a reading society, it's a Dead Poets Society cosplay." This is just simply untrue. Yes, there are people who are purely here for the aesthetic and vibes, but they aren't part of the subculture. People who are genuinely part of this community do read all those books, write poetry, journal e.t.c regularly and try to be well educated.

2. The money issue. Now this is where it gets funny. Dark academia is often called classist and racist because of it's "idealised vision of the academic lifestyle in which the money is simply there". Obviously in places where higher education is strictly financially driven studying is a bitch. Nowadays there are even a lot of doctors who are homeless, especially in US. But DA is mainly a European thing, and in a lot of EU countries studying isn't that expensive, it's not cheap either (books costs a lot and not working doesn't help), but you don't need to pay for a good education, you need to study hard and compete with others to get good education.

This however is not a dark academia problem. It's a harsh reality. One that we need to fight with. Getting higher education shouldn't make you get into a debt. It shouldn't make you sacrifice social life for studying all your life only to end on the streets.

3. "Eurocentric obsession". This is so dumb I don't even know to say. How can you possibly call people, mostly from Europe, problematic for being fascinated by Europe's history, it's past culture, Greek mythology, mostly European philosophers (but American too), Latin that is still fucking taught at many schools here, etc. All of things are taught in schools here. There is nothing wrong with you being obsessed with Asian royalty and making it part of your personality, but God forbid, you, a white person, are obsessed with the best parts of your history and culture 🙄.

4. Another criticism of dark academia is that it encourages unhealthy behaviour, both physically (caffeine overconsumption, smoking, drugs) and mentally (perfectionist, constant competition). The pursuit of perfection comes at a price. The entire idea of DA is to study as hard as possible so you can reach enlighten. It's workaholism, except it's school, not work. Now this is why I think dark academia isn't problematic in a way people think, but is misunderstood.

A melancholic comforting dream

It's easy to understand why people think DA is unhealthy or fake. Nights spent studying, writing essays for hours on end, drowning in books and writing excessive notes. For many this sounds like a nightmare, but dark academia romanticise it. It see it as the true joy of university life. At the same time there's taking joy in reflecting on what is irretrievably lost, pessimistic and melancholic.

In reality most people in this community are overworked neurodivergent, usually twice exceptional, youth who struggles mentally. So many people are twice exceptional and it's very obvious. The hyperfixetions, the love for linguistics and humanities, the hate of math.

For many Dark Academia is a coping method.

Staples of dark academia fiction explore intellectualism, classic literature and self-discovery, but also the struggle of fighting for your identity, the way humans are shaped by their trauma, the way they destroy themselves to be better. The word "dark" in Dark Academia is primarily about those dark sides of the human nature, not just the dark colours of the DA aesthetic.

If you think that Dead Poets Society romanticised suicide or Kill Your Darlings academicly motivated drug use then you're the crazy one here. People loved those movies, because of how relatable they were, even the suffering.

Studying is a bitch. If you make it fun then you are less depressed about the fact that you don't have the choice to not study all night. It's not just nostalgia for what you haven't experienced, but what you have to endure all your youth. Some people are forced to study to be the very best and sacrifice their (social) lives, because the system is so broken, but if you can make it into your own, comforting, time - it's better. Sure, the movies and books have lots of harmful copying mechanism, but irl (or in this case online) this community encourages healthy methods like reading, making art, journaling, acting etc.

I do think there's a lot of to talk about when it comes to, for example, sexism, and I do agree DA needs more diversity than just white cis man, but like I said, it's not problematic in a way most people criticise it for.

[gynarchyboi]

MsReneeLane isn't available at this time day 9

For those of you who have gone through my training on Fetlife you know these 10 rules of male submission by heart. It's time to share them on Facebook. Submission is a 24/7 and 360 degree commitment that reaches deeply into how a man lives his life.

1.Exercise Daily: Be physically fit for general physical and mental health. A woman cannot train someone too weak to accept her discipline.

2.Eat Healthy: Deny yourself the empty calories of white sugar and starchy foods. Think of your female owner, when you deny yourself. Diet is part of your spiritual path.

3.Read good books. Talk about them: conversation and communication is a cornerstone of good relationships. By increasing your knowledge and expanding your horizons you make yourself a more interesting companion.

4.Volunteer: Be active in your community and give back to society. Join a service organization, pay the dues, volunteer your efforts. By becoming active, you increase the number of people you interact with and you make yourself a more well-rounded person.

5.Accept Discipline. Stay chaste most of the time.: Gain focus and determination by harnessing your sexual desires.. Remaining chaste for the woman in your life allows you to focus on serving her more diligently. If you are single, limit orgasms to the weekends. If you are partnered, surrender when and how you orgasm to your domme. Practice wearing a chastity device until it becomes a natural part of you. Submit to a weakly discipline session from your domme to help you on your path of submission. Never make mistakes to enhance this punishment. Instead, be slavishly devoted and thankful for any discipline a woman gives you. Always do your best.

6.Clean: Maintain a clean and organized living space. Dig in and do the boring drudgery of housework. Your efforts will give your woman enough energy to dominate you. If you are single, live as if a woman might inspect your quarters at anytime.

7.Promote and Support Women: Promote the practical and political needs of women. Doing this will give you a deeper understanding of women. Vote for women in whatever politics party you find yourself. See the promotion of books like mine as something practical you can contribute to hasten the coming matriarchy. Consider how much easier finding a domme could be if there was a movie you could direct a prospective woman to see. You could point at my sub in the movie that I hope to make and say, "I dream of living like that man for the right woman." She will see the love and devotion of this sub and become interested.

8.Respect All Women: Treat all women as if they were the key holders of your chastity belt. Especially treat women with respect who because of age or looks don't have a lot of sexual power. Other women will see this and they will be impressed by your sensitivity to women.

9.Disengage: Abstain from pornography and live in the real world. Limit yourself to 30 minutes a day of leisure activities online. Limit television. Spend your free time working, reading, playing, and loving others.

10.Recite Your Mantra: Intone it several times daily. Do this out loud. Recite it for your ears to hear, "I am only a slave; it is a privilege to serve." This simple act, overtime, will redirect your focus towards serving all women and especially the woman in your life. This mantra will empower you.

Do all 10 of theses. Don't leave one out. Women are always watching. Our eyes scan the herd, looking for the right man to cull and make our own. Make yourself the perfect prey.

Date Jun 24, 2019.

[secondhandbagofholding]

One of my greatest anxieties about being a would-be author is the state of the world of publishing. To be fair my knowledge of it is limited. I don't think it's a world you know much about unless you have already traveled to it by being published, if you are a native there as an editor or publisher, or if you are on the outside looking at brochures for the place hoping to one day board whatever train it is that can take you there so your ideas and manuscripts can become published works. The workings of the publishing industry aren't common knowledge to most people, most probably because why would it need to be? Authors author the books. Publishers publish the books. Readers read the books. Why should the reader need to know what's going on in the other parts of the process? Their part is simple; go to the library or the bookstore, acquire the book, and read it.

But as someone who is part of that last category, the reader, trying to enter into the first category, the author, the blind spot I have for how the second category does its job causes me a great deal of stress. And, to top it all off, reports are fairly constant now that the world of publishing is, like mostly every other industry, overrun now with the idea of cheap and forgettable products. Ursula K LeGuin, on her blog back in the 2010's once talked about publishing and why she wouldn't let certain parts of the industry get their hands on her books, or her, if she could help it. She equated, as many people I have read do, the way books are published at breakneck speed, with little substance and even less polish to how fast food and convenience food appeals to the masses. It's quick. It's cheap. It's forgettable. It might nourish you, but it's certainly not everything you need to survive. I might add, that cases where that is the only source of nourishment available are also deplorable, especially in a society where our resources are almost limitless if we weren't so focused on profit and growth only. Fast food is great sometimes, and can fill gaps when other more wholesome nourishment is lacking or unavailable, but eventually everyone needs something more. Eventually everyone has to have something more filling and healthful. For food, that can be a home-cooked meal or even simply a more balanced meal that provides more nutrients. Something that feeds your body, and in some cases, can expand your horizons. For books, its something that feeds your soul, that challenges you, and equally, something that expands your horizons. Unfortunately, publishing is often easier for "fast food" literature. It sells well, it sells a lot, and it doesn't take a lot of time and resources to publish. And for a lot of people, that's the primary source of literature they consume.

But what about the people who don't want to write "fast food" literature? What about the people who don't want to read "fast food" literature? What happens when the only source left is the fast and palatable? What happens when someone comes along with something new and exciting, but it's not as marketable so it simply fizzles to nothing. It loses the chance to expand horizons. It loses the chance to be the main course of someone's banquet of words, edged out by the fast food that's spoiled the reader's appetite.

The rise and risk of AI are a symptom of this problem. Low cost, low quality, fast turnover, fast production. Growth, growth, growth, growth, growth. And authors suffer because of it, but I think, probably more importantly, readers do as well. With nothing to expand our horizons and nourish our souls, our horizons and our souls atrophy. All because it makes publishers and shareholders money. The consumer, the reader, the eater, the artist, the author be damned.

Guillermo Del Toro I think put it well in a recent interview in London, speaking about generative AI:

“A.I. has demonstrated that it can do semi-compelling screensavers... The value of art is not how much it costs and how little effort it requires, it’s how much would you risk to be in its presence? How much would people pay for those screensavers? Are they gonna make them cry because they lost a son? A mother? Because they misspent their youth? Fuck no.”

Call me pompous, or prideful, or full of myself. Call me whatever you want, but I want to make art that requires risk. I want to make art that makes you challenge yourself and question yourself. I want to make art that has something to say and that makes you feel the entire spectrum of human emotion.

But I worry that I will lose that chance, unable to compete, as many chefs, painters, digital artists, and other types of creators around the world are unable to compete, by the rampant unchecked trend toward cheap, easy to consume, easy to produce junk.

[xxmarvelouslifexx]

Hi @catos-wound I was not ignoring your tag! I was reading so many books I wanted to finish at least one for more interesting answers lol. Very delayed book tag game:

Last book I read: The Aeneid by Vergil (Kline translation)

Book I would recommend: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz. I actually have not been able to go back and reread it (or watch the movie adaptation) because it hits a little too close to home. But YA queer latino coming of age for those who like that sort of thing.

Book I couldn't put down: sorry to say this here but The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller did have me in a chokehold. I have mixed feelings about it, but it did lead me down a rabbit hole that led me to romblr so...

Book I've read twice: The Wild Girls by Pat Murphy. I like to reread my comfort YA collection a lot, so there's a lot of rereads there but I am trying to expand my horizons I promise.

A book on my tbr: There's an entire shelf of them, but my bestie gave me All About Love by bell hooks for my birthday so I should probably get around to reading it.

A book I've put down: The Iliad by Homer (fagles translation). Okay I keep putting it down but now that I managed to get through The Aeneid I swear I will finish it by the end of the year.

A book on my wishlist: I've been meaning to buy the Sherlock Holmes collection, I just have so many books and limited space.

A favorite book from childhood: There's a lot of favorites. I really liked the Dear America book series, that was probably the start of my interest in history tbh.

A book you would give to a friend: this is a hard question, depends on the friend.

A book of poetry you own: I don't own any poetry collections 🫣 I will get my hands on Sappho and Catullus expeditiously.

A non-fiction book you own: lots! I've held on to too many books I was forced to read in college. I still have a biography of Margaret Thatcher sitting on my shelf lol.

Currently reading: Pharsalia by Lucan (jwj translation, sorry I did not keep up with the bookclub!) and Servilia and Her Family by Susan Treggiari

Planning on reading next: The Iliad (pinkie promise it will not be put down this time!)

I am way late on this so I think everyone's already done it! No tags from me :)

[aboutnavi]

I never do this, and I've zero awareness of anything that is happening in the marauders fandom etc. because I actually do not spend that much time online, but now I'm pissed so congratulations, I'm mad and I will rent about it.

First of all, I won't get into the whole "white supremacist"/"fascist" allegations, because 1. I feel like you people actually don't know what fascism means anymore and I blame internet brain rot for this so I would genuinely recommend going back to school* - and yep, this is me being polite because you people truly don't wanna hear what I genuinely want to call you because calling your argument stupid is apparently stepping over the line and english also limits myself from the portuguese horizons of names that you people probably wouldn't understand; 2. Because this post about Regulus already said everything it needs to be said and I won't repeat myself - I would recommend reading but as of lately I'm actually doubting you people reading abilities, so maybe do try to read, but give it a good one ok ;)

Second of all: coherence people. You cannot come over tumblr dot com with #anti(insert ship) and then 1. expect people not to react and 2. tell people to "be polite" while you actually make your whole page about hating a certain ship. Let me give an example: I particularly don't like certain couples in the marauders fandom. Have you ever heard of me saying shit about them? Have you EVER seen a post of my on tumblr dot com pissing on people who like them? Is any of my mutuals, friends, or casual followers even knows what couples are they? No. Because when I don't like something, I shut my fucking mouth and I move on with my life, dedicating myself to things that I actually enjoy. That is called not being a bitter loser - see, now I'm actually not being polite, which is different from calling your argument stupid on a tag. Now I'm calling you a bitter loser on the actual post.

"Oh, but I miss when the fandom was like this and this and this and now is all about this and this". I actually don't even have words. Hold my hand while I walk you through this: did you ever thought about not engaging with what you don't like??? See, I don't actually engage with the Harry Potter fandom in general - there is only one couple I read from the original story of the books, and no one knows about it, because I don't make posts about it and I rarely even speak about them. I don't like the Harry Potter fandom. I don't even really respect them. Do I make posts about them? No. Do I cry my eyes out about how the fandom should focus on this one couple I enjoy sometimes? No.

Now, when it comes to Harry Potter, I actually do participate more in the marauders fandom. Do I like all of the marauders fandom? No. Do I spend my precious life hours making posts about those parts I hate and wish it was different? No! You know why? (& I know this must be really difficult to understand): Because I get my stuff, I move to the corner of the fandom where there is people, authors and ships I do like, and I thrive myself in being in the environment that I enjoy, ALL THE WHILE letting people be happy in their own little fandom-corner because, again, I'm not a bitter loser who spends time and time and time again dedicating my whole page about "how the interpretation of these online people I've never met about FICTIONAL CHARACTERS are not fulfilling my idea of "canon" or my own idea of said characters".

And I have great news!!! On ao3, you can actually filter things to not show you ships or dynamics you don't like. Crazy right? Almost like you can actually be part of a fandom and only read certain authors, ships and stories. I know, I know, super duper insane.

"Oh but I don't like the way this author wrote this characters, what should I do except go on tumblr and be a bitter loser?" Oh thank you so much for asking! Have you ever thought of opening something called Google docs? It's magic, I swear. You open and there is a blank page, and then you use your two braincells and you... (dramatic pause) WRITE A STORY YOURSELF! Isn't that great? You actually have freedom to do whatever you wish with whatever characters you like because no one really takes canon seriously and having your own story means you can exercise those brain juices and be creative and expand on the original world building and give attention to characters who rarely appeared on canon. You can even murder very bloodily that one character you really hate. And the best part? When you post, you actually can create a community with people that also likes to read the same things at you and have similar interpretations of the characters! You build your own fandom corner, isn't that so beautiful?

* I will leave it here, also, this:

[manic-intent]

Hello manic! Do you have a Bookmark collection or a list of fic recs? I've checked your AO3 profile and this blog, but haven't managed to find anything. I've been reading your stuff for ages across various fandoms and really quite liked it, so would love to find more stuff that you'd recommend. Thanks for your time, Uxbridge English Dictionary

Hi! Sorry, I don't have fic recs, only book recs :) Thanks for your support though!

Edit: It occurs to me that I should explain in case this seemed very abrupt. Between writing and being a video games addict, my free time to read is limited, so I used to just read published books by diverse authors to try and expand my writing horizons. A few years ago I started reading danmei, and those books are often written in a way where you really can't put them down, it's just one entertaining faceslapping plot after another. I'm reading one right now, in fact, in between writing this comment.

So when I do read fanfic, which is rare, it's often just short smutty PWPs, which is probably not what you're looking for, and which I don't really remember much of after I finish reading it. If you're looking for book recs though, I'm happy to help! Especially if you might be interested in danmei :D

[invinciblerodent]

Honestly i want to start playing DAO and then go up by release from there till the new one cause it all looks so nice and enjoyable but i haven't even started and i keep hearing about the fandom being the worst of the worst and people actually got truamtized from it im genuinely scared... Im only so new to this gaming fandom thing it started with bg3 and sims 4 and stardew valley for me lol everytime i want to install DAO Tumblr shows me a post about the toxicity of the fandom like its fate herself trying to warn me not to go there lmao

Oh babe, don't worry, really!!!! I'm sorry if I made it sound bad earlier lol, it's... well, it's no worse than regular fandom drama I reckon, it's just the one I'm familiar with, and one that's been around a very, very, very long time. The kind of toxicity there is, I genuinely do not think it is any worse than any other fandom's, it's just kind of what happens to every petri dish if you leave it alone for ten years: turns into something of a meme. But if you follow nice people, and stay out of the tags (as is recommended for every fandom tbh), I don't think you have anything specific to worry about.

I'd be DELIGHTED to see more people feel inspired to pick up Origins, partly because I'm a huge believer of art preservation, and think that old games, old books, and old movies alike deserve to be seen/read/played and enjoyed- in part to be able to appreciate what we have now, in part to see where exactly we came from, and in part to see how things have changed. I think that kind of context is necessary for any meaningful commentary to exist.

DAO is an excellent game, despite what people may say- it's just like 15 years old. Naturally, over that time, it has started to show its age: jokes have aged poorly, mechanics feel dated, people and views have mutated and evolved (nobody is the same person in 2024 that they were in 2009, or at least I hope), and the surrounding social environment as well as the technology have changed drastically, to the point that what was once scandalous and a bold, daring move, now just feels dated, stuck in the past, or even offensive. Media that is already out there does not have the luxury of being able to change and adapt as time passes, and I think we need to keep that in mind.

(Edit: adding a paragraph here because the previous one sounded very apologetic and negative: the cinematics in particular still feel intimately real in DAO, its treatment of the ambient and the limited tools it had is still very immersive, and the writing is very strong. I also remember blushing my way through flirting with Leliana that the first time [as a closeted bi woman who hadn't even realized that she's bi at the time], I remember feeling lost, and vulnerable, and terrified at certain parts, and elated, excited, joyful at others. And I really want everyone to be able to feel like that, and also gain the kind of insight they need to be able to see how far gaming as a genre had come.)

I honestly hope you do end up picking it up, because despite its age, it's still one of my absolute favorite games, and one of the stories that made me fall in love with RPGs, and games in general. I still vividly remember the first time I played it, when I was like 18 (which was 12 years ago at this point), and how it broadened my horizons, because until then, I kinda thought that games were either like the Sims, or like.... idk, first person shooters, not these big, sweeping, immersive stories you can get lost in.

I LOVE these games- I feel like that much is clear, lol. I just don't love the people who insist that there is one right way to love them.

I don't want to turn off anon for exactly messages like yours, but honestly, I do recommend to everyone who is at all concerned to do just that, to block liberally, and control their experience of engaging with the games as harshly or as leniently as they like.

It'll be fine. There will likely be an influx of new people picking the series up for the first time (just like there was with BG3) (though lbr, there will probably be a lot of people FORGETTING that the series is 15 years old but I hope they'll keep an open mind), we'll get a much-needed blood transfusion with people like you, and I genuinely hope that you'll have a very nice experience overall. ❤️

........

Also maybe save my favorite reaction image from ten years ago, and use it liberally. I know I'm gonna:

[halamet-chalamet]

hey there lovely! i wanted to try out the spencer reid x reader headcanons, even though i feel like we're both quite the opposite (preferably with earlier seasons reid cuz i'm only in my early 20's!! thank u♡)

i'm an ambivert; i seem a bit cold and closed-off around new people, but once they've taken the time to get to know me more i become outgoing and i would often crack jokes

i love summertime! going to the beach and amusement parks are my favourite things to do, i'm an adrenaline junkie when it comes to rollercoaster. and i still run to an ice cream truck whenever i hear that jingle

my love languages are gift giving and words of affirmation!! i love receiving and giving hand written letters, but i'm not too big on physical touch unless i'm REALLY comfortable with the other person. i also love listening to others ramble even if it's about a topic i don't understand well. i'm easily influenced to pick up a new interest or hobby as long as it's with someone close to me.

i love music!! i play the guitar and i love singing as well. i'll listen to anything from metal, grunge, indie rock to pop, r&b and hip-hop/rap.

i've recently picked up on new hobbies such as, embroidery, scrapbooking/journaling, and reading. i've mostly read horror and thriller since it is one of my fave genres!! i'm into spooky/creepy things, and halloween is my favourite holiday cuz i love to dress up and shamelessly eat candy. i'm also spiritual, i've been practicing tarot, and i'm very drawn to the moon as well as cats!! i wish to adopt 2 someday :')

i also collect stickers, perfumes, crystals, and lots of hello kitty stuff. i love anything pink and hyper feminine but i also adore alternative fashion, i never limit myself to just 1 style. i love thrifting and diy-ing my clothes whenever i can!!

i have red dyed hair, dark brown eyes, 5ft tall, and i have a tiny heart tattoo on my shoulder. i've been doing my own "tattoos" lately, but i limit myself to only poking faux beauty spots on my body before i do actual designs.

Sorry I was kinda dead the past few days :)) I’m back!!

Okay sis! Early seasons Reid is coming your way!

Your ambivert personality is perfect for Spencer!

If he need less you can be less if he needs more you can do that too! (In regards to social situations)

Pshhh when he gets feeling real cheesy he calls you the summer to his winter brooo

Once he gets over how many germs are shared at amusement parks through the railing, the seats, the line, etc he loves to go with you

We all know Spencer loves a good adrenaline rush (hence his job)

Loves to go to the beach with you but alllllways overpacks and gets scared if he goes too far in the water

Just imagine you hearing the ice cream truck and dragging Spencer out with you so he awkwardly runs behind you

And him being all giggly and happy eating his ice cream 😭

Please introduce him to new music my dude he needs to broaden his horizons a LOT and your eclectic taste will do that!!

Gets sooo excited that you don’t get weirded out by horror stuff

He shares his books with you (of the thriller genre)

And definitely asks to do a matching costume!

Spencer picks up on things really easy

So he’ll watch you and your hobbies and learn to do them with you!!

I imagine him loving your hyper femme side

It kinda reminds him of Garcia

I could see you two being friends which makes Spence SO happy

He traces your “tattoos” and thinks they look adorable

It’s a quirk of yours he’ll never get over

And suggests you get the really pretty ones permanent <33

Okay okay okay I’m so sorry this took so long school has been crazy!! But it’s here I hope you enjoy it!! Love you all byeeee 💖💖