#sweats I haven’t revisited this in a hot minute

[sweetie1728]

Chat am I cooked?…

[parkersbliss]

Chaos On Set | T. Holland

Pairing: Tom Holland X Female, Chaos Walking screen writer, reader

Warnings: no-no words, Tom being a bit of a pervert, but in a cute way? and fluff so fluffy you might get cavities.

wc; 2.5K

Synopsis: Tom really really likes you, but he doesn’t know if you feel the same. Especially when you can never get a moment together.

Request: Heeeeeey soo I don’t know if you take requests, but your writing is AMAZING and I was wondering if you could do a Tom Holland x reader where she wrote the screenplay for the movie he’s in (maybe Chaos Walking, if you know what that is, if you don’t, no sweat!😁😁) and he really likes her, and just make it fluffy and stuff? Idk, but thank you!!! Your writing is amazing, keep it up!! 😁👌🏽❤️

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List 

—

Tom was smitten for you. It was quite obvious to everyone on set, except, well, you. It wasn't that you didn't like him (you did) it was just that being a screenplay writer has you pulled to every part of the set. It was hard to even get one moment alone with Tom. You enjoyed working with him, he was a phenomenal actor and took your advice seriously, but when you're the screenplay writer of Chaos Walking it was like the whole world wanted a piece of you. Any time spent with Tom was either watching him on set or revisiting his lines. There was never a moment for you to catch your breath, not even in the morning. It was always get up and go. This morning had been particularly rushed as you spent the night tweaking a few scenes on set. The best part of being the screenplay writer was not having to dress all fancy. Although, you did just in case you saw Tom. This morning, you didn't care all that much. Instead, you slipped on a pair of lounge shorts and a hoodie, throwing your hair up and popping on some sunglasses to conceal any signs of lack of sleep. Yawning, you grabbed your script full of notes and walked onto the set. You immersed yourself in the script, going over the scenes for today and reshoots that were taking place.

"You look comfortably," Tom greeted. He was already ready for the day, clad in a dirt-covered gray (it might've been white, who knows) tank top that did nothing to hide his toned arms. His hair was still short from shooting Cherry a couple of months prior, but he pulled it off.

"Uh, yeah, late-night," You mumble, trying to straighten your wrinkled hoodie. Tom finds it adorable as you try to look a bit more presentable to him. He watches as you pull at the frayed edges of your clothing, small pout as it refuses to straighten up. You tug at it a few more times before huffing and giving up.

"So," He starts, rocking back and forth on his heels, his cheeks flushed. "What do you think of the movie so far?"

"Are you kidding me? It's amazing! You're a great Todd. It's like every girl's dream to watch book characters be brought to life."

He laughs, eye crinkled slightly, "I thought every girl's dream was an all you can buffet."

You tap your chin, pretending to think about it, "yeah that too."

Tom smiles, fiddling nervously with his fingers, trying to think of what to say next. He's not sure if you've ever had a conversation this long before.

"I really hope we can become friends," You blurt out, instantly regretting it. Tom's taken back, eyes wide as he tries to think of some type of witty reply. What if he wants to be more than friends? Scratch that, he does. But he knows that you've only known each other for two weeks and this is the longest conversation you've had.

"No," He said, watching as your face fell. "I mean, uh, shit, best friends?"

You give him an awkward smile, a little shocked at his first reaction. "Okay."

"Okay," He repeats, nodding his head slightly. "Yeah, okay. I should go. Not that I want to, but they need back on set. I mean, I think they do. They probably do," He rambles on. You giggle slightly as he continues spitting nonsense. You place a hand on his exposed bicep, "I get it, Tom. You can go, I have to be on stage three anyway."

Tom's staring at your hand on his arm, he's internally panicking but you don't know that. At least he doesn't think you do. He's probably sweating ten times more now. "Right, yeah, I'm sorry for keeping you. I should really pay more attention to that. I, uh, I'll see you around?"

You smile softly at him, a slight pink tint to your cheeks, "Yeah, I'll see you around." You pull your hand away from him and give him one last smile before jogging to the other stage.

"You couldn't be more obvious," Daisy jokes.

Tom sighs, dragging his hands down his face, "Do you think she knows?"

"Honestly, no. Shocker really."

Tom rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder with hers playfully. "Whatever."

Daisy wiggles her eyebrows at him, making kissy faces. Tom pushes her away, "Okay, okay, I get it! What crazy thing are we doing today?"

"Into the woods we go!"

"Lovely."

...

"(Y/N)!" Tom calls out as he jogs toward you. He's soaking wet, a navy shirt thrown over his form, slowly staring to dampen. His hair flopping haphazardly around his head. You stand up from your chair, hand outstretched. You were called over to supervise the scene Tom had just finished, which involved a very dirty pond of water. It had been three weeks since you first decided to become friends and it was safe to say, it had worked out. You spent a lot more time around each other, becoming much more comfortable and holding conversations longer than five minutes.

"Nuh-uh mister. I don't want your dirt, water, sweat mix over my nice shirt."

He pouts, arms falling to his sides, "You care more about a shirt than me?"

"Yes," You deadpan. Tom rolls his eyes, taking a few steps closer to you, while you take a few steps back.

"Tom," You warn as you back up against your chair. He grins at you and wraps you in his arms as you squeal.

"You're cold!"

Tom laughs into your neck, his wet hair tickling your chin and you try to push him off you, but he's much stronger and clings to you like a koala, his arms secure around your waist. Ultimately, you stop trying to pry him off accepting the fact you're soaked and he wasn't moving anytime soon.

"You're warm," He murmurs.

You roll your eyes, "Are you going to continue to hug me or let me change out of my now soaked clothes?"

Tom raises his head from the crook of your neck, giving you a loopy smile. "What's the rush? We're done shooting for the day."

You sigh out of relief, "that's great, but you're still cold."

He groans and finally pulls himself off of you. Your clothes are now soaked and sticking to your shivering body. Tom's eyes widen when he notices your bra peaking through your see-through shirt.

"What?" You ask, quirking an eyebrow at Tom's blushing face.

He clears his throat, still staring, "Your uh, your bra," He mumbles. You barely make out what he says, but follow his gaze to your now see-through shirt.

"Oh my god," You gape, then add, "Stop looking, Tom!"

He turns around immediately, "sorry!"

"Give me your shirt," You said.

"What?"

"I can't walk around set like this!"

"I can't walk around shirtless!"

"Have you seen yourself, Tom? Yeah, you can. No one's going to complain. Just give me the shirt, please."

Tom blinks in surprise at your comment, he stumbles over his next few words, "I -- uh, um, okay."

He strips his shirt off, struggling a bit as the fabric clings to his skin, now a bit soaked through. When he eventually gets if off he hands it to you and you do the same, balling your old shirt in your hand. You take a few moments to admire Tom's back muscles, before coughing. He turns around and you grow hot as you eye his toned figure. My god, he was built like a god. Is this even legal? You wonder, still staring at his abs.

Tom laughs, "so I can't stare at you in your bra but you can stare at me topless?"

You shake your head, tearing your gaze away from his perfect form. "yes indeed, now I'm going back to my trailer to change into something not soaking wet."

Tom nods his head, pushing back some of his wet curls, "Okay." He almost mentions you giving his shirt back, but he decides you look much better in it anyway.

"Uh, one thing," He said, causing you to turn around. "Do you, maybe, want to watch a movie later?"

You grin at him, "I'd love too, but only if there's food involved."

"Deal."

...

This wasn't a date, right? No, it wasn't. Tom never said it was, but he wanted it to be. He sits nervously on the sofa, knees bouncing in anticipation of your arrival. It wasn't a date, but it was still the girl he really likes watching a movie with just him and only him. Tom's hair was still slightly damp, although now he wasn't shirtless and instead slipped on his classic midtown hoodie from Spider-Man and a pair of sweatpants. There's a knock at his door and he almost falls off the couch. Tom clambers to the door, swinging it open and leaning against the doorframe pretending he didn't just trip on his way here.

"Hey," You said smiling. You reflected Tom's choice of clothing in only a pair of sweatpants and wrinkled tee, but by god did you pull it off. Tom blinks, tearing his gaze from you. "hi."

"Are you going to invite me in or...?"

"Right! Yeah, of course. Come in." Tom steps aside, holding the door open for you and letting it shut softly. You toss him a lopsided grin over your shoulder.

"So, what are we watching?" You ask, flopping down on the couch, instantly wrapping yourself in the blanket Tom had left out.

"Oh... uh, do you wanna watch Spider-Man?" He scratches the back of his head, cheeks tinted pink.

You wiggle your eyebrows at him, "Are you trying to impress me with your acting skills?"

Tom scoffs, grabbing a pillow from the couch and hurling it at you. "No, I'm obviously showing off Robert's skills."

You playfully roll your eyes, flinging the pillow back at him. He catches it with ease. "Whatever, I haven't seen it anyway."

Tom gasps, "What?"

You throw your head with back with laughter at the expression on his face. He's jaw is hanging wide open, eyebrows knitted together in shock.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I just bruise your ego?"

Tom clicks his tongue, throwing the pillow back at you, hitting you square in the face. "no, but I think I just bruised your face."

"Very funny."

"I get it from my dad."

You purse your lips together, thinking of some type of witty comeback. "yeah, well you didn't get his height."

Tom places a hand on his heart, faking hurt. "Alright, well--"

You cut him off with a pillow to the stomach as he doubles over with an oomph. You howl with laughter as he glares at you.

"Oh love, you don't know what you're in for," He smirks.

"Wait, Tom--" You don't finish your sentence as Tom flops onto you, pillow separating your bodies and you squeal. Tom lays on top of you, pillow resting on your stomach as he grins at you.

"Tommmm," You whine, trying to push him off. He doesn't budge and you pout, resting your arms at your side as his lay by your head.

"Sorry, love, you started it."

"What about the movie?"

"Honestly you're getting an even better view of me like this."

"I only want to watch it because of Zendaya."

"Fuck you."

"You wish."

There's a heavy silence as you take in Tom's comment and the irony of your position. Tom wiggled his eyebrows seductively, smirking.

"Get off me, you weirdo!" You said, finally pushing off of you. He lands on the floor with a satisfying thud and you peek your head over the sofa to check on him. A hand shoots up to grab you and pulls you down on top of him. Tom groans as your body weight land on him, now realizing what a stupid move he had made. Your heads smack together and you wince in pain.

"Shit, sorry love," Tom apologizes, reaching up to hold your head in his hands. He hesitantly places a soft kiss on your temple and you instantly melt in his touch. His hands slowly travel away from your head to wrap around your waist and hold you captive.

"Tom?" You question, arms resting on his shoulder, simultaneously playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He hums, "Yes?"

"Can we watch the movie now?"

He laughs, the vibrations rumbling in his chest, and instinctively you snuggle closer to him and his warmth. He sits up, almost knocking you off, but his arms keep you secure in his lap.

"Yes, we can, but you have to get off me."

Your ankles cross over his waist, "No, I don't wanna. You're warm." You said, face buried in his neck. Tom's happy you can't see the blush on his face as he stares at the girl in his lap. He slowly stands up, one arm still holding you close to him as the other picks up the remote. He turns the movie on, sitting down on the couch. You pick your head up from his neck, glancing at him only to find him already looking down at you. Tom pushes back a few stray pieces of hair from your face and your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second.

"Can I- Can I kiss you?" He asks, breath tickling your face.

"Please," You whisper. His free hand cups your cheek, thumb rubbing over your cheekbones before he dives in and seals your lips with his.

...

"Baby!" Tom exclaims, jogging toward you and picking you up in a bone-crushing hug.

"Bubs, I was only gone for an hour," You laugh, combing your hand through his curls.

"Still too long," He murmurs, kissing your lips.

"Tom!" Daisy calls out, walking toward him. "We need you back on set. You know, if you can detach yourself from (Y/N) for five seconds."

"She's right, bubs," You said, prying him off you.

He whines, "But babyyy."

"No buts, Mister. You have a job to do and so do I."

"Yes, your job is to give me your undying love."

You give Daisy an apologetic smile as she fake gags from behind Tom.

"No, that's my job later. Right now I'm the screenplay writer who's telling you-- the actor -- to get your ass back on set before they fire both of us."

Tom groans, knowing you're right, "wait, you're not coming with me?"

"No, bubs, I have to be on stage five."

"I'm starting to think they're keeping you from me on purpose."

"I can see why."

"Hey!"

You cup Tom's cheeks, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "Kidding, now go fulfill my dreams."

"I think you should fulfill mine."

"Tom," You warn.

He laughs, grabbing your hand and squeezing it lightly before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "'m joking."

You give him a pointed stare, "partially," he adds.

"I'll see you later."

"You and that ass most definitely will," He winks.

"don't make me write Todd a death scene."

"Joking! Again. I love you!"

"Uh-huh, you just love this ass."

"Well-"

"don't, I'm leaving now," You said, tugging your hand of out his grip and walking away.

"Sorry baby! Love you!" He calls out.

"Yeah, yeah I love you too. Now seriously, get back on set before they fire us."

—

🏷 Taglist: @harrymysunflower @peterspideyy @cams-lynn @runway-to-my-aid @yoinkyourheart @keenmarvellover

strike through- tumblr won’t let me tag you

[prouvaireafterdark]

Hi friend! Same anon who suggested the thigh riding fic here (still not over it, iconic). A change of pace - and if you’re comfortable writing about this subject matter - Alex and Michael getting super stoned. Michael brings a joint over to Alex’s, they haven’t smoked together since high school and lazily rub off against each other (too much cotton mouth to give head and not enough coordination to fuck) and it brings back a rush of warm and fond memories of doing the same when they were kids.

Hope you like! 😘

Also on AO3!

***

“Guess what I’ve got,” Michael says excitedly as he enters the kitchen and tosses his keys on the table.

He walks up to where Alex is leaning back against the counter, sipping on a half-empty glass of red wine, and drops a kiss on his cheek in greeting. It’s so sweet and domestic that Alex almost forgets why he’s supposed to be mad. Almost.

“An excuse for why you’re an hour late to dinner?” Alex asks when Michael pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” Michael cringes, deflating a little. “Liz needed some last minute help with an experiment, I got here as soon as I could.”

“Everything okay?” Alex asks, standing up a little straighter.

“Yeah, only minor explosions this time,” Michael jokes.

Alex sighs and shakes his head, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.

“Text me next time, okay?” Alex asks, tugging Michael close by the edge of his fleece-lined jacket. “I worry about you.”

“I will, promise,” Michael concedes, kissing the corner of his mouth this time. When he pulls away there’s a mischievous look in his eye. “So, you gonna guess?”

“Thought I already did,” Alex says, raising an eyebrow.

“Fair enough,” Michael concedes and reaches into his pocket.

He pulls out a small ziplock baggie with a joint inside.

“Guerin,” Alex says, a little disapprovingly. “I thought we weren’t breaking the law anymore.”

“Relax, I didn’t buy it,” Michael defends himself with a roll of his eyes. “I liberated it from Rosa.“

“She’s using again?” Alex asks, worry etching its way onto his face.

“Nah, she found it in an old book she had in her room and wanted to get rid of it.”

“Good,” Alex says, relieved. “That’s good.”

“So, you wanna?” Michael asks after a second, shaking the baggie in front of Alex’s face.

Alex gives the joint, and Michael, a dubious look.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Michael pouts. “I used to get my weed from you in high school.”

Alex laughs and shakes his head.

“It’s not that,” Alex insists. “It’s just—that thing’s a decade old, it’s gonna taste terrible.”

“So did the cheap shit we used to smoke in the back of my truck,” Michael argues with a shrug. “Come on, it’ll be just like old times.”

He has a point, Alex must admit, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little seduced by the idea of revisiting the rebellious days of their youth.

“Dinner first,” Alex decides. “And we’re doing it outside. I don’t want our bedroom to smell like a dispensary.”

Michael grins at him and leans in to steal a kiss.

“Whatever you say, baby.”

Later, Alex watches Michael’s cheeks hollow as he takes a long drag off the joint where they sit in their backyard, side by side in front of the unlit fire pit. A few seconds later, a large cloud of smoke billows out of his mouth.

“Eugh,” Michael says, making a sour face as he hands the joint to Alex. “Okay. You were right.”

Alex laughs at him, but accepts it anyway. No going back now—if he’s gotta smell it, he might as well get something out of it.

He takes a hit and, yeah, it tastes like shit, but he can’t help feeling a little nostalgic at the gentle burn in his chest. It takes him back to those cool summer nights spent curled up with Michael in the bed of his truck, far enough away from Roswell that it didn’t matter who Alex’s dad was or where he was shipping off to—all he’d needed to think about was the way Michael made him feel when he straddled his thighs and shotgunned smoke into his mouth.

The thought sends tendrils of heat snaking through Alex’s belly that have little to do with the smoke in his lungs. Michael extends his hand toward Alex to take the joint back, but Alex has a better idea.

“Come here,” Alex says, locking eyes with Michael and patting his thigh.

Michael visibly swallows as he stands up and walks over to him. At Alex’s gentle prodding, Michael climbs into his lap and arranges himself across his thighs just so to keep most of his weight off Alex’s bad leg. Alex rests his left hand against his hip to keep him there.

Alex takes another drag off the joint and holds the smoke in his lungs as he leans into Michael’s space. He watches Michael’s eyes flutter closed as he brings their lips together, feels them soft and warm and wet against his own as he exhales slowly into Michael’s mouth. Alex flicks his tongue out against Michael’s full bottom lip once his lungs are empty, the taste of Michael’s skin much more pleasant than the acrid smoke curling around them.

“Fuck,” Michael whispers into the space between them as he exhales.

“Just like old times, right?” Alex asks, his lips quirking up into a smug smile.

“Mhmm,” Michael hums and presses a proper kiss to Alex’s lips before he leans back and takes the joint delicately from between Alex’s fingers. “My turn.”

They smoke a few minutes longer, trading kisses between hits. Alex isn’t sure if it’s Michael or the weed or some combination of the two making him feel like he’s floating, but he happily sinks into that warm buzz until Michael gasps softly against his mouth.

“What?” Alex asks, eyes half-lidded as he pulls back to look at Michael’s face.

“We have ice cream.”

Which is how they end up in bed approximately twenty minutes later, stripped down to their underwear with matching bowls of melting chocolate peanut butter ice cream in their laps as they watch Mythbusters reruns.

Michael is enraptured, spoon frozen halfway to his open mouth as he watches the team succeed in driving a motorcycle over the liquid surface of a lake.

Alex, on the other hand, is struck with the sudden, terrible realization that Jamie Hyneman’s mustache kind of makes him look like a walrus and promptly loses his fucking mind.

“What?” Michael asks, glancing down to where Alex has sunk into the bed and is rolling onto his side to smother his laughter against Michael’s hip.

Alex opens his mouth to speak, but he only giggles harder when he looks up at Michael’s face and sees a fresh smear of ice cream on his chin.

“You’re so fucking stoned, babe,” Michael laughs, reaching down to thread his fingers through Alex’s hair.

Alex is laughing too hard to disagree.

Michael puts his and Alex’s bowls on the bedside table before he lies down next to him. He pillows his head on his arm and watches him with an amused smile, evidently finding him much more interesting to watch than his favorite childhood TV show. If it wasn’t for how obviously bloodshot Michael’s eyes are, Alex would wonder if he was the only one feeling the joint they split right now.

“You have ice cream on your face,” Alex tells him, wiping the tears streaming from his eyes once he’s settled down.

“Where?”

“Here,” Alex answers, and instead of swiping at it with his finger, he leans in to lick it off his chin. The chocolate is sweet, but the soft moan Michael makes as Alex drags his tongue across his stubble is sweeter, and Alex finds himself chasing that sound right into Michael’s mouth.

Alex loses all sense of time as Michael kisses him—it could be seconds, minutes, or hours that he lies there, consumed by the softness of Michael’s mouth against his. He feels so hyperaware of him, so connected, that just the brush of Michael’s fingers against his cheek has pleasure buzzing through his whole body.

They trade slow kisses like that until Alex feels something hard against his hip. He pulls away, smoothing a palm down Michael’s bare chest to keep the distance between them, and looks down to see the thick outline of Michael’s cock straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs.

“You’re hard,” Alex points out before looking up at him again.

Michael follows his line of sight, as if he hasn’t noticed, and Alex bites off a moan a second later when he feels Michael’s warm hand cupping his cock.

“So’re you,” Michael says, palming him gently through his underwear. Alex’s hips twitch involuntarily into Michael’s touch as he asks, “Want me to blow you?”

Alex shakes his head. He remembers all too well what a mood killer it is to try to  suck cock with cottonmouth.

Instead, Alex reaches down to pull Michael’s cock out of his underwear, pushing the waistband under his balls. He gives him a few strokes, delighting in the way he jumps against his fingers. Michael slips his hand into Alex’s underwear to wrap around him in turn, but Alex lets go of Michael’s cock and takes him by the wrist, drawing his hand away from him. Michael’s brow furrows in confusion as he watches Alex free his own cock, but understanding clicks into place as Alex grabs hold of Michael’s knee and hikes it up over his hip, slotting his right thigh into the space he makes between Michael’s legs. Alex presses close until he can feel both of their cocks trapped hot and hard between them.

“Like we used to,” Alex says, grinding his hips encouragingly against Michael. “Remember?”

Michael lets out a shuddering breath and nods, drawing his leg tighter around the back of Alex’s body.

They move against each other lazily, sweat and pre-come slicking the way, and Alex can’t help but think of that summer before he shipped off to basic again, when his life was a series of moments stolen in the back of Michael’s truck.

He remembers lying on a pile of blankets and sleeping bags, the smell of rain and cannabis thick in the air around them as they rut against each other until they came at least twice, Michael gasping into his mouth each time he fell over the edge, unwilling to spend a single second not kissing him.

There was no need for words then, their bodies speaking to each other in a way that transcended language, and Alex finds it’s no different now—he can feel how much Michael wants him in the way his cock weeps against his belly with every rock of their hips, he can hear how much he needs him in the soft, desperate whimpers he smothers against his mouth, and he swears he can even taste how much he loves him on the very tip of his tongue as it slips passed his lips.

Time slows to a crawl even as one minute bleeds into the next. Michael’s heated skin is heaven beneath his fingers, every sigh, every moan, every gasp hitting his ears sweeter than any music he’s ever heard. In the midst of a symphony of sensations, Alex barely notices when his pleasure crests and he spills hot and wet between them.

A second and a lifetime pass before Michael does the same, burying a moan into Alex’s neck as he comes. Alex holds him close as he trembles with the force of it, all the while thinking, yes, this is just like it was when they were kids.

Except it’s better, Alex decides as he settles against Michael’s chest after haphazardly cleaning up, sleep slowly pulling him under.

It’s better because they’re in their own bed, in their own home, with their own TV playing softly in the background.

It’s better because this moment isn’t stolen at all.

[bellesque]

Sweet Dreams (Loki x Reader) Chapter 5: Smell

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 // Read on AO3.

Spotify playlist here.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.4K woooo

Warning/Tags: Incubus Loki, Sex Pollen (sort of—surprise!!!), Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Bondage/Rope Bunny, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Edging/Orgasm Delay, slight Exhibitionist Kink, lil sprinklings of Cock Worship and Cum Facials, it’s filthy don’t tell me we’re surprised

A/N: This took a completely different direction than what I was planning during the early stages. Like it’s not even that centered around smell anymore but we’re gonna roll with it okay

Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)

THE SILK TIES aren’t by your pillow or above your head where you expect them to be. Just like the previous night, they’re folded on your nightstand when you wake up.

It’s still too early for your brain to process how exactly they ended up there, so instead of falling into the rabbit hole of hypothesizing just what kind of magic Loki has, you swing your body over the side of the bed and make for the bathroom. Not even two steps forward, your muscles ache with the evidence that you finally got what you hoped for—or at least, something close to it. You haven’t exactly been fucked yet.

But ah, the sweet soreness. The greatest tangible reminder of a mind-blowing night. Last night. Touch.

Loki’s touch.

As you get into the shower, you replay the events of last night. Each drop of water that slides down your body is a reminder of the cold, melted ice cube that swirled around your breasts. Even the sigh that echoes in the bathroom is a reminder of your breathy pleas.

Your folds begin to slicken, and it’s not from the water.

You’re tempted to stay in this morning. Take a warm shower only to burrow back under the covers. It’s not that you’re tired—work on Fridays is always a little more relaxed, and everyone’s allowed to come in anytime as long as it’s before noon. You’ve sometimes taken advantage of that but you much prefer it if they let you out early.

Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go back to bed.

What are the odds Loki would make an appearance?

You’ll lose momentum, the rational part of you counters. There’s a manuscript that’s sitting on your desk, desperate to be chucked into the “Done” pile. You just have two more chapters to go.

It’s just two chapters, the more physical part of you rebuts in turn. You can finish it in the afternoon, no sweat. Today, this morning, right now, the more important thing is Loki.

The smarter part of you flares up again, with a very good question armed and ready: but what if he doesn’t come?

You remember the time you slept like a baby through the night, wearing fucking lingerie for Loki, only for him to revisit you a week later. You’ve gotten stood up before, but even in your dreams? It’s embarrassing if it happens to you a second time.

You’re on autopilot, however, when you clamber back into bed and pull the duvet up to your chin. Thoughts of Loki and all his wicked words and ways fill every crevice of your mind. Emotions coupled with arousal crash over you, and with a shaky exhale your hand travels down between your legs.

The steady rhythm of your fingers, however, do not send you into orgasm—you drift back into sleep.

-- 

“Kitten?”

Your eyes snap open. In the hazy morning light that peeks through your curtains, you find Loki sitting cross-legged on the ottoman by the door.

Loki… here? Are you dreaming, or—wait, that wouldn’t—

Your brain hurts.

It’s so strange, seeing him here like this. Not cloaked in darkness, not illuminated by the moonlight—he’s an unfamiliar presence, almost otherworldly. A jarring image that sticks out from the normalcy and utter mundaneness of your room.

He cocks his head, lip curling in amusement as he regards you with wandering eyes. Uncrossing his long legs and leaving them spread open, he leans against the wall lazily.

“My, my, sweet. This is a pleasant surprise. A summons, at this hour.”

With a wave of his hand, the duvet falls away from you. Your heart leaps into your throat when you realize your hand is still buried between your legs. Loki’s eyebrows raise, the shock on his face equally as clear as his delight.

“A very pleasant surprise indeed.”

You’ve already pulled your hand away, but the mortification lingers in your system. Not for long though. The weight of the reality of Loki’s presence sinks in and your heart rate slows to normal.

“Summons?” You yawn, sitting upright to see him better. His pronounced features are more defined, crisper and clearer. He’s even more stunning like this. Breathtaking.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

The simplicity of his statement jolts you awake. Or at least, as fully awake as you can be in this state.

He is here. At a time that isn’t in the wee, ungodly hours of the night. There’s fucking light outside, and even though he never said there were rules as to when he’d appear, you half expect him to spontaneously combust.

“I’d ask if I’m dreaming, but I don’t think the answer would be very helpful,” you mumble.

Loki lets out an amused huff, his green eyes twinkling at you. There’s something that looks eerily close to fondness in those eyes. A quiet undercurrent that you’re in no mood to analyze right now.

Yeah, the more time that passes with him in the room—dominant, unimposing, sexy—just makes you horny.

You’re not sure what takes over you when you slide off the bed, placing one foot in front of the other until you’re standing in front of Loki in your rather sheer nighttime ensemble. If you have him here, now, in the light of day, you want to burn this image before you into your brain. Commit every slope of his face, every fleck in his eyes, each line in his lips to memory.

“You’re a smart woman,” Loki tells you, one hand extending out to stroke your forearm. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Hmm.” You plant your knees on either side of him and sink your ass onto his lap. “Maybe later.”

The hand that was around your forearm slithers to cup your ass, closing the distance between you. His cock strains against his black pants and impulsively your eyes flick downwards to where your crotches meet.

You realize you haven’t seen it. Not yet, at least. You’ve felt how big he is, how strong and unyielding of a force of its own it is. How must it look? Feel against your naked skin, in your hand that’s tiny in comparison? How must it taste?

Oh. Oh, shit, just the idea of it makes your mouth water. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, swirling and sucking and hollowing your cheeks until he cums.

Fuck, his fucking cum.

While your gaze has been lingering on his erection for definitely more than a few good seconds, Loki’s hands are rubbing the sides of your ass in hypnotic circles. “What’s going on in that dirty little mind of yours, sweet?”

Cock cock cock cock cock. That’s what’s going on in your mind.

“I want to see you,” you say instead, pressing your cunt against his erection. “Please, Loki, l—”

“Now where did this confidence come from?” Loki’s tone shifts, his expression hardening along with something else. As if it were even possible. “You are a cock slut. My little cock slut. Do you want me to take you right now? Right here?” His strong forearm hooks behind your waist, knocking the air out of you and sending a shudder down your spine. “I am a patient man, and I had hoped you would be patient as well.”

Arousal, thick and hot, simmers in your belly. There’s something about now that makes you think this is more a game than anything else. One that you’re definitely willing to play.

“Please, it’s been so long.” Your voice comes out like a plea. An impertinent whine. “Please—just fuck me already.”

Loki exhales hard, tightening his grip around you, his pants practically about to burst at the seams. He stares into your eyes, tongue tracing the tips of his teeth before he brings your face close to his and hisses one harsh yet titillating word: “No.”

He holds you. Just like that, your bodies meshed together, separated by clothes, your breaths mingling as you hover millimeters away from him. You could kiss him. Rake your hands in his hair. He could slide his hands over your ass over and over. But Loki doesn’t do anything, which somehow—some-fucking-how—makes you want to be petulant.

With your eyes locked in a challenging gaze, you begin to rotate your hips on his twitching cock.

You watch his eyes widen minutely, pupils dilating, and the muscle in his jaw jumps. A small sense of victory sparks in you at his reaction, but you can’t relish the satisfaction because Loki’s lifting you off his lap, turning you around lightning fast as if you weigh nothing, so you’re straddling him with your butt to his crotch.

Maybe, you think as your breathing hitches when you realize you’re fucking naked, maybe this is your victory. This is what you wanted all along.

Loki snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you to his strong chest with an audible thump. His breathing comes heavy and labored by your ear while his hand claws at your breast. “When I say no,” he growls, pinching and rolling your nipple over and over, your juices beginning to leak onto his pants, “it means no. You cannot out-seduce me. Not yet.”

His hand glides down your abdomen until one finger swipes against your slit. Fuck, it makes you dizzy. You spread your knees wider, your neck falling back against his shoulder, as you flatten yourself so his fingers can reach inside you.

“Look at you. At this. You’re so fucking wet.” He shoves the pad of his finger against your clit roughly, and you nearly arch away from him at the sudden stimulation. But Loki has you in a hold of steel, unable to move even an inch away from him.

It vaguely registers that this is the first time you’ve heard him curse. Fuck, you think with a fresh rush of arousal, you want him to curse again.

“To the floor,” Loki commands, emphasizing his words with a firm push forward.

“What?”

“I’m sure you heard me the first time, sweet. To the floor.”

Loki holds your thighs as you bend forward, until your arms are braced against the soft gray rug. The upper half of your body hangs off Loki’s legs and slopes towards the floor, where your spine curves gently as your face and chest press into the rug. The thread tickles your breasts and goosebumps prick up on the skin surrounding it, spidering out and making you shiver. This is so new, so erotic in its novelty, that you don’t think it can get better.

But it does. Loki shifts your bottom higher, and your clit pulses painfully against his hard length. He brings your knees further apart, spreading you, until there’s a whisper of cool air against your blistering heat.

“Do you think you can tell me what to do?” He roughly grabs the meat of your ass, molding it against his hand and letting it bounce when he takes his hand way. “Tell me when to fuck you?”

You know it’s coming before it even happens. It’s like you’re in sync, in a spontaneous dance you both know the next steps to.

A loud and sharp smack fills the room, the familiar vibrations in this new angle causing you to contort your face as you hold back your moan. Loki can see your ass and your sopping cunt from where he sits, all on perfect display for his enjoyment. He deals another blow to your other ass cheek and then rubs his hand over the mounds of flesh with barely restrained strength.

“I decide.” He traces the swollen lips of your cunt, and you begin to writhe and whimper as he teases you ever so agonizingly with the tip of his finger. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, only to sharply mewl when Loki punctuates your response with another slap.

“Good. So you can scream, whine, beg me all you want, but you will take what I give you, when I give it to you. Let me make that crystal clear, sweet.”

Oh, it is. You really want to grind down on him—up, whatever direction—the logistics don’t matter as long as your cunt connects to his cock. He spreads your cheeks away and then towards your back, digging his fingernails into your soft flesh before he releases and smacks your bottom again, your toes curling.

“You will follow my orders when I give them, and you will not disobey me.”

There’s a polarizing debate that’s happening between your mind and your cunt right now: you’ve been pretty submissive up to now, and an obedient one at that. Maybe it’s because Loki’s here at a time that isn’t usual that makes you think that the rules don’t apply—or at least, there’s some leeway—but you want to deviate. Just a little. Just to see how far he’ll go.

Fuck, how horny are you?

Your dilemma of whether to grind or not is taken away from you, which, in the foggy depths of your mind you’re not sure if that’s a relief or a disappointment.

But Loki plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you without warning, leaving you with no coherent thoughts and a simple, broken, “Fuck!”

He curls his fingers around your warmth, hooking around to hit your G-spot as he pumps in a sinful rhythm that’s got you moaning his name into the rug. The friction on your breasts makes you wetter and you present your ass to him like a humble offering.

“This glorious pussy,” Loki mutters, hips flexing to grind into your clit for a torturous split second. He pumps faster and deeper, the sounds of your sex obscenely filling the room. Your fingers claw at the rug as your hips stutter skyward, trying to meet the rhythm of his fingers thrust for thrust.

“And my little cock slut.”

“Fuck, Loki, please—”

He slaps your ass crudely, fingers still wrecking you from the inside out, and you cry out in a muffled whine. Sweet mercy, that felt fucking good.

“No.”

He somehow manages to go even deeper at this angle, hitting spots you didn’t even know were there let alone would make you cry and beg hoarsely, all the while brushing against your clit with the base of his fingers. It’s like pure magic and sex and lust and before you know it, you’re climbing into orgasm.

Loki pulls his fingers out of you with a growl, grabbing your hips and pulling your torso back up and against him. The abrupt shift has you stuttering forward, nearly losing balance, but Loki holds you securely.

With a searing kiss to the side of your neck, he spreads his knees so you spread even further, your ankles automatically anchoring around his hips. He pushes your pelvis out, shoves his hand back between your legs from behind you, and gives you a single order in your ear that melts you.

“Ride.”

Sinking onto his fingers, you do as you’re told, a sigh expelled from your lungs. You gyrate your hips, clenching your floor muscles, all the while trying not to moan and beg and curse all at the same time. Loki lets you do most, if not all of the work. A steady rhythm builds inside you, and then he takes you by surprise and brings a hand to the front of your mound, slipping inside the soft flesh and making contact with the nerves under the hood of your clit.

“Loki!” you rasp when his hands work in tandem. The hand in front of you works on your clit in steady, controlled circles and the one behind you strokes right into your G-spot. It’s a simmering pot of heat and pleasure, your body warming up as it prepares for orgasm.

“Faster,” he commands, curling both his fingers around your weeping cunt. Your eyes roll back and you reach behind to grip his hair.

Your mouth falls open as you increase your tempo, your legs beginning to falter and shake. Loki’s practically holding you up, the forearm behind you now slick with your juices from your rigorous riding. He plants an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your shoulder, a sharp little nip to the skin, and he’s upping his pace while you bounce on top of him.

“L—Loki,” you pant, eyes lidded and vision hazy while the sensations burn white hot and seem to expand inside you, “Loki, I—”

“Cum,” he coaxes, sucking on your skin. “Do it for me.”

Your thighs shake with the tide of orgasm, and soon you’re quivering and babbling as your walls clench around Loki’s fingers, your cum seeping down and onto the crotch of his pants. Loki pulls you through your pleasure with dirty nothings and a slowed pace. You ride out your high lazily, sated and sweaty and out of breath. Your knees hurt from being bent for so long; you’re so tired you don’t think you can move. He places your feet flat on the ground and you remove your vicelike grip from his hair, limbs shaking like a leaf.

You didn’t expect a quickie like this, if you could even call it that. You fall limp on his lap, shifting so you’re more comfortable, and Loki tips your chin towards him and kisses you hungrily while your walls flutter post-release. His tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, his hands skimming over the sides of your hips.

You can feel your cum still on his fingers, which he paints your skin with, and arousal surges through like a bullet.

“You are amazing.”

The compliment catches you entirely off-guard. It’s as if he wasn’t just playing your body like an instrument in a filthy concert hall. Still, warmth floods your chest and you sleepily look up at him.

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I’m sure you know you’re fucking phenomenal.”

Loki’s chest shakes with laughter, and then without another word he’s hooking an arm under your knee, the other around your back, and he carries you back to bed.

“Glorious woman.” He pauses when he pulls the duvet over your still naked body. “Might have to do something about that, however.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, kitten. Just go to sleep.”

You notice the succinct kiss he presses to your hairline before your consciousness slips completely from you.

 --

You’re an idiot.

It’s not that you mind that you were late for work. Other than a clipped, “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” from your boss, work was fine. You finished everything you were supposed to, which was a feat considering you came and left for work horny and thinking of Loki.

But still, you’re an idiot.

Not because your mind was elsewhere than at the office. Having Loki in your room during the day was an opportunity to really look at him. Memorize him. Something tells you that you’re not going to have an opportunity like that again, and you wasted it.

Well, not really. But this morning went in a completely different direction than what you initially planned.

You should have just sat in bed staring at him. Admired his beauty from afar. But somehow, you just gravitated towards him like it was instinct pulling you to.

Damn it, you just wanted to see him up close.

Still, this morning was incredibly hot—so you’re not beating yourself up over it too much.

You’ll see him again tonight. And if you don’t, well, he did say you summoned him. Even without you knowing. Maybe you could do it again.

Your mind churns with questions and thoughts as your hands fiddle with the silk ties he left. When you agreed to this, you didn’t think you would be obsessing over it the way you are now. You thought it’d be mindless sex, not something you’d be thinking about every waking moment now. How does it work? Summons? Who is he? Will you ever see him in the light of day?

You don’t mean to fall asleep on the couch with the TV in the background, but you do.

 --

Something tickles your ankles.

You jerk your foot in an attempt to swat it away. Maybe it’s a fly.

Or not. The sensation returns, and while you try to ignore it your mind is already beginning to wake up.

You don’t expect to see Loki on the far side of your couch, your legs sprawled over his lap, his hands tracing delicate, arbitrary patterns over the bone of your ankle and eyes glued to the TV that’s still on.

“Late night television is awful. I pity the humans who are awake at this hour and have no good viewing selections.” He swivels his head to face you, an amused expression donning his features. “Why are you sleeping here, pet?”

You sit up and attempt to pull your legs closer to you, only Loki’s grip tells you that you shouldn’t. His lips curve in a gentle smile and you recall why you fell asleep here in the first place. Even illuminated by the unflattering light of your TV, Loki is beautiful. Without a doubt, he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

“Just fell asleep without meaning to.” You stretch your arms above your head, top riding up and exposing your skin. You note the way Loki’s eyes travel from yours down to your navel, and heat bubbles in your core.

“It’s not very comfortable here,” he murmurs, setting your feet on the floor so he can climb on top of you with ease. “Or are you developing a taste for uncomfortable positions?”

His lips latch onto your neck while the memory of you this morning, ass up and face down, flashes behind your eyelids. The heat that started in your core rockets down into your cunt.

Loki sucks a bruising kiss into your skin, and he pulls away to admire the way your skin flushes red. “Come, sweet. Your bed is far more comfortable than this lumpy thing.”

You follow him into the bedroom, him strutting in front of you as if it’s just as much his place as it is yours. He stops in the middle, whirling round to face you with an expectant eyebrow quirked.

“I took the liberty,” he says, a note of pride in his tone.

Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Of?”

“Replacing that terrible excuse for a bouquet with something more tasteful.”

Your eyes dart to the corner where you had put the flowers Jacob gave you and sure enough, the vase and its contents are gone. Granted, they were singed and charred and really mostly dying, but part of you feels bad and maybe even a little guilty. It ebbs away somewhat, however, when you can see that Loki’s put something so downright beautiful in its place.

There’s a single flower in a glass that looks like it came straight out of Beauty and the Beast. It glimmers in the pale moonlight, and maybe you’re tired, but you swear it looks like it’s pulsing.

You’ve never seen a flower with so many hues and shades, or one that looks like it’s glittering, like this one.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, bending forward to marvel over it up close. Your hand makes to lift the cover, but Loki stops you.

“I’m glad you like it, sweet, but I don’t think you should open that. Not yet, at least.”

“Why?” you immediately ask, head snapping up to meet his eyes.

He gives you a secretive, sly smirk. “I don’t think you’re ready for it yet. Now. Get on the bed, sweet.”

Shooting one last lingering look to the flower, you do as you’re told. Once you lie down, legs splayed open wide, Loki’s gaze settles thoughtfully on your nightstand. “I’m quite sure I left something right here, pet.”

“I think it’s on the couch,” you recall. “Can’t you—”

“No magic tonight, I’m afraid I drained my energy procuring my gift for you, which is why I need you to cum tonight so I can replenish myself.”

Well. If you weren’t wet before, you sure are now.

Loki leaves the room to fetch the silk ties, presumably to restrain you once again, and your blood pumps in excitement. He’s left you alone.

And you know you should listen to Loki, but after today’s events, there’s a huge part of you that just wants to be rebellious.

What did he mean, you’re not ready? It can’t possibly be anything you can’t handle. Your eyes flit back to the glass on the corner table.

It’s just a flower.

As quickly and quietly as you can, you slink off the bed and towards it, eyes trained on your bedroom door just in case he comes back and you get caught.

Do you want to get caught?

Gingerly, you lift the glass, peeking under it just to see what the glittering particles are. A strong, sweet smell instantly invades your nostrils, and you set the glass back down soundlessly.

His footsteps draw closer and you fling yourself onto the bed, spreading your legs like you were earlier and raising your hands above your head like an obedient child.

“Very good,” Loki purrs, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he ties one wrist to the headboard. “Such a good kitten.” His mouth closes over yours, tongues mingling, and you feel the air shift and your head throbs twice.

Wow, what a kiss it must be for it to extract such a reaction from your body.

With your eyes still closed, he wraps the ever-so-familiar silk around your eyes. It’s… did he put some kind of perfume on it?

“Did you put something on the blindfold?” you ask as he double checks the tightness around your other wrist.

“Yes, sweet. What does it smell like?”

You lick your lips, mouth going dry. It’s getting hotter, and your heartbeat’s speeding up. “Something sweet,” you answer. “Like vanilla. And a little bit of cinnamon?”

“Very good,” Loki praises, his hand traveling down your naked body. Your clit throbs and your walls clench. And you… you just want to be filled to the brim with his cum.

“How do I reward you for every correct answer, sweet?”

“Your cock.”

Okay, that—that was not what you were intending to say. Sure, you’re thinking it, but you weren’t planning to blurt it out loud so shamelessly. It’s like your mind and body are out of sync, your urges taking precedence and leading your mind that follows a beat too late.

Loki lets out an entertained, short laugh. “Eager little one today. You will get it. In time.”

He spreads your legs further apart and settles between them. You can feel your slick seeping out of your slit and onto the bed, wetter than ever. Fuck, what’s happening? It’s like you weren’t horny before, but you were—but it pales in comparison to the state you’re in now.

His nose bumps against your soft flesh, and you lift your hips off the bed and promptly rub against his snout.

It’s like you can’t help yourself. Loki has to fight a little to push your hips back onto the mattress, and your lower half falls with a soft thump. You’re breathing heavily and your body—fuck, it feels like it’s on fire. Wherever Loki touches, he leaves fire in its wake. And there’s something in the air—something musky, masculine, smelling like pure sex—

You just know it’s Loki’s arousal.

And hell, does it turn you on. Breaks the scale, if there ever was one. It’s a thick, potent smell that fills your lungs and makes you lightheaded.

He’s tired. Drained of his magic, and he needs you to fill him back up again. And you… you have all this sudden, pent up energy you didn’t know you had…

“Untie me,” you demand. Your voice is husky and your throat is dry, but it doesn’t sink in because you feel like your entire being is just Loki’s arousal and nothing else.

His hand stiffens over your thigh. “Sweet, didn’t we agree—”

“Untie me,” you repeat. You leave no room for discussion. “Even just one hand. You don’t have to do anything.”

There’s a pause where you spread your legs even wider. You lick your lips, heat flooding your cheeks and your cunt.

“Y-you can just watch me.”

You can feel Loki’s exhale fan your wetness, and it makes you shudder in anticipation.

Before he can protest, you continue, “I know you need me to cum so you get your energy. You—you can just take over when I’m about to…”

You don’t finish your sentence. Loki’s untying you with one hand, and then with the gentlest hold around your wrist he guides it downwards. “It appears you’ve disobeyed me. Well, consider it your lucky day that I am in no mood to scold you.” He rests it against your stomach, stroking a finger over the center of it.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs after a while. “While I have the perfect view.”

At his words, you clench. Slowly you bring your fingers to your cunt and trace over your swollen flesh. An echo of Loki’s own ministrations this morning. Only you don’t have as much patience as he does, and so you plunge your finger inside your warmth without any resistance.

Masturbation is not something foreign to you. But the knowledge that Loki’s head is still between your legs, with an unfiltered and clear view to your movements, has your body swimming to orgasm faster than ever. Your fingers fall into a familiar rhythm, dipping into the dependable spots and nerves that have consistently gotten you to orgasm before. Perhaps the eroticism of this exhibition—in front of Loki, no less—ignites an intensity within you that makes it seem like these spots aren’t familiar at all.

His fingers. His lips. His cock. You imagine them all inside you, on your clit, everywhere—it spurs you on, your fingers flying faster, your walls tightening as you race towards orgasm—

Loki gently pulls your hand away, and while you expect to be filled by his instead… there’s nothing. A frustrated huff is expelled from your lungs and Loki only brushes his fingertips against your sides.

“Release? So quickly?” He tuts playfully. “The gift I brought must be more potent than I’d imagined.”

“Please.” It’s a word you’ve been repeating so many times today. At this point, it feels natural spilling from your lips. “Please, I need to cum—you need me to—”

“You will cum when I say so,” he cuts in with a dominant finality that sends tiny sparks along the insides of your legs. “And I say… not yet.”

You let out a quiet whimper. You’ve never wanted to cum and hold it off at the same time as much as you do right now. And fuck—Loki’s tying the silk around your ankle and an urgency surges through you. You know what he’s doing. The smell gets even stronger now too, that musky, addictive aroma—you want to bask in it from the source—

You’re vaguely aware of the silk tie slipping away from your wrist and making its way to your other ankle. Loki’s strong hands run a delicate trail along your body and all you want is his cock ramming into you with his hand wrapped around your neck.

“Touch yourself,” he commands as soon as your ankles are tied to each corner of the bedframe. Your hole is gaping wide—it feels that way, since you’re aware of every breath Loki takes and exhales because of his proximity to you. “And do not cum unless I say so.”

Fuck—that’s what scares you. You’re so fucking turned on that you fear even just one stroke, you’d be a goner. But would punishment from Loki because you came really be all that bad? You’re not sure if you want to test him just yet.

And there’s a new smell in the air, mingling with the heady masculinity of Loki’s arousal. It’s a bit fruity, perhaps even reminiscent of the tanginess of an orange.

It’s yours.

“Touch yourself, sweet, or I’m going to have to leave you like this all night.”

Without further encouragement, your fingers dive back into your folds and your body relaxes with a sigh. Your hips gyrate over your hands as you root yourself in the fact that Loki’s watching you. He needs to see just how turned on you are, how he’s the one who does this to you.

“Use both your hands,” he instructs. “Go deeper. And massage your clit slower. Slower.”

You do as he tells you, alternating your long strokes with circular motions, and fuck, is it agony. It takes a whole lot of self-control not to buck your hips like a madwoman, so you bite down on your bottom lip. Heat prickles over your entire body and briefly you wonder how long you’re going to go like this and if you’re going to cum from this at all.

“Now focus on your clit,” he says after a while. “Shorter. Faster. Harder. How you want it, kitten, as fast as you can go…”

Finally, you think, fingers speeding up and your orgasm gaining momentum. It doesn’t take long for it to build, begin to crest—

“Hands off.”

No—not the words you wanted to hear. Begrudgingly you force away your hands from your swollen sex, slick with your own juice, and wait. You wait for his next instruction, as patient as you can be as a woman chasing orgasm, and then Loki finally says the magic words.

“Go on.”

It continues like this for a while. For how long exactly, you don’t know. Time has blurred and it’s only differentiated by moments of languid strokes and furious pumping, moments of pause that feel like forever, and then back again. He draws you close to orgasm, then away like it’s forbidden fruit, until you’re certain the minute Loki puts even just one finger on you, you’ll come undone.

Your fingers work hard at your cunt, coated in your warm slick, until Loki finally, finally lets you grow taut with the tension of building release. It’s strong, you can feel it. You’re already so sensitive and even if your muscles are growing strained, your need for release is overpowering enough that you don’t mind it in the least.

Loki rips your hand away, shoves his fingers inside you in perfect sync, and you cry out in ecstasy. Your fingers can only do so much, but Loki—he’s pure magic, pure sex that nothing could ever compare or replace him.

His thumb flicks over your clit harshly and your walls clench against his fingers. And the air—oh fuck, it’s the intoxicating smell of his arousal—you just want to rip off his clothes, suck him dry—

In some inexplicable way, Loki manages to leave you teetering on the edge of orgasm. Just between that space of cumming and winding down. So close, yet so far. Your breath comes in shallow pants while your hips rotate to meet him. He has to let you cum, you remind yourself. He has to.

Before you can gasp it out, Loki says, “No.”

Fuck, how many times are you going to hear that today? Your clit is pulsing, your walls fluttering in a sporadic rhythm as you hang in the ripping limbo of trying to hold in your release and let it go at the same time. It drives you mad, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes from the guttural need that needs satiating.

A wave of Loki’s arousal wafts fresh and heated towards you. Your mouth hangs open while his thick arousal hangs in the atmosphere, dizzying and fueling your need to have your fill from the source.

And then without warning, Loki plunges his fingers into you knuckle-deep, moving fast against your clit at the same time while knocking your G-spot over and over until your mouth hangs open, no sound coming out—your back arches off the bed with the overpowering, all-consuming need for release—

“Cum.”

The single syllable he utters has you unwound, undone—little white dots explode before your eyelids while your body convulses with the soul-stealing release he’s bestowed upon you. Toes curling, body tense, you’ve never experienced anything as blissfully shattering as this. Every nerve ending in your system has sizzled out, sensitive to the lightest gust of air.

Loki lets you ride out your orgasm on his fingers that continue to coax out your release. With the blood pumping in your ears, you can vaguely register the sounds Loki’s making. He’s muttering to himself, whispering—and once the pounding recedes from your ears you can make out a few lines.

“Yes, sweet, cum… cum all over my fingers, that’s it, you sweet girl… this perfect cunt, so warm—the way my cock—inside, yes, more…”

You clench tightly, and make a risky decision. One you clearly have no foresight to.

You sit up, and while the quick change in position has your cunt convulsing in stimulation, you ignore it. You’re still horny, yes. It’s as if that buildup to your seismic orgasm wasn’t enough, and while you would love another (or three more), there’s something else you want.

His cock.

Sitting up like this, you can smell his arousal coming from somewhere near the floor. Which, your lustful brain calculates, makes sense because his lower half should be sprawled across the floor.

Some kind of strangled noise comes from the back of your throat, and your hands reach out to fist, well—whatever you can reach. You can’t exactly see.

Your hands actually land in his hair, and your nails dig into his scalp. Loki makes a deep, throaty noise, satisfying you.

“Kiss me.”

Loki doesn’t chastise you or tell you no—instead the mattress creaks with his weight. He pins you down, his tongue delving into your mouth which you welcome instantly. The aroma of his arousal fires you up into a frenzy, especially when you feel his hard length pushes against your swollen clit.

Your hand boldly moves to squeeze his ass, bring him closer to you. Yes, having your arms in a full range of motion is better. Sure, you can’t see or close your legs, but you can touch him. Smell him. Loki bites down on your lip, groaning softly when you tug on his hair and pull him against you by the ass again.

Touch him.

Your brain is on autopilot. Like it’s got a mission it needs to see through to the end, regardless of whatever obstacles are to come its way. While Loki’s taking this opportunity to moan against your neck, telling you how he would just love to fuck you right here, right now, your hand moves from his ass, down the side of his hip, and to the front of his pants.

Loki freezes.

Whether it’s good or bad, you don’t care. You take this opportunity to palm the bulge you’ve felt, a soundless sigh escaping your lips. Your fingers grip around the outline, from what you think is base to tip, and a trickle of your juices flows out of you when you feel him shudder.

It’s all the encouragement you need. You slide your hand over the hard bulge once before your fingers dip underneath the waistband of his pants. Your breathing shallows when the tip of your finger comes in contact with a bead of wetness.

The strong, potent smell of Loki envelops you, and while it feels like you’re already bathing in him and his essence it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You want more.

Loki hovers above you while you slip his pants down, his breath warming your neck. Licking your lips in anticipation, you finally lay your hands on the prize you’ve been dreaming and drooling about.

Your fingers wrap around his shaft, and as crazy as you sound, you might actually cum from just holding it.

Blood beats searing hot in your veins, your arousals mingling and fueling the other’s. You pump his shaft, once, twice—and you’re distantly aware that you’re speaking now.

“Need to,” you breathe, “t-to smell it. Up close, just—oh Loki, please, I need your cock on my face, just let me—”

Somehow this state you’re in has Loki speechless. You’re begging, though assertive at the same time. Loki lets you lead him until you’re lying down on your back, and he straddles your face, his thick cock hovering just inches from you.

Oh, fucking hell.

Your fingers skim the column of his shaft, savoring the feel of his hard length. You can’t see it yet, but you’d like to imagine how it looks before you do. Your fingers bump against the ridge around the head; veins that traverse his cock bounce against your touch; you trace a finger down the slit of him, collecting precum and trailing it over his frenulum.

Loki bucks his hips against your hands, hissing.

“What are you doing, pet?”

Tentatively, you bring your nose to the base of him and inhale deeply. Your cunt flutters in response and your mind deigns to feed you an image of his cock inside you, stretching you—maybe even wrecking your throat.

A wanton thrill shoots through you, and you drag your closed lips along his cock and then part your lips, salivating as you draw closer to him—

“No.” Loki pulls your hair gently, stopping you. Only it’s almost… reluctant. Like it’s more for himself than for you. Breathing hard, he continues, “Not tonight. Touching, just touching is… is enough.”

You settle for dragging your nose along the underside of his cock, inhaling the sweet, sweet scent of victory. “Alright.”

And then somehow you’re talking again. “I just love your cock,” you whisper mindlessly. “So thick… hard… I just want you, Loki. You can put your cock in my mouth… my pussy needs you a little more though…”

His cock twitches at your statement, and you hum against his groin, smile blooming on your lips. You pull your head away and your hand closes around him. You begin stroking, fisting his cock and twisting your wrist as you get closer to the head and loosening your grip when you get to the base. Soon he’s rutting his hips into your hand, and you relish the way you can feel him tense. All because of your touch. There’s a surge of pride at this new dynamic unlocked.

And his cock—it’s even better than you imagined. You tell him how you love his cock, you’d have it anywhere, anytime, whenever he wants—and Loki’s hips grow more frantic in his movements. You cup his balls, fondling him, and Loki fists your hair roughly, rasping out, “Hold still. But keep going on my cock. Faster. Harder.”

You and Loki work together to reach his orgasm, and soon you can feel his balls slapping against your hands and his movements go stunted, his cock tightening—the incoming smell makes you even dizzier, and you angle your head upward—

White hot ropes of cum splatter onto your face. Your forehead, your cheeks, your chin. Some of it dribbles down onto your chest and you have to fight yourself not to scoop some up and shove it into your cunt.

Loki groans all while he cums, until he’s running his fingers through your hair and tells you absently, “Sweet, glorious woman. An absolute sex kitten.”

His fingers swipe at his cum on your face, and then you realize it isn’t arbitrary—he’s pooling it together for you to eat it. Eagerly you open your mouth, sucking on his finger coated with his cum. Once your face is mostly clean, your tongue darts out the corner of your mouth to collect a drop you missed. No cum should go to waste.

Your heart practically leaps into your throat when you feel his tongue flatten against your sternum, collecting cum that’s dripped down your chest in a straight line going up to your face, and then he kisses you

His taste mingles with his seed, and you relish how delicious he is. You sigh into his mouth and are about to wrap your legs around his waist, only you’re brutally reminded that your legs are tied up.

You hope you wake up like this.

Your hands go to his still-hard cock, and Loki’s surprised, “Already?” has you giggling as you start pumping him again.

When is the next time you’re going to have all this energy after all?

[xxlovendreamsxx]

halfway across the world. rated k.

A/N: I was going through my WIPs and this was one I had been doing for a zine that I dropped out of. It was almost finished so I thought why not finish it. It fits the prompt for day 1 of our beloved otp month. Also there was supposed to be more but this is just wholesome in its mood and idk what followed would have been way too dramatic so I just put that plot bunny in the garbage. Who knows, I may revisit in another prompt. But for now, here, have this soldier!au drabble. It’s kinda meh but w/e. I just wanted to get the WIP out lol. 

.

It had been five hours since a messenger soldier had arrived at their location to report the sight of Akatsuki heading towards the village they were stationed at, and Sakura was beginning to doubt the validity of the information. She and Sasuke had been immediately sent on lookout duty at the borders of the town, the latter carrying a sniper in case of trouble, while she settled for bringing two handguns and a radio.

To Shikamaru’s calculations, the Akatsuki troop should have been there three hours ago. Sakura wished she had thought of bringing provisions; her mouth had long grown dry by now, and her stomach had hollowed out as well, gurgling with painful growls and beseeching for any type of sustenance.

Running the back over her hand over her sweat-slicked forehead, Sakura exhaled a heavy sigh and tipped her head back against the much cooler wall, tired gaze set on the build of her dark haired teammate. Occupied with the meticulous cleaning of his gun, Sasuke took a few moments to notice her staring, black eyes sliding to her in question. A lopsided smile tugged at her mouth just for that.

“I’m hungry, Sasuke-kun,” she said simply, the slightest hint of complaint in her tone. “Do you have anything edible by any chance? Like an apple? Some salted peanuts? I’d take anything at this point, seriously. My stomach feels like it’s eating itself.”

Sasuke cocked his head a little, eyes full of mirth as he watched her for a moment. But then he nodded, reaching for a pouch inside his military vest. Sakura practically jumped forward in excitement.

“It’s probably not in good shape,” he said, as he pulled out a protein bar and bent towards her to hand her the snack. Too eager, Sakura snatched it out of his grasp, eyes so wild with hunger that she just barely missed the way his lips twitched in return. “…But then again, it looks like you don’t care about that.”

Fiddling with the wrapping with so-hungry-she-was-clumsy fingers, Sakura giggled and stuck her tongue out at him, giddy from his light teasing.

“Honestly, it could be ten years old right now and I still wouldn’t care,” she said, taking a ravenous bite from the nut-filled bar and finding herself utterly unable to hold back her satisfied moan.

Quickly, she devoured the rest, paying no mind to how Sasuke cleared his throat, focused solely instead on relishing every little bite she could get. She turned to look at him with the most brilliant smile when she was done, eyes gleaming even brighter when she found him there, still cleaning his gun with one hand while the other was outstretched towards her with a half-filled bottle of water.

“You’re my absolute favorite person in the world, did you know that?” Sakura said, grinning as she took the offered drink, taking a few deep swigs. She wasn’t sated in the least, but at least both her hunger and thirst had been quenched a bit now, and that was all she could ask for.

Sasuke’s lips twitched again. He merely nodded in return. “Don’t mention it.”

Letting her head fall back against the wall once more, Sakura let out a long, deep sigh, content. She closed her eyes.

“…I can’t wait to go back home,” she murmured after a moment, grin fading into a small, pleased smile. From the way she was sitting, she could feel some of the sun’s almost-too-hot beams blaring on her skin from one of the two windows in the room. For a moment, she imagined she was back home, and not in a poor village of a mindlessly hot desert halfway across the world, hanging out on her parent’s back porch on a hot summer day. 

Mm, what she wouldn’t do to get a taste of her father’s divine watermelon lemonade right now.

Sasuke would probably like it too since it wasn’t too sweet, she mused, smiling wider as she cracked one eye open to glimpse at him. She sighed contently again and slipped it back shut.

“I haven’t seen mom and dad in so long,” she went on. “It’s been two years—can you believe that? Mom even says she’s got all my presents stacked in the closet so that I can open them when I get home.”

“You still get presents?” Sasuke asked, sounding completely astonished. Or well, as much as Sasuke could sound astonished, anyway.

Blinking her eyes open once more, Sakura met his gaze, straightened up and grinned. “Yup. Probably always will for as long as I live,” she said, brushing away a sweaty lock of her unbelievably bright hair.

Sasuke’s eyes softened, so much it warmed her heart and left it feeling like goo. She felt her stomach flutter as the look he gave her, so full of awe and pride… and dare she say, even a little envy.

She understood exactly why that was when he murmured, “You have good parents.”

Her smile lessened, giving way to something sadder, more bittersweet. It always hurt to think about how Sasuke no longer had an immediate family; when he was only eight, both his parents died in a car crash, and just a few years ago, his brother had gone MIA in the war. The latter is what had made him decide to enlist, full of hopes that he might one day find his brother.

But every year, those hopes were steadily declining, from what Sakura could sadly discern.

Swallowing the tightness in her throat, she flashed him a sweet smile. “Yeah, they are, aren’t they?” she said. “I’m so glad they decided to support me in the end when I wanted to enlist with you and Naruto. I know it’s hard on them, especially in times like these—and dad wanted so much for me to get a medical degree and work in a hospital, so I know it was especially hard on him. It would have been nice, but I don’t know… my place is with you guys. And I’m glad they came to understand that.” She paused, for a beat. A grin split her lips. “But they are counting on you two to look out for me. Because if anything happens to me, mom says she’ll do you two twice as bad.”

A faint smile pulled at Sasuke’s lips, finally, and he shook his head, undeniably amused. Sakura giggled, heart flipping and pounding away, all too delighted with herself. Making Sasuke smile was always an achievement in her book, especially since his smiles were so far and few these days.

She tucked her hair back again, clasping her hands in her lap a little shyly as they stared at each other. Sakura cleared her throat subtly, but still kept smiling. “They asked about you, you know?” she said.

Brows rising slightly, Sasuke blinked once, twice. “…Really,” he replied, sounding a little dubious.

But that didn’t surprise her; in all these years they’d known each other, Sasuke’s interactions with her parents had always been quite limited—especially since none of their hangouts had ever taken place at Sakura’s home. The most her parents had seen of Sasuke had been when he would pick her up beforehand or drop her home afterwards. The last time they had seen each other was two years ago at the airport, right before they were going back to the military base to be deployed, and they had hardly exchanged words.

It was only natural that Sasuke would assume they simply didn’t know each other enough for them to genuinely care about him.

Her smile shifted to something gentler. Silly man.

“Yeah. They did,” she said. “They said they worry about you, sometimes. Said you looked… lonely.”

(“he’s got practically no meat on his bones since he left—honestly, sakura, are you sure he’s even eating? poor boy looks like a lost, famished puppy. do i need to send him one of my care packages?”)

Lip curling at the corner at the memory, she set her attention on Sasuke again, heart buzzing with warmth at the sight of him, jaw slackened and eyes just barely widened. He was clearly stunned.

Eyes crinkling too happily, Sakura grinned at him and shifted to firmly nudge his thigh with her boot. “I told them you’re not, obviously,” she declared, winking teasingly. “Not with us around.”

Sasuke’s lips quirked, gaze melting again; looking so fond, so tender—so impossibly at peace. Gods, how she loved him so.

“Hm. How could I be?” he replied, eyes gleaming, teasing. “Naruto’s a loud idiot, Kakashi won’t stop lecturing me about the road of life, and you never leave my side.”

Her green eyes widened. That little—

Bursting into laughter, Sakura shook her head, throwing the not quite finished water bottle at his head. Sasuke caught it, but she kept laughing, wrapping her arms around herself as she shook and grinned and giggled.

Sasuke was smiling again when she stopped a short minute later, and Sakura heart flopped for the umpteenth time that day. She smiled back, feeling so full. Complete.

She made a silly face. “Oh, you’d be dead without me and you know it, Sasuke-kun,” she teased. And that was true.

Gaze flashing with some playfulness, Sasuke huffed, “So would you.” That was true, too.

Maybe when they would both go back home, she could finally tell him how she felt.

.

.

.

“Hey, Sasuke-kun?”

“What would you do if we were back home right now?”

“….Tomatoes.”

Laugh. “What, really? You’re so weird!”

“Tch. Yeah, whatever.”

[timeagainreviews]

Vengence on Gallifrey

Welcome back, friends. We’re meeting up sooner than we usually do! I could get used to the idea of a new episode every Wednesday and Sunday. Wouldn’t that be swanky? In the time since part one of "Spyfall," there has been a lot of speculation and theories about what would be in store for part two. How many of your fan predictions came true? I know a couple of mine did. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Before part two aired, I revisited part one. I was curious to review O’s storyline in light of the big reveal. Would I notice any nods or giveaways to his being the Master a second time around? The answer is basically, no. Other than the Master’s reaction of "ridiculous," to the inside of the TARDIS, there’s not much telegraphing to be had. I did, however, notice some things that seem head-slappingly stupid upon a second viewing.

My pal Steve compared the episode to "Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker," in that it moves so fast that you don’t have enough time to realise how stupid it actually is. One of those things I noticed the second time around was the big glass box in the middle of O’s home. My mind had kind of glazed over by that point that I never questioned how stupid it was that he would have a spring-loaded glass box in his ceiling. Now, I’m only human, but the Doctor isn’t. Why didn’t that seem weird to her that he would have a trap hanging from the ceiling? It made me think of Troll 2 when the dad walks over and grabs a fire extinguisher conveniently propped against the house. Why was it there? Because the plot demanded it.

Despite this, there is one thing I feel deserves saying. As much as I liked "Kerblam!" "The Witchfinders," or "It Takes You Away," I haven’t watched any of them since they first aired. I haven’t watched any of season 11 since my initial viewing. Regardless of any plotholes I found, I wanted to rewatch Spyfall. And I think that goes to show that despite various failings on Chris Chibnall’s behalf, he’s got me watching the show again! What then is different?

My first response would be that the stakes are higher this time around. A lot of that has to do with the fact that the Master is back. Regardless of how overused he may or may not be in the new series, their relationship has gravity. As an agent of chaos, the Master ups the tension as we have a history with him. Like with the Dalek in "Resolution," he lends a familiar element that this new era deeply needed. In these past few days, I was truly worried about how our friends were going to get out of this mess. I haven’t felt that way about Doctor Who in a long time.

When we last saw our heroes, the Doctor had been transported to the brain realm and the companions were about to crash on a plane. Through a bit of time travel, the Doctor saves the day via phone app, thus continuing the trend of the Doctor messing with Ryan’s phone. At least the dude got to keep his data this time. I found the whole sequence with the Doctor making plaques and laminating belaboured the point a bit, but it was cute.

We learn that the Doctor is walking around in some sort of synaptic realm. She meets Ada Lovelace who seems to think it's her own mind, but that was her best guess. I would complain that it was a weird design if it was a mind, but then I remember "The Invisible Enemy," and realise how much worse it could have looked! According to Ada, she’s been visiting this place since she was a wee bairn. She seems rather cool about the whole thing but is perplexed to see the Doctor.

The two flash into Ada’s timeline of 1834, where the Doctor has found herself at a steampunk convention. I found some of the steam-powered devices like the grenade to be a bit moronic. It was so unbelievable that my initial reaction was that she was in some sort of alternate history. But no, it’s just goofy. The Master discovers the Doctor survived and goes to finish the job. Before the episode, I was thinking "I hope they show the inside of his TARDIS." Turns out they already had. I guess it’s the same size on the inside. I had kind of expected it to be like Clara and Me’s TARDIS in that the diner was just part of the facade with the real bit hidden away. But no, his console is right there in the main room. Weird. Also, remember when chameleon circuits used to make TARDISes look inconspicuous? The biggest thing we ever saw it do was when the Master’s TARDIS became a truck. The coolest camouflage still goes to my man Professor Chronotis’ TARDIS in Shada. It was just a door along a wall. How cool is that? Not complaining, merely lamenting the loss of simplicity.

From within the Master’s TARDIS we see Barton confront the Master. The conversation between these two really only serves to show Barton as alive, and establish the power structure which is that the Master is in charge, which we already knew. It also establishes the existence of a sculpture that looks like something a third-year art student might have half-assed while hungover. Barton goes to intercept the companions, while the Master takes care of the Doctor. He makes a grand entrance with his tissue compression device doling out murder without reason. Did anyone else wonder why the device seemed not only to shrink people but also to turn them stiff like plastic or wood? I suppose compacting material like that could increase rigidity, but it was an odd choice.

To get the Master to stop killing people, the Doctor placates his ego by getting on her knees and calling him Master. It was, for lack of a better word- hot. Ada shoots the Master with a steam-powered gun and they get away. This was more of Chibnall’s weird relationship with guns. The Doctor says to Ada that she doesn’t approve, but the second Ada uses a grenade the Doctor is like "Hell yeah, this is my bad bitch Ada! Represent!" It’s like in "The Ghost Monument," when she hated the use of guns against a group of emotionless robots and then used a bomb to take out the same group of emotionless robots. It’s almost as though it’s not the killing the Doctor hates, it’s the inefficiency of the whole thing. "Mate, use bombs, way more effective!" Okay, Chris.

In the last five minutes of part one, I wasn’t sure if Sacha Dhawan was going to be a good Master or not. I was worried he was going to be too flamboyant, but the second he hits the screen in part two, it’s as though he had always been in the role. I really love him and Jodie Whittaker’s chemistry. It’s great to see her Doctor faced with someone truly evil, and I feel as though it’s given her a lot to work with. Watching the two of them verbally spar is nothing short of delightful.

Barton comes up empty-handed in his search for the companions, which is no sweat off his back as he is Mr Tech Empire. After a little bit of finagling with the internet, their faces are soon posted everywhere as wanted criminals. Exactly like in "The Sound of Drums," they’re going to have to go off the grid. They even take refuge in a construction site! Doing so gives them a bit of downtime to talk and regroup. In a moment of clarity, it dons on them that they don’t really know the Doctor all that well. They decide that after all is said and done, they’re going to have a talk with the Doctor. Like many people, I was hoping that they would visit this concept, as series eleven made them seem a little too keen. It was a welcome bit of character development.

Another thing I love about this scene is that Graham isn’t annoying in it. "But Natalie," you say, "I thought you loved Graham!" And you would be right, I do love Graham. But I feel like it’s worth pointing out that they didn’t ruin him. Usually with a lot of shows and movies, if something is good or popular with fans, the tendency is to overdo it. This is the same lovable dude from the previous series and I feel that should be acknowledged. One of the things I really admire about Chris Chibnall is that he really seems to know his own character’s voices. One of my biggest issues with Clara Oswald is that her personality was all over the board. We don’t get that here.

Having travelled with the Doctor for a while now, the companions decide to carry on like she would have them do. They still have their spy gear and like exploding cufflinks and Graham’s laser shoes, and their timing couldn’t have been more perfect as the baddies from part one show up. Sadly, they’re not the Voord as me and many others had hoped. They’re a species known as the Kasaavin. It’s a name that’s about as inspired as Ranskoor Av Kolos, and that is not a compliment. It’s simply a very forgettable name. I dunno what it is, but I really hate the way Chris Chibnall names stuff. He’s willing to do groan-inducing puns like "Arachnids in the UK," or "Dinosaurs on a Spaceship," but then decides to reign it in with "Resolution," despite the naming convention established in previous Dalek stories like "Revelation of the Daleks," or "Remembrance of the Daleks." Though I suppose in his defence, "Resolution," is about a singular Dalek. Either way, Graham’s laser shoes save the day. It’s ridiculous, but unlike the Master, it is a compliment when I say it.

The Doctor has now regrouped with Ada Lovelace and Charles Babbage. After a bit of fangirling on her part, she goes into Doctor brain mode. She pieces together that the multiple maps of the earth are, like I had guessed, different points in time. The aliens are spying on important people throughout time, for some reason that still makes zero sense to me. Why would they care about the Earth’s technology? Wouldn’t their computers completely best our technology? What threat could humans pose to them? I thought their sights were set on taking over the universe, but now it appears their sites are set on one planet’s technology. I guess you’ve got to start somewhere.

The Doctor surmises that the Kasaavin must have difficulty keeping their form in our universe, thus a need for a machine that keeps them stable. This, of course, is the bad art student sculpture we saw in the Master’s TARDIS which has now found its way into Charles Babbage’s study. This must have been too close to the truth as at this moment a Kasaavin shows up. The Doctor uses this as an opportunity to hitch a ride off of the Kasaavin’s energy surge in hopes to end up back in the present day. As she does, Ada grabs her hand and is transported as well. Instead of 2020, they end up in the year 1943 during a Nazi blitz on Paris. Literally, the first person they encounter is another historical figure- Noor Inayat Khan. That’s gotta be some kind of record for the show- three historical figures in one episode.

After establishing that they aren’t Nazis, the Doctor and Ada hide in the safety of Noor’s home. However, it is then that the Master shows up in full Nazi regalia and orders a team of Nazi soldiers to fire into the floor and leaves. I, like many of you, was immediately confused. The Nazis weren’t known to ally themselves with people of the Master’s current complexion. However, we learn that by using a series of perception filters, the Master has disguised himself as white, which makes sense in relation to the show. We discover the Doctor and Ada narrowly averted death as they were, in fact, hiding in the floor.

On the other end of things, Graham, Ryan, and Yaz use being under surveillance to draw Barton’s people into a trap. Using Graham’s laser shoes, they steal a vehicle and head to stop Barton. Speaking of Barton, we’re treated to a deliciously dark scene between him and his mother. It was pretty obvious that the woman strapped to a chair in his bad guy lair had to be his mother, but that didn’t make it any less funny.  This guy is such a piece of work that not even his mother likes him. He tells her that she is to be the first person to be subjected to his grand scheme. After being taken over by blue electricity, she appears to die. What a dick.

Back in Paris, the Doctor realises Noor is a British spy. Using her telegraph, the Doctor baits the Master by tapping out four beats- the heartbeat of a Time Lord. Unable to resist, the Master taps four beats in response to the Doctor. What happened next was one of the coolest things I’ve seen on Doctor Who in a while. The Doctor and the Master make contact telepathically, something of which hasn’t been seen in the show for years. I quite literally threw my hands up into the air with joy. Kudos to Chris Chibnall for giving me the nerd feels.

The Doctor and the Master meet up atop the Eifel Tower where they have a rather intimate conversation. We find out it was the Master who killed C in the previous episode. So yes, they did waste Stephen Fry, which officially makes me a disappoint. The Doctor deduces that the Master isn’t actually in control of the Kasaavin. Instead, the Master has merely allied himself with them, claiming to have given them a broader scope of vision. I’m not exactly sure how going from wanting to take over the universe to taking over a small planet is a broadening in scope, but stop asking questions and watch the show.

Now, remember how I just gave kudos to Chris Chibnall? Well, I am going to have to take those back. In an attempt to delay the Master, the Doctor gives him away to the Nazis. She makes them think he is a British spy and directs them to their location. However, not only does she do this, but she also disables his perception filters. So effectively, the Doctor, a white woman, gives up a brown man to the Nazis. It wasn’t enough to make them think he’s a spy, they had to also see that he had brown skin. I was honestly a bit disgusted by this. How would they even recognise him as the same guy they were told was a spy? They’re going to arrive and find a person of colour in a Nazi uniform and not know who he was. Jesus Christ, Chibnall.

The Doctor uses the Master’s TARDIS to get back to the present time, just in time to find Barton unrolling his big plan. He goes on a long speech about how we give all of our information to corporations and how we should watch who we allow to pry into our privacy. It’s the social media equivalent of "Don’t blink." It’s a very effective bit of writing on par with one of Steven Moffat’s better speeches. It’s a shame it was preceded by the Doctor selling the Master out to Nazis.

So what’s the big plan? Well, remember the spy woman in part one whose DNA had been rewritten? And remember how Barton was only 93% human? It turns out that the Kasaavin plan to rewrite the DNA of the human race and turn us into hard drives by storing information within our DNA. They do so by using our smartphones and tablets against us. In the same arc of blue electricity as Mother Barton, people all over the world begin to be assimilated. During this entire press conference scene, I’m not sure if any of the actors in the audience were given proper direction as they have the most benign faces throughout most of this. Barton, whose speech went from zero to megalomaniacal in the first few seconds, should have sent up red flags across the room, but instead, they were as serene as cows. It was bizarre.

That was it, that was the big plan. Turn people into hard drives. I think? I had to ask a few of my friends what they thought it was supposed to be because I was worried I had missed something. Were they trying to take over the bodies of humans so they could have corporeal form? If so, then why say they wanted to store data in our DNA? Why do they need so much data storage anyway? Have they got a huge stash of hentai in their universe? Were they torrenting all of Doctor Who? Seriously, I do not understand their motivation or their methods. But honestly, I hardly care, because the real star of the show is the Master.

Having waited 77 years, the Master shows up just in time to be kind of late to the show. Like, he didn’t even buy a gun in that time. I do however look forward to the Big Finish audios pertaining to that era of his life. However, in the meantime, the Doctor took it upon herself to put a bug in the Kasaavin’s system which negates their mission and reverses the conversion. She informs the Kasaavin that the Master had planned to double-cross them. As they depart from our universe, they take the Master with them, but not before he mentions to the Doctor that Gallifrey was destroyed.

After getting Ada and Noor to their respective timelines, the Doctor goes to see Gallifrey for herself. Sure enough, the once-great Time Lord society has been raised to the ground. It’s a powerful bit of acting on Jodie Whittaker’s behalf. Devastated, the Doctor returns to the TARDIS only to be greeted by a hologram of the Master telling her it was him that did it, as a sort of act of punishment or vengeance. This is a much needed source of motivation for the Master’s current rage, considering how much of a departure it is from Missy’s redemption arc. Remember the timeless child storyline I’ve been dreading? Well, I’m genuinely surprised to be sitting here today to tell you that it has piqued my interest. Having something to do with the founders of Time Lord society, Rassilon and Omega, the implication is that their legend is based upon a lie, thus the Master’s final warning to the Doctor at the end of part one. 

So who is the timeless child? Well, I am relieved to say I don’t think it’s the Doctor. My wildest guess is that she was some sort of person that didn’t experience time like the rest of us and was killed to harness that power. Think Rusty Venture powering his dream machine with the heart of an orphan. Like I said, my wildest guess. The biggest takeaway from all of this is that I’m sitting here speculating about Doctor Who. With Moffat’s plotlines oftentimes leading nowhere interesting, I had grown wary of speculation. Why wonder what was next when it was most likely something disappointing? It’s nice to feel intrigued by Doctor Who again.

Upon returning to her fam, the Doctor is distant and quiet. The companions can tell something is up, but as they decided earlier, they needed to have a talk with the Doctor. The Doctor concedes and tells them the basics- she’s a Time Lord, she’s from Gallifrey, she can regenerate her body, the Master was her friend. This bit of truth on her behalf seems to please the trio as they don’t press the issue further. The Doctor throws the TARDIS into gear and we’re left lingering on her face for a moment before the episode ends.

Afterwards, my wife and boyfriend and I sat in silence. As the biggest Whovian in the house, I think they were waiting for my reaction. And in some ways, I think I was too. I really enjoyed the episode, I did. But I had my issues, which I’ve listed extensively above. My main qualms at that time were of structure. Much like the first episode, this one was clunky. The pacing was definitely better than last time, but still had issues. But otherwise, I needed to think about what I had just seen. I liked the anti-fascism angle, save for the Doctor selling out the Master to the Nazis. And there were a lot of great callbacks to classic Who. My wife had checked out at the DNA storage bit because she’s a giant nerd and was feeling nitpicky about the science in a science fiction show. But it was Duncan whose comments I think were the most on point. He told me that he, as a casual viewer, was lost throughout much of the episode. For him, a little bit of explanation peppered throughout the episode would have gone a long way.

One of the most persistent flaws in classic Doctor Who is that oftentimes they would explain what was happening within the final episode of a story, leaving you in the dark for the first few episodes. In the same way, Spyfall had left him feeling lost. I even said it recently that I am not the kind of fan Doctor Who needs to please. I will watch the show regardless of its quality. If someone as fanatical as myself was feeling confused, imagine how my boyfriend felt. It is, as he said, why people start tuning out. The show is on course to what may possibly be one of it’s best seasons in years. I’m hoping that the next few episodes give us a bit of breathing room before throwing us back into the deep end.

[veridium]

dirty little secret

WOAH BOY. I did not expect such a quick turn around, but when you’re writing sweet, sweet friendship, shit happens. thanks to @bitchesofostwick and her fabulous writing that got my gears going.

I have been wanting to use an all-american-rejects ref as a title since we started and now, here I am!

on this episode...Olivia awakens to find Ellinor wearing a strange fleece (HM??). BUT, that is not the only incident that surprises her, as a message left on her door gives her cause for concern. 

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11 

--

Her cell phone alarm goes off as it always does on wednesday: 7:30, just enough time to get her shit together before her 10am lecture. However, as she revisits the text she got the night before from Ellinor, it also becomes a beautiful morning for hearing all about her “group project meeting.” Luckily she doesn’t have to travel far, or bother with pants. Wearing an over-sized, old All-American Rejects tour shirt she thrifted a year ago, she fits the bill when lastly she slips on her pink fuzzy slippers -- the only items of her wardrobe she would accept in such a color. She then wanders a few doors down to Ellinor’s and Sera’s room. Sera is gone for a few days on some road trip to one of her many hair-brained destinations, so Olivia has no minced feelings about knocking loudly.

Knock, knock, knock. Nothing.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. Nothing again.

“Knock, knock, bitch, get up! We need coffee!”

The door rips open, and a face with slight drool on the corner of her mouth and hair tousled over her eyes appears. But, it’s not her expression that Olivia’s eyes fixate on like a moth to a fleece flame.

A Knight athletic fleece, the expensive one.

“Good morning sunsh--shit, is that…”

Ellinor jerks her chin down, suddenly coherent. Her brow furrows and she whirls around to retreat back into her lair, mumbling things while she lazily swings the door shut. Olivia, of course, slaps her hand on it and waves it open with gusto.

“Ellinor Trev--”

“NO.”

“Is he in here?!” she skips in, looking around in all corners and nooks as if Cullen is compactible like a lawn chair or something. “Oh, God dammit, I never catch your lovers! No fair!”

Ellinor crawls back under her covers and pulls them up over her head. Interestingly, she does not forsake the fleece sweatshirt that has seemed to magically exist out of nowhere.

“Is that his…”

“Mmph.”

“So it IS. You’re a filthy liar! You said you didn’t do anything in your text, I got receipts!” Olivia promptly hops onto the lower side of the twin mattress, curling her legs up under her sideways.

“I didn’t do anything. I meant it. I just...this...it was cold, okay! Why does everyone think I am magically not cold susceptible? I have questionable circulation…” she half-whines the last part, before squirming into her pillow some more like a burrowing naked mole rat.

Olivia hums, not convinced. “You got some explaining to do, and this calls for extra strong coffee. And scones. I want every detail. I’m gonna throw on some sweats or something, I won’t be long.” The casual mood she has yesterday with Cassandra has carried over through a full night’s sleep, and Olivia feels all the pomp and makeup of her typical routine to be unnecessary for once. She swats on the bump in the comforter she suspects is Ellinor’s ass before hopping back onto her feet and out into the hallway. She’ll be back to wrangle her soon enough out of the depths of her ironic despair.

Scooting her poof-slippered feet out into the hall she spots her door half-shut. Only, it’s not her door -- not the way she remembers it, anyhow. There’s...papers? Taped on it just above the doorknob. Posted notes and event reminders aren’t exactly unheard of in dorm halls, but as she walks she scans the other shut and locked doors -- nothing. Just hers has stuff on it.

When she arrives she yanks off the posted paper and notices some hastily copy/pasted clipart of some crosses mounted on a hillside. Her stomach churns as she reads the message. It’s a pamphlet-esque flyer asking the reader if their soul has been saved, and if not, resources in order to accomplish that. On the back there’s a scripture excerpt as the header, and then a list of every Church in the city limits with their contact information and addresses. It has the design skills of a 4th grader who’s project is due the morning after and all they have to use is Microsoft Word 2003.

And on the very bottom, handwritten for that special touch: “For the Slut in 21C.”

She looks both ways down the end of the hall and sees no one lurking, though the hair on the back of her neck stands up. The faces of those Church preps that pouted at her when she was on Cassandra’s bike pop into her head. Oh, it would be an interesting coffee sesh indeed.

--

What had originally been intentions to come outside casual and no muss, no fuss, turned into a black knit oversized sweater dress, thigh-high black velvet boot stilettos, and loose curls with a full face of sharp makeup. She looks like an insta model out in the light of day instead of in her cardboard box, but it is better this way: people don’t fuck with her.

They get their coffee downtown and walk out onto the sidewalk. She has class in 30 minutes, anyway. Ellinor is holding the flyer in her hand, though it’s bent outta shape from Olivia’s wrath.

“I don’t know, Liv. It is kind of concerning that they know where your dorm is. Isn’t that a hate crime if it’s targeting a member of a targeted group?”

“Biphobia getting treated as biphobia instead of ‘free speech’ discussing sexual behavior that both straights and gays sneer at? In this economy?” Olivia slips her own shades on and shoves the forsaken paper into her bag. “And besides, my dorm is easy to find out. All they’d need is one person to see me walking in, or one person who lives in the same hall as me.”

Ellinor slurps her hot matcha latte and hands it over to her, before pulling her aviator shades down from atop her head of a loose braid crown. She slides her arm through the second shoulder strap of her backpack.

Olivia is steeping. On the surface she looks straight up pissed, which is intentional. But deep down she’s nervous. This was more than she signed up for.

“What are you going to do then? It’s obvious this has to do with you hanging out with her. This is bullshit. if I was there when those punks came into the dorm, I would have shoved my timbs so far up their pastey Jesus mayo asses that….that...gah! Just really far, okay?” Ellinor grumbles and sips as they near the corner. She hasn’t had enough caffeine yet. 

Olivia veers to the left and punches the crosswalk button. She reaches into her back searching for her keys as she spots her black mini cooper parked on the curb a block from them.

“I don’t know what the fuck to do! I feel like I’ve become this Scarlet Letter for something I haven’t even done. It’d be different if we had actually, like...did stuff. But she is so prim and…” the crosswalk signals walk, and they push onward. “She goes from this super interested and focused person to hands-off and out the door faster than I can get my eyeliner wings to match.”

Olivia walks faster as Ellinor hones in on the passenger door facing the curb. “Woah that’s...that’s pretty fast.”

“You think?” Olivia faces her over the car hood as she hits the car alarm button, making the headlights flash. She unlocks fast and eyes both ends of the street for surveilling gazes before sliding in.

“At least with Cullen...” Olivia tries to keep her conversation going while settling in, tossing her bag over her head. She slides her key into the ignition and checks her mirror. Ellinor slides her drink into the center console and pulls her seat belt. She’ll need it -- Olivia has a love of driving, and that love translates into speed and mastery of a stick shift.

“At least with Cullen, what?” Ellinor replies, dreading it already.

Olivia bites her lip and eyes her. “You know...at least…” she slumps forward against her steering wheel. “At least you know what his intentions are...I mean, were, for you. He was pursuing you. He wanted to do...to do things with you.” Her tone has gotten less spirited and more melancholy. Enough for Ellinor’s initial defensive pouty face to melt into sympathy. Though, Olivia worries if it’s less sympathy and more soreness at being reminded of what she tossed up.

Dammit, Liv, she thinks to herself. Ellinor isn’t as tough as she plays.

“Well...I think she really does like you,” Ellinor comforts after a pause, her gregarious personality trying its best to rally.

Olivia twists the key to start. The engine grinds and then starts with ease, and she clutches the stick shift with her manicured hand covered in black, dramatic rings on almost every finger.

“I know she likes me. What I meant was, like...you know.”

“You said she asked if she had another...didn’t she call it a ‘shot’ or something?”

“Yeah, but, I don’t--”

“Liv, I don’t know anyone who would ask if they could be friends with someone by asking if they had another shot. Remember how we met?”

Olivia looks at her windshield and snorts. “Yeah. You asked if I had time to talk about our Lord and Savior Gerard Way at a freshman ice cream social of all fucking places. Then I sat on my retainer.”

“Hah,” Ellinor sits back, elbow on the door. “Exactly. Not ‘Do I have a shot?’”

Ellinor, in her particular brand of eloquence, has a point. Cassandra is one of the most intentional people Olivia has ever met. She doesn’t even sneeze out of line. And she doesn’t strike Olivia as the kind of person to sit idle while the things and the people she wants float on by. But, there’s something still hanging her up on it all. An unspeakable hesitancy that comes from having one foot in and one foot out the door.

“I just wish she like...did the thing.”

“Thing? What thing?”

Olivia pulls the car into gear and puts her hands on the wheel, staring out her side mirror for oncoming traffic. “You know, like, there’s a thing queer people do when they want to drop their queerness on the radar. Say you loved the new Hayley Kiyoko single, or...shit, like, you went to Pride last summer and had a blast. Something.”

“Cassandra Pentaghast at Pride? Even if she’s 1/24th lady-lover, dude, I doubt she’d be down.”

“Yeah because that’s how it works, Ellinor,” Olivia chuckles and pulls into the lane, clutches and shifts into gear again as she accelerates. “It’s just like...okay, you know what I mean. Something. Just a little tidbit. Like...letting me go home with a fleece sweatshirt.”

She only has to side-eye her once to see Ellinor’s cheeks go deep with blush, her lips rolling shut.

Olivia raises a brow and adjusts her large, round black sunglasses. “Mhm.”

“Look, I said what I said. It was cold.”

“Fine, fine. I’m only holding off on hounding you ‘cause I know you have to see him again. I can almost see his face watching you leave with it. Ugh, good shit.”

Ellinor slaps her on the arm before grabbing her drink. “It wasn’t like that, dammit.”

“Not when you were looking it wasn’t,” Olivia continues to tease in that sultry tone. “But…’as she walked off, her figure becoming shapeless in the dark and only traceable by lamp light, I knew that she took a piece of my with her...a piece, of fleece…’”

“GOD you are HORRIBLE!” Ellinor’s laugh gets louder the longer Olivia does her act. The ‘poetry recitation’ voice Olivia does is too good, too pure even in its mortification. She laughs, too, as they turn onto the boulevard which will take them directly to campus.

“You talk a good story for a cynic,” Ellinor settles down, resting her knee against the door. The woman can’t sit right in any chair to save her life.

Olivia smirks as she turns her signal on, the car arriving at the light before the campus entrance. “My Mom had those movies on all day when I was a kid, okay. I internalized that trash in between Blue’s Clues episodes.”

“Ugh, I forgot, my bad.”

They pull in and drive past all the pretty red brick building tops, and people walking with backpacks on the sidewalks or running with shorts and tanks on. Olivia notices a jogger weaving through the pairings of people walking to class and she remembers the way Cassandra looked on the soccer fields, back when she was just a tall, dark, and beautiful stranger she could pretend was all these things. Never could she have foreseen this all unfolding, but a part of her misses when it was all a mystery. When it was a mystery, she could believe that Cassandra was for sure into girls. Now, she is attached to finding out the truth, and the truth might not be so kind.

They pull up into one of the Blue parking lots and by some miracle, someone is pulling out in time for her to snag the spot. She turns in and puts it into park.

“Tits up, girl,” Ellinor sighs, grabbing for her things as Olivia turns the key back, the engine going quiet. They both adjust their bras on cue at her word.

“You’re hiding that fleece in your backpack, aren’t you?” Olivia eyes the bag, a little swollen in shape.

Ellinor glares at her. “No.”

“Ellinor,” Olivia giggles, as she pulls her drink up out of the cupholder. “You don’t want to give it back. Admit it.”

“I admit…!” she looks away for a moment and composes herself. “I...am not the owner of this garment, and I will not be keeping it. It was borrowed. I said I would give it to him during class.”

“Mhmm,” Olivia hums again, reaching for the door. Before she does, though, Ellinor is not done with her side of questioning.

“You gonna tell her what happened?”

“Why should I? What is she gonna do, challenge all the preps to a duel on quad? It’s not gonna change anything. Don’t tell Cullen, either. I’m gonna...handle it. It’ll be fine.”

Ellinor rolls her eyes. “Look, I’m not any of your horoscope apps, but the Cassandra I saw last night staring down a guy stick up for someone she barely knows, seems like the kind of person who’d like to know if people are messing with her girl.”

The phrase ‘her girl’ makes Olivia’s stomach erupt into butterflies, and she blushes and looks away towards her window. Thank goodness for giant sunglasses.

“This isn’t High School. I’m not ‘her girl,’ I’m her friend. And a friend who could quickly turn out to be more work than she wanted to deal with when she realizes all her peers want to burn her at the stake.”

“Over my dead body,” Ellinor says, before grabbing Olivia on her forearm as she tries to get out for the car. “Hey, I mean it. If it’s not Cass, it’s me grabbing a crowbar, alright? Just say when and where to aim.”

Olivia looks back at her and her lower lip curdles. “Aw, Ellinor…” she tilts her head, “you do have affectionate emotions….?”

Ellinor quickly scoffs and pushes her. Back to normal in an instant. They get out, and Olivia locks the door. Slinging her bag on her shoulder she looks around again, slightly paranoid despite her cool exterior. No pastel polo shirts and no french braid pigtails. No woman in a black long-sleeve with pants and a pixie cut. For once, she’s relieved on both fronts, and walks with Ellinor down the way towards their respective lecture halls.

On the way, OIivia elbows her in the shoulder, a sly smile on her black lips. “Thanks, babe.”

--

Later that day --

-- Hey, you didn’t say whether you’d come with to the gala next weekend. I need confirmation!!

-- Ellinor: I can, but I’m not going to! You already have someone who can go!

-- That is the opposite of what I have! I’m not inviting her. Ughhh don’t do this to me I’ll cry.

-- Ellinor: [Kim Kardashian Tragic GIF]

-- You’re the worst. How did Cullen act when you gave back the sweater?

✓ READ AT 4:12PM

If she weren’t in the library, she would have screeched like a harpie. As it was, she was not in the place or the time to do so, so her catharsis would have to wait. She shoved her phone in her bra and goes back to collecting her arms worth of books. They aren’t for her this time -- a Professor she’s TA-ing for wanted to scan and make copies of chapters for students, and asked her to do it while they...well, do Professor things.

Such as TA’s did, and Liv being a TA as a third year undergrad was an esteemed vote of confidence she did not shirk.

She comes around the aisle she’s in and decides to cut through to the stairwell. She’s down two floors from the ground level where the checkout desk is, a level that separates the boys from the men in terms of archival dedication. She balances the six or so books of varying densities, wondering how close they are to weighing the same as her.

Around another corner and she comes upon a cluster of single-seat study desks -- you know, the kind that only libraries have, with soft wood and worn out, grey-blue upholstery. A couple heads bob up from their stationed spots at them and she pays them no mind. That is, until she sees a blonde head. Blonde, wavy head.

“C...Cullen?” she says, and is promptly shh’d by someone else. Cullen himself looks up from his desk and laptop, and grins.

“Oliv--” another shh, and he gives them a pointed stare of come on man, before pushing his chair back. “How you been?”

She bobs from foot to foot carrying the stack in both her hands. “Uh, good! Good, just, doing some TA work.”

“Oh, nice. Cassandra mentioned you TA for Professor...uh, their name esca--”

“Erickson. Professor Erickson,” she smiles. “Just for the intro to political and economic theory classes. It’s not a big thing.”  It was and is a big deal. The Political Science department has a huge group of grad students who could TA or assist courses, and they often do. Taking in an undergrad for a TA position meant that undergrad could do the work they did with Bachelor’s degrees, and sometimes even Master’s degrees, under their belt. Her parents didn’t stop talking about it like that for a month after she was invited by Erickson to fill the position. Though, they made it more pompous-sounding than she would have liked.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know. Cassandra is the only other undergrad I know who TA’s.”

“She...she TA’s?”

He looks at her and his brows go together. In a sort of, ‘yeah, of course’ kind of way. Like she was supposed to know that.

“Uh, yeah! In Philosophy, I think.” Figures. The woman breathes and spews philosophy and english lit fervor like Shakespeare has used her for a horcrux. It’s...annoying. And...wonderful.

“Ah, yeah, I think she mentioned that,” she lies, and tucks hair behind her ear while balancing the stack nervously in the other arm.

“You uh, you need help with that?” he gestures to get up, but she shakes her head vehemently.

“No, no,” she replies, smiling again. “It’s fine. I need the conditioning for dance, anyways. How is your group project going?”

He grins and looks back to his desk, blinking fast. He shouldn’t have to say, she already knows. But, it’s the kindness that counts. “Oh, yeah, it’s going good. Group projects, you know. They...they are what they are.”

“Yeah, but, at least it’s with Ellinor right? It’s always better with…” she catches herself, bits her smiling lip, and looks away too. Damn, didn’t think that one through.

“It’s better with people you know, right, I gotcha,” he finishes and puts her out of her misery. He’s a good guy -- he doesn’t let anyone hang out on a limb by themselves, even if he’s a bit awkward in his solidarity. It’s easy being in his presence despite the underlying melancholy.

“Yeah, right! Sorry, my head is fried from today. Look, don’t be a stranger. Come by anytime.” she sounds like she has a house with a picket fence and not a hole-in-the-wall dorm room. The olive branch didn’t fit the ecosystem.

He smiles crookedly and nods. “For sure. Yeah. You have a safe walk back with those books.”

“Oh you know, what’s a fall down some stairs?”

He chuckles and waves his hand casually. “Whatever you say.”

She waves back and sees herself off. A couple yards away from him and she spots the staircase, she reaches in her shoulder bag while keeping her eyes on the sign that says “TO LEVEL B,” feeling for her phone and attached headphones. The papers and pack of gum get shoved in and out, and the smooth plastic of her case finally turns up. She yanks it out before the stack of books in her hand fall apart. The sound and sensation of something falling behind her to the ground pries at the back of her head, but she ignores it -- the books are heavy, and the stairs are gonna be a pain in the ass, and that pain will pale in comparison to copying individual chapters 40 copies each.

She reaches the checkout desk after a grueling journey up two flights and through another plethora of shelf rows. While catching her breath against the desk, she checks her phone. A new message sent 15 minutes prior.

Cassandra: Hey. I’m going to be grading practice midterms Friday afternoon at my TA office in Henderson Hall. I thought maybe you would have a similar workload? Want to keep each other company?

Keep each other company. How sexy. Had she said she TA’d, and Olivia just never caught that detail? That would have been something she’d remember. Oh, wait, they were talking about course-loads at one point during a walk to classes...oh, shit, that was the day Cassandra wore a blazer and took it off as she was walking and was so smooth while doing so and...and...oh. God, Olivia is too bisexual to function.

She looks up and scans the room, her gaze out of focus while she thinks. No, she has no reason to! She can deny her this once, what, does she come at her beck and call now? She has no work to do anyw--

Her email ding goes off. It’s Professor Erickson:

Hi Olivia,

My mother is in the hospital and we are heading out of town to see her. I know it’s short notice, but could you grade the stack of bibliographies in my inbox before Monday and hand them out on that day’s class? I promised the students. Just markup for Chicago style and make sure they have the 3 required sources and 2 outside, and nothing looks iffy. I’m going to cancel Friday’s class.

I might be out until middle of next week. Monday is just a hand-back day, so don’t worry about keeping them entertained after they get their work. Play a movie, maybe. Nothing too radically bootlegged, please.

Don’t worry about the chapter copies. Those aren’t needed until next Wednesday, and if you can’t get to them I will finish what you don’t. Good job today by the way explaining to that one student the difference between socialism and democratic-socialism. You are getting more concise!

Thanks!

E

Sent from my Iphone

Professors. The nerve. They emailed on phones even when it was a long-ass message, and yet threw fits when students didn’t title their emails with anything less than an oath to name their firstborn child after them. Erickson wasn’t that bad, though. A fun guy -- a bit too into loafers -- but a fun guy, and amazing Professor. And she was getting paid, which helped.

She rolls her eyes closed and groans so deep the poor library work study student flinches. She looks at them apologetically before turning her attention back to her phone.

-- Hey. Sure, but I can’t stay very long. What time?

Cassandra: Cool, no worries. Say around 6?

-- Yeah, that works. Henderson is that long building by bio sciences, right?

Cassandra: Actually, it’s the one to the left of quad. Big archway entrance. I’ll be at my desk in 10E.

Olivia sighs. Great, a big building on quad. In front of everyone. Open season continues for her. 6:00pm on a Friday? Why that time? Surely if they were exams they were not going to be handed back over the weekend. Did Cassandra have a life that wasn’t work, sport, and more work?

-- Right, I forgot. Whoops. Okay, see you then!

Cassandra: Awesome. See you. 

Cassandra: Oh, also -- this song came up on my shuffle. It’s an old one, but it’s Adele. I would appreciate if you listened to it. I think you’d like it.

Another chance for a ‘sign’ thwarted. As promised, she sends the link to a song and it is, in fact, Adele. Adele. Olivia pouts to herself. Adele is a beautiful singer, but her songs tend to sound the same to her sometimes. One of those ‘you listen to one, you listen to them all,’ kinda deals. The song is entitled “Water Under The Bridge.” Olivia had hoped it would at least be one of the romantic ones, but it hardly sounds like a profession of love or crushing. Her frustration continues to grow in her mind, and she clicks her phone to lock. 

“Alright, Ma’am, that’s it! They’re due back October 7th!” The woman on the other side of the table shoves the plastic bag of books. What a blessing to have them in a bag. She smiles, says thanks, and heads out the door into the open air of dusk. As she walks back to Jefferson Hall a few minutes away, she can’t help but look over her shoulder ever so often, hand clutching her keys in her bag. But, no one approaches or even appears, and as she gets in the door to her own academic building, it feels like it’s all in her head.

It’ll blow over. No big deal. Just have to pretend it doesn’t bother me.

She gets into the elevator and hits the #3. Thankfully, she, too, has an office to hull up in.

[latenightscribbles13]

I need to take up boxing (pt. 2)

In my mind, I revisit the day we first met. It was around seven months ago, in December. I will never forget that December, as it was the worst one I have ever experienced. I had only just moved here a few months prior to that, so I didn’t really know much people. Everything and everyone was so different from what I was used to. I missed my family, and my friends. I missed the sort of carelessness that only a college student can embody. I haven’t been home in a while. I went to study abroad straight out of high school, but it was much closer to my home, and the flights were pretty cheap, so I could visit whenever. Nonetheless, I though this transition would be easier for me, since I had been more or less independent for years. I studied film production, while doing some extra courses for directing. It was my dream to become involved with film creating in any way. Since I was too shy to act, I decided to take on behind-the-camera work. I applied to many prestigious film schools, but I somehow ended up in a school with much less reputation and recognition. Despite all that, I had the best time there, and learned a lot. I filmed various projects throughout the years, and I thought I was doing pretty well, considering. However, graduation came, and along with it, the cutthroat competitions for any decent jobs. Since I didn’t have any connections or fancy schools on my resume, you can imagine how all of that went. I ended up in a shady company, that didn’t seem to have much work, so I would usually sit around all day, make coffee, browse through useless paperwork, and wonder where it all went wrong. Then, the production director walked up to me one day, and offered me a “dream-come-true internship”. In a country on the other side of the world. I weighed my options, and since I had virtually nothing to lose, I got on the plane, and landed in … A big, hot mess. The internship was put on hold, since the budget had been exhausted before the filming even began, so we had to wait for more investors. Meaning: it was a gone deal. One of the staff that I befriended through shared misery and rivers of alcohol, told me her brother can get us a both a job on the radio. It wouldn’t be much but it would at least be something. So, with tears of gratitude in my eyes, I accepted her offer, before passing out on the bar table.

I went from a film PD assistant to a radio PD assistant. I must admit, on my first day, I was pretty excited. It couldn’t possibly be any worse than the jobs I had before. I confidently walked into the radio broadcasting station … And got blocked by the security. My name wasn’t on the employees’ list yet, and I could barely speak the language. Typical. Luckily, my friend came in in that very moment, and resolved the whole misunderstanding. I was more nervous, than before, but a little relieved that I had her by my side. Until I found out she would be the PD assistant, and I would be her assistant. So I was PD’s assistant’s assistant. How about that for the resume points, eh? I didn’t sweat it too much, though. It only meant I would make the coffee in the staff room, and she would be the one to take it to the boss. They made me do the usual menial jobs, such as cleaning, food delivery, escorting the guests in and out of the station, bringing toilet paper when somebody went to do their business without checking the stock first. The usual errands.

By the end of my first day, I was exhausted, and contemplated homicide. The target didn’t matter. To relief my frustration, I began violently scrubbing a coffee mark on the floor that must’ve been there for ages, since it wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard I tried. So I scrubbed even more aggressively, imagining it was my ex boss’s face, my current boss’s face, my face.  It must’ve been a pretty nasty sight, me on my knees, hair coming out of the ponytail on all sides, face flushed and contorted in rage.

And that’s when we first met. He came into the staff room, looking all fresh, his hair soft and shiny, face as smooth as baby’s bottom, smelling like an angel. It was hate at first sight.  He greeted me politely, and I must’ve literally snarled back, since he quickly retreated out of the room. The last thing I heard was him whispering to his friend: “Where happened to the other cleaning lady?” I got up and hurled the dirty rag into the closing door, wishing it would hit him straight into that stupid clean face.

In the next few days, I got used to doing all the little things that nobody else would do. They wouldn’t assign me to any projects, since I didn’t speak the language, but my friend managed to get me a spot on the team that was developing an international corner for the weekend program. Finally, something! I would work with them, while still running errands for the PD, and anyone who thought I could more work. So one night, when we wrapped up the research for the international corner, the team leader invited us all for some drinks and karaoke. How could I refuse? But first, I had to clean up the mess we had made so I told him I would meet them later. Just as I was going through the door, the delivery guy shoved a bag of fried chicken and sodas in my hand, and drove off. What the hell?

Luckily, there weren’t many people left at the station, only the nighttime program staff and DJs. I sighed, and rushed back to the umpteenth floor to deliver the food, and hopefully, a clear message about our future arrangements. When I got up there, I simply walked up to every person, pointing at the food. I began learning the language diligently, but at that time, I wasn’t in the mood to practice my newly acquired skills. However, everybody simply shook their heads and got back to work. So helpful. Finally, one guy smiled broadly, nodding and thanking me, while reaching for the bag.

“I believe that’s mine,” a soft voice purred behind me. I recognized that voice immediately. I always listened to it on my way home from work or when I was lying in bed. It was one of our nighttime DJs, and I had a tiny crush on him, even though I haven’t seen him in person yet. There was just something about the smoothness his voice that comforted me and made me feel at home in this big, lonely city. When I turned around, I was excited and nervous, at the same time. Then, my mouth fell open. And the mood turned somewhat sour. It was no other than the dude who thought I was a cleaning lady. He was smiling broadly, almost blinding me with his perfect set of teeth. This wasn’t happening.

“Y-you?” I stuttered, still in shock.

He looked at me funnily, snatching the bag out of the guy’s hands. “Yeah, since I paid for it, it’s probably mine.” I was still pretty flabbergasted, so I just stood there, looking at him in disbelief. I mean. He looked pretty young. And there was something about him that annoyed me. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was simply because he caught me in my meltdown frenzy the other night, and I was embarrassed. The dude who tried to cheat me out of the fried chicken, has already gone to the other room, probably out of disappointment.

“So, this is your other part time job?”

“Sorry?” I snapped back into the present moment, trying to understand what he was saying to me, even though he spoke English.

“I’m asking if this is your other part time job. You know, besides cleaning?” I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or was just fucking with me. He seemed like the type that always smile, and you can never be sure whether it’s genuine or they’re mocking you.

I took a deep breath to calm myself, and replied as nicely as I could, “Actually, I am not a cleaning lady, nor am I delivering fried chicken. I just happen to bag all the dirty work around here. I’m the PD’s assistant, if you must know.” I don’t know why I was being so defensive. Like cleaning or delivering would be a bad thing. Apparently, I was way more insecure than I would have myself believe. I didn’t like that.

He sensed my hostility, and used a friendlier tone this time. “Oh, sorry, I had no idea. Nice to meet you.” He stretched out his free hand, and I reluctantly shook it. A minute later, he was back it. “Although, isn’t Hanna the PD’s assistant?”

I widened my eyes threateningly, and hissed through my teeth. “Mhm. I am actually her assistant.”

“So you’re the assistant’s assistant?”

I still couldn’t read his face, but I decided he was making fun of me on purpose, so I flashed him a tiny smile, hopefully an obviously fake one, and turned around to walk out the door. I paused at the threshold, turning back to him. “Next time, get your own food so your coworkers don’t try to steal it.”

He snorted, trying to hold back laughter. “Actually, I think the poor man thought you were treating him to some delicious chicken. Maybe he was hoping to eat it with you. Well, next time, I guess.” He winked, and shamelessly walked to back to his booth.

I closed my eyes, trying to reach the zen state of peace and control of oneself. After a minute of unsuccessful deep breaths and happy thoughts, I smashed my fist into the doorframe, and walked out.

I need to take up boxing.

[davedimartino]

NEW THIS WEEK 02.16.09

As you may have surmised, part of my job in compiling this much-loved weekly blog comes in anticipating which new releases are the ones most likely to excite the entire world, sell the most copies, and/or have the best covers!

Just a few weeks ago, I scratched my head, looked at a then-current release list, and determined that--in the absence of any surefire blockbusters by Mariah Carey, Bruce Springsteen, or Alicia Keys--new albums by Animal Collective, Andrew Bird and even Antony & the Johnsons would likely be among the week's biggest winners! And as a special bonus, they all started with "A"!

Heck--I was right! And even Antony & the Johnsons entered the charts at No. 65! Who could have imagined this three years ago?

Some would say it's an indicator that good ol' independent music is finally taking its rightful place as a sales leader! Others would say it's an indicator that sales have gone so far down the tubes that only indie artists with loyal followings--which is to say not Hoobastank--actually sell records anymore!

All I know is, any week where Morrissey has the biggest new release is OK by me!

  Morrissey: Years Of Refusal (Attack/Lost Highway) When it comes to contemporary pop albums featuring infants and toddlers with facial decorations, it's Morrissey and Lil Wayne all the way! Arriving with his best album in several years, a fine cover illustration and title, and more than a few songs that suggest the glories reached in his former band the Smiths, I'm inclined to point out that after all these years, he simply hasn't lost it! Best track to these ears--the ones that my thumbs are now pointing to--is "It's Not Your Birthday Anymore," which aside from bearing a catchy tune features the snazzy lyric, "there's no need to be kind to you," a sentiment that in contemporary songcraft is rarely expressed and, when you come right down to it, encapsulates all that is unique about the man. That and the fact that he once featured cows mooing on an album!

 Annie Lennox: The Annie Lennox Collection (CD/DVD) (Sony) Well, if you haven't figured it out, here's what's happening. Record companies introduced CDs back in the '80s and a generation of vinyl buyers started buying their collections all over again on CD! Then they got old! Meanwhile, a younger generation of cassette and CD buyers--who watched a lot of MTV--started getting old, sloppy, and sentimental! And now that their elders have stopped buying music entirely, it's their turn to step up to the plate and relive their past! So why not pick up this package, which features a worldwide superstar admittedly past her commercial peak, an entire batch of great video clips, and two brand new recordings as well? And it is a quality package, any way you look at it--but it's also a reminder that the next generation coming up probably won't be able to be serviced with a similar package in a few years because nobody has distinguished careers anymore--just short term peaks! Then they vanish into oblivion! Nah--just kidding!

 Various Artists: Dark Was The Night (4AD) A stellar and comprehensive collection of exclusive tracks put together by Aaron & Bryce Dessner of the National to benefit the Red Hot Organization--a charity devoted to raising AIDS awareness--this 2 CD set features 31 tracks by what would appear to be the hippest artists imaginable. Not to bore you with a simple list, but featured here among many others are Bon Iver, Iron & Wine, Feist, Arcade Fire, Spoon, My Morning Jacket, Andrew Bird, and just about every indie-rock senstion of note emerging in the past few years. Plus Yo La Tengo! Now more than ever, in a playlist-driven world, this set seems made to order in terms of quality content, a great cause, and offering  a way to figure out if Yeasayer and Beirut are as hip as they're supposed to be! Buy this and it'll be OK to be mean for a few minutes--you've earned it!

Al Kooper: 50/50 (Sony Legacy) Al Kooper is an extremely skilled musician who's had a hand in some of the biggest and best albums in pop history--Highway 61 Revisited, Let It Bleed, The Who Sell Out--but more importantly has a vastly impressive recording catalog of his own. A former member of New York's Blues Project and the founder of Blood, Sweat & Tears--whose Child Is Father To The Man album, the only one featuring Kooper, is one of the finest pop records ever--Kooper released a string of excellent albums beginning with 1968's I Stand Alone, and most of them can be sampled here. A 50-track digital only release, the set is artfully sequenced and without a single moment of filler. I would suggest you find all his albums--especially 1969's You Never Know Who Your Friends Are, which approaches the BS&T album in its greatness--but in the meantime, check out this collection of a taste of this artist's fab greatness.

 Charlie Wilson: Uncle Charlie (Jive) It would be the height of crassness to actually use another human's opinion as the basis for one's one review, but as one consumer review on Amazon astutely asked, "Is Charlie still a funkateer or a modern day R&B mackdaddy?" And that indeed appears to be the question with this new release by former Gap Band dude Wilson, who oozes charisma, class, and at times, the mackdaddiness of which that reviewer spoke! Featuring guest appearances by T-Pain and Jamie Foxx, a fine single in "There Goes My Baby," and some welcome flashes of funk, this collection is healthy, positive in spirit, and in its way, quite classy. Perhaps you'd like it!

 Robyn Hitchcock & The Venus 3: Goodnight Oslo (Yep Roc) The highly credible, long-lived and still pretty good career of Robyn Hitchcock proceeds according to plan here: His combo the Venus 3 includes Peter Buck, Scott McCaughey and Bill Rieflin, guests include the Decemberists' Colin Meloy, and the batch of songs he's assembled are even sturdier than usual. His friendship with director Jonathan Demme, documented in the latter's excellent concert film a while back, has continued and resulted in the appearance of "Up To Our Nex," heard here, popping up in the soundtrack to Demme's well-reviewed Rachel Getting Married film. Hey, considering how long the dude has been around, he's quite good!

 Steve Kilbey: Painkiller (Second Motion)  In a week in which some of the hottest new releases are by such '80s notables as Morrissey, Annie Lennox and Robyn Hitchcock, it's worth mentioning that the latest album by the Church's Steve Kilbey--his first solo set in seven years--is out and surprisingly groovy. Mind you, he's rarely been less than groovy, but as career trajectories go, he came from the fringes with the Church, entered the mainstream in one blinding flash in the '80s with "Under Thee Milky Way," then gradually, methodically, headed toward the fringes once more. The music here swirls, as you might expect if you're familiar with his work, but there are melodies that catch your attentions, rhythms that pulsate, and some fairly biting lyrics popping up that will remind you of his artistic worthiness, if that's slipped your mind. Do check this out.

 Soft Machine: Drop (Moonjune) Fans of this pioneering, much-loved British band will be thrilled with the unexpected release of this disc, a live set recorded in Germany in 1971, as it captured that brief sliver in the band's history when departed drummer Robert Wyatt's replacement, Australian Phil Howard, joined the band and raised its overall energy level absurdly high. A continuous slab of cacophonous playing--10 tracks running together consecutively--the music is powerful and at times oddly nerve-racking, as Howard's free-jazzy drum pounding is an odd complement to that portion of Soft Machine's music which dwelled in soothing drones and precise song structures. Familiarity with this material, which surfaced in the band's third, fourth and fifth albums--Howard played on only half of the latter--will make this fascinating listening for fans of the band regardless. Highly recommended.  

 N.A.S.A.: Spirit Of Apollo (Anti) In the same manner that the Dark Was The Night compilation brings together just about anybody who is anybody, this fascinating set has a guest list like you wouldn't believe: Tom Waits, Karen O, the ghost of Ol' Dirty Bastard, Kool Keith, David Byrne, Chuck D, Kanye West, Santogold and countless others. But the 17 tracks here have been put together by the pair that call themselves N.A.S.A.--Squeak E. Clean and DJ Zegon--and the overall effect is less a personality circus and more a complete, multi-rhythmic work that oozes personality on a track-by-track level. Intricate but always surprisingly accessible, this is a "wave of the future" kind of thing, if you're keeping track. I am!

 Thursday: Common Existence (Epitath)  That pretty much sums it up!