#one compresses everything but the positive and the other one expresses everything but the positive

[whumpbby]

You ever think that this whole "Lan only love once" legend is a result of their upbringing leaving them unable to deal with negative emotions in a constructive way? The only options seem to be "get over it and we will never speak of it again and all is well" and "you can lock yourself up and if you never emerge that's sad but okay". Eh?

Like, a Lan would have a crush - the crush turned them down - and because of the insanely stoic way they're supposed to live as they can't just cry about it/get drunk/be visibly unhappy/express their sadness 'excessively'. And thus the normal thing that happens to normal people all the time boils into the Worst Thing Ever that Happened To Me and No One Can Understand This Pain and they decide that they'll never go through that again.

You know like normal people do.

Doesn't that make sense tho?

[bullet-prooflove]

Lifetime: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @pear-1206 @keyweegirlie @nu1freakshow

Travis thinks about you all the time when he’s on the road. His dreams are filled with the taste of your honey on his lips and the sound of your ecstasy in his ears. You presence is nothing more than a memory when he’s on the rodeo circuit but those other girls, the belt bunnies, they don’t get a second look.

You’re the only person he trusts with the news that his condition has deteriorated, that he’s now in liver failure. It’s a wakeup call, especially for the man who thought that he was going to live forever.

“I’ve done everything you told me.” He argues with the specialist. “I’ve quit the drinking, changed my diet…”

“That’s just the way it goes.” He’s told in a sterile room with his scans hanging up on the wall for him to see. “Sometimes the damage is too great.”

He flies to Yellowstone that afternoon from Texas because he can’t stand another minute away from you.

“I’m dying.” He tells you as he lays tangled up in bed with you, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek as he looks into your eyes. “The end, it’s coming quicker than I thought.”

He expects you to leave because this is a burden he wouldn’t wish on anyone. He’s going to get sicker, it’s just a matter of time. It breaks his heart because he offered you a future and now he’s ripping it away.

“You promised me a lifetime.” You whisper against this lips as your fingertips trace along his grizzled cheek. “I’ll take whatever’s left of yours.”

He doesn’t think he can love you more than he does in that moment.

You go on the road with him. You leave behind your home, your job, your life because you want to spend the rest of the time you have together loving him.

When you start to compete for the first time in three years, he’s exhilarated. He’s seen you race in Yellowstone, he’s watched you train the up and commers but he’s never seen you in your element. When you win, there’s a fire in your eyes, a passion that he recognises in his own heart. He’s never felt as proud as he does in that moment. He’s weaker these days but he’s still there to lift you down from your horse when you trot back to the paddock. He can’t express the joy he feels at the sensation of you in his arms as the crowd cheers.

“We should start telling people.” You say as you press a cold compress to the back of his neck after he spends the morning throwing up. “You’re going to have to stop soon.”

He knows you’re right but he can’t face that right now, once people smell weakness on the circuit you’re as good as gone and he wants to compete as long as he can.

It’s when he takes that fall that everything changes. One minute he’s in the midst of wrangling a calf in the centre of a televised arena, the next he’s waking up on the dusty floor in the recovery position, vomiting his guts out.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rip demands when he wakes up in a hospital bed surrounded by brightly coloured flowers and helium balloons. He counts at least seven horse plushies littered around the room.

“You know why.” Travis says forcefully.

Rip sighs as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket because yea, he gets it.

“I’m a match.” He says finally. “I got tested while you were out. The docs are getting it on the books as we speak.”

“Rip.” Travis says, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

He knows the repercussions of this surgery. Rip will be out of action for six months maybe a year. Travis has the means to weather that but Rip, he doesn’t.

“You always were a stubborn son of a bitch.” Rip says before he tilts his head towards the glass window. Travis can see you on the opposite side, your arms crossed over your chest as you talk to his doctor. “If you won’t let me do this for you, then let me do it for your girl, let me do it so that the two of you can live a long, happy life together.”

Travis can’t find a way to argue with that because that’s all he wants, more time, with you, with Rip, with all the people he actually gives a shit about.

That evening he calls John Dutton to his hospital room and they begin to make arrangements. Between them they make sure that Rip’s going to be taken care of throughout the duration of his recovery, no matter how long it may take.

It isn’t until the day of the surgery that Travis realises just how terrified of hospitals Rip actually is. He endures the checkups through gritted teeth, he keeps his gaze trained on the TV, switching the channels constantly in an attempt to distract himself. Travis, he’s an old hand at this shit by now, he’s spend the past year in and out of treatment but Rip…

This is the longest he’s ever been inside one.  

“I’m buying you a fucking horse after this.” Travis tells him as he tips his head towards the other man. “An expensive one, a stud. You’ll make four, five grand everytime the thing pops a woody.”

“I don’t want a fucking horse.” Rip tells him as he turns off the TV and gestures to the pony plushie nestled against Travis’s chest, Rip has a matching one that he keeps stroking his fingers over. “What I want is for you to marry that girl as soon as you get out of here.”

“Can’t do that if I don’t have a best man.” Travis remarks as he studies the cuddly toy once more. It looks exactly like his rodeo horse Crash.

“OK.” Rip tells him, tucking his own plushie underneath the crook of his arm. “You pop the question and I’m there, you just tell me where and when.”

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[kanencrow]

Can you do gwen stacy/spider-gwen x reader where reader is patching up gwen after another fight? (similar to gwen and peter in tasm)

Playing Doctor - Across The Spiderverse | One Shot

A/N: Of course, thank you for the request! I'll be honest, it's been a very long time since I last saw The Amazing Spiderman, but nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.

SUMMARY: You patch up Gwen after a particularly harrowing fight with what she considered her villain of the month.

WARNINGS: All characters are 18+. Descriptions of Physical Violence, Descriptions of Tending to a Wound, Blood, Swearing, Needles, Very Slight Angst, Fluff/Comfort.

WORD COUNT: 2400+

Attempting to sew up a decently large gash that sat just above the left side of Gwen’s chest proved to be a tedious and slow task, even with the top of her suit down, which was supposed to aid your ability in assessing where she had been hurt. You were in no way shape or form a professional in stitching up a wound, but when your girlfriend came in through your window, looking like she had just been hit by a truck, you really didn’t have much time to study. Not that you necessarily planned on learning the arts of medicine, but now that you knew the reality of who the woman in front of you was – when she wasn’t her true identity, you were certain it would have been a good idea to figure out a thing or two about treating cuts and bruises. 

When you saw her stumble into your room after opening up your window, you didn’t expect anything other than a simple ‘hi,’ before she would do her usual habitual routine of walking up behind you and giving you a warm hug, followed by a firm kiss to the top of your head. Every night, you’d find yourself cooped up in your apartment and losing your mind over a particular assignment that your professor pushed onto you and every other victim of their class. It would take Spider-Woman’s strength to tear you away from your focus on your computer, though when she didn’t do her usual embrace and peck, you turned around, only to see her tumble into the room, as though all of the strength in her muscles had vanished. 

The sight of her terrified you. You didn’t know what to do, other than immediately stop what you were doing and dart over to your girlfriends’ aid. It seemed like every bit of movement that she made worsened the feeling of affliction that surrounded her body. Of course, you noticed that quickly, and so you led her over to your bed and ordered her to settle down and take off her suit, while you busied yourself with going into your bathroom and grabbing the medical box you had under your sink. Your own movements were frantic and clumsy, unlike the blonde, whose own movements were slow and tentative. There were a few moments where you almost dropped the supplies you had collected, but you managed to keep track of everything, before you made it back to the room.

And by the time you did make it back, Gwen had followed your request, though she made sure to make herself comfortable in the process, when you spotted her laying across her proclaimed side of the bed, with her head laying against one of the many pillows you had. Even though she looked like she had been through the thick of it, she still sent you a small smile, when she opened her eyes and looked at you. You attempted to give her the same expression back, but it only seemed to come off as a grimace, when the woman scrunched up her face slightly and slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. 

“That bad?” she asked you, before she let out a quiet grunt and grabbed at the strap of her compression bra, or what remained of it. Somehow, it was still connected by a thread, even after receiving whatever slash that her skin shared the same fate with, and it seemed to have finally lost all of the strength it had when you heard a quiet snap, followed by a hiss of pain that came from her, when the elastic smacked against her wound. “Ow, shit!” You set the box of supplies you collected onto the nightstand that sat beside the side of the bed you and her were on, before you turned around and looked at the woman who just had an unintentional mishap with a piece of fabric. 

The palm of her hand rested over the gash on the upper left side of her chest, and you immediately grimaced when the thought of it getting infected filled your mind. “Hey, don’t do that,” you told her, before you stepped forward and gently grabbed a hold of her wrist. “Your hands are probably dirty. You don’t want a wound this size to get an infection.” You let go of her limb as you leaned down to get a closer look at the laceration, which caused your girlfriend to smirk slightly to herself and lean back on her hands, which – actually – allowed you to see whether or not anything had made its way inside of the cut. 

“Since when did you become a doctor?” Gwen questioned you quietly, as she admired the way your face faintly scrunched up to show your concentration. Her voice was smug, and you internally wondered how she was so willing to be cheeky while she still had a jagged, untreated wound on her body. You had the sudden urge to roll your eyes at her lack of worry, but you managed to keep a blank expression, when you lifted your focus up to the woman who sat on your bed. 

“Since never,” you stated simply, before you stood up to your full height and stepped over to your nightstand once more. “I’m just using the information that I’ve come to learn from simply being alive,” you admitted, only to let out a sigh, as you picked up a white box with a red cross decal that sat on top of it. “You know… getting hurt a lot as a kid and then treating your own injuries, just so you wouldn’t get in trouble by your parents… it kind of also gives you this automatic idea of how to treat an injury.” You shrugged your shoulders, and eventually turned around to sit on the bed with your girlfriend. 

Gwen stared at you, all the while, as you unclipped the medical box, which carried all of the things you needed in order to treat her gash. Her smile slowly fell when she noticed the glassiness in your eyes, and the way you chewed on your lower lip, as though you were trying to prevent yourself from growing emotional. It caused her to sit up and scoot closer to you, before she bent her leg to let it rest on part of the bed, so that she could turn her body to fully face your own. “Hey… I’m still alive,” she assured you, but you only tightened your jaw in response to that, before you parted your mouth and breathed out a sigh that silently conveyed your discontent. 

“It doesn’t matter, Gwen,” you voiced, “you still got hurt.” You blindly gestured your free hand towards her, before you let it drop to hold onto the mattress. “I mean – I’m glad that you’re alive, but seeing you…” You trailed off and breathed in deeply, just to try and steel your nerves. “Watching you come through that window, barely able to hold yourself up… I guess it just reminded me that you’re still human. That anything can happen to you, even though you’re Spider-Gwen, or Ghost-Spider, or whatever you call yourself these days.” You let out a quiet chuckle when your girlfriend huffed in amusement at what you had just said. The moment of lighthearted nature was quick to die out, however, and the moment your smile fell, you spoke up. “I guess just – what if you didn’t come back tonight–?” 

“Babe, stop.” You felt Gwen’s hand come down to rest on your thigh. She understood your worries, loud and clear, but she knew that you were starting to lose yourself within that whirlwind. You immediately felt her comforting touch, and she felt the weight of concern fall away from her shoulders, when you breathed out an exhale to try and steady your spiral of thoughts. “I’m here. I’m alive. I’m okay,” she told you, but you didn’t show any evidence that you believed her. “Hey, look at me.” Her palm fell away from your leg to take a gentle hold of your face, and you didn’t fight her when you felt the warmth of her skin against yours. 

The moment your eyes met her own, your brow furrowed deeply. “You’re okay?” you repeated, before you let out a humorless laugh and looked down at the large gash that sat on her chest. Bruises and the like littered other parts of her body too, you had noticed, and the sight of it only made you more regrettable. “Look at you!” you quietly exclaimed, as your hands attempted to gesture up and down her form. “You look like you got run over by a freight train.” 

“Okay, rude.” Gwen frowned at you, as she dropped her hand away from your face and sent you a look of offense. “I think I look fine,” she admitted, before she tilted her head to the side and gazed up at nothing in particular. It was as if she were dwelling on the fight she had before coming here. “Honestly, you should see the other guy.” When she brought her focus back to you, you deadpanned at her, clearly unimpressed by her lack of concern for her own state. “Not only is he in jail, but he’s gotta go to the hospital before jail. So…” She shrugged her shoulders again, and you shook your head. 

“Gwen…” 

“What?” she asked, “I’m fine. I just need my personal doctor to fix me up.” 

“You’re an idiot,” you uttered, though your tone conveyed your endearment.

“Yeah, but I’m the same idiot that you decided to date, so what does that say about you?” Gwen asked smugly, which earned an amused eye roll from you, before you settled the medical box to the side and leaned in to press a gentle peck to her cheek.

“I guess that means that I have a thing for idiots.” You played along, which successfully earned a quiet giggle from your girlfriend, as her eyes followed you closely. When you leaned away slightly to scrounge through the box of medical supplies you had set next to you, you couldn’t help but glance up at her for a moment, before you brought your focus back down to what you were mainly doing. “So… who was the guy you fought tonight, then?” you suddenly questioned, “Was he the same dude you fought earlier this month?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Gwen mumbled, her eyes still watching you as you set up the needle and thread. “Super big guy. Dressed himself up in what looks like a cosplay of a rhino, which makes sense… considering his name is literally just Rhino.” You furrowed your eyebrows at her explanation, before you stopped what you were doing to look up at her once more. 

“Wait, so that’s literally just his name? Or is that his stage name?” 

“Stage name?” she repeated, suddenly growing confused. 

You paused and blinked at her. “You know, stage name? Like how your real name is Gwen Stacy, but when you’re wearing your suit, you’re Spider-Woman – or whatever you call yourself.” You couldn’t keep up with the names she created for herself these days. Was it Ghost-Spider, Spider-Gwen, or Spider-Woman? You didn’t even know, and she told you everything, so honestly, you should have probably known. But you didn’t. 

“Oh! Right, right.” Gwen nodded her head, suddenly catching on, while you set the thread and needle to the side to grab a bottle of hydrogen peroxide instead, as well as a little fuzzy cotton ball. Her eyes followed your hands, all the while, and she grew a little nervous when you unscrewed the cap of the container and dumped some of the liquid onto the miniature cloud of white. “He, uh… his real name is Aleksi Sytsevich.” You hummed at her simple explanation. “Yeah, he, uh… he’s kind of an idiot.” She paused to glance up at the ceiling of your room for a moment. “Kinda surprised it took me so long to catch him…” 

“Well, hey, at least you got him,” you muttered, before you dabbed the wet cotton ball against the wound that the rhino guy created on your girlfriend. “And hopefully you made him bleed just as much as he made you,” you added on, which earned a small chuckle from the blonde in response. 

“Oh, trust me,” Gwen said, “I did.” 

The conversation fell into silence the moment you set your entire focus on trying to stitch up Gwen’s wound. For someone who was used to getting thrown up against walls and crushed by things that were ten times the size and weight of her, she whined a lot. Everytime you would push the needle through to cinch the skin back together, you would hear some sort of quiet curse or a little dramatic whimper come from her. She definitely made a note to state her discontent for what you were doing, but you always made sure to remind her that it wasn’t your fault Rhino decided to be an asshole and give her a particularly gnarly wound. 

You hadn’t sutured a gash up before, though, so when you eventually finished and sat back to admire your work, your lips downturned deeply to show your impression. For a complete rookie, you did a pretty okay job. Although, you still planned to take a trip up to the hospital with her in the morning, just for the sake of making sure that nothing bad would happen in the process of her recovery. And you were more than willing to drag her there, because you knew just how much she hated those medical centers.

“Do I still look pretty?” 

Your eyes flickered up to look at Gwen, who had her eyebrows raised in question. A warming sensation of love filled your chest when you noticed the hopeful expression on her tired face, and you couldn’t help but lean forward and press your lips to her own. It was a silent reply that, yes, you still thought she was beautiful. She accepted the action immediately, and you could hear her hum against your mouth quietly, before you pulled back slightly and sent her a small smile, your eyes keeping contact with her own. 

“You’ll always be pretty. Don’t you worry.” You sent her a playful wink, before you settled back and hopped off the bed. “Now,” you uttered. “Why don’t we get you into some more comfortable clothes?” You blindly called from over your shoulder, and you felt yourself grin when she happily replied to your query in turn.

[swiftsdelucaa]

I love your blog and your writing sm!!! ❤️

I wanted ask you if you could write an imagine for Andrew DeLuca where the reader gets injured badly during the fire in the hospital and he doesn't know right away because no one tells him? No pressure ofc, thanks :)

❛ 𝑨𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 ❜

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Andrew DeLuca x reader ♡

𝘼/𝙣: Tyy sm anon!! 💜💜 Loved writing it, hope you'll like it too!! :)

The fire, the smoke, the fear, the anxiety, those were the only things you could remember, the only things that surrounded your mind and your body. Right now around you there were just people, many people you knew, that probably were worried for you. Breath was difficult in that moment, and mostly of your body parts hurt due of the burns. Someone put an oxygen mask on your face, as they kept talking about things you couldn't understand very well because of your current state. You knew you weren't okay, everything has been crazy, you just tried to do the best and help Stephanie.

"S-Steph..." you immediately remembered about her and took off the mask to talk.

"She is okay Y/n, now we're doing the best for you" Jackson reassured you. "But you mustn't make efforts" he added. You barely could nod, the weakness that had taken over your body got the better on you.

"Should we call Andrew?" Maggie asked. "I mean, he has no idea of what it's happening"

"Okay, but we don't even know where he could be" Meredith replied. Yeah, he was with the other doctors, helping all those people who has been in trouble because of that situation. You wanted him with you, you couldn't hide that you were a little scared, but you didn't want to worry him too much. You knew him, you knew how much he got involved in everything, especially if it was you. But anyway you didn't have enough strength to respond, the pain and flanking were strong.

"Yeah, he need to know, but I don't think this is the best moment..." Jackson said. "There are many people here, and I think we should tell him when everything will get better" they nodded to his affermation, then they focused again on you.

"Stephanie asked of Y/n, how is she?" Jo entered in your room, looking at you and hoping to hear a positive answer.

"We're dealing with it, she'll be okay" Jackson replied reassuring her.

Right when you were a little calmer, breath has become more difficult than before, you started caughing but then it became difficult too. The pain decreased, the weakness seemed like tiredness, so you closed your eyes, not feeling anything anymore.

"She's inhaled too much smoke, her lungs are damaged, she's in cardiac arrest!" Maggie exclaimed starting the compressions. "Wilson, we need a crash cart" Jo ran right away to find one, but there were so many people, and everything was no longer in its own place.

Andrew was talking to Richard about the fact to organize the situation. He glanced over at the girl, she seemed quite agitated. Apparently she found what she was looking for, but she has to try to walk on through all those people.

"Damn please, we're trying to save Y/n's life!" she screamed as she walked towards your room.

"What?" Andrew expression changed suddently. She approached her despite webber trying to stop him. "W-what have you said?" Jo turned to his as soon as she heard his voice. She wanted to explain, but she didn't have time to waste, so she kept running towards your room.

They took the defibrillators and released a charge, hoping to recover the pulse again. Andrew arrived right in that moment, after he followed Jo. He just looked at you, he couldn't explain the way how he felt in that moment.

"Y/n!" everyone turned to him when they heard him. His voice was a mix of feelings, he was so worried, broken and maybe angry too.

"DeLuca, we... are doing everything possible..." Meredith tried to calm him, but he was so confused and needed explanations, so he approached to you.

"What is-" he looked to your monitor, the line was still flat. "Y/n..."

"Andrew... please, you should go..." Jo pulled him away from where you were layed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"We have the pulse!" Maggie sighed happily as everyone was glad too. Andrew was still quite shocked, but indeep he was relieved too.

"She is strong, she'll be fine, okay?" Jo said reassuring him. He couldn't say anything, he was still scared, for a moment he thought to lose you. Jo walked him out, finding a place for him to sit and be quiet. She then came back to the other doctors to help them.

Now he had to deal with the wait. It's not easy not know how the person you love and you care the most is. Maybe she was in surgery, or they were focused on her burns or maybe there was another complication. All of this killed him for a long time, he just wished to to see you good, to hear your voice talking with him or feel your presence safe with him. Andrew knew what would you do to help people, it was a big thing that united you, being doctors was what actually you wanted. And for him was very difficult not being there to do everything possible to help you. But he needed to stay strong.

He had no idea of how long he waited for some good news, but when she saw Jo he suddently got up.

"H-how is she? Can I see her?" he asked with the clear fear and hope in his voice.

Jo smiled to him "She's good, and yes, she asked to see you" the relief he felt at that moment was indescribable.

"My God, Y/n" he sighed smiling and couldn't wait to see you. Jo accompanied him to your room, where Jackson, Maggie and Meredith were still with you.

"Y/n!" you turned towards the entrance when you heard Andrew's voice, and you couldn't help to smiling as soon as you saw him. He reciprocated, he was so glad to see you okay.

"We took care of her burns and the rest of the damage, we did our best" Jackson said.

"Yeah, the convalescence will be long, but she will recover" Maggie added smiling.

"She is strong" Meredith looked at you.

"She is" Andrew added as you both looked at each other.

They checked you a last time and them went out of your room, letting a moment for you and Andrew. He approached to you, sitting next to you in your bed.

"You scared me to death, sometimes you just look more stubborn than me" he said smiling as you chuckled.

"That's why you love me" you replied. He looked at you in the eyes, stroking softly your hair. "I was so afraid tho..." you said taking his hand.

"I was very afraid too, but are fine now, and that's the only thing that matter" he said reassuring you. He held your hand and then he approached to your face to kiss you on the lips, lovingly and softly.

"I love you" he whispered.

"I love you too" you replied as your foreheads still touched.

[milky-fixx]

cursed

wanderer x reader // genshin impact  700 words // hurt / comfort truly the most self-indulgent thing i’ve written. 

“I think I’m cursed.”

The Wanderer pauses his stride. Looking back, he finds you seated before the bank of Devadaha Pool, staring out at the waters of Sumeru. He frowns, a tad disgruntled that he didn’t sooner that you’d fallen behind. As he approaches you, he notes your position--knees pulled up to your chest, hands clasped over your ankles. Your gaze is fixated on the lily pads floating across the water, your expression inscrutable. 

You look vulnerable.

His mind is racing with possibilities to explain your current state. But then he replays your words. “A curse?” His voice darkens, reminding you all too well of just how dangerous he can be. “Who would dare curse you?”

Your eyes widen, glancing up swiftly. “No! Not that kind of curse. Put that away!” You gesture at his catalyst, which he brought out at the first hint of trouble. Begrudgingly he does so, glancing at you with suspicion.

“Explain,” he demands.

“I just…” Your shoe nudges into the wet soil before you, watching idly as a crab, unearthed, scurries by. The Wanderer catches himself from a cross remark (”Are you intentionally ignoring me?”) when he realizes--you’re hesitating. He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting his weight onto his other leg. He can wait.

“Bad things always seem to happen to me. It’s like I’m a magnet for misfortune,” you say ruefully, toeing the sand once more. 

“It’s hard not to feel dragged down by everything. And… I worry. I worry people tire of me. I worry that my negativity pushes everyone away. That my mood is like a black hole that sucks up all the joy around me. I worry that I’m exhausting everyone I care about,” you finish. Your hand comes up to cradle your chin, gazing thoughtfully at the soil before you. As if it holds the answers to your problems.

Your companion remains quiet. You don’t expect him to say anything, of course. It’s the first time you’ve ever voiced some of the concerns plaguing you. 

To your surprise, he leans down with a huff, sitting next to you on the bank.  His legs crossed, he leans back against his arms, his hands planted firmly into the sand.

“…How foolish. I’m still here, you know.”

“What?”

“You said ‘everyone.’ But I’m still here.”

He gazes out at the waters himself, mulling over your words. He could relate to the feeling, in a way. His life up until this point was defined by betrayal. By his creator, by Dottore, by the boy from Tatarasuna who caved to his human mortality. But Scaramouche fashioned himself as someone who wreaked havoc, rather than had havoc wreaked upon him. Rather than mope over the events that had led him to that point, he preferred to take action.

Revenge.

Those who had caused misfortune to befall him would regret the day they crossed him. That he could assure. 

At least the old him. The Wanderer’s anger had died down to a mere flickering ember. One that could be tempered by contemplation. Or, if that failed, by sending a few vortexes of compressed air towards his enemies, banishing them from his sight. 

But you... You aren’t like him. He glances back at your position. Curled in on yourself, hiding away from the harshness of the world. And he remembers himself once doing so, back when he was a fledgling creation. Before innocent, wide-eyed Kabukimono knew about the cruelty of the world he was thrust into.

His attention drifts back to the waters before you two. Flowing uninterrupted, despite whatever hardships the world threw at it.

“Do not think of yourself as a curse or the cursed. Because if that were true... then my life wouldn’t have turned out for the better after I met you.”

“I will stay by your side,” he says, catching your eye. “After all...” A hint of amusement creeps into his tone. “You can’t curse me if my existence has already been shunned by the gods.”

“But if the time comes where someone dares to spite you… Hmph. Well.” He laughs humorlessly. “They’ll find I’m not quite as forgiving as you.”

It’s as much of a promise as he can offer. To curse at the world that’s cursed you. 

[onecornerface]

YouTuber Tom Nicholas misrepresented Steven Pinker's statements on academic writing

Tom Nicholas’s YouTube video “Why is Academic Writing so Boring?” is wildly wrong and misleading in how it portrays Steven Pinker. Nicholas falsely accuses Pinker of making arguments that he very clearly does not make, and ignores almost everything Pinker actually says.

Several years ago, I read Pinker’s book The Sense of Style—a pretty great book about how to improve writing, especially academic writing. When I saw Nicholas’s video, which only focuses on Pinker’s much shorter essay “Why Academics Stink at Writing,” I noticed the view he attributes to Pinker bears little resemblance to the view Pinker develops in the book. But I wondered if maybe Pinker’s essay was indeed a lot dumber than the book, since authors often do a very bad job of compressing their ideas into short formats. So I read the essay—and found Nicholas’s portrayal was not a remotely reasonable interpretation.

For one thing, Nicholas speaks as if Pinker is opposed to academic jargon, which is not true. Pinker thinks some jargon is essential and useful, and that some jargon is gratuitous. Some version of this position is blatantly correct. Nicholas spends a LOT of his video defending the very idea of academic jargon—a view Pinker already agrees with! Nicholas and Pinker may well turn out to disagree on the specifics of what kinds of jargon are justified, but Nicholas can’t explore this idea since he’s misrepresenting Pinker as being opposed to all jargon.

In fact, Pinker mostly focuses on issues other than jargon—and Nicholas completely ignores all of this, despite its obvious relevance to the video topic.

On two occasions in the video, Nicholas presents a quote from Pinker (from page 1) out of context—making it sound as if Pinker is saying academics in the “softer sciences” generally write badly on purpose, “to hide the fact that they have nothing to say.” But the truth is, Pinker doesn’t express this theory himself. He says it is the most popular theory among non-academics! Then in the very next paragraph, he says: “Though no doubt the bamboozlement theory applies to some academics some of the time, in my experience it does not ring true. I know many scholars who have nothing to hide and no need to impress. They do groundbreaking work on important subjects, reason well about clear ideas, and are honest, down-to-earth people. Still, their writing stinks.” This is never mentioned in the video.

Nicholas very briefly mentions that Pinker gives several reasons why most academic writing is bad, but he gives the impression that the bamboozlement theory is an argument Pinker himself is putting forward. Nicholas completely omits the fact that Pinker says the theory “does not ring true.” And Nicholas completely leaves out any mention of the reasons that Pinker spends the entire rest of the essay discussing. Pinker rejects the notion that most bad academic writing is intentionally obscure. Instead, he gives a nuanced and charitable analysis appealing to several factors, many of them fairly innocent. A large portion of his analysis is the “curse of knowledge”—roughly, the tendency for an expert on X to fail to grasp what it’s like to not know much about X, and thus to fail to write in a manner that is comprehensible to someone who doesn’t already know the same stuff.

There is a popular notion that academic writing is generally bad on purpose, and that it is generally bad due to jargon. Some parts of Nicholas’s video are a half-decent rebuttal to this view. But he depicts Steven Pinker as the avatar of this view—a view Pinker explicitly rejects.

Nicholas occasionally mentions that he agrees a lot of academic writing is bad, but he never clarifies how. Meanwhile, Pinker has actually written a lot on diagnosing the problems and giving advice on how to improve it.

Nicholas speaks as if Pinker singles out the “soft” sciences (twice misrepresenting Pinker’s quote, as I mentioned). Pinker does later claim that the humanities have some distinctive writing problems (which may or may not be true, and may be worth exploring at length-- but Nicholas doesn’t even cite this part), but in the essay under discussion he simply does not dwell long on this. Pinker criticizes the writing style of “hard” science research studies numerous times. He also says some writing problems are especially severe in linguistics, his own field.

Finally, Nicholas essentially accuses Pinker of opposing jargon out of a desire to defend status quo capitalism and make it harder to engage in high-level critique of status quo capitalism. Pinker is a capitalist, and some of his political views are probably bad. The only Pinker book I’ve read is The Sense of Style, which barely discusses politics (except in the section where Pinker defends the singular ‘they’), so I can’t comment on that. All I know is that Nicholas blatantly and severely misrepresents the Pinker essay in the video, and none of Pinker’s political positions will change this fact or make it okay.

[lexpape]

tagged by: @12reset, @pinkminxed & @serpentsexile ofc

tagging: steal it. I'm sure almost everyone has done it that I know HAHA

blank meme: x

GENERAL APPEARANCE

Sex: Masculine. Feminine. Non-Binary. Notes: n/a

Race: Human, originally. Though everything is verse dependant

Complexion: A sickly kind of pale. He doesn't get a lot of sun and is naturally quite pale anyway.

Height: 6'4 // 193cm

Body Type: Endomorph. Mesomorph. Ectomorph. Other / More Details: n/a.

Body Build: Small. Medium. Athletic. Muscular. Soft. Curvy. Voluptuous. Other / More Details: Well built, but not in that kind of gym bro or body builder way. He's not at 0% body fat, so it just kind of looks pretty well proportioned and if he's not flexing he's actually quite soft.

Body Hair: None. Shaves/Waxes. Trims/Grooms. Untamed. Color: Dark brown. Notes: n/a.

Head Hair: None. Buzzed. Short. Medium / Long. Very Long. Asymmetrical Cut. Color: Dark brown. If you squint, the tips are slightly darker from an old dye job. Style: A shaggy and uneven cut that suggests that it was both a home job, and also probably not with proper hair scissors. The most he does to maintain it is cut his bangs when he remembers, though they still grow past his eyes and is parted to the side to at least give him some vision, and then also trim dead ends if he ever notices it. His hair is on the wavier side, though he simply thinks that's because it's messy. He tries to keep it in a ponytail, but the hair-tie he uses is old and thus barely holds anything so it sort of sits at that awkward dead mother anime hair position with bits constantly falling out.

Eye color: A sort of forest green Details: For the most part they seem pretty normal. It's hard to see them behind glasses. For a dark colour, they do seem oddly... piercing. Perhaps it's just the way he stares. He also has dark bags practically permanently under his eyes.

Scars: Multiple stab wounds to the stomach partially obscured by a tattoo. A scar running through his left eyebrow (( he doesn't shave in the slit lol )). What almost looks like a bite around the neck // shoulder area (( don't ask )). Honestly a number of faint scars scattered across his body that aren't as notable. He gets into a lot of fights.

FASHION

Fashion Style: Vintage. Traditional. Casual. Artsy. Vibrant. Geeky/Nerdy. Tomboy. Sporty. Trendy. Preppy. Girly. Bohemian. Elegant. Formal. Grunge. Punk. Rocker. Gothic. Other notes: Almost has two wardrobes. His "normal" one consisting of kind of dark academia businesswear type of clothing with a lot of coats and knit, and then a full blown emo goth moment that he actually likes. Though these days, it's closer to a soft goth.

Color Palette: Black for the most part if he had the choice or for work, with other greyscale or neutral browns and beiges.

Typical Clothing: Button up shirts that are either oversized, barely buttoned or clearly custom fit in order for it to actually fit his body. Something more plain like a compression shirt or turtleneck if he can't be bothered. Ripped jeans (( you cant tell if that's on purpose or just general wear and tear given what he gets up to )) or dress pants. Belts and straps, sometimes in places that may not even be needed at times. A good, solid pair of boots or dress pants. Things like sweater vests and trench coats. Almost always has a dog tag and a gold chain on his neck.

Piercings: Multiple. They're listed in his ref. Ofc he's known for the nipples though- HAHA

Tattoos: Multiple. More details in the ref again. Notably, a dagger hides the stab scars and a snake kind of obscures the one on his neck

Other Information: n/a.

EXPRESSION

General Facial Expression: For the most part he keeps it pretty neutral, though he always kind of has that wet dog look about him where he just sort of... looks depressed. His mouth always seems to naturally rest in a frown too. Though, he always has a habit of sizing people up with his eyes and sad and apathetic can go to cold and judgmental real quick.

Default Body Language: Usually pretty stiff. It's kind of been drilled into him to keep his back straight and his paranoia keeps him rather tense. He normally has one hand free and the other either in his pockets , remaining at his side or hooked into a belt loop to reach for said pockets if needs be. Though, in a relaxed or frankly drunk state, he tends to slouch much more, shift his weight to one side and cross his arms or lean on things a lot more

General Movements:  (Example: Do they have a limp? A unique walk?) Jack paces a lot, and also has a bat habit f clenching his jaw/grinding his teeth unconsciously.

NOTABLE FOR RP

Presence: (Example: Are they a calming presence? An antagonizing one?)  Jack tends to make a lot of people uncomfortable. Many note he feels dog like in the sense that he might lunge at any moment. Or that it feels as though he's reading their every action. You can also tell right away when you piss him off, and given his size ?? Not fun.

Appearance: (Example: Tidy, Unkept, etc) very tidy. His clothes are kept well but... that's about it. He doesn't really care about himself enough to care to do much outside of maybe showers, brushing his teeth and shaving stubble.

Scent: Something metallic and ozone. Masked up with things like alcohol, leather, cigarette smoke and a gifted cologne. Lowkey he smells like a depressed middle aged man who's wife took the kids.

Voice Description: NSFW warning but the priest audiobooks... Literally sounds like Jack I'm being so deadass.

Accent: yes / no More information: American smh. Though he spends so much time around people with british accents that his accent slips at times.

Speech Mannerisms: (Formal, informal, curses a lot, etc) Pretty formal to strangers. Tends to like to sound educated. Will keep his answers to the point. This is, of course, until he either snaps or is comfortable around you. He has the mouth of a sailor and speaks much more informally.

Anything else to add? Everyone's favorite dog. Can be trained if you're determined.

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All The Time in the World - Chapter 1

Part 1 Devoir

Birkhall, January 2020

I wake with the howling of the wind and curl so that every part of me is cocooned in the warmth of the blankets but my nose is exposed and complains about the temperature. Reaching my hand across, I can feel that the other side of the bed is empty, although the compression of the pillows tells me that my husband came to bed last night. Sometimes he falls asleep at his desk and that leaves him with pain in his back and a niggling disposition best avoided. I grimace as the wind fights its way into the house and I hear the lash of rain against the window panes belabouring them. Today will be difficult. He acts like the incarceration in the house is the fault of everyone around him rather than the inclement weather. I settle back into the covers and shut my eyes to postpone commencing the day.

“Your Royal Highness, Ma’am?” The knock against the door is tentative. I hate being disturbed prematurely and this house is meant to be where we take our holidays, not where I should be harassed at indecorous hours of the morning. “Why are you in my room, waking me up?” “So sorry, Ma’am, His Royal Highness, The Prince of Wales has asked for you.” “The sun hasn’t risen. He knows not to wake me before then.” I’m being petulant. The sun never rises early at this time of year and certainly not this far north. “Sorry Ma’am, he asked for you.”

The initial irritation dissolves into unease. “Fine.” I wriggle out of the covers and prop myself up on the pillows. The air cools through my nightdress and brushes my bare shoulders like frost, making me shiver. Almost immediately, the lamps are switched on in the room and I find a thick cardigan placed around me, a cup of black tea in my hands, warming them. “Tell me, Martin, what exactly is wrong with my husband?” “He’s most perturbed, Ma’am.” “Meaning?” Martin colours most magnificently when he’s embarrassed. Watching the shade of his cheeks, I can sometimes work out the truth before he’s admitted to it. He doesn’t look at me and I repeat my question with a Grandmotherly sternness I know works well with him. “He’s striding around his office, shouting at anyone who enters.” “What’s happened?” “I think The Prince would want to tell you himself, Ma’am.” As I raise my eyebrows at him slightly, I see his endeavour to remain loyal to my husband waiver at my expression. I just need to probe correctly to break him. “Is it that Chinese virus?” “That what, Ma’am?” “Corona Virus?” His blank face tells me it’s not. “Harry then?” I watch his face rouge, not able to lie to me and then crumple as he folds. “You need your iPad. There’s a message on Instagram.” “Tell me. I don’t know where my glasses are. I don’t even know how to work Insta-whatever-it-is, I just scroll through the pretty pictures.” “It’s Their Royal Highnesses, The Duke and Duchess of Sussex. They have announced they’re stepping back from the position of Senior Royals.” “Get me the iPad.”

It’s a strange emotion that hits my stomach. The anger is instant and prickles my skin, and the grief for my husband settles down in my heart as an old companion. Swallowing, I attempt to rid my mind of any unfavourable comparison but my stomach is churning, a contorted mixture of unease born of wounds from long ago, and guilt from what feels like a different age, salted in a deep-set resentment. I feel leaden as I read the message four, five times over, memorising it before removing my reading glasses to look at Martin. He’s worried about my reaction but I’m not my husband. I sigh heavily, not wanting to get up, but one benefit of my position is that someone will aid me with everything, especially when my bones are too old to move quickly at this time of day. “Send for Emma.” My poor husband. Anger laps at me but I know I have to be calm, even as my stomach pangs. I bet Charles hasn’t eaten yet. “And tea for his office…” “Yes, Ma’am.” “And something sweet.” “What sort…” “...Duchy biscuits are fine,” I snap, then pause to correct myself and continue with a more neutral tone, “Ready for when I get there. And toast and honey. Send Emma up now.”

Dismissing him, I breathe in deeply, feeling the air inflate my lungs, feeling my blood disseminate the oxygen around my body, to my tired muscles, calming me, preparing me for my job, my vocation. The lifetime I’ve spent talking gently to my husband, teasing him, bullying him, calming him down. There is never the time to process each new disaster with his family and sometimes I feel reminiscent of a firefighter, faithfully attempting to extinguish one crisis as several others ignite around me, but it seems churlish to complain when we’ve spent so many years striving for what we have now.

~*~*~*~*~*~

2000, Highgrove

We turn on the television to listen to Big Ben, to hear the countdown and watch the fireworks and I feel his hand reaching for mine. I clasp it firmly. The camera pans onto a closeup of his mother’s face and I smirk. Sat there with the Prime Minister, she looks as pissed off as her public persona allows. He kisses my cheek and I know he’s noted my expression. “She looks happy.” That makes me chuckle and I pull away from the screen and turn to face him. The hubbub around us is quieting now to the hush which always accompanies this precise moment in time, that pause before the countdown to the New Year begins. “I wonder if the telly’s going to crash at the stroke of midnight?” “Perhaps everything will go down?” “Your mother will be trapped in the dark.” “That would be funny.” “Do you think the little bug thing will crawl out and take over, reign over us?” That makes him chuckle and he reaches down to kiss me. “Last kiss this year.” “Last kiss this century.” “Hold my hand. I want to enter the new millennium with you.” The countdown starts but I’m looking into his eyes. I want his eyes to be the first thing I see. Or the last, if the world does indeed come to an end in five seconds time. But, of course, it doesn’t and I’ve almost completed saying the obligatory blessing before he kisses me again, then presses his forehead against mine. I can hear the celebrations around me. The corks popping and the choruses of ‘Happy New Year!’ We’re jolted slightly from side to side as our friends turn and greet in the new year in the time old fashion but I can’t draw away from him. Not until I feel people tugging me, grasping for my hand and then the spell is broken and I’m back on earth, singing along with all our friends, laughing with them, bouncing our arms to the beat of the song, grimacing at the sound of my voice as I warble along with them.

The deep boom of fireworks exploding outside sets off an excited chatter and I find myself hastily bundled into a coat, his coat. My nose burrows to inhale the scent but I’m manhandled outside and his arms hold me to him as I try to watch the display. “Start as we mean to go on.” “Being shoved outside, you mean?” I hear him chuckle against my ear and then his lips against my neck make me giggle. “Resolutions, Darling.” “Oh, I’m dreadful at these. I always say the same things. I’ll give up smoking. I won’t drink as much… One week of January and the sheer tedium of the month bores me straight back to my old habits.” “That’s because you had no intention of ever giving them up and you’ve said it for show.” “Probably.” “My resolution is to be with you.” “You are with me, Darling.” “To fight for you until there’s no longer any need.” That makes me smile. It will be another millennium before people accept our relationship. “What’s my resolution, Darling?” “You’ve got to make it. I can’t tell you what your resolution will be.” I feel his fingers poking in my side to tickle me and smile. “I resolve to love you through everything.” “You can’t resolve to love me! You’re meant to already love me!” “I do ‘already’ love you.” I turn my head to kiss him, to reassure him and manage to find his chin. It’s rough against my lips. “I said I will love you through everything. Through everything that hits you, hurts you, damages you. I will love you through every crisis. That’s the resolution.” “I think I’m getting the better deal.” “You most certainly are. You need to up the stakes with yours.” “I can’t. The only thing you want, I’ve done for the past thirty years, regardless.” “What do I want?” “You want to be loved and to feel loved. I can’t resolve that I’ll always love you. It’s just a part of who I am. I’m far too old to change now.” “Don’t change.” “When have you ever known me to change?” “Well then you best make up for the discrepancies in our resolutions!” “I will make you my Queen, Camilla.” “Whether I want it or not?” “Something like that.” “Sounds like a threat.” “It’s meant to be an honour.” “Let’s just concentrate on the moment. The bug hasn’t taken over, has it?” I turn in his arms so I’m facing him and bat my eyes at him, making him laugh. “Don’t sound so hopeful!”

His eyes sparkle at me but even my joke can’t distract from what he’s just said to me. The crowd around us seems to me to be separated from us by an invisible force, hushing the noise, and I feel like we’re suddenly so far away from the rest of the world. “Your resolution isn’t about me. It’s about what you want.” “It’s also about you being treated with the respect you deserve.” “That isn’t important to me.” “Only because you’ve learnt to live without it. It is still important.” “I’d prefer to be with you than to be ‘respected’.” “I want you to have both.” I know he does. I won’t let him shatter traditions and demand it happen now; I’m not sure that would even work. But I know he means it and once he makes a decision, he sticks with it. “It would be nice to not be the most hated woman in the world…” “I wish people could meet you. Then they’d love you as much as I do.” “This is the perfect time for wishes. Make them to your heart’s content and then hold onto me tightly and just savour that we’re here together.”

I hardly dare allow myself to wish for anything. It feels like tempting fate. Turning my face towards the spectacle in the heavens above me, I push my head back against him and wish for time together. Just us. But even as I wish for it, I know it will never happen. Ironically, we saw far more of each other when we were married to other people, almost a different lifetime ago, when we both had fewer scars, before the trauma of the past few years. I’ve got a better wish. My wish is that I can make him happy, that I’ll be allowed to do that. At the moment, everything is an uphill battle for acceptance, dodging the grenades thrown at us from his own family, riding the wave of public contempt. I don’t desire to be a part of the Royal Family, I never have; I would happily flee the country and live out the rest of my life with him. A simpler life. No responsibilities. But it would break him and put the responsibility onto his son’s shoulders, shoulders far too young for that weight. So perhaps, instead, my wish is for the strength I’m going to need in order to make him happy when the world is desperate for us to be ripped apart. They don’t realise it’s far too late for that. We won’t be parted from each other now. I wrap my arms around him and pull him close to me. We are starting the new millennium as we mean to go on. Together.

~*~*~*~*~*~

1970, London

His body tenses as I wrap my arms around him but I ignore it and I feel his hands gently pat my back. “Do people not usually hug you, Sir?” I pull away, my eyes grinning at him. He is bright red, his cheeks so flushed they match the rouge of the wallpaper behind him. “Usually I initiate it. People don’t tend to assume they can hug me.” “How dull.” That makes him laugh, a little giggle which sets his face alight. This has been my challenge all evening, to see if I can make this very serious young man loosen up a little. The giggle is almost apologetic and he brings his hand up to his face to hide behind. I want him to laugh openly with me. I’m not sure why. Objectively, he’s very attractive, if you’re into princes. He’s got the education, certainly, some of the topics of conversation have tested me to my limits tonight but he seems to have enjoyed himself and he appears to have been a very good distraction from the mess my love life is currently in with my on-off boyfriend Andrew and his various conquests. Lucia, our mutual friend, was naughty but right to introduce us and her little soiree has been an unmitigated success.

“Careful you two,” Lucia draws on her cigarette to drastic effect, “you have genetic antecedence…” She blows the smoke out to form a perfect smoke ring and I’m more than a little impressed. “Sorry?” He’s really sweet when he’s confused. “I think, Sir, she was referring to the fact that my Great Grandmother was your Great-Great Grandfather’s Mistress…” That makes him blush, from his cheeks and up his ears. “He had a great many mistresses, which particular one are you referring to?” “Alice Keppel.” “Oh… That one. She was considerably more than just his mistress, wouldn’t you say?” “I suppose…” “According to my sources, she was the love of his life. You certainly had best watch out. I apologise in advance if I fall in love with you. I won’t be able to help it, you see. Genetic antecedence.” “She was also meant to be exceptionally good in bed.” Lucia’s drawl makes me cough out my own inhalation of smoke and turns his cheeks a deeper rose colour, although his eyes are sparkling at me. “Is that genetic too?” I laugh and watch his face break into a great smile. “Would you like to know? Or are you destined to be a virgin until you’re married?” “There are no rules about me being a virgin.” “How unfair.” “I guess it is, rather. Tell me this, Miss Shand, how is it that you are single when you talk such tantalising talk?” “Apparently others find me less attractive. Perhaps it’s all a facade and I become boring the more time you spend with me? Then you require more variety?” “Somehow I doubt you’re ever boring. Andrew’s an idiot, by the way. My sister is a wonderful woman but she will drop him like a stone when she’s finished with him.” The fact that he knows about me and Andrew shocks me but I don’t let it show on my face. Perhaps Lucia has told him. The other, inconvenient truth being that Andrew’s current squeeze is Princess Anne, is evidently public knowledge and I ignore the pang of pain which goes through me. “Oh, I’m quite sure he’ll survive. If he doesn’t already have someone else on the go, I’d be really surprised.” “Then it appears I meet you at a fortuitous time.” “How’s that?” “Well I take it that you’re very much ‘off’ with Andrew?” “Very much so.” “Hence the fortuity.” “Oh, well, I only had eyes for him and he only had eyes for everyone…” “That explains why you fell over a cliff.” I look at him, recognising the line and seeing his eyes looking at me, anxiously willing me to laugh, “You rotten swine, you!” “You have deaded me!” That does make me laugh. “Foiled by President Fred!” “Quick, get behind the screen, Gladys.” His mimicry is so on point, he leaves me with tears rolling from my eyes and I’m doubled over with laughter as he recites line after line of my favourite radio show with perfect accuracy. In the end, I have to stop him, to allow myself space to breathe and just looking at him sets us both off again, laughing all my makeup off. Neither of us noticed Lucia disappearing and it’s only her reappearance later which switches our conversation to something else.

I like the way he looks at me as if he’s searching for my approval when he speaks, checking that I agree before continuing. I can’t quite believe how funny he is and how interesting his stories are. I could listen to his soothing voice for hours. Not that I’d admit that. The time dissolves whilst we talk and I don’t notice the fading of the light, nor the various candles which appear around the room until we run out of time and Lucia shows us out of her flat. We saunter down one flight of stairs together. “Goodnight, Miss Shand.” That makes me giggle; it’s so antiquated and suits him to a tee. Now I can feel myself flirting with him. “Goodnight, Sir.” “I’ll walk you home.” “It’s just down the corridor. I can surely manage.” “I’ll walk you anyway.” “Then you’ll know where I live.” “Yes, I will.” “I’m not sure that’s entirely suitable.”

I can’t stop myself from flirting with him, batting my eyelashes, glancing at him sidewards, ensuring he sees that I’m looking. The darkness of the hall is illuminated by the glow from the moon as all the lights have gone out in the power cut, a sign of the times which is usually irritating, but today seems romantic. It makes his skin glow with a silver sheen and I want to reach up and touch his face. I don’t, of course. Instead, we linger by my door, leaning against the wall, talking, giggling quietly as I unsuccessfully attempt to desist with the flirting. “Can I kiss you goodnight?” “Of course not.” His question shocks me and I kick myself for my immediate knee jerk answer. “Well, would you come dancing with me?” “You’re a Prince. Can’t you just order me.” “Possibly. I’d prefer you not to come by force, however.” “Would take some of the fun out of it…” He giggles, nervously, and it makes me smile. I pretend to consider, my eyes meeting his and seeing the fear in them. “Not tonight.” “No, of course not. Tomorrow?” That makes me chuckle and I nod, turning the key in my door. “When shall I pick you up?” I shrug and slip into my flat. “Seven thirty?” “Yes.” “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I close the door in his face and smile to myself. I feel slightly giddy at the thought of him calling on me. This should be fun.

[bonickhausen]

THESE TERRIBLE THINGS

ironically, after telling someone last night that i had gone a couple of months without having a solid nightmare, one could guess why i could barely get any sleep. it's somewhat funny once you stop and think about it!

there's something about transitions that make me feel uncomfortable- the exact moment in which something gets switched over to something else, into something else. i'm not saying i'm afraid of changing the channels on my TV (even though i only really use two of them so its hard to expect a drastic change) but where people usually fear long corridors and hallways with poor lighting, i fear the corners. lights are on, i don't care: it's the turn. the transition leading into what i can't yet see or feel, sometimes hear.

the place i was at felt wrong. a silly game i like to play whenever i enter a room i find pretty is to find all the light sources and look for the shadows they cast. this creates the strange notion in my head that said room is "belieavable" and true.

this place was neither of these things.

a clear sky out the window, somehow grey-ish (so perhaps not so clear after all) in stark contrast to the eigengrau of everything else. there was a couch and a tv set and probably a table with some chairs. it was awfully cold and i walked barefoot on a very sleek floor. at one point something pulled my arm but when i turned around nothing was there or, if there really was something out there, it must've blended with the strange colour of the walls. walls that kept moving despite staying still- i placed my hand on one of them and i could feel their lateral sliding but it didnt feel like their position changed at all. they grinded at their contact points.

this is when a stray chain of thoughts took over me: these walls were all kind-of-moving, almost like conveyor belts. this meant that they could, unexpectedly, conjure some random entrance or pathway or something, leading somewhere or bringing something to me, towards me, out of my sight. at any moment, one of the walls could quite possibly snatch and tear me limb by limb through its new hingeless doorway that wasn't there two seconds ago when i last looked at it. or maybe the walls could present me with a passage so enticing, so awfuly mesmerizing that i had no option other than to crawl into it, to shove my leg into their beartrap, tear my calf in half.

and there was nothing. i could do. absolutely nothing. i was trapped in a place where the walls were very capable of smothering me at any moment and i couldn't do shit. i was at the mercy of four concrete walls and i gave them their facial expressions: i made them angry and i made them accuse me of terrible, terrible things. these terrible things.

after rotating so much, in a hopeless attempt to keep my guard up, i gave up and screamed. panic and despair took over and i shouted, i shouted until my lungs were compressed out of existence, until my throat dried out and turned into a sad desert, screamed the life out of me and my drained body could no longer sustain itself. gravity made me kneel and one last look at the wall with the window made me fall down on the ground. i saw the ceiling open its mouth and i woke up.

the very first thing i felt when i woke up was the impression that my vocal range had been diminished.

on the other hand, i had a kickass breakfast!

[anglaoshi]

Algger choreography glow up: Legend of the Demon Cat v2

The new year brings new Algger gifts. I was just lamenting in the last installment how Legend of the Demon Cat, the Algger + Kyoka collab on SDC, was disappointing. Fortunately, there is now an updated version with the same music and theme, and it’s much more successful. You can watch it on Weibo:

or on IG:

I won’t waste a ton of time belaboring the numerous faults of the SDC version: If you’ve seen it, you know what I’m talking about, and if you haven’t seen it, don’t go looking, it’s very uncomfortable. In brief, it was awkwardly designed and sluggishly executed. But now, redemption! 

The new version is a class dance, so it’s minimally produced. But it’s very successful with regards to some of the challenging concepts attempted in version one. In particular, the strange, angular shapes in this version read with much clearer intention, to the point where they kind of retroactively reverberate onto the previous piece. Where before I saw awkwardness, I can now see prototyping of otherworldly, demonic designs. In this new version, those designs are perfected. 

Let’s start with the narrative heart of the piece: 

This is the moment that really clarified everything for me. Even though it’s a solo performance, you can see here the expression of conflict, encroachment, and transformation. Waves of motion reverberate against each other, bursting where they intersect. The imbrication of limpness and tone creates tension. This dynamic is most heightened by the circular arm swings, which include the both elements within the same movement. In this grounded or intentional gracelessness, you can feel the edge of defeat, the power struggle. This moment has such an understated intensity as it combines wide arcs with tiny, shattering details. Conceptually dense and visually fascinating, this is the strongest moment of the work. 

The second best image, for me, is this languid set of vectors. There’s such an entrancing and fluid movement here. Algger’s isolation, strength, and body control has really improved a lot lately. He’s also developing a larger range of motion and better texture as he pushes through big moves, which have previously been relative weak spots for him. It’s so different from his previous style and comfort zone. I’m excited to see how these new and improved technical skills lead to further creativity and innovation. 

The floor work in this piece is also exceptional, powerful, and light. There seem to be some elements of stiletto/heels dance included in the floor moves, especially with regards to leg position and attitude. And that slide! It was very Yanis Marshall. Certainly, heels dance is another excellent outlet for feline inspiration. I’d love to see Algger choreograph for heels dance. I bet it would be weird. 

The ending combines two Algger ending technique favorites, the drop and the fake out. There are two low cat poses in a row. Meant to evoke two cats, maybe? Or the theme of secondness? Or something related to the film, Legend of the Demon Cat, which I don’t know much about? Regardless, unlike the last version of the work, this dance looks and feels quintessentially like Algger. 

Watching the new piece, I feel such a compression of energy, of powers roiling beneath the surface. This choreography has much more clarity of vision and purpose. I really enjoyed seeing these ideas rise to their potential in the updated version.

[miclient]

How lean strategy impacts the sales process

Sales strategy starts with a simple premise: Sell the right product to the right customer at the right time.

Sales, as a discipline, has always sought out ways to streamline, automate and improve the selling process. The results are numerous sales automation tools, CPQ solutions and CRM packages that offer many valuable benefits to the users and are often being included in organizational sales strategy. These tools can help a great deal, but, at the heart of any selling effort, there are two critical elements that must be well served: the salesperson and the customer.

Let’s take a to look at how lean selling serves both the customer and the seller.

There are numerous lists of frequent subjects of complaints by sales professionals online. A large percentage of these issues are related to time and efficiency of the sales strategy. Sales folks hate wasting time, and they abhor unnecessary tasks. And therein lies the intersection of selling with lean.

Lean and Sales Are Natural Friends

Lean seeks to make every effort count. In the world of lean, effort should be directed towards customer benefit. That doesn’t mean giving away freebies or pricing the product below cost. Customer benefit means that the customer will derive some good from the process or activity in question. Effort expended that does not achieve this is defined as waste.

The classic example is the cotton in the neck of a bottle of pills. Years ago, pills were simple compressed power. They were fragile and prone to breaking down and returning to their original powder state. Cotton was jammed in the pill bottle to prevent pills from breaking down when they rattled around in the bottle. Today, pills are bound together more strongly, and the cotton is wholly unnecessary. Lean selling eliminates the cotton in your sales process.

For salespeople, this is good news. Sales folks hate wasting time on processes that do not help them achieve their goals. If you want to make Sales miserable, ask them to spend time on activities not related to selling. Lean sets out to facilitate selling processes that eliminate unnecessary effort.

This does not mean that lean will just go down the “sales throat” like 12-year-old Scotch. But lean, positioned properly, will win the hearts and minds of the Sales organization very quickly.

The Intersection of Lean and Sales

Lean impacts the selling process in several places. Each of these are important individually. But selling is a complex activity, and none of these can stand alone without impacting or being affected by the others.

Velocity of Selling

Unlike many activities, the metrics of success and failure in sales are easy to identify and evaluate. It generally comes down to how much revenue you have generated over a given period. Sales reps that meet or exceed their targets are heroes; those who don’t are unemployed.

Sales organizations must remain relentless about meeting their revenue numbers but more importantly, they should challenge themselves to sell faster.

There isn’t a sales rep alive who hasn’t expressed frustration with the length of time needed to close business. Time spent closing one sale often comes at the expense of closing another. Eliminating the unnecessary, the valueless and useless activities required during the selling cycles will facilitate a quicker close and ultimately more sales over time.

Sell It Once, Sell It Right

General George Patton once balked at an order requiring him to abandon one front for another. His view was he hated “paying for same real estate twice.” In selling, we see this frequently. A selling cycle moves forward without adequate communication of need or requirement upfront.

Confidence in the proposed solution is based on a lack of information or assumption. Ultimately, the inadequacy comes out, and everything in the selling process resets to day one. The competition comes right back into the picture, and all progress to date has been a waste of time.

Lean makes the selling process more methodical. Step one is achieved and documented, step two builds on step one and facilities step three. Accurate and relevant data drives the selling process.

Proper Qualification

Nothing is more wasteful in Sales than selling something to someone who can’t use it or doesn’t need it. Prospects will engage with Sales for any number of reasons — boredom, curiosity, make-work and self-education. Sales reps, especially those who are desperate, will do anything to keep the flame of hope alive with a prospect that by any measure has zero intention of buying anything.

Lean gets the right prospects in front of your selling organization. It goes beyond BANT (Budget, Authority, Need and Timeline), by identifying prospects who have self-qualified through their own behaviours. Real prospects have needs they are trying to fulfil. They research and study solutions long before they think of talking to anyone associated with selling. Facilitating that research and providing answers to those inquiries is how sales cycles are started.

Responsiveness to the Voice of the Customer

Not all customer communication comes via personal letters, emails or RFPs. Prospects are always communicating. What pages do they visit on your website? What data sheets or collateral do they download? How often do they attend your user meetings? What LinkedIn groups do they belong to? What do their social interactions tell you?

Listening to the customer or prospect is critical. Knowing how to listen properly is what lean selling helps to accomplish. A car company recently spent a small fortune improving the drive-away quality of one of their popular car models. This resulted in no increase in sales. If they had spent any time on the owner’s club social pages, they would have discovered that quality was not an issue with their buyers — their buyers wanted more power. The quality was fine; the issue that killed the car was its lack of power.

Lean collects the right market data to support the right marketing decisions. Aligning those decisions with sales drives a successful sales organization.

What Does the Lean Sales Cycle Look Like?

Traditional sales cycles are composed of many two-way streets with sellers and buyers moving back and forth until they hopefully line up and arrive at a sale. The lean sales cycle is more of a one-way street. Prospects and Sales move down that street smoothly with no protracted stops and arrive together at the sale. There is no back and forth, no try again, no hoping for the best.

Five Principles of Lean Selling

Oskar Olofsson, a consultant with World Class Manufacturing, identifies five principles that characterize lean selling.

1. Identify what constitutes value from the customer perspective.

2. Understand your sales process by mapping it out step by step.

3. Identify and mitigate any constraint or choke points in the process.

4. Embrace a demand flow or demand-driven manufacturing process.

5. Minimize and eliminate waste wherever possible.

Lean doesn’t replace CRM or CPQ or any specific sales tools that you might be using. Lean makes those tools work more efficiently to better serve your customer and your sales rep.

Lean sales, like all lean processes, starts with eliminating waste. Get rid of the unnecessary, ditch the stuff that serves no purpose and forget about everything that doesn’t enhance the value of what you are providing to the prospect or customer.

[keefwho]

April 16 - 2023

8:15 AM

I feel like shit unfortunately, ever since last night. Physically I mean. I’m almost positive it’s because I’m sort of constipated, probably just not enough water. But it still sucks. I was like cold sweating last night. It didn’t wake me up or anything but it was still weird. At this moment I’m waiting for it to pass so I can feel better and have an appetite. 

9:22 AM

I always try too hard to reciprocate. I always want things to be a fair exchange. But I also understand what it’s like to want to give to someone for nothing in return and I want to learn to accept to take gifts and give nothing back. People can want to do nice things for me, I’m worth it and I know it. I will accept it. 

6:21 PM

I forget my goal isn’t to feel the right emotion, it’s to feel emotions in general. Whenever I end up feeling really good about stuff, I cling onto those feelings and keep trying to farm them. Then the rush wears off more and more until I’m lost feeling nothing because I forget to acknowledge all the other emotions I can feel that can satisfy me. Bad ones even, like sadness or fear. There is emotion to be had in everything if only I open up to it. 

12:53 AM

Okay you silly boy, I have stuff to get off my chest. 

First of all my tummy has hurt all day and it’s pissed me off. After using the bathroom tonight and feeling a little bit better, I decided to fuck my own face at around midnight. It was actually sort of a good idea. Sometimes I think my stomach needs the *massage* and this time I think it was actually helpful. If nothing else, I at least got to blow off some steam and was distracted being a total fucking whore for awhile. It feels good to get on my knees to be a worthless cock slave, even if it is just simulated with myself and some porn. 

The other pressing matter, I made my bestie feel bad today and I feel bad about it still. I know in the past I would have festered on something like this, internalized it, and used it as an excuse to beat myself up. But I found myself NOT doing that and I didn’t even have to try. I did what any emotionally grown adult would do, recognized my mistake and expressed my true apologies with intent to not repeat this behavior. I still feel bad about it, but a normal healthy amount of bad. 

At this moment I am in a state of lacking sleep. 2 days ago I missed 2 hours which is horrible. Last night I missed 1 and tonight I’m missing at least 1. This is very bad so tomorrow I HAVE to get to bed on time. The only reason I didn’t tonight is because I truly thought it would be best to relieve myself a bit and compress my stomach. I do feel better but at the cost of sleep. 

Tomorrow I dread work. I don’t feel like I utilized this weekend effectively. I remember a time where this didn’t used to be this big of a problem. I feel like I didn’t even get a break. I get burnt out and things start to lose meaning. Even with work where people desire art from me and I need the money. I just DON’T want to do it but also don’t know what else I would be doing in it’s place. Sometimes my productive schedule is the only thing holding me together. I think applying real focus would help here, it did for a bit when I was actually succeeding at it. It feels almost impossible to take my mind off of important things I feel like need solving but it HAS to be done for my sanity. 

I might have gotten too comfortable basking in my progress. I’ve been gassing myself up a bit and my friends have done that too. But I forgot, I still have big problems. I’m totally lost as a person. I don’t know enough about who I am or what I want. I have an abnormal amount of anxiety surrounding vomiting. I’ve just barely started to get out more and really need to put more effort into that. It’s scary to admit how fucked up I still am but I at least have some direction. 

[perpetuelledaydreaming]

Are we still friends? | chapter five

summary: tensions are heightened with the mission getting closer but at least hangmans being nice, you also try to fix everything with a bit of humour.

warnings: mentions of death

listen to: jealous- labrinth (playlist here)

word count: 1.6k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!

“Brat, speed up,” Payback muttered and you rolled your eyes. 

Not even one minute into the exercise and you were already screwing it up really well. 

The training had only become more grueling as the days passed and it seemed even more impossible to face the challenges that this mission required. Maverick had been very clear about the parameters of the mission that you needed to be successful at but honestly, as you tried to examine your father and his thought process, you didn’t even think that he thought it was possible. 

The faster you navigate this canyon the harder it will be to stay under the radar of these enemy missiles, you recalled Mav’s words as you moved the controls from one side and the other, trying to replicate the route that the system had traced for you. 

You gasped for air after a turn and you felt like you were drowning for a second. 

The tighter the turns the more intensely the force of gravity on your body multiplies, compressing your lungs, forcing the blood from your brain, and impairing your judgment and reaction time, the words of Mav rumbled through your mind as you tried your best to keep it together while glancing at the clock. 

He was right. You were fifteen seconds behind and it wouldn’t do. 

“Copied,” you said with your voice strained as you took a turn. 

“Speed up, y/n” Fanboy muttered and it started to get on your nerves. 

“We are ten seconds behind,” Payback replied and you could feel the frustration bubbling in your chest. 

“Payback, I’m going to hit the wall,” you grunted before another turn. “You want me dead or alive for this?” you snapped at them and they remained quiet. Nonetheless, you followed the instructions and sped up but suddenly, you were met by a mountain that you hadn’t foreseen. 

“Fuck!” you cursed.

“Payback, I’m crashing, replan!” you quickly screamed at them, giving them the chance not to break the 300-foot ceiling but eliminating you from the exercise immediately. 

Soon, you landed and Peter had the class review your turn. On a positive note, you were closer to the target than ever before, Rooster had managed to arrive but two minutes too late, but you were still dead and you could feel the weight of Mav’s face as you shrugged a bit on your seat in the classroom. 

“Why are you dead?” he asked you, his face filled with concern. 

“I told her to speed up,” Payback intervened before you could talk but Mav didn’t listen, he glanced at him for a moment before shaking his head and gazing at you again. 

“No, y/n why are you dead?” he asked more urgently this time, you could feel the weight of his words and you knew that it was a bit more personal. 

“I didn’t calculate the turns correctly, sir,” you replied, your expression unreadable. 

“Why didn’t you calculate them correctly,” Mav pressed once more but as you opened your mouth, you knew that you didn’t have an excuse. 

Mav shook his head, it wasn’t good enough. You weren’t good enough and you could see the concern in his eyes because it meant that you, a pilot that he helped train, couldn’t do it. How could any of the other one’s could?

“You were playing it safe. You could be the team leader out there, you don’t need to play it safe,” Mav stated as he gazed at you before a sigh left his lips. “You don’t need to think,”

“Just do,” you replied finishing the sentence. 

Maverick stared at you while you swallowed hard but you remained where you were, lips pursed and your hands turning into a fist as you waited for him to say anything else, to press you even further as he’d done with others.

But you know he couldn’t, because he wouldn’t be able to even put into words what he’d asked the others. Is there a reason, a reason that their family would accept at the funeral?

No, he couldn’t because there was no reason, no excuse he would accept if you died on the mission. 

“Dismissed for the day,” he finally breathed, returning for his things while the other pilots tried not to mind the tension in the room. 

You shoot up from your seat and quickly walked away from the classroom where you were debriefing the mission. It didn’t cross your mind to even wait for Rooster or anyone, you just wanted to be alone for a second. You felt tears brimming in your eyes as the hot summer air hit your face while you walked on the tarmac, you refused to cry in front of anyone. 

The silence as the sky turned purple was heavy, to say the least. Don’t think, just do, you recalled Maverick’s words. He always said them to you, you pinched the bridge of your nose as you wondered if you even deserved to be there. Maverick was always a natural, you knew it, he knew it and everyone knew it. Although many people had assured you that you’d inherited that same talent, sometimes you felt as if you really hadn’t. 

You’d been good but now you felt as if your shiniest wheels were rusting. You felt like you were on top of the world just a few weeks ago and now you were falling behind, disappointing everyone including yourself. The thought of filling your father’s shoes had suddenly hit you quite hard, you were shaking as you tried to ignore the burning in your throat. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jake’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts while you looked his way. “You okay?” 

You breathed out as you tried to clear your throat. “I’m good, Hangman” you muttered, looking away from him. 

“Doesn’t look like it,”

“Bite me,” you snapped at him while Hangman leaned forward and sat next to you. 

“You’re cute when you get mad,” he suggested. 

And you couldn’t help to feel your lips quirk up a bit. 

“Jake,” 

“y/n,” he replied with the same gentleness. “I'm being serious, you were good out there,” he insisted and you rolled your eyes. “You weren’t as slow as Rooster, communicated with your team and you weren’t an asshole like me,”

The last part made you laugh out loud and you smiled at him, finally gazing back at him and nodding for a good minute or two, knowing if you spoke up you would start crying. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. 

“Anytime Brat,” he said, his accent thick and you realized he sometimes couldn’t hide it. 

He quickly offered his hand and helped you stand up. Before you knew it, you’d walked back to the locker rooms where you quickly took out your things and walked towards the parking spot where Rooster would usually be waiting for you. The ride was filled with a comfortable silence that you both had grown accustomed to in all the years of your friendship, he would place his hand on your thigh when he knew that you were upset and he still did it to the day. Your hand would inevitably fall over to his and hold him there as if he was a lifesaver and you were on the open sea. 

It wasn’t until you entered Rooster’s place that he talked. 

“Hey,” he said while you looked at him before flopping down beside him on the couch while he tried to pick a movie to see that night. He mindlessly slung his arm around you and planted a kiss on your temple while you leaned into him, and although you knew that for both of you it was the most natural thing in the world, he had no idea how your heart was thumping erratically on your chest. 

“Yeah?”

“What were you doing talking with Hangman?” he asked, brows furrows as he leaves the control on the sofa and looked at you curiously. 

“Nothing, he was just being nice,” you answered honestly before nuzzling a bit more into him. 

He welcomed you gladly, pressing you against him and you sighed in contentment you still notice how he was still thinking about it but you opted to remain quiet, thinking that it was just a curious question and that was it.

But then spoke. 

“He wants to sleep with you,” he said. 

The sharp point of his words stopped you. 

He was upset. It was clear to you but you just don’t get why. Was he upset because Hangman was flirting with his little sister? You clutched the blanket that you placed over yourselves while you let your mind go wild with your theory. He just saw you as family and because he had bad blood with Hangman he wanted to protect you. 

That was it. 

Therefore, you decided that it was for the best to not tell him that you actually accepted a date with Hangman in the following days, you decided that humor was your best option. 

“Who doesn’t?” 

But Rooster didn't laugh, he stayed silent and you suddenly grew concerned. 

You straightened yourself before reaching out and pressing your hand to his chest while gazing at him, Rooster sighed quietly as he felt your gaze burning at him and his eyes met yours. Your hand climbed from his chest to his face tenderly, you smile as he pressed his cheek to your hand, leaning to your touch. 

“Hey,” you whisper for a second. “What’s the matter?”

There were a few beats of silence and you felt your heart speeding up as he looked at you in something that you perceived as awe. 

If you could, you would kiss him. 

“Nothing,” he finally muttered.

***

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @thehouseofevangelista @sergantbarnesbitch @tallrock35 @maverick-wingman @notanordinaryprincess95 @hey-its-kayla-claire @lonelywitchv2 @abaker74 @tallyovie

***

author's note: thank you thank you so much for your patience and for the kind comments everyone has been leaving on the last couple of chapters and like the ones that are on my kO-FI!!! I want this to be so caothic and it'll get super caothic in the next few chapters.

***

feedback is always welcomed!!!

donate: help me pls with a glass of wine?

[quandaryqueen]

Patience

Gotham Edward Nygma X Reader

At the night of a tiring day, a riddle was the last thing you didn't want to hear.

Inspired by my current circumstances and by @riddlemeri. I was thinking this Edward is more... Season 1 Eddie, because he's my love.

This is what the little mermaid must've felt when she sold her voice. To feel knives penetrating her soles with every step... That's not how the others' remember the Little Mermaid, but Hans Christian Andersen says otherwise.

Anyways, that's how you felt. Except you also had a a pounding headache, the one where you can feel a vein flicking against your temple, how your brain felt like it was pressing against your skull whole simultaneously compressing itself. Every noise felt like bombs in your ear and everything was just annoying, irritating. Not even the click of your keys as it unlocked your door brought you joy.

Upon entering your home, you sloppily slip your shoes off and didn't bother to set them aside. Carelessly dropping your bag on the living room floor and yourself on the softness of the couch, which made you somewhat relieved... If it weren't for the disturbing sound of a buzz saw in your kitchen. The high pitched buzzing introduced a new headache to add to your ever expanding pain, it felt as though you were the one getting cut by it.

You screwed your eyelids tight, as if it would stop your raging migraine from pounding. It didn't register to you that you were white-knuckling the throw pillow, until the flimsy seams ripped and the stuffing spilled out.

Stirring yourself up, you marched to the kitchen with heavy steps and narrowed eyes, you were met by the sight of your partner Edward donning a a pair of goggles, a buzz saw and a contraption of sorts was in front of him. A series of metal sheets and rods and wires... In the middle of your kitchen. Your refrigerator and other appliances were nowhere to be seen, the space in favour for the junk, Edward's junk.

The scent of burning copper intensified your already instense headache, adding in a sense of nausea to your series of pain. Great. Just great.

"Can you keep it down?"

You were surprised you can utter a word through the pain, even if you felt like blacking out right then and there. He didn't even acknowledge you.

"Hey Ed!" You increased your volume. "Edward!"

"O-Oh! Y/N!" He lifts his goggles and smiles his iconic muppet smile. Your pain would usually melt at the sight of him, but today was not the day.

"Could you please keep it down?"

"Oh! What's without tools and builds its house--"

"OH MY GOD, FOR ONCE SHUT UP!"

Edward reels back in shock from your sudden snap and you didn't stop from there, with the bespectacled male sinking in his skin, thinking what he did wrong to prompt such an explosive temperament from you.

"YOU NEVER SHUT UP! RIDDLE ME THIS, RIDDLE ME THAT-- YOU TALK TOO MUCH! AND THIS MESS! OH MY FUCKING--" you cut yourself with a sharp breath, before storming off.

A lone tear escapes from his eyes and he sinks to the floor. And like he was a child, he tucked his knees to his chest, flinching when he heard the bedroom door slams lock.

Upon collecting your bearing, you shamefully retreat back to the kitchen, where you find Edward in a position you recognise. He looked like a grown child. You quietly took a seat next to him, giving him the space he needs. He noticed you, but he refuses to acknowledge it, as he stares ahead with his puffy eyes.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you."

No response.

"It was my fault, I shouldn't have said those things to you. I was tired, but that doesn't mean I should make you an outlet of my anger."

Still nothing.

"What's without tools but builds its house? Is the answer spider?"

...

"Yes." He finally responded and you find yourself smiling.

"I'm sorry Eddie."

"No, you're right. I talk too much--"

"No don't listen to me. I was dumb for saying that. You were expressing yourself just fine and I was stupidly irritated at every noise I hear."

"But Y/N-"

"Eddie, I made the mistake of snapping at you and saying things I don't mean, but even if what I said isn't true, it hurt you. And I want you to know that what I said isn't true." Finding the time to be perfect, you took his hand within yours, running a thumb on his knuckles, before lifting his hand to your lips. "Tell me how can I make this up to you."

You maintained your sincere gaze against his and softly pressed a kiss on the back of his hand. In turn, he latches his fingers within yours and returns the gesture of placing a kiss on your knuckles.

"I forgive you... You really don't have to do anything at all."

"But I want to,"

Edward lifts his free hand and puts a finger to his lip, acting as though he was thinking and to exaggerate it further, he prolongs a hum.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...."

"You dork," Even with a light and playful punch from you, he doesn't stop from humming.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm... I've decided."

"What is it?"

"A kiss."

Simple enough. Craning your neck, you inch forward to plant a kiss on his temple. Then his cheek. The the tip of his nose, then his eyelid. By then, you find yourself peppering his face with kisses, leaving him a giggling mess, but making no attempts to stop you.

"You are forgiven." Very forgiven.

[ikesenwritings]

Hello! Since your HCs are open, can I perhaps request some SFW HCs for Mitsuhide Akechi when MC is on her period? I tend to have pretty painful cramps, and I just don't like moving from place to place, and I generally rub circles on my abdomen to calm me down. I would really like to know how Mitsu will handle all this. Thanks in advance!💕💫

A/N: Hello! My period just finished and it was the worst it’s ever been :(( how I would’ve loved someone attentive like Mitsuhide to take care of me…

-

[HC] When MC is on her period

Content Warnings: Mentions of food

Mitsuhide really counts himself lucky when he’s able to take care of MC when she’s on her period

Usually he’s called away on important business and the look on MC’s face before the symptoms kick in is the only reason why he’s able to leave his manor at all

But when he is available… ohhhh, he will be at MC’s beck and call

If MC’s period symptoms are generally in the morning:

Mitsuhide will be sure to wake up before his little mouse

He’ll have breakfast prepared by one grumpy Masamune

“Tell me this is food for the lass. I’m not cooking this early for someone who doesn’t even appreciate eating.”

“Rest assured, Masamune. MC won’t be feeling too well this week. Surely, she’ll welcome your cooking.”

But the days where MC wakes up with little to no appetite… well, Masa doesn’t need to know

Mitsuhide may be discreet but Masamune isn’t dumb—imagine MC’s shocked expression once she realized that the only people aware of her cycle was herself, her partner, and the One-Eyed Dragon

Mitsuhide will also have warm towels ready—a nice substitute for the usual compress MC has back in her own time

He’ll also have Ieyasu make a special salve when he massages MC’s lower back, so make that four people aware of her cycle

And when MC is finally awake and the cramps are creeping in, Mitsuhide will be sure to respect her wishes—whether that’s not laying a single finger on her person or cuddling all day

Sometimes MC will even request that Mitsuhide just put his entire body weight on top of her to help keep a nice, warm pressure on her stomach

The first time she asked that, Mitsuhide was truly surprised

But once his body engulfed hers, his head buried in the crook of her neck, MC’s fingers playing with his hair, hearts gradually syncing to the same beat…

“Mmm, this is quite a soothing position, little mouse.”

And if MC’s symptoms are generally in the afternoon or evening, it’s the same ordeal but you best believe that despite MC’s protests, Mitsuhide will be refraining her from doing any work whatsoever

“Silly mouse, did you forget? I’m a kitsune. I know everything. And I know that while you may be feeling fine now, you won’t be later this evening. You should rest. Come on now.”

Mitsuhide may be overprotective at times, but MC knows he means well and will let him dote on her, even if it means doing nothing all day (though it also means she gets to spend time with her love uninterrupted)

Sometimes, the cramps are so bad that MC would prefer to lay on the tatami mat for hours just for Mitsuhide to carry her to the futon

He’d fold all the blankets and position them on one side of her body while he laid on the other, creating two walls of warmth

With one hand propping his head up and the other rubbing circles on MC’s lower belly, Mitsuhide would then tell stories in the softest voice

“Mitsuhide! Stop teasing, I know that the princess doesn’t die in this one. And there’s no doubt the soldier is in love with her…”

[pretoriafics]

Our first anniversary (Derek Hale | +18)

My first smut in English, woow! haha. I'm sorry if it's bad. I'm improving on this kind of writing.

It's your first dating anniversary, and your boyfriend takes you to Hawaii - where both of you were at a fancy restaurant. But things get hotter when he began to touch on you.

Word count: 1.166 Contain: Reader x Dom!Derek Warnings: +18 only, masturbating TEEN WOLF MASTERLIST

It was your first dating anniversary. Because of it, Derek really wanted to do something special. So, secretly, he had planned an entire trip to Hawaii with you. Of course, it would be a small trip. Three days for being exact. Derek let Boyd taking care of everything related to the pack, and, then, you guys entered the airplane on Friday.

You were so enchanted with his effort! The hotel was perfect, the rides, everything. But the best ride ever was being at Restaurant Presidence.

It was an expensive restaurant, and you even needed to put a dress to come in. That specific night would have a show of a famous singer from the island. When the lights had become weaker, and the singer appears on the stage, you just couldn't believe how lucky you were to have a man like Derek.

"Thank you. I love you" You whisper in his ear, and a smile was born on his lips.

"Happy anniversary. Love you."

He put his hand on your face, sliding his thumb through your skin, while he looks at your eyes - those eyes full of love. Then, he gives you a soft kiss. You retribute the kiss, with a smile on your face and, then, your eyes got focused on the show.

Well, of course, Derek didn't call you here to watch a show. He had other intentions. So, he put his arm behind you and begun to slide his hand on your leg, taking advantage of the minimally dark environment and the fact that your table was a little distant. Initially, it was just an innocent thing, but when he began to slide his hand in the inner part of your leg, you felt, suddenly, your corporal temperature becoming higher and your heart becomes to race.

He gave you a smile.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You said, blushing. Derek brings his mouth to your ear and whispered to you.

"Really? Because I can hear your heart racing."

You bite your bottom lip, feeling provoked by him. Under the table, you put one of your legs on his leg, spreading them. He continues to slide his hand in the inner part of your leg and putting some apparently innocent kisses on your neck. You whisper.

"I want you."

"I know. I want you too."

"So let's come back to the hotel."

"Not yet."

Frustrated, you look at him.

"Why?"

And, again, Derek brings his mouth to your ear and whispers to you, dominative.

"Because I want you to go to the toilet, right now, and take off your panties."

Your heart almost stopped. You know what that tone of voice means.

You take your bag from the table and, thinking of how hard is walking right now, you walk to the toilet and take your panties off. You put it in your bag and, with your heart racing as ever, you come back to the table. Oh my God. If someone's catch both of you?

You sat close to him and, again, you put your leg on his leg, letting your legs spread under the table and with the protection of that huge white towel that is covering the table.

"Now" He whispers to you, close to your ear "Be discreet. Don't make noises, don't make expressions. You're just watching a show."

You nod positively to him, and you feel his hand on your leg, again. But, now, his hands were sliding up, until you felt his fingers in the most sensible part of your body. You breathe in, trying to contain yourself while you feel his fingers doing circular movements on you. Suddenly, you felt his fingers wrapping your hair, pulling them discreetly - something he usually does when he fuck you.

That was enough to make you let escape a long sigh between your lips.

"It's being hard to contain herself?" Derek whispers to you, with a soft smile on his lips.

Hell yeah, pretty hard.

"I want you so bad." You whisper to him, looking at his green eyes with pure lust.

"I would throw you on this table and fuck you till you scream."

You kiss him in a slow kiss - but a short one. After all, you need to maintain focus on pretending that, yeah, your boyfriend is not playing with your pussy in front of everyone and under the table.

"But we can go to the parking lot..."

You throw your arm to his shoulders and put one of your hands on his chest. You felt his heart racing.

"No, we can't."

You look at him, frustrated.

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't finished yet."

Your face was red from the high temperature of your body, as he still making circles on you. Your hand went down in his cock's direction, who was hard as hell. But, then, Derek stops with his circular movements on your pussy.

"If you touch me, I'll stop. You can't touch me yet."

"But..."

"Obey me."

Annoyed, you obey him and your hand travels back to his chest. He smiles at you.

"Good girl."

His movements come back but, then, you felt his two fingers sliding inside of you. Trying to contain a moan, you compress your lips and let out a low moan - one that only Derek could hear. Then, he whispers in your ear.

"I love to hear you moaning."

He was pushing and pulling his fingers, in and out of you. Dizzy of pleasure, you embrace him through his neck and hiding your face on him. You moan his name - a low moan, who almost drives him crazy. Damn, he really needs to fuck you.

But not yet. He needs to contain himself.

His movements with his fingers become faster inside your body, and your breath becomes heavier. Derek knew you like no one else, so he knew you were close.

"Come on, almost there..."

Then, he felt you collapse in full pleasure. You let out a low moan, breathing heavily against his neck. A smile was born on his face while, finally, he takes his fingers off of you.

And no one had caught your little adventure.

You still felt dizzy for a few seconds. Then, after compose yourself, you look at him with a blushed face.

"Oh my Gosh, you're crazy."

You both laugh at the little adventure yours.

"I'm crazy for you."

Derek put a small and soft kiss on your cheek, and you gave him a smile.

"I'm so lucky to have you, Derek."

He smiles at you, and puts his forehead on yours, looking deeply into your eyes.

"And I'm more than lucky to have found you. Now, come on. Let's back to the hotel."

He stood up, as well as you, and you look at him, confused.

"Oh, really? I thought we would stay here for a while."

"Oh, no, we're not." His dark and luxurious eyes arouse again, and he whispers to you "I did not finish my job with you."