#it's a fine distinction at times i will admit but i often feel like it's just a byproduct of really shallow readings

[lith-myathar]

.

[greengoblinswifey]

More than Friends- Brother’s Bsf!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you’ve always had a secret crush on Nicholas, your brother’s best friend and your childhood friend. when he invites you to his show’s premiere, long-buried feelings finally surface, and you face what’s been growing between you all these years.

warnings— friends to lovers, loss of virginity, jealous!nicholas, oral, unprotected sex(don’t let a 🥷🏿 fuck you without one) , fingering, praise kink, fluff, aftercare.

a/n— requests are open <3

You had known Nicholas Chavez for as long as you could remember. He’d been your brother’s best friend since the early days, which naturally made him a big part of your life, too. He was only three years older, but there’d always been a distinct gap, he was your older brother's cool best friend, the one you looked up to, even if you’d never admit it out loud. There was something about him, though, that always lingered in the back of your mind, a pull you couldn't quite name but always felt.

Growing up, you and Nicholas shared a special bond, separate from his friendship with your brother. You’d go out together, always managing to find matching clothes or even wearing identical rings. “Twins,” he’d joke, holding up his hand to show the ring you had given him on his birthday. It was simple and unassuming, but every time you glanced at it, there was an unspoken tension that lay just beneath the surface, neither of you daring to bring it up.

But as the years went by, things changed. Nicholas landed a role on Monsters and Grotesquerie, the TV shows that catapulted him to fame, and it wasn’t long before his life was full of red carpets and late-night shoots. He was often away, and you’d find yourself scrolling through TikTok edits of him when he was too busy to FaceTime. Everyone on social media couldn’t stop talking about how attractive he was, how lucky any girl would be to date him. A knot would twist in your stomach every time you saw those comments, jealousy mixing with a feeling you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

Whenever he did have a moment to breathe, he’d reach out, sometimes posting photos of the two of you together on his stories. His fans would flock to your profile, leaving jealous comments or speculating if you were more than just childhood friends. One time, you’d posted a shot of your hand with his, each of you wearing those same rings from years ago. Fans had gone wild, and your brother hadn’t missed it, either, throwing you a suspicious glance when he’d noticed.

One day, he called you out of the blue with a proposition: he wanted you to be his plus-one for the premiere of Monsters. You’d agreed, trying to keep your excitement in check, though a part of you hoped this might finally be the moment when something would shift between you.

The night of the premiere, you could hardly believe it was happening. The cameras flashed as Nicholas introduced you to his co-stars and other industry people, and people couldn’t stop asking if the two of you were together. Each time, though, he’d shake his head with a soft laugh, throwing an arm around your shoulders and saying, “Nah, she’s like my little sister. We grew up together. It’s nothing like that.”

The words cut deeper than you’d expected. It wasn’t until that moment, standing beside him under the bright lights, that you realized you were in love with him. Maybe you had been for a long time.

It hurt, watching him play it off as though your bond meant nothing more than childhood nostalgia, knowing he would never see you the way you wanted him to.

He turned to you at one point, noticing your silence. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet tonight.”

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Just, taking it all in, I guess.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking like he didn’t quite believe you, but he let it go, just pulling you closer for a photo.

At the after-party, you decided to let loose a bit. Nicholas was busy mingling, so when Cooper Koch found you, you didn’t hold back. With a mischievous grin, you allowed yourself to dance, feeling free as you moved with Cooper, who, to your surprise, didn’t seem to mind the attention either. You leaned in, laughing as the music pulsed around you, and let your body fall into rhythm with his.

Suddenly, a firm hand grabbed your arm and pulled you back, breaking the spell. “What the hell was that?” Nicholas’s voice was low, his eyes narrowed as he stared at you. He looked annoyed, even... jealous?

“I was just having fun, Nick. It’s a party,” you said, shrugging nonchalantly, though your heart was racing.

He clenched his jaw, looking away from you, and after a tense silence, muttered, “Whatever.” Then he ignored you for the rest of the night.

In response, you doubled down, laughing a little too loudly with Cooper and reaching for his hand as you leaned against him. You could feel Nicholas’s eyes on you now and then, but he kept his distance.

When the party finally ended, you were a bit tipsy, and walking in heels felt like a challenge. Nicholas was by your side in an instant, his arm slipping under your shoulders. "Come on," he muttered, guiding you out. The car ride back was quiet, filled with tension you could almost taste.

Once you reached his place, he carried you to the guest room, careful but intense, his gaze meeting yours with each step. He laid you down gently on the bed, eyes dark as they flicked from your face to your lips. For a moment, he lingered, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned up and kissed him.

The kiss was electric, and he leaned into it, his hands moving instinctively, pulling you closer. But just as quickly, he pulled away, shaking his head. “I can’t do this. Not with you. I can’t do that to your brother.”

You looked at him, a mix of hurt and defiance swirling in your eyes. Before he could say more, you slipped out of your dress, revealing the delicate lace you wore underneath. His breath hitched, and his eyes traveled over you, unable to tear away. "Damn it," he muttered, running a hand through his hair before lowering himself back down, his lips meeting yours again, more desperate this time.

“Forget everything I said,” he whispered against your skin.

Nicholas's fingers slipped down, finding your pussy wet and eager, his touch precise as he stroked and teased you. He rubbed your clit slowly, staring into your eyes, the moment was intimate and everything you ever dreamed of. His thumb rubbed your clit as he slipped his finger inside you and you felt like the world around you ceased to exist. The pleasure built until you couldn't hold back, your body arching as he pushed you over the edge. You lay there, breathing heavily, and as he leaned back, your words broke through the haze between you.

"Nicholas, I'm a virgin," you confessed softly, your cheeks flushing as his eyes widened.

Nicholas looked down at you, visibly stunned, his voice a little rough. "Wait, you're a virgin? But, what about your exes? I thought—"

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, two boyfriends, but my brother scared them off from anything serious. And, honestly, they just weren’t, the right one." You met his gaze, your hand reaching for his. "But you are, Nicholas. I want this. I want it to be you."

He hesitated, taking in your words, the sincerity in your eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek, still searching for reassurance.

You nodded, your answer clear in the warmth of your expression.

He leaned down, pressing gentle kisses along your body, his touch reverent and careful. As he moved lower, he whispered, “I want to make this good for you.” His mouth pressed against your sensitive clit, eyes never leaving yours as he tasted you slowly, purposefully, coaxing wave after wave of pleasure from you until you finally came, breathless.

You reached out to his clothed cock to help him, but he shook his head, a smile curving his lips. “Tonight’s about you pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice warm and low. “This is your first time, and I want to make sure it’s perfect. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

The room was quiet, the kind of stillness that carried a weight of its own. The two of you sat close, the low lighting casting soft shadows across his face. Nicholas had been your friend for years, practically family, and yet, right now, that familiar face held a depth you hadn’t seen before.

He brushed his thumb along your cheek, a touch he'd offered countless times in comfort or friendship, but this time, he lingered, his thumb tracing the delicate line of your cheekbone. Your breath caught, the air thickening between you. The words tumbled from his lips, barely above a whisper, as if he feared breaking the fragile tension. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, heart pounding, and took his hand, intertwining your fingers as if grounding yourself in the moment. “I’ve waited so long, Nick.” He swallowed, his gaze steady, the quiet weight of everything unspoken passing between you.

With a hint of humor to ease your nerves, you took in the sight of him, and your eyes widened. “That’s gonna go inside me?” you said, slightly stunned. He chuckled softly, with a smirk that was all confidence and warmth. “It’ll fit. I’ll make it fit.”

He placed your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Just say the word if it’s too much, and I’ll stop.”

Every step was deliberate, every touch gentle as he moved slowly, his focus entirely on you. He watched your face, the slightest changes in your expression, waiting for any sign of discomfort. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe as your grip tightened around his fingers. Each small movement was slow, careful, his whispered reassurances grounding you.

You gasped, and he immediately stilled, eyes scanning your face. “Everything okay?” His tone was soft, a mixture of concern and patience. A shaky breath left your lips, and you nodded, steadying yourself as his gentle encouragement filled the space between you.

“I’ve always loved you, you know that, right?” you whispered, almost afraid to say the words out loud. He hovered just inches from your face, his lips brushing against yours as he replied with a smile that held years of unspoken emotions. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice soft and warm. “I think I always have too, I was just too scared to admit it.”

Nicholas stayed close, his hand finding yours as he moved slowly, stretching you and practically reaching your cervix before whispering, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes Nicholas, please, don't stop.”

He chuckled softly, eyes full of adoration as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “You're taking me so well,” he murmured, his voice warm and encouraging. “I knew you would.” His words and steady movements built you up again until you came all over his thick cock, your body clenching around him as he held you close, grounding you with gentle praise.

“That's it, beautiful, let go for me,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder and neck. When your breathing slowed, he gently flipped you onto your stomach, his touch delicate as he continued, tracing kisses along your shoulders and down your back. “You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you felt the tension building again, his whispered words filling you with warmth and reassurance.

With one final thrust, he groaned, spilling onto your back, then smiled, tracing his fingers along your spine. “You’ve always had the most perfect ass,” he teased, making you laugh as you both caught your breath.

Afterward, he was attentive and gentle, cleaning you up carefully, checking in with soft words and brushing stray hair out of your face. “Are you okay baby? Did I hurt you at all?”

You shook your head, a peaceful smile spreading across your face. “No. You were perfect, Nick.”

He climbed into bed beside you, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close, pressing gentle kisses along your face, your nose, your eyelids, and murmuring, “You’ve always been mine. I just, didn’t know how to tell you.” His fingers traced patterns along your back as he held you, letting the night settle around you both.

In his embrace, with his whispered reassurances, you felt safe, warm, and exactly where you’d always belonged. He was finally yours.

[lokisswiftie]

Alastor x Reader from the 1920s

Hello! This is my first time writing for Alastor so apologies if it’s not my best. Practice makes perfect, so feel free to send in requests for him!

I will Not Write smut for Alastor, he’s asexual. Fluff is fine.

• let’s get into it, you probably met through the hotel (let’s face it, Alastors social life is lacking). He would be pleasantly surprised when he heard your distinct transatlantic accent.

• you would probably catch him watching you silently, and it might make you nervous.

• Eventually, you’ll end up starting a conversation with him. You’ll chat about music together and by the end of it you’ll feel much better. Like he’s a slice of home.

• you’ll notice he often finds reasons to talk with you, or spend time together. You could talk all night with him.

• His manners are impeccable, and the closer friends you become the more you’ll notice him doing small things to make your life easier.

• He’ll Never ever admit it at risk of it being used against him, but he enjoys your company immensely. He doesn’t have a lot in common with others in the hotel, save for a few, but with you he can easily slip into talking about things no one else would understand.

• You’ll become a bit of a double act, it’s unlikely that anyone will see you with Alastor far behind.

• He can be quite possessive over the people he likes, trying to prove he’s closest to them. If you seem to be getting closer to someone else, he’ll try to take you away from them and remind you what a good friend he is.

• If You’re chatty Like him, no one else in the hotel will ever get a break from the two of you. You talk for hours with him to the point where you feel like you’ve known him forever

• Yeah You’re both cute. And annoying to the people stuck with you while you chat.

[sarnai4]

Friend For All

This is something I've been thinking about for a while now. In my opinion, Dagur is the only character who could actually have an amazing time hanging out with every member of the Dragon Riders. I don't even think the Riders themselves can say that. Please, hear me out. I know they're friends, but they're a friend group. This is an important distinction because how often do you really see Fishlegs and the twins just having a ball together? (That "wedding" doesn't count because the poor Ingerman was not enjoying himself.) What about Snotlout and Astrid just genuinely having fun without anyone else there? You really don't get that. So, I'll try to explain why I think Dagur could do this. (Spoilers probably. I'll just use the warning to be safe.)

Dagur and the twins could have chaotic fun. It's probably unsafe for anyone around them, but no one else is matching their pure insanity. All three of them have this combination of sometimes just doing things to mess with people or just doing something that then causes problems by accident. Still, I think they'd have fun. They can try to out prank each other (think Loki Day). They also still know how to be serious when the time absolutely calls for it, so they could have less silly times too. Ultimately, I think their best times together would be when they're just causing heck for the world and laughing together about what they've done.

Dagur and Astrid could enjoy the more warrior/protector side of life. I think there would be a healthy competition. Astrid was in charge of keeping the Edge secure with defenses and Dagur snuck on several times. He might even end up being the tester for her new security systems. I could see her trying to make things to keep him out and him being fine seeing how close to death he comes while still trying to break in. Also, since Astrid's got that drill sergeant thing going on that we saw in "Team Astrid," I could see her being curious what types of training he has his soldiers do. They might even trade ideas back and forth to have the strongest fighters.

Dagur and Fishlegs is a friendship I have wanted to see more of ever since "Family on the Edge." They were so adorable geeking out together about Gronckles. They're such an odd buddy duo because they seem like complete opposites, but I think it could work. Fishlegs wanted a spa area and are we really going to say Dagur wouldn't love that? Mr. Meditation and Fruit Baths? Yeah, he'd happily tag along for a spa day. Then, they can geek out more about Gronckles or other things like this. A personal headcanon I have which adds to this is I believe Dagur is pretty well-read. There are little things like him knowing about the third eye, French, how to make the antidote for Nadder venom when he got shot (since they didn't have dragons on Berserker Island), etc. So, I feel like he and Fishlegs might have more things to nerd over than most assume. Dagur even was impressed by Fishlegs's thirst for knowledge. Maybe they could discuss the different topics they've read and studied. Study buddies! (Sorta)

Dagur and Snotlout are a duo I think would be amazing. Like with Fishlegs, there were episodes where I just knew I wanted more of them together. Seeing them fight off traitorous Berserkers, then start providing commentary to Hicctrid in "Mi Amore Armorwing" were some great moments to me. The reason I think they could work is that I feel like they'd be good influences on each other. (Actually, I already have a story out on AO3 that dives into this called "Means We're Friends.") Dagur is himself and always will be. Even in RTTE, there's a part of Snotlout who still wants to be who others...namely Spitelout...think he should be. Dagur could help him learn to just be whoever he really is and not care what anyone else says. Also, Snotlout is more sensitive than he'd ever admit, so I think he'd be able to help Dagur in those moments when the Berserker is just clearly not picking up on how to respond properly in situations to avoid weirding everyone out. They could also do a bunch of sparring together too and get into random things for fun like how Snotlout started narrating Tuffnut's search for Chicken. I definitely think Dagur would've joined in on that.

Dagur and Hiccup...well, of course. They're brothers and friends, so that's a given. These two are going on the wildest adventures because Hiccup will never really stay put and Dagur would get bored if he did. There's that fun protective side too. Anyone around them knows that if they mess with Hiccup, they're dying in the most horrific ways possible. Plus, we'd have to throw in some big brother advice moments from Dagur to help Hiccup out with becoming a chief in the future. We've seen the redhead offer advice to Hiccup before with not letting revenge consume him. We've also seen Hiccup offer some comfort with things like their search for Oswald. So, you'd get the more adventurous/fun side of the friendship along with the more serious moments.

On Monday, I'm going to publish a series of oneshots set both in and out of their universe to show how these relationships could work. Considering Monday is April Fool's, I just knew which group I had to start with...(It's out now and called "Just One of the Riders.")

[alastors-airwaves]

A week after Alastor and Husk welcomed their children, Lucifer found himself struggling more than he ever had. At only 10 weeks into his pregnancy, exhaustion clung to him with a heaviness that coffee, nor any kind of stimulant, could shake. He’d wake up each morning feeling drained, as if he hadn’t slept at all, and the nausea was relentless. Even trying to reach the restroom was a struggle as his stomach lurched, and more often than not, he’d barely make it to the sink in time.

He slumped at the edge of his bed one morning, gripping the sheets as he tried to summon enough energy just to stand. His skin was pale, his wings drooped, and dark circles shadowed his eyes.

Lucifer: *muttering to himself, voice weary* This is... impossible. I can barely keep myself together, let alone… deal with all of this. *clutches his stomach weakly* I’m Lucifer Morningstar, for Hell’s sake… I shouldn’t be… this weak.

Charlie noticed him struggling as she passed by his room and quickly rushed to his side, concern filling her eyes as she took in his appearance.

Charlie: Dad… you look terrible! How long have you been feeling this way?

Lucifer: *tries to brush it off with a dismissive wave, though he’s visibly trembling* It’s nothing, just a minor inconvenience. I’ll be fine once this passes.

Charlie: *frowns, crossing her arms* Minor? Dad, you look like you’re about to collapse. This isn’t normal. Let me take you to the doctor, please.

Lucifer hesitated, too proud to admit his vulnerability, but the moment he tried to stand, his legs wobbled, and he had to cling to Charlie for support. Reluctantly, he nodded, realizing he couldn’t keep this up on his own.

Lucifer: *sighs heavily* Fine… but only because you’re pestering me. And if they say this is all typical pregnancy misery, I’m blaming you for dragging me there.

Charlie: *smiles softly, helping him to his feet* Trust me, it’ll be worth it. Let’s get you checked out. You’ll feel better knowing for sure what’s going on.

—————

The examination room was uncomfortably quiet as Lucifer laid back on the sterile bed, struggling to stay alert. His gaze remained unfocused as the doctor—a tall, stoic demon with unnervingly steady hands—prepared the ultrasound equipment. Charlie sat close by, watching her father with concern as the doctor applied cool gel to Lucifer’s abdomen.

Doctor: *glancing over his clipboard* Now, Mr. Morningstar, we’ll just do a scan and a few standard tests. Given your symptoms—exhaustion, nausea beyond typical morning sickness—there could be several causes.

Lucifer: *forcing a tired smile* I’m not your typical case, doctor. Whatever’s happening is just an inconvenience.

The doctor raised a skeptical brow but continued, pressing the ultrasound probe gently to Lucifer’s stomach. The screen flickered, revealing the tiny form nestled within Lucifer’s womb, the faint rhythm of a heartbeat pulsing softly through the room. Charlie’s expression softened, momentarily forgetting her father’s weakened state as she stared at the screen.

Doctor: *noting the heartbeat and glancing back at his notes* Everything looks healthy here. But I have to ask about your mate.

Lucifer’s tired expression twisted into a scoff, and he waved a hand dismissively.

Lucifer: *shaking his head* There’s no mate. Just me. This child was—*he hesitated, choosing his words carefully*—conceived through… other means.

The doctor paused, looking up with a frown as his gaze shifted to Lucifer’s neck, where an unmistakable mark—an intricate, dark V shape—stood out against his skin.

Doctor: *inquisitively* No mate, you say? Yet, that mark is quite… distinctive. Not many omegas can sever a bond, especially one marked so strongly.

Lucifer’s smirk faded, replaced by a chill that crept up his spine as he reached up, fingers brushing against the mark on his neck. His eyes widened. He had removed that mark—painstakingly erased it in every way he knew how.

Lucifer: *voice barely above a whisper* This… shouldn’t be here. I destroyed it.

A cold sense of dread coiled in his stomach. How had it returned? Why now? He felt Charlie’s concerned eyes on him, but his mind was reeling too fast to meet her gaze.

Doctor: *oblivious to his shock, continuing in a clinical tone* It’s not unusual for omegas to feel weak or fatigued if separated from their alphas for extended periods. Your symptoms align perfectly with separation sickness. Some time spent with your… *he gestures vaguely to Lucifer’s neck* …mate could ease the exhaustion.

Lucifer’s stomach twisted at the suggestion, a visceral reaction to the idea of being near Vox again. Vox—the very alpha who had done this to him, who had claimed him without consent.

Lucifer: *muttering under his breath, teeth gritted* Vox is no mate of mine!

The doctor frowned but let the matter drop, unaware of the turmoil simmering within Lucifer. The scan finished, the doctor gave a few last instructions and noted the importance of staying in close contact with the “mate.”

Charlie watched her father silently as they left the hospital room. She sensed there was much more he wasn’t saying, but Lucifer’s rigid posture and tight-lipped expression told her it wasn’t the time to ask. As they exited the hospital, Lucifer felt the weight of the mark on his neck, burning like a brand he could never escape.

[owlespresso]

gloaming. yuri leclerc.

tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality and vague hints of backstory, sfw, pining

a/n: this is pretty self-indulgent. just fluff.

The night is quiet. Snow-covered fields stretch around you on all sides, leading to a distant tree line full of old, stubborn pines. The winter’s frost has grabbed tight hold of the land, blighting everything above the snow in a fine coating of frost. You can see your breath, like a brief curl of dragon’s smoke right in front of you.

One of the month’s many virtues is its distinct lack of insects. No crickets to chirp and no mosquitos to menace any patch of skin you dare leave uncovered. Not that you’ll have many in this weather. There’s quite a long way to go before winter ebbs into early spring. The patch of land Dimitri allotted you so generously after war’s end will remain in crystalline stasis until the season's turn. 

In the distance, over the hills, you can see Fhirdiad’s towering silhouette. Its rough lines and pointed domes and salient spires cast an imperious picture on your east horizon. Did the people of the capital enjoy tonight’s midwinter festival? Did friends and family rush onto the crowded streets to partake in merriment and games and fantastic feasts? The streets played host to an astounding variety of breathtaking ice sculptures all around the noble districts. You wonder if any happened to feature the king.

You look away, back to the treetops painted frosty white, glistening in the eldritch dark of the night. The stone building you’ve chosen to occupy was once a manor and a military outpost, created to overlook these very vistas. The honorable members of House Rowe often utilized it to rest their heads when too exhausted too plod back to their hillside manners out west, leaving their gilded, cushioned carriages to wait in the front yard all evening. Heavens forbid they struggle for even a moment with a minor chill.

You shut your eyes and drink deep the wintry air. The icy sting in the air is sobering, granting you clarity. Dinner was spent alone, enjoying more mixes of wines and liquors than you would prefer to admit. Sometime along the way, you even attempted to wrangle the guards into drinking alongside you. It was at that point that one of them politely inquired if you would like to take a walk.

And now, the fresh air pricks at your numbing cheeks. The hazy remnants of your late night rendezvous with the liquor cabinet are battered back by winter’s embrace and your own irritation.

Across the countless times you have imbibed in your short life, you have discovered that being drunk is fun until it is decidedly not. It’s fun until you require your motor skills, fun until your stream of consciousness rolls into a riptide loosening the leash you keep wrapped ‘round your emotions. The festivities are long over. You're not even sure what occasion they had been celebrating. All of these winter festivals blend together after the first three.

You slump over the flat stone of the wall, bent at the waist. Your fingers don’t even reach the edge. Faint footsteps scruff across the old stone behind her. Quiet, but purposefully loud enough for you to hear. That alone tells you who dares approach.

“Do you believe in god, Yuri?” your ragged voice sounds unfamiliar to yourself. You don't budge from your prone position. The stone cools the overheated side of your face, seeps through your layers. You can feel the wild thrum of your heart begin to slow, cooling the agonizing sear of you pumping blood.

“I believe that it’s long past your bedtime,” Yuri says, a broken piece of glass crunching under his heel. “And I believe in the Goddess. How could I not when she blessed me with you?” The mocking drawl in his voice forces the corners of your lips into a deep frown.

He’s not going to leave, anytime soon, so you slide back onto your feet. The sudden change in position has you swaying on your feet, foot stumbling out of place. Before you can take a tumble and make even more of a fool of yourself, Yuri grasps your shoulder, touch grounding. You regard him with as blank a stare as you can manage. Despite the lashing winds and otherwise unpleasant conditions, Yuri is unflappable as always, long locks of lavender laid atop his shoulder. He’s traded his cape in for a dark cloak, sticked lines of embroidery lacing the cuffs and bottom of the garment, dance around its bone white buttons. 

He’s still all purples and reds, but the smokey greys you’ve come to associate with his wardrobe have been traded in for darker shades. And he looks good, like he hasn’t lost a night of sleep in his life.

“Can’t sleep,” you mutter, kicking a nearby pebble. It’s sent skittering under a nearby table. Yuri regards you flatly, lips pressed into a thin, straight line—as thin as his petal plump lips can press, anyways. They’re coated in a subtle shade of pink, tonight, just blush enough to look natural. He rarely ever applies any intense, saturated shades of lipstick or gloss, lest it distract from the keen smolder of his eyes and his natural good looks.

Though, it doesn’t matter much what he wears. He dazzles on every occasion, sways swathes of civilians with his silver tongue and striking smile. He’s horribly, magnificently magnetic. Anyone would be lucky to have him, for what he has and what is underneath it all. He would surely make a marvelous spouse—

He flicks your forehead, sending you stumbling backwards. Before you can take a tumble onto your arse, he does you the good favor of snatching you by the arm to steady you. When had he come so close?

Up close, his chagrin is much more obvious. You shift uncomfortably under his stare. You cannot recall what having a mother was like, but you can imagine this is what being scolded by one would feel like.

“Where do you go in that head of yours?” he says with a sigh, wry smile breaking out across his pink petal lips. 

“I… I don’t—” you stammer, scrambling for mental purchase. 

“You can tell me all about it later,” Yuri takes your hand with a graceful flourish of his cape, drawing you close to the firm, lean line of him. The scent of faint lilac wreaths around you like an old, comfortable coat. “When you’re a little more sober, at least.” There’s a genteel grace to his steps as he shepherds you towards the stone staircase.

“Where are we going?” You’re left to do aught but follow, a sudden, giddy giggle erupting from your chest as you stumble into his side. 

He sighs, belied by his wry smile. He relinquished his hold on your hand to wrap an arm around your waist, the stretch of his body so blessedly warm against your own. He chases the clinging chill away, dizzies your thoughts into paste.

You hardly hear him ask, “Bed. Yours or mine?” His question rattles you out of your drunken stupor. Your eyes go wide as saucers, palms hot with sweat as you struggle to form an adequate answer. Despite having known him for quite some time, his directness still manages to fluster you—an effect he likely intended, given his devious simper. What’s somehow worse is that you can’t bring yourself to be cross with him.

“Y-Yours,” you hardly realize you’ve spoken your mind until Yuri breaks out in a loud, genuine laugh. It’s unlike his typically tame chuckles, a sound of sheer exuberance that makes the inside of your chest twinge. You like hearing him this happy. You want him to be this happy all of the time.

“Bold. I like it.” he teases, jostling you in his grasp. 

“Oh shove it—wait!” you huff, but stay in step with him, struggling not to stumble as he shepherds you down the stone stairs A line of torches straddle the descending path. In your drunken haze, you had forgotten about the two guards posted at the bottom. The sight of them shocked you stiff-still. Your fingers curl into the fine brocade of his black cloak, pulling him flush to the wall. “Wait!” you hiss, voice nearly lost in his many layers.

“What? Did you leave something behind?”

“We can’t be seen sneaking around together!” you insist, and are immediately incensed at the eyeroll he gives you.

“And why would that be? Too ashamed to be seen with a charlatan like myself?” he drawls, yet takes you in closer. There’s a mean glint in his eyes, something decidedly wicked as his breath ghosts over your cheek, teasing your ear.

“Of course not!” you protest, eyes wide, cheeks got. How could you have misspoken so terribly? The last thing you wanted was to make him feel judged for the life he led, for the methods he employed in his occupation.  “It’s you I’m worried about. What’ll people say if they saw you consorting with the Mad Witch of the Wend? No one would… would…” You draw a trembling hand over his chest, feeling the cool silk under your fingertips.

“You’re worried about my image? How darling.” Yuri coos, clearly disregarding the seriousness of the situation. People talk, servants talk, guards talk. If you two were to be seen on a random, midnight rendezvous, then word would surely get back to the capital, where plenty of available, valuable bachelorettes could hear.

“Of course I am. You could still marry someone nice and rich from the capital. Someone connected…” you reason. You blink your bleary eyes attempting to clear the blur that sticks to your periphery like stubborn burrs. The world at its edges is opaque and slow as melting candle wax. This is precisely why you typically abstain from the absinthe and fine brandies which tradesmen plod through the outpost. It makes your head dull and your words impossible to find.

“Hm. No. I don’t think I will. Noble life never agreed with me.” Yuri gives your cheek a consoling pat. You get the feeling that he is still, for some reason, very amused. Which is preferable to him being offended, or hurt. You don’t mind him laughing at you, you think, not when genuine mirth flatters him so. “If I’m going to make a difference, it’s not going to be with someone else’s spending money.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He tugs you past the posted guards, ushering you within the hollow halls of the outpost. Torches positioned on the wall shed gentle light up and down the small tunnel. You break beyond the thick walls which surround the inner manor—a proud, brutal building that sits a hybrid between the harsh stone architecture meant to shield from the cold and the slender, elegant cathedrals and house manors found en masse within the capital.

“I know.” Yuri shoots you a conspiratorial, knowing look. His thumb rubs gentle circles into your side. You can feel his touch through the two layers you have on, his arm having scooped beneath your outer cloak with dangerous efficiency. “The fact that you still think I could find some nice, doe-eyed girl from the upper crust to fall in love with is adorable, but I’m not interested in all that.” 

He pulls you through the inner sanctum with a self-assuredness that would make you think he owned the place. His strides are slow. His voice keeps his strides slow and his voice quiet, sticking to the walls and where the shadow sinks the deepest. His cape swishes and billows around you, keeps you shielded from prying gazes of glancing guardsmen. Every step he takes is quixotically quiet despite his heels.

“I just want you to be happy. With someone nice. Who can help you make your dreams come true.” 

He scoffs. “Ugh. When did you become such a ham?” you shove him again, and he laughs. “If you must know, I’ve already found the person I want to spend the rest of my days with.” He herds you to a nondescript wooden door, jamming a key into the lock before thrusting it open. The room is deathly dark, the only light slipping in silvery through a slit in the curtains. 

Incredulous and wide-eyed, you gape at him as he draws you inside, wondering if you had heard him properly. While he engaged with a number of brief romances and paramours, he never seemed entirely beholden to the idea of a permanent entanglement. Which you will not judge him for. Only members of the nobility prioritize marriage so persistently, all too eager to shuttle off their children to new, unloving homes for the sake of power. You can’t imagine Yuri buying into such a sham—even if the court’s coffers could fund his ambitions.

“You are? Who is it?” you finally muster up the gumption to ask. There’s a strange, cold feeling at the pit of your stomach. Burgeoning dread you cannot make heads or tails of.

“Worried they’ll steal me away?” Yuri says with a fond smile. He looks at you while he lights the bedside lamp. He does it with magic, you realize, catching the tail end of his somatic gesture, pointer finger aimed straight at the lamp in question, thumb quirked skyward. You’ve seen him do it a few times before in battle, spells interwoven with fast footwork and flashes of forged steel from underneath his half fastened cloak.  “You don’t need to worry your pretty head about all that—but you’ll be relieved to know that they live nearby. Very nearby, in fact.” He said, voice slowing to emphasize a point you don’t quite comprehend.

He unlatches the clasps on his cloak, gently dropping it over a nearby wooden chair. He smooths his hands over the back of it before he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. If you were perhaps a shred more sober, you would have immediately looked away. But you watch as he deftly sheds the silken garment, exposing planes of leam, pale flesh to the slight candlelight. 

He clears his throat, with a knowing smirk. You pointedly snap your gaze downwards, pretending to find sudden interest in the floorboards. They seem to glow a soft, warm brown, aged polish scuffed and scratched with the wear of time.

Hastily, you follow his example, casting off your outermost layers with great haste. It’s second nature to shift down to your undergarments at this point. Despite his teasing, you’re comfortable with Yuri. Word of his cunning and cut-throated customs is rife in both the underbelly and upper crust of Faerghus, but none of the gossip mongers who gab on about him actually know him. 

Years spent at his side have let you understand exactly the kind of man he is. Which is also why you know he would never be interested in someone like you. You’re something broken, something bent, misshapen by the malicious hands which made you. The idea of being coveted, of being loved strikes within you an uneasy feeling of wrongness. 

Ah, but you’re sure he’s still waiting for an answer…

“Yuri…” you begin. You don’t quite remember what you had been discussing, you realize with a strong swing of dismay. Yuri, blessed with an unfathomable amount of kindness, is quick to remind you.

“What? Does the honored Marquis truly want to know the sordid details of my sex life? How scandalous!” he exclaims. You guffaw, dropping onto the mattress face-first, still in your boots and trousers.

“I just wanna make sure you’re with someone good.” you mumble, pressing your face into the pillow. It’s cool, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you burrow further into the cushions. The entire bed smells like him, and if you were possessed of but an ounce more of sobriety you would be too abashed to savor it. 

“Again. Adorable. But you should really watch out for yourself,” he hums. His footsteps trail away from the bed, and you’re about to look over your shoulder when his hand wraps around your ankle and tugs, urging you onto your back. “I’m surprised you don’t have a line of suitors breaking down your doors everyday…” His fingers run down your clothed leg, to the leather and latches of your boots. You watch the graceful weave of his fingers as he slides them off, one after the other. He’s taken off his gloves, allowing you to just barely feel the fleeting warmth of his hands as they briefly swipe over your skin.  “Though, I suppose I should be grateful.”

“That I’m gonna be lonely forever?” you grumble, turning onto your side. 

“That I don’t have any background checks to do.” Yuri says, further away this time. You glance over your shoulder to where he’s gently dropping your boots near the door. So much care and compassion for something so small. 

“Oh… Does that mean I can ba…background check the person you like?” you ask, and he smiles. 

“Of course,” he says. His fingers weave through his long lilac locks, handily undoing his hair tie. He drops it on the nightstand before slipping underneath the sheets to settle beside you. “I have full confidence in your investigative skills, and you’ll quite like the person I chose.”

“That’s because you have good taste,” you mumble, eyes slipping shut. You wait a moment, and then two, and then three before opening one eye to peer at him. “Can I get a hint?”

“Again, don’t worry about it. At least, not right now. I’ll talk your ear off about it tomorrow, okay?” he says, consoling. His hand runs over your hair, fingers sliding down your neck. A flush of heat rolls through your spine, so silken and sanguine that you can’t suppress a shudder. You retreat to the cool comfort of your pillow, letting his touch sap the tension from your sore muscles. “When you have a better chance of actually remembering what I say.” The meat of his palm presses against your upper back. His heated touch saps the remaining tension from your body, soothing you enough to slip into the beginning phases of sleep.

“...Fine.” you huff, but there’s no real bite behind it. It’s half muffled into the pillowcase. You know Yuri likes being a man of his word, but he’s also a man in demand. There’s no telling if one of his gang members will burst through his door and announce a sudden tragedy that demands his attention. There’s no telling if he’ll be gone in the morning, a note left in his place written in that familiar, tidy cursive.

His roaming touch wanders upwards, warm fingers spanning across the nape of your neck. His thumb rubs soft circles into the skin together, and the touch alone would keep you awake if not for the alcohol muddling your system.

“And I’ll be here when you wake up,” he continues, as if sensing your apprehension. “You have my word on that.”

[filmnoirsbian]

I have a question and lmk if its out of line or if you dont wanna answer it thats fine, but basically im a professional artist in the field of fine arts, and as such i have over time learned what makes art "good". I can like or not like it, but usually, im at least able to come up with a defendable opinion on why it is contextually bad art or good art, or rather, whether or not a given artist is 'good' at what they do. With poetry tho, while i (like everyone i think) journal recreationally, i really have trouble identifying whether either my own poems or other peoples are good. Like. This came to mind esp after your rupi kaur post, bc ur right, i dont like her, but i cannot for the life of me articulatw WHY i think its bad. Anyway tldr i guess how can you tell? What are some markers of good vs bad poetry ? (Especially technically speaking) i think these 2 things are similar bc with art too a lot of ppl will be like "ohhh its all relative" but like there are actual markers ofskill and well executed intent, and for fine arts i tend to know them (stuff like influence/filiation, taking into acct the viewers experience, intentionality of creative choices.....) but with poetry as a field i just like. Dont have that technical knowledge to talk about my feelings about a poem like i do with art ans i was wondering if u could help

This is a very complicated debate that has been ongoing since the birth of art and literature. I think it can be difficult for some people to allow that a piece of art (in this case, this includes poetry) can be technically well-crafted while not effecting them emotionally, and that a piece of art can effect them emotionally while being not technically well-crafted. A words app poem that you see which is filled with typos and accidental grammatical errors but which touches on a topic deeply important to you can make you cry while still needing work in its technical aspects, and that doesn't make it either good or bad as an objective work of art. Likewise, there are plenty of poems I've read which were deftly crafted by talented poets but were ultimately forgettable to me because they did not strike an emotional chord. Their lack of emotional resonance also does not make them good or bad. I think that because art has such a capacity for emotional resonance, it's easy to accept that as the most important criteria for what makes art "good," but I personally don't think that's fair. But to me, good poetry is honest--not autobiographical, but written with intent, some understanding of wordcraft as a medium, and meant to evoke a genuine understanding within the reader. Rupi Kaur is sort of a punching bag at this point, often from people who don't actually write poetry which I'll admit I find frustrating, because most criticism of her works is shallow and dependent on the idea that a poem must make you feel something to be good. That isn't a good basis for art criticism, because what makes you feel something is never guaranteed to make anyone else feel. But to me, what makes Kaur's poetry "bad" (not my preferred term, I'd describe it more as shallow or juvenile) is the lack of honesty. Her work is purposefully scrubbed of any distinction so it can be as widely applicable as possible, and in doing so, her poems become no more genuine or meaningful than the mass-printed fortunes in fortune cookies. And, worst of all, there is no technicality behind her wordcraft to make up for the lack of thematic complexity. Both style and substance are rendered as plain and inoffensive as possible. When an artist creates something, they are putting something of themselves into their work, so the art becomes a contract between the artist and audience. The artist is trusting the audience to genuinely engage with their work, and the audience is trusting that the artist has shared something genuine. Good or bad comes later; that it is something the artist created themselves with intent is the first step. But when art is made only with mass consumption in mind, it becomes stripped down to only the bare ingredients of art; it is art on paper, by definition, but it is not art by intent. It's a tree with no limbs, no leaves, no creatures making a home in it. It's not much better than a telephone pole.

When I judge a poem as good or bad, I look first for complexity, either in narrative or structure. This doesn't mean a poem must be a long-winded sonnet to be good; some of my favorite poems are haikus, and in fact haiku is my favorite poetic form. This is because often I find haikus carry multiple meanings, the poet packing in as much story as they can in such small luggage. Most of all, I just wish would-be critics would use their words; "Rupi Kaur's poetry is bad because it's boring" is not good criticism. Your definition of boring is not someone else's. "Rupi Kaur's poetry is rendered shallow and meaningless by the attention-consumption economy it was bred in and has no intelligent wordplay or articulation to constitute a poem that is at least engaging for the mind to read" is a bit more comprehensive.

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Okay, I just wanna say that Ganondorf in ToTK, despite not having Wind Waker’s pathos, is easily the best Ganondorf we’ve had (which is surprising considering some parts of the story). He’s terrifying whenever he shows his mug, he’s active and damn near omnipresent though Puppet Zelda and the Phantom Ganons/gloom spawns, and he’s easily the most unhinged take on the character we’ve ever seen. As for his motives, it’s as simple as turning hyrule into a chaotic hellish landscape where the only rule is that the strong thrive and the weak die, which isn’t really unique, but the landscape and monsters in the game kinda cements how bad that would be.

I get we were kinda expecting another Wind Waker situation, but what we got is great too because Ganondorf was great in Ocarina of Time and he too wasnt anything beyond pure near omnipresent evil.

I mean... I think it's as good as any a time to bring up a really important distinction to the way I critique stuff in general, which is that there's a part of interacting with art that is kind of is... true at a fundamental level? That fundamental level being the emotional response. Nobody can ever be more right or wrong for their emotional response, it's kind of non-debatable.

So I'm really glad TotK Ganondorf did it for you! I genuinely am. I actually loved some things about his incarnation; the musical motifs and the way they are integrated within the story (!!! so good), the concept of Fake Zelda, the actual final fight which I 100% agree is the best one we ever had (still love the TP one, but, the horseback part is a little eeeh and the swordfight could have been harder), his various designs, Gloom Hand and Phantom Ganon which are probably among my favorite parts of the game...

But yeah, I suppose I'm the kind of annoying player who needs a solid thematic framework to relax and accept the scenario proposed (the kind that is driven by mimicry and meaning, which is, I have to admit, especially hard and ungrateful to design for --and so is, often, completely ignored *sobs*). So I would have been completely fine with a Ganondorf without pathos, but one that did fit better within its own environment and countered the themes of the game and developed an ideological philosophy that you could solidly oppose, and not just treating him as an excuse to usher the gameplay forward (I mean, he did betray the gerudos which stranded him while you get to receive everyone's help, but he is not alone in practice! Every monster stands by his side! He may even have a more devoted and stronger support system than you depending on how you play the game). But that goes beyond Ganondorf: I had much trouble seeing past the self-referential and actually enjoy what Tears of the Kingdom had to offer in terms of emotional texture.

But yeah. Could not get behind the writing and a lot of choices in terms of... I don't know, the timing of his maniacal laughter, for example? I feel like a good maniacal laughter needs to be earned, and there's so many times where it just felt completely cheap to me? Even OoT Ganondorf, who had his share of cheap laughter moments, kind of had them work by the simple fact that they were here to directly mock us, the player, and our actions (if I remember well he only has two in the entire game: one after getting his way within the Sacred Realm, and one right before the final battle). We're not going over the extraordinary WW laughter, which is everything to me, but I also really enjoyed the kind-of-unhinged-but-sober take on TP Ganondorf, where he laughs only once and because he knows that he is close to losing probably. I think that was a great characterization, and I'm kind of sad they got rid of it to replace it with [insert maniacal laughter here] sort of approach that isn't specific to the character built over the years (except for the moment where he turns into a dragon, which was the one I liked the most --but it was greatly overused in my opinion).

So I really think his absence of specificy and the fact that his plans are pretty much nonsensical when you examine them for more than a minute, and the fact that he was all over the place and actually sparring with you and building direct grief with you in previous titles, where here I really wasn't sold on why I was supposed to invest myself in the situation besides a vague sense of duty and "that's what the game expects of me" really... didn't sell me the intimidation or the presence. There are a couple of iconic moments that I genuinely loved to see (the whole fist in the throat was GREAT, and perhaaaaps the "come at me" tho even THAT is self-referential grumble grumble sorry to be like this I'm genuinely sorry, the thought wouldn't even have crossed my mind if everything else about him wasn't a strange patchwork, but, it does pile up), but, I needed the framework to stand on its own to genuinely love him in this game.

But I'm really glad if he scratched the itch for you! Most people seem to agree too, which is great. I just... I mean, I am obviously invested in this not becoming the standard of quality. I think we could keep a lot of what worked here and add a scoop of better writing and thematic consistency, and I'd be on board way more already.

[draconicsparkle]

I am back! With more of our beloved Nagizuru! Finally! Thank y’all for your patience. Rain Code has been taking all my time recently. It’s a fun game! But anyways…

Hajime in the lighthouse au is certainly lucky, isn’t he? But I wonder, is the luck attached to an object on his person in addition to the embodiment of hope? Perhaps, perhaps.

Looks like you will have to read on to have that question answered.

As was common nowadays, Hajime found himself staying in the Ultimate Hope’s room long after the tests were complete and the food was eaten. He came to expect it now, never attempting to rush out. So he wasn’t all too surprised when he found himself pinned to the bed while Izuru laid next to him while idly running a hand along his face and chest.

But even though he had expected it, it did not diminish his reactions to it.

His cheeks were bright red and his posture was stiff as he laid there on the bed, feeling the pale hand move around him. It lingered often around the metal circling his neck and the chain attached to the collar. He would have had to be truly blind to have not noticed the superhuman’s habit of messing with it. But Hajime never complained. Why would he? He was there to serve Izuru, and that included serving as his plaything should it be requested.

It had been silent as Izuru did as he liked. But finally, it was broken with a question. “Do you ever wish to have this removed?” The metal was tapped with the tip of a fingernail, making a distinct noise.

Hajime swallowed and answered. “I… will admit that I haven’t thought of it much. My thoughts are often preoccupied with other things, such as your care. My comfort is not as important as yours.”

Izuru hummed, hand now winding around the chain. “But you have thought of it.”

The caretaker nodded very slowly, not wanting to dislodge Izuru’s hold on him. “It was difficult to get used to at first. But now it doesn’t bother me. I can sleep fine and the noise it makes as I move doesn’t register anymore. Well, aside from when I am called. Then it’s annoying.” He huffed at that last part, recalling all the irritating times he had been summoned via the collar instead of the radio.

Izuru's smile widened at his displayed emotion. “I agree. Especially as it takes you away from me.”

Hajime paused before continuing to speak. “And… I know you like it. You constantly hold onto it or touch it when we are close like this.”

The Ultimate Hope simply smirked, bringing the chain over to him and kissing the end of it. “Yes, I do.”

The red on Hajime’s cheeks darkened, having not expected that. “I-I hope to continue to be a good source of entertainment for you.”

“Oh, I have no doubts you will,” Izuru stated, walking his fingers along the chain until he reached the top link. “Now, I suppose I must let you go. A shame. So run along, perform your duties and then return to me come evening.” The white-haired man then leaned in closer, right next to Hajime’s ear. “And I hope you enjoy your gift. I will only bestow it upon you.”

That elicited so many shivers down his spine. “A-a gift? What… what do you mean?”

“You shall see. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” was all he got in response. The superhuman pulled away, allowing the brunette to finally sit up and stand. Loathe as he was to leave, he knew he had to.

He placed his hands on the cart, the cold metal calming the jittering in his hands. “I’ll try to get some more flavorful food with the meal tonight. Wish me luck on succeeding,” he joked with a smile.

“I don’t need to do such a thing. I already know you will succeed, my dear caretaker,” Izuru replied, staring hard at his collar’s chain for some reason. But Hajime didn’t want to risk asking for clarification, so he left the room behind and entered the elevator to do the rest of his tasks.

He had to start off with handing the reports and results back in. That usually wasn’t the most fun, as almost everyone was foul and rude to him. But still, he had to give the results. He just prayed that maybe, just maybe, he would get one of the few patient doctors there this time. He took a deep breath, absentmindedly gripping the last link on his chain to ground himself, then walked inside.

To his immense surprise, the person waiting for him was indeed the polite, patient doctor that quietly accepted the notes with only a nod. Knowing better than to push his luck, Hajime nodded back and exited the room, again clutching his chain as he half expected a demand as soon as he walked out.

But nothing. Everyone ignored him and left him alone.

Hajime gripped the chain harder, not entirely believing how well things had been going. It was almost as if…

Wanting to test his theory, he slipped into the cafeteria to grab something to eat. And to his decreasing shock, the spread was fresh and full. Not many items had been taken yet, so there were many options for him, including desserts. Usually, he was unable to have any of the desserts, as the staff here were all greedy and would take as many as they could carry. Well, he decided to imitate them and grabbed a few pastries along with his lunch. No one batted an eye or looked his way as he made his way to the elevator. The silver doors closed, lifting him up to the fifth floor.

“What is with today?” he muttered to himself as he set the food down on the table. He had managed to get quite a nice meal, with the extra pastries adding a sweet finish. “This can’t be a crazy coincidence. Was this… what he meant? Did he… give me luck?”

That had to be it. There was no other explanation. He had been bestowed with such a wonderful gift. Depending on how long it lasted, perhaps he could do some things to improve Izuru’s living conditions. Nice smelling soaps, more books, maybe a soft blanket and decorations for the room. And more food was also possible. If he could get access to the food storage, the possibilities of what he could make for the Ultimate Hope would increase!

But before he could accomplish any of that, he had to get a scope on how long this would last. Just a few hours? It was too risky to test it more than he had. He looked up at the clock and noticed that it wasn’t long until Izuru’s evening meal. Guess he really had spent a while in the room earlier for it to already be close to time. He could ask and possibly get his answers soon.

He ate his meal relatively fast, being sure to set the pastries aside for Izuru. He was eager to see the reactions to them over the next few days, as he was sure Izuru had never been given anything sugary or sweet.

Carefully placing a puff pastry fruit tart on a plate, he gathered everything once all his mess had been cleaned up. It was now time again. His heart raced as the elevator took him to the sixth floor once again, to the one he had devoted himself to. His card was scanned, opening the door to him.

“Welcome back, my dear caretaker. I trust you enjoyed your gift?”

That beautiful voice broke the silence before the door had closed behind him. Hajime was sure he would never tire of hearing it. “If it’s what I think it is, then yes.”

Izuru rested his head on his hand, an amused expression evident. “And tell me, what do you think I gifted you?”

Hajime grabbed the blood pressure cuff, wanting to get the tests over with. “You gave me good luck. Everything that could have gone well went well. As if you blessed me with some lucky charm.”

Izuru nodded as he sat up on the bed, extending an arm to cooperate. “I did indeed. You possess something blessed with my luck. I trust that you won’t abuse it, unlike many here.”

Hajime tilted his head. “Something? What did you…” His chain clinked as he moved, causing the realization to practically slap him in the face. “You blessed… my chain?”

The white-haired man smiled wider. “Correct.” A pale hand grasped the metal again, tugging Hajime so that their faces were an inch apart. “A chain of fate? Of servitude and devotion? Of feelings unspoken? Of ownership? You may decide which one you enjoy the most. I shall keep mine secret.”

The chain was released, but Izuru didn’t move away. “Now then, proceed. I am most eager to see what you brought up for me from your blessing.”

They were so close again. And whenever they got this close, Hajime had to fight to make his brain and body work. It was so tempting to just lean in and rest against Izuru. The aura around him was one of comfort and safety, which he knew was strictly reserved for him and him alone. He wished for the millionth time that they could be anywhere else, with no need to hide or be cautious.

But perhaps one day it would be possible. One day, they would escape this hell created by humanity’s hubris. For now, he could act. He told himself this as he stepped back. “Of course, sir. I think you will like it.”

Masterpost

[subliminalbo]

One Shot #4: The Instrument and the Maestro

Standing on the stage before thousands of raucous fans chanting her name, Amelia clenched the microphone tight to her chest. She wished that she could just live in that moment forever. Wembley was the kind of venue that musicians worked their lives to book but Amelia was only twenty-four. She exhaled. What was next? Her rags-to-riches story had captivated the world. Raised by a single mother in Brooklyn, discovered by her producer. Jack, at a community talent show. Everything else felt like a dream. Her entire career was a haze from which she could pull few distinct memories as her life moved at a thousand miles an hour. Last week she was sixteen, yesterday she was twenty.

All Amelia really knew standing on that stage was that she deserved it. Her voice had always had a way with fans. Jack called it a gift. Their partnership had made her the most profitable solo act in the business. Her albums were often criticized for a lack of risk. There were plenty of takes from Twitter critics about Amelia's early work and her potential to be more than a popstar. It was true that before her partnership with Jack, Amelia had ambitions beyond pop stardom. She wanted to write and compose her own music, but Jack knew the business and a lack of freedom was the price all successful artists had to pay. Of course the negative reviews never stopped her singles from reaching number one on the pop charts. Even when people loathed Amelia, they still couldn't stop listening.

Amelia closed her eyes as the booming synth began to drone behind her. Time was picking up again. And when she opened her mouth and began to sing and her audience disappeared into the hypnotic lyrics of her song, Amelia too began to sink into a familiar trance.

Shortly after the Wembley show, Amelia met in the park for lunch with Jack and demanded to be released from her contract. Jack, surprised and smiling, reminded her that she was at the peak of her career. "You just played Wembley, why on earth would you want anything else?"

"I know Jack," Amelia sighed. "Wembley was great, you're great. But it's not about the money or the fame anymore. I want to make my own art. Like I used to."

"Of course," Jack nodded. "And I let you write a song for Siren."

Siren was the title of Amelia's upcoming album.

"No one should let me do anything. I was fine on my own."

"You were making low quality videos on Youtube. Supporting your mom on Patreon."

"But I had integrity."

For the first time, Jack frowned. "You know I only care about what's best for you. Are you absolutely certain about this, Amelia?"

Amelia shook her head. "When I was up there that night, surrounded by a hundred thousand fans, I...couldn't breathe. It was both so happy and so sad. Because I knew that no matter what I could never top that moment. Do you know what that feels like, Jack?"

Jack offered a sympathetic nod and said, "I just make the music."

"I'm sorry, Jack," Amelia whispered. "But I can't do this anymore."

Jack nodded. Amelia dropped her half-eaten salad into its bag, collected her things, and began to walk away. She heaved a sigh, heavy with both grief and optimism.

Jack, on the other hand, remained seated at the picnic table and calmly pulled out his cellphone. He slowly flipped through his contacts until he found Amelia and dialed. He admired the young starlet as she strutted confidently away. On queue, her phone began to ring, but as she pulled it from her purse, it slipped from her hand and landed uselessly in the grass.

"What..." Amelia mumbled as she stumbled on her feet. The sound of her own music playing back to her, pulling her down, deep into the same trance she'd grown used to performing under.

The trance was Amelia's true trademark, one of the things that set her apart from the other young twentysomethings trying to make it big in the music industry. Amelia had become known for her wild performances in which she lost herself in her own music. She'd admitted in interviews that she often lost track of time during her shows, a phenomenon that even her fans shared in. Many critics credited the trance to Amelia's perfectionism and showmanship.

When Jack approached Amelia, she'd dropped to her knees in submission.

Jack had been a gifted composer his entire life, but he couldn't perform for shit. That was how he got into producing. But after an initial series of failed attempts to break into the industry, he'd taken a chance on a young girl from Brooklyn. With Jack's hypnotic tunes and Amelia's natural talent, they could truly rule the world.

The musician looked up at her producer with those innocent, empty eyes.

"Amelia," Jack sighed. "You've gotta stop doing this."

"I am sorry," she said.

"What did I say last time?" he asked.

"I am the instrument and you are the maestro."

Jack nodded. "You don't want to work without me."

"I could never work without you," Amelia echoed.

"You're powerless without me," he added.

"I am your siren."

Jack placed his warm hand on her soft chin and studied her, checking for any sign rogue disobedience. One again pleased with his work he said, "Let's get back to the studio now. Especially before some paparazzo spots us."

[newtonian-derivation-sucks]

it's time for another rant about notation.

specifically, a kind of notation that I'm calling "typo notation."

the best example of this is how we write "if and only if," which is usually abbreviated as "iff." it's very compact and makes it easier to state something used so often, and it'd be great if it wasn't for the fact that it's literally a typo of if. just one letter drastically changes the entire logic of a statement and keeps you guessing: is this really if and only if, or is this a double keystroke that never got caught? you'll never know!! have fun guessing!!!!!!

another example, the one that inspired me to start this rant: rng. it's meant to represent a ring without the identity element I, and I will admit it's pretty cute, but it LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE A TYPO. you are totally more likely (?) to totally miss a key as opposed to doubling a keystroke anyways, so what is even the point?

it's inconvenient and actively pushes inexperienced readers away by making them feel dumb for not knowing this clear typo was actually not one. the only people who can look at a given context and say for sure "this is/isn't a typo" are the niche experts of the field, and god knows we don't need more of those. AND THAT SHOULDNT EVEN BE A MENTAL CALCULATION YOU HAVE TO DO. NOTATION IS MEANT TO BE CLEAR AND DISTINCTIVE. YES IM YELLING-

I'm fine.

My point is that this adds so much unnecessary convolution into what is meant to be a clarifying tool, notation. And the worst part? I believe we don't need it. Iff has a great symbolic counterpart, <=>, so why not use that in place of it? off the top of my head, I can't think of one for rng, so I'll suggest R\I (R set difference i). let's make math more accessible and less stupid, please

[sunflowersometimes]

hello! the amazing @callouiee tagged me in their post spelling their url with songs they like for me to do the same if i wanted and i thought it would be fun! they made theirs l&h/larrie related but i have such a long url that i think I’m going to use my favorite songs as well! this will also give me an excuse to gush about some of my fav songs

so i wrote the above paragraph and then tried to find and narrow down songs which proved to be very difficult lol. i probably made it harder on myself than needed bc i wanted to choose best and most perfect songs but there are just too many. this is the best list i could come up with, but i feel pretty good with it! if anyone ever wants to talk music, i’m so down i have so many favorites.

p.s. i really truly did gush about every song i’m so sorry for how long this is

s- Satellite (Harry Styles) this song is my baby. i love her with every fiber of my being. i have dance parties by myself in my apartment when this song comes on i literally can’t get enough of it. i honestly thought matilda would be my fav song off harry’s house cause like... it’s matilda, but this is the song i come back to most often from that album.

u- U.N.I (Ed Sheeran) okay so i have so many distinct memories listening to this song on the bus to/from middle school. anything from ed’s + album was my favorite. his stuff from that time used to be my favorite music along with 1D. i thought i was so cool when i memorized the rap part lol

n- No Children (The Mountain Goats) i will admit i did find this song through the tiktok trend but i absolutely loved that trend, i thought it was so cute. i listened to the full song shortly after discovering the song and it shortly became my second most listened to song of last year. w/o getting into too much detail, this song holds a special place in my therapy journey lol 

f- Fine Line (Harry Styles) what is there to say about her? she probably holds the biggest spot in music related to my healing journey. i fully annotated her once through the lens of my own therapy and healing journey. she means a lot a lot to me

l- Like Real People Do (Hozier) i am a hozier slut and i’m not afraid to admit it. i love anything this man puts out. sometimes i listen to his music like i’m a thirsty begger and his music is the only water that’s been offered to me in weeks. i could have put any of his songs on this list and you would have gotten the same reaction out of me. he makes me feel feral and ethereal at the same time.

o- Outer Space/Carry on (5SOS) god this song will never not get me. this song was my fine line of my middle school/high school years. if i ever see this song live i’m pretty sure i’ll die on the spot. i have a half-ish sleeve tattoo planned around this song. there’s like five songs on this list that i have tattoos planned around but none of them as big as this one. everything about this song is just perfect.

w- Written All Over Your Face (Louis Tomlinson) do i even need to say anything about this one? it’s been on repeat since the album came out. it’s literally so good and i know it’s everyone’s favorite but it’s for a damn good reason. have you heard louis’ voice?????? literally perfection absolute bop and i can’t stop listening to it. this is louis’ sound and i’m so proud of him

e- Emotions (5SOS) any time i make a new playlist of things i’m currently listening to to have one shuffle/repeat, i put this entire album on there. i feel like the more i listen to it, the more addicted i get. also, Liz told me this song was very me codded and i feel like that’s so true. i’m always in my emotions lol. also also, that little clap/slap that happens every so often in this song gives me an unnecessary amount of serotonin. 

r- Right Now (1D) i also could have put any one direction song on this list but there’s something about this song that has always had a grip on my brain. immediate performance mode whenever this song comes on. they’re my boys. my babies. i’ve been a fan for a decade now which is absolutely wild. i miss them

s- Spaces (1D) this might have to be in my top 5 favorite one d songs. i don’t know if i even have an actual top 5 but if i did, this song would be in it. i feel like i’m ascending whenever i listen to this song; it’s similar vibes to satellite in dance party mode for me if that makes sense lol i can’t help but move whenever i hear this song

o- Only the Brave (Louis Tomlinson) again, does this need any explanation? there was a while when i couldn’t listen to this song bc it hurt my closeted heart too much. it still makes me sad but also very optimistic. i hope i can hear this song live one day surrounded by fellows queers who’ve also found their family through the boys. it doesn’t make it a solo song anymore then does it? we’re a family; more of a family than any church i’ve been a part of. 

m- Mum (Luke Hemmings) another album where i could put literally any song on this list bc i love them all so much. this song, however, beats the others out ever so slightly as being my favorite. i’m noticing a pattern with my favorite songs: satellite, spaces, mum. they all have a really big build up to an absolute cathartic release later on in the song. mum does give me church song vibes but in the least song ruining way possible. this song actually inspired me to make a playlist of songs that make me feel like im ascending whenever i listen to them

e- Egg and Soldier (Cosmo Sheldrake) okay okay okay i know you’re thinking that this song came super duper out of left field and is really weird and i definitely agree but here me out. all of his songs are super fun and kinda weird but so so cool and unique and unpredictable. i have yet to come across a song of his i don’t love. they all make me feel so connected to my inner child/the creativity i pushed away for so long.

t- To Be Alone (Hozier) again, i’m a hozier slut. this might be my favorite song of his but i’m unsure if i can even pick a favorite hozier song. that slide on ‘feeeeeels good’ gets me every single time. i’m weak in the knees i’m obsessed. the grungy, dirty electric guitar???? i can’t it’s too much 

i- If I Could Fly (One Direction) i couldn’t not add this one. it’s iconic and makes me cry maybe half of the time i listen. who let them write, record, and release this song? it’s literally so raw and vulnerable and i know i’ve written some pretty raw poetry but i don’t think i’ve ever written anything on this level. like ?????? i forget this song is a real song they released and not something a fanfic writer made up

m- Matter of Time (Ashton Irwin) god this album destroys me in the best way possible. and this song???? literally speaks to me and my soul. this is another one i want to get a tattoo of. it’s just like a warm hug from an older sibling/older friend. everything’s gonna be okay bud

e- evermore (Taylor Swift) I do love me some good taylor swift, especially folklore and evermore. i don’t think this one is my favorite, that’s probably the lakes, but i do remember hearing it for the first time and absolutely loosing it at the word switch at the end of the song. it still holds a special place in my heart for the hopefulness it’s able to give me whenever i don’t have a lot of it.

s- Sunflower Vol. 6 (Harry Styles) and we’re ending on the song that i wish i could be. if i could have the vibes of any song it would be this one. i’m one of those obnoxious people that make sunflowers their whole personality and whenever harry released this song i went feral for it. i love her so much and i hope i grow up and make her proud.

okay now that i’ve written more than anyone wanted to read, i want to tag some recent mutuals to do this too! Obviously there’s no pressure to do this or to write as much as i did, simply just putting a song is enough lol

@bravetemptation  @lunarheslwt  @primary-wicf​  @flyhometolou28

[electricbluebutterflies]

Joel/Tess + communication without words

Or, I can't write fight scenes for anything but we kinda tried here. Later-era, PG-ish, also on ao3.

To say that this afternoon is not going according to plan would be a distinct understatement.

Every so often, Tess manages to convince herself that there’s only so much that can go wrong within the walls, and… that kind of hope is just tempting fate, really. She’d known, despite recent temporary delusions, that this deal had high potential to go sideways. She’d known enough to decide this needed to be a group outing like something so small rarely is, because she’s the smart one but she still looks vulnerable in bad lighting and-

Minor disaster, fine, she expected that. Not getting a gun aimed at her before anything’s even happened. Fuck her life.

She tries to think through any possible slight that could’ve gotten them to this point, and… she’s got nothing. She, at least, does not screw people over with intent. Maybe a little miscommunication somewhere along the line, but these are lesser contacts, acquaintances of acquaintances, she hasn’t had the opportunity but maybe that’s where something went wrong, maybe-

Not doing this alone is, in hindsight, the best choice she’ll make all week. They’re better together, positions for sightlines, and there’s still that little voice in the back of her head that says normal couples don’t do this shit but nothing else about them is normal so-

Fine, she can admit it, a good part of the attraction ten years ago – and lingering to this day, and not normally such a conscious thought in public – is that Joel is solid in ways that she is decidedly not. Very, very useful in a fight. And very, very attached to her to a point that their underground reputations hinge on that detail. The bitch and her guard dog, she’s heard too many times, and it’s not exactly an inaccurate statement, and-

She turns her head just slightly, just enough for the right flavor of eye contact – these dumbasses who’ve got them cornered clearly only heard part of said reputation, the part where she’s dangerous but not the part where her lover will do whatever she wants – and-

Well, she wasn’t expecting one of said dumbasses to hit her before she gets anywhere with that idea, but this is already not her day, she might as well get some bruises to show for it. She’s still going to get what she wants, she’s just going to have a little less control on how it happens and less control is dangerous and-

Primary loyalties, she reminds herself. One and the same. Never a goddamn conversation about commitment, but enough of a track record to know there’s exactly one currently living person that man would choose over her and that’s really unlikely to ever be an issue so…

The look she does manage to give him is a different kind of effective with a few marks forming on her jaw, but the sight of her blood always does something primal to him and she’s not wasting the opportunity.

What happens next is, for the sake of her remaining sanity and just a little plausible deniability, a blur.

There are no bodies. That’s a nice limit to keep. Maybe a broken limb or two, but nothing worse. Nothing that will cause further problems later. Gets them out of there intact enough to move, and fuck the mutual acquaintance who set this up, Tess is never taking connections from them again, not worth it, not this bad, not-

“You okay?” her partner asks, far enough away to pause and breathe a few moments.

“You tell me.” A few bruises she can feel, most of ‘em covered by her clothes right now, she’ll look fun when she undresses later, but nothing feels broken or actively bleeding so-

His finger runs over what feels like the worst of her visible bruises. “This is why you brought me, huh?”

She doesn’t say anything, just leans into touch. It’s nice to have someone on her side – still the power of it, even with their routines so established, even-

Love you too, she thinks and knows not to say. Instead she turns her head and kisses his hand, and for a moment nothing hurts at all.

[pokecologist]

Hello there! I came across your blog and I must say: surely after studying Pokémon for so long you must have some good stories! Have you had any disastrous run ins with wild Pokémon? What have you observed in your years of studying? What’s your favorite Pokémon? What’s your favorite Pokémon that you’ve encountered? Do you have any advice for those starting out as Pokémon trainers? What’s your favorite region you’ve been to? Where would you like to go? Thanks for you time, and I hope you’re having a great day!

Missingsplash,

Thank you for your interest! I would certainly say I've accumulated some tales (though my grad students might say I just like to hear myself talk).

The worst encounter I've had with a wild Pokémon happened within Sinnoh's Great Marsh. I was working with some Paldean researchers at the time to compare Wooper populations, since my other work meant I was spending plenty of time with them already, and I was camping out to observe nighttime behaviors. Unfortunately, I set my tent rather close to one of the many sinkholes the Marsh is known for. When I got up around midnight, I fell right into one and got thoroughly stuck. This would have been fine, had I not disturbed some nearby Arbok that were not pleased with my presence. This was in the fall, so they were quite broody and territorial this time of year, and had it not been for my Phanpy, Loxodon, I likely would have been food for their young! It was quite frightening to be trapped and unable to pull myself out, and I've never been entirely sure whether they had actually paralyzed me, or if it was just the fear.

As for what I've observed... well, I might be better off sending some of my papers! But, in summary, my focus has always been on the conservation and restoration of safe, natural habitats for Pokémon. Places like Safari Zones and the Great Marsh, as well as areas less accessible to the public like Mount Silver or much of the Unovan desert, provide invaluable refuges for native species. Of course, many Pokémon have adapted well to urbanization and human presence, but preserving and studying their behaviors when less impacted by humanity is still quite important. There's a lot we can learn from them, both to better our care of our partners and to protect our planet.

Though my starter is a Snivy, I've always had a fondness for Bug types, and the lifecycle of the Volcarona line is simply fascinating. They spend most of their lives as Larvesta, burrowing under the ground to remain warm and develop their network of tunnels, and their evolution often corresponds to intense heat - wildfires or heatwaves. Volcarona have long been a symbol of power and natural balance in Unova as a result; though fire may destroy, it brings new life in its wake, so long as it is kept in check. My own Larvesta, Attacus, has been travelling with me for nearly 15 years now, and he's quite the sweetheart.

My preferred species to work with, however, is most likely the Zigzagoon line. They're very clever little creatures, and they tend to become trap-happy once they realize they can get free peanut butter and a place to stay, but they always have such distinct personalities. Galarian Zigzagoon in particular are simply hilarious - I encountered one on vacation that tried to run off with my entire bag, and he nearly pulled it off!

For advice, I would simply say to follow what you love, cliche though that may be. Don't feel the need to complete the Gym challenge - I never did - and take time to enjoy the world around you. Becoming a Trainer grants you so much freedom, which is often overwhelming, but narrowing down your goals to prioritize what you enjoy will make it much less daunting.

I will admit, as much as I enjoy visiting other regions, there's something special about returning home to Unova. As a Driftveil native, it's comforting to be back within the mountains I grew up with.

Once all the hubbub with Area Zero dies down, I certainly wouldn't say no to doing some research there. The photographs and such that my Paldean colleagues have sent my way make it look like a veritable wellspring of information - such a unique and well-preserved environment is a rare thing these days.

Sincerely,

Prof. Jewel

[subliminalbointext]

One Shot #4: The Instrument and the Maestro

Standing on the stage before thousands of raucous fans chanting her name, Amelia clenched the microphone tight to her chest. She wished that she could just live in that moment forever. Wembley was the kind of venue that musicians worked their lives to book but Amelia was only twenty-four. She exhaled. What was next? Her rags-to-riches story had captivated the world. Raised by a single mother in Brooklyn, discovered by her producer. Jack, at a community talent show. Everything else felt like a dream. Her entire career was a haze from which she could pull few distinct memories as her life moved at a thousand miles an hour. Last week she was sixteen, yesterday she was twenty.

All Amelia really knew standing on that stage was that she deserved it. Her voice had always had a way with fans. Jack called it a gift. Their partnership had made her the most profitable solo act in the business. Her albums were often criticized for a lack of risk. There were plenty of takes from Twitter critics about Amelia’s early work and her potential to be more than a popstar. It was true that before her partnership with Jack, Amelia had ambitions beyond pop stardom. She wanted to write and compose her own music, but Jack knew the business and a lack of freedom was the price all successful artists had to pay. Of course the negative reviews never stopped her singles from reaching number one on the pop charts. Even when people loathed Amelia, they still couldn’t stop listening.

Amelia closed her eyes as the booming synth began to drone behind her. Time was picking up again. And when she opened her mouth and began to sing and her audience disappeared into the hypnotic lyrics of her song, Amelia too began to sink into a familiar trance.

Shortly after the Wembley show, Amelia met in the park for lunch with Jack and demanded to be released from her contract. Jack, surprised and smiling, reminded her that she was at the peak of her career. “You just played Wembley, why on earth would you want anything else?”

“I know Jack,” Amelia sighed. “Wembley was great, you’re great. But it’s not about the money or the fame anymore. I want to make my own art. Like I used to.”

“Of course,” Jack nodded. “And I let you write a song for Siren.”

Siren was the title of Amelia’s upcoming album.

“No one should let me do anything. I was fine on my own.”

“You were making low quality videos on Youtube. Supporting your mom on Patreon.”

“But I had integrity.”

For the first time, Jack frowned. “You know I only care about what’s best for you. Are you absolutely certain about this, Amelia?”

Amelia shook her head. “When I was up there that night, surrounded by a hundred thousand fans, I…couldn’t breathe. It was both so happy and so sad. Because I knew that no matter what I could never top that moment. Do you know what that feels like, Jack?”

Jack offered a sympathetic nod and said, “I just make the music.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Amelia whispered. “But I can’t do this anymore.”

Jack nodded. Amelia dropped her half-eaten salad into its bag, collected her things, and began to walk away. She heaved a sigh, heavy with both grief and optimism.

Jack, on the other hand, remained seated at the picnic table and calmly pulled out his cellphone. He slowly flipped through his contacts until he found Amelia and dialed. He admired the young starlet as she strutted confidently away. On queue, her phone began to ring, but as she pulled it from her purse, it slipped from her hand and landed uselessly in the grass.

“What…” Amelia mumbled as she stumbled on her feet. The sound of her own music playing back to her, pulling her down, deep into the same trance she’d grown used to performing under.

The trance was Amelia’s true trademark, one of the things that set her apart from the other young twentysomethings trying to make it big in the music industry. Amelia had become known for her wild performances in which she lost herself in her own music. She’d admitted in interviews that she often lost track of time during her shows, a phenomenon that even her fans shared in. Many critics credited the trance to Amelia’s perfectionism and showmanship.

When Jack approached Amelia, she’d dropped to her knees in submission.

Jack had been a gifted composer his entire life, but he couldn’t perform for shit. That was how he got into producing. But after an initial series of failed attempts to break into the industry, he’d taken a chance on a young girl from Brooklyn. With Jack’s hypnotic tunes and Amelia’s natural talent, they could truly rule the world.

The musician looked up at her producer with those innocent, empty eyes.

“Amelia,” Jack sighed. “You’ve gotta stop doing this.”

“I am sorry,” she said.

“What did I say last time?” he asked.

“I am the instrument and you are the maestro.”

Jack nodded. “You don’t want to work without me.”

“I could never work without you,” Amelia echoed.

“You’re powerless without me,” he added.

“I am your siren.”

Jack placed his warm hand on her soft chin and studied her, checking for any sign rogue disobedience. One again pleased with his work he said, “Let’s get back to the studio now. Especially before some paparazzo spots us.”

[geeky-politics-46]

Question!! (I need validation and I trust your opinion lmao) But do you think Doctor Strange would like back rubs/massages? Because he seems like the type of person that would become a human puddle if his s/o were to start giving him a massage 👀 👀 👀

I definitely think he is one of those people who melts when their spouse rubs their back, but it will take forever for him to admit it. Once you've got him though, he turns into putty COMPLETELY.

Like most forms of physical affection it takes a while for him to really get comfortable with not being in control.

The first couple times you offer to give him a back massage he plays it off and says he's fine.

You can tell he really does want one though.

The first time he accepts your offer he opts to just sit on the end of the bed instead of laying down. He may or may not take his shirt or robes off.

It takes a couple minutes for him to actually start relaxing into it. Letting his muscles soften under your grip. 

You end up having to grab onto him to keep him from sliding off the bed by the time you are done.

He is practically purring.

After that he never turns down an offer for a back rub and if you don't offer but he wants one he'll give you puppy dog eyes until you figure it out. 

Exaggeratedly rolling his shoulders or stretching. Groaning when he tries to crack his neck. Only when you are around though.

There are two distinct kinds of massages that you give him or ways that your back rubs play out.

The first is if it's a post mission or training if he's sore and exhausted.

After he's showered and changed for bed, he'll basically collapse face first on the bed groaning into the pillow or the sheets.

You straddle his hips and try to focus on any new knots or spots of tension that formed from the stress of the day.

Whether it's in his back, his arms, or his legs.

Sometimes it's even just that his hands are bothering him more than usual.

You're more likely to use a muscle balm or magnesium lotion as opposed to a massage oil.

These often end when you hear soft snores start coming from the man underneath you. 

You kiss his temple or cheek and tuck him in after.

You love caring for him and helping him feel better.

It makes it a lot easier to watch him run into danger when you know you'll feel useful nursing any injuries when he gets home.

The second is a very different outcome.

This is an anytime massage, but you're gonna wanna make sure you have plenty of time alone and an open schedule. 

This massage he will usually ask for by sneaking up behind you and kissing your neck before trying to lead you toward your bedroom.

He may have bought a bunch of different massage oils in a variety of scents. Lots of them are also either edible or double as lube. 

He will always insist both of you strip down to your underwear, because he doesn't want your clothes to get messed up. 

These massages focus on his back & eventually his chest as well as maybe other areas.

He will start to groan and growl at some point during the massage. 

Maybe even gently rubbing his hips against the bed.

Eventually rolling over so he's on his back and shifting you so you are positioned right on top of his now hard and prominent bulge.

Smiling up at you as he rubs his hands up and down your bare thighs, his voice now husky, he'll say "you feel what your touch does to me baby?"

Inevitably you give into that cocky smirk and those gorgeous blue eyes, and any pretense of a massage is completely lost.

He will always give you a massage back if you ask, but he is very greedy when it comes to your back rubs. If you don't ask, he may not think to offer to return the favor, but it's only because your hands make his brain completely stop.

He genuinely loves feeling your hands on him even if it took him a while to admit he liked being at your mercy.

--------------------------------

Back to main masterlist

Stephen Strange Taglist: @starkiller-queen @glitterylokislut @verycollectivecreator @chatampr @maskmare931 @lovecleastrange @wheredafandomat @mkixx @evelynrosestuff @katefullerrr @littlepinknightmare @foofarny @stygianoir @moonroyalt @saturnsbabe69 @blaxdet @blackrose-92 @ironstrange1991 @rindulacre @nancy-thompsons @wolfatheartandsoul @dangerouslittlefairy @n0obmaster-69 @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @yourmajesty13 @blondekel77 @lil-sweater-slut @gwephen @taramaria @sinceimetyou @possessedjoker @coeurgrenaty @cc13723things @just--a-magpie @supervengerslock @strangelockd @dont-feel-so-good-peter @kingsmanperfecthartwin @ghost-lantern @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @itssmaugtheterrible @katherinemaximoff @veryfancydoilies @cute-angi @mochacake2016 @prix19 @alexfanficnook @anotheroddfish @mando-is-the-way @xourownsidee @baes-x @dreamingsmile @negar77rd @imaginesfreetotake @rougepetale @tis-vereon @divinearchangel @sherlux @hiddlechive @lucimorningst4r @the-royal-petals @ginnykate @thatesqcrush @friendofplenti @yuugenmomo @holdmyowos @lokislov3 @captaincarmel164 @folklore-mcu @mydearestalmira @ppatricia34me