#that WHOLE bit. immaculate. i think about it a lot

[xiewho]

hiii :) i just wanted 2 say i love how u draw gorgug and fabian thistlecaster is such an underrated ship and their interactions are some of the best in fh

HI ANONNN THANK U !! i wholly agree they have such a fun and interesting dynamic i wish people explored more !! here's a silly gorgug + fabian moment from fhsy for u <3 (cause i want an excuse to draw them again hehe) hoot growl baby !!

[yeyinde]

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him.  (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met. 

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really. 

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with. 

Stupid. 

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine. 

Because maybe you are, too. 

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent. 

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him. 

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you. 

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him. 

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married. 

And where does that leave you? 

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber. 

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both. 

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar. 

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet. 

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight. 

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush. 

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways. 

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape. 

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore. 

Moving on. Moving forward. 

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent. 

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this. 

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him. 

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness. 

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location. 

You send him your pin. 

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way. 

You met Kyle Garrick at university. 

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre. 

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met. 

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap. 

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care. 

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed. 

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth. 

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?" 

And that was that. 

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them. 

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him. 

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him. 

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain. 

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart. 

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square. 

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots. 

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring. 

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner. 

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots. 

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes. 

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest. 

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it." 

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you." 

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult. 

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes." 

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid." 

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it." 

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought. 

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot. 

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips. 

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain. 

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks. 

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all. 

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you. 

Except—

It isn’t. 

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes. 

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know? 

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips. 

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort? 

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him. 

He’d know, he said. 

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic. 

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around. 

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement. 

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken. 

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison. 

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat. 

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet. 

He seems to understand. 

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here." 

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance. 

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him. 

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it. 

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do. 

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area." 

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe." 

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—" 

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat. 

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame. 

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold? 

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state. 

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish. 

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back. 

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy). 

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making. 

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away. 

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign. 

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now. 

Because you do. 

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts. 

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too. 

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin. 

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences. 

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same. 

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam. 

And oh. 

Oh. 

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing. 

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it. 

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it. 

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always. 

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him. 

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun. 

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. 

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free. 

Confessing goes like this: 

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears. 

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands. 

"...and that's basically it." 

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you. 

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all. 

You want it. Want him. 

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam. 

But he isn't. 

He's here with you. Still. Still. 

"I just—," you say, or try to. 

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth. 

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated. 

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation. 

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence. 

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin. 

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain. 

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take. 

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air. 

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you. 

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind. 

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox. 

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke. 

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable. 

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames. 

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown. 

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home. 

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all. 

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it. 

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this. 

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration. 

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two. 

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food. 

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along. 

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling. 

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know? 

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

[ghost-bxrd]

Been mulling over Titans Tower and it's really interesting to me how it's treated in Fanon as compared to how the events transpired in canon. it's a really fun topic! Honestly, the original writing in canon is DOGSHITE but not for the usual reasons people cite.

Here's what does make sense in canon but is largely ignored (this is using canon characterisations at the time): First, it's all about the whole Titans team, not just Tim. They really downplay his death a lot, did not put up his statue or honour him whatsoever. Plus the hero community tends to victim-blame him a fuckton. Jason is showing that his death could've happened to anyone. Second, Tim and Jason are just two yearish apart—Jay died at 15, Tim becomes Robin at 13—so those Titans are more like his colleagues than anything else; he's not some older guy beating the shit outta them. Third, Tim’s indifference to Jason's comments and his cockiness about being a better Robin are pretty on-brand for his early portrayal as Robin. (I think fanon Tim derives a lot of his characteristics from his Red Robin run, which is valid as well! But here in particular we have Robin Tim... who... was... uh... a bit of an asshole when he was written back then and the HUBRIS on that man? Immaculate.)

What still makes this absolutely dog shit is the dialogue and how Jason is pouring his heart out to someone who he doesn't really care about. Jason... just doesn't operate this way... Why's he trauma dumping on... tim... ???? It makes no sense whatsoever because Jason really is someone who'd keep those vulnerabilities to himself. Why would he open up to... CANON TIM??? He makes scathing remarks when faced with Bruce and Dick because he knows the knife twists then and at he cares about their reaction. But not tim ????? Canon UTRH doesn't even mention Tim ????? ???? So in the end it's still shit imo.

I also find the use of Pit Madness in fanon super interesting, despite it not being canon. It's used to propel the Titan's Tower incident, which fascinates me because it shows how people are willing to work around its flaws to maintain consistent characterization in their works (which is !!! cool !!)

It's so interesting how many other incidents that do occur in canon aren't as well known as this one aren't given much thought. But this one is and it's interesting how people try to work with it regardless of it's flaws originally!

I'd really love to hear your opinions about it and how flexible you are with the Titans tower incident! :) How do you work with your Jason and your Tim? because it's cool to hear your analysis etc etc

Hooo boi okay i was planning on replying to this earlier but this deserves a proper, thought out response (which I’m shite at but I’m trying here. Words are hard.)

For one, I wholeheartedly agree with the whole trauma dumping thing.

Obviously we all have different tastes in media and I know there are quite a few people who enjoyed the confrontation with Tim, which is totally fine, but personally… yeah, not my thing.

I got into the Batman/batfam fandom via fanfic, so my first introduction was some version of Titans Tower I believe. I was super intrigued by the characters and the tidbits of lore sprinkled throughout that I immediately began reading up on them and digging through the internet for more info and background story on them. Which then quickly evolved into the part where my adoration for Jason’s character began and a short phase where I absolutely despised early canon Tim.

Like— all the victim blaming. He seriously couldn’t mention Jason without adding something derogatory about getting himself killed, which sat so, so wrong with me. Not to mention the Titans just accepting a new Robin right off the bat and joining in blaming Jason for his own death. I’m pretty sure that was the point where I swore off comics for a long while and decided to live off fanon 🤣

And then Jason’s part in the Titans Tower incident. I think part of how weird the canon event was is due in part to how the writers fumbled to depict trauma? Or maybe they just outright hated him because I know a lot of people back then despised Jason and his run as Robin.

Whatever the reason, I think I genuinely cringed when he revealed the Walmart Robin costume he was wearing. And then the trauma dumping.

Jason is smart enough to know Tim wouldn’t care about his grievances. I mean- dude just broke into his hideout to attack him, I think Tim’s about as done with Jason as with any other criminals, regardless of his past. And all that is proven by Tim fighting back tooth and nail without pause. He doesn’t even react to the accusation of the missing statue in Jason’s honor. Like, he genuinely doesn’t seem to care. And why would he? They don’t know each other.

And yeah maybe he was trying to beat some sense into Tim (which is still wrong but— vigilantes I guess? Idk) and make him quit Robin, but Jason’s also smart enough to know that Robins don’t quit easily. And then, as soon as Tim is down for the count and can’t keep fighting, Jason leaves. Just like that. No actual murder attempt, no kicking-while-he’s-down (at least as far as I remember).

It makes no sense. What would Jason be gaining from that encounter? Why would he blame the kid that replaced him and not the guy that did the replacing? Hell, it would make more sense for him to go after the Titans than Tim. Not the mention him casually doubting Tim’s talents when he must have done some background checks on him.

It’s why I like the idea of Pit Madness I guess, and that Jason actually went to the tower with the intent to kill. Because that way the entire thing wouldn’t seem so… pointless.

As for how flexible I am with the Titans Tower storyline, it really depends on the route people choose to explore. But I’m a huge sucker for the “Jason was Tim’s Robin” trope where there’s at least a mild amount of hero worship going on. ���️ Oh, and happy endings. I can’t deal with tragedies.

But yeah these are my thoughts on it. Obviously no hate to whoever enjoyed the comic mentioned above 💚 we’ve all got different things we resonate with after all~

[kissitbttr]

Hi lovely! Your cake tasting fic was literally immaculate. I was just thinking about how r and miguel met, and how cute it would be to see a blurb where he gets all flustered when he sees her for the first time? You are amazing! Xoxo

sending u lots and lots of kisses MWAH MWAH thank u baby😚😚😚 anyHOWWWW i’m so glad someone asked for this! I’ve been waiting for it TEEHEE! now i did mention a little bit on the cake testing fic how they first met, sooo i might just have to expand from there yuhyuh!

this turned out a bit onger than i expected lol but I hope you'd enjoy it regardless!

miguel masterlist

—

miguel meeting his wife for the first time

-

“the laboratory is 80% damaged, miguel. we need to get it fixed or else we can no longer continue our work.”

miguel sighs deeply, pinching his eyebrows with his index finger and thumb. the ungodly amount of research papers stacked neatly in the corner of his working desk, along with bunch of scrunched papers on top.

“jessica, no ahora”

she rolls her eyes at his stubbornness, arms crossed over her chest. his eyes glued on the monitor, framed glasses perched on the bridge of his thick nose bone

“you need a break.”

“I don’t” he disagrees. if anything, he needs to put on more hours of work. “i can’t leave before everything is done. we’ll get it fixed next week.”

“that’s what you said last week, miguel” jessica points out, eyes scanning around the room. “look at this mess! the HQ haven’t got fixed in months! if you want this building to be safely secured and leave no casualties in the future, you have to do what i say.”

again, miguel disagrees. shaking his head without looking up. “and i said, no.”

but jessica refuses to be told like that, shrugging her shoulders like it’s nothing. “well too bad, because i already found someone who’s willing to work on it and you’re meeting them”

that seems to catch his attention, his pen dropping off between his finger as his head whips towards jessica’s direction.

“you—what?!”

“i’m not going to be responsible for many injured people in the future. not when we have too much enemies coming to bite our asses so i suggest you get down from there and come here”

miguel has a temper. a very short one, and it’s not easy to control it when he’s surrounded by people who’s trying to tell him what to do. it’s supposed to be the other way around.

but miguel has no energy to fight back, so instead of telling her to fuck off, he just nods his head.

“alright fine” an upset mutter falls from his lips before he makes his way down the stairs. hands on his hips. “where is he?”

jessica scoffs, “why do you always assume everyone is a he?” she chuckles lightly at miguel’s quirk eyebrow. “you can come in now, ms. y/l/n”

the sound of his office door clicks after that, and miguel seems to be less than impressed because he has no energy in him to talk to people other than himself,

yet, his jaw drops instantly soon as he sees the person who walks through it,

a woman—a very gorgeous one—who looks like to be in her mid twenties makes an entrance as her heels click against the marble floor, carrying what seems to be a tablet and folders. she’s dressed in a grey long tight fitting dress that falls down to her ankles with a cropped beige colored cardigan completing the whole look as an outer, leaving only the left shoulder exposed. a smile appears on her face as she fixes the frame of her black reading glasses.

miguel has never seen a more beautiful woman than the one he’s staring at right now,

“ms. y/l/n, this is miguel o’hara. the head of Alchemax and leader of Spider Society.” jessica smirks at the way miguel is gaping right now, as he makes no intention in hiding it away.

guess, her 70% of her plan is slowly working.

“ugh! come on, jessica you’ve known me long enough to stop saying my last name” she giggles, “mr. o’hara. my name is y/n. it is very nice to meet you. jessica had told me many things about you. i am so impressed with everything you had done”

‘fuck, even her voice is pretty’ he thinks

he regains his composure, clearing his throat before taking off his glasses. “thank you, y/n. you and jessica are close?”

with a nod, she responds, “we go way back. haven’t been off each other’s arms for a long time. hard to keep me away from this woman”

so jessica had been hiding her away from him? that’s rude.

“oh hush. always with the sweet talk” jessica waves her off with a smile. “miguel, y/n has plans on remodeling the hq for us. i’ve told her about what needs to be done and so forth. she has already inspected the lab, cafetería, training rooms. this smart woman right here came with conclusions in just five minutes.”

a blush creeping into y/n’s cheeks, shyly tucking a loose hair behind her ear which makes miguel’s heart warms at the sight,

“i’ve seen her work and i wouldn’t just bring anyone when it comes to our matter. she’s the perfect person for this. now since i have so many things to catch up on, i hope it’s okay for me to leave you two and have her explain it all—“

“yes” miguel replies a bit too quickly, causing the two women to raise their eyebrows. this makes him slightly bit embarrassed at how eager he might have come off. “i mean-yeah, of course. it’s not like i was doing anything. have a bit of a time off.”

“i though you said—“

“that’s enough jessica. thank you” he nods at her, shooting her a tight smile. “i would love to hear it.”

a giddiness blooms in his chest when y/n gives him a toothy grin. and it may become his favorite thing to look at,

“alright then. i’ll see you later. bye, sweetheart” jessica waves at her friend before walking out of miguel’s office and shutting the door behind her,

now it’s just them,

y/n’s gaze averts back to his tall figure. she had heard stories about miguel o’hara. jessica loves to spill teas about her partner and had showed pictures of him when y/n was curious on how he look like. he is indeed handsome.

but now, looking at him in person? fuck, even the greek gods are no match to him

beautiful bronze skinned, broad shoulders, high cheekbones with sharp jawlines. she glances a bit at his toned chest then down to his torso for a bit. abs rock hard enough to be seen through the working shirt he’s wearing. this man built like he contains zero body fat.

however, his mesmerizing red eyes are what got her hooked.

“it’s very nice of you to make the time for this, mr. o’hara. i know you are a very busy man and i hate to be the one who’s preventing you from your work.”

miguel’s head shakes, giving her a small genuine smile. “no apologies necessary. and please, call me miguel”

“okay then, miguel” she nods, returning his smile. “may i begin showing you what i’ve been working on?”

miguel’s arm extends towards a large wooden table, allowing her to walk first. “by all means” he folds his arms behind his back, following her from behind.

he’s very much struggling not to look at her ass while she moves,

“okay, so” she lays her things flat on the table, getting to work quickly. “i’ve planned a pre-design for your laboratory, given that the lab is one that needs extra precautions and highly detailed instructions, i’ve figured i should get that one done first. and here” she unlocks her tablet before tapping one app, showing the minimum design. “there are important keys that needs to be highlighted. i need exact measurements of how many people will be coming in and out of your lab, objects you’re thinking of storing, etc. because it will determine the amount of space i’ll be working on”

miguel doesn’t know jack shit about what she’s talking about but fuck, it sounds incredibly sexy to his ears,

“jessica had explained to me before that there will be less than fifteen people working in there. i would advise to create a fingerprint for entry. and it will require more space, more equipment and materials for me and my team to be able to carry on with our tasks. but i need you to not worry, miguel. i’ve done the trials and errors to limit the damage that might occur with the calculations.” she pushes her tablet for him to see clearly, colorful scribbles of geometry with shapes and patterns,

not only that, but she has a few mockups too. giving him a small vision on how the area would look like once it’s done.

miguel’s eyebrows raise, moving a bit closer to where she stands. “christ. this is amazing. you did that in…?”

“a week” she finishes with a smile, nails tapping against the table. watching how his eyes amazed at her small simple work “some would take more than that but, i take my work seriously, i don’t like postponing.”

his eyes move upwards to look at her, impressed by the details and efforts she had done with it. one thing about miguel, is that he is very much attracted to people who are putting their careers above anything,

and she has ticked that box,

“indeed” he lets out a breathe, nodding. “does that mean you don’t have a lot of free time?”

she thinks for a while. “not much definitely. but it’s not like i’m missing out on anything. what do people do nowadays? partying and gossiping? i rather not.”

he chuckles in amusement, “understandable. i thought that you might be into those kind of stuff.”

“and what gave you the assumption?”

he raises his shoulders. “you look young. young people like to have fun.”

“and how old do you think i am?” she asks with arms crossed,

he pinches his eyebrows. “28?”

she hums with a small laugh. “i’m 26”

miguel’a eyes widen slightly, “makes me older than you, then”

“how old are you?”

“32”

“really?” she asks in disbelief. “i thought older.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. around 40ish maybe.”

“that’s quite offensive, love” he fakes a gasp, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches her scramble through more papers,

her heart skips a beat at the nickname, though she doesn’t think much of it. “it’s a compliment. the older the better, i’d say”

miguel smiles at that, walking around the table so now he stands across from her. “what did you and jessica talk about?”

“hm?”

“about me” he confirms. “you said that the two of you had talking about me.”

“oh, well” she begins, standing up straight to look into his eyes and miguel swears his knees almost give up. “she told me how much she admires you. your intelligence, bravery. your work ethic. told me all about the good things you had done for the people—“

“i don’t know about that”

“which” she cuts him off. “i am so, undeniably impressed by. keeping the universe intact while trying not to lose your fucking mind is hard, i could tell. I don’t know how you do it. makes me admire you too”

he stares at her as if he’s searching for a trace of doubt or a lie on her face. when he finds none, his heart softens. never in his life had someone come up to him and say how he’s doing a great job. let alone being impressed.

“thank you— i needed that actually” he laughs a bit. “wish people could say the same.”

“in my opinion, i don’t think you need to know about what other people think or say. you’re a grown man, correct?” she taps the eraser of her pencil on one of her sketchbook, eyeing any misguided lines she needs to work on. “if they don’t appreciate that, might as well kick their asses into a new universe”

a genuine chuckle escapes him, nodding in agreement. “i keep that in mind” he clears his throat, thinking about whether or not to make a small talk,

she notices the long pause between them before speaking up, “please, i hate awkward silence. you can talk to me, if you want to, miguel” her head shoots up at him with a playful tone,

“is architectural the only thing you’re doing?” he finds himself curious at her line of work,

“apart from this, i do a little bit of interior design. not too far off from architectural but not exactly the same either. i love anything that goes from there. putting ideas in my head before making it into a reality. also, it’s warming to see how i can help my clients dream come true” she responds simply, a small smile engraves on her pretty features.

“i also am studying in biochemistry at the moment. having a bit fun with molecular study.”

that perks his interest. “biochemistry?” he asks in a surprise tone. “i’m no expert in architectural but i don’t think it has anything to do with that.”

“it doesn’t” she confirms, picking a ruler before sketching out more details on the design. “i do it for fun.”

“for fun?” again, his question comes out in surprise, “why’s that?”

“i just think that learning shouldn’t be limited to one, you know? i like knowing about things. doing more things. the more knowledge, the more you have room to grow. plus, learning about molecules is interesting. might take it seriously on that one”

‘holy fuck, she’s perfect’

“that’s a— wow—“ he huffs out a heavy breath, can’t exactly tell if he’s impressed or intimidated. earning a soft giggle from her.

so, she’s gorgeous, brilliant and ambitious.

“how about you? jessica mentioned about you specializing in genetics. is that some sort of science thingy? because it sounds pretty fucking cool”

miguel scratches the back of his head. “something like that. i more focused on DNA’s, genetics pairings, human genome. all sorts of that. pretty boring if you ask me”

“doesn’t sound boring” she scoffs. “if anything, i find it very attractive when men are willing to learn about science. and i’m not just talking about the glasses, but the brains as well. you ticked every single quota, miguel”

she points at the working glasses he has on, causing his eyes to bug out at her boldness. y/n watches how he shyly takes it off, flustered at the compliment. she smirks as if she keeps trying to keep score on how many times she’s succeeded,

“okay, so” she continues, palms resting on the table before shifting the tablet. “let’s talk about your office. is there something you’re willing to change? because, not to be rude but your infrastructure is quite—shit. keep this up in two months then the apocalypse might have come early”

miguel bites back a laugh at her choice of words, scanning over his office walls, ceilings and monitors. “what do you suggest?”

she pauses, biting the end of her pencil before her eyes begin to do a 360 walkthrough. the sight is almost too perfect for miguel.

“we could do something about elevating the ceilings. make it a bit higher. and i see you have lesser—safety features? which could be quite concerning. we need to install biosafety cabinets, more detection systems and fire protection. I know you’re no ordinary man and could probably handle all the damage that might happen in the future but, it is my responsibility to ensure my client’s safety.”

miguel feels like a lovesick fool right now. and an asshole. he hadn't been listening a lot to what she had to say, merely focused on the way her pink glossed lips moving and how her fingers would occasionally fiddle against one another,

he imagines how her mouth would feel like, molding against his. there is no doubt in his mind that he would immediately be entranced with it.

"miguel? you listening?"

her sweet voice pulls him out of his train of thought, eyes blinking rapidly before meeting y/n's confused gaze,

"oh--y-yeah! yeah uhm.. that sounds great, would love that” his nervous chuckles makes her smile. “you’re really quick with it, aren’t you?”

“just doing my job, mr.o’hara” her tone is professional and prideful. “i’ll work quickly on the building designs, exploring more concepts for it and run a few test drives. however this might steal a bit of your time, from your job. weekly meetings are needed during this process. i’ll bring the mockups, sketches, models and everything. your inputs and feedbacks are required since this is your building after all. would that work?”

spending more time with her? oh, absolutely. he’d make it work,

he gives her a nod. “of course. i’ll clear my schedule off for it, just let me know when”

“excellent!” she exclaims with a bright smile, clapping her hands. “i will do my best to get it done as quickly as possible for you, miguel. i made a promise to jessica and i intend to keep that promise. it’s a long process but i need your full trust on me, okay? do you trust me?”

“yes” he answers without hesitation. “i trust you.”

“great! okay, that is all i have for you today. do you have any questions?”

miguel doesn’t like the idea of it ending here. not seeing her again until next week? that doesn’t feel right.

“you have a boyfriend?”

y/n halts at his question, looking at him with a confused yet amused expression. lip quirking in curiosity. “getting personal, aren’t we?”

“fuck, sorry, hermosa. you don’t have to answer that”

her heart skips a beat at the nickname. he just called her beautiful?

she eyes at how his gaze cast down the floor, head shaking. probably mentally kicking himself at the bold question he had thrown at her,

but she finds it adorable,

tilting her head to the side, she responds. “no. i don’t have a boyfriend. they are not quite up the standards i’m looking for.”

“yeah?” miguel takes a step forward, eyebrow raising. “and what are they?”

“my standards”

he finds it attractive at how she doesn’t like settling for less. she knows her worth without coming off too cocky nor bitchy about it,

“am i not allowed to know?”

“you can fuck around and find out” she smirks, pushing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “i like to see them try.”

“you like seeing men on their knees begging for your time?”

she nods. “i live for it.”

he feels his cock growing hard at that,

“are you free, this friday?”

she bites down on her lower lip, watching how his biceps almost ripping his shirt off when he crossed his arms,

“i’m a busy woman, miguel”

“so am i” he responds quickly. “say dinner or a drink, anything. an hour or two tops, how about it?”

the way he’s looking at her should be illegal. he has this glint in his eyes. primal, confident. and it’s extremely charming in her own opinion,

she hates how it makes her heat rises,

with a hum, she slowly gather up her things, stacking the compiling files on the tablet. tucking them against her left breast.

“pick me up at 7. don’t be late. and i’m choosing where we should go. it was nice meeting you, mr. o’hara. i will see you then” with that she gives him a smile and a subtle wink before turning around to exit out of his office. leaving miguel completely speechless but enamored.

“fuck. i’m in love” he exhales a dreamy sigh

[dragonridernoobie]

Hey I've been stalking your page for a while because the transformers and undertale stuff you do are immaculate and very pleasing and I've been thinking quite a lot about Megatron so I'm here to request some Megatron (and possibly some soundwave and shockwave)with a male Predacon reader the kind of similar to perking (if that's how I say his name right) but they're like very old and they somehow survived the great cataclysm that extinguished all the Sparks of Predacons and basically they became a gladiator and met Megatron and stuff like that thank you hope you have a great day and make sure to eat and drink as much water and food and hope you have some good sleep =]

Will do, also welcome to the page, you are always welcomed! Thank you for liking my work to, it makes me worried people don't like it when people don't reqest. So don't hesitate to request or ask anything! So I will try my best for you're reqest! Have fun reading!!!

TFP Decpticons X Prediction Reader

(Not my art)

^^^YOU^^^^

Megatron

Megatron met reader when was still in the pits of Kaon

When he was a gladiator, Reader would have challenged him when he kept beating everyone that challenged him.

Megatron would have been cock but realized real fast how strong a pute predicon was.

In this, though, he wouldn't know reader is a predicon since reader would be in her cybertronian form.

Once he got his aft handed to him, reader would spare him, since they felt petty for him.

Years later, I think megatron would find reader again when reader has a cybertronian artifact and my god. Thus dude would be pissed.

He would remmber how reader kicked his aft and hurt his pride.

For once, he would forget about the autobots and attack reader..............he got his aft beaten again.

After his pride was hurt again, he would do 2 things. Depends on his moods.

1. He would ask reader to join him only if he realized reader was a predicon.

2. He would a little bit better if he finds reader was a prediction but wouldn't even dare to invite them to the decpticons. Dosent want somone on the team that could beat him.

Soundwave

I think Soundwave would meet you when he went to go fetch an artifact.

He would go to a frozen lake and brake the lake to go underneth the ice.

When he finds the artifact, he also finds a predicon wrapped around the artifact.

Soundwave would do his mission first and try to take the artifact but when he tries, the predicon would wake up.

I can see him being hit and thrown around for the first time by the predicon.

Once he is above the water, he tries to open groundbridges to get rid of the predicon.

When all else fails, he tries to fight the predicon but when it's too much, he would flee.

He would show megatron the recording he got of the predicon to show he had a good reason why he failed.

Megatron would understand, and tell his old friend to get some rest.

Rip you. The whole decpticon army is after you.

If you get cought and taken by the decpticons. Soundwave would actually try to get you free.

You earned his respect.

Shockwave

Shockwave would have met you while on cybertron.

While he was stuck on cybertron, he would start the process to collect fossilized predicon parts.

That's when he met you. You cought him stealing some of you're brother and sisters dead remains and attacked him.

He was surpised a predicon was still alive but it won't stop him from his mission.

For once, Shockwave met somone more stronger then him and Megatron.

I can see you and Shockwave forever in a battle. You attack him on sight and he keeps trying to come and steal parts.

I think this would go on for a while intel he asked for a truce and told you that he can bring back you're species.

You're choice but if you accept that and let him take you're family remains, you where with him every step of the way when he made predaking.

If you don't, you try to kill him, which is very understandable.

I can see him somehow getting away with a peice and finally starts to work on predaking.

Once predaking was made and the story continues, you would take predaking underneth you're wings when he comes to cyberton.

Teatch him you're species ways and how predicons survived.

[melsbabydaddy]

nsfw slc headcanons cause it’s 3 am and im restless 👍

+ these are all completly self indulgent and i can have fun cause i can

warnings: nsfw talk (mdni), slight mention of weed and alcohol, talk of several kinks, i wrote this for myself

abby -

human embodiment of “damn u on the edge of the bed u bout to fall off”

she gets sooooo nervous and fidgety

easily flustered

but i feel when she gets used to someone, she gets more confident. she’ll be more likely to engage in stuff.

her strap hangs

not really kinky but likes hair pulling (both giving and receiving)

probably also something to do with spit

loves the bond of having sex, being so close and vulnerable with someone

her head game is immaculate 100/10

talks them through it in that low, breathy voice of hers

owen -

despite what most think, i don’t think owen is bad in bed lol

boat scene was at a really inconvenient time and a spur of the moment

normally, he’d be very careful when with someone, last thing he wants to do is hurt them

def makes cheesy jokes and gives sappy compliments while doing it

eye contact is everything to him

gives a lot of neck and chest kisses

likes when his back gets all scratched up during

does it deep and slow until he’s about to cum then he kinda rabbit fucks cause it feels so good

the aquarium is his favorite place cause it’s safe and romantic

prefers making love over just fucking

manny -

man has experience

whispers and moans in spanish, mainly cussing and praise

has a tongue and fingers that have people seeing stars

a considerate gentleman

has a whole box of love letters from his various partners

very big on consent, never wants to pressure someone into doing something

either has a good supply of protection (if it’s somehow available in the apocalypse) or has the strongest pull out game ever

will never turn down a blowjob and always returns the favor

long, breathless moans when he cums and his body always completely stills

gives the other crew members sex advice

mel -

could never fuck while a dog was in the room, especially alice

big giver, often forgets about her own pleasure cause she so focused on the other person

so squirmy when she gets head, literally have to hold her down by her hips to hold her still

lowkey probably has a breeding kink

not in a freak way but in a “i like the bond of family and crave the security” type of way

gasps and squeaks more than actual moans cause she afraid of being too loud

alcohol makes her flirty and frisky

secretly likes being bent over and flipped around like a doll

cums super easy, like to the point she’s embarrassed

squirter

nora -

focuses more on her job but every woman has needs

fucks causally and tends to avoid romance cause that’s too much drama for her

very direct and honest about this

likes to be worshiped

will do it back, but she expects it first and they have to earn it

loves riding someone’s face, enjoys having control as she gets eaten out

fucks slow but hard

quickies in the med tent when it’s empty

low, raspy praises and directions

usually gone by the morning after a one night stand

jordan -

canonically grunts a lot and is loud

does not care one bit that people can hear

eats pussy for his own pleasure, often causing overstimulation

likes having his hair touched, tugged on, and petted

praise gets him weak, tell him he’s good boy and he fucking melts

will never admit that to anyone

whimpers and gasps when he cums, also bucks his hips a lot

likes it rough and hard unless he’s feeling lovey, than it’s fast and passionate

deep, messy kisses

has taken the strap before and loved it

leah -

also canonically loud

probably a loud moaner and a screamer if it’s real good

100% takes dirty pictures and keeps them under her bed and uses them to masturbate

loves having her tits sucked on

very experimental and likes to try new things she sees in old magazines and movies

queen of giving aftercare

covers her partner in hickeys, wants to mark them everywhere

absolutely feral when ovulating

cowgirl position is her fav

can cum like 15 times in a row

nick -

loves slow, hip rocking fucking

close, tightly pressed, skin against skin is the best for him

cockwarming >>>

lots of low grunting and moaning

says “just the tip” a lot and it never is

the beanie stays on

thinks fucking while high is best thing in the world

def fucks on really slow patrols and stake outs

always finishes on the chest or in between the thighs

has been in a surprising number of threesomes

pls tell me if u like this so i can have an excuse to write and post more 🙏

[cantareincminor]

For the Sake of Appearances

It's obvious that Eden Academy is a superficial place, despite the efforts of Henderson and other teachers to uphold its educational mission. Like any elite institution, most of its students hail from rich families and don't actually need a degree from Eden to be more than comfortable in life. Most of them are there acting as proxies for their parents, to accumulate even more wealth and power, often by schmoozing with people higher up on the chain like the Desmonds.

Twilight of course is aware of the dynamics and rules of the game at Eden and is playing to win. He crafts an upper middle class cover that will fit in decently without being rich or powerful himself. He looks for a smart child. He looks for a wife. Because apparently only children with two parents can get into the school.

Throughout the whole story so far he has been concerned about his family's image, both so his cover won't be blown, and so that Anya will advance Plan A or Plan B. He is sensitive to Anya acting out of turn, like punching Damian, or falling behind academically and having no talents with which to gain extracurricular Stellas.

Back when the Imperial Scholars Mixer chapters came out (before I joined the fandom), I'm sure there was a lot of discussion about the moment Anya made her speech to Damian and said this:

The sadness around Anya not knowing whether her adoptive father even likes her dominates this chapter, at least for me. But on a second read I thought about Twilight's perspective here.

For someone who has been so worried about appearances -- making sure his family can at least pretend at cultured tastes and manners, somehow pushing Anya to get good grades or preventing her from failing (by breaking into the records room), and ensuring his own image is immaculate -- one might expect that Twilight would also worry about appearances here. His daughter just admitted to his chief target's son that she doesn't know if her father loves her. Is that not breaking the facade of a loving nuclear family, which he needed to project at the Eden admissions interview?

But, sadly, having a loving family isn't actually a requirement among the many appearances people have to keep up in the Eden crowd. Damian himself is exhibit A on that front. Both his parents hardly ever bother to visit him or talk to him, and as we see in Chapter 104, it's made him avoid going home except when none of his family members are there. From a utilitarian perspective, it may be good that Anya said this to Damian, so she could appear empathetic to his situation.

What is really interesting is that we don't get any of Twilight's inner thoughts about Anya's speech, probably because he's so focused on Donovan's arrival. All we see is an "Anya..." which could be Endo hiding any further insights on Twilight from the audience, or Twilight genuinely not knowing what to think, or Twilight turning off his over-analyzing tendencies for once and even forgetting to worry about appearances, because his daughter really got to him with that speech. If the latter is true, it might explain his behavior during the cruise arc where he tries so hard to please Anya, with the whole "I'm a normal father. A good father," piece. Bit by bit, he starts to care about more than just appearances or outcomes, and shows through his actions that he wants Anya to be happy. He doesn't tell himself that her happiness is for the cover or for the mission as often as before.

I really do hope that in some future chapter we get a callback to this scene in Chapter 37 where Anya was uncertain whether her father likes her. After 103, where we even got a brief flashback to their first day out as a family overlooking the shopping street, I feel a bit more hope that at some point Twilight will give Anya the reassurance she needs directly or indirectly.

Or maybe, Anya has already figured it out, from all the things he's done for her and how his behavior has changed gradually since that day in the courtyard.

[heartmaddie]

being iwaizumi's pianst/composer gf

involves : lots of fluff , swearing , in college sort of , they dated in hs , he's very proud...

iwaizumi still gets a little bit flustered when he sees her.

he’s wrapped in a blanket of tranquillity, the same piece he's heard ad nauseam, but he can't help falling in love with the sound a little more each time. his thick, rough fingers were clenching onto the stems of the pink lilly bouquet tightly and he felt somewhat breathless as he looked at her.

it was a shitty seat, far away in the nosebleeds of the conservatorium, but her presence shone through right to the back of the room, it was an immaculate performance, and she’s been waiting for it for a long time. if it was with any other person, he’d look over a university soiree, but it wasn’t just anyone, it was her. so he didn’t mind the loud thumping of her digital piano through the walls of their apartment when he was trying to sleep late at night, or how the desk light would shine brightly in the early hours of the morning as she annotated and edited her pieces, he found peace in those moments, resting on the bed, head propped over his arms as he’d admire her for hours on end as he watched quietly.

he’s pulled into the music and he can’t break free, it’s swallowing him whole. she was right about the acoustics being better or something, and he’s perplexed about how she would be ever convey such emotions through the flicks of her fingers. his heart clenches and aches, shivers running through his spine, she’s played for him dozens of times, but not like this, never like this. iwaizumi thinks that she’s touched heaven through her performance, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the gods shone down on them in this moment.

he’s never been this enamoured before, and as the music went to a gentle halt, he’s the first to stand up and clap obnoxiously loud, earning a couple sideways glances from other attendees, but is soon enough joined by the others. he sees how she stands up, her face red and flushed from the continuous playing, and how her eyes shimmer in the spotlight, bowing proudly before walking off the stage, he'd find her more attractive in those moments.

after other performances, which were good too , but none could beat hers, he’s rushing towards the stage to greet and pull her into his arms with pride. her face is smushed against the expanse of his hard chest, the lingering accords of his woody cologne blessing her senses as she looks up at him. dressed in the suit which he wore to their high school formal, which clung to his biceps and seemed to be a bit small on him now.

“did you enjoy it, haji?” she looks up at him curiously as he flattens her hair.

“enjoy is an understatement” he murmurs lovingly, looking down at her with pure affection in his eyes as he strokes her soft cheek, “you’re encaptivating.” he continues, causing her to giggle.

“you’re too much” she smiles softly, eyes closing in amusement before he gently places the bouquet in her arms, ensuring that none of the flowers get squished. “oh baby, you really shouldn’t have..” she looks up at him with wide, confused eyes. “if anything i should be giving you flowers for putting up with all the late nights coming up to th-.” iwaizumi’s quick to press his index finger against her lips.

“don’t apologise,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against hers, “i love it”

“yeah?” she looks up at him, holding onto his bicep as they walked out of the venue, her heels clicking against the pavement as they found his car.

“yeah, you’re extraordinary. you always have been” she’d laugh again, explaining how he’s spoiling her, and again commenting that he's 'doing too much', but he doesn’t care. no words can explain the innate affection that he possesses for her. it’s evident in the late hours of that night, when she’s cuddled against his chest, his arms wrapped around her torso with their legs intertwined. the moonlight shone bright on her face, and it reminded him of how she was illuminated in the spotlight earlier that day.

he’s brought back to those moments years ago, his chest aching familiarly as he recalls his youthful love. his heart beats a little bit faster, his face flushing the smallest bit. iwaizumi still gets a little bit flustered when he sees her perform, because he’d recall all the times in highschool where she’d dedicate her pieces to him.

very short iwa drabble i thought would be nice..

likes, reblogs and follows are greatly appreciated!! queued post

[saltpepperbeard]

Poison into Positivity: A List of What I Liked in OFMD S2

Hello hello everyone! Things have been a little rough around here. Even away from the more heated takes, I've still seen a few "down in the dumps" murmurs. To which, I'm giving y'all big hugs, but also offering up some little bits of warmth! I wanted to share quite a few bullets of the things I enjoyed about this season. Maybe it'll serve as a reminder, or maybe it'll just serve as a chaotic, silly little read as per usual PFFF.

But I invite you to read along, and even add some of your own points should you feel inclined! Also, this might not even be my full list; these are just the ones that came to me quickly/off the top of my head. Still, let's dive on down like a fantastical, dazzling goldfish, shall we?

All the callbacks/parallels. My goodness. When I tell you I'm a SLUT for metaphors/parallels/callbacks/etc etc. Seeing so many things and being able to just *Leonardo Dicaprio pointing meme.* I know people might not share that same opinion because some might view it to be excessive, but I personally LOVED being able to point at my screen and be like "oH EYYYYYYY!!!" Maybe because it makes for such immaculate gifset/meta material <3 SJKJDLHSK

The costuming and makeup. WHEN THEY TALKED AT ECCC ABOUT EVERYONE GETTING HOTTER, THEY WERE NOT KIDDING LMAO. EVERYONE LOOKED SO, SO GOOD. and listen, i am on my knees begging for them to give ed with his hair up back to us. i need Her back,,,ALSO, SOMETHING SOMETHING COMPLICATED EMOTIONS TOWARDS STEDE'S LATTER HALF LOOK, BUT ALSO...GOD DAMN, MR. DARBY,,,,,,

Speaking of Mr. Darby, the acting in this season. The ACTTTINNNGG. Everyone acted their ASSES off. Everyone put their entire piratussies into this season. Though, I'm PARTICULARLY impressed with Taika and Rhys, because again with their "oh we're comedians lol so idk drama can be Difficult Difficult Lemon Difficult." MMMM I THINK THE FUCK NOT, MY GUYS LMAO??? They both did SO well with all the drama and painful moments. The acting in episodes 2, 3, 6, and 7 in particular like...God. GOD!!!

I loved so many characters in this season, and I'll of course have to give two individual shoutouts to my two favorite new ladies, but man. LET'S GO FRENCHIE!!! ALWAYS A DELIGHT!!! FANG/KEVIN MY ABSOLUTE SWEETHEART. JIM SERVING ABSOLUTE FUCKING GENDER THIS SEASON. OLU OLU DARLING OLU. PETE NEVER MISSING WITH HIS ONELINERS. LUCIUS BEING SO THEATRICAL AHDJKSDK LIKE NATHAN PLEASE YOU KILL ME. ROACH MAKING ME LAUGH OUT LOUD NUMEROUS TIMES AS HE DOES. WEE JOHN AND HIS KNITTING AND DRAG!!! AND THEN OF COURSE MY DEARLY BELOVEDS, ED AND STEDE. I JUST LOVE THEMMMMM!!! But okay okay okay-

Zheng my beloved. I just love this badass pirate queen with her sweet little pigtails and her IMMACULATE LINE DELIVERIES SDHJKSKL. A lot of my favorite deliveries from the entire season came from her quite honestly. Please see: "Girl, how ARE you?" and "Hiiiiiii. I KNOWWW it's been a day" and "I've killed mediocre men. I've killed exceptional men. But you're the worst kind: a mediocre man who thinks he's exceptional."

AND ARCHIE MY BELOVED. She kills me because I remember seeing like, those ~*~audition tape whispers~*~ WAY back in the day, and subsequently thinking she was going to be quite a different character. Only for this silly goofy bubbly energetic darling to pop up and snag my heart. HER deliveries kill me also, like when she goes "Like...STEDE Stede?" and the whole "I was IN the fuckin' snake!" also hhngngngngnershkfhslkds tattooed ladies Hot :(

Speaking of which, the comedy. THE DELIVERIES. THE WAY I LAUGHED OUT LOUD NUMEROUS TIMES THROUGHOUT, EVEN WITH THE DEEP UNDERCURRENT OF DRAMA/ANGST. The whole bit where Stede is in hysterics over his cursed coat is just hsjkdhsklds; it will NEVER not make me wheeze. And then, like I said, almost EVERYTHING Pete says this season kills me; another thing that will never not make me laugh is "a doggie...?" weird little pirate show with weird little humor my beloved

The ROMANCE??? I genuinely was going into the season with the expectation of getting maybe like, one or two Gentlebeard kisses. Imagine my shock and utter delight when we ended up with FOUR, AS WELL AS AN INTIMATE SCENE, THE LETTER SCENES, AND THE LOVE PROFESSIONS. Like, one of them dropping a legitimate "I love you" felt like an unrealistic expectation--the HIGHEST dream tier really. And then wouldn't you know it. And that doesn't even account for all the rest of the couples either! The murder wives having their chaotic little moments of fucked up affection??? LUCIUS AND PETE GETTING ENGAGED AND THEN MARRIED??? HELLO??????

The sets! I know people have pointed out that the world felt a bit simplified this time around, due to budget restraints and what have you. But I still loved what they did with the world even with the various constraints. The market in episode 6 is a PARTICULAR favorite of mine; it's just so lush and colorful. I also love what they did with The Revenge during episode 6 too!

Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but I really actually liked that they filmed on location. First of all, love that the Kiwis got to be right at home in Aotearoa. Love that they have an even more special connection to the show now. But second of all, I just like when scenery is...actually THERE? It feels way more TANGIBLE. Don't get me wrong; that hugeass wraparound screen that they use to film a lot of sets is a technological marvel. But I'm a sucker for practical.

The deeper and more complex dives into character motivations/trauma. Like, homie lol...When I tell you episodes 6 and 7 utterly set my brain alight in the best way possible. I was CHUGGING through thoughts. You know those gifs where someone is walking around and ranting/passionately talking,,, yeah. Yeah. Maybe because a lot of it "struck a chord" with me indeed, but I love love LOVE getting brain food like that.

Speaking of brain food, in PARTICULAR, the deeper dives into Ed's self-loathing and into Stede's troubles with confidence and masculinity. A lot of Stede's choices were fueled by those two things, and it was SO friggin fun to catch all of them, put them in a jar, and shake them around. I've seen a lot of people fearing his actions in the latter half were out of character, but to me, I don't see it that way. I just see a man who has been so spurned, so left behind, and SO deprived, a man who is stuck thinking he has to be someone else to mean something. And I think that plays a lot into even the EARLIEST developments we saw in season 1, so it was just so intriguing to watch everything messily play out.

THE INNKEEPER. THE INNKEEPER MY BELOVED. SO much about that episode absolutely has my heart. All the different developments, the stakes, the pacing, and the payoff at the end. Not to mention that I had a FEELING that mysterious figure in the trailers was Hornigold, so it was so SO validating to see him pop up PFFF. And also, all those dream/gravy basket sequences were so so good too. I don't know if it's the chemistry between Taika and Mark, or the deeper symbolism, or the lines that have become vocal stims for me SJKDLS (please see: ooOOoooO eddie eddie eddie...you're laying some heavy shit on me, bro), but man. MAN.

And this one gets its own bullet because of course it does: the fucking mermaid scene. Like, are we kidding. ARE WE KIDDING. THE ROMANCE OF IT ALL? THE FANTASTICAL-NESS INDEED?? THE WAY IT WAS ALL FUCKING PRACTICAL AND RHYS SWAM DOWN TO TAIKA AS A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE GOLDFISH AND THEY HAD TO THROW HEART EYES AT EACH OTHER UNDERWATER??? WHAT THE FUCK!!! And don't even get me started on Kate Bush lol. This Woman's Work might easily be one of my favorite songs, if not my FAVORITE song from the season. And man. Man. The whole meaning behind Ed seeing Stede as this beautiful, sparkly being, and not some hypermasculine/extraordinary thing. He fell in love with Stede for who Stede really is. And so I ADORE that acknowledgement.

Speaking of songs, the MUSIC!!! Absolute bangers all throughout. And I loved how there seemed to be even more intermixed within the episodes. Like God... "These are the kids..." 🗣️ HELLO MY LOVE I HEARD A KISS FROM YOU 🦗🦟🦗🦟🦗🦟 . And all the beautiful classic piano pieces and NINA SIMONE AND JUST HSJKDHSFJKLHSKD????

Okay, I've always had and STILL have complicated thoughts and opinions on Izzy, but man, seeing him interact with the Revenge Crew was really something. Seeing Stede's influence come over the lot of them like a warm blanket, extending its welcoming and familial hands...It was just lovely. I love seeing our little sea family care for each other so much. They've probably all hurt so so much in different ways, so to see them all being a collective heart is just so nice.

Speaking of which, the queerness of it all, the queer celebration of it all. The way the whole crew is just...a representation of queer people finding each other, and subsequently finding love and family in each other. Like, when the whole world wants to cast you out, you pull each other in. When no one else wants you, you take refuge in each other. And just...the joy, beauty, and wonder that can be found in that.

And speaking of which x2, the overall care that was put into the entire thing, the effort that was put into the entire thing. I know Max fucked us over with the budget, which subsequently fucked things like the intricacy, the amount of characters, and especially the pacing. But, I don't know; I personally could still tell everyone involved was trying so so hard to deliver for us. Based on the little details, the little callbacks, and the little moments that felt so catered to us, it just seemed so...gifted to us. Not to mention of course, the way they so deliberately chose to end on a hopeful note in case we never get a third season. They care about us. They've always cherished our excitement and passion, so it just...idk; it feels so special to have a bit more of an intimate connection like that. I've never been involved with a piece of media that so avidly SEES its audience, and celebrates along with us. So, despite everything, despite any sort of troubles, despite any sort of lows, that's a big part of what has me clutching all of this so closely to my chest. And I really hope they can still see that love, because I want nothing more than for them to see this beautiful story through.

Also, getting to enjoy this with everyone. Getting to ride the wave from the beginning of filming, all the way through the finale. Getting to see all the excitement, all the theories, all the art, all the fanfiction, all the gif sets, all the meta, and everything in between. It has carried me through some nastiness in my personal life, and has subsequently served as a very welcomed distraction. It's been such a pleasure getting to delight in this new content with you all, and I hope we get to do so into the future. <3

[doll-elvis]

PRISCILLA (2023)

~ my thoughts as an elvis fan

(credit to @urpinkstargirl for the photo)

WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD:

so I saw it last night and I’ve been stewing on it ever since as I wanted to be 100% sure in myself before saying this publicly

**brace yourselves**

After just one viewing… I feel confident in saying that I preferred this film over “Elvis” 2022 🤧. It was just so immersive and so deeply intimate that I walked away from the theater feeling like I had just lived a life with Elvis, and experienced all the ugly and wonderful things that came with it

I am seeing it again tonight and possibly tomorrow just to recapture that feeling (which made me cry… three times…)

And although I’m not the biggest fan of Sofia Coppola, there is simply no denying that she has perfected showing “girlhood” in film, and making the most unique experiences, like being Marie Antoinette and being Priscilla Presley, somehow universal to everybody. I haven’t felt being “14” since I was 14, which was a whole 5 years ago, but WHEW… I most definitely felt 14 again when watching Priscilla navigate life in Germany

Also- we all saw how Austin Butler was completely cheated out of an Oscar and so I’m begging that we do not do that again. Give the Oscar to Cailee Spaeny (who played Priscilla) right now 😤 There are no words besides “immaculate” to describe her performance. Her future is so bright as an actress, I just cannot wait to follow her career + she just seems like the sweetest person ever??

And I know it might seem insane to say that I preferred “Priscilla” over “Elvis” and some of y’all might crucify me for that take but my preference solely comes down to the fact that I appreciate Priscilla’s perspective much more so than the Colonel’s, who to me, has always been the least interesting aspect of Elvis’ story

My biggest gripe with having the Colonel narrative/tell Elvis’ life in the 2022 film is the fact that it made the film feel rather impersonal to Elvis as I don’t think the script or the storytelling ever fully allowed for Austin Butler to explore what he was like beyond the stage

And personally speaking, I have a much deeper love for Elvis the person as opposed to Elvis the performer, and I think that “Priscilla” showed the human side of him far more than “Elvis” ever did (like y’all we actually get to hear and see him reading his philosophy books in this!!!)

But before I get into what was actually depicted in film, and all my praises, I thought I would briefly state what I thought could have been done better. Don’t get me wrong, this movie was beyond amazing, however, it was definitely not without its’ faults:

1. If you have seen a lot of reviewers talk negatively about the pacing in this film- just know that they are unfortunately, completely right in that assessment. The whole timeline of Germany felt literally five minutes long, and the 70s also, felt maybe 10 minutes long which just made both the beginning and end feel rather rushed. Also there were at least 5 scenes that just faded to black before going onto the next one, and some very abrupt cuts in scenes which felt a bit awkward

2. Because this is a biopic, and because it’s based on a real life, there is no climax like you would be accustomed to normally in a film and so I think that the average viewer, like someone who may not really care about Priscilla or Elvis, will probably walk away from the film feeling unsatisfied- possibly bored. I saw it with my mom and my sister, and my mom was asleep in like 45 minutes 😭. The movie definitely got repetitive at some points but I acknowledge the fact that life is repetitive, especially for Priscilla in the 60s while Elvis was off making movies

3. While Priscilla (played by Cailee Spaeny) aged realistically and seamlessly, Elvis (played by Jacob Elordi) was essentially the same person (physically) for 95% percent of the film. For some reason, his hair was already dyed black in the Germany scenes, although we know it was brown at that time, and so there was no real transformation for him until Lisa Marie is born. The height of the actor was definitely jarring at first but eventually I got used to it…however…I damn near busted out laughing when they showed him in the Comeback special outfit 💀 His performance was nothing but incredible (ESPECIALLY THE VOICE) and so I learned to get over the physical disparities rather quickly

4. The ending of this film, particularly the song, was overwhelmingly sad and impactful but I was really disappointed that we didn’t get to see Priscilla’s and Elvis’ relationship after the divorce. This film ends with Priscilla leaving Graceland, starting her “new life”, which didn’t make much sense to me considering this movie was adapted from her book, which very much explores that part of her life, especially with Elvis

I would have really love to seen moments like this from Priscilla’s perspective ⬇️

excerpt from “Priscilla, Elvis and me” (avoid this book)

5. NO CIRCLE G RANCH!!! It is borderline criminal to make a film about Priscilla and Elvis and to not include their time spent at Circle G ranch ** which Priscilla has always said were their happiest times together **. I assume that this was likely an issue because of the budget and the fact that they only had 30 days to film but god… I would have really appreciated some of the domestic bliss that Priscilla and Elvis shared while living in the trailer on the ranch. There were many happy moments/sequences (y’all are going to die when you see the rollerblading/go cart scenes) in this movie, but I think their gradual separation/withdrawal from one another (post marriage) would have hit harder if we saw how happy they were together during their ranch phase

6. For those who have read “Elvis and Me”, we all know about the famed LSD scene that takes place and unfortunately, Coppola heavily missed the mark on it. We don’t see Lamar Fike making out with a tree, we don’t see Jerry Schilling in a closet- instead we see Priscilla and Elvis just kind of rolling around, laughing amongst themselves while the room around them turns different colors

There were definitely many key moments/stories like that missing from the film, and I honestly wish that the movie was an hour longer so that we could have seen the book more fully fleshed out

Lastly, here’s just a general synopsis of the scenes in Germany… I was going to do the whole movie but I don’t have the stamina to type it all out 😭. If y’all want to know something specific please feel free to comment below and I will let you know <3!!

After the beginning credits are shown, the film starts with Currie Grant (who was renamed as Terry West) approaching Priscilla in a diner, inviting her to a party at Elvis’ house. After talking with her parents and assuring them that Priscilla will be looked after by him and his wife, it cuts to her in the back of a car, on her way to meet Elvis. The scene is exactly like how it is in the book, Elvis asks her how old she is, he remarks that she is “just a baby” and so on- Elvis then plays “a Whole lotta shakin” at the piano and that is one of three musical performances we see from him

Priscilla is then re-invited by Currie aka Terry via Elvis to comeback to the house again. Elvis invites Priscilla up to his room, she looks around and sees letters from Anita Wood, and a poster of Bridgette Bardot just like in the book. After Elvis talks about Gladys and how he is still reeling over her death, and how lonely he has felt since then, they share their first kiss to the song “Crimson and Clovers”

There are some scenes of Priscilla at school and some scenes of her sort of convincing her parents to let her continue to see Elvis. And they do agree, but just like in the book, they want to meet him first. Elvis is questioned by Priscilla’s father on why he wants to be with her to which Elvis replies that she is very mature for her age and that he likes talking to her since she is from home aka the United States. He then assures Priscilla’s father that she will be taken care of. After that we see them going to the movies where Elvis expresses how much he wants to be a serious actor, and then they share another kiss on the car ride home. It then cuts to Christmas time where we see Elvis giving Priscilla a watch and then BOOM- Elvis and her are on the way to the airport where they say their final goodbyes as he leaves for the United States

The film really does follow closely to the book (at least from 59’ when they meet to 69’- again the 70s were really rushed) and so I really recommended to read that prior to watching the movie

As for the more sensitive scenes-

There is no explicit sex, no graphic nudity, and no scene where Elvis forces himself upon Priscilla. He does say “this is how a real man makes love to his woman” but all he does is kiss her before she pushes him off. There is a rather long “polaroid-taking” sequence where it shows all the outfits that Elvis would Priscilla dress up in but other than that, we only see Elvis and Priscilla make out

And it did show when Elvis accidentally hit Priscilla in the eye during the pillow fight scene in her book, along with the scene of him throwing a chair in her general direction after she expressed she didn’t like a demo of one his songs, and the scene where he grabs all her clothes from the closet and tells her that she should go visit her parents. I don’t think that the scenes made Elvis look abusive: Coppola was surprisingly nuanced in showing that he had reasons for his sometimes bad temperament i.e the pills he took along with the fact that he was frustrated with his film career

It also shows Elvis’ infidelities but really only through movie magazines that Priscilla sees. So it’s never explicitly shown, I would say it’s more hinted at than anything

And there are two scenes of Priscilla with Mike Stone but again, nothing that is explicitly shown, it’s just hinted at

Finally, to finish this up, this is what I wrote on my Instagram account which I very much stand by ⬇️

Just please give this movie a chance y’all, it was so beautiful and so sensitively done… I cannot wait to watch it again <3

[weirdmarioenemies]

I am going to like totally finally finish ranking the Mario galaxies today. Stop Me.

Thank you for you're patience. We can talk about the top 5 galaxies now

I'm not gonna bother with any prelude, you've waited for this for like years now I know you want the Goods so here you go!

5. Blue Grass Galaxy

Tier: S+ Debut: Super Mario Galaxy 2

Blue Grass Galaxy is quite possibly the most elusive galaxy in the series. It was shown off briefly in the first ever Super Mario Galaxy 2 trailer, but when the game came out, it seemed like it was nowhere to be seen... Not even datamining could find it!

But as it turned out, we just weren't looking hard enough, because if you manage to grab every Green Star as Mario in a single sitting in under two hours without losing a single life, and then beat the Perfect Run, also without losing a single life, you unlock... A series of Red Stars for each Galaxy! And once you collect all of those in under an hour as Luigi without losing any lives, once again followed by another perfect Perfect Run, you unlock a bonus Hungry Luma on the World Map, who needs to be fed 9999 Star Bits on all three save files (so have fun speedrunning the green and red stars again!) before finally transforming into the Blue Grass Galaxy.

Of course, because the files for the Blue Grass Galaxy weren't included in the game, you'd need to download it by using a special, randomly-generated code on the Wii Shop Channel, but once you finally did, you could finally play the Blue Grass Galaxy to your heart's content. I know it might seem like quite the grind to get here, but man, every second you spend in the Blue Grass Galaxy is so immaculate, it makes the whole grind worth it. I almost don't have the words to describe how good it is, you'd really need to experience it for yourself! Sadly, you can't anymore, ever since the Wii Shop Channel shut down... Ah well. You really had to be there, I guess. I know some people were disappointed by it just reusing the Puzzle Plank Galaxy music, but I love that music so much that I don't mind.

My only gripe with the galaxy, and the main reason it only landed in the #5 spot, is because of the name. They called it the "Blue Grass" Galaxy, but that grass is very clearly green. This might seem like a pretty petty reason to put it so low, but when you get up that high, the small things can make a big difference, you know? If they called it the "Green Grass Galaxy" or the "Blue Sky Galaxy," I could easily imagine it getting the #1 spot, but respectable effort nonetheless, and a worthy reward for Super Players.

4. Wet-Dry World

Tier: SS Game: Super Mario 64

I know what you may be thinking. "What could Wet-Dry World be doing on a list of Super Mario Galaxies?" Well, it's a World in a 3D Mario platformer where you can collect Power Stars. Need I say more? And ever since Throwback Galaxy confirmed Whomp's Fortress is a Galaxy, it's easy to extend this logic to the rest of Super Mario 64. So Wet-Dry World gets to make the top 5 also.

I mean, how would it not? It's a galaxy with a cool and unique gimmick! The idea of the height you enter at deciding the water level when you enter in is super cool, and I love all the ways they tie this gimmick into the galaxy's different missions. And while this might seem like a small thing to a lot of people, as a mod of Weird Mario Enemies, I can't help myself: I will ALWAYS love a galaxy that includes such memorable enemies as Chuckya and Skeeter! So Cool!

Even in a time before Super Mario Galaxy, they managed to get the "otherworldly" feeling of this location down pat! I mean, there's the fact the skybox is distinctively underwater, even when you're on dry land, there's the fact the way you adjust the water level is via these abstract crystals, there's the whole abandoned underwater city, giving hints as to long-gone civilizations and possible Wet-Dry World Lore, this galaxy has it all! I know some people say it has a Negative Emotional Aura, but those people just don't know the meaning of good atmosphere.

3. SNES Mario Circuit 3

Tier: Good Debut: Super Mario Kart

For the #3 slot, it should only make sense that it's a place with "3" in the name. I know lots of you were probably expecting SNES Bowser Castle 3 to end up here, but it's just hard for me to ignore SNES Mario Circuit 3's legacy. I mean, it's been in five different games for crying out loud! It's hard for a course to show up in five games if it's not really good, right?

SNES Mario Circuit 3 may seem like a really basic course at a glance, what with it being completely flat and everything. Not a lot of bells and whistles in this one, that's for sure. But a better look at it reveals it to be a surprisingly technical track, with some tight turns that require good brake drifting to take optimally, and a bevy of off-road shortcuts that reward players for good item usage. While lots of courses get by thanks to their flashy gimmicks and setpieces, SNES Mario Circuit 3 cements itself as a fan-favorite as a pure test of players' skill. I mean, again, I have to assume it's a fan-favorite if it's in five games.

I also need to give a shoutout to SNES Mario Circuit 3's Atmosphere. The course has hardly changed at all since its original incarnation on the SNES, making it like, totally retro, and the staircases and flagpoles representing the original Super Mario Bros. only help to cement that identity. It also gives the course a very unique, almost liminal sort of feeling. The yellow sky is also an interesting touch. Is it merely set at sunset, or is it a biting commentary on how 30 years of go-karting have caused enough pollution to change the color of the sky? I'll let you be the judge.

Either way, it makes sense why this course has cemented itself as such a fan-favorite, and manages to always get picked in Mario Kart 8 Deluxe online lobbies. It's just that Good!

2. Milky Way Galaxy

Tier: X Game: Real

i live here hi!!!!!! :D

1. Sling Pod Galaxy

Tier: The "S" is for "Slingpodgalaxy" Game: Super Mario Galaxy

It's always the ones you least expect who win in the end... I may have ranked it dead last when I started this series, but by using the momentum of the Sling Pods, it managed to slingshot itself allllll the way to the top! Bet you didn't see this one coming! But really, it should be obvious. This galaxy is an incredible test of timing and precision, offering a good challenge for skilled players, and with an aesthetic reminiscent of the beautiful Space Junk Galaxy, it ends up winning me over in more ways than one!

There's no question that as soon as you have enough Star Bits saved up to reach Sling Pod Galaxy that you should make a mad dash to the Fountain and shove them all into that Hungry Luma's mouth, because the Sling Pod Galaxy is an experience you'll never forget! And since it's a great place to farm Star Bits too, it practically pays for itself! Bonus!

Wow! What a wild ride that was !!!! hopefully we all learned something at the end.

i'll post the real top 5 some other time i'm sorry

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 4, In Which You Attend A Very Special Event (Part 1)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

(you'll see full art when I finish because it's spoilery as fuck I realized (too late))

SUMMARY: You accidentally the whole Coca-Cola bottle summoned Raphael (or so you'd think) to Earth.

TAGS: meta romance, psychological horror, smut, the character is the player, Raphael is after you, you wanted him, you invited him to our world, he accepted your invitation

RATING: explicit

AO3

Chapter 4

“Buonasera”, Raphael leaned against the doorframe, taking in your appearance. "You look ravishing," he said before giving you a brief kiss on the cheek. 

You could feel his light stubble grazing against your skin. Notes of cherries and leather wafted off of him. No sulphur.

Ravishing was perhaps too grand a term, but you put in your best effort. You wore a black dress. While choosing, you went through wanting to be extravagant, then classic, then unconventional, then elegant again, and landed on a little black dress because you thought the devil in a suit would like it.

He, for his part, looked immaculate (of course). His crisp white shirt was expertly pressed, a sleek black waistcoat around his torso. His trench coat hung open, and he played with his car keys.

That surprised you. You had imagined he’d have a chauffeur in a black peak cap, driving a long black limousine. Could Raphael even drive a car? Did he learn to drive for you? Is it difficult to learn to drive a car? You had no driving licence and no idea.

"Thank you, come on in," you invited, breathing in and out low and steady. Did this invitation hold any significance, like with vampires? "I'll just grab my bag and I am ready to go. Do I need to take anything? My wallet?"

You were slowly getting used to the thought of Raphael being real, you mused to yourself. Well, real. At least a constant hallucination in your life.

"Only if you are planning to offend me," he replied with a laugh. “And I hope you are not”.

Raphael followed you into your flat, taking in the surroundings with a half-pitiful, half-amused expression that said “I'm not saying anything because I am well-mannered, but I'm thinking a lot to myself." Well, yes. Not the House of Hope, not even an upper scale apartment, just a run-down studio, forty-six square metres, overdue for some renovation. What more could a young professional afford in today's economy?

Raphael briefly glanced at your open laptop with disinterest, then his eyes lingered on your neatly made bed with its white, slightly faded linen. A small smile formed on his lips as if he entertained a certain thought.

You had entertained quite some thoughts about him while lying on that very bed. 

Snatching your phone, keys, and card holder, you cleared your throat and put on an "I'm prepared for whatever comes next" expression as Raphael's eyes moved from the bed to settle between your breasts.

Not in a suggestive way.

"Oh...you are Catholic?" His tone suddenly shifted - was it cautious, repulsed, or bewildered? 

"No, I am not religious," you responded, shaking your head and taking a step towards the exit. Raphael didn't budge. The raised eyebrow at the cross around your neck hinted that he wasn't entirely convinced. "You mean the cross? My mother gave it to me for protection and… ugh, protection," you added.

“The age gap between us was not lost on me, but I never imagined you were still young enough to seek fashion advice from your mother," he remarked with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

It was clear what he wanted - the cross had to go. You recalled the black screen in the video and your own possessed, sickly face.

The cross stays on. 

You didn’t believe in God (well, you did believe a bit more now), but the cross stays on. Even during sex. Especially during sex.

“Does the cross bother you?”, you asked.

"Why would it bother me?", he questioned. "Because I am the devil?"

Oh, there you go. Is it confession time already? 

You remained silent, refusing to fall into a trap again. Let him say what he wanted.

He did not say anything, but he extended his hand and gently grasped the cross. Shit. Shit. Raphael traced his thumb along the edges almost as if he was trying to decipher its meaning.

There was no recoil, no burning, no hissing. Part of you hoped there would be. Part of you thought there should be. Then again, there is no Christ in Toril. 

"Ah, the agony! It burns, the Holy Symbol, it burns!" Raphael made a half-hearted attempt at a pained grimace before letting go of your cross. "Yes, after you referred to me as Raphael twice, I did some investigating. A computer game devil, is he not?”

Referring to a video game as "a computer game" was a very authentic boomer move, you had to admit. 

Two can play this game, Raphael.

"Well, I wouldn't say Raphael is THE devil," you said casually. "He's just A devil."

Raphael tilted his head in amusement. 

There was something oppressive about his presence, the way he stood taller than you, the way he took up more space than he should have, making your apartment look tiny.

“To be fair”, you continued. ”He’s not even that. He’s a cambion, half human, one of the lowest beings in the levels of hells. He likes calling himself a devil for effect though; probably gets a kick out of scaring people.”

Definitely gets a kick out of scaring people. There, you said it. Now let's see if Raphael would drop the act.

You held your breath as silence stretched between you - five seconds...four...three...two...one...

Would your screams reach the neighbours?

Would they call the police?

And if they did, would the police even help? What happens if they shoot him? Will he bleed black blood? Why were you even thinking about that right now?

"Well," Raphael finally broke the silence and placed a gentle hand on your waist, guiding you towards the door. "Judging by his many admirers, it seems some people quite enjoy being scared. Shall we depart?"

God damn it.

You gave a quick nod, trying to subtly adjust your right stocking which felt slightly loose. You had bought them on Sunday but hadn't tried them on yet (which you should have done). Raphael noticed but pretended not to, his hand on your back guiding you downstairs.

The door closed and you wished it farewell. 

Who knows if you'll ever see it again.

****

Raphael's car was exactly what one would expect from him if he did drive one - flashy, shiny, predatory; a sleek beast painted in blood red. The kind of car that turned heads and started conversations among curious onlookers. 

The kind of car that made teenage boys gather around in awe, wondering how he could afford it and why he was driving it in this neighbourhood. 

And so they did, and so you stumbled upon it, surrounded by admirers.

"Nice car, sir!" exclaimed one of them. "Is it a Maserati? A Gran Turismo, right? How fast can it go from zero to sixty?"

"In less than four seconds. Work hard and you might own one someday too, boy," Raphael replied. “More than one if you are any good”.

"Uh-huh," the teenager said, not entirely convinced. You couldn't blame him; you were not entirely convinced either.

You considered yourself a socialist and always voted left (well, you voiced your opinions more often than you voted, but still), but a socialist getting into a Maserati was a bit of an oxymoron, so you decided to put politics aside for tonight. Besides, you weren't sure you wanted to hear Raphael's political opinions on... well, anything at all.

"Or you could always sell your soul to me. Is that not right, Anya?", Raphael turned to you with a playful wink. Now it was your turn to say "uh-huh" and adjust your stocking again. 

The gaggle of boys took their cue and dispersed as Raphael stepped forward to open the passenger door for you. You tried to sit down as gracefully as you could, but the leather creaked against your skin and your dress rose to obscene heights. 

Quickly, you tugged it back down.

Without a word, Raphael started the car and pulled away from the curb. He was no stranger to this routine - following traffic laws, navigating through the city streets. He felt at ease behind the wheel, it’s not the first time he has driven a sports car.

Something didn't feel right. It all seemed like too much effort; the complicated act, blending into society, creating a false background. Raphael knew who he was, and so did you. So why did he insist on pretending to be someone else? Not even someone entirely different, someone so clearly inspired by himself.

He must be testing you, but for what reason, to what end, for what? Loyalty? Endurance? Ability to take psychic damage?

There is always another truth: there is no bloody devil (of course there isn’t). There is a young woman going through acute psychosis in isolation. You might be now banging your head in a room with very soft carpets on the walls, imagining yourself to be driving in a fancy car with a man you fancied-oh-so-much. 

You need proof. You need solid proof. For your own sanity. The thing is, when you need to prove that you are sane, you are half-insane already. 

"I must say, this is not the safest neighbourhood for a young woman living alone," Raphael said, scanning the area with a wary eye.

Oh, the neighbourhood was fine, he was the most dangerous thing around these parts by far. At times, you would encounter a few junkies asking for spare change or hear about your neighbour getting mugged. 

“I am afraid that’s all I can afford. Have you seen the rent prices nowadays?”, you chuckled. “Well, you probably haven’t.”

“On the contrary,” Raphael shook his head. “I am well aware. I have several investment properties inside and outside the city.”

“Well, that is exactly why I cannot afford anything nicer.”

"That can change at a moment's notice," he said and gave you a sly smile. "Quicker than you might think."

You couldn't suppress your coquettish grin; his words reminded you of his generous gift from earlier - a cool grand handed over just like that. Not that you were mercantile (not that you ever had much of a chance to be, either); but if you were living in an imaginary world, might as well imagine yourself wealthy too.  Socialism is…

Well, for real life.

"Where are we headed?" you asked as he merged onto a busy street. “Is there an address?”

"Why? Do you want to send it to your mother?" Raphael's eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. “For protection?”

Still cannot let go of you wearing the cross?

"Yes, I do. Just in case you decide to keep me locked up in chains in your basement," you joked. 

Sort of joked.

He glanced at you, and you couldn't help but wonder if you had finally hit a nerve.

"On our first date? I am a gentleman, an old-fashioned one at that," he retorted, feigning insult. "I'll ensure you reach home safely, plant a goodnight kiss and wish you sweet dreams."

Not exactly how you envisioned the night ending, but you chose not to argue.

“The address is Grand Rue 3, the old theatre,” Raphael said. “If you do not make it home tonight, tell your mother to check the basement.”

It’s the centre, the very centre. Nobody gets killed in the centre of the city. In the bushes, in the slums, in the outskirts, but not in the centre. It’s too much hassle.

Right?

“The one at the street corner? I didn’t think it was open.”

“For the general public, it is not”, Raphael said. “For the few who are invited, it is.”

You drove in silence for some time, and then you spoke up:

“So, is there a play there or…”

Hopefully there was also a dinner, you thought as you nervously adjusted your stocking, because you were so bloody hungry.

“You will find out enough”, Raphael said. “Anya, dear, I have seen the lace on your stockings in every little detail already, so do not bother pulling them up.”

You hastily pulled up your stockings.

“They’re new...I think I took the wrong size. Too large.”

"Well then, take them off. There is no use trying to keep them from slipping down, and it is quite a distracting sight."

You gave him an incredulous look; unsure if he was serious.

He seemed pretty serious about it. That’s some old-fashioned gentleman.

"Take them off?", you repeated.

As the car slowed down to halt near a corner street, you contemplated checking if the doors were locked but decided against it - no subtle way to do that.

"You heard me correctly," Raphael confirmed, leaning back and taking his time to examine you. 

Yeah, okay. Okay. That’s a perfectly normal and a justified request, or at least you would act as if it were.

With some hesitation, you removed your shoes first and then gradually rolled down your stockings to reveal your freshly waxed legs. You tried to make it look sensual but ended up feeling more like a rookie stripper or a soldier executing orders.

His eyes were glued to you as you undressed. It was the sort of stare that makes skin tingle.

It felt pretty good.

By the time you pulled your stockings off, your panties were much wetter than when you got into the car. Raphael knew it, and you knew that he knew it. He had access to every dirty little fantasy in your browser history. 

On the other hand, you were completely oblivious to his kinks; the only hints you got were Haarlep and the debtors in the House of Hope. It's hard to say which of those is the most disturbing.

"Such exquisite feet," he complimented. "Lovely nail polish. I do adore crimson red."

What was it about the way he said it that felt so... dirty?

Raphael then glanced at the scar on your knee and asked, "Now, is there anything else you bought just for me that keeps slipping?"

Everything you wore you bought new for him, panties to bra, except for the cross.

"I am just teasing," he chuckled, cutting you off just as your lips parted to retort. "We have arrived."

Raphael signalled someone outside. A uniformed valet appeared at your side of the door, reaching for the handle with his gloved hand. The door swung open with a soft click.

A cool gust of wind brushed against your bare legs as you stepped out into one of the quieter corners in the city centre. You couldn't exactly recall when this quaint theatre was built but if asked, you'd guess it was a relic from early 20th century opulence. Red bricks and stone columns stood tall amidst modern buildings like a stubborn old man refusing to budge.

Raphael casually tossed the keys into the air with a quick flick of his wrist. 

The valet caught them mid-flight.

***

You were not sure what you had expected.

A password in Latin to enter, people in mysterious white masks, cultists chanting in circles around Raphael, hailing him as their new god, something out of Eyes Wide Shut. The reality was much more mundane. Still high-end, but lacking the unhinged allure you might have imagined. Just the private turf of the rich, the only odd thing being the electric entrance sign that read:

"MAGIC THEATER. ENTRANCE NOT FOR EVERYBODY. FOR MADMEN ONLY!"

Since you could pass the threshold, you assumed you were mad enough to pass the bar.

As you stepped inside, your eyes met those of an older man with a rugged face and a thin scar under his eye in the cloakroom. Raphael handed him his pair of identical black iPhones and AirPods, and then it was your turn to do the same.

It took you a moment to process the fact that Raphael had gotten himself not one but two iPhones just to pass himself off as a human, high-profile lawyer. You followed suit, handing over your electronic devices after one last long look. The last hour was the longest you'd gone without looking at your phone.

queen-of-the-bored: look we are all freaking out after what happened to your twitch

queen-of-the-bored: that’s some creepy pasta shit PLEASE write something PLEASE

“E’ un piacere rivederla capo! Che bella ragazza che ha rimediato!”, the man's words were directed at Raphael as he helped you out of your jacket.

“Vero, vero”, Raphael nodded in agreement. “E’ stupenda e non sa nemmeno di esserlo”.

What were they saying? They were talking about you, you could feel it.

“Non c'è niente di meglio!”, the man continued with a sycophantic grin on his face as he took Raphael's trench coat. He had a rose and a skull tattoo on his wrist.

“Beh, è completamente fuori di testa. Pensa che io sia il diavolo, in senso letterale”. 

“Le più sexy sono quelle pazze, capo!”

Your knowledge of Italian was minimal at best. The only words you understood were "devil" and "sexy." Neither of which gave any insight into the situation, and that these words fit perfectly together you had known before. 

The theatre was converted into a private club and restaurant, keeping the stage, but adding the chairs and the table and the sofas, the leather-bound books on the walls, the mahogany tables, the smell of cigars and whisky in the air. The only infernal or infernal-looking symbol you could spot was a square and a compass sigil on red velvet curtains. 

Everyone knew Raphael. 

A crowd of well-dressed men and women reached out to greet him; they exchanged words, smiles, kisses on the cheek (was that an Italian thing?), pats on the back. They looked at you as if you were beautiful or interesting. 

Was it because you were supposed to be beautiful, accompanied by such a man?

Raphael’s hand never left your back as he exchanged pleasantries. He seldom spoke English to them. French, Italian, German, Russian, Turkish. The sound of a foreign language can be pretty, but it can also be eerie, discerning, the us-versus-them thing. Hearing them speak was rather the latter.

You couldn't guess who these people were. There is very little difference between how a businessman, a politician or a criminal look; besides, these three professions were perfectly compatible. 

The debtors, probably; not literally in chains yet, but certainly owing something and in some kind of servitude.

The prime spot in the room was yours—or rather, it was Raphael's. The table had been marked, a lone initial "R" carved into its surface.

When the waiter suggested an aperitif, you selected a Negroni Sbagliato, because you thought it sounded sophisticated (and so did Olivia Cooke), Raphael ordered "bourbon and blood" because of course he would. You didn't even question if he meant actual blood.

As you chewed on your lip, your eyes darting around the room, Raphael reached across the table. His fingers brushed against yours before he lifted your hand to his lips. “Anya, may I make a small confession?"

"Yes?"

A soft kiss was pressed into your knuckles as he murmured, "I am delighted to have you here with me tonight. Believe it or not, I am but a lonely tired man in a dire need of pleasant company."

His genuine sincerity, the lines around his eyes and the hint of sadness in them disarmed you for a moment. 

Who the fuck was this man?

Before you could answer, the curtain opened to reveal a small figure behind it.

It was a dwarf. Not the fantasy dwarf, an actual dwarf - you struggled to recall the politically correct term for them - was it "little person?". He was like something from a lucid dream: crimson suit-clad, slick-backed hair on pale skin, moving with an almost rhythmic grace.

Right. Twin Peaks. Could Raphael read your thoughts? Did he know you were thinking about Laura Palmer?

Or perhaps he too was a David Lynch fan?

"Welcome, dear ones," the little man said, his voice surprisingly deep. "I am grateful for your presence tonight. Some of you I have known since the millennia, while others are new to my realm."

He was looking at you. He meant you.

Raphael squeezed your hand tighter, fingers intertwined, an oddly intimate gesture, as if you’d been dating for a long time. You squeezed back, feeling comforted and sheltered in his touch.

“There are rules that govern this place”, the little man continued. “Rules, as well all know, are under no circumstances not to be broken, or there would be consequences. Same rules apply to everyone”.

“What are the rules?”, you whispered.

Raphael flashed you a wide smile, wrinkles in the corner of his eyes.

“Patience, he will tell us”, he whispered back. “They are never the same. If they were, would that be interesting?”

Consistency would be nice, you thought.

“You, little miss!”, the little man pointed his finger at you. “Yes, you, you specifically, little miss, little-miss-with-the-cross. Tell me, how well can you distinguish reality from fantasy?”

Oh, how you despise being the centre of attention. All eyes on you. All of them. These rich, strange, scary people looking at you and your naked legs and your weird knees and your…

“Not very well”, you said. “Not very well at all, I am afraid”.

The dwarf cackled, Raphael followed suit, everybody laughed, and you were not joking at all. 

“Yes, she is remarkably honest”, Raphael praised, giving you an adoring kiss on the cheek. “A wonderful quality, is it not?”

“Shall we give it a little try, little miss?”, the dwarf asked.

Why you? Out of all people, why did it have to be you? Because you were with him?

"Come now, don't be shy”, Raphael chimed in. “There is nothing to fear in this place."

(Except me).

"Would you lend a hand, R?" The dwarf turned his attention to Raphael.

“It would be my absolute pleasure," he replied and positioned himself behind your chair. "Eyes forward," he instructed as you attempted to swivel towards him.

Raphael’s fingers gently grazed your cheek before sliding behind your head. 

You felt the soft fabric of a blindfold being secured over your eyes and instinctively clutched the armrests of your chair tighter. The room was plunged into darkness, every sound amplified; the rustling of his clothes, the creaking of the chairs beneath you, the whispering and giggling of others in the room, and your own heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears. 

Raphael's hands rested on your shoulders.

"I want you to try this and tell me what it tastes like", came the dwarf’s voice from somewhere ahead, as the waiter (you presumed) set the table before you. “Let imagination be your guide.”

Taste? Taste without looking? You heard the sound of Raphael picking up a fork and piercing something in front of you. 

“Open wide”, Raphael said. 

If you could say no when he would make such a request, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

So open wide is what you did and let Raphael push something between your lips and onto your tongue. You sucked and then bit down. 

The texture was unlike anything you had ever tasted before - bubbly, tenderly sweet with a savoury undertone, slightly slick and a bit challenging to chew. 

You didn’t have the faintest clue what it could be.

“It’s an…”, you took a wild guess. “it’s a.. it’s a piece of lamb in some sugar sauce, I think?”

There were a lot of excited laughs and giggles at your response. 

What did you try? 

What the fuck did you try? Your hands darted to your eyes to remove the blindfold, but were halted mid-way by a soft but very insistent touch.

“Keep the blindfold on until instructed otherwise,” Raphael warned before removing it himself.

You looked down at your plate and let out a loud exhale. Tiny glazed apple pieces, arranged in this typical Michelin restaurant artsy fashion, sat innocently on the large round dish. Why did the thought of meat cross your mind? What triggered that thought?

"Did your imagination run a little too wild there, little miss?" the dwarf laughed. “Seeing things that are not there?”

I know what you are all playing at, you thought bitterly. And I know who the fuck you all are, Raphael from Baldur’s Gate and the little man from Twin Peaks and I am not fucking crazy despite all your insinuations. 

“Dear ones, tonight we will serve five courses in complete darkness. Under no circumstance should you remove your blindfold; if needed, our waitstaff will guide you to restrooms. Guess what we serve tonight - at evening's end, we reveal the truth of it all”.

You said nothing while looking at the glistening apple. You never thought so much of an apple before; of how structure and taste and smell should be, of how it would (should) feel against your gums and teeth.

You kept staring at the glazed apples and thought of all the disgusting things it might have been instead. Brains? Tongues? Worms? A roasted dwarf leg?

“Rapha..”, you began and quickly corrected yourself. “Raul, just one thing, I… I do not eat human flesh”.

His response came after two slow blinks.

“Thank you for that wonderful piece of information. What am I supposed to do with it?”.

Not serving human meat would be a good start.

"Oh my little girl," Raphael cooed as he tenderly stroked your cheek. 

(why do you allow him to call you his little girl why this is disgusting this is so hot)

"You don’t seriously think…”, he continued. “Even if I had such inclinations - which I don't - cannibalism is illegal in this country.”

Oh yes, of course, he was a very lawful, very rule-abiding devil.

“And if it was legal?”, you asked.

"Anya," Raphael sighed heavily, "Your questions intrigue and frighten me in equal measures. Now, put on your blindfold." He added when he saw your hesitation: "Of course I will do the same - same rules apply”.

You trusted him to do as he said, since you put on your blindfold first. 

"As a warm-up, we have something that may bring back memories of your childhood," the waiter announced as he set down a dish in front of you. Your fingers searched and found the accompanying spoon. 

You breathed in the scent, which was so mild it told you nothing. Even if it turned out to be terrible or disgusting, you still wanted to taste it; you still wanted to do rather than not do; after a lifetime of not doing rather than doing.

The first spoonful exploded with nostalgia – kindergarten, afternoon naps, finger paints. The creamy texture and subtle sweetness with a touch of honey. 

Quite lovely, actually.

On the other side of the table, you heard a strangled gasp as if someone had just been forced to eat live worms.

"You don't like it?" you asked.

"I do not," Raphael responded gruffly. "But I am well aware that was the intention, so my compliments to the chef."

You wondered that a lot about him. The motherless childhood, growing up in hells, an evil bastard for a father. A chanceless, bleak fate, to be born evil, among evil, for evil, all privilege and no hope. If only Raphael would answer truthfully about that instead of spinning tales about some Italian village.

"I remember when we first met when you mistook me for an actor," Raphael mused out of nowhere. "That's when I first thought we had a certain… connection."

“I thought it happened way earlier”, you said, because it happened way earlier for you.

"Ha! True, I thought you were an exquisitely stunning woman the moment I walked into this cafe, if a little... skittish... which, I must say, adds to your allure. But then again, I've had my fair share of beauties... No matter. You see, I do have an affinity for the theatre".

“Oh really? How surprising”, you laughed pretty humorlessly. The ongoing joke about "I am not who you think I am" was getting rather stale for your taste.

"Indeed," came Raphael's self-assured response. "This place owes much to... ever heard of Antonin Artaud and his Theatre of Cruelty?"

"No, but it sounds like something you would love," you said.

"You hardly know me well enough to make such judgements," he said. "And if you're implying that I'm cruel, rest assured that I am not; merely just." He paused before asking nonchalantly, "Do you mind if I light up?"

You shook your head, though he couldn't see it through his blindfold. He proceeded to light his cigarette regardless. You noticed a dance of light behind the fabric covering your eyes as Raphael took an indulgent, addicted inhale.

A twinge of regret stirred you; witnessing Raphael taking a drag would have been a sight. You’d bet that looked very old school and very villainous. Your Negroni was long gone, replaced by overly potent wine which you sipped on nonetheless.

“The problem with art, Arnaud thought, was the distance between the audience and the artist. The safe space. The little cosy chair you sit in, detached, protected, at a comfortable distance; never truly allowing art to flow through you”. 

"I thought the purpose of art was to explore dangerous themes in a safe space," you said.

"That's not exploration then; it's voyeuristic entertainment, nothing more," Raphael countered. “Art and safe space should not coexist in the same sentence.”

His cigarette smoke wafted towards you - sharp, biting, pungent with a metallic undertone not unlike rotten eggs left under the scorching sun for too long.

"Does it smell somewhat... off?" You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your stinging eyes.

You never smelled sulphur before, but you knew what it was the moment you smelled it.

“I beg your pardon?”, Raphael asked.

“The main course shall make you think of something - or someone - you crave for”, the waiter’s voice went straight into your ear, and you didn’t even hear him coming.

"I know exactly who it will make me think of," Raphael said slyly.

You took your first bite as if trying to drown out the scent. Spice, cherries, and raw beef so tender it practically melted on your tongue. Delicious. Sinfully delicious.

Just as you were about to enjoy your third bite, something warm and sinuous wrapped itself around your bare ankle and began to crawl upwards. Your meal lodged in your throat causing a coughing fit that rocked your body.

"Is the flavour too intense for your palate, my dear?", you could hear Raphael grinning. 

His tail, you realised as it ventured further up. The nerve of that fucking devil! Groping you with his tail and STILL pretending he was fucking Raul from a fucking Italian village!

"So, as I was saying," Raphael continued, his fork scraping against the plate as if nothing unusual was happening under the table. "Artaud wanted to eliminate aesthetic distance."

You reached down for his tail underneath the table. The thing had a mind of its own though; it slithered away swiftly before you could touch it. You tried to grab for it again, but the sneaky little bastard darted away, causing you to stumble under the table and end up between Raphael's legs in your blind chase.

"By transforming the theatre into a place where the spectator is exposed rather than pro..." You felt his hand rest gently on your head, "Anya, may I inquire what you are doing under the table?"

You froze. His hand gave you a light caress. 

"You know exactly what I am doing under the table," you managed to say through gritted teeth. "Looking for your goddamn tail."

Raphael's hand stopped in a half-stroke. For a fleeting moment, you imagined him pulling you closer by your hair until you were right up against his crotch.

"A tail?" He seemed genuinely perplexed at this point. "We may be lost in translation(*) here, but I assume what you're looking for is somewhat more... up."

Your mind conjured up an image of him showing you exactly where it was; unzipping his trousers and placing his cock between your lips.

Would you then open wide and give him a head right there, blindfolded, no questions asked, in a room full of strangers (and a weird dwarf) watching?

You would, wouldn't you? 

You wanted to touch him so badly, just one touch to see how hard he was for you; just one fleeting touch, maybe he wouldn't even notice?

"I am delighted that theatre talk has put you in such a playful mood," Raphael purred. "I did presume we would at least make it to dessert before…”

A wave of embarrassment washed over you at his words. You tumbled backwards onto the floor, right on your bum; bumped your head, too, pretty badly and pretty awkwardly.. 

"I wasn't... Damn, that's not what I..."

Raphael chuckled (you hated him in that moment) and your cheeks turned red. How dare he think you'd suck him off like that, in front of everyone?

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you tried to escape the four-legged table trap, bumping into everything you could bump into. The world turned on its axis for a moment as you finally crawled out from under the table, your legs shaking beneath you.

The smell of sulphur again. You lunged for where your glass should be, found it, almost knocked it over, caught it in time and drank the wine. You thought it would make you feel better, but it made you feel worse.

The tail decided to make a comeback and patted your thigh affectionately.

"I...excuse me," you stammered out, pressing a hand to your mouth. "I need to use the bathroom."

“I’ll escort you, ma’m”, the voice next to you said, and you jumped in surprise. Was the waiter here the entire time? Did he watch you stumble underneath the table?

What else was here the entire time? Who else?

Christ.

Well, fuck, no, not him. Anybody but him.

****

"R's new little pet, aren't you?" the words echoed off the marble walls of the bathroom as you entered. You saw a woman in the mirror, tracing her lips with a ruby red lipstick that matched her hair, and she said: "Careful."

She was older than you, but not old, mid-thirties maybe, but she looked like a woman who was thoroughly done with her life. A stale kind of beauty.

"Why?" you asked, your eyes never leaving hers in the reflection.

She laughed, as if you were asking something utterly ridiculous. Without ever giving you an answer, she gestured to four meticulously arranged lines on the marble countertop. "Want some? It's primo stuff. You won’t get any better"

You've never tried cocaine, nobody's ever offered you cocaine, you wouldn't know how to order it and you certainly wouldn't have the money for it. 

It's something that other people have done in the movies. The villains, the debauched, the corrupt elite.

"No thanks," you replied, "I'm already unhinged enough, I think."

Her high-pitched laughter filled the bathroom again. "Oh darling, we're all mad here. Absolutely fucking mad. Even me... Especially me."

"Who 'we'? What is this place?"

"The lodge? Why, a private playground." She gestured vaguely with her lipstick tube, as if to encompass everything around you. "His rules. His people. His theatre."

"And by 'him' you mean..."

Theoretically she could also mean the dwarf…

She laughed again, and you wished she'd just stop. "Oh, how sweet! You know exactly who 'he' is. The man who is going to fuck you tonight."

Okay, you hope it’s Raphael.

"I know who he is," you said, maintaining eye contact in the mirror. "But I thought Raphael had just arrived on Earth... I thought I was the one who summoned him here..."

"Summoned him? Like a demon or something?" She put another layer of lipstick on her lips, now facing forward. "'Raul likes them crazy,' they say, and boy they don't lie." 

She had just called him Raul.

What the fuck was going on?

"The one to summon him, ha," she sneered, spinning around to face you directly, her face inches away from yours. “We all think we're so special”.

"No, I don't," you said. "I never thought that. Never. Because I never was any special".

"Well that definitely makes you the special one. How about a kiss, special one?" 

How about what?

She leaned in closer still; her breath smelled of champagne and burnt caramel. You took a cautious step back.

"Oh-oh, look at her, such a tease. I can see why Raul brought you here."

That name again.

“Tell me about him”, you asked. “Tell me about that Raul”.

"Nah. No kiss, no tell", she replied nonchalantly while returning her gaze to the mirror. “Enjoy your evening.”

Next: Chapter 4, In Which You Attend A Very Special Event (Part 2).

(*) In some European languages, tail = cock (e.g. “Schwanz” in German).

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Round Three: Ambopteryx vs Caihong

Ambopteryx longibrachium

Artwork by Gabriel Ugueto, written by @i-draws-dinosaurs

Name meaning: Both wings with long arms

Time: 163 million years ago (Callovian stage of the Middle Jurassic)

Location: Haifanggou Formation, China

Look, evolution has done a lot of weird stuff to dinosaurs. It put penguins underwater, and did whatever the hall mamenchisaurid necks are, and game lambeosaurs a built-in face trumpet. But I would argue there is one group that represents dinosaur evolution at its most unhinged, and that is scansoropterygidae.

Scansoriopterygids were generally considered “weird little tree dinosaurs” in the 2000s, with long fingers to pick grubs out of bark or something. Then Yi qi swept along in 2015 and revealed that those long fingers were actually supporting membranous bat wings. With an extra bony rod (the “styliform element”) sticking out of the wrist to help support it, because well if you’re a dinosaur evolving bat wings why bother being normal about it after that? Although really, the dinosaurs did it first so bats actually have dinosaur wings.

Yi was sensational, but it was also extremely weird and completely unique. Even other scansoriopterygids didn’t have wing membranes, so the whole bat thing was a bit up in the air. Or not up in the air, as the case may be. But then along comes Ambopteryx, published in 2019, packing another set of skin wings, and the vindication of Yi is complete! 

Ambopteryx preserves a styliform element and wing membrane, as well as a thick coat of feathers, and honestly out of a whole selection of dinosaurs I think these might be some of the most huggable in the lot. Obviously this whole wing membrane thing didn’t end up working out for them long term, but Ambopteryx is part of an incredible lineage that challenged what we thought was possible for dinosaurs!

Caihong juji

Artwork by @i-draws-dinosaurs, written by @i-draws-dinosaurs

Name meaning: Rainbow with big crest

Time: 161 million years old (Oxfordian stage of the Late Jurassic)

Location: Tiaojishan Formation, China

It’s always a special treat to hear the announcement of a dinosaur with known colours, because it gives the most direct impression of how truly stunning these animals would have been to witness in real life. And Caihong might just be the most spectacular of them all so far, described in 2018 from an immaculate full-body fossil that preserves detailed feathers! Caihong’s feathers are longer than some other floofy dinosaurs, and would have had the appearance of a luxurious mane along its neck. Not only that, the fossil preserves feather microstructures that in life would have made this dinosaur gloriously iridescent!

Now iridescent dinosaurs aren’t new, Microraptor has been decked out in fabulous starling-esque plumage for a while now, but Caihong absolutely takes it to the next level. Its whole body was covered in iridescent black, including the enormous tail, but the real star of the show are the platelet-like melanosomes found on the head, neck, and the base of the tail. Different from the usual iridescent melanosomes, the structure of these tiny organelles reflects brilliantly iridescent colours, like those on the heads of hummingbirds and particularly the bright purple feathers on the necks of the trumpeter family. Caihong would have put on an absolutely dazzling jewel-toned display in the treetops or on the forest floor of prehistoric China!

[absentia-if]

I'm looking for more interactive fiction games to play and I was wondering if you have any particular favourites?

I’m a hermit when it comes to the community as a whole— mainly staying in my own little corner, but I have been able to meet some amazing Author’s during my stay.

Citadel by @bouncyballcitadel is an absolutely amazing medical drama IF. An amazing cast of characters, both romance and non-romance, and real life experiences, and knowledge, fueling the writing in such a way that makes you feel extremely connected to the plot and the MC. I highly recommend it.

An Affair of the Heart by @doriana-gray-games is another amazing IF that I strongly recommend. Not only because I absolutely adore Dori, the sweetest of sweethearts, but she makes the world of Sherlock Holmes come to life in such a way that I can’t even truly describe— Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would be proud of her, I can tell you that much.

Novaturient by @kalorphic is an amazing spy IF that has a lovely cast of characters. It’s not as serious, or it’s not supposed to be as serious, as some of the other titles that I’ve mentioned, but it’s such a fun time all the same— it doesn’t have too much in the form of a demo, as of yet, but I think you’ll enjoy getting to know the cast on Ella’s blog all the same. (She also has another blog @ellawrites-if that I think you should check out too.)

Next in Line by @nextinline-if has been a fun read since I’ve started it. Not to mention Vi is an absolute delight to speak with. You have a little bit of everything when it comes to the romances, and who doesn’t love being royalty too? I think you’ll have a grand time with the story, and getting to know everything you’d wish to know about it, as I can’t recommend it enough.

Abyssal by @theabyssal is a great game with an amazing premise— playing Death itself ticking a lot of boxes for a variety of people. It’s quite angsty, as I feel like I should warn you, but the writing is immaculate and you’ll be pulled into the inner workings of a world that you have to find a place in once more. Plus, the ROs are absolutely amazing too.

A World Without You by @jaunefleurwrites has been an amazing read. It deals with the realities of death while still being alive, an ever growing entity that always looms over us all, but it’s still an enjoyable read even if it does have a sadder undertone. I highly recommend it (plus Damin is a sweetheart).

The King’s Hound by @the-kingshound is an Arthurian IF that I think you’ll find yourself drawn to. It has found family written all over it, with tinges of angst and drama strewn within, that I think you’ll enjoy. It’s an amazing story, with an amazing cast, and I think you’ll enjoy it.

Past Imperfect by @past-imperfect-if is an IF with only a singular RO, that’s semi-customizable, and only has prologue released so far, but I strongly implore you to check it out as I think you’ll enjoy the premise of it. (Plus, my friend is the main creator for it and I know she’ll absolutely love to have someone as wonderful as you check out her story.)

Kingdoms and Empires by @kingdoms-and-empires is an amazing high fantasy game that I think you’ll enjoy. It has a wonderful world, that seems dynamic around the MC, with an amazing cast of characters that I think you’ll find yourself growing attached to. If you enjoy fantasy, being a royal, and wish to be along for a long ride? This story is definitely for you.

The Scars I Live With by @thescarsilivewith-if is also an amazing premise that I absolutely adore. It doesn’t have a demo yet, but I think the cast of characters that have been introduced as well as the world building will be able to be just enough until one is released.

If you want more of my stories? I have three other main stories that I’m working on— even if they’re on a semi-hiatus as of now.

Heart of Flames is a dragon rider story where you take on the role of one of the newest dragon riders within Haven, and it expands across the world of Gallinia as a whole. @unforeseenflame

Scandal is based off the show of the very same name— Scandal (by Shonda Rhimes). It’s genderlocked female though, just want to warn you. @nightingale-interactive

Path of Fire is a dragon-shifter IF wherein the MC is the last of the Dracaryean and their journey in discovering what that truly means— not only for them but for Ioria as a whole. @eleanawrites

[mykoreanlove]

Hey i was the one who asked for Taemin😅☺️

So my request is one where taemin and the reader (also famous one) where a couple and they casually meet at a restaurant in Paris after mnet concert so they spend the night talking (and confessing they miss each other)and the next day there are photos and videos of them and the fans start shipping them…

I appreciate very much🧡

Here we go - I hope u like it :)

“I am starving! Can we go now?”

Your manager grabbed your coat and ushered you out of the venue. “You are unbearable when you’re hungry. You know that?”

A small smirk left your lips as you remembered who used to say the same thing to you, too.

Taemin.

He even carried snacks with him in case you got hangry. Your boyfriend was such an attentive man, always making sure that you were taken care off. Well, he used to, as he was not your boyfriend anymore.

Taemin, the love of your life, turned into Taemin, public figure you tried your best to avoid.

“Get in”, he opened the cab door for you. Luckily, there were only a few fans waiting for you outside, making this exit fast and effortless. You waved your goodbyes and got into the cab, exhausted and starving.

“What did you think of the concert, y/n?”

You turned around to face him – your manager was a handsome man. He was righteous, smart and dependable; a valuable asset you couldn’t miss in your life. And yet, that asset caused a lot of trouble for you.

You shrugged your shoulders. “It was okay, nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He chuckled. “Are you still in a bad mood?”

His comment stung. Still.

You were in a very bad mood weeks ago when you had to call it quits with Taemin because he couldn’t handle his jealousy. You wanted to slap the shit out of him for breaking your heart like that. He wasn’t jealous because of fans or exes, no, he was jealous of your manager. The one you spent most of your time with, the one that was way too good looking to be around you all the time like that.

Feelings of anger and heartbreak turned into sadness and apathy, but still, your manager’s comment was uncalled for.

“I know you didn’t like him, but I did. And loosing him like that was very painful to me, so yes, I am in a bad mood. Still.”

You shut down this conversation and watched the moving scenery out of the window. You had always been fond of Paris, no matter the season nor time but something about Paris by night filled your heart with the most joy. The cab passed the Eiffel tower, which was illuminated beautifully.

“We’re here”, your manager explained. You didn’t understand, though. “At Eiffel tower? What do you mean?” He chuckled and opened the door for you. “There is a very famous restaurant up on the tower. Not a lot of people get the chance to dine there. However, you do, y/n.”

You couldn’t stop gasping as you went up on the elevator. You had been in this business for a while, but you were not used to extravagant and lavish things like this.

“Let’s take a photo for your fans”, your manager nudged you. Both of you looked into the massive mirror that was attached to the wall of the elevator and smiled warmly. After that you took a good look at the reflection – you were wearing a beautiful dress, going up to an exclusive restaurant with a handsome man. This whole situation was oozing romance and you almost felt like a princess as long as you ignored the wrong prince by your side.

As you entered the restaurant you were greeted by polite waiters, ushering you to your place. The place was immaculate – a modern and stylish interior with giant windows which made it possible to overview all of Paris.

“Fuck me”, you mumbled under your breath. This was breathtaking, marvelous even. Gratitude was flooding your body, paired with a bit of sadness as you would have loved to experience this with the right prince by your side.

The waiter rambled happily, explaining each and every landmark of France’s capital. “It is amusing that you’re coming here today, mademoiselle.”

“And why is that?” You loved talking to the old waiter, he was full of joy and appreciation for life.

“Because tonight we also have another popstar from Korea with us. Perhaps you know each other?”

Quickly, you glanced at your manager who simply shrugged his shoulders. You had no idea that one of your colleagues might be here as well. Who could it be?

“Do you want to go meet him?”

You nodded and followed him, eagerly anticipating who it could be. Your waiter led you to a separé where a bunch of people were enjoying their dinner joyously.

“Here, mademoiselle y/n, our other guest from South Korea is-“

Your heart sank instantly as you recognized him.

“Taemin.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck – the only thing that was going through your brain. On the outside, however, you appeared calm and collected. All those years of training definitely paid off, as you were able to mask any emotion.

Taemin however was caught off guard. He was dressed in all black, looking too good to be real. His hair black with some light accents, his eyes hooded from the alcohol and his lips slightly apart from the shock of seeing you.

“Hey everybody, funny seeing you here. Enjoy your meal, it looks delicious.”

You turned around and rushed out of the restaurant, brushing off your manager as you needed time alone to collect yourself.

Luckily, the elevator was still on your floor, so you got in and did your best to breathe. You didn’t want to cry, not here, not now. As the door was about to close a man jumped into the elevator, making it in in the last second before it shut for good.

“What the-“, you mumbled under your breath as you realized who it was.

“Y/N”, his voice still held the same amount of love for you as it did back then.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for a shoot. And then I went to a concert earlier and my crew wanted to come here, so I-“

“Not in Paris, Taemin. What are you doing here?”, you interrupted him.

He looked at you sweetly, making your insides churn.

“I couldn’t let you get away like that. I was in shock when you turned up at my table, honestly, I thought I was hallucinating you.”

You noticed a smile forming on your lips which you shut down immediately.

Stop getting your hopes up, you idiot.

“I wouldn’t have come if I had known that it was you. Sorry.”

Taemin grabbed your hand. “No, don’t be. Don’t be sorry, y/n. I am so grateful that you came over. What are the odds of us running into each other? Here? In Paris?”

His hand was warm, feelings of familiarity flooded you. The sound of the opening elevator doors ended this nostalgic moment for you as you pushed his hand off yours and went out.

Taemin ran after you and stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/N, please. Stay. I need to talk to you.” He was pleading, his eyes were sincere. “What is there to talk about?”

He sighed deeply. “I let you walk away once and that was the biggest mistake of my life. I’m not doing it again, y/n. I still feel the same way about you. Don’t you?”

There was this feeling again. In the pits of your stomach, you felt something vibrant, like a butterfly that survived the horrors of your heartbreak and still clung unto hope. Taemin took your hand into his, drawing small circles on it, knowing that this would calm you down. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”

You gave in and walked with him, your hand still in his, your heart already fluttering. Both of you remained silent, just casually walking side by side. You passed a garden and ended up at the river, appreciating the view from there, as well. “God, this city is the essence of beauty”, you admired out loud. Taemin’s eyes lit up as you were finally opening up to him.

“It is”, he agreed, “that’s why I always wanted to come here with you.” You mustered him suspiciously. “You did?”

He flashed you his brightest smile. “Of course, I did. I had it all planned out. We would stay in one of those beautiful hotels that has a direct view on the tower. And we would walk on the Champs Elysée, and I would buy you anything you want. We would eat all day, like crepes and macarons and we would be up all night, paying the city of love its proper homage. We’d fly back to Korea wearing those stupid I love Paris shirts and tell everybody about our trip and how amazing it was, because we’d been there together.”

His words were the sweetest, yet all you could feel was sadness. This trip was nothing but a fantasy that died in the moment you two broke up.

“I am sorry about what happened, y/n. I acted like a complete moron. I was just…. overpowered by my emotions and I couldn’t think clearly. Truth is, I miss you. I think about you every single day and I want you back. I want us back.”

You noticed a small tear running down his cheek and couldn’t help yourself, your own tears started flowing, as well.

Taemin grabbed you and pressed his forehead against yours. “Please don’t cry, my star. Let me make it up to you. I can fix this. I can fix this… if you let me.”

You slung your arms around him and hugged him tight. All the burden you had felt these last months finally fell off you and you were able to embrace whatever this thing between you was.

Taemin placed sweet kisses on the crown of your head, tightening his grip on you. “You know, my life has been so dark ever since we parted ways but now, I finally feel like the light is coming back.” He whispered into your ear: “My star is finally coming back.”

You looked up at him, touched by his words and vulnerability. Taemin understood you without words, he always did, and kissed you tenderly. This kiss felt like an explosion, a mixture of love, longing, and relief.

It was him who broke the kiss, chuckling happily as he repeated his endearing nickname for you over and over again.

“My star. My star. My star. I can’t believe it. I have you back. I finally have you back with me, y/n, my star, my love. I-“

You crushed your lips on his again, not wanting to terminate this moment just yet. “Easy tiger, we’re still in public.”

Ah, fuck.

You let go of him, slightly ashamed but still content. “Thank you for running after me, Tae.” He placed another kiss on your knuckles. “My pleasure, y/nnie.”

Your rumbling stomach interrupted this wholesome moment, reminding you that you were still starving. “It’s a shame I haven’t eaten before we left though”, you laughed out loud. Taemin’s hand searched for something in his pocket. You watched him pull out one of your favorite snacks, handing it to you. “I know this isn’t French cuisine but it’s better than nothing.”

Your eyes teared up again. “Did you carry this with you? Even after we broke up?” He nodded in agreement.

Fuck, I really love you. And you love me.

Taemin grabbed your hand. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

He smirked at you. “My hotel is right around the corner. Let’s go there and I’ll let you gaze at the Eiffel tower while I gaze at you.” You erupted in laughter. “Ewww, since when are you so cheesy?”

You woke up entangled in one another. Panicked, you recalled last night but calmness settled in as you realized that it was all true. You were back together and this time it would be different. Taemin was still asleep, looking like an angel to you. You noticed your phone lightning up and checked your messages, it was flooded with texts from your manager.

“Don’t even lie to me about last night, y/n. The internet is full of pictures of Taemin and you smooching it up. CALL ME!”

Panic flooded your body, you instantly shot up.

“My star”, Taemin mumbled half-asleep, “come back into my arms and sleep some more. Please.”

God, he was adorable but now was not the time.

You opened your socials and searched for the pictures. There they were – him and you kissing, him and you talking, him and you eating snacks.

Shit, this can’t be good.

“My staaaaar”, Taemin’s hands grabbed you and pulled him to him. You scanned the comments hastily.

OMG, I love them!!

They are so cute together.

In Paris? This is like a kDrama lol.

He is so hot! If I can’t be dating him, he should date someone as cool as y/n

My girl got lucky!!!

“Y/N.”

Taemin, his voice all hot and bothered in your ear, was ready to throw your phone out. “Is there anything you need to attend to right this instant, my star?”

Luckily, there wasn’t.

You placed your phone on the nightstand next to the bed and turned around, vanishing under the covers with your hot and heavy boyfriend.

“Nope, I’m all yours.”

** the end **

[marupunch]

Hello! May I please know what exactly are your thoughts on the craftsman and why you hate him so much? /genq

(I do agree with you but I want to know why so much hatred if you don't mind)

Don't worry and thank you for asking! Sorry this took so long but I wanted to deliver something complete and objective (I had to write this 3 times because the first one looked like a rant...)

Even though I don't like Craftsman, it's not like a "I hate the character" kind of hate, more like "I don't think he's a good person but I'll try to reflect that on my art instead of downright hating the whole character" kind of hate. There's actually some background on why I think like this so I'll try to be as objective as possible with my arguments to make my point clear.

Remember, this is just a personal opinion and it's okay if someone doesn't agree with me!

These are video game characters and we're all allowed to have different perspectives about them.

(...)

⚠️WARNING OF LOOOONG TEXT AND SPOILERS FOR ORIGAMI KING⚠️

It's important that we understand that Origami King is a game that relies a lot on Japanese culture to tell a story and that's why there's a lot of misunderstanding in the western part of the fandom about Olly and his character, motivations, etc. We must also understand that origami is a highly respected and important art form in Japan, therefore, its creation entails different guidelines rooted in the culture of this country.

Let's start with the most basic. According to the rules of this art, you are not supposed to write over origami. To be honest, you are not supposed to use any type of tool on origami other than the paper and your hands. I'm not saying that it is completely prohibited but this reduces the value of a work. See it as a form of "cheating."

Writing over origami gives an aspect of informality to your piece. And it greatly influenced how Olly perceived himself, since he took Craftsman's writing as something that reduced his value as origami and even ruined him, as a work of art.

In Japan, a very important aspect of society is how people perceive you, the image you give to those around you. Olly was supposed to be a king, immaculate and perfect, but he was tainted by the very creator of him. His image was ruined and his appearance became a symbol of shame.

Hence his fury towards his creator, which is more highlighted in the Japanese version of the game and is not hidden behind a joke of "All Toads are the same", as in the American version.

At the end of the game it is revealed to us that the message were words of encouragement and good wishes. But again, these are only visible once Olly is on the brink of death, as they were inaccessible in his normal state. They were good intentions, but they did a lot of damage, in the end.

It makes me wonder how the Origami craftsman, being someone who practiced this art every day, did not know such a basic rule. Or maybe he ignored it, but this also leads him to be a bit indifferent, since it doesn't seem like he had the implications of creating a life in general in mind, much less ruining an origami work.

Which also brings us to his motivations. In the game, Craftsman mentions, and I quote, "I don't get to celebrate my craft very often, so I might have gone a bit... overboard."

(Note: I'm the Spanish version, he says "Because people don't compliment my work very often." Yeah, that doesn't help my view of him.)

Although the general perception leaves us with a father-son relationship, Craftsman never refers to Olly as such, since from the beginning, he had created him as a craft, a way for people to praise his abilities, never having in mind a family or considering what responsibility it had to create a new life.

I think he never fully understood the concept of what it was to bring origami to life beyond them being talking dolls, a striking party trick, because also, seeing what Olly has done, he mentions to Olivia that he should never have used the Fold Of Life.

The reason she and Olly are alive in the first place. Even Olivia herself understands the implication of this comment, responding to her creator "Don't say that, I love being alive!".

It almost seems that for Craftsman, the Fold Of Life was just a creative choice about whether or not to put more detail into his creations. But for Olly and Olivia, that technique was their entire lives, literally. The choice of whether they existed or not.

Clearly until now there is a certain objectification on the part of Craftsman towards his creations, seeing them as just this instead of real children. And although there are vain attempts like the doodle on Olly or giving Olivia a weapon to defeat her brother, we can agree that they were not the most optimal tools to try to guide two children who he was supposed to protect. Not like his creations, but like his children. But so far everything is normal.

At least until the end.

Craftsman's first reaction upon seeing Olly's body is to appreciate the material with which he had made it. Yes, perhaps a bit of nostalgia in the creation of it, but ultimately it's a bit insensitive to mention that given that there is a life that has been taken, his son's life, again, showing the aforementioned objectification.

Even worse when, even if he's watching Olivia's expression, he congratulates her for "using the weapon he implemented in his design." At this point I'm trying to be objective, but this is a completely off-base comment. Not only does he not come close to comforting Olivia in a situation that is probably difficult for her, but he is too focused on what HE did to her that he barely does anything to support her beyond teaching her how to make a paper crane.

She just killed her own brother PLEASE just for once be a little emphatic

By the time the ending arrives, Mario seems much more affected by the loss of Olivia than Craftsman himself, who seems much happier for someone who should be mourning his creations.

I think that the scene in the Secret Ending is the closure of why I hate this character, because as I mentioned before, it dehumanized Olly and Olivia a little, treating them only as creations that served a purpose (making him gain recognition) only for them to end...

...being that. The key problem was never acknowledged, Olly and Olivia ended up being exactly what he wanted them to be.

As I mentioned before, this is my PERSONAL PERSPECTIVE about him. It's okay if people don't see him this way but the idea of Craftsman being this kinda insensitive and irresponsable parent makes a lot of sense to me. It just feels correct, specially after how Olly shows symptoms of trauma, like not wanting to see Craftsman's face again being the reason why he wants to get rid of all of the Toads, as mentioned on the Japanese version.

I'm not justifying Olly at all because I know he's wrong with a lot of things but the game tells you he's wrong. He gets his punishment and the whole character of Olly revolves around being a young, irrational king. On the other hand, the image the game gives you about Craftsman is a poor victim who didn't do anything wrong.

I think the worst part is that he never got a single punishment after this. Maybe being trapped in his basement but considering he was the one who started everything in first place, he doesn't seem guilty or even affected. I guess creating two gods, then having them both die in front of you it's just another day for Theofold.

TLDR; Craftsman is an irresponsable, insensitive and negligent father who traumatized Olly. Also a poop head. (?)