#see the problem with that is i keep hearing reviews that like

[a-driftamongopenstars]

alright, i finally finished Dragon Age the Veilguard.

tldr; 3/10. I didn't like it.

If you enjoyed the game and would rather keep enjoying it, please don't click the read more section as what follows is rather critical.

I can finally sit down with my thoughts and put them together in a more cohesive structured review, touching on most things that I wanted to address. I'll start with positives and then focus on the negatives.

Warning, this is VERY long.

Overall, I had a neutral to negative impression of DatV, which got worse by the end of the game. It had some good moments, but they were entirely unexplored and underutilized, suffering from bad writing. While the game itself is rather pretty, it didn't outweigh the dialogues, the stories and the lore butchering that took place.

1. Environment and visuals. 8/10.

I think Veilguard is a very beautiful game. I enjoyed exploring the corners of this new world, the little bits of environment design and storytelling that it had. It felt magical, certain locations were mesmerizing! I couldn't stop staring at the valley where you go to with Harding, the carcass of a titan.

2. Combat. 9/10.

I love flashy combat, I enjoy hack and slash, so until the very end of the game I was having most fun in combat. Yes there was repetitiveness but I tried to combat (hehe) it with changing my abilities and weapons every now and then. I liked combos and I liked timed parries. Enemy tactics got a bit boring by the end, but a few enemies still surprised me and challenged me.

.... That's where positives end. Now on to the negatives.

1. Characters. 2/10.

I don't understand what happened. Almost all the characters in this game were tuned down to a two-dimensional personality, "good" and "bad" - and absolutely no nuance. This happened not only to the villains, but to the different NPCs and even our companions. Their interests got narrowed down to single points of interest (Lucanis and coffee being a prime example to me), their motivations got watered down.

This is not what I expect from a Bioware game. I want to be challenged, I want to dislike characters or approve of their choices. I like characters who are messy and complex and don't always have their shit together.

I like villains who may have other reasons for their choices, other than "ba ha ha, I am so evil and I will do evil things". Where is Alexius who sold himself to the Elder one, just so he could save his beloved son? Where is Samson, forsaken by the Chantry and turned to red lyrium with his addiction? Where is Calpernia, misguided in her choices, just to free the slaves of Tevinter?

Where are the slaves of Tevinter anyway?? That's another topic.

2. Rook. 4/10.

On one hand, I liked playing Rook. They were stoic but with a humorous side, ready to get the job done, compassionate to other people.

The problem is that it's the only Rook you can really play. The protagonist is set in their ways and their dialogues and there is very little to roleplay. Rook really does feel like a gentle manager, trying to get everyone to play along nicely, while providing therapy every now and then, and is excluded from the majority of friendly interactions with other people. That awkward glance everyone gives you after their banter is embarrassing. The way you can third wheel people, the way the game actively offers you to leave a couple of animated conversations between other people - why even include those? Why not make Rook a part of the 'team'?

I did like Rook's dynamic with Solas. They got to see a different side of him, one that's not presented heavily in Inquisition. But like everything else, it felt surface level and underexplored.

3. Story arc. 2/10.

I am left unsatisfied with the story. The pacing threw me off so much nearly every quest, it was hard to stay on track. From "we need to solve this NOW" to "actually, let's all slow down and deal with our problems", the plot's priorities were all over the place. We kept hearing about the gods and their destructive oppression, but we saw surprisingly little of it. Yes, there was the Blight, yes there were Venatori and the Antaam, but they felt more like a video game fodder and dressing rather than a part of the story.

Not to mention that all of those things made little sense to me. Why would the gods align with aforementioned factions? Why would the aforementioned factions align with the elven gods? In-game explanation was not enough for me, it did not make sense. Not with the established lore in the previous games.

I also did not enjoy the ending. While the idea of Solas binding himself to the Veil is good and does make sense, what was suggested as the good ending (inviting Mythal to deal with Solas essentially) actually left me feeling awful. I sent a man, full of regrets and self-loathing, on a lonely journey to figure himself out. That... did not sit right with me at all. Neither did the fact that Northern Thedas, supposedly the point of the gods' attack, gets to live and flourish, while Southern Thedas is dying of starvation and blight. That is UNHINGED to me.

4. Music. 1/10.

There was no music. I remember one track. It was not memorable whatsoever and I can't believe they hired Hans Zimmer to do exactly nothing. Just wow.

5. Lore. ???/10.

And here is the worst offender. What was done with Dragon Age lore is unacceptable. I was doing a head-in-hands every five minutes. This was a slap in the face of so many fans who enjoyed the three prior games and delved into deep, interesting lore of various races, countries, cultures and religions. Veilguard showed a big middle finger to all that.

Everyone has already touched upon the sanitization of different factions. From the suddenly slaveless Tevinter to found family Antivan Crows, everything has been scrubbed clean and made sweet and palatable and "good".

The Dalish clans have been removed from existence as we know them. The Antaam left the Qun? Don't even get me started on that. The Chantry has no influence in this game? Really? The Chantry? The biggest religion in Thedas? The one that we know has heavy presence in the Anderfels, the Black Divine in Tevinter? That Chantry?

I think it really hit me how disrespectful the game is during the quest of saving the Dalish elves, where apparently Elgar'nan's Venatori, uplifted to be his servants and chosen people, were trying to sacrifice them. It's a gross and oddly telling idea that the ancient Elven god turned to a faction of racist mages to sacrifice elven people. I actually can't believe I'm writing this. Just how much are you going to shaft these people? Mindboggling.

There is a lot more I have to say on this specific topic, and I probably will later, but the idea is this.

6. Romances. 2/10.

Whoever said this is a game with romance lied so hard. So hard. The romance was atrocious. From the badly written flirting to the lack of romantic scenes (I romanced Davrin), to the poorly timed and awkward 'final' romance moment... It was atrocious. I felt no connection between Rook and Davrin beyond what game was telling me. My actual companions got more screen time with their romances than me and my LI.

Damn, even Evka and Antoine, my single most beloved NPCs in this game, had more romance going on that my Rook.

---

All in all, Veilguard was a massive let down. After having enjoyed the first 3 games many times over, with multiple playthroughs, I was so excited to see how the story of the Inquisition, of the elves, would end. When I saw the first trailer for VG, I knew I would never get to see it. When I played the game, I was left with disappointment and disdain.

I'm glad there are people who enjoyed this game, genuinely. I'm sure there's something to find for anyone, but it was not for me. Nor was it for many other people. It was a let down. I feel like I'll never get the conclusion I wanted - so I'll have to write my own I guess.

I have more thoughts on this game that I might be sharing, but for now this is the review I wanted to write. Thanks for reading!

[revelboo]

IDW RID king Star will go in the ‘Lost Light’ category on the Masterlist. I treat that as a separate AU so I can use the same characters as IDW/G1 with new stories. Title is Overdone by Ludo and it makes me think of Starscream. Starts off melancholy with the vocals becoming more desperate as it goes until at the end, they seem almost pleading as the music becomes discordant and anxious

🫢 Oh, no. Maybe try emailing the company about replacement pieces? 18+ 🌶️

Overdone

IDW RID Starscream x Reader

• Everywhere he looks, enemies hiding behind smiling faces. Wings wracked with faint barely there tremors as he leaves the delegates and their calculating, predatory stares behind and strides out to the balcony overlooking his city. His people. And his own smile doesn’t waver when he hears Rattrap jogging up with a stack of datapads for him to review. Lately he spends more time dealing with petty squabbles and reports than actually sitting on his throne. Something his advisors assure him is to be expected.

• It’s what he always wanted. So why does he feel more hollow and alone now than ever before? Because they’re all plotting just like you. Hoping to usurp you. Refuses to turn his head. To acknowledge that voice, because he knows no one is there. Rattrap is almost to him, venting noisily when he turns, sees the much smaller mech and pitches himself backwards over the edge. No railing to stop his fall as he plummets hearing Rattrap yell. Little fool. He can fly. But he keeps his wings pinned close as the ground rushes to welcome him and something clips him. A barely there brush as his head turns and sees the small shape falling with him.

• A tiny, impossible human, hair streaming and body limp. Rolling in the air, he reaches out his servos expecting them to pass through, not to find a solid form. Not a new ghost then. Cupping his hands around you, his wings flare and he levels out, hearing startled shouts as he soars by. Much lower than he’d thought he was in his distraction. Lower than he’d ever dared when he’s taken this same dive so many times before, part of him not wanting to pull up. To just be done with all of it. To be finally free though he always pulls up.

• Climbing higher, he uses a servo to examine you before his head lifts to the stars and haze over Cybertron. You’d been falling with him, but from where? Can feel your heart beating, the rise and fall of your chest. So very small and helpless in his servos, but it was your kind that helped sway the war for the Autobots. Deceptively fragile, yet so dangerous. Really, he should release you. Let you shatter below, but the mystery of you pulls at him even though he knows it’s just a distraction from all of his problems. So many hands reaching for him, wanting so much.

• Feels you shift against his servos as he hangs there against the backdrop of the city glittering below. Eyes opening, those lights reflecting in them so you stare at him with starry eyes deeper than the night sky above. Sees those eyes slide to his servos, the jewel of his city, then to his face. And then you finally scream.

• Hurting and muddled, you struggle against the giant monster holding you. Realizing how very high up you are as you scream and grab onto those servos. Clinging for dear life as the robot tips his head, red optics staring at you from an expressionless face as he vents to stir your hair. “Are you a spy, then?” He asks, low voice raspy as a servo tips your chin up and you wrap your arms around it in terror. “Where did you come from, little lost bird?”

Next

[rei-ismyname]

Uncanny X-Men #10 review

Well, ten issues in and we finally hear something substantive from Nightcrawler. The Outliers are still being attacked by the Wolfpack sentinels after Ground Bear and Jubilee bailed, the Graymalkin Podcaster clown show continues, and Moonbeam and Gambit go on a date mostly off panel. It looks pretty good but it's unfocused and shallow. The Outliers are the stars and the absence of Rogue/Gambit was refreshing. There's fart jokes?

Nightcrawler thinks to himself that he doesn't want to go back to being an X-Man, except he is an X-Man, isn't he? Realistically, he's having the same doubts everyone else has had. They were left unresolved and brushed aside so I'm not going to spend much time on this. Fool me thrice.

Anyway, he's painting a roof with Chelsea, who ends up being a mutant. Great, just what this book needs more of 🙄. She's probably the wisest person here who knows the mall is a bad idea. Kurt is really enjoying this place as a 'home' that's 'healing him.' How? Doesn't matter. He's just saying words and I wonder why he's even in the book. The lady whose kid he rescued rocks up with homemade German pastries for him which is a nice moment but it's not a substitute for character development. Things happen to him, mostly.

Meanwhile, Deathdream is bleeding out at the mall and The Outliers are rallying. The adult X-Men are feeling like a bit of a distraction tbh. The kids are being developed the most, learning, growing, making choices. It's great for them, but it's an awkward situation if you want more than the barest development of The X-Men. I look back on the first arc and how much time was spent flashing back to Xavier and Sarah Gaunt. No idea what degree of editorial meddling there is, but I find it hard to believe Gail Simone would intentionally take focus off the main characters to that degree.

Jitter uses her powers to become a master combat medic for sixty seconds and takes charge. For some reason the Wolfpack just aren't attacking them right now, despite having a taste for blood and no master.

Calico has her heroic moment and aims to distract the Wolfpack. Ransom is hunting for a needle to save Deathdream and stops to cheer her on despite the ticking clock. Said clock ticks down and he's just a little bit too late, so Jitter is relying on memory. Sure. The 'if X happens, run and leave me' moment is the 5th time this beat has been played this run, and it gets the same response each time. There's value in repetition but I'm not seeing any formalism or thematic purpose here, so it just feels repetitive. Don't get me wrong, the kids are the best part of the book, but I don't get these choices. It's the kind of thing even a parody of action cliché should be embarrassed doing - and it loses power each time.

Time's up! We check in with Graymalkin, where the same dynamic as last time is escalating after the incident hits the news. Trask wouldn't kill kids because of his family history, apparently. Maybe he's referring to his sister, but that's a stretch. He had no problem with basically enslaving Juston Seyfert for his sentinel program. Whatever, maybe it's some new shit. The podcaster isn't happy, and keeps telling him to shut them down, something he's established he can't do. Not sure what was gained by including this.

Okay, Nightcrawler sees the Wolfpack situation on the news (TF are Logan and Jubilee?) He is obviously going to teleport there to meet them, but he stops for thoughts and prayers in a life or death scenario. DEEEEEP BREATH. Fucking really? Yeah, Kurt is Catholic, though he has spent the last few years having a major crisis of faith. He's also an experienced hero and pointedly not an idiot. Stopping to pray when kids you're responsible for are probably being torn to shreds is not something he would do, ever. It's embarrassing and frankly highlights why he shouldn't be in this book. Kurt Wagner is a complex, well-rounded individual. In this book he's been portrayed with 'is religious' as his defining character trait. I hate to go there but I'm dubious that Simone knows a damn thing about him - besides 'religious guy.' All that aside, if you only have room for a single flat character trait, take them out of the book. Kill him if you need to because this is painful. That would free up space for other characters to have beliefs, motivations etc.

Jitter is going off memory and Calico is regulating. The memory is fading and Ember is down though. After encouragement from Ransom Jitter does the Pulp Fiction thing anyway - Calico lapses into despair, repeating her mother's abusive nonsense.

Nevermind, Ember is fine and so is Deathdream. More than fine even. Right as rain. Ransom is reinventing the fastball special except with Ember kicking him in the heart.

Logan and Jubilee finally show up to protect the kids they're responsible for. They're held up by a barricade and a cop. Okay this must be a shape shifter or something because I don't see Logan even asking for permission, let alone wasting time arguing with this bozo. He'd leap the barrier, or slice it. Famously he does not give a fuck and is very willing to use violence. If you thought that was bad, Jubilee convinces the cop and then wastes time flirting with him. Flirting with a cop while their charges are fighting sentinels. I guess now that she's abandoned her baby in Otherworld she's got time to date. This is unserious shit.

I wish I had the gall to follow up that waste of time with 'we're not gonna make it.' This run isn't going to make it. Kurt beats them there and has his second most substantial conversation of the run. With a killer robot dog. He teleports it into the sky and kicks it without hurting himself. Maybe Calico softened them up since last issue.

Jitter and Deathdream seem fucked with two Wolfpack sentinels racing towards them. Ransom and Calico check in, while informing us that Ransom is who they look up to. I mean, she's been doing all the fighting and Ransom was going to leave last issue but sure. Why not? He does throw a robot dog at Logan for him to slice, that's leader shit. If I was being generous I'd say it's a callback to Fall of the House of X #1, where Colossus did the same thing with an ORCHIS soldier. It doesn't matter because Deathdream suddenly figures out he can kill them all. Easily. It's loosely explained and I don't care enough to quibble. His powers are established and they apparently include a healing factor too.

With that, the threat is over. They got them all, together. Right. Logan compliments Ransom who asks not to be called 'kid.' I guess he's the man now, dawg. The mutants are hailed as heroes by local news and The Podcaster is not happy. They've finally tracked down the idiot responsible for this debacle, and she sends him to be tortured. The private sector is rough. I still don't know what the Podcaster's actual deal is, she's all over the place and I can't fathom why anyone obeys or fears her. What does she want aside from a mutant prison?

This book lacks consequences. The adults keep making huge mistakes that other people suffer for yet they get bailed out. It's narrative 101 - if your characters make a mistake they should have to deal with the fallout. They learn and grow. Rogue hasn't made a good decision yet and her team are complimenting her - directly after a prison break with no plan where she spent her time punching Scott. They sent the kids to school and Calico was kidnapped in an hour. Logan and Jubilee fucked up so badly here the kids nearly died. One actually did, but luckily it didn't stick. Kurt is praying and Jubilee is flirting while they're fighting for their lives. These actions aren't being used as mistakes to learn from, they're just things that happen. There's no tension because nothing really matters. No matter what they do things work out and they're hailed as heroes. Personally, I want more out of the flagship X-Men book.

When the wisest person in the book is 6 years old, it hangs a lampshade on how cartoonishly everyone is behaving. I'm thinking that's the point. The ragtag misfits have goofy adventures that seem like the end of the world at the time, but it's just Tuesday. It's the fun book where you don't have to think hard. Moonbeam, Ground Bear, and the Podcaster. PTSD, let's never talk about it again. Diction lessons, sugah. Let's pray.

A look at the letters page tells us everyone is loving the book, and they're definitely real people that aren't cherry picked. Good for them and good for you if you're enjoying it. I'm not loving it, but I'm not hating it. It exhausts me a little but I do enjoy reviewing it. Thanks for reading, Ground Bears.

[vitaminseetarot]

Pick-a-Carp: REM - Random Emerging Messages (From Your Dreams) 🐠🌑🔮

*･ﾟ✧Masterlist | *･ﾟ✧Ko-Fi

Sup y'all, it's time for another pick a card reading! I have always enjoyed dream interpretation, long before I discovered tarot. Amazing insights and revelations have come through by understanding dreams, at times being more predictive than waking signs. Although it can be hard to be really into dream interpretation when I can't remember most of mine upon waking. 😅

So for this Pisces New Moon, this reading will look into what kind of dreams you may be having and the messages they're trying to tell you. We have many dreams at night we don't remember, so this reading will take a deep dive into those hazier ones into account as well as the more significant dreams. Pick any one of the three beautiful koi fish varieties:

1 - Asagi - Blue/Silver 💙 2 - Showa - Black/White 🖤 3 - Utsuri - Orange/Black 🧡

Pile 1 - Asagi 💙

4 of Cups, Queen of Swords, XVII Star, 10 of Pentacles; Full Moon Sagittarius, 3 of Prisms, 3. In the Light of the Moon, Spider, Self-Care

Hi pile 1,

Your dreams focus mainly on the past. You may be having rather realistic dreams of situations that have already happened. There is a skeleton key present in these dreams in order to unlock a passage. This dream must be processed to clear old stuck energy that's keeping the conscious mind tied back. It may require seeing things from a different angle or point of view, or looking at the dream in a new light. This dream may be annoyingly repetitive but it's not without purpose. The message is relentless for you to receive it, so it uses the same dream or similar set-up to stay direct. Like solving a long tricky math problem on a practice test.

This dream may likely involve family members or close friend groups. You may relive confrontations you've had with them previously, or dream that you're getting into conflict with those you are otherwise on good terms with. You may get emotionally meshed with others' energies which appear in your dreams as a bigger tide in your imagery (they may even appear taller in dreams). It's important to apply clear judgement when it comes to these scenarios. Having a bad dream where a good friend cheats or fights with you is trying to help you understand how your emotions contribute to relationships; it's not a reflection of the actual state of the relationship. So this friend may be testing boundaries from within the safe confines of your dreams so you can figure out how to respond to such situations. In waking life, pile 1, you may need to review how you see your individual self as distinct from your community. Your dreams want you to center and reclaim your mind and boundaries so these scenarios can't phase you or your future decisions, because no, it doesn't have to happen like last time.

Your dreams show you are a caring person with great regard for your community's well being. With Spider, I think of the web, so this could be an online community or just one that feels tied together as a unit. This could also represent a large work environment where you collaborate with many people. Despite this, the Spider is largely an solitary being. These dreams could have people trying to call you, or talk to you, even if you're not able to hear what they're saying. Your reverie is swimming with their collective energy, but in doing so is also asking you to instead look towards yourself for insight. Let's say you have a reoccurring dream where a love interest keeps blasting your phone but for some reason you can't answer it, or the phone dies as you answer it. Consider what you would want the person on the other line to say ("I think you're really cute"), then ask if these are affirmations you can give to yourself now ("I think I'm really cute"). The Star card says you can provide yourself with the positive feeling you may be seeking in your dreams. They're wanting you to come back to yourself and stand on your own two fins--er, feet.

Dream Symbols: Outer Space, Light, Family Gatherings, Foreign Lands or Languages, Clothing, Groups of 3 or the Number 3

Pile 2 - Showa 🖤

6 of Wands, X Wheel of Fortune, 8 of Wands, Ace of Pentacles; Void-of-Course Moon, 5 of Relics, 42. Gentle Moderation, Butterfly, Take Charge

Hey pile 2!

Regular, practical matters seem to be the main concern here. This could be your physical body, housing, work, or your finances. The symbols in your dreams represent everyday worries like running errands. However, the dreams that start out as casual can quickly become unstable or chaotic. Grand plans like an expensive flight could be made only to suddenly cancel, or you may have dreams of getting lost and struggling to find directions only for the scenery to constantly morph itself around. Each scene may wildly change the circumstances and elevate activity in sleep. Emphasis is placed here on releasing your worries. Occasionally, they may be pointing out certain stressors or physical issues in the body. Overall, there is a need to take control of your circumstances as the captain of your ship, and you may find that with more time and awareness, you can tap into lucid dreams.

Out of all piles, your dreams likely make the least amount of sense. It could involve a lot of sudden frenzy or inexplicable changes, like seeing strangers turn into floating pumpkins or going to a doctor's clinic only to find that you are the doctor. I feel this is because you normally have your head on your shoulders in your waking life, and you may come across to others as steady and dependable. So when things go awry in sleep, these elements force you out of your comfort zone to showcase how you would react to a variety of scenarios. Many of these dreams come as a direct result of an every day worry and can be interpreted in a straight forward way, despite the seeming randomness. Going to the library to drop off a book that turns to glittery bats when you pull it out of your bag, for example, may simply be reminding you of a library book that's actually due.

You have the 6 of Wands, here, so it looks as though the events your dreams are based from largely resolve themselves even if it can stir you up in your sleep. Many of these things are fated to happen anyway, so there's no need to fret about them, and in fact worrying and overthinking may make the situation worse. So if you have an embarrassing dream about a job interview, it could be a reminder to practice answering questions beforehand. There's a good chance you will still do well at the interview as your dreams are helping you to see that you can handle any sudden disruption in plans and see your goals through. The caterpillar is destined to change into a butterfly no matter what, so it's okay if it has dreams that the cocoon string doesn't come out right or the wings look strange. It's all part of adjusting to big changes in life. The important thing is to not rush into doing something out of worry and to work at a steady pace. Remember that no matter how weird or utterly out there your dreams get, you're at the helm and with practice, you can decide how the dream ends.

Dream Symbols: Theater, Driving, Shapeshifting, Magic Wands, Flight, Maps or Compasses

Pile 3 - Utsuri 🧡 (cw blood imagery & brief mention of trauma)

V Hierophant, 10 of Swords, 9 of Wands, 9 of Swords; Full Moon in Cancer, 2 of Prisms, 41. Convey Your Meaning, Crystal, Eternity

Hello, pile 3.

I see the main theme in your sleep could involve reconciliation with a loved one. You may have a lot of one-on-one dreams involving confrontations and heated discussions. There could be a lot of miscommunication, a struggle to speak, or an inability to get one's point across in the dream. Words which ache inside your throat in waking life can finally burst within your dreams, words which you may have held onto for perhaps years. Your dreams are a place to bring out and vent what is difficult or even impossible to manage while awake. Your mind is seeking to let go of a major issue to achieve peace. If these really are words you wish to let out, I recommend both a dream journal to document what's being said along with a regular journal to help you air out things that will otherwise filter into your sleep.

For a few of you, the dreams may recall a painful encounter or event in the past, which can feel mocking when it comes back around, as though it can disappear for a long while only to suddenly reappear at the most unusual time. Let's say the trauma involved a bicycle accident: the accident may appear in different forms, like the bike turning into a helicopter, but with the same emotional response. You may think, "that was almost a decade ago, why am I still dreaming about this?" This is due to having a more emotionally detached state while in the dream world, allowing a more introspective consciousness to come through. Ultimately, with the 10 of Swords, it's helping you process it through so it doesn't overwhelm you while you're living your life. Your mind is slowly healing itself by "analyzing" these dreams like an audience member watching a movie to help you feel safe in your skin upon waking.

You may feel interested in checking out pile 1 too because I also see repetitive dreams in here. Only in this case it may not always be a dream based exactly on reliving a memory, but rather different scenes that involve the same core lesson or emotion in every one. You may even have a sequential dream that ends and restarts itself like a chapter in a book, or experience nested dreams in which you wake up to the alarm only to still be dreaming, which could create déjà vu. This is to help you gradually learn from past turmoils and errors while freely letting go of past hangups. Your dreams do not show you these visions to scare or frustrate you, but to build the pieces together to create a more unified psyche. They're breaking up old crystallized patterns of thought so the shadow isn't lurking over you like the volcano in the 9 of Wands. It's building the new staircase to your personal freedom by allowing you the opportunity to rewrite the scenario as you see fit. How different would the same dream feel with just one little detail rearranged? Try to imagine how it would feel if the bicycle turned into a Pegasus and allowed you to soar high.

Dream Symbols: Warm Tones, School, House, Library, Spirals, Gates

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2025, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you're so deeply in love with rollo flamme.

COMMENTS: this is my entry for my event the chimes of comfort!!

It’s hard not to admire Rollo when he works hard, his brow pinched and a scowl on his face. It takes everything in your power not to tuck those loose hairs behind his ear and trace the prominent cheekbones that make his pale face seem so hollow. He makes a soft tch noise, lips pursing in frustration, and you swoon.

You’re staring like a sap, you know that, but it’s hard not to when everything about him is absolutely enrapturing. His hooded eyes scan the mathematical equations faster than you can blink, his mind computing just how many ingredients he needs for each potion at unimaginable speeds. Your eyes drift down to the hand that grips his pen, the bones of his hand pressed against his skin as he writes, and you rest your cheek on my palm as you observe him.

It’s just so easy to love him. Serious, prickly, dedicated Rollo. It’s so easy to stay by his side, to know that he’s what you want. It’s so easy to imagine a future with him by your side, the only person who doesn’t see your lack of magic as a weakness, but a strength. Your heart flutters softly in your chest as you stare, taking him in like a work of art, a masterpiece.

You love him. You’ve loved him since you met two years ago and you'll love him forever, you just know it. Oh, what you would give to add a ring to those pretty hands of his, and him to call you his husband, for you to be Mx. Flamme, tied to him forever and always.

“Mon chou chou.” he murmurs, sounding almost mocking but you know otherwise, his eyes trained on your face, “Is everything alright?”

You can’t stop the dopey smile that blooms across your face, or the way your hands squeeze each other to stop themselves from reaching out to him. Mon chou chou, what a beautiful sound!

“It’s more than alright.” you laugh, as soft as the little bells he rings for you when you ask, the two of you indulging in gentle chimes right before bed.

It’s more than alright because I have you. And you’re beautiful.

“Focus.” he reminds you softly, a single elegant finger pressing against your review packet for potiontology, “I won’t permit you to slack off.”

“Right, right, it’s our final year.” you sigh, looking down at the half finished packet.

Your final year at Noble Bell. Graduation was a heartbeat away, your diploma almost within your grasp. Where were you going now? Would you go search the workforce for jobs, or continue schooling? You knew Rollo’s plans—ever the planner, that man—but had put very hesitant thoughts into your own. You didn’t want to mess up, or to become a burden on your family and him. The thought alone was almost too much to bear. You purse your lips, eyes drifting over to his face, searching his visage for answers.

There was that scowl again. Such a sweet sight from such a sweet man. Any focus you might have had melts like butter, and your smile returns, soft and full of love, completely distracted. You hear him scoff and mutter something under his breath (which sounds very much like oh for heaven’s sake) before he scoots his chair closer to yours. It’s like an electric jolt shoots straight up your spine when his knee knocks unceremoniously against yours, his hand resting on your thigh to keep you both steady.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” he demands, leaning closer to you.

“I just...love you.” you say softly, a bit embarrassed at how intense your thoughts are and how little those four words cover it.

“I love you too.” he says it back and his voice is as stoney and soft as ever.

 He’s new to being vulnerable, to letting his walls down, to being him.

“I love you so much.” your cheat heaves with your overwhelming emotions, your lips and mouth moving before you can think to stop them, “I love how sweet you are, I love your hands and your cheekbones too and I love how you pout when you’re having trouble with a problem, I love how you sound when you call me mon chou chou, it makes my heart race.”

Rollo blinks, staring at you with his usual standoffish expression. Even when he’s so close, he feels so distant. You take a deep breath and continue to talk, choosing your words more carefully and speaking slower.

“I want to stay with you as long as I can. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re everything I will want. I want to spend forever with you, when we graduate I just want to be with you. I’m not certain of anything in my future except for that. I just want to be with you. I want to live with you, to come back home to you or have you come back home to me it doesn’t matter, I want to make dinner with you and make breakfast for you, I want to wake up to your face everyday and I...I...”

You bite your wobbling lower lip—why are you starting to cry—and gaze upon your love with what you believe is the most yearning you have ever displayed.

“I just love you.” you repeat, because everything in your future is so uncertain, because you never know what could happen tomorrow, because magic could very well take you away just like it took his brother away, because he has nightmares about such things every night, because you want to grow old with him and die by his side, because you want your hearts and souls and everythings to be one.

“I...I don’t pout.” he huffs, turning away from you with red cheeks and shaking hands.

Ah. Of course he would be hung up on that.

“You’re pouting right now.” you giggle, “It’s cute.”

Rollo is silent for a few beats before he turns back to look at you, brow furrowed in that cutely serious way you know and love.

Vulnerability. He may not know he displays it so openly with you (and maybe he doesn’t, maybe you can just read him well enough), but you’re glad he does.

“You want to...marry me?” he clears his throat, placing his ringed hand over yours.

The symbolism of such an act is not lost on you.

He’s checking if he heard you right. If he read your intentions right.

“After graduation...I’d like us to think about it.” you reply, flipping your hand to intertwine your fingers.

Mx. Flamme sounds lovely. It sounds right. You know the name will sound sweet on your tongue when you tell people it’s your name, when you’re called over by a coworker, when your friends tease you with formalities. It’s the type of name that will give you happiness for as long as you live, the type of name that only the man in front of you can give you.

And that’s because it’s so irrevocably his.

“Your wish is my command.”

He raises your hand to his lips and kisses it—his lips brush over the knuckle of his ring finger and you shiver,  It’s a promise.

No, more than that, it’s a vow.

“My sweet lamb.” he whispers, the words slipping under your skin and into your veins, passing right through your beating heart and rattling you from the inside out.

His lamb. His pure, unblemished lamb.

Your heart sings like a choir at the new name.

[yurinaa-world]

Helloo ☆ I hope youre having a nice day 💫🌸 I was wondering if I can request Blade, Ratio and Sunday with reader who appears stoic/reserved and seems disconnected but is actually soft and cries/smiles easily around them 🥹 thank you!!

- 🪻

"𝒜 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Blade, Veritas Ratio & Sunday x Gender-neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader who appears reserved and disconnected but is actually soft around him

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝐻𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈"

You are both soulmates from the outside, both reserved and disconnected….except you aren't, and he is, the complete opposites of each other. He likes it better when you’re alone anyway, you’re more expressive that way and only he enjoys that.

He likes that reassuring smile on your face the morning after you fixed up his wounds, asking him if he’s alright and if he’s feeling any pain but he can’t think about that right now, forget the pain for now.

He can’t help but get a little clingy—though his face just screams he’s going to murder someone, even if his body is sore he wants to see your face close-up, maybe even steal that smile off of your face.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Be careful, blade,”

Him Showing up late last night and injured wasn’t exactly in the cards for you there you were, and now you’re like his personal nurse, taking care of him in the morning. His chest and arms were all cleaned and bandaged to the best of your ability, all while he groaned at the sharp pain his body was in.

“Open up, it might taste a bit weird.” You smiled, trying to make him feel better as you spoon-fed him a bitter medicine, even the colour looked like complete muck, which just made him frown at the taste of it, injuries may not be a big deal to him but nothing is killing his tastebuds. 

“Disgusting.”

“Please bear with it,” 

He won’t bear with it, not in the slightest, instead, he’ll be selfish and want something more to clear his throat, getting rid of that bitter, disgusting taste, and you’ll be the victim of it. Touch his bandages all you want but he’s not going to let you leave, he’ll grab your hand and drag you down on top of him.

“Is something wrong?”

He’s a silent man, rather than doing something useful with his mouth instead of saying unnecessary things that you already knew, shoving his mouth on yours was more important, you could taste the bitter medicine in your throat, the taste getting more apparent the more he doesn’t want to let go of you.

“It’s better to bear with now.”

💫𝒱𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓈 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐼𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈𝒾𝒶 𝒢𝓊𝒾𝓁𝒹"

You may be the only answer to his problems, he feels exhausted by his students, and after a long break they have forgotten everything he’s been teaching, and the vein on his forehead might explode.

His anger gets bad to the point he can’t help but rant to you about his terrible day of reviewing with his class.

He may calm down a little when you smile and laugh a little about his complaints, it’s not your fault the way he talks.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“I wish to bash my skull on the table, these students will be the death of me.”

He's been ranting for a while now…and the whole time—going unnoticed by him since he’s very into his anger—you just wanted to laugh so badly, hearing his analogies with his complaints were truly testing you. 

“Idiots, they incurable, truly I’ve failed as a teacher,” his monologue was cut short when you started laughing—it was like a jolt of realization, seeing you laugh at him like that yet he wasn’t very pleased.

“Seems like you’re enjoying this.” He stares back at you blankly as you calm down from your laughter. “I’m not but Veritas, if you keep stressing out so much, you might just grow gray hair already,” you smile, your hand gently creasing his hair to express your point more.

 “I don’t want you to get wrinkles in the next few years.” you smile, it was a very gentle and natural one, not forced in the slightest which just made his heart skip a beat, your smile always made the tips of his ears red when you both alone with each, it might’ve also made him go soft as well.

“Any expression can contribute to wrinkles, even you’ll get some,” 

In a low whisper, all under his breath so it wouldn’t reach your ears. “Yet even with wrinkles, you would look even more charming.”

Seeing this side of you makes him grateful of what he gets to see.

💫𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝒶𝓀 𝐹𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎"

He’s gotten many personal questions about you from many people outside of your relationship. It's insulting if he's being truthful, and they just don’t know when to stop prying when they need to. Those backhanded comments don’t go unnoticed by him, he’s not some idiot. 

But it’s not the bad, words are just words unless the press gets wild and tries to do something then it’s something you shouldn’t worry about, not while he gets to see a different side of you that no one else gets the privilege to see.

Seeing you come with a pretty smile spread upon those lips, while you convince him to take a break and relax from all the papers he’s been doing. He might just do it since you’re the one asking (and he can’t resist that smile)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Sunday, you should take a break, or else your hands might cramp up from working so hard.”

A gentle smile plastered on those lips while you had his hand intertwined with your own, pressing it against your chest, almost as if you were giving him your blessing—it makes him feel as if he’s a teenager with a crush—gaze turning into a gentle one.

“I must’ve lost track of time, I didn’t mean to worry you, yet there still are many papers to do.” He sighs, before gently pulling his hand away—to not hurt your feelings—yet you grab onto his hand again—not wanting him to start back his work. 

“Please take a break Sunday, I’ll only let you work if you take a break right now.” You conveyed, his hand can’t help but stare at both of your hands intertwined before taking a fresh breath of air at your intervention.

“If it makes you happy, then I’ll take a break,” A weary smile on his lips when your eyes light up at his agreement with your lips going back to that smile

“Yet I would like for you to stay with me.”

he loves the look of it, why don’t you keep it that way on his whole break? It’ll even motivate him to finish his work faster.

“If it helps you.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Hellllllooooo 😁

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The next morning comes too soon and with too little sleep. Despite your efforts, you couldn’t lay still long enough to get much rest. Every time you sunk into the shallows of sleep, you were just as quickly awoken by visions of the unknown. You don’t know anything beyond the time at which you’ll set off to your fate; nine o’clock. 

You don’t need an alarm. You're already awake and alert. You sit up and rub your temples until the thumping dulls. You can’t entirely shake the pulsing thrum.  

You drag yourself to your feet and cross to your dresser. You open each drawer, sifting through the contents with disappointment. You don’t have anything that nice. You pick out your nicest jeans and a halter top Roxie gave you. You’ll be sweating your bum off in the denim but you don’t have many skirts or even shorts. 

You can hear your mother getting ready for her own day of work. Of actual work. You wait until she’s done to claim the bathroom. She’s off only a couple minutes after, calling out a goodbye and I love you that you return in a higher pitch than you mean to. 

You dress and tidy yourself up as best you can. Your bedtime shower did little to help you sleep but at least it saves you a step. You spritz yourself with strawberry body spray and try to smile at your reflection as you put your toothbrush back.

Sigh. Did Bucky really call you sexy? 

It’s not even eight. Lots of time to wallow in anxiety and self-doubt. You pace around the front room, ready to go, but not really. You have your purse with the fringe and your least-worn flats. They pinch around your toes but they’re cute; pink loafers with a little leather rose on each. 

You cradle your phone then squeeze it hard enough to make it light up. Only a few minutes. Or not. You hear a car outside and peer through the curtain. You recognise the vehicle. Shoot, time to go. Oh, god, what are you doing? 

You lock the door behind you and turn to face the gallows. Each step is filled with sand, your legs are heavy and your feet clunky. As you near, Merv appears to open the door for you. You’re surprised but not to find Bucky waiting within. 

As you slide onto the seat, he watches you and rumbles out a silty, ‘morning, doll.’ You aren’t ready. You don’t know why but you thought the drive would give you time to toss away the last of your caution but you’re clinging to it like a raft. You feel entirely powerless. More than you ever have. 

What he promises, money; you always assumed it would give you more control, that it would solve all your problems, but it’s really just a new set of problems. You settle onto the seat as the door closes and buckle your seat belt, focusing on the simple task. He stretches his arm over the back of the seat as you lean against it and his heat seethes into you. 

“Good morning,” you force out at last. 

“That’s a cute shirt,” he purrs as his hand wanders down to tickle your bare shoulder, your nude bra strap showing garishly. “Would look better without this.” He touches the strap and you make a noise. “But I can wait for that, doll.” 

You stare forward. The divider between you and the front seat is up. You are completely alone. You feel your heart about to swell and split. 

“I’ll admit, I was up late last night,” his arms shifts slightly as he leans forward. You only notice then the scent of coffee and two cups in the holders behind the console. “Got a pick-me-up to start the day. Gotta be awake for you, doll.” 

He takes one of the cups and you realise, he means to offer it to you. You feel too bad to tell him you’re not much for coffee. “It’s called a blue dream tea latte? I think it’s blueberry or something. I saw it in some ad online. Sounded like something you’d like.” 

“Oh, thanks, er, it does?” You murmur. You’d seen the same promotion on Pinterest. It’s a rather strange coincidence that he’d think of you. “I... I’ve never tried a tea latte.” 

“Doll, I’m gonna give you lots of things you never had, take you places you never been,” he flutters his fingers across your neck as he retracts his arm. He grabs the other cup and groans as he sits back, blowing over the plastic lid. “So tell me,” his arms presses against yours. He seems so big sitting so close, “where’ somewhere you always wanted to go?” 

“Er, I don’t...” your eyes drift over as Merv drives lazily through your neighbourhood, “know. I never... thought about it.” 

“Anything you always wanted to do? Skydiving? Wait, yeah, you don’t like being high up. Makes sense, being so close to the ground, huh?” He chuckles and leans into you playfully, “you an outdoorsy type? You like hiking?” 

“Um, I don’t know, I think... I like walking in the park sometimes,” you hold the cup with both hands, letting the warmth flow into your cold veins. You can smell the blueberry and you instinctively take wife through the slot of the lid. 

“Mm, don’t worry, we’ll figure it out, doll,” he assures you and sips again, swallowing thickly before he lets out a thigh. “I think you’ll like what I got planned, even if you don’t know what you want. I’ve always been good at figuring that out, you know?” 

“Oh?” 

He laughs again, “you’re so cute, doll.” He looks over at you, “how’s the latte? Did I do good?” 

Your eyes nearly cross as you stare at the cup. You bring it up carefully and take a dainty sip. You almost moan at the creamy but sweet taste. You pull the lid away and dab your lips with the back of your hand, turning to give him a wide-eyed look. 

“It’s delicious,” you smile. 

He grins and tilts his head, “see, doll, you don’t even gotta say it. I know exactly what you need.” 

You’re breathless. Something about his tone, his words, mingles and coils around your throat. It’s like one of those old Wattpad fantasies you devoured in your teen years, those escapist dreams of having everything taken care of and not having to think, and yet, it’s too real. You take another drink to keep busy. 

“After our first stop, we’ll eat,” he says, “that okay? You’re not ravenous?” 

His words make you flinch. You blink and shake your head, “I’m okay.” 

“Sounds good, doll,” he relaxes and once more extends his arms over your shoulders, this time hugging you closer.  

He turns his head and nuzzles you, making you squirm. You’re rigid, paralysed by the proximity. You’ve never been this close with anyone. He still feels like a stranger. 

“Mmm, strawberries,” he growls, “I like that.” 

You giggle and barely keep a hold of your cup. You really can’t understand it. You never had interest from anyone. You didn’t even really have friends in school. Sometimes, you even think Roxie hates you, and your mom, well, she loves you because you have to. You just can’t comprehend what he sees. 

“Thanks...” you wisp. 

“No, thank you, doll,” he drawls, “for making my morning brighter.” 

🃏

You doubt Bucky does anything in half-measures. Merv pulls up to another upscale building and you can’t help but gape out at the white brick facade. Everything is so big and fancy and better than you. You’re so out of place in his world that you can’t but wait for the moment he decides to kick you out of it. 

The white-haired driver gets out to open the door. As you step out, your loafer slips off your heel and your foot slides down the curb. You trip outward, bracing yourself for impact, but don’t hit the ground. A hand wraps around your arm and pulls you back onto the seat. You cringe, happy at least that Bucky can’t see your face as he clings to you. 

“You okay, doll?” He asks, “you hurt yourself?” 

“No, no,” you wriggle in his grasp, “I’m fine. It was just... stupid.” 

“Not stupid, good thing I was here to catch you, huh?” He reluctantly releases you, a caress along the back of your arm, “now you be careful. You need me to get out and carry you--” 

“No, no!” You grab the car and push yourself out, fixing your shoe as you get your bearings. “Really, I’m okay.” 

He chuckles and follows. It he laughing at you? You turn to face him as he steps up on the curb. It’s easy when he’s sitting to forget how small you really are. 

“All good, doll, I just can’t have you getting banged up,” he says as he gestures you across the wide sidewalk. 

You peer back as Merv shuts the door and Bucky brings his hand to your lower back, just like that woman at the casino. His gentle touch sends a chill up your back despite the beaming heat from above. 

“Promise, you’re gonna love this.”  

He urges you on to the front doors. They are made of iron, twisted in the middle, and two long handles curlicue in the middle. He stops and presses the little silver button along the side, a buzz muffled within. You wait, fidgeting, and presses his palm firmly to your back. You still yourself and clutch your bag tighter. 

The interior doors, dark walnut, open inward and a woman appears within with a particularly snobbish look. She’s tall with straight shoulders and a Chanel style suit. She unlocks the iron doors and opens the right one. She eyes Bucky past her hooked nose as she lifts it higher. 

“Mr. Barnes,” she greets. 

“Meredith,” he returns, “thanks for having me.” 

“Only for you,” she assures as her eyes fall upon you, “you’ve brought...” 

“Someone very special. A connoisseur like yourself,” he insists, curtailing whatever she thought to remark. 

“Yes, certainly she would be,” the woman accepts with a sniff and steps back, “please, come in. Should I have Charlene make tea?” 

“I don’t think we will require it. Doll?” He pauses as he confirms with you. 

You shake your head, “no thank you.” 

“Very well, follow me, then,” she spins and struts away.  

Bucky nudges you inside first, following through the narrow door. As he comes up parallel to you, a shadow appears to close the doors behind him. The whole experience is eerie. What is going on? 

You follow the woman, Meredith, up the wooden stairs with a rose-printed runner along the center of the steps. At the top, you smell the definitive scent of books. She directs you into a room, opening the door but standing back to let you through. Bucky nods and thanks her one last time. 

“You know the rules, Barnes,” she warns. 

“Been a while...” he mutters. 

“You remember,” she rebukes. 

He laughs and pulls the door shut as she retreats, her heels clicking through the wall until they taper off to nothing. A record player drones from the corner and the window lets in the yellow sunshine, adding to the illumination of glass-shaded lamps. You peer around, as curious as you are confused. 

Bucky brushes by you, knuckles rubbing against your waist, and he approaches the antique table at the center. Several stacks of books sit neatly piled atop it. You approach sheepishly and read the spines. You recognise the titles though you’ve never read any of them. As you think, you realise that these are the same books you have on your reading app. How could he know? 

Your mouth falls open as you keep your hands folded together. You don’t dare to touch anything. It all seems so nice and likely expensive. And with how Meredith spoke, you’re certain she wouldn’t appreciate you putting anything out of place. 

“She’s a book collector. I came here a few years back to buy some first editions for my sister,” he picks up a book. 

“How...” you bend to read further down a stack. 

“A lot you can learn about a person online,” he flutters through the pages, “isn’t there?” 

You look at him and blanch. 

“I know you Googled me. Everyone does,” he snickers, “it’s fine. Comes with the territory. But you...” he snaps the book shut and comes around the table, holding it out to you, “all I found were some books and a few pictures of a cat.” 

You take the book and stare at the cover. Those pictures were old. Kai died at the end of high school. You run your hand over the embossed title; Middlemarch. You remember adding it after binging and old British series. 

“My cat. She’s gone now,” you shrug. 

“Sorry to hear that, doll,” he says. “I might know someone who can cheer you up, though.” 

“It’s... fine. She was a good cat,” you shrug. 

“Hm, yeah, but a friend, all the same,” he says, “so, you want it?” 

“What?” You peek at the book again. 

“All of them? I can have them packed and sent to your house.” 

“Huh?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “my mom...” 

“Ah, it’s fine, we can sneak em in,” he assures. 

“No, no, I couldn’t... it’s too much. Very nice but... must be... a lot.” 

“It is, doll. Meredith gave me a damn headache tryna get in here on short notice but I did it,” he leans a hand on the table and hooks one foot over the other. “You gotta at least pick one thing to walk out of here with.” 

“Oh, I... I wasn’t meaning... I didn’t mean to be ungrateful,” you rub your thumbs along the edges of the book, “sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I know you’re not, doll. You’re... adjusting. I’m doing my best not to scare ya away but you gotta bite the carrot a little here,” he says, “so grab a few and we’ll go have some breakfast.” 

“I...” you look between him and the table. You have no doubt that he went to a lot of effort for this. For you. You can’t just throw it back in his face. “Thank you, it’s...” you turn to face the table and lean in to see more of the books. You let yourself smile, “it’s wonderful. No one’s ever... except mom...” 

“Get used to it, doll,” he steps closer, his hand once more on your back, “with a smile like that, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing it.” 

[wordpress-blaze-221734350]

My Recommendation

In this post-Afirmative Action world, sans quotas lives a fairy tale of stellar recommendations and grades making their mark… but what happens when a damnation replaces said recommendation?  How do you survive?

 

I used to like to think myself accomplished for my age. I was 27 and had recently finished a prestigious post-baccalaureate program at a prominent university in New York. The world was my oyster and I had put all of my eggs in one basket to pursue a career in medicine. Since the age of 3 it was all I could talk about. I practically repeated the same thing to anyone and everyone that I met. My aspirations to become a physician and what that would ultimately mean…. what my life would be. All that I could fathom was in one tiny inkling of possibility and I relished the prospect daily.

 

The transition from being an English major to the innate submersion of science was overwhelming to say the least.  The words that ebbed and flowed through my mind were constantly all at once washed away by a cacophony of mis-matched equations that led to nowhere, elements that suffered to erase themselves from my tongue as soon as they were spoken, and an uncanny ability to predict the slowing of time based on how complicated a physics equation may be.  I still remember with absolute wonder and horror how I believe that I must have had a vascular event status post an organic chemistry examination where I needed 5 to 10 minutes to really remember what city I was in, what direction that I was supposed to be walking to get to my train, and even where I lived.

 

It was in all of that time that I met an unlikely ally- at least, I thought so at first.  She was one of the most admired and feared professors in one of the most popular science departments in the country.  While she tended to dress like a vagrant mystic, she had mesmerizing large eyes that could laser focus on you in an auditorium of hundreds and put anyone on edge with the cold silence of her question.  As I was recounting a story of this woman’s effect on her class one day, my mother informed me that she believed that she knew of my professor in an unexpected way.  “Oh… that sounds like Sarah’s neighbor…I’m almost certain of it.”  She stated.  We continued our conversation throughout the day and my mother urged me to inform this professor of our social connection.

 

So, I did.  Given that I was determined to bend my mind to science, I religiously attended Professor W’s office hours.  It was in one of those classes where we were debating the amazing superiority of the human cell receptors, that I decided to mention it.  I explained that my mother and “Sarah” had gone to college together and that they had remained friends and kept in touch. “Oh” she exclaimed.  I watched as her round eyes seemed to soften and her smile widened.  It was in my naivety that I believed that with my hard work, my dedication, that I had shown her that I was entirely capable and that I might be able to reach my goal someday with her help.

 

Over the course of the semester, I was able to hone my newfound scientific intellect into a B for my final class grade.  Though I had accepted my perfectionist tendencies, I wasn’t particularly sad with this because I knew all of the hours of work that I had put into this class.  I welcomed continuing on to fight another day; it instilled a new strain of confidence in me that I thought I didn’t have before.  I was ready to go out and sell myself to medical schools.  I subsequently finished my post-baccalaureate program and circled back around to professor W. Since I knew that I hadn’t done half bad in her class and I thought that she had gotten to know me during my time in the program as I seemed to spend more time in her office than any other, I thought that she would be the perfect recommendation reference.

 

I remember walking into the dark paneled mahogany office and sitting down to catch up.  She was pleasant with slightly flat affect, eyes large as saucers that threatened to bulge out of her head with the sheer motion of a head tilt… I took it all in. I thought that I had timed it right.  I handed her a standard form for the university and asked if she would write my letter of recommendation for medical school.

 

  She slightly slowed what she was doing and repeated back to me what I had asked her.  I looked at her and hesitated. “Yes, I would be honored.” I replied.  She looked slowly down at her desk as if contemplating something and said “Well, if you would like me to write you a recommendation, so be it. I will write it.”  I was ecstatic and couldn’t help almost skipping home that day.  It was a beautiful thing to realize that a dream that I was working so hard for, may actually come to fruition…

 

In the next few months, I was a buzz studying for the MCAT, working, and compiling my medical school file.  In what seemed like no time, I had everything complete.  I remember walking to the office with the list of schools that I wanted to apply to and made sure that my post baccalaureate office sent out the letters to the schools of my choice.  It had truly been a labor of love for me.  Once my applications had been sent out to the schools, I spent my time mulling about and counting down the days for a letter for an interview.  What went from days to weeks quickly became months.  I was subsequently completely confused and dejected.

 

I used to go over the wording of my essay, questioning whether I may have made an offensive comment.   Maybe my grades simply weren’t good enough, or my scores?  I wasn’t certain what could possibly have been the problem.  To make it worse, the barrage of denial letters seemed to come at the very end of the period.  I dared not even ask why I wasn’t up for reconsideration and even decided to apply at the last minute to get my Master of Public Health at my undergraduate university.  And this is when time seemed to stop for me.

 

Somehow, I received vague feedback that there was an “discrepancy” with my application.  Something that the reviewers couldn’t comment about but that put my entire application in question and that they had no choice but to reject me.  I felt like I had been forced to the end of the conveyer belt and was now falling into the “FAIL” heap.   I shuddered to think where I would end up.  This was the beginning of many nights of sleeplessness, high blood pressure, and me slowly coming to the realization that medicine may not be for me, that I was simply not qualified.

 

There were other family friends who had seen my application and recommended me reaching out to other Admissions officers in other branches of the university.  However, when I spoke with those officers, they would feign surprise that I was calling them and referred me back to my own post-baccalaureate department without question, almost clucking that I was confused and overzealous. I was trapped.

 

I decided to take a weekend excursion with my parents down South to visit a family friend.  We had a great time, but our friend noticed my consistent anxious and dejected expression.  When she asked me about it, I explained the situation.  I let her know that medical professional administrators had indicated that there were inconsistencies with my application.  I wondered aloud if I needed experience in the medical field more or to take more classes to increase my GPA even more.  As I considered my options aloud, she remained stoic and then told me a story about her daughter’s friend. 

 

She stated that her daughter’s friend was an accomplished Ivy League graduate, like me, who had applied to graduate school and continued to be rejected for some time before she realized that a letter of recommendation had been her undoing. I sat perplexed and captivated as she told me that not all letters of recommendation were affirmative to the applicant for which they were intended.  She explained that there were some professors who put a knife in the backs of certain students to sink their careers. 

 

What is even more disconcerting is that there is really little to no way for anyone to know that this practice is happening to them.  As a student bleeds out their time, work, hopes, and fears other personnel are essentially bound to secrecy.  This is because a letter of recommendation only has merit when it is confidential.  And in having someone write a poison letter, a student all but gambles and seals their fate with a career ending secrecy pact. 

 

It took some time for me to compose myself.  I soon suspected that I may have a poison letter and was able to hire a wonderfully savvy education consultant who was able to help me re-navigate the admissions process.  He worked with me to polish my ideas, speak louder and more confidently. He also recommended that I visit the schools to which I applied and (of course) to hone my application with a different compilation of my letters.

 

I contacted my post baccalaureate admission office and didn’t hear anything back for weeks.  I called again with no response.  Finally, one day I called the office and was met with one of the staffers answering the phone.  When I said hello and who I was, I was told to call that staffer on their cell phone number.  This was in the early 2000’s so, people hardly ever said this.  I complied and waited about 15 minutes for them to leave the office.  Once we were able to touch base, I was told in no uncertain terms to ever call the post-baccalaureate office again and to only contact the staffer.  I was flabbergasted.  All I could do was hear my heart pound in my throat.  They explained that they would be sure to get my consultant the application that had been sent out previously. And both my consultant and I waited…

 

 A week or so after my conversation my consultant received the application and called me into his office and read me something that changed my life. He sat me down at a long table and had two piles- one taller than the other.  As I watched, he began to read me the letters of the numerous faculty members who supported me from the taller pile.  They all had wonderfully glowing things to say about my abilities and spoke of how I would very likely soar to great heights and accomplish my dreams.  I was extremely humbled. 

 

Then my consultant went to the short pile. Which consisted of one letter.  He held it up and asked if I was ready to hear it.  I took a deep breath and nodded yes. I listened as he, in the words of Professor W., started off with “Though Aisha believes herself to be intelligent, she is in fact one of the worst students that I have ever had.”  The letter was a barrage of insults calling me dim-witted, lazy, mentally deficient among numerous other characteristics.  She likened me to have the mentality of a second grader and stated that I would have no business in the university’s post-baccalaureate programs and certainly could never survive the rigors of medical school.

 

My consultant stopped at the end and the silence weighed on my chest.  I took deep breaths to keep it at bay.  He stated that he wanted me to hear how ridiculous this letter was.  How ugly it was.  He turned to me and questioned me on my own insecurities stating that my resume, my education, everything that I had done was leading up to medical school and that he was certain that this letter was the thing that was killing my medical opportunities.  He implored me to be adamant that I was beyond qualified and to believe it in everything that I did from there on.

 

I walked out of the office that day feeling the weight and the exhilaration of racial terror.  On one hand, it was devastating that I had allowed someone to write these lies about me to share with the world.  On the other hand, the words were so hateful, derogatory, and racist that it went without saying.   Say what you might, but I am still convinced that this professor firmly believed in eugenics and could have easily written a compelling case based on her “concern for my abilities” noted in my letter. 

 

I had gone to some of the best schools in the country, constantly challenged and tried (with a strong GPA) and this woman was saying that I was barely qualified to tie my shoes. It took me time to reflect, recollect, and regenerate into Aisha 2.0, a young woman who was not afraid to share the many facets of herself.  To be gracious in my knowledge, my instinct and the trajectory of my dreams.

 

In the weeks after me reading my “poison letter”, I was finally able to receive interviews in the second round of my medical school application process. With a swipe of my consultant’s hand, the letter was removed and my dreams were finally coming into formation.

 

I got accepted into medical school after my second application submission, went on to graduate with honors, completed residency, fellowship, and now continue to practice. But I continually shudder to think about how lucky I was. If I had not had a consultant and a hero in the admission’s office, I likely would never have been a doctor, even though my grades, my resume, my experience, and my background were all worthy of my going to medical school.

 

I am a unicorn, when I should really be a zebra. I comprise 6% of physicians, when there should really be more as more are needed and most importantly, more are capable. Out of the many legions of students of color who started the medical school process with me, only a few remained. One by one, they were lost to dissuasion, humiliation, and terror just like me. How many other physicians and medical professionals of color have been lost to this exclusionary process? Some may think that this is simply what medicine is, a weed out process. But, students should be selected on the basis of merit and not outright sabotage. The lack of acceptance of people of color in medicine serves as a perpetuation of the poison that continues and feeds our medical system today. If you were dying on a stretcher, you’d want the best physician for the job to save you, but continuation of this “tradition” most likely ensures you’ll have a mediocre physician instead as it works both ways. Who is qualified? What does qualified mean?

 

Where does this leave others in this new political landscape?  Is this where professors like W all but determine who gets to go to a “good school”? Is this where cronyism is rewarded?  And what does that do for the world?  Homogeneity dims the light of creativity and innovation.  If we all have the same thoughts and perspectives, how can one be challenged to be greater than they even knew that they could be?

 

It is in our diversity that we thrive.  It is in our varying perspectives that growth can be cultivated, once and for all.   The lesson of my recommendation is that we need a better way to do better now that the precedent is no more.  The more this country remains divided, the less time that people interact with one another and only increases the possibilities to develop more fears and misconceptions, opening the door for hatred to ensue.  Each possibility of an individual damnation letter is a knife in a student's back, that not only threatens the hopes and dreams of a young soul, but also the progress of a country.

 

 

Source: My Recommendation

[holymarymotherofsmut]

Summer Heat

Summary: You’re stuck heading into the office on a Sunday on the hottest day of the year, so you forego your usual business attire and show up in something more comfortable. The only problem? Your hot boss, Higuruma Hiromi is also working overtime. Can you handle the heat, the pressure, and Higuruma’s weird behavior?

wc: 8.3k

A/N: I wrote this on a miserable Sunday over the summer where I was too hot and had to do some work (luckily from home). I’ve been fussing over it but the temps are getting lower where I live and I was dreaming about warmer days with later sunsets.

Anyway, this is the first fic I’ve posted in like fifteen years! I feel like it’s too long and could use more editing, but I feel more strongly that the Higuruma girlies don’t get fed nearly enough so I’m doing my part 🫡

The only thing worse than having to go to work on a Sunday was having to go to work on a Sunday that’s also slated to be the hottest day of the year. The thought of putting on your usual pencil skirt and blouse made you want to peel your own skin off.

Then something occurred to you.

No one ever came in on Sunday. Not the power hungry new associates, hoping to stand out. Not the assistants, always drowning in more work than they could reasonably finish, but still did nonetheless. Not even your workaholic boss, Higuruma Hiromi, came in on Sundays.

You felt a guilty thrill, riding the train to the office in just some bike shorts and a tank top. There was no chance of anyone else being there, especially not as early in the morning as you were going, but the idea of getting caught still sent an anxious tingle up your spine.

The air conditioning in the building was almost enough to make up for the mountain of paperwork you needed to review before you could have what precious little remained of the weekend to yourself. You had your own office, whose closed door had trapped the AC since you left on Friday, an icy cold reprieve from the scorching temperatures outside.

As expected, there’s no sign of anyone else in the building today. You leave your door open anyway, hoping to hear anyone who might happen to come in before they find you.

Feeling a little more confident, you put on some music, keeping the level low even with the empty halls. You sang along quietly, occasionally gripping your pen as a microphone to belt out particularly good bits. You were lost in your performance enough that you didn’t notice someone else had arrived at the office.

It’s a muffled chuckle that makes you realize you’re not alone. Your eyes open, shooting to the door where your boss, the law firm's youngest partner, Higuruma Hiromi, is watching you. He has one fist raised to cover his mouth, trying desperately to suppress a laugh.

“Fuck!” You shout in surprise, scrambling to turn off the music.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt,” he says with a good natured smile, still chuckling a little. “I didn’t think anyone else would be here today and then I heard you.”

At the same time, you were trying to explain. “Please, I’m so sorry. I know I’m dressed wildly inappropriately for the office. I really didn’t think anyone would be here.”

He visibly stiffened, finally looking at your outfit. Your breasts spilled out of your top, shining with a thin sheen of sweat just from the brief walk from the station to the office. He could just see a sliver of thigh over the desk where your shorts ended before your legs disappeared under the desk. His smile disappeared and was replaced with an almost pained expression, one you read as thinly veiled disgust.

“I’ll run home and change. I’m so sorry,” you rushed out, standing up behind your desk and fumbling for your bag.

“What?” His big eyes met your panicked ones for a second. “No, don’t be silly. No one else is here, and I’ll be in my office all day.”

You paused, bag still in hand, brain screaming for you to leave and never come back to the office again. “Are you sure?”

“You won’t even know I’m here,” he said with a tight-lipped smile.

He stood there staring at you, not moving until you set your bag down. Once he was satisfied, he gave you a quick nod and turned on his heel out of your office. You knew it was probably your imagination, but you could have sworn he was half-running back to his office.

Higuruma vexed you. That was the only way you could put it. He was generally so kind, so ready to explain something, or to help you work out an argument. He never questioned when you needed time off, he never asked you to stay and work overtime. And being that handsome certainly didn’t hurt. All of this only made you more desperate to impress this man.

The only time he was ever anything other than a perfect gentleman was when you wore revealing clothing. You didn’t have evidence of anything, and it sounded insane even to you, so you hadn’t shared your suspicions, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that was the problem.

The first time it happened, a client had accidentally spilled coffee down the front of your dress, and you didn’t have time to run home and change before you needed to be in court. You had grabbed the spare set of clothes you kept in the bottom drawer of your desk and hoped for the best.

The clothes had been shuffled from one temporary legal job to the next while you were finding your footing after law school, and you’d never had occasion to use them before, so you weren’t terribly surprised to find them a little tight.

You had started eating more, now that you weren’t a literally starving law student. Your figure had filled out, and it showed when you tried to squeeze into the years-old pencil skirt and button down blouse, but you had no other choice. As you tried to secure one more button on the top, trying to retain some level of modesty, your breasts rebelled and you heard the button ping against the mirror.

You were assisting Higuruma in court that day, and immediately things started to go poorly. You had arrived at his office, your blouse undone a button below where it should have been, trying desperately to hide in your coworker’s blazer she’d let you borrow to try to cover yourself a little more effectively.

“You weren’t wearing that earlier,” he had blurted out, taking in the much tighter outfit you had appeared in.

“Sorry. Someone covered me in coffee and this was all I had,” you said with an apologetic wince.

“It’s fine,” he said, waving his hand and looking back down at the papers on his desk intently. “I’m just finishing something up. Can I meet you down by my car? The keys are in the pocket of my jacket just there.”

He didn’t even look up at you as he gestured to the coat rack where his suit jacket hung. You felt a little like you were being dismissed. You took the keys with a frown and made your way down to his car.

He appeared not even a minute later, making you wonder if he just didn’t want to be seen walking with you. He ignored you the whole ride to the court house. Okay, not really - he chatted with you, a little more stiffly than usual, but with a friendly tone. But he didn’t look at you once during the drive. You appreciated him keeping his eyes on the road, but this felt deliberate.

His cold behavior continued for the rest of the day. All throughout the hearing, when he was driving you to the station, all day, he only looked at you if he absolutely had to. The only thing you could think was that he was embarrassed to be seen with you looking like that.

You had returned to the office the next day in long, loose pants and a shapeless sweater, shame still lingering. You replaced your emergency clothes with ones that fit properly. Higuruma went back to being his normal self.

The second time you had noticed it was at the office Holiday party. Everyone had shown up in fun cocktail attire, and you had gotten so many compliments on your dress. Burgundy velvet, long sleeves, and an open neckline that showed off your shoulders without revealing too much cleavage. A happy medium of sexy and office appropriate, or so you’d thought.

After greeting Higuruma on the way in, you didn’t see him for the rest of the night. You had been hoping to chat with him - you were still relatively new and you wanted him to know you were up for any challenging cases he had to throw at you. But every time you’d spot him, in the time it took you to extricate yourself from the conversion you were in and make your way to where you’d spotted him, he was gone.

He had left the party early, and you had left feeling rejected. You couldn’t figure out what you’d done wrong. You could only hope that you could work your way back into his good graces before he decided to fire you.

Only, there was no need to work your way back into his good graces, as it turned out. He was at your desk first thing the next morning, explaining the new defense strategy he had cooked up, sounding hopeful about the case for the first time since he’d taken it on.

If twice is a coincidence and thrice is a pattern, today solidified your belief that it was clothing related. You frown, thinking about how kind you always thought Higuruma was. If he was going to act this way over some clothing, maybe he wasn’t worth putting in the effort to impress.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the smell of coffee drifting from down the hall. You had long finished the cup you brought from home and were craving another. Hesitantly, you made your way to the kitchen, unpleasantly surprised to find Higuruma had beaten you there.

You hesitated in the doorway, debating going in, but his dark eyes found you before you could make a decision.

“Oh, hello again,” he said mildly, immediately turning back to the cupboard. It was too fast to have not been intentional, but he tried to cover it up by opening the cabinet with the mugs, the ends of his slicked-back hair swaying slightly as he surveyed the sea of identical mugs. “I assume you’re here for coffee?”

Before you can answer he pours you a cup, gesturing to it, still not looking at you.

“Thank you.” You say it looking directly at him, hoping to leave him no choice but to finally look you in the eye. And he does, for a fleeting moment. You think you see heated red cheeks as he mumbles something about having work to do and breezes past you out of the kitchenette.

You frown down at the steaming mug in front of you. He didn’t have to like what you wore but he didn’t need to be so dismissive. You decide to have a little fun with him today. If you have to be in the office, and you have to deal with his attitude, at least you can make him squirm.

Around noon you headed down to his office. You’d hiked up your shorts a little, just enough that it was debatable if you’d done it on purpose or if they had just ridden up from walking. Your top was already cut fairly low, but you tugged it down anyway, allowing another inch of cleavage to peak through.

The door to his office was slightly ajar, but you knocked on the wood anyway, polite even when your ultimate goal was to torture him a little. A distracted, “Come in,” came from inside, so you pushed the door the rest of the way open.

“I was just going to order some lunch,” you began, leaning against the door frame casually, knowing the angle would make your legs appear longer. “Did you want anything?”

Your plan was working. When he finally glanced up from the document he’d been poring over, his face went a shade paler. His eyes were locked onto your legs, traveling up the length of them before he remembered himself and snapped them up to meet your gaze.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he replied in a clipped tone, immediately looking back down at his work.

“Are you sure? You really shouldn’t skip lunch.” You frowned, standing up straight and crossing your arms. You might have been toying with him, but you also spent a good part of your regular work day worrying about the man also. He was here early, always the last to leave, and you knew for a fact that he frequently skipped meals in favor of working on a case.

The genuine concern in your tone made him look back up at you curiously, in turn making you realize that you’d strayed from your original goal. You uncrossed your arms, breasts jiggling with the motion, drying up whatever retort Higuruma had lined up on his tongue.

“I brought lunch today, but I appreciate the offer. Feel free to charge it to the company account though, since you’re working on a Sunday.” His tone was polite, the offer kind, but it was clearly a dismissal. Again, his eyes immediately went back to studying the words on the page in front of him.

With a shrug you turned on your heel, not catching the way his eyes followed your ass as you walked away, or the way he shook his head in annoyance at himself after you had disappeared.

Around two, he saw a blur of movement as you left the office, the tell-tale ding of the elevator confirming his suspicions. He let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know how much longer he could be in the office with you looking like that.

Higuruma thought of himself as a good, ethical man. He was someone who always wanted what was just and fair to be done. He paid his parking tickets on time, he tipped 30% or more even when it wasn’t expected, he didn’t even jaywalk.

And he definitely didn’t hit on his subordinates. No matter how beautiful, or intelligent, or witty they were. No matter how kind they were, no matter how they fussed over him, no matter how much his cock twitched when he saw even an inch of skin he wasn’t expecting.

No, Higuruma would never make the first move, no matter how sure he was that you felt the same magnetic pull between you.

He was still thinking about you when the elevator dinged again, indicating someone’s arrival. He frowned - who would be coming in at this hour on a Sunday?

You.

You hadn’t left, apparently. You had just popped out to the corner store for a snack. In one hand you had a small plastic bag, heavy with a drink and what looked like a couple of onigiri. Your other hand was holding a popsicle up to your mouth.

He prayed that you’d just keep walking past his office, but god was not on his side today, it seemed.

“Here,” you said before putting the popsicle in your mouth, holding it there while you used your now free hand to rummage around in the bag. You produced an onigiri and tossed it at him. He barely managed to catch it, fumbling it a little in his hands. The label said it was spicy tuna, his favorite.

“What’s this for?” He asked, one eyebrow raised. He tried to keep his eyes on your face, which was hard when you were sucking on the popsicle that way. How many times had he imagined you looking at him with your mouth full of…

“For playing baseball,” you responded drily. “What do you think it’s for?”

“I told you, I was fine,” he protested, holding the food out to you uselessly.

“I know you didn’t actually bring lunch,” you said with a scowl. “Eat.”

While the popsicle was out of your mouth, it melted enough to send a drop of red syrup dripping onto your right breast. You swiped at it with a finger and popped the digit into your mouth, then you licked up the side of the popsicle where the errant drip had come from.

He’s not sure he’s ever been harder in his life.

“Thank you.” He said stiffly, suddenly very interested in the wrapper of the onigiri in his hand. “I have some work I need to finish up. Is there anything else?”

You scoffed quietly, and he almost broke and looked up at you, but he instead turned to pretend to rummage in his desk for something.

“No, that’s all Mr. Higuruma,” you replied, matching the formality and stiffness of his tone. He heard your angry footsteps retreat down the hall, only allowing himself to let out a sigh once he heard your door shut just a little too loudly. He put his head in his hands, aware that he had upset you somehow. He had been too focused on not showing his attraction to you, not letting you in on his shameful secret, that he completely missed whatever he might have done to deserve such a reaction.

He’d have to talk to you later, but right now he needed to get his emotions and his dick under control.

You’d had a shockingly productive day, all things considered.

Really, you had thrown yourself into your work to try and forget about Higuruma making you feel… well, you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was you were feeling. At first you thought it was just anger at his dismissive behavior, but under the anger was deep embarrassment. It was the sting of romantic rejection, something you hadn’t considered when you started this little game.

You were attracted to him. You had always been able to admit that. But he was a good man, you thought, far too good to ever do something as scandalous as date an employee. Part of you had maybe hoped that it wasn’t anger but attraction on his part too that made him act so odd around you sometimes.

But you’d proven to yourself once and for all that it was, at the end of the day, disgust and annoyance with you as a person. You could continue to be professional - you were an adult, you had learned how to compartmentalize. But maybe you needed to keep your distance for a while.

This is how you ended up sitting in your office at 7 p.m., sun sinking slowly, casting your office in a wash of orange. You’d wrapped up everything you wanted to do plus a little extra in the hopes of avoiding Higuruma on your way out. You hadn’t heard him leave yet, but surely he had to be gone by now.

As it turned out, you had no such luck.

Two soft knocks sounded from the door. You lifted your head from where you’d had it resting on your arms as you tried to gather the strength to get up and brave the outside world. Higuruma was peering at you through the window to the side of your door, brow creased with concern.

“Come in,” you croaked out, throat sore from holding back tears. You refused to cry at the office.

“Are you alright?” He was talking before he had even taken a step into the office, walking toward you.

“I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache,” you lied, unable to hide the exhaustion in your voice.

“You should go home,” he pressed, hovering a few feet away from your desk, hands lifted like he wanted to help, but they dangled there uselessly as he realized he didn’t know how.

“I will. Did you need something?” You didn’t mean to be so short with him, but he was the last person on earth you wanted to talk to right now.

“No, I just…” He started a sentence, then paused, studying your face. He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. When he opened them, his dark irises were fixed on yours in determination. “I feel like I upset you earlier, and I wanted to come and apologize.”

“No apology necessary, Mr. Higuruma. You haven’t done anything to upset me.” Another lie, bitter as it rolled off your tongue.

He said nothing, but continued staring at you, as if waiting for you to reveal the truth. You couldn’t stand to hold his gaze, your eyes shooting down to the documents in front of you. You started to rearrange the papers on your desk, just to have something to do with your hands, praying he didn’t notice your fingers shaking as you did.

He stepped forward, hands now moving with purpose to take the papers from you and set them down, forcing you to look up at him again.

“Please tell me what I’ve done wrong,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me. I’m willing to learn, I promise.”

“You want the truth?” You asked defiantly, suddenly ready to teach him the meaning of the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for.’

“Please,” he repeated. His melancholy gaze stayed on your face, giving him the appearance of a hound dog trying to understand why its master was angry.

“You need to get over whatever your hangup is with revealing outfits,” you said, crossing your arms, now meeting his stare with intensity he hadn’t expected. “It sucks that you treat me one way when I’m dressed modestly and another way when I dare to have a little more skin showing.”

“Is that… is that what you think it is?” He asked, suddenly a little amused. He had come in here ready to be scolded for ogling you, for making you uncomfortable with his obvious and unwanted attraction.

What a fascinating turn.

“Well… what else could it be?” You asked, scrunching your brows together in confusion.

“Let me put it to you this way,” Higuruma began softly, a half-smile playing around his lips. “Have you seen what Lisa the receptionist considers work appropriate?”

You cringed internally at the thought. Lisa, the receptionist who apparently didn’t need to sleep at all. She regaled you all with her tales of weeknight clubbing, and her taste in clothes showed it. Her skirts were short, her heels were high, and if she wasn’t showing cleavage, you could safely assume that it was because of hickies she didn’t want anyone to see (though she would absolutely show you without prompting if you had the misfortune of being in the bathroom with her at the same time).

“I mean, she looks fantastic,” you argued weakly, understanding where this was going.

“She does,” he agreed. “Have you ever seen me treat her differently because of what she was wearing?”

“Well… No,” you admitted, feeling your case fall apart in your hands.

“So why would you think that I’d treat you any differently?” He asked, still trying to get to the root of your anger.

“Because you do! Because whenever I wear something even slightly more scandalous than a pantsuit, you ignore me! It’s like I’m not even there!” Traitorous tears gathered along your lashline, threatening to spill down your cheeks. “Is it because you just don’t like me personally? Is it something I’ve done?” You voice wavered, breaking on the last word.

“Oh dear,” Higuruma said, mostly to himself, it seemed. “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”

“What are you talking about?” You sniffled, resisting the urge to grab a tissue. Somehow that felt like one pathetic step too far.

He said your name with a quiet fondness you hadn’t been expecting. “It’s not anything you’ve done, and it’s not your clothes. It’s my fault. I’ve been worse at hiding my feelings than I thought, it seems.”

“What do you mean?” You insisted. “If it’s not the clothes, what is it?”

He made his way around your desk, kneeling down penitently in front of you on the floor. He looked up at you with a sad smile. “Forgive me. In trying to conceal my attraction to you, it seems I’ve been terribly rude.”

Your ears fill with the sound of your own blood rushing through your veins, so loud that you almost miss what he says next.

“I completely understand if you don’t want to work with me any longer. I can rearrange the cases and make sure you don’t have to work on mine. I’ll keep my distance.” His gaze falls to the floor, shoulders following downward as he finishes.

“Higuruma,” you say breathlessly, hoping he’ll look up at you again. When he doesn’t, you lean forward in your chair, hands cupping his cheeks and making him look. There’s fear and longing and sadness all mixed together in his expression. His under eye circles even seem to have darkened in the time it took him to make his confession.

But there’s also kindness in those eyes. A desire to do what’s best for you and everyone else, no matter the personal cost to him. His proud nose casts a shadow on his face, half of it warmed by the golden light creeping through the window. He looked like a painting, a portrait of a man burning with desire just under a placid surface.

“What if I don’t want you to keep your distance?”

It’s a simple question. He has a law degree. But still he can’t quite parse what you’re saying. His brain short circuited the minute you put your hands on his face.

“What does that mean?” He whispered.

“It means…” You pause, carefully considering your words. “It means that maybe what got me so upset earlier was the idea that you would never want me the way I want you, Hiromi.”

Just as he thought he was getting his feet back under him, you’ve knocked them out again. It’s not just the idea that you want him too - he’d never heard you say his first name before. He’d never even allowed himself to imagine it. The way your tongue wrapped around it, tasting the syllables for the first time had him ready to combust.

“Say that again. Please.” He was breathless already, face warming under your palms.

“I want you,” you repeated, your gaze moving between his eyes and his lips, like you couldn’t decide where to look.

“Say it properly,” he begged, hands reaching up to take your face in his hands.

It took you a moment to understand the request, distracted by the way his thumbs rubbed against the apples of your cheeks. You were leaning down in your chair, and he was sitting tall on his knees, your lips mere inches apart.

But you got there eventually. “I want you, Hiromi,” you said again, both of you already moving to close that final distance.

The kiss was better than you ever could have fantasized about. His lips were warm and soft, immediately parting against yours desperately. His hold on you was firm, clutching you close. Your right hand migrated to the back of his head, digging into the dark hair there and pulling him closer.

His tongue darted out, swiping your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You sighed into the kiss, allowing him to push his tongue further, moving against your tongue like it was the last time he’d ever kiss someone.

You broke apart breathlessly, cheeks aflame. Your lips shone with a mix of your saliva and his, making him kiss you again and again, unable to stop himself now that he knew you wanted this too.

Your hands tugged desperately at his shoulders, pulling him to you. You made to kneel down on the ground with him, eager for more, but he stopped you. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him he’d tortured you this long, he could kiss you for another few minutes, but one look from him silenced you.

“Sit on the desk,” he commanded. You followed his directions, pushing aside your carefully-sorted piles haphazardly. He stood up and took his place between your parted thighs, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you to the very edge of the desk. You could feel his cock behind his trousers, hard as iron, pressing between your legs. You both gasped at the contact. The bike shorts might as well not have been there, for all they did to shield you from the blinding pleasure as he rutted against you desperately.

He leaned over you, caging you in, making you recline on your elbows as he continued to kiss you stupid. Breaths were taken in gasps, or while pressing your lips against each other’s necks, hot breath tickling sensitive hairs and sending you both into a frenzy all over again.

Hiromi broke the cycle, kissing down your neck, pulling the tanktop down to expose one perfect breast to him. He had never been a greedy man, never taking more than he needed at one time. His tongue flattened against your nipple, dragging slowly upward until the tip just caught on your hardening bud. He flicked his tongue with practiced ease, both of your nipples immediately standing at full attention, a fact he confirmed with his nimble fingers, tweaking the flesh beneath the thin top.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a satisfied smile. He knew he should stop. He’d gotten what he wanted. What if someone came in? What if there were cameras watching this whole thing? You had all the time in the world for this, why not wait until he could get you in private?

It wasn’t enough, he realized. He didn’t just need you here and now. He needed you to know you were his and he was yours. He needed to make up for lost time and avoidable heartache at his hand.

He had never been a greedy man, but you made him want to be. And now he needed to atone for his deadly sins.

He abandoned your breasts, both now popping out of the top of your shirt, slick with his spit, bruises blooming in the shape of his mouth against your soft skin. He began his descent again, sinking to his knees once more. He kissed along your ribs, pushing your shirt out of the way so he could mouth at the soft plush of your stomach, kissing and licking in a straight line from your naval down, down down.

He was tantalizingly close to his goal. Just as his lips were about to make contact with the outline of your pussy against the shorts, you stopped him with two hands in his hair.

“Wait,” you said breathlessly, gasping for air. Your head was spinning with desire, but not so much that you’d lost all sense.

“What is it? Do you not want this?” He panicked, standing up and taking a step back, hands up as a show of no ill intentions.

“No, I do,” you reassured him. “Very much so. But um, these shorts aren’t super breathable.”

He knew there was a reason you were bringing this up, but his mind was blank, focused solely on how he’d almost gotten to taste you after endless months of fisting his cock to mere fantasies. His face contorted with confusion, head cocking to the side as he tried to puzzle out your protest. You’d need to spell it out for him.

“I mean,” you started, cheeks flaring with color. “That I’m probably kind of sweaty down there. We can do that another time, I still want to do other-”

He cut you off mid-sentence with a relieved chuckle moving toward you once more. “That’s what you’re worried about? I thought you’d changed your mind.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he silenced you with a dizzying kiss, making you forget what you were going to say entirely.

“I’ve been thinking about you for too long,” he whispered, lips moving down your cheek and toward your ear to finish his thought. “Do you really think I’m going to let a little perspiration stop me?”

With that he slid one hand to the waistband of your shorts, pressing his palm flat against your belly. Just the very tips of his fingers dipped beneath the elastic. His eyes searched your face for any hesitation. Instead he found flushed cheeks, wide-eyed adoration, and a small nod.

He wasted no more time, pushing his hand under your shorts and panties, long middle finger immediately finding your clit and massaging it experimentally. You moaned loudly, head thrown back as he finally touched you where you’d been dreaming about. He sunk his hand down lower, fingertips just curling upward to brush at your entrance. You squirmed, hands gripping at his lapels as he leaned over you, teasing you, leaving sloppy kisses wherever his mouth could reach.

“Hiromi,” you panted, embarrassed at how tightly wound you were with so little foreplay.

Understanding the need lacing your tone, he removed his hand from your shorts, earning him a little whine of protest.

“Shhh,” he hushed you softly, lips pressing featherlight kisses to your neck as he peeled your shorts down, panties coming along for the ride. “Let me take care of you.”

He knelt before you again, taking a moment to palm his aching cock through his trousers, readjusting to give himself some kind of relief. Your knees had fallen shyly closed, afraid he might be able to see how a second heartbeat was now throbbing between your legs.

When he looked back up at you and noticed your embarrassment, he tsked quietly under his breath, bringing his palms up to the outside of your knees, caressing the skin there tenderly before moving them to your inner thighs. You provided no resistance as he pried your legs apart, enraptured by his face. He looked like he was opening a present.

His gaze fell to the sticky sheen between your thighs, pink tongue darting out involuntarily to wet his lips. He blew gently on your exposed cunt, savoring the way you twitched sensitively at the slightest stimulation. In a great show of willpower, he wrenched his eyes away from the heaven that awaited him between your thighs, focusing on your face. His breathing was shallow, hair mussed, pupils blown wide, the tips of his ears burning red.

With shaking hands, he grabbed the end of his tie, stuffing it between the fourth and fifth buttons on his shirt. You’d seen him do it countless times at lunch but you’d never thought of it in such a filthy context.

“I have never meant this more sincerely,” he began earnestly. You half expected some new confession, head dizzy with the possibilities. But his wet lips broke into a wicked grin as he finished his thought: “Itadakimasu.”

Humbly I receive.

You hadn’t finished processing the absolute filth that just came out of his mouth when his tongue met your clit. Like when he started on your nipples, his tongue was flat as it dragged slowly up your slit. You swear you’re so sensitive you can feel every ridge of every taste bud as he continues his slow lick.

And then the tip of his tongue is flicking upward, pushing your clit around in its hood. There’s no one else in the office, but you’re worried the moan you let out will reverberate off the walls for days, letting everyone know what you were doing in here with your boss.

He continues his assault with vigor. His tongue is everywhere, never staying in one place long enough to get used to it. He prods at your entrance, slipping just the tip of his tongue into your squeezing hole. Then he’s sucking your clit into his mouth, shaking his head back and forth, up and down as you come apart on the desk above him.

It’s all you can do to clutch onto his hair. He goes down to lick up the wetness creeping down, threatening to drip onto the desk, in the process catching the hooked tip of his nose on your sensitive button. One hand gripped the edge of the desk, the other holding him in place as you try not to cum immediately.

Hiromi could feel you holding back. “Don’t be stubborn,” he said, pulling away for a moment to kiss your thighs, smearing wetness all over them.

“You hurt my feelings,” you panted back. “Made me feel like I did something wrong. You’re going to have to work harder than that.”

In truth, you weren’t sure you could handle more before you imploded from pleasure. But the smirk he gave you from between your legs, the determination that hardened his eyes, they made you want to try to hold out just a little longer.

“Your wish is my command,” he said with a shrug.

His hands, which had been wrapped tenderly around your thighs as he devoured you, suddenly changed positions. He pushed one thigh open abruptly, spreading you for him even further. His other hand had come up to his mouth. He slowly put his middle and ring fingers in his mouth, withdrawing them and holding them up so you could admire the orange light reflecting off of his spit-slick fingers.

He kept his eyes fixed on yours as he lowered his fingers to your waiting pussy, burying them to the knuckle in your warmth. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, trying hard not to be the first to break eye contact. He moved his fingers in and out slowly a few times.

Suddenly he curved his fingers upward, pressing on a spongy spot that had you seeing stars. Your head shot back, eyes closed, arching into his touch. He chuckled before lowering his head again, sucking your clit into his mouth, fingers still assaulting you from the inside.

It was all too much. You tried to say his name, but all that came out was a broken cry as heat pooled in your belly. You felt like a star collapsing in on itself under its own weight, the overwhelming pleasure condensing into a single spot. And then, like all dying stars, you were reborn. The warmth spread back out to your limbs as you trembled against him, your walls clenching tightly around his fingers as he worked you through each wave of your orgasm.

When you were done, he removed his fingers, standing up to kiss you once again. His clean hand found the back of your head, urging you to taste yourself on his lips.

“I’ve never cum that hard in my life,” you panted raggedly, resting your forehead against his.

He nuzzled his nose gently against the side of yours. “Always happy to be of service.”

Having caught your breath, your hand reached down between his legs, eyebrows shooting up at the generous bulge. Experimentally, you rubbed his erection. He bucked his hips into your touch, groaning and clutching at your hips.

“It’s your turn,” you whisper seductively, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“I need to be inside you,” he said bluntly, desperation barely contained. “Please.”

“Then why are you still wearing those?”

He needed no further instruction, kicking his shoes off, along with his black pants and the underwear beneath.

“Oh my god,” you gasped involuntarily.

“What?” Hiromi asked with a frown, looking down at his exposed member. He examined it, wondering what was wrong.

“It’s… Hiromi, you’re beautiful,” you responded, eyes sparkling. Your tone was sincere, full of wonder. You felt lucky that you got to see him like that,l.

“Stop that,” he said. The sunset had now shifted to soft pink hues, making it impossible to tell if he was blushing.

“I mean it,” you insisted. You reached a hand out, taking hold of him and gently pulling him closer to you. He followed without complaint. There was a faint, wet squelch as his fat head slid against the wetness that had only grown between your legs, and you moaned in unison.

“Don’t tease,” he gasped.

You were rocking your hips shallowly, passing the sensitive underside of his tip over your clit over and over again. He bit down on the inside of his cheek hard, hoping the pain would distract him and keep him from spilling all over your mound. He couldn’t stand the embarrassment of cumming before he’d even gotten inside you.

“Need you, Hiromi. Please.” You pleaded with him as if it wasn’t your fingertips keeping him pressed against you just so, like you weren’t the one torturing both of you.

“C-condom?” He asked. Even as his hand batted yours away, lining himself up against you, his final neuron reminded him of the very real possibility of pregnancy and disease.

“I need to feel you,” you gasped. “Please. I have an IUD. I haven’t been with anyone since my last screening and it was clear. Hiromi I need you to fuck me right now, please, just-”

One second you were begging for him, the next you were so full you thought you might burst. He had seated himself inside of you in one fluid motion, his mouth and fingers having prepared the way. Even so, there was a foreign stretch, stinging and delicious, that you’d missed after all these months alone.

“Hiromi,” you whined, grabbing onto his arms. They were planted on the desk, supporting his weight as he tried to process the feeling of finally being inside of you. You looked down at where you met, the thick thatch of hair on his pelvis just pressing against your clit. You knew that if you rocked your hips just a little, you could grind on it and-

“Stop.” The word came out through gritted teeth. “Unless you want this to be over very quickly, just… give me a second.”

You warmed with pride at the reminder of what it was like to feel wanted. Maybe the light of the sinking sun had you seeing la vie en rose, but every part of Hiromi’s body showed how much he ached for you.

You saw it in the clenching muscle of his jaw, working overtime as he struggled to contain himself. You saw it in the indents in your thighs where his fingers dug in, desperate to keep a hold on you and his sanity. You saw it in his soft belly, tensing with the effort of keeping his hips still inside of you. To be so wholly desired by him after convincing yourself he hated you, it was almost better than any pleasure he could offer you.

And then he started moving his hips.

He started slowly at first, pulling out almost all the way and pushing back in. Like waves on the sea, his movements were steady and consistent. Each stroke came with a crash of hips, pleasure spreading over your bodies like fine ocean mist.

You looked up at him, kiss-bitten lips hanging wide in a soundless moan, too overwhelmed to even make a sound. Your eyes were big and wet, silently pleading with him to keep going. You spread your legs wider, bucking your hips up weakly against his, taking him even deeper.

Something in him snapped and he pushed all the way in, deeper than you even thought possible. From this position, he draped your legs over his arms, hands slipping around your back to hold you by your waist. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, holding yourself up for him. He gave your waist one last gentle squeeze before he started fucking you in earnest.

He was pistoning his hips against yours, in and out, in and out. He was only pulling back a few inches, but you were angled in such a way that every time he slammed back into you, he brushed against that sweet spot deep inside of you. He pushed a series of staccato little moans out of you, or maybe it was one long moan broken up as he drove the air from your lungs with every snap of his hips.

“Baby, I’m so close,” you whined breathlessly, one hand coming between the two of you to play with your clit, hoping to get you the rest of the way there before he finished.

“I told you to let me take care of you,” he said in faux annoyance, batting your hand away. He licked his thumb, as though you were lacking in lubrication, and lowered it, drawing tight, fast circles against your clit.

Instantly you tightened around him, sucking him in even deeper as you moaned and writhed.

“Oh god. I’m gonna cum. Please come with me, Hiromi, please. Please.” You continued to babble as you finished, just barely keeping your eyes open long enough to watch Hiromi’s face as he followed you off the cliff. He pumped deep into you several more times, spilling his seed against your cervix, twitching over and over again until he was spent.

When he could think again, he pulled you close for a kiss, barely containing a hiss at the overstimulation at the movement. You kissed him back with teeth and tongue and passion.

“Still think I hate you?” He asked as he broke away, smiling in happiness and exhaustion.

“Jury’s still out on that one,” you replied with a sniff. “I think you still have to prove to me beyond a reasonable doubt that you like me.”

“I need a short recess, but I’m happy to give you another oral argument. Plead my case a little more.” He pulled out of you, ready to kneel again and clean up the mess he made. Anything to prove to you that he was serious.

“I think the defense also needs to rest,” you laughed, wiping sweat from your brow. “Can I ask one favor, though?”

“Absolutely anything,” he replied, planting several kisses on your forehead as you giggled.

“Can you give me a ride home? I know it’s out of your way, but I don’t really want to take public transportation like this.” You gestured down to your thighs, still sticky with your combined efforts, and your shorts, which would surely show such a wet stain. You smiled up at him bashfully, working your lip nervously between your teeth.

“I was offering to lick my cum out of you and you’re worried I’m going to say no to giving you a ride home because it’s a little out of my way?” He asked with a chuckle.

“On second thought, I’ll take my chances,” you responded, blushing furiously.

“Hey, come on. Surely you don’t still have doubts after what we just did?” He leaned in close again, pressing his lips to your forehead as you burned with embarrassment.

“Everything just changed so fast,” you murmured, closing your eyes and basking in his touch. “I don’t know what we are. I don’t want you to think you owe me anything.”

“I think at the very least I owe you a ride home and a warm meal,” he began, pulling away and producing a handkerchief from the inner pocked of his suit jacket. He wiped away the worst of the mess covering your inner thighs. He let himself be selfish, savoring the sight of his cum leaking out of you for a brief moment before continuing to dress you, pulling up your underwear and shorts with a tenderness that made your stomach flip.

He stepped aside to allow you to stand, folding the handkerchief and using the clean side to (begrudgingly) wipe away the remnants of your arousal that still stuck to his fingers and face. With clean hands, he pulled up his own pants, securing the buckle before turning to ask if you were ready to go.

The question died in his throat as he appraised you. Your hair was tousled, shirt still askew, and he could see the wet spot forming between your legs where he was dripping out of you. His cock sprang back to life at a speed he hadn’t known since he was much younger.

“I was serious, you know,” he said throatily, the sultry tone causing you to freeze in place. You looked at his face, then followed his eyes between your legs where the fabric darkened with moisture. “Let me clean you up before we go.”

“Hiromi,” you chastised him unconvincingly, your sore, sensitive cunt already pulsing again between your legs, begging you to give in to this wild man’s demands.

“Fine, fine,” he said sulkily, turning away from you to regain his composure. He knew his erection wouldn’t subside, not as long as you were within ten feet of him, but he could at least get himself a little more under control. He smoothed his hair back, keeping the tremor out of his voice through sheer willpower when he spoke again. “I would like to alter the list of things I owe you, though.”

“You don’t owe me anything, you silly man. I told you that,” you laughed, swatting at his arm as you passed him on the way to the door. “But go on.”

He grabbed your arm, turning you back toward him. In the same motion, he moved forward, pushing you back against the closed door. His chest was flush against yours, his still-hard cock pressing dangerously against your belly.

“I owe you a ride home.” He kissed your forehead. “I owe you a warm meal.” He kissed your cheek, then moved his lips next to your ear. “And I owe you at least one more orgasm.” He sunk his teeth into your earlobe, relishing then whine you couldn’t keep contained.

“Absolutely filthy,” you groaned, pressing the back of your head against the door. “No use arguing with a lawyer like you, I suppose?”

“None at all, I’m afraid,” he said with a genuine smile, pressing his lips to yours one final time before opening the door, taking your hand, and pulling you toward the elevator like a giddy schoolboy.

[theguildawards]

Term 2 2024 Winners!

Thank you to everyone who participated in the second term 2024 hosted by The Guild Awards! The mod-team is excited to see so much amazing fanwork and their creators recognized, as well as the love shown for this fandom!

Without further delay, here we are!

Winners of The Guild Awards for Term 2 2024

Best Action/Adventure Fiction: "Flame's Desire" by @kiliinstinct / rougescribe (AO3) Best Alternate Universe/Reality Fiction: "More than just a Fairy Tail" by @chaotickori Best Canon Fiction: "So This Is What Home Feels Like" by @spot-of-tea / spot_of_tea (AO3) Best Angst Fiction: "Redemption" by @spot-of-tea / spot_of_tea (AO3) Best Dark Fiction: "The Last of Us" by @classysassy9791 Best Drama Fiction (tie): "Accepting Fate" by Perfect Memories (FFN) and "World's End: Aftermath" by CairnCircles (AO3) Best Humor/Parody Fiction: "Magic Council Complaint Form #1024: there are mages hiding in the trash cans" by Fireflower34 (AO3) Best Oneshot: "is/was/will be" by Fireflower34 (AO3) Best Character Portrayal: "Silence" (Gajeel) by @firapolemos05 Best Romance Fiction: "Accepting Fate" by Perfect Memories (FFN) Best LGBTQ+ Romance Fiction: "Between Moon and Venus" by Woethe (AO3) Best Serial Fiction: "Taming The Beast" by @dawnwynters Best Ficlet: "Fairy Tail Platonic Week 2024 -Chapter 2: I Missed Our Shenanigans" by @fairytail-multishipper /Luminousrain (AO3) Best NSFW Fiction: “Love Rehabilitation” by annequinox (AO3) Best Completed Fiction: "Finding Forgiveness" by @teleiapotami / Teleia_Potami (AO3) Best Action/Adventure Artwork: "Team Natsu" by @astral-fairyy Best Alternate Universe/Reality Artwork: "the haters can't stop me" by @captainuranium543 Best Canon Artwork: "Red, The Colour of Life" by @pencilofawesomeness Best Angst Artwork: “Happy Rogue Day🖤🐸” by @oryu404 Best Dark Artwork: ""Acnologia Eats Irene" by @love---mandy Best Humor/Parody Artwork: "Pay back" by @shiiro-arts Best Kiss Artwork: "untitled" by @lidiscr Best Romance Artwork: "a soft Lokana" by @artsophiehml Best LGBTQ+ Romance Artwork: "causing problems and sucking face" by @phoenix-before-the-flame Best Character Artwork: "My first fashion icon was Lucy" by @hyun-illus Best Duo/Pairing Artwork: "Leave this to us" by @celestialrayna Best Group Depiction Artwork: "Team Natsu" by @ars-de-elysium Best Manga Coloring: "Fairy Tail/Lolu Coloring" by @almaween Best Redraw Artwork: "erza redraw" by @raptortier Best Overall Artwork: "Art Contest" by @pencilequipped

Congratulations to all the winners! Your awards will be ready soon! Please send one of the mods or our ask box your preferred email address so we can send them to you!

And thank you to those who voted for the Roulette Category for next term! The Roulette fanfiction category for next term will be: Best Mystery Fiction. This will be defined as: A story that has a character holding a profound secret or something kept cautiously concealed. May tend to excite curiosity or wonder in the reader, or may include something that cannot be explained.

As this term comes to a close, The Guild Awards will be taking a short hiatus. This time is always spent reviewing the process and seeing what can be revamped for the next term. We also love hearing from the fandom (ie: YOU!) for suggestions regarding any changes or additions.

We will officially be back in full swing on March 1st! We will still be around in case you have questions or concerns, but please take this time to read new fanfiction and find new fanart.

Want to stay immersed in all things Fairy Tail? Join our Discord! It's open to everyone!

You can also keep up-to-date with all current fandom events by checking out the @ftguildevents page!

As the day gets closer to the start of the next term, we will be keeping everyone in the loop when it comes to changes and updates. We hope everyone has a lovely holiday season! Thank you again for making this such a fun experience! See you soon!

~ The Guild Awards

[sundew199]

Every once in a while

a/n: anon request!! I am so sorry this took so long, whoever requested this you can yell at me lmao

tags: Hange Zoe x reader, slight age difference, modern au, ceo!hange, gender neutral reader but f!descriptions in smut,

The convention center was overwhelmingly hot and getting to the point of making you feel claustrophobic, too many people packed into this place to move around properly. Your boss had chosen you and two other employees to attend this business development conference with them. At first you turned it down, having important things at the office to focus on to spend three days sitting in an auditorium with thousands of other people to listen to the "big dogs" talk about what you needed to do to reach they top. It was all the same stuff: market, network, attend seminars to gain new ideas, all the stuff you've been hearing for years since starting your career in corporate business.

What confused the most out of everything was why your boss was attending. in your honest opinion, they didn't need to sit and listen to the advice these men and women were giving, if anything they needed to be on the stage right along with them and giving out their advice. Survey Corp International was one of better well know companies dealing in scientific research and studies in the area you worked. So why wasn't Hinge giving their spiel on how they climbed their way to the top in what you think was impressively fast. Could be the fact your boss was humble and didn't think of themselves as highly as you did. Oh well, once you made it through today, you'd be closer to getting home and returning to your routine.

"What do you say we all go out for dinner tonight? There's this restaurant down town that opened up and people have been raving in the reviews."

Hange walked in front of you and the two other employees that came with to this conference, stopping to turn back and see what the three of you thought about her suggestion.

"Yea that could be nice," Moblit, the vice president of Survey Corp International, agreed.

"Only if you promise we won't be staying out all night, we still have half a day tomorrow before this thing wraps up." Levi, the chief financial officer for the company, reminded.

Hange scoffed at their CFO's remark, rolling their eyes and slinging the tote bag with various handouts the staff at the convention gave to attendees. "Fine, but stop acting like I'm holding you hostage. Are you up for a nice dinner with your favorite coworkers?"

Directing the question at you, snapping you back to attention. "Oh yea for sure, dinner sounds nice."

"Great, I'll make reservation for tonight and we can all meet up in the hotel lobby." Swiveling back on their heel, picking up the pace in their steps as they made their way to the front doors of the convention center.

Glancing at the other two, giving a small shrug, you followed Hange out the doors back to the hotel everyone was staying in. Thankfully your boss was able to secure the last two rooms in the hotel within walking distance from the conference center, saving you and everyone else from having to catch a ride over. Staying in the same room as your boss wasn't as bad as you made it out to be beforehand, though they were eccentric and a bit wild, they respected your space and didn't make it as uncomfortable as might've been rooming with the CEO of such a big company. You were hired on as the Chief Operations officer about a year ago, keeping things running smoothly and organized. The previous COO quit after not being able to handle Hange and their constant 'squirrel' like moments, his way of describing. But you didn't ever have that problem, in fact you sort of preferred it, keeping you busy and on your toes.

Reaching the elevators, all four of you piled in, Levi pressing the correct floor button and letting out a tired sigh. "I need to stop agreeing to come with you on these things."

"What why? We always have so much fun!" Hange exclaimed, pausing the frantic typing on their phone to give Levi an almost hurt look.

"They're draining, and pointless with how successful Survey Corp International is."

"There's still plenty to learn, stop being so negative."

Levi opened his mouth to say something back, but huffed and decided against it, pulling a small laugh. Moblit and Levi were troopers, being at Hange's side since they started the company, proving that though they may have started graying early, they weren't quick to abandon a close friend.

Reaching the correct floor, everyone filed out, Levi and Moblit heading down to their room, letting Hange know to text them what time the reservation would be, and them murmuring out an "okay" without looking up from their phone. You headed down the hall, slipping the room key from your coat pocket and opening the door, holding it open until Hange passed through.

"Ah shit."

Hearing Hange curse while still looking at her phone, assuming it must be something business related for them to be this engrossed still.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, this guy wants to discuss possibly partnering with us but he wants to do it in person."

"There's those little conference rooms down in the lobby, have him meet you here." Offering your suggestion and kicking off your shoes and slipping your coat off. Hange pursed their lips, finally looked up from their phone and pondered on the idea.

"You're right I could, and I'd have plenty of time to still get ready for dinner reservations without having to run across downtown. You're a genius, you know that."

You smiled bashfully, shrugging to their compliment attempting to hide your face from them as you could feel your cheeks absolutely burning. There was something off a small crush or strong admiration for your boss and you really couldn't help it, but knew better than to try and pursue it for a handful of reasons.

"Okay, I gave the guy the hotels address, and reservations are at seven so that's about fourish hours from now." Explaining as they reached for their suit jacket and looking around for their briefcase. "And don't feel like you have to stay in the hotel room, unless you want to wait for me to get back of course."

The little wink they gave at the end of their words sent butterflies swarming in your stomach, the cheekiness of the comment and how it probably didn't even cross their mind how it affected you. Once the door was shut behind them, you let out the breath you were holding. Hange has always been so nice to you, and of course as your crush developed, their little comments stuck with you for weeks.

In the mean time, while they were gone, you would relax after attending this days long conference, take some time for yourself until it was time to get ready for the dinner reservations. You started a nice warm bath, using the expensive salts and add ins the hotel staff left in one of the cabinets, might as well right.

Accidentally dozing off in the bath after slipping in, you could hear the door opening and Hange calling your name, immediately sinking lower into the water hearing their voice, completely exposed. You couldn't hear them looking for you after a minute, so you took it as an opportunity to sneak out of the water and reach for the nearest hotel bathrobe, realizing you left any sort of clothes in your luggage, making a stupid mistake. Shit.

"The deal didn't take as long as expected! He agreed right away, isn't that amazing- wait I don't even know if you're in here." Hange exclaimed, stopping mid excitement to realize they didn't even know if you were in the room at the moment, making you shake your head amusingly as you listened from in the bathroom.

Tying the sash around your waist tighter than normal to ensure you wouldn't accidentally expose yourself, you opened the door and peaked your head out.

"That's great! Sorry I didn't hear you come in till now." Explaining yourself and catching the way Hange immediately locked eyes with you, like they were avoiding looking anywhere else. Maybe you were reading too far into things, but the shift in energy between you two could be felt, and there was no way to navigate it without making things stupidly obvious.

"Oh! please I'm the one who should be sorry, for disrupting the relaxation you had going on." Their face was red, like embarrassed as the realization set over them, making you feel hot all over.

"No! Hange it's no big deal, I needed to get ready anyway."

"Right, I'll step out and um - just don't mind me." Stumbling on words and feet as Hange tried to make things less awkward, failing miserably and unable to keep the laugh from slipping out. Hange went for the door but then stopped themselves and settled for the bathroom instead.

There were still about three hours until everyone would need to head down for dinner and what you had in mind to wear wouldn't be comfortable for lounging in the hotel bed as you caught up on a few personal things, so you simply slipped on some underwear and tied your robe back on, giving a small knock on the bathroom door to let Hange know they were good to come back out.

They looked just as flustered as earlier when they opened the door to see you were still in the bathrobe.

"You didn't change...?"

"I just put something on under this in the mean time, it's super comfortable."

Hange peaked a smile, slipping past you and heading for where their work stuff was spread out on the lone desk in the hotel room. "Can't say I blame you, but whenever you want to change for dinner just let me know."

"Of course, but don't feel like you have to run to the bathroom." Chuckling under your breath and then realizing what you said, looking away and clearing your throat. Hange stared at you with wide eyes that looked slightly glazed over, like it didn't even take them long to process what you were implying.

"I'll keep that in mind then."

Your gut was burning with anticipation, getting the strong feeling that Hange maybe experiencing the same desire you felt towards them towards you. It was a shot in the dark and your confidence out weighed your reasonable thinking or possible consequences if you were wrong.

"I don't mind the audience really, I'm not ashamed nor got anything to hide."

What were you doing? This felt so out of character for you to say, but it didn't stop you, not after seeing the way Hange got a certain sparkle in their eye at your words, like they were taking it as a challenge.

"Interesting you always seemed to have a different tone," Beginning and then trailing off, sauntering their way to sit beside you on the bed, close enough to be considered respectful but enough to reach over and grab their hand if you wanted.

"Things can change." Scooting closer, not even trying to decide where this new form of confidence was stemming from, though you had a feeling it was because you were tired of tip-toeing around your boss and wanting to just gave your way. Even if Hange were older than you, both of you were consenting adults and if Hange felt the same way as you did, why pass up on this opportunity?

Throwing a leg over their's wiggling your brows in a playful manner, you leaned in closer until your lips ghosted over Hange's ear. "Plenty of time until we meet everyone for dinner." Insinuating exactly what you wanted in such a sultry voice you sent chills up your own spine.

Hange wasted no time then, placing their hands on your shoulders and pushing you back down onto the bed, planting their hands on either side of your head and hovering above you.

"I've been getting mixed signals from you for the longest," Cocking a half smirk, untucking their button down shirt and then reaching for the sash to your robe around your waist, loosening it and moving either side of the robe out of the way to reveal the bare skin beneath.

"Not exactly the best at throwing hints out." Shying away under their gaze, feeling so delightfully exposed, moving against the bed in an alluring manner, hearing a hitch in Hange's breath.

"Managed to pick this one up." They said proudly before diving down to kiss down your neck, moving one of their hands away from propping themselves above you to run down your body, feeling along every inch of your skin, memorizing it. You arched into their touch, huffing out when their hands brushed across your nipples, barely stimulating them but doing just enough to get a reaction out of you.

Hange laughed into your neck at the subtle reaction, maneuvering their leg in-between yours, pressing their knee right up against your cunt and making you yelp. There was no denying that you were throbbing, barely thinking twice before testing the waters and grinding against their knee. And Hange took a liking to that, nipping all the way down your neck as they began to press firmer against you, appreciating the initiative on your end, the neediness you had no problem displaying around them.

"I'm going to make an assumption that you've day dreamed of something like this happening to you," They said breathlessly, grabbing your attention with a quick flick of their tongue across your nipple.

"Possibly yea," Breathing out your response and rubbing yourself harder against Hange, arching your back and displaying yourself for them, craving more of their touch.

Hange laughed again, wrapping their lips around your nipple and sucking harshly, tearing a broken whine from your throat, enticing Hange to get you to make more of those noises. They held you down at the hip, seemingly dragging you down closer to where you were already pressed against their knee, making the contact harsher and more stimulating. Your poor clit was getting the brunt of it, and you couldn't complain, it felt so good, you were turning greedy for more.

Pulsing an insane amount, you gasped when they abruptly removed their knee, took your face in their hand and puckered your lips. Excitement flashed in their eyes behind their glasses, wetting their bottom lip and closing the distance between your lips, slotting them together and stealing all the air from your lungs.

While distracting you with a kiss, Hange snuck their free hand down between your legs, moving your panties to the side and gathering some of the wetness that had accumulated from their teasing to lubricate their fingers. You were so distracted that the gentle press of their middle finger on your clit barely caused a reaction, causing them to quickly move on to shoving two fingers inside of you without warning.

"Hange - fuck oh my god." Gasping as you broke from their mouth and arched off the bed, fisting the sheets like gravity were trying to drag you up into the sky, continuously gasping the more Hange pumped and scissored her fingers inside of you.

"You look so pretty like this, let's see what else I can do to keep you that way." Slurring with lust and excitement, briefly halting her two fingers to ghost her thumb over your clit, smiling wider the louder you began to gasp, and finally rubbing smooth circles into the bud.

Your poor lip was being teethed to death from how hard you were biting down on it, trying to force yourself to look at them but shying away when you'd spot their hand buried between your legs. A shiver ran up your spine and a tingling sensation migrated from your gut to your toes, shaking intensely the faster Hange pumped and circled your clit. You knew you were close to coming, so fucking close you could taste it and you knew it would be so sweet. But you wanted to savor this with Hange, boss or not, you don't think you'd ever get to have this intense of an orgasm again.

"Shit - I'm going to -"

"Cum?" Finishing for you, leaning back over your body, tip of her nose brushing across yours. "Cum for me then."

And the flood gates broke, easily following Hange's simple instruction and reaching your orgasm with an intensity like none other. Throughout the entirety of your orgasm, Hange made sure to help you through it, easing the pace of their fingers as you began to come down and leaving them inside you until you had finally caught your breath.

Sitting up on your elbows, looking at them with satisfied bliss, you smiled and began to open your mouth to say something.

"Now I know you're going to want to repay me, but that's not going to happen until after dinner."

They patted your outer thigh, slipped off the bed and began unbuttoning their shirt to toss it in the vicinity of where most of their stuff was. You huffed, shaking your head, should've known they would try to turn down an offer you hadn't even offered yet, typical of them.

"Well then I guess you need to anticipate accepting my favor once we get back from dinner." Tying the sash to the robe around your waist loosely, pulling out your travel bag and plopping it down on the bed to start looking for something decent to wear tonight.

"I think I can manage that." Looking at you from the doorway to the bathroom, a cheeky smile back on their face and the heat still present and flushing their cheeks. You mockingly winked in their direction, comfort and ease returning to the little dynamic the two of you have always had.

Maybe this wouldn't be a permanent thing that happened between the two of you but it could certainly be every once in a while, a fun little secret that stayed between you two.

tags: @alt--er--love

[moody-alcoholic]

Chapter 6 - The New Role

Name used for reader Dani, It's just personal preference I don't like using Y/N.

Summary: Simon x reader. 5.3k words. You want to be more involved with the more dangerous side of the job. Which means you and Simon are forced to talk about your feelings and what this means for you both.

CW: smoking, alcohol, vomit, mentions of past abusive relationship, implied SA (not 141), hurt/comfort, feeeelings.

AN: Don't be too put off by the content warnings this chapter is VERY fluffy, a lot of fluff and people being bad at feelings.

Previous - masterlist - Next

AO3

Enjoy <3

1 Month later.

You’re sat in John’s office. He’s looking over papers, like it’s a real performance review, for a real job you’ve been doing for the past month. He hums looking back over at you.

“So how’s it been?” He asks putting the papers down. You look at him, it’s almost like what happened a month ago was just a one time thing. You haven’t even been in the storeroom since. They still talk around jobs like it’s a real company. There was something burning inside you now. You wanted more. You wanted to be part of their world. 

“You know, good,” you say shrugging. He presses his lips together waiting for you to say more. 

“Something wrong?” He asks after a few more seconds of silence. You shake your head. How would you even ask? Maybe you could ask for another ride along. 

“The job is very easy, I could easily continue to do it no problem..” You trail off you’re not sure how to word it. 

“But?” He asks leaning forward on his desk. 

“I want to be more involved, I want to help with the special cases.” You say. He takes a big breath. 

“I know what you’re going to say. I’m not a soldier, and I’m not a ‘professional’ like you guys. But I’m discrete and loyal, and I’m good a keeping secrets.” You stop yourself realising  you’re not really saying much of anything. John frowns his gaze turning serious. 

“You don’t want to get yourself involved in this, it’s messy work.” John says, it’s almost like a warning. 

“I do I want to. I want to help people the way you helped me.” You reply quickly. 

“It’s not always that simple we can’t always help everyone.” He says leaning back in the chair. 

“Well I’d like to try at least.” You say, it sounds like a plea but you mean it. He lets out a big sigh.

“It can be dangerous you could get hurt.” You feel a pit forming in your stomach. He’s not wrong. Is it worth the risk?   

“I know.” You say keeping eye contact with him. 

“You can’t tell anyone what you do.” You nod, you haven’t been telling anyone anyway. 

“You might see and hear things you don’t like.” He says sitting up straight. You nod. The pit is not going away. You know he’s trying to get you to back down but you’re not going to. 

“I want to be involved John.” You say mustering up all the courage you have. He sighs. 

“Fine, I’ll talk to the others see what jobs are lined up.” He says closing the folder on the table. 

“Thank you I won’t let you down.” You say getting up. 

“Oh by the way, we didn’t see you for drinks last time are you coming tomorrow?” He asks. You feel like you have to make it now. 

“Yeah I’ll be there.” You say turning to walk out the door. You close it behind you giddy as you see Johnny sat over on the sofa looking at a tablet. 

“How’d it go we got you fer another month?” He asks smiling as you walk over to him. 

“Of course what would you do without me.” You joke. Sitting down next to him. He closes the tablet down. 

“Johnny where’s LT he was supposed to be back 15 minutes ago?” Kyle says from the top of the stairs. Johnny shrugs.

“Have you tried calling him?” Johnny suggests. 

“He never picks up when I call.” Kyle says coming over to sit in the recliner.

“Here use my phone.” Johnny says throwing his phone to Kyle. 

“Why do you call Simon LT? I thought is nickname was Ghost?” You ask, Johnny chuckles.

“It is. Simon used to be a lieutenant so sometimes we still call him LT.” Johnny explains. 

“What does that mean was he like a high rank or something?” You ask. You see Kyle smile.

“Kind of, he was a rank below Price, so he was the second in command.” Johnny explained. 

“I’m surprised he hasn’t talked about it before.” Kyle says pressing Johnny’s phone up to his ear.

“Si’s not one to boast, you know that Gaz.” Johnny says nudging you. You don’t talk much about his military past, he tends to stay away from it. Maybe now would be a good time to get some stories though. Your head looks up as John comes out his office.

“Where’s Simon he was supposed to be back 20 minutes ago?” John asks.

“Have you tried calling him?” Johnny says, you can’t help but chuckle. John mutters something under his breath and goes back into his office. Gaz hangs up the phone. 

“Try again he never picks up the first time.” Johnny says winking at Kyle. 

“I miss the days we could just radio each other and we would have to answer.” Kyle says sighing. 

“Ah yes Price yelling ‘how copy’ in my ear every 3 seconds is definitely something I miss.” Johnny says sarcastically. 

“So how come John doesn’t have a nickname? You just call him Price.” You ask Johnny. Kyle moves seems like Simon has picked up the phone.

“Don’t know, he’s always just been Price, or captain. Maybe you should ask him, tomorrow after a few drinks.” Johnny winks at you. You sit back on the sofa as Gaz comes back. 

“He hung up on me said Price was calling him.” Kyle says as he sits down handing the phone back to Johnny. You smile.

“What do you need him for anyway?” Johnny asks. Kyle sighs. You know that sigh its the ‘special job’ sigh. The one they think they’re so good at hiding but you’re picking up on it, on all the little mannerisms.

How Simon only picks the phone up first time if it’s John, how Johnny always asks Simon for help before Kyle, if only just to piss Simon off. Kyle and Johnny tell each other literally anything and everything unless you’ve explicitly told them not to say anything. John’s nickname might as well be dad with the amount of times they run to him with silly little problems.

You see Simon pull his van into the building. Johnny gets up going to the balcony looking down. 

“Welcome home honey, I’ve missed you so much.” Johnny coos with a high pitched voice as Simon gets out the van. You smile, Johnny will take any opportunity to wind up Simon. John walks out his office, Simon looks up at him.

“Oh honey, I can explain! He’s no one I love you baby.” Johnny says walking over to John. Gaz starts laughing. You watch as John shakes his head and Simon heads up the steps. 

“Come on we need to have a chat, all of you.” John says looking over at you. You nod getting up as everyone piles into his office. Price leans up against his desk looking at us all. 

“So Dani and I had a chat and she asked to be involved more with some of the other jobs we do.” Price says, everyone turns to look at you. The only person you want to see is Simon. Half of his face is covered by a mask so you can’t read his expression as easy. No one says anything as you feel yourself blushing.

“We’ll take it slow, she’ll follow you around see if it’s definitely something she wants to get involved in.” John explains, you smile at him as everyone turns back to look at him. 

“Simon, you’ve got the easier jobs next week. She’ll follow you till Wednesday. Until I can find a replacement you’ll have to spend Thursdays and Fridays catching up with the work you’ve missed.” You nod. Simon sighs, it’s a long sigh almost a huff almost like he’s annoyed or something. 

“Problem?” John asks looking at him. 

“No.” He replies. John nods. 

“Good okay, it’s been a good week. Don’t forget to empty the vans before you leave.” He says standing up and going round to the other side of his desk to sit down. Everyone starts getting up to leave. Simon’s eyes catch yours as he turns. You can see something in them. Is he upset? Angry? Johnny throws his arm round your shoulders. 

“Joining the big boys club now!” He says cheerfully as he leads you out. Simon heads straight down the steps your head snaps to him following him as Johnny leads you back over to the sofas.

“We’ve got to have a celebration drink!” Johnny exclaims going over to the kitchenette. 

“We’re already going out tomorrow, besides I have to drive home.” Kyle says. 

“I’ll have to pass too.” You say. You want to speak to Simon, you want to go home. 

“Party poppers the both of ya’s.” Johnny says putting the scotch back in the cupboard. 

You look down as you hear the storeroom door slam closed.   

 —————————— 

Simon doesn’t come over Friday night, and you don’t hear from him all day Saturday. You don’t know why he’s been avoiding you but you confirm with Johnny that he’s coming for drinks tonight. Maybe he’ll open up after a pint or two. You spend the day distracted, you try to convince yourself it’s not that bad.

You spent such an amazing month together and now he’s basically giving you the cold shoulder. You thought you had something special. He’s so caring, gentle, nothing like the Simon you know at work who hides his face. He’s been helping you recover, if you can even call it that. He’s there when you wake from nightmares, careful not to step out your comfort zone without asking. He understands you.

You love him.

You didn’t want to admit it, scared it would drive him away.

You realised it a few nights ago while you were curled up on the sofa watching some cheesy romantic comedy. He laughed at some stupid joke. It was the first time you’d seen him laugh, properly laugh. It made your heart flutter, you looked up at him as he stroked your arm, massive grin on his face. You almost just blurted it out right there and then.

You’re not the type of person to move on so quickly. Two months after your ex and you’re already sticking your tongue down another mans throat. At least you haven’t fucked him yet. The thought makes you shiver. Not because you don’t want to, you do. You just can’t.

When he’s around though you can’t help it, your eyes soaking up every part of him. Sometimes he sleep’s topless, you just lay there watching his chest rise and fall. You’ve made a mental note of each scar he has making up stories in your head about how he got them.

You move from the bedroom to thumb through the stack of mail that has been gathering dust over the past few days. Water bill, spam mail mostly trash. Then you see a hand written letter, the address is handwritten in beautiful calligraphy and the paper is almost shiny. You open it it’s an invitation, to Joe’s funeral. You feel sick reading over the contents of the letter.

You remember the officers coming the day you found out about his suicide. You grilled Simon about it but he wouldn’t go into details, kept telling you they just ‘ruffed him up a bit’ whatever that meant. You slide the invite back in the envelope almost wanting to will it to go away. You want to hide it, you’re not sure why, you pick your sock drawer shoving it down and to the back between your fluffy winter socks. You feel sick, now you want to get out the flat you look at the clock it’s only 6. You pull out your phone and text Johnny.

Wanna meet for that celebration drink before 7?

You don’t have to wait long.

Sure thing usual place? I’ll be there in 15.

You smile, you really need to get out of this flat.

 —————————— 

“So Simon talked to you yet?” Johnny asks winking. You and Simon haven’t really spoken about what this means, you and him, where you stand. You definitely haven’t been telling anyone.

Johnny acts like he knows, maybe he does or maybe he thinks he knows. Whatever the case whenever you two are alone he always asks about Simon and winks like you’re about to spill the dirtiest secret. 

“Why? I talk to him at work.” You say taking a big gulp of your second cider, you were drinking it like water. Anything to quell the nerves, stop your mind from racing and your hands shaking. The cigarettes you’d smoked on the walk here weren't cutting it. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout his reaction lass. He’s a grumpy sod when he want’s to be.” Johnny says sipping his beer. 

“It’s alright.” You say sighing. It’s not you miss him. 

“He’ll be over it in a week just you watch.” Johnny says. You want to believe him you want to think it’s all going to be okay. Simon does this, when he’s mad or upset about something, it’s like he reverts inwards. Doesn’t want to talk or even look at you.

There had been a few days like that over the past month. He usually just mopes around the flat limiting contact until he feels better. Or worst case he messages you to say he’s staying home. You had never been to his place you didn’t even know where he lived.

You don’t know how you would feel being in another mans flat. Maybe it was better you were always at your place. You let Johnny talk only half paying attention to what he was saying while you finished your drink. You offer to get the next round taking the empty glasses to the bar. You’re waiting for the order when you feel someone place a hand on your back. You freeze.

“Hey,” It’s Simon you relax, letting your shoulders drop. 

“Where have you been?” You ask trying not to sound mad at him. It’s nice to feel him near you again. 

“Had some thinking to do.” He says, you scoff. 

“You mad at me?” You ask as the drinks are put in front of you, you smile at the bartender paying. 

“No ‘course not.” He says. You pick the drinks up. You turn to look at him. He seems distracted about something, his eyes are soft, his expression warm in the pubs glow. It’s almost like he think’s nothing has changed over the last 48 hours and he hasn’t just been ignoring you.

You walk past him going to the table sitting down. John and Kyle are here now too taking their coats off and scooting into the booth next to Johnny. You put the drink down in front of Johnny taking a big gulp of yours. You listen to John talk as he explains something about an old General getting in contact with him about something. Simon comes back with the drinks and sits next to you.

You try to relax, you want to talk to Simon. Not here though, maybe if he could come back to yours tonight. You should have asked him at the bar. When you’re halfway finished with your cider you take your coat going out for a smoke.

You don’t know if Simon will join you but you hope he could take the hint. You’re stood off the path inhaling the smoke letting it warm your lungs. The nights are getting colder, summers coming to an end. 

“Johnny said I’ve pissed you off.” Simon says, you look over to see him lighting his cigarette. You chuckle shaking your head. 

“You haven’t pissed me off.” You say even though it comes across a little more hostile then you expected. Simon takes another step to be beside you.

“Sorry I haven’t been round.” He says. You shake your head. 

“It’s okay, I missed you.” You say nudging him. His hand wraps his hand round your waist. 

“You seemed mad about me wanting to help out with the special jobs.” You say looking up at him, he blows out a mouthful of smoke looking down at you. 

“Not mad just worried.” He says looking away. 

“I’ll be fine.” You say not really knowing what to say. You’d had a month to think about this. You’d spent all that time trying to get as much information from Simon, Johnny and Kyle. They hadn’t given you much, talking around the jobs like it’s no big deal. John said you could get hurt, but so could Johnny, or Kyle, or Simon. The thought of Simon getting hurt made your stomach knot, you didn’t want to imagine him being hurt. 

“Besides, you could get hurt as much as I could.” You say. It’s mostly a mumble, your head spinning with the alcohol. He sighs. 

“I’m trained to deal with the worse possible things. You’re not you’re just..You’re just.” He stops he’s trying to think of the words.

“What I’m just a woman? Not a soldier? Not strong enough?” You spit out. He shakes his head dropping his hand from your waist.

“You’re safe. This isn’t your life, you don’t have to worry about the bad shit we do. It’s not always easy shit like stalkers or surveillance. Sometimes-” He stops himself. Like he doesn’t want to say whats next. He steps closer to you and you turn your body so his back is facing the street. 

“Sometimes we have to get our hands dirty.” He says quietly. 

“You said you don’t kill people anymore.” You grit through your teeth, keeping your voice down. He sighs.

“Sometimes things happen, situations can change in an instant. Look what happened to Johnny when you first started. He got shot could have died.” He says. His hand moves to grip your arm like he wants to shake you and get you to listen to him.

“What do you think happened to the people shooting at him?” He asks. You hadn’t thought about it, or maybe you just didn’t want to think about it.

“You said he was shot for being stupid.” 

“He was but he was still shot. He survived because he has years of training.” Simon says. His eyes are burning into you.

“It’s not going to change my mind I already had the speech from John.” You say. Simon sighs dropping his hand from your arm.

“What did he say. It’s dangerous? You could get hurt? Clearly he didn’t try that hard.” Simon scoffs, you don’t know why you feel insulted by that. 

“I just won’t get shot at.” You say holding your hands up, you don’t know what to say to him. You know you can do this you want to try at least. Your cigarette is almost completely gone now as you flick the ash away.

“No one goes on a job planning on being shot at.” He says. “That’s not the point I don’t want you getting hurt.” You stand there looking at him as he hangs his head letting out a big sigh. 

“I don’t want you getting hurt. I can’t see you hurt…I love you too much.” You gasp, you don’t mean to you just weren't expecting that. For a second you think you’ve misheard him you’re just stood there with your mouth hung open. You had no idea he felt that way.

“Simon.” Your voice catches in your throat. You flick the cigarette butt on the floor. He shakes his head. You reach up and squeeze his arm. You want to say it too. Tell him how you really feel. You swallow getting the lump out your throat. 

“I don’t know what love feels like it’s been…Years. Whatever this is what we have, whether it’s love, I don’t know. I just, I want you so bad.” He flicks the rest of his cigarette away putting his hands on your shoulders. You look him in the eyes, they’re wide looking into you like he’s trying so hard to tell you something he cant put into words. 

“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years. I need to be around you, have you in my life. If you do this, I could lose you.” He stops it almost sounds like he’s pleading. You don’t know what to say. You feel guilty, you didn’t know how he felt maybe you should have spoken to him first. You thought if you did it could start an argument, or he would try to put you off maybe even try to get you fired. Your brain is still used to your ex, not Simon.

Simon who’s spent the last month practically living at your place, who spends as much time as possible with you and still respects your boundaries. He’s never so much as raised his voice at you for any reason, he still sleeps on the sofa when you’re having bad nights. He’s patient and kind nothing like your ex. 

“I’m sorry.” You say hanging your head. You are sorry, you mean it. He pulls you into his arms. 

“It’s okay I should have been honest, told you how I feel.” He says kissing the top of your head. You can do it you can tell him. 

“Simon.” You grip your arms round him tight, bunching his shirt up in your hands. “I think I love you too.” You feel his hands loosen on you like he wants to pull away to look at you. You grip him tight not moving. 

“Just hold me for a second.” You say into his chest. 

“Okay, I got you.” He says going back to squeezing you in his arms. It’s almost like you can feel your heartbeat in your ears thumping away from the adrenaline of telling him how you feel. It shouldn’t be this hard. You think to yourself. Maybe if he knew how fucked up you really were he wouldn’t feel this way. You close your eyes for a second breathing him in. All you can smell is cigarette smoke, you don’t care though his warmth is enough. 

“Let’s go back inside.” He says after a few more seconds. You nod even though your head is still buried in his chest. Reluctantly letting him go so you can break apart. 

“Will you stay at mine tonight?” You ask before he leads you away. 

“‘Course.” He smiles. 

 ——————————

You stay out later then you expected. Feeling like a weight has been lifted off you enjoying your time with everyone. You’re quite drunk when John finally calls it quits and everyone takes that as the cue to leave. Johnny is also pretty inebriated when he goes to get up, having to lean on Kyle for support. He’s even more unsteady on his feet then usual, hobbling around winking at everyone he bumps into. It makes you laugh, not that you’re any better having to rely on Simon to hold you up as you stumble your way out the pub.  

“You get her home and I’ll make sure, these two make it back safe.” You hear Price sigh as Simon’s hand finds your waist pulling you up against him. 

“Price, Si!” You hear Johnny shout, Simon turns and you turn with him to see Kyle doubled over vomiting into a drain. 

“It’s like Spain all over again!” Johnny rubs Kyle’s back. You feel Simon chuckle, John shakes his head going over to Johnny and Kyle.

“What happened in Spain?” You ask as you watch John help Kyle stand back up straight. 

“Johnny and Gaz went out and got drunk with some marines. They came back to the base so drunk they woke up the base commander. He was so mad he had them running laps until sunrise. Kyle must have stopped every few hundred meters to chuck his guts up.” Simon says as you turn to walk away. 

“What about you?” You ask.

“I was sleeping, peacefully I may add until Price woke me up to keep an eye on them while he got his ass handed to him by the base commander.” He chuckles and you reach your arm round his back.  

“Sounds like you had a lot of fun.” You say smiling. 

“Yeah well, there were some fun moments between missions.” He says sighing. 

“Do you miss it?” You ask. 

“Sometimes, the good doesn't always out way the bad though.” You hear him sigh again. You keep a tight hold of him as you walk back to your flat. It’s cool and the breeze makes you feel light headed. You’re stumbling over your own feet as you walk up to the first floor where your flat is. You pull your key out your pocket. Simon takes it out your hands opening the door and guiding you inside. You both kick your shoes of at the door then he sets you down on the sofa, as you hear him going into the kitchen. 

“Hey Simon?” You say leaning back. 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you really mean it? When you said you loved me.” You wait for a response not hearing anything. You don’t even hear him walk beside you as he hands you a glass of water. For how big he is he really is quiet on his feet. You take the glass sipping it as he sits down next to you. 

“‘Course I meant it.” His hand rests on your thigh. It makes you pause. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been drunk, at least this drunk. Let alone around a guy. Your ex loved you being drunk, said he made things easier. It did make things easier, it was better then being sober.   

“I meant it too.” You say to him. He smiles taking the glass from your hand and placing it on the table before you spill it. 

“I know you did.” He says squeezing your thigh. It makes you swallow hard. As you do you feel bile rising in your stomach. You don’t have much time to react as your hand slaps over your mouth. You don’t want to throw up but you can’t stop yourself rushing into the bathroom and heaving into the toilet bowl. You feel Simon’s hand on your back pulling your hair out the way into his hand. You keep throwing up in the toilet until you’re dry heaving.

You reach up pulling the flush. Simon lets go of your hair bending down in front of you passing you the glass of water. You take little sips cleaning your mouth out before gulping the rest down. You look up at him through hazy eyes as you brush your hair out your face. 

“Sorry, I haven’t drank this much in a while.” You say your throat still raw. 

“It’s okay.” He says taking the glass out your hand as you reach it out for him. He helps you to your feet as you wobble in his arms.

“Lets get you to bed.” He says. You nod blindly following him across the living room, almost tripping over the carpet. 

“You’re so drunk.” He says guiding you over the bed. You flop down not quite understanding what’s going on. You remember the vomiting, that was real, you can still taste it in your mouth. 

“Simon,” you call as you feel his hands leave your body. 

“Yeah?” he calls back. 

“Don’t sleep on the sofa it’s bad for your back.” You say. You reach under your shirt pulling off your bra flinging it across the room. 

“I won’t sleep on the sofa.” He says pulling the duvet over you. 

“Good, it’s not good for your back.” You murmur. You hear him mumble something as you grip the duvet settling down into bed. You think you hear a light switch you’re not sure, you don’t even remember falling asleep.    

—————————— 

You wake the next morning with a ringing in your head. The bedroom blinds are wide open. You don’t remember making it home, you turn over in the bed it’s empty. You’re pretty sure you remember Simon walking you home. Did he not stay the night? You get out of bed pressing on the bridge of your nose trying to get the ringing to stop.

As you walk into the living room you see Simon spread out on the couch. He’s far too big for it but you can’t help but smile as the sheet he grabbed out the wardrobe barely covers him, not leaving much to the imagination. You see his jeans bunched up on the floor and you reach down picking them up and laying them over the back of your armchair. He’s snoring softly as you make it into the kitchen.

You try to be as quiet as possible pouring yourself a glass of water and gulping it down as you take some mugs out to make tea. You try to think back to last night. You remember Simon saying he thinks he loves you. That made you smile. You remember telling him you think you love him.

It feels like you’re back in primary school when you didn’t know what love was but you had a crush on some random boy. Do you even remember what love is? Your ex said he loved you and you loved him at some point, before he moved in at least. You don’t even hear Simon coming up behind you just his hands round your waist. You reach forward and click the kettle on taking a box of teabags out. 

“You shouldn’t sleep on the sofa it’s bad for your back.” You say as he nuzzles his face into your neck. 

“You got so drunk last night.” He chuckles as he watches you spoon sugar into the mugs. 

“Yeah,” you say feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I guess I just. I don’t know. I should have been more careful.” He breathes into your neck grabbing your waist and pulling you round to face him. 

“You don’t have to apologise. It was nice to see you let your hair down and relax.” He says his thumb stroking your cheek. You don’t have to apologise, even after a month you’re still reverting back to old habits. You look at him until the kettle clicks, he reaches down kissing you on the forehead. 

“You’re not still mad at me for asking to join you guys on the special jobs.” He sighs letting go of your waist siting down at the kitchen table. 

“I was never mad. Just worried.” He says. You pour the water then bring the mugs over. 

“Yeah, I know. I want to help people though, the way you guys helped me.” You say taking the milk out the fridge then going to sit opposite him. 

“I know you do. I just wish there was a safer way for you to do it then getting involved with this stuff.” He takes the milk pouring it in his cup. You sigh waiting for him to finish. You remember the conversation yesterday, with Simon and the one with John. You still wanted to do this nothing has changed.

“We get to work together, at least we’ll always be close.” You say smiling at him. He hums blowing on his tea. 

“Let’s not think about work at least not today. Let’s spend the day together we’ll do what ever you want.” You say as you watch his hand reach across the table for yours. You slip your fingers between his. 

“I love you.” He says squeezing your hand. Hearing him say it makes you smile before you even realise it. You squeeze his hand back looking into his chocolate eyes, being lit up by the morning sun. 

“I love you too.” You reply. It felt real.    

Next

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My Recommendation

In this post-Afirmative Action world, sans quotas lives a fairy tale of stellar recommendations and grades making their mark… but what happens when a damnation replaces said recommendation?  How do you survive?

 

I used to like to think myself accomplished for my age. I was 27 and had recently finished a prestigious post-baccalaureate program at a prominent university in New York. The world was my oyster and I had put all of my eggs in one basket to pursue a career in medicine. Since the age of 3 it was all I could talk about. I practically repeated the same thing to anyone and everyone that I met. My aspirations to become a physician and what that would ultimately mean…. what my life would be. All that I could fathom was in one tiny inkling of possibility and I relished the prospect daily.

 

The transition from being an English major to the innate submersion of science was overwhelming to say the least.  The words that ebbed and flowed through my mind were constantly all at once washed away by a cacophony of mis-matched equations that led to nowhere, elements that suffered to erase themselves from my tongue as soon as they were spoken, and an uncanny ability to predict the slowing of time based on how complicated a physics equation may be.  I still remember with absolute wonder and horror how I believe that I must have had a vascular event status post an organic chemistry examination where I needed 5 to 10 minutes to really remember what city I was in, what direction that I was supposed to be walking to get to my train, and even where I lived.

 

It was in all of that time that I met an unlikely ally- at least, I thought so at first.  She was one of the most admired and feared professors in one of the most popular science departments in the country.  While she tended to dress like a vagrant mystic, she had mesmerizing large eyes that could laser focus on you in an auditorium of hundreds and put anyone on edge with the cold silence of her question.  As I was recounting a story of this woman’s effect on her class one day, my mother informed me that she believed that she knew of my professor in an unexpected way.  “Oh… that sounds like Sarah’s neighbor…I’m almost certain of it.”  She stated.  We continued our conversation throughout the day and my mother urged me to inform this professor of our social connection.

 

So, I did.  Given that I was determined to bend my mind to science, I religiously attended Professor W’s office hours.  It was in one of those classes where we were debating the amazing superiority of the human cell receptors, that I decided to mention it.  I explained that my mother and “Sarah” had gone to college together and that they had remained friends and kept in touch. “Oh” she exclaimed.  I watched as her round eyes seemed to soften and her smile widened.  It was in my naivety that I believed that with my hard work, my dedication, that I had shown her that I was entirely capable and that I might be able to reach my goal someday with her help.

 

Over the course of the semester, I was able to hone my newfound scientific intellect into a B for my final class grade.  Though I had accepted my perfectionist tendencies, I wasn’t particularly sad with this because I knew all of the hours of work that I had put into this class.  I welcomed continuing on to fight another day; it instilled a new strain of confidence in me that I thought I didn’t have before.  I was ready to go out and sell myself to medical schools.  I subsequently finished my post-baccalaureate program and circled back around to professor W. Since I knew that I hadn’t done half bad in her class and I thought that she had gotten to know me during my time in the program as I seemed to spend more time in her office than any other, I thought that she would be the perfect recommendation reference.

 

I remember walking into the dark paneled mahogany office and sitting down to catch up.  She was pleasant with slightly flat affect, eyes large as saucers that threatened to bulge out of her head with the sheer motion of a head tilt… I took it all in. I thought that I had timed it right.  I handed her a standard form for the university and asked if she would write my letter of recommendation for medical school.

 

  She slightly slowed what she was doing and repeated back to me what I had asked her.  I looked at her and hesitated. “Yes, I would be honored.” I replied.  She looked slowly down at her desk as if contemplating something and said “Well, if you would like me to write you a recommendation, so be it. I will write it.”  I was ecstatic and couldn’t help almost skipping home that day.  It was a beautiful thing to realize that a dream that I was working so hard for, may actually come to fruition…

 

In the next few months, I was a buzz studying for the MCAT, working, and compiling my medical school file.  In what seemed like no time, I had everything complete.  I remember walking to the office with the list of schools that I wanted to apply to and made sure that my post baccalaureate office sent out the letters to the schools of my choice.  It had truly been a labor of love for me.  Once my applications had been sent out to the schools, I spent my time mulling about and counting down the days for a letter for an interview.  What went from days to weeks quickly became months.  I was subsequently completely confused and dejected.

 

I used to go over the wording of my essay, questioning whether I may have made an offensive comment.   Maybe my grades simply weren’t good enough, or my scores?  I wasn’t certain what could possibly have been the problem.  To make it worse, the barrage of denial letters seemed to come at the very end of the period.  I dared not even ask why I wasn’t up for reconsideration and even decided to apply at the last minute to get my Master of Public Health at my undergraduate university.  And this is when time seemed to stop for me.

 

Somehow, I received vague feedback that there was an “discrepancy” with my application.  Something that the reviewers couldn’t comment about but that put my entire application in question and that they had no choice but to reject me.  I felt like I had been forced to the end of the conveyer belt and was now falling into the “FAIL” heap.   I shuddered to think where I would end up.  This was the beginning of many nights of sleeplessness, high blood pressure, and me slowly coming to the realization that medicine may not be for me, that I was simply not qualified.

 

There were other family friends who had seen my application and recommended me reaching out to other Admissions officers in other branches of the university.  However, when I spoke with those officers, they would feign surprise that I was calling them and referred me back to my own post-baccalaureate department without question, almost clucking that I was confused and overzealous. I was trapped.

 

I decided to take a weekend excursion with my parents down South to visit a family friend.  We had a great time, but our friend noticed my consistent anxious and dejected expression.  When she asked me about it, I explained the situation.  I let her know that medical professional administrators had indicated that there were inconsistencies with my application.  I wondered aloud if I needed experience in the medical field more or to take more classes to increase my GPA even more.  As I considered my options aloud, she remained stoic and then told me a story about her daughter’s friend. 

 

She stated that her daughter’s friend was an accomplished Ivy League graduate, like me, who had applied to graduate school and continued to be rejected for some time before she realized that a letter of recommendation had been her undoing. I sat perplexed and captivated as she told me that not all letters of recommendation were affirmative to the applicant for which they were intended.  She explained that there were some professors who put a knife in the backs of certain students to sink their careers. 

 

What is even more disconcerting is that there is really little to no way for anyone to know that this practice is happening to them.  As a student bleeds out their time, work, hopes, and fears other personnel are essentially bound to secrecy.  This is because a letter of recommendation only has merit when it is confidential.  And in having someone write a poison letter, a student all but gambles and seals their fate with a career ending secrecy pact. 

 

It took some time for me to compose myself.  I soon suspected that I may have a poison letter and was able to hire a wonderfully savvy education consultant who was able to help me re-navigate the admissions process.  He worked with me to polish my ideas, speak louder and more confidently. He also recommended that I visit the schools to which I applied and (of course) to hone my application with a different compilation of my letters.

 

I contacted my post baccalaureate admission office and didn’t hear anything back for weeks.  I called again with no response.  Finally, one day I called the office and was met with one of the staffers answering the phone.  When I said hello and who I was, I was told to call that staffer on their cell phone number.  This was in the early 2000’s so, people hardly ever said this.  I complied and waited about 15 minutes for them to leave the office.  Once we were able to touch base, I was told in no uncertain terms to ever call the post-baccalaureate office again and to only contact the staffer.  I was flabbergasted.  All I could do was hear my heart pound in my throat.  They explained that they would be sure to get my consultant the application that had been sent out previously. And both my consultant and I waited…

 

 A week or so after my conversation my consultant received the application and called me into his office and read me something that changed my life. He sat me down at a long table and had two piles- one taller than the other.  As I watched, he began to read me the letters of the numerous faculty members who supported me from the taller pile.  They all had wonderfully glowing things to say about my abilities and spoke of how I would very likely soar to great heights and accomplish my dreams.  I was extremely humbled. 

 

Then my consultant went to the short pile. Which consisted of one letter.  He held it up and asked if I was ready to hear it.  I took a deep breath and nodded yes. I listened as he, in the words of Professor W., started off with “Though Aisha believes herself to be intelligent, she is in fact one of the worst students that I have ever had.”  The letter was a barrage of insults calling me dim-witted, lazy, mentally deficient among numerous other characteristics.  She likened me to have the mentality of a second grader and stated that I would have no business in the university’s post-baccalaureate programs and certainly could never survive the rigors of medical school.

 

My consultant stopped at the end and the silence weighed on my chest.  I took deep breaths to keep it at bay.  He stated that he wanted me to hear how ridiculous this letter was.  How ugly it was.  He turned to me and questioned me on my own insecurities stating that my resume, my education, everything that I had done was leading up to medical school and that he was certain that this letter was the thing that was killing my medical opportunities.  He implored me to be adamant that I was beyond qualified and to believe it in everything that I did from there on.

 

I walked out of the office that day feeling the weight and the exhilaration of racial terror.  On one hand, it was devastating that I had allowed someone to write these lies about me to share with the world.  On the other hand, the words were so hateful, derogatory, and racist that it went without saying.   Say what you might, but I am still convinced that this professor firmly believed in eugenics and could have easily written a compelling case based on her “concern for my abilities” noted in my letter. 

 

I had gone to some of the best schools in the country, constantly challenged and tried (with a strong GPA) and this woman was saying that I was barely qualified to tie my shoes. It took me time to reflect, recollect, and regenerate into Aisha 2.0, a young woman who was not afraid to share the many facets of herself.  To be gracious in my knowledge, my instinct and the trajectory of my dreams.

 

In the weeks after me reading my “poison letter”, I was finally able to receive interviews in the second round of my medical school application process. With a swipe of my consultant’s hand, the letter was removed and my dreams were finally coming into formation.

 

I got accepted into medical school after my second application submission, went on to graduate with honors, completed residency, fellowship, and now continue to practice. But I continually shudder to think about how lucky I was. If I had not had a consultant and a hero in the admission’s office, I likely would never have been a doctor, even though my grades, my resume, my experience, and my background were all worthy of my going to medical school.

 

I am a unicorn, when I should really be a zebra. I comprise 6% of physicians, when there should really be more as more are needed and most importantly, more are capable. Out of the many legions of students of color who started the medical school process with me, only a few remained. One by one, they were lost to dissuasion, humiliation, and terror just like me. How many other physicians and medical professionals of color have been lost to this exclusionary process? Some may think that this is simply what medicine is, a weed out process. But, students should be selected on the basis of merit and not outright sabotage. The lack of acceptance of people of color in medicine serves as a perpetuation of the poison that continues and feeds our medical system today. If you were dying on a stretcher, you’d want the best physician for the job to save you, but continuation of this “tradition” most likely ensures you’ll have a mediocre physician instead as it works both ways. Who is qualified? What does qualified mean?

 

Where does this leave others in this new political landscape?  Is this where professors like W all but determine who gets to go to a “good school”? Is this where cronyism is rewarded?  And what does that do for the world?  Homogeneity dims the light of creativity and innovation.  If we all have the same thoughts and perspectives, how can one be challenged to be greater than they even knew that they could be?

 

It is in our diversity that we thrive.  It is in our varying perspectives that growth can be cultivated, once and for all.   The lesson of my recommendation is that we need a better way to do better now that the precedent is no more.  The more this country remains divided, the less time that people interact with one another and only increases the possibilities to develop more fears and misconceptions, opening the door for hatred to ensue.  Each possibility of an individual damnation letter is a knife in a student's back, that not only threatens the hopes and dreams of a young soul, but also the progress of a country.

 

 

Source: My Recommendation

[vonbabbitt]

My Final Statement on Discord Drama (Why I'm Not a Mean & Evil For Turning Away Discord Asks)

hello jason. we are going to discuss this one final time and then never again.

from now on, i will be giving zero attention whatsoever to discord drama asks. i will not be posting about them or replying to them in any way. since people are sending me asks now acknowledging that they arent supposed to be sending me discord drama asks but are doing it anyway, i want to make a statement on this explaining myself so people dont just think im being mean and avoiding responsibility for moderating my discord server. please hear me out on my reasoning.

this is my personal blog! this is the first thing i always say when this comes up so lets keep it that way! this is my personal blog, regardless of how much tetro content i engage with here. when im on my personal blog enjoying personal time, i dont want to be dealing with work. you can call that me avoiding responsibility, but i dont think its unreasonable to want time to myself outside of work where i dont have to deal with the tetro discord server. this is exactly why we have a ticket system!

we have a ticket system! the server has a ticket system. this is THE ONLY PLACE to report discord server drama, because this is the only place the whole moderation team can access your complaint! there is no reason that i specifically have to be the one to review your complaint and not a different moderator. we have a moderation team for a reason. you do not know me, i do not know you, and there is no reason you need to bring your complaint to me PERSONALLY. if you think there is, and theres a specific reason it needs to be ME who answers your complaint, there is a solution: ask for me specifically when you open your ticket!

if you go outside of the ticket system, we cannot discuss anything with you. im not having a conversation about moderation on my public blog where everyone can see it, especially if youre naming specific people in your complaint. its unprofessional and invasive. if you go through the ticket system, we can talk! i can let you know what came of your complaint and what we're doing as a team to help. the ask i got this morning was complaining about an issue that has already been discussed with the parties involved, which they would know if they had gone through the ticket system instead of my ask box.

i encourage you to try just communicating with each other. ive received so many complaints in my ask box from people who i know for a fact have made no attempt to discuss their issue with the parties involved. i know im a kindergarten teacher, but we are not toddlers! in fact, even in my kindergarten class, when my kids come up to me and tell me another kid is doing something they dont like, i tell them to tell the other kid they dont like it! and this is the same advice i will give to you! talk your issue out with the parties involved! "but von babbitt, im afraid of confrontation." im sorry to hear that, but im not such a fan of confrontation myself! this is why ive got a moderation team and a ticket system! and when i have to do my job, i do it anyway. with all due bluntness: i think its inconsiderate and irresponsible to come running to my personal ask box and demand i fight your battles for you without making any attempt to do anything on your own, including any attempt to use the server ticket system, which we have set up for the exact purpose of solving your problems for you.

im allowed to just say no! the main issue is the fact that ive already asked people to stop and theyre still doing it anyway. i said no, and that means stop. its a very very very very simple ask. stop sending me discord drama asks. ive asked you to stop. if you know it makes me upset, and you choose to do it anyway while acknowledging it makes me upset, why would i want to help you??? why would i feel inclined to break server rules and go out of my way for you??? youre being purposefully rude and inconsiderate towards me.

i hope this helps to clarify my stance a bit. im sorry if this comes off as harsh but im really really sick of this and id really like it to stop. ive put every measure in place to allow people to easily report things without coming to my personal blog. thank you for giving me the time of day and i hope this is at least something people will keep in mind

[coconut-dreamz]

you're losing me

'how long can we be a sad song' || tom blyth x reader

part two

a/n: i felt angsty and i love this song so i wanted to write something based off of it

you say, "i don't understand, " and i say, "i know you don't" we thought a cure would come through in time, now i fear it won't

the fights felt as if they were never ending lately. it hadn't always been this way, but that felt like a lifetime ago. the problems had started when tom began filming for tbosas but they had ceased when filming for it wrapped. but your relationship wasn't the same as it was before. now it was time for promotions and the fights had started up once again.

"i don't understand! why do we keep having to have this fight over and over again!" tom shouted. you scoff in disbelief at his outburst. he didn't know why you felt so insecure and jealous? it wasn't like you had told him at least a dozen times before.

"you know what, just go on your tour alone. i don't want to ruin it with our fighting." you resign, taking your already packed suitcase back into the apartment, away from the door. "you should go, the cab's waiting." you tell him quietly, unable to look up from the ground.

he just sighs, "alright, i'll see you in a few weeks." staring at you, waiting for you to look up at him. " have a safe flight," you look up at him, but refuse to meet his eyes. he just thanks you and heads out the door.

remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light now, I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time do I throw out everything we built or keep it?

you sat in the dark room of your shared apartment with tom. you had picked it because of the view of the city lights, but now it just felt cold and desolate, like nobody lived here. in all honesty, it hadn't been lived in for awhile. with tom gone for movie promotions, you hadn't been able to be here alone, opting to stay with a friend instead.

you don't know where to go from here. should you salvage what remained of your relationship with tom? or should you scrap everything and start new?

the latter choice had been seeming more and more appealing as of late. you hadn't heard from tom in days. at first you chalked it up to him being busy and the time difference, but you saw he posted a new croissant review and realized he was ignoring you. where had it all gone wrong?

i'm getting tired even for a phoenix always risin' from the ashes mendin' all her gashes you might just have dealt the final blow

you had made the mistake of watching one of tom's latest interviews with his costar rachel. you watched it because you'd missed him, but now that you'd watched it, you wished you just stayed missing him. you didn't miss the way they looked at each other. it'd been so long since you'd looked at each other like that. your eyes were always filled with rage or tears whenever you saw him lately.

you were just so tired of it all. you contemplated texting him and breaking things off. it'd be a whole lot easier that way. maybe the weight on your chest would be lifted. but a part of you didn't want to let go of him. he'd been your everything once.

stop, you're losin' me i can't find a pulse my heart won't start anymore for you 'cause you're losin' me

"how are you baby?" tom asks, his voice cutting through the silence, breaking you out of your reverie. he managed to find some time to call you while on his press tour. "huh? oh, i'm fine. how are you? how's press tour going?" you ask absentmindedly, hearing you ask about tour sparked a light in tom's eyes. he started rambling about the antics he and his cast mates had been up to.

you smiled fondly hearing him talk, until he mentioned rachel. she'd been a sore spot in your relationship lately. the mere mention of her name left a sour taste in your mouth. the grin on your face immediately swept off.

"it's getting late, i think i'm gonna go to bed. i hope the rest of your tour goes well," you fake a smile, trying to hurry to end the facetime call. "oh, i guess it is late over there. i love you, sleep well.” he bids you a goodnight. "love you," you reply and end the call. you bury yourself in your blankets, tired of the emotional turmoil that was caused by your relationship lately.

every mornin', i glared at you with storms in my eyes how can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'? i sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick my face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick

you'd lost the glow your skin once had. it'd became increasingly noticeable to those around you. your makeup artist had to try harder to make it less noticeable on red carpets and photo shoots. but it was all in vain, everyone noticed how you'd looked sickly lately, everyone but tom.

or, if he did, he didn't mention anything about it. "you look great." he complimented as you two climbed into the car that was to take you to the premiere of his film. it had taken your makeup artist a lot longer than usual to do your makeup, having to cover up the blemishes and gray tone of your skin from the lack of care you'd given yourself lately. you’d been opting to lay around in bed, moping.

"thanks," you mutter as the car begins to move. you picked at your nails, something you'd picked up lately to help deal with your nerves. you no longer could have any type of nails, you'd bit them down to nubs lately. but tom didn't seem to have noticed. he didn't seem to notice anything about you lately.

and the air is thick with loss and indecision i know my pain is such an imposition now, you're runnin' down the hallway and you know what they all say you don't know what you got until it's gone

"stop! where are you going?" shit. you stop dead in your tracks, tom was home early for once. you'd thought he wouldn't back for another day or two. "did you hear me?" he makes his way in front of you. you try avoiding his gaze, but it was difficult when his icy blue eyes stared into your soul.

you tried to formulate the words to tell him it was over. "i'm leaving." you finally managed to say. his concerned eyes turn frantic at your words. "what?" he whispers out, grabbing your hand. "you're leaving? why?" you take a breath, you tried leaving when he was gone because you couldn't face him. "things haven't been the same lately. i think we need a break. i'm going to stay with a friend. i'll come back for the rest of my things later. i think it's best if we don't talk for awhile." you manage out, finally meeting his eyes.

what a mistake. his previously concerned eyes were now filled with sadness. you tried moving past him to your car. he grabs your hand one more time, "can you at least tell me what's wrong?" you sigh hearing this, "i think you know why, tom." is all you answer, dragging your suitcase behind you.

how long could we be a sad song 'til we were too far gone to bring back to life? i gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy and all i did was bleed as i tried to be the bravest soldier fighting in only your army frontlines , don't you ignore me

it'd been a few weeks since you'd moved out of your shared apartment with tom. you felt relieved when you had finally walked out of the apartment. it had been feeling less like a home and more like a prison lately. you felt stuck in time in there. everyone around you was moving forward their lives, your friends, family and especially tom, but there you were. stuck waiting around for tom to give you the time of day.

you'd spend too long waiting around for your relationship to go back to how it once was. you'd given that relationship your all but got the bare minimum back in return. you should've called time of death on it months ago, but a big part of you wasn't ready to let go. you had spent your best years with him after all.

and i wouldn't marry me either a pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her

you and tom used to talk about the future all the time. laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling and giggling about your thoughts on what the future had in store. you told him about your dream wedding and he told you about how he wanted a cozy home with a big yard for your future children.

but that seemed so far in the past. you suppose he changed his mind. who'd want to marry a person who'd give every piece of themselves for someone who won't even bat an eye at them? you'd given him your all in the last year of your relationship, but had gotten nothing in return. all in an attempt to bring back what you both once had.

and i'm fadin', thinkin' "do something, babe, say something" "lose something, babe, risk something" "choose something, babe, i got nothing to believe unless you're choosin' me"

you laid in the makeshift bed of your friend’s studio apartment waiting for tom to reach out. you were aware of what you had told him, but you wanted to see if he truly did care about your relationship.

it hurt to see him happy on set of billy the kid. you followed his castmates and it hurt to see the snippets of him on their stories. he looked so happy and carefree. the exact opposite of how you were feeling and probably looked.

you hoped he was just respecting your wishes of having no contact for a few weeks, but the small voice in the back of your mind was screaming that he didn't care. that he was happier without you, that he was better off now that you were gone.

you're losin' me stop, you're losin' me stop, you're losin' me i can't find a pulse my heart won't start anymore

a constant buzzing woke you up from your deep sleep. you blindly search for your phone. when you find it, the clock shows that it's exactly 12 in the morning. you hit answer without looking at the contact. "hello?" you answer, your voice raspy from lack of use.

"love? it's me, tom. it's been exactly 6 weeks like you said. can we finally talk?"

[dragonnarrative-writes]

im gonna be honest, I keep rereading pt 3 and 4 of the slasher handler and fantasising about how incredibly sexy it would be if kyle acquired a handler of his own by accident or on purpose and he finally understands simon's obsession now 😵‍💫

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Kyle and Simon aren't friends, per se. They only met through Johnny, because Johnny is sloppy and impulsive and never knows how to clean up his own messes. It's offensive to Kyle's meticulous nature and, apparently, appeals to Simon's need for a pet.

Since Johnny's been serving time for the last nine months, with nine months to go (sloppy work, he's lucky Kyle was able to clean things up), Simon's gone to ground. Every now and then, news of his work pops up. Once, one of the victims had ended up at the hospital Kyle works at.

"The Ghost Killer strikes again! Ah...! Run...!" Kyle had muttered to himself, taking the unconscious young man's rapidly fading vitals. They'd found him in an abandoned building, an old hospital well outside of Simon's usual territory. Which means something has changed.

That evening, sipping a beer, he'd called Price on his burner.

"What can I do for you, Kyle?"

"Just letting you know that your dog is out of the yard. The big one, not the terrier," Kyle answers with a smile. "He left behind a bit of a mess, but there was only one little rabbit left suffering. I handled it."

Price had hummed on the other end. "I saw the news. 'S not like him. I'll check in." And then he'd hung up.

Months later, and Kyle finally has an answer when he catches Simon trailing behind a woman not once but three times. He's surprised to see her face, an old classmate and the justification for his second ever human kill. He's almost sad to know that she's been marked for death. When he hears about the Ski Lodge massacre and the Ghost copycat, he has a drink in her honor.

So it's a surprise when she reaches out to him online and asks to meet.

She's frazzled and wild-eyed when she sits in the chair across from him. She's also wearing one of Simon's beanies. And when she reveals what Simon's been up to, he can't help but laugh.

Simon - the weird, off-putting, murderous Ghost - has somehow managed to find the one person in the world who devotes herself to a project more than him. The Final Girl Girlfriend.

They're both doomed.

Kyle begins the painstaking process of reviewing his daily journals for mentions of Simon and their shared connections. It's very unlikely that Simon would be caught alive, and even more unlikely that he'd say anything about Kyle or Johnny or Price. But unlikely isn't impossible, so it's important to start getting his stories straight now.

Reviewing, flagging, and annotating his journals from his initial meeting with Johnny to now takes a month and three days. It's always an interesting process, looking at his life with the advantage of hindsight. There's always a new fascinating pattern to examine. For example, that first summer, he'd meet with Johnny every other week, and two and six days later, he'd gradually step up a patient's blood thinners.

Another pattern that's emerged is that he hasn't dated anyone for more than 35 days in the last three years. That's about as long as it takes for his exacting nature to become... a conflict. It's not much of a problem. He's a nurse, he works long hours. He's got a gym routine and volunteers at the local pet rescue once a week. He's a part of the community, so he doesn't stick out as a loner. But he's also solidly at a point in his life where someone would expect him to have a partner.

He makes an online dating profile. It takes a week for him to delete the app.

"Darlene," he greets the head nurse with a smile and her favorite coffee at the beginning of his next shift. "How are you today?"

"Kyle." As always, she barely glances at him, just holds out her hand for her drink. "You're early. What do you want?"

She's right, he's thirty minutes early. He grins. "You wound me. Can't I just want to know how a beautiful woman is doing?"

Darlene gives him a blank look over the top of her bifocals. "Save it for the maternity ward, Garrick. What do you want?"

"Just wanna know the lay of the land," he says, coming around the desk and taking the seat next to her. He likes Darlene because she only expects him to be coy for a short time. "Been on the apps, trying to date. But my hours make things difficult. You know everybody's business. How is anyone in a relationship around here?"

"The surgeons are all on meth, the rest of the doctors are on coke, and the nurses are either fucking each other or their high school sweethearts," Darlene says, dry as a desert. "You know this already. What do you actually want?"

"That's it," he says with a shrug. "Just want to know who's not seeing anyone, or if you know of someone at another campus with the time."

She takes a sip of her coffee and thinks for a moment. "Stay off the psych and plastics floors. Maternity floor's about to get a whole new batch since all of those idiots got pregnant within three months of each other. But there's something in the water up there, so unless you also want a baby, I'd say leave them alone."

"James is on the maternity floor," Kyle points out.

"James cheated on his boyfriend and his side piece with another nurse," Darlene points out, settling into her coffee and gossip. "Which is another reason to stay away from plastics, but also trauma and rads. I didn't know you were bisexual."

"Doesn't come up much," Kyle dismisses, sipping his own coffee.

By the time Kyle has to clock in, they've explored the pros and cons of almost every department. The prospects are pretty grim. Maybe being single isn't the worst thing in the world.

He makes a point of spending time with the other nurses for the next month. He goes out for drinks and karaoke, attends a couple of baby showers. Lets on to a couple of gossips that he's looking, tells another that he's not sure he has time to date. Enjoys the conclusion of a project when a racist old bastard finally has the heart attack he can't bounce back from.

And then the nurse coroner flags the death for investigation.

Kyle doesn't panic because technically all deaths in the hospital are investigated. But he is intrigued. His own notes show that the patient's condition was well within the expected parameters of recovery and relapse. His medications were administered appropriately while Kyle was on shift, and the hydrogen peroxide added to his IV would have been nigh undetectable.

In the end, the hospital is not determined to be at fault for the death, and that's all that administration cares about. But the cause of death is changed from heart attack to embolism in the record, and that is intriguing.

"Knock knock," Kyle says, poking his head into the office area of the morgue. He expects to see Dennis, the older gentleman running the morgue unit, who waves back at him. He doesn't expect the new face, sitting across the desk from him.

"Good morning, Kyle," Dennis greets, waving him in. "Been a bit since you've come to see us. Care for some tea?"

"Can't," Kyle says, apologetically. "Just dropping someone off."

"Well, at least let me introduce our new nurse!"

The new nurse gives him a no-nonsense handshake and a nod. They don't say much beyond their name, and Kyle is pleased to put a face to the name on the investigation into his last project. He wasn't exaggerating when he said he couldn't stay long, so he says his goodbyes.

But when his next completed project is flagged for investigation again, he decides that maybe it's time to take an interest.

[buttsmasher]

Gage (Edited)

Been trying to go through my old stories and slowly re-upload them after I give them a review. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Tags/Warnings: Fag bashing, face farting, willing victim turned to unwilling, asphyxiation by farts, fart torture

Gage is a grade A prick. You pretty much learned that the moment he moved into the house. Your other roommate literally moved out because he couldn’t stand him. The only reason you’ve stayed is because the rent is cheap and the landlord isn’t complete trash. The other reason is that you have a sort of hate crush on Gage.

You understand he’s a prick and he seems like a bit of a fag basher, but dude has a rockin bod. And he has no sense of other people’s personal boundaries. One time when you had friends over, he walked out of his room completely naked to get a beer out of the fridge. Which you didn’t mind too much because you got front row seats to watch his ass jiggle. Your lesbian friends were mortified of course. Especially when he started to shake his hips to make his dick flop around. After that, you’ve all decided to do movie night at their house now to avoid any more incidents.

The other thing about Gage is that he’s a literal gas bomb. The dude is constantly gassy and it may make your dick strain against your shorts when you’re both watching TV and he lifts a leg to let out a massive fart. And look, if you’re secretly there taking quiet inhales of his stinky gas then no one needs to know.

It all comes to a head today though. You keep a journal, and you may or may not have written all your dirty fantasies about Gage in them. Looking back at it, probably not the best idea, but too late to change that now. 

You’re in the kitchen making scrambled eggs when Gage comes into the kitchen. “Good morning.” You mumble to him, not fully expecting an answer. He opens the fridge and pours himself a glass of OJ as he plays on his phone. He laughs at something before walking towards the kitchen table. 

“Hey fart slut, what’s for breakfast?” You freeze. Did he really just say that? He snaps his fingers a couple of times. “Yo, fag, I’m talking to you.” You slowly turn to look at him.

“Uhm, Scr-scrambled eggs?” You don’t know why it came out as a question. 

“Cool, I want cheese on mine.” He doesn’t even look at you as he plays on his phone.

“Oh, uhhh, I didn’t make enough for the both of us.” You look at the pan and push it around. 

“It’s fine, just give me yours.” 

“What?” He locks eyes with you.

“Let me put it another way. Give me your breakfast and I don’t post your dirty fart fantasies online.” You try to stay calm but you’re freaking out. You turn back around fully and focus on finishing the eggs, throwing cheddar cheese on top right before you finish. Your hands are shaking as you plate the food and bring it over to Gage.

“Anything else?” You say nervously placing the food and a fork down in front of him.

“Tabasco.” He doesn’t look up from his phone, you just do as he says. “Sit.” He says as you go to make yourself more scrambled eggs. “I gotta say, you’re pretty nasty. I mean, to like that shit, you gotta have some serious problems.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean, to want to get on your knees to sniff someone’s dirty ass. That’s some dog level shit.” You watch as he stuffs his mouth with eggs. “Tell me, how are you any better than a dog?”

“You’re an ass.” Your chair groans against the floor as you get up. 

“Sit back down.” Gage says firmly.

“No, fuck you. I don’t have to take this.”

PFFFFFBBRRRFFFFFF

You freeze as Gage rips a five second fart. The smell hits you from where you’re standing. You can hear Gage laughing from behind you and you can’t help the shame that wafts over you. “You’re pathetic. You get one whiff of my ass funk and you can’t walk away.” You take a deep breath and calmly begin to walk to your room. “I have more where that came from, you know?” You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to ignore him. 

PFFFFFF

A high pitched fart hisses from his ass. “See? And they can be up your nose if you ask me nicely.” You’re not even looking at him and you can just see his cocky grin.

“What do you want?” You ask, knowing you’ve already lost.

“Heh, knew it.” You hear his chair scrape against the floor as he gets up. “You just need to beg.” He puts his hands on your shoulders. “Beg your daddy to fart up your nose.” He whispers in your ear.

“You’re an ass.”

“I know.” He turns you around and pushes you down onto your knees. “Beg doggy.” You lock eyes again, completely humiliated on the ground.

“Please, Gage, fart up my nose.” You say without enthusiasm. 

PFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT

“Fuck, that was a big one you just missed out on. Beg.” You sigh.

“Please daddy, please make me your fart slut.” He laughs.

“Better.” He turns around giving you the view of his brief clad ass. “Get your face in it.” You do as he says, getting a whiff of the lingering scent of the last fart. “Just remember you wanted this.”

PFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFFF

Airy farts warm your face as your nose gets overwhelmed by the absolutely toxic smell. It’s not like anything you thought it’d be like. “Wait.” You manage to cough out. “Wait stop.” You go to pull away but he holds you firmly in place.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He hikes his leg up slightly.

PFFFFFFFFFFFBBRBRBFFFFFTTTTTT

“Oof, that one’s gonna be bad.” He wasn’t wrong. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you're forced to endure that blast of a ten second fart. It’s absolutely eggy, and your eyes are watering. “Definitely wouldn’t want to be down there. But you’re liking this right fag?” You frantically shake your head no, wanting to pull away. “Aww, I knew you’d love my ass. Here, I’ll blow you a kiss.”

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFF

Another disgusting fart burns it’s way up your nose and down to your lungs. Your face is extremely warm and you can’t think straight. You strain to pull away from the toxic fumes constantly barraging your face but Gage’s hold is too strong.

PFFFFBRBRBRFFFFFFTTT

“Look, I know my brew is strong, but you’re the one who wanted this. And you begged oh so nicely for daddy to fart in your face. Who am I to get in your way of your dream?”

PFFFF PFF PFFFFFF PFFFFF

“It’s okay, I won’t judge you. Well maybe a little. Only cause you’re a fucked up a fag.” 

PFFBBRRRFFFTTT

It’s getting really hard to breathe down here. The only air you’re getting is Gage’s eggy farts. You’ve begun to uncontrollable cough and gag against his dirty briefs. 

“Man, imagine if I didn’t have these undies on. There’s no way you would survive that.” He laughs as he pulls his tight black briefs under his naked ass.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFF

“Jesus, what did you put in those eggs? I bet you put in some extra fiber didn’t you?” 

“I know I’m a gassy guy, but damn, this is way worse than normal.” 

PFFFFFFFFBBBRRRRRRBRRRRR

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT

Everything is spinning around you and you’re having a hard time staying conscious. 

“Is it everything you hoped for faggot?” 

PFFFFF PFFFFFFFF PFFFFTTT PFFFFF

You feel yourself slump further into his musky ass, no longer able to keep yourself upright. You can hear Gage laughing as everything fades to black. A final fart hits your nose as you finally lose consciousness. “Night night fag.” Gage lets your body hit the floor before leaving you there.

When you awake again, you’re still on the kitchen floor. The smell of Gage’s ass still lingering on you.

[adobe-outdesign]

Have we gotten a houndoom line review yet?

I love how GameFreak's response to Pokemon's Satanic Panic problem was to make a hellhound the next Gen. And not just a hellhound, but a really good hellhound! I like that they went a more subtle route with Houndour than the Cerberus option by basically taking a Doberman and adding hellish motifs to it—black with fire-orange accents and white bones all over its body. Also nice are the shackles, which are likely a nod to how Cerberus is sometimes said to be chained.

Houndoom is even better, and does everything an evo needs to by expanding greatly on the original. Now a full-grown Doberman instead of a puppy, Houndoom has gained a pair of ribcage horns on its head, moved the skull to its chest, added an extra layer of shackles, and added a classic pointed devil tail. These all build upon the base design and themes wonderfully, and both stages are very distinct.

My only (very minor) nitpicks with Houndoom are that the skull on its chest could've been more skull-shaped as it looks more like an alien head, and the head is a weird shape. I hear a lot of complaints that it has no ears, but it has no ears because it has horns and there was no room for both on the original teeny tiny sprite. However, the Diglett-shaped head isn't quite anatomically accurate, making it look a little strange once you separate the horns from it.

(Also, side note: judging by the sprite above the chest skull and ribs were supposed to be a collar, which is a really neat idea that I kind of wish they kept. No big deal either way though, it still looks good regardless.)

I hear a lot of people say they wish [X] mega was an evolution, and like 90% of the time I disagree with them. Megas are generally handled differently than actual evos—evos often make drastic changes to the body shape and progress the Pokemon's theme in a notable way, while megas typically stick close to the original design and just add Stuff(TM). There is some overlap, of course, but generally speaking a good mega won't necessarily work as an evo and vice versa.

All of that is to say that mega Houndoom is one of the only megas where it could (and should) have been an evo. Every theme is expanded upon, the body shape has advanced pretty drastically, and there are about as many changes between it and Houndoom as there are between Houndoom and Houndour. It doesn't technically matter one way or the other, but megas are a rarely-appearing gimmick whereas evos are permanent, and this is a great design that should be used more often.

Anyway, this design is pretty perfect. It has a more muscular body than Houndoom with greatly improved head anatomy and longer legs (especially evident when you see all three lined up next to each other). The bone elements go from the small skull on Houndoom's chest to a giant wrap-around skull with tusks, as well as bigger horns and more ribcage bones. The shackles on its legs have also been broken, which is a great detail, and it's added a pitchfork motif in both the tail shape and the face markings.

My only minor nitpicks with this design are that the red claws feel a little distracting; keeping them orange might've balanced the colors better. Also, the orange on the chest should've gone under the bottom of the skull, as it creates a bit of a tension point as-is. Otherwise, this is pretty perfect all around.

Overall, a great line. There's a clear theme, each stage progresses in a logical and obvious way, and the designs are well-balanced. 10/10 would go to Hell again