#the curtains are blue but you aren’t different for saying that they’re just blue

[hyastani]

i’m probably a few years late here but the whole “the curtains are blue because they’re blue” sentiment is so infuriating. like if you don’t want to read the book, don’t read the book, and if you don’t want to listen to people who read past the words on the page, don’t listen to them.

i truly think people who complain about english teachers “deeping” things are a bit simple, because a story doesn’t need to be plot-heavy or particularly action packed to be interesting or worthy of interest. booktok young adult fiction has fucking ruined our brains for perpetuating that idea. books can be, and i think should be more often, a beautiful expression of life in a more abstract or hard to understand way, or an abstract comment on the way people conduct themselves.

yes, the curtains may be blue because they’re blue, but they could be blue and chosen to be described as such because the surroundings express melancholy that the character also feels (i wonder if people who complain about reading into it too much are aware of expressionism and colour association…).

moral of the story, narrow mindedness is a curse and is a symptom and consequences of lots of things wrong with our world

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode II 

Concurrent Tides

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff. Most illustrations are now on her patreon.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19) Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, profanity, age gap, aggressive rut cycle, heat cycle, dom/sub dynamics, jealousy/posessiveness, knotting, marking, scenting, praise kink, breeding kink, size difference, p in v, mating/bonding, multiple climaxes, creampie, ralak is a bit of a meanie in this, let me know if I forgot anything? Word Count: 10k Requested: Yes || No Author’s Note: the second special episode is finally here. sorry it took forever to get it out, but better late than never :') i hope you guys enjoy <3 theres another part to come after this one! 🤍 Synopsis: what happens if you and your new mates cycles sync? 

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——

“Only I knot you.”

That was the first time you’d ever seen Ralaks eyes shift in colour. That same night right after he pulled you out of his memory of his first rut. A beautiful, deep blue, glistening before your honey glazed orbs. It’s barely been a week since that night, yet it replays over and over. Day and night. How he looked at you with nothing but unadulterated greed, hardly catching his breath as he tried to steady his galloping heart. It was something deep-rooted and primal. 

Something animalistic. 

Since, you’ve longed to see him fully immersed in such a state. A state where self control and sexual desire no longer coexist. He’s always too concerned with you and what he thinks you can and cannot manage that he never allows himself to do what he truly wants. The level of restraint you feel through the bond is indescribable. A level you nor any other na’vi could conceivably attain. Regardless, most nights you find yourself fantasizing about this ‘lack of control’ right before bed. 

Nights like tonight. 

Where the stars shimmer so brightly that you need to draw the curtains, and the air is exceptionally cold and crisp that you need to huddle closely together for warmth. When your nose is buried so deep into his chest that there's no other choice for his scent to fill your lungs. And tonight he smells extraordinarily good. The salt of the sea mixed with leather hide. And oddly enough, he smells like… home. The forest and its greenery. It’s quite ironic but perhaps it’s Eywa’s way of saying that this man is truly yours. It's so comforting and right. Like a cup of hot tea on a stormy night, never failing to put you to sleep. A remedy that works in seconds — but not tonight. 

Tonight you’re restless and he can sense it. 

“What is it?” Ralak husks, shifting his position to hold you a little closer. “Cold?” 

Truthfully, you’ve been feeling a little off. Your body has been restless and haunted. As if it could sense some sort of change of shift in the atmosphere. Or perhaps it was between the two of you. “No.” You mumble, lifting your head to look up at him. “Just can’t sleep.”

Ralaks ears twitch, a little surprised his typical soothing techniques aren’t working. He sits up quite quickly, bringing you up with him as he scoots back into frame of his bed. His brows lower when he ponders about what could be keeping you so on edge. He takes note of your flushed appearance and the minute changes in your eyes, they’re glowing a little brighter recently. 

His brows jump when the realisation dawns on him. 

Could it be? He knows it’s close but is it really already affecting you? How is that possible? And does that mean it will be even more severe this time around? 

He had every intention to stay but perhaps it’ll be more difficult than he expected. He should really tell you, but he knows exactly how that would play out. You would get your way as per usual, it was hard for him to deny you of anything you wanted. A quick swish of your tail and it was yours. Ralak took pride in caring and providing for you. But not for this. This was just plain dangerous. And therefore he couldn’t allow you to figure it out. It’s ultimately safer that he keeps it to himself, at least until you’ve adjusted to him a little more. Your intimate moments together are very few in number after all. 

“Why is that, tanhì?” He asks in a low, steady tone, fixing his mask of indifference tightly to his face. 

You may be a slow learner, but you weren’t slow. You could sense that he wasn’t being all that transparent with you. 

“I don’t know. Something feels off about you.” You say in an almost accusatory tone, finally sitting up to look him in the eye. He’s pale in the face and his breath becomes raggedy. “Tell me, Ralak.” 

You watch as his pupils constrict, leaving nothing but a black dot in an open sea of blue. Within a matter of seconds, they deepen in colour and his eyelids flutter shut. He clears his throat, and waits a few seconds to open his eyes. They’re back to normal but you could’ve sworn they looked different. Just like they did a few nights ago. 

“What just happened to your—” Your heart begins to race as you utter the words, only to be cut off by Ralaks hasty voice. 

“Inland. Tomorrow morning. Overnight hunting trip.” He grinds them out as if it physically hurts to say the words. Anything to keep you from figuring it out. 

What? Is he — lying to you? 

This isn’t like him. He avoided trips inland at all costs. Anything to stay with his tanhí. He’d even go as far as faking an illness, despite rarely getting ill, to get out of accompanying Tonowari. Especially for overnight trips. 

“And why did you not tell me earlier?” You manage to squeak out a closing throat, backing away to create a little distance.

He shakes his head as he blinks rapidly, staying put to allow as much space as you need. “I was hoping I did not need to go.” He utters, dropping his head to lock his gaze on your twiddling thumbs. His eyes trail up your dark blue frame, taking note of how your body is already almost trembling —already responding to him— all out of your control. He bows his head, hiding his face. “But it seems that I cannot get out of this one. I am sorry, my paysyul.” 

For a fleeting moment, you really thought this was the beginning of something bad. Something deceitful. But, his words instantly bring you comfort, slowing your leaping heart and putting your mind at ease. 

But the funny thing is that there was no lie. 

There was really an overnight trip inland with Tonowari. One that Ralak arranged himself. Tonowari was especially taken aback by Ralaks suggestion of a hunting trip and immediately queried if he was alright, putting a firm hand on his forehead to determine if he had some sort of fever. But once Ralak explained himself, Tonowari was smiling and laughing, smacking a few blows on his back as a form of approval, teasing him yet again about ‘the love story between an Akula and an ilu’. 

Your sigh brings Ralak out of his deep thought, chin leaving his chest to witness you sliding back into bed, turning on your side and backing up onto him. A smirk pulls at the his lips as he joins you, enveloping you in his warmth once more. A wave of relief washes over him as he rests his chin on the crown of your head. He’s thankful that you didn’t press any further. Otherwise, he would’ve had to reveal his best kept secret. 

His upcoming rut. 

—— 

The harsh thump of Ralaks heart rouses him to the sight of his mate clung to his chest. He admires your beauty, allowing his eyes to fall on your chest, watching closely as you breathe slowly. He gently pulls back the thin sheeting covering your body, exposing your puffy nipples to the cool morning air. When they stiffen into peaks, saliva pools in his mouth. At this point he would have looked away because of basic na’vi decency, but this morning is different. 

He allows himself to stare. To take in every detail on your chest. To sear it into his memory so he can visualise you just like this as he relieves himself. Exposed before his eyes, supple skin glistening as the rays of sunlight reflect against your freckles, exposed, stiffened nipples, that act as the perfect bait to lure in a hungry predator. 

Predator.

That’s what he’ll be in a matter of minutes. Nothing but a slave to his own urges and instincts. Ravenous. Insatiable. Voracious. With not even a sliver of self composure left to hold onto an ounce of rationality. He can already feel it creeping up on him, the hunger deep in his core turning him into the beast that he appears to be on the outside. It’s always been like this. A little too much. Too overwhelming. 

Too aggressive. 

And as the years passed it only worsened. Six unmated years. With no one but himself to make it through the tortuous few days. He just knows that he would be too rough with you. It’s his biggest fear, after all. To have no self control. To hurt the one thing he loves more than Eywa’s gift of life itself. He would sacrifice his own (life) if it meant to save yours.

He was hoping to endure it. Bite his tongue through it and be by your side. Perhaps take a long bath in the lake and crawl into bed after you’ve gone to sleep and relieve himself as quietly as he can. But now that it’s here in full bloom, he’s already having a hard time containing his urge to spread your legs and use you as his own personal fucktoy. 

But you’re more than that to him. 

And this is why he’s choosing to leave before you wake. Before he can no longer contain himself to just staring at your bare chest. Before he pulls the sheet down even further and parts your legs—already trembling from his leaking pheromones—and has a taste of his sweet, sweet tanhí. Rather, he uses his last shred of self composure to plant a firm kiss on your forehead before quickly gathering his gear and heading out the door. 

Unbeknownst to him, you were awake the entire time. 

You could feel his eyes bore into your tiny frame as the crisp morning air grazed past your nipples, just like you could feel the roughness of his kiss right above your brow. You wanted to open your eyes but the way his pheromones waft up your nose had you in a foggy trance. Your eyes burned under your eyelids and your body felt so heavy and hot. 

You couldn’t help but think, is this his rut?

To be influenced by his cycle? You had felt it before. His first rut in the flashback, but it was nothing like this. Sure, it had you shivering and a little on edge but this was to another level. You could barely open your eyes, much less get out of bed. This entire time your body has been sending warning signals that its mate was peaking in his cycle — restlessness, clinginess, the nesting. You had unknowingly gathered enough fruits and grains to last you a few days. Even in this murky state of mind you finally manage to link the pieces of the puzzle together. 

Listening to his footsteps as he walks out the marui, you muster up as much strength as you can to open your eyes. It’s blurry and honestly all just one blob. You could only make out a few colours trailing behind this gentle giant—green, blue and orange. All of which mix together and move like the aurora in the night sky. If one could see what a pheromone looks like, this would be it. When you finally get enough strength to part your chapped lips to mutter his name, the colours disappear as the marui flap closes behind him. 

You really thought that once he left and the room aired out, that the influence of his pheromones on your body would lift as well. But you were wrong. Instead, the heaviness of your body grew tenfold, making it hard to breathe. It’s as if your lungs were filled to the brim with cold water, yet they burned as you squirmed around to fill them with air. The fire in your lungs quickly spread to your extremities, leaving your entire being in a sweltering inferno. 

This feeling is familiar, yet foreign all at once. A desire so extreme it burns from within. The desire to be connected with your mate on all levels known to the na’vi. To satiate the itch of your empty, fertile womb by filling it with his seed. 

Why did you have to get your heat now?

You call for Ralak a few times in your dazed state, only for you to be reminded by nothing but the crash of the waves that he’s gone. Soon the heavy rumble of the waves is drowned out by your whimpers and whines as you call for your mate to no avail. All you can manage to do in your feverish haze is kick off whatever cloth is stuck to your body, curl into a ball and rock to ease the unbearable sensation between your legs.

All until you hear a familiar, husky voice. 

“I was doing some sessions with Ronal and—”

“R-Ralak?” You call out in relief, hoping your prayers have finally been answered. You roll onto your side and squint at the figure in the door frame. 

“Uh. Not quite.” He quickly mutters under his breath, moving his forearm to shield his nose from your strong pheromones wafting his way. “Eywa—” He mumbles the great mothers name like a curse as he looks around the marui for your mate. “Where is Tak?” 

Tak?

The more you squint your eyes, the more you’re able to make out who this figure standing in your doorway is. Your blurred vision clears just enough to reveal the unforgettable, brawny features of no other than Ka’ani. 

“Ka’ani?” You say the name slowly, unsure if you should believe your eyes. 

“Hah. What do you know…” Ka’ani scoffs, moving his arm from his face to lean in to get a better look at your condition. You’re panting yet shivering, glazed in your own sweat and slick. He smirks a little as he pulls back, spitting out the words, “…bitch in heat.” 

“What are you... d-doing here? You should leave!” You try to shout, although it comes out more as a hoarse cry. 

“Why should I? It looks like you need a hand.” Ka’ani jesters, physically extending his hand towards you as he wiggles his thickset fingers. 

“Haa. I really don’t.” You pant, hugging your knees to your chest even tighter.

“You’re sitting in a puddle of your own sweat.” Ka’ani’s voice is harsh, yet laced with concern. “And whatever else is coming out of you.” His jaw clenches and unclenches as he looks away from you, seemingly out of — respect? He catches sight of the full bucket of fresh water at your bedside, along with empty drinking bowls.

Has she not been tended to all day? Not a sip to drink? Ka’ani thinks to himself, concerned as to why Tak’s mate would be alone, uncared for and in heat of all things. 

You finally muster up the energy to tug the sodden sheet over your naked body and scoot back further to the frame of the bed. “Ralak said he will be back soon. You should leave if y-you want to live.” You lie, feeling a little threatened that a male na’vi has barged into your marui while you’re in heat. 

“Yeah, I don’t believe that for a second, y/n. None of this makes sense.” Ka’ani speaks, taking a few steps towards you. 

You shuffle even further back only for your back to make contact with the bed frame. A rush of fear surges through you. The type of fear that has your heart twisting behind your ribs. You cross your legs over one another, bunching up the sheet between them and beg with trembling lungs, “P-Please, Ka’ani. Don’t.” 

Ka’ani stops dead in his tracks, seemingly offended by your assumption that he’d be approaching you to do something that the great mother herself would look down upon. Sure, he tracked your scent last time, but he was here atone exactly for that. 

“Syor [relax]. I would never do such a thing.” He says through gritted teeth, storming towards the bedside and quickly pouring you a drink. “No matter how strong your scent is. Although, you don’t smell all that great now that you’re mated.” He chuckles lightly as he hands you the drink. Your eyes jump between him and the cup in his hand before you struggle to sit up. His hand instinctively reaches out to assist you, but you bat it away and continue to pull yourself up. 

“Just — let me help you.” He snaps, supporting your back when you finally give in. “Drink.” He commands, plunking the cup in your hand, taking a step back and crossing his arms.  

You gulp down the water greedily, finally quenching your thirst and hoping it will provide some level of relief to your febrile condition. You hum to yourself as the water makes its way down your throat, but groan when you feel no better. Meanwhile, Ka’ani takes in your state, feeling a twinge in his heart for you when he sees how you’ve been suffering. You look more than uncomfortable. You look like you’re in pain.

“You’ll be alright, y/n. Just tell me where he went and I’ll go fetch him.” He speaks in a more gentle tone, taking the empty cup from your hand.

“I-I don’t — haah. He said he went… He went inland to hunt.” You blubber out, feeling your body heat to a dangerous degree. It has you shaking as you ease yourself back into a more comfortable position. 

Ka’ani shakes his head a bit, “Inland to hunt? Really? When his mate is in heat? Tak would never. The only time he’d ever do that is if he is also… in rut.” Ka’ani stalls on the last few words that slip off his tongue, tasting them in his mouth as the realization sets in. Ka’ani quickly fills the cup, sets it next to you and bolts to the door. Before he ducks under the flap of your Marui, he looks over his shoulder and reassures you.

“Sit tight, forest girl. I know exactly where he is.”

— —

It’s been a few hours since coming to his usual spot — the waterfall with the coldest water known to the reef people. It is Ralaks most private and intimate place aside from his humble abode. A place where only a select few people know about. He’s most drawn to the low temperature of the water, making it a perfect environment to endure the heat of his rut in. 

Despite doing this for the past few years, each cycle gets a little more intense. And this one is certainly no exception. 

Ralak sits underneath the overhang, right in the dip of the plunge pool, and allows the water to beat on his back. He’s maintained this position for the past few hours, only releasing himself when the pressure in his core grows too much. A pressure so immense it would have his body acting on its own accord — a wandering hand finding its way to his swollen cock. 

Truth be told, he hated the feeling. 

He hated feeling so out of control. To be nothing but a slave to his own primal impulses. He’d fight it as much as he could, just like he is now, until the sensation is just too intense to ignore. Until he’s grunting and squirming with a body so heated it has him grinding his teeth. 

He quickly stands up, tilting his head back and covering his face from the stream of the water with his hands. At this point his cock is so swollen that it’s outright painful, throbbing and pulsing from the lack of attention. He thinks of you — your thin tail and tiny stature. The way you lay in bed this morning before he left. Naked and exposed before his eyes. Eywa, how he wishes you were here. How he could finally spend his rut with his mate, but he just knows it would be too much for you to handle. 

The thoughts of you make this no easier, sending his hips thrusting into the air — the running water stimulating his thudding cockhead. He groans from the immense pleasure a little water brings him. He’s neglected himself so badly to the point that he feels like this could really make him cum. But how many times has he cum by now? 

Once? Twice? Thrice? 

He lost count after the fifth time, not that he was keeping track anyways. If anything he was downright denying himself the pleasure, and convincing himself that he remained in control. But fuck, the image of your delicate body —the possibility that he could break you if he weren’t careful— pushes him over the edge. Before he can stop himself, his hot cum is spilling from his slit all over the length of his cock and he’s unable to keep his noises at a minimum. 

“Mmmph.” His deep growl rumbles, a hand grabbing a firm hold of his jumping cock. 

He squeezes what’s left out of his slit, finally looking down to see the state of himself. It’s red and raw — spikes fully erect and balls drawn so close to his body they’re practically hiding behind his thick knot. He lets out a loud sigh. 

Relief. 

Finally, he leans back against the rocky wall and slides down into the plunge pool, immersing himself chest deep into the water. He lightly treads back to the bank and makes himself comfortable — allowing his head to rest and body to relax. He takes a few deep breaths and tunes into the burble of the waterfall. 

All until he hears the click of a — 

Ka’ani?

“Tik-Tak.” Ka’ani clicks melodically, cautiously approaching the giant submerged in the waterfall. Ralak doesn’t budge. He remains fixed in position, eyes shut, head and elbows resting on the edge of the river. His chest heaves harshly as he attempts to remain in this less than tranquil state. “Never thought I’d see the day Ralak leaves his mate in heat. To be soaking in a waterfall of all things.” 

Perhaps Ralak heard wrong. Leaving his mate in heat? Ralak would know if his mate were in heat. He would sense it. Whatever rubbish he’s spewing out, Ralak doesn’t have the time, nor patience, for it. 

“Skxawng, what are you on about? Leave me be.” Ralak huffs, wiping the sweat from his face with a quick hand movement.

“Just as I thought. You’re all hot and bothered too, aren’t you?” Ka’ani chuckles. 

“Leave.” Ralak says angrily, his purplish-blue eyes finally snapping up to meet Ka’ani’s. “I have just calmed.”

Ka’ani’s brows knit together, offended and a little confused with himself for being upset from the way Ralak is shooing him away. 

“Oh c’mon brother. All I’ve been told today is to leave!” Ka’ani’s hands fly up as he takes a step forward. “First your mate, and now you. Am I really that unwanted?”

Now he’s got Ralaks attention. 

Ralak gets a whiff of your sweet, sweet pheromones on him. As if he’s been around his tanhì. Scenting his tanhì. Touching his tanhì. His primal urges devour him once more, eating away at him until nothing but a possessive beast remains. One of pure territorial instinct. 

“What did you do?” Ralak growls through a clenched jaw as he jumps out the water and approaches Ka’ani. “Scenting my mate again?” His voice booms as it increases in volume, yet lowers in depth. “Answer me. Did you touch her?!” 

“No!” Ka’ani blurts out, now taking a few steps back with his hands splayed out in front of him. “Is that what you both really think of me? This is the last I ever do some—”

Ralak remains silent, taking quick, calculated strides directly towards Ka’ani, who is now backing up into a tree. Once his back hits the scaly bark, Ralaks' balled fist slams into the trunk, barely an inch away from Ka’ani’s skull. 

“Alright! Alright. I know what I did before. I-I’m sorry. I came looking for you to apologise for that but I found her in heat. Okay? I came here as soon as I realized.” 

Unsure of whether or not to believe a word coming from this skxawng’s mouth, Ralak steps away from his prey, bloody knuckled and full of uncertainty. But the one thing he is certain about is the fact that he wants no other na’vi to find you if you really are in heat. With a huff of defeat, he pushes past Ka’ani and bolts for the shore. 

——

The trek back to the marui is twice as quick. Your pheromones are thick and potent, affecting him even a few feet away from the marui door. And when he steps through the marui door, he’s completely inundated with the thick fog of your pheromones. He feels lost in himself, struggling not to succumb to his instincts. Struggling to regain control.

“Ma’ L-Lak?” You mewl shakily.

You can smell him, just like he can smell you. It only drives you further into your heat, your trembling body now shaking a little more. Sensing that your mate is in close proximity, your scent glands release more of your aphrodisiac to lure him in. In turn, this has its effects on your body — sending you into a submissive state where you feel too heavy to even lift a finger. You lay there, legs splayed out and glossy fingered. 

You watch through blurred vision as the tall and thick silhouette quickly makes its way towards you. Ralak grabs and firmly holds your legs back as he leans in close, making the confirmation that his mate is indeed in heat. He lingers a little longer than he can control, taking everything in him to pull away and calm down — panting and out of breath. 

“It is true.” He huffs, towering over your tiny, shivering frame. “In heat.” The two words drip off his tongue, much like the thick nectar dripping from your slit.

“Lak. Oh — lak. ’ts you.” You cry out in relief, clawing at his thigh to bring him back to you, “‘m so happy it’s you ‘nd not someone else.” His teeth grit as your hand grazes his thigh, but he remains fixed in place, unsure of his ability to keep his composure if he allows himself to give in to your touches. 

What is he supposed to do now? 

He didn’t think this far into his plan… for once in his life. Typically he’s quite calculated and certain of his next move but now — now he’s not sure how he’s going to deal with this. He just knew that he couldn’t leave you alone. Not for another man to find and claim you in the way that only he should. But he has to remain himself. For you. He swallows down his uncertainty before speaking. 

“I should have stayed.” He looks down at the flushed, puffy flesh between your legs with a rapacious glint in his eye. “I am sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Just p-please. It’s to-o much. T-Too hot. It aches, karyu.” Ralak winces when you groan the last few words, it’s almost painful to resist you at this point. You go to claw at this thigh once more, only for him to shift away. “No, don’t do that. Not right now. N-Need you so ba—”

“My rut came. This morning.” He’s quick to cut you off with a strained, yet monotonous voice, unable to peel his eyes away from your swollen cunt. 

“I-I know.” You pant, earning a twitch of Ralaks brows. “‘nd t-that’s good. Ngh—that’s really good,  I-I can help you too.” You mumble, sticking your hand between your legs to fondle with yourself. With the way he grimaces one side of his face, it seems as if he wants to look away, but can’t. 

“No, tanhì. We spoke of this.” His accent is thick as he struggles to string the words together, “No control. Trying hard…” he inhales quickly, eyes plastered to the sight in front of him, “…not to lose it.”

At this point the haze of your heat has you lethargically shaking your head from side to side, mumbling whatever frustrated-fueled words that first come to you “…haven’t cum yet…”, you squirm around to find a position that allows your wandering fingers better access to your hole, “…need to cum.” You slur the words as you barely slip two fingers inside you and you quietly sob when they provide very little release. 

“Ralak!” You cry loudly enough to at last lure his gaze up to yours, the night sea finally meeting the roaring flame. Your voice quiets down into a soft whimper, “Please. Just t-try. Please.” 

A moment of silence passes where you and Ralak stare at one another, hearts pounding and chests heaving, understanding exactly how the other feels. The burning desire to come together. The resistance, yet the lack of control. The eternal flame within. The heat. 

Ralak breaks eye contact to glance at your slender fingers working as hard as they can. He breathes a heavy sigh, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving you when he sees just how raw you are from being in heat all alone. He’s responsible for you even being in this bad of a state, isn’t he? Leaving you before sunrise with nothing but a kiss on the head. If anything that only made it more intense for you. He wants to — no, needs to care for you. It’s what every part of himself is urging him to do. 

“The thought of another finding you… like this.” Ralak rasps as he closes in on you, “so vulnerable… it makes me — haah.” He cuts himself off with a shaky sigh and a clench to his jaw. Beads of sweat ball on his temples, slowly rolling down his angular jaw to eventually meet and drip from his chin onto your stomach. He looms over you, his hair flowing forward when he suddenly grabs and tugs at your wrist in one swift move, yanking your fingers out of you. 

“Ss-ah!” You hiss with a wince, heart skipping a beat when you realise that he’s barely there anymore. “I-It makes you, what?” You ask quietly — nervously, even. 

A bestial growl begins to rumble in his chest, causing a shiver to ripple through you—hardening your nipples into peaks within seconds. Jawbone fluttering from his reluctance to answer, he harshly cups your pussy with his hand, causing you to gasp. His sharp, intimidating stare locks with yours, brows tensing as he allows two, thickset fingers to slip down to your slickened opening. His growl fades into a single, drawn out word. 

“Nìfmokx. [jealous]” 

His admission slips past his lips just as his fingers sink into your aching core, leaving your mouth agape and hot tears spilling over your cheeks. Jealousy isn’t an emotion Ralak is used to feeling. Much less something he would subject you to experience with him. But you could see the raw emotion in his eyes, as they flicker from a dark blue to something even deeper. It’s the way his stare bores into your innermost being as he fills you up with his digits alone, telling you that you were his, and his only. 

He hooks his fingers right into your gummy walls, holding his position as he moves his hand in an up and down motion at full tilt. The tips of his fingers repeatedly slam into your swelling sweet spot, coaxing out broken, filthy noises from your throat. He hums with pride, yet his face remains stone cold, minus the occasional twitch of his jawbone. He’s trying so hard to keep at a steady pace, and not to be too rough with your fragility. 

“Oh f-fuck.” You curse under your breath, both hands grabbing a firm hold of his forearm. You’ve been unintentionally edging yourself all day that you’re already almost there. And no matter how hard you squeeze and claw at his now-veiny arm, he remains unmoving. 

“Go on, then.” He huffs impatiently as he looks down at you, feeling your walls clamp down on his fingers. Your heels sink into the bed when you push your hips into the air, fingernails digging into his skin as you near your first release. You begin to whimper, bucking your hips to chase the feeling of relief. It’s right there. It’s so close; and you just need to allow it to wash through you. You tense up so badly your whole body shakes, sending your teeth chattering and your bottom lip quivering. You swear you can see the stars from the night sky litter your vision and feel your heavy lids flutter shut.

“Look at me.” Ralak demands in a sharp, gruff tone. Your glossy eyes shoot back up to his, and you start to sputter out whatever gibberish comes from your mouth — a few curses mixed with his name and your fathers’ mother-tongue. He continues to glare down at you with a rigid face, tensing his jaw as he wills himself to be gentle and patient with you. “Good. Now cum, little one.” 

Your pathetic noises suddenly fade into a sweet, little cry. A cry of relief when your frustration washes away as you finally come undone on his fingers. The alleviation is so intense that it’s almost consuming; “T-Thank—” you collapse back down onto the bed, “—you. Thank you—haah, thank you karyu.” You pant repeatedly, his forearm ripping from your grip when he unexpectedly wrenches his fingers out of you. You squirm from the sudden emptiness, “Wait—” 

“Do not thank.” He spits the accented words as he stumbles back to create some distance between the two of you. He pants as he attempts to recollect himself, his face of stone finally screwing into something of a grimace. “So…if another na’vi found you, would you thank him too? Hm?”

“Lak. I… N-No.” You stutter, unsure of what to even say. 

“You are mine. My mate…” he growls through thinned lips, “My duty. Understand?” 

“Yes.” You nod quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up. It arouses you to see him so jealous. So possessive. So assertive. 

Ralak slams his eyes shut and gulps so hard it’s audible —visible even. You could see the bump in the column of his throat quickly undulate, his chest heaving harshly and his shoulders dramatically rising and falling with each breath he struggles to take. And for a while, there’s nothing but silence and his heavy breathing that you feel the overwhelming need to break it. 

“Ralak.” 

Your trembling, tiny voice snapping his head back up to you, once tightly closed eyes now flying open to reveal the most beautiful shade of mauve. They pierce into you like a spear through an unsuspecting prey, full of nothing but pure, unadulterated greed. 

You never thought you’d see them again except in that vision. You get lost in them for a little, studying how the gold ring around his blown pupils still remains even in a sea of indigo. 

You sense that he’s in the thick of his rut now and you need to relieve him soon, like he did for you. Or only Eywa knows what will happen. You allow yourself to finally take in the man before you in full, eyes trailing down his sweaty, muscular physique — perfectly carved v-lines and six fingered tattoo — until they land on his aching cock. 

Oh, fuck. Is he bigger? You think, admiring his mushroomy head and erect spikes. It’s oozing and dripping, unable to keep still from how hard it’s pulsing. It’s at least an inch bigger than usual. 

You look away to study his facial expression and by the way he’s looking at you, you can tell he’s waiting for your command, trying his hardest to prevent himself from pouncing on you and fucking you senseless right here and now. You’ve never seen him this way before. Straining so hard to keep himself in one position and struggling to keep his hands to himself. 

“Ralak… More.” You spread your legs as wide as they can go, holding them apart by the bend of your knees, exposing yourself completely. His heavy lidded eyes widen almost as much as your legs, pointed ears flicking upwards in excitement when he sees you assume such a vulnerable and submissive position. 

“Y/n.” He groans, voice thick with arousal and want and maybe a little desperation as he takes in the sweet sight of your still-pulsing and swollen clit poking out between your folds. “I am… losing control.”

Hearing your name fall from his lips in this way — this tone, instantaneously reignites the flame in your core. In seconds your slit is practically dripping, forming a pool of your slick underneath you. “Good.” You pant as you stare up into his slit-like pupils. You swallow quickly before mustering up the courage to invite the beast in. “Now…remind me who I belong to.”

How could he resist now? 

With the way you’re talking and your pheromones so pungent that they fill his lungs to the brim with no space for any other option but to fall into the thick of his rut. Before you can formulate another thought in your foggy state, Ralak has your legs pinned back and is diving nose first into your cunt. 

He wastes no time to have his fill of you, lapping up your juices so desperately your body moves from the force of his licks. He has been wanting to taste you ever since you made a mess on his fingers, fuck — ever since he got a whiff of your scent from outside his marui door, but denied himself the pleasure in the case he couldn’t stop himself from going any further. But now, all restraint and denial is now left out at that very door. 

The flat of his tongue trails up your inner thigh and then back to your folds, tasting a mixture of the sweetness of your slick and the saltiness of your sweat. He groans when his tongue finally grazes past your clit, feeling it throb against his taste buds. He lingers there for a while, swirling and sucking on you until he unlatches to come up for a quick breath of air. 

“Fucking ftxìlor [delicious].” He gasps out a curse, shoving your legs even further back to have seconds of his meal. 

It becomes evident that he’s doing this for himself. Because if he were doing this solely for you, he would have made you cum by now. He’s eating you out as if he’s been starved for weeks, sucking and popping off your clit just to lap up the sweet, sticky nectar seeping from your hole just to coat his tongue. 

He’s nowhere near as quiet as he usually is, grunting and groaning as he swallows your juices. His fingernails dig into your thighs as he tries to keep himself from being too rough with your tiny, dainty body. But, his attempts prove to be futile once you feel your hips lift off the ground from his grip tightening around your thighs. You stare at the sight of your mate between your legs, crinkling his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut as he can’t stop himself from indulging in his urges. 

“Fuck me!” You let out a frustrated moan, your heat having you so on edge you need to cum again. 

His eyes fly open, and within moments he’s tucked under your hips, pelvises flush together as he rests his throbbing, neglected cock between your folds. His tip touches your belly button with ease, beads of precum oozing out of his slit one after the next. 

“This is what you want, yes?” He bucks his hips into you, the tip of his cock smearing his slick all over your deep blue skin. 

“Fuck, yes.” You whisper shakily, chin meeting your chest to look at the masterpiece he’s painting on you. “I want my mates cock.”

He only responds with a rough growl, flipping you over and pushing you onto your stomach.

“Oh shit.” You mutter under your breath, a little afraid of what you’ve gotten yourself into. But you trust Ralak. 

You know that even in rut he would never hurt you. Not intentionally, at least. Of course this is not to say that he would be gentle —you expect that anything but.

With a firm hand to your upper back, his body is pressed against yours and his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He breathes in deeply through his nose, holding it in his lungs, and then letting out a hot, shaky breath against your skin, finally allowing himself to really take in your scent. 

He almost becomes drunk off it— at least it feels that way for him. Your scent has him feeling like he’s downed two full bottles of fermented fruit with no chasers in between and he simply can’t get enough of it. 

Hand moving swiftly from your back to your head, he pins your face to the bed as he trails his tongue along your jawbone to the nape of your neck. He lingers a little longer than he can help, suckling on and grazing his pointed canines against the skin. It sends shivers down your spine until your tail curls into the air and back arches in complete submission. You push back into him, feeling his hardened length pressed between the swell of your ass and base of your tail. 

Fuck, you just want it inside you already. 

“Lifting your tail for me, hm?” He huffs, puckering his lips against your skin and suckling tenderly. You can feel the emptiness creep back in, and that maddening itch deep in your womb. You moan softly, like a low hum under your breath, which only riles him up more. He feels like he wants to make you his all over again.

To mate with you. 

To mark you as his in every way so that no other man would even dare look your way. Without warning, Ralak pushes up off you, his sinewy arms caging you in with one hand binding your wrists and the other keeping your head pinned to the bed. His legs hold yours down, his knees locking your ankles in place. 

“You belong to me.” He growls next to your ear, his hand abruptly leaving your head to reach for the base of his skull for his kuru. With a quick tug, he brings it over his shoulder and pops it into his mouth to hold with his teeth. He reaches for your kuru that lies innocently in the dip of your back, and brings it towards his mouth.  

A wave of anxiety washes over you when the image of Ka’ani finding you earlier in your own mess flashes before you. You can’t help but wonder if he would see that if he made tsaheylu right now. Imagine how he’d react when he realizes Ka’ani saw you naked and covered in slick? Your body squirmed at the mere thought, only making Ralak tighten his grip on you. 

“Wait!” Is all you could blubber out before you feel the connection —the bond. Your eyes bulge when you feel him surge through you, two minds becoming one. It takes you by surprise, he’s never one to hastily or unexpectedly make tsaheylu with you. But tonight he makes the bond as if you were a tsurak to be tamed. 

What he sees next drives him further into his territorial urges — your interaction with Ka’ani. The way Ka’ani barged into his home. How he saw your naked, vulnerable body. The fear that you felt when another man invaded your space. When he helped you. Innocently touched you. 

“He touched you.” He says between pants, a mixture of emotions washing over him all at once. But the sharp pang of your heat transferring through tsaheylu has him entirely succumbing to his own urges and carnal instincts. 

He’s simply not there. 

His hips start bucking uncontrollably and his cock is poking and prodding at your puffy folds. The crown of his cock jabs at your clit a few times before finally parting your folds and with a quick snap of his hips he’s probing your entrance. 

It stings when his swollen cockhead breaks past the resistance of your tightness, and he can’t help but lay hold of your hip and hiss from how tiny you feel. This is the first he’s ever had his cock stuffed inside a pussy during his rut. The feeling is all-consuming and he unapologetically yearns for more.  

Hips snapping back, he pops his cockhead out of you only to shove it back in again. And again. And again until he’s repeatedly using your tight, little hole as nothing more than a fucktoy for his own self pleasure. 

He leans back to take in the hazy sight, admiring the way your hole stretches perfectly to accommodate the sheer thickness of his cock. And when he sees the mushroomy part of his head slowly emerge he can’t help the way his hips stutter just to sink it back inside you. 

It’s torturous, not having all of him inside you when that’s what your body is pining for most. He’s so much bigger than normal and you know that this is an itch that only he can scratch. “God—” You whine the foreign word, “—just fuck me already!” 

“Agh. Quiet.” He lets out an irritated grunt, both hands flying to your hips to shove you down onto his cock — a loud, audible smack permeating the air when your sticky pelvises collide. 

It almost overpowers the hoarse yet piercing cry that escapes your quivering lips. You’re so tender that the sudden stretch is too intense and with no time to adjust to his size you find yourself shuddering like you did after he took your innocence —your virginity. 

His head dips back in ecstasy just when his tip kisses your cervix, his eyes screwed shut as he tries not to spray his seed inside your womb right now. His fingers sink into your skin, surely leaving bruises behind that will last for weeks. 

“Hngh — woman.” He groans longingly, dropping his head forward and opening his ineberated eyes to witness how your cunt is sucking in every single inch of his cock with glee. 

He grinds himself inside you, tugging at your hips and pushing against the resistance as if he were trying to stuff more of his cock inside you. Your high-pitched shrill fades out into a pathetic little whimper, your wobbly elbows and knees struggling to keep you up.

It’s all too much and your fucked out mind goes blank. You can’t even process how your body is submitting to its owner and his rough touches, opening itself up to be bred already. You sense what’s coming next. Your back bows, elbows and knees burying into the softness of the bed as you try to ground yourself for Ralak to use you for his own relief. 

He does exactly that— hunching over you and shuffling his knees closer so he can gain more leverage to fuck into your slippery cunt. He puts all his weight on you, his fingernails almost piercing your skin when he begins rutting into you like his life depends on it. 

He sets a merciless pace right off the bat, pounding into you as if he were angry with you. He huffs and puffs from trying to catch his breath but fails because he can’t stop himself from humping at you. His body won’t let him, not until he’s ensured you're full with his seed and will bear his child. 

Hands quickly leaving your hips, he grabs your wrists, binding them together once more and the other grips your kuru and yanks it back. Your neck is exposed and your mouth hangs agape as you’re given no other choice but to take the jackhammering of your life. He’s never fucked you so hard or fast and perhaps it’s the haze of your heat but you just want more of him. 

“F-Fuck. FuckFuckFuckmeFuckme— yes!” You beg deliriously, pushing yourself back onto him. You can feel the way his cock is bulging from your lower stomach, but you couldn’t care less because you just want it even deeper inside you. Fuck, it hurts even but it feels so good that you can’t stop begging for more. “Deeper — oh, yesyesyes!” 

Ralaks groans become drawn out and he’s burying his hot face into the crook of your neck as his pulsing tip bullies its way past your cervix. It’s like white hot pleasure surging through your entire being and it has you so lightheaded you may actually pass out before he’s finished with you. 

His cock heats up inside your cunt, becoming so veiny you could practically feel each vein press against your gummy, slimy walls. He’s now panting open mouthed against your throat, his tongue darting out to lick your skin. He shoves your head down so he can access the back of your neck—a hot spot for your pheromones— and grazes his canines against you. Every fiber of his being is urging him to sink them into your skin and see if you taste as good as you smell. His fangs throb in his mouth at the mere thought, his hot saliva dripping off their length and down your neck. 

You’re so overwhelmed and overstimulated that you can’t form a coherent thought much less process the fact that you’re quickly nearing your climax. It’s as if you’ve surrendered all control over your body to him and he’s dictating what happens next. Your pussy walls tighten around him so much it aches and he outright whimpers. 

“Sst-ah.” He pulls away from your neck and slams his eyes shut, grimacing from the way your cunt is gripping his cock. At this point you’re so on edge that you’re just pinching him, locking him inside you and almost cutting off his blood supply. It’s more than painful for him, and he becomes peeved that you won’t ease up. 

Irritated, he aggressively slams himself into you so that you stop with your pathetic little pinching, but all that does is tip you over the edge. Next thing you know your cunt is helplessly fluttering around his cock and your pussy juices are trickling down your thighs.

“Mmm-fuck I’m cumming!” You moan the words so quickly they jumble together, “Cu-cumming! Cumming!”  

You throbbing around him has his eyes rolling into the back of his head but the more your body convulses underneath him the more he grows frustrated with you. How could such a little thing put on such a big performance? Why won’t you just stay still?

So he thrusts. And thrusts. And thrusts. 

Taming you in the only way his body knows how. Fucking into you without mercy or sympathy. He lets out a hiss, the first he’s ever directed your way, and tightens his grip. “Keep…” He pulls out of you until only the tip is left inside, “...still.” Ralak’s deep voice rumbles next to your ear as he slams every inch cock into your cunt, the mere force of his thrust almost knocking you onto your stomach. You let out a broken whimper, coming down from your high and already feeling the coil in your stomach wind and heat up again. 

“Haa—‘nna…make you swell.” He groans the fragmented sentence like a dying man, grinding so deeply inside you that his swollen balls rub against your puffed up clit. Your bruised cervix feels so good against his cock as he uses it to massage the most sensitive part of his tip. 

Experiencing nothing but absolute rapture, Ralaks head slumps into the crook of your neck, where he’s flooded by your scent. He only grinds harder. And harder, until he’s panting like a viperwolf against your skin.

“Fuck — please…” You beg through a shaky whisper, trying to free your hands from his undying grip, “I j-ust c-came.” 

He’s just so fucking big and deep that he’s touching parts of you that have never touched before, and he’s only getting more aggressive the more you push away his advances. Right now, you’re just a squirming, noisy bitch in heat that needs to be put in her place. To surrender and submit. And the pheromones wafting up his nostrils only drive him further into his bestial urges to claim you as his.

His teeth and gums throb in his mouth once more when the urge to mark you as his becomes indubitable. Much like the urge to keep you still enough to make you into a vessel for his seed. He indulges himself, yanking your head back to expose the bend of your shoulder. He hovers open mouthed over your flawless skin and gives you a kitten lick before ruthlessly marking you. 

Your eyes bulge and pupils constrict into nothing but dots when you feel his lengthy fangs plunge into your flesh. The wail evading your throat is deafening and only gets higher when you feel your shoulder set ablaze. His jaw locks into place and he holds you still as he incessantly claims you as his in more ways than just marking. Your eyes start to water and your body stiffens when you feel it. 

He’s bulging inside you. 

Stretching you out until your shoulder isn’t the only part of you on fire. You lash around, clawing at whatever’s in your way until your nails are dull but the more you move the more it burns. “Y-You’re getting bigger inside me!” You release a high pitched squeal, your elbows and knees finally collapsing under you. Now all his weight is on top of you, pinning you flat to the bed with nowhere for you to go. He begins groaning low and deep, drawing it out until it turns into a depraved growl. It feels as if he’s swelling inside you, as if he were doubling in size. As if he were — oh fuck. 

“You’re — you’re knotting me, lak!” You yell when you come to the realisation. It feels like there’s two of him inside you, stretching you to unfathomable lengths. Despite your continuous attempts to get him to let up, he continues to bulge inside you. “You’re knotting me.” You repeat the words in a weakened, croaky voice of defeat, finally giving in and accepting your fate. 

Riding out his high, his hips stutter out of his control — a familiar sensation now flooding your core. A rush of warmth inside you. It’s his hot seed pumping inside you, his cock thumping with each spurt. He groans and moans until you’re so overloaded with his cum it begins to drip down your thighs and mix with yours. 

He unlatches from your shoulder, lapping at the wound to prevent it from bleeding too badly. He plants a few rough kisses on the double crescent shaped mark and works them up to the lobe of your ear. He’s panting and sweating and he can feel the fog lifting now that he’s had his release. “‘m sorry.” He mumbles between wet kisses, now trailing them back down to the fresh wound to lap at it some more. “‘m sorry.”

“Ralak, I-I” You stutter, overloaded with all these new sensations. It’s burning worse than a hellfire wasp sting but at the same time it’s everything your body hungers for. “Haah.. it-it hurts” You whimper quietly, looking behind you to see the most inebriated eyes you’ve ever seen on this man’s face stare back at you. He releases his pheromones to help your body calm down and feel less pain, ultimately scenting you all together.  

“Mawey.” Ralak huffs, trying his hardest to stay still now that he’s quickly coming to the realisation that he’s knotted and marked you in one go. “Doing… so well, tahnì.” He tries to praise you but truthfully he’s still in and out of it, dazing off when he feels the occasional throb of your walls. 

“Am I? Am I helping you too, lak?” You ask in a surprisingly optimistic tone, proud that you were able to do what you were told was unmanageable. He musters out a nod, grunting as he finishes emptying himself in your womb. 

Feeling some level of sense and rationality, you ask him a question that’s been on your mind. “I’m going to get pregnant, aren’t I?”

“Mm.” He hums, nodding his head as he nuzzles himself into the dip of your shoulder, inhaling your seeping scent. 

“Is that what you w-want?” Your breath hitches as you flinch from his cheek resting on your shoulder.

“Mm.” Another grunt, followed by an unexpected, fervid thrust — his body answering your question on his behalf by ensuring every last drop of his essence is inside your fertile womb. 

You focus on steadying your breathing now that you’ve gotten your answer. 

“Irayo, muntxate [thank you, wife].” He says weakly, finally rolling you both onto your sides for some much needed rest. You chuckle. A weak one, but a chuckle nonetheless, and repeat his own words back to him.

“Do not thank.” You say with a smile, getting yourself as comfortable as you can for the long night ahead. 

—— 

[help-itrappedmyself]

Danny punches a Clown Part 7

Masterpost

Danny wakes up some time later. Red and Agent A are there waiting for him in chairs on either side of his bed.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Less tired at least.” Danny was well enough he could feel his wounds trying to heal. “Could probably use some food though.”

“I will go retrieve it for you now that you are awake.” Agent A walks out of the med area.

“You feel up to meeting a few people? They’re going to be around so you should know who they are.”

“I guess so.” Danny sits up on the bed, bringing his knees to his chest.

Red leans out past the curtain and waves some people over. When he takes his seat, a man in a blue and black suit with a mask on and someone in an all-black suit with a head covering that comes down over his eyes comes in behind him. They stay standing by the curtain.

“You met Nightwing earlier, and this is Batman.” Red introduces. Nightwing waves when Red says his name. “We all work together here.”

Danny nods.

“Hey, Danny!”Dick comes over to sit in the chair on the other side of Danny’s bed. “We have a few questions that we would like to ask you if you’re feeling up for it.”

Danny shrugs.

“Okay, well we know you haven’t been in Gotham long, where did you come from?”

Danny wonders if he tells them a different dimension if they would believe him. If they would try to send him back. “Illinois.”

Nightwing let out a short whistle. “That’s a long way Danny.”Danny snorts at that. “Did you come here by yourself?”

“Yeah.” Danny starts picking at the edges of the blankets, trying not to look anyone in the eye- not that he could, they all have some form of mask on.

“Okay. Well, we have some concerns. Don’t know if you remember what you were talking about before you went to sleep, but you said some things about being shot at a lot, by your parents and some other people.”

“What part of that is a question?” Danny leans forward and rests his cheek on his knees, watching himself pick at the blanket. He found a loose thread that he’s started twirling around his fingers. 

“Can you tell us more about the people who were shooting at you? We’d like to look into them.”

Something in the tone Nightwing is using makes him sound all clinical. Like a social worker. Or a cop. It shouldn’t matter really because the people that did this to him are inaccessible unless they have some way to dimension hop. 

“Doesn’t matter anymore, I’m here now.”

“What made you come here? Do you have a family member, or friends that you were meeting?”

“For real, are you a social worker? Psychologist, cop, what.” Danny looks up at him. “You brought me to a cave f and you’re all wearing masks, but you’re talking to me like I’m going to freak out or something. You can stop acting like I’m a child. I know what’s happened to me. Frankly, the fact that I’m trapped in a cave with people dressed the way you are is more concerning for me than being back on the street. So can we get on with you doing whatever you’re going to do?”

“We’re not going to do anything Danny.” Red leans towards him. “We just want to make sure you have somewhere to go.”

“I don’t.” Danny states plainly. He knows his circumstances and he can’t risk going back home for a while, shouldn’t go back at all except to grab his stuff and leave again. 

The three share a few glances back and forth, having quite an in-depth silent conversation. Danny rolls his eyes and goes to stand up, they all immediately try and stop him.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Nightwing asks.

“Where are you trying to go?” Comes from Red.  

“You’re injured, you should stay in bed.” Comes from Batman.

Just then, Agent A pushes aside the curtain, walking in with a tray.

“I do hope you aren’t overwhelming the patient.” He brings the tray over, Danny straightens his legs and A situates the tray in his lap. “This boy needs to eat, and to rest. You don’t need to worry about where he’s going until he is fit to be out of bed. He’s not going anywhere until he’s improved.”

“Sir, I’m sure it’ll be fine-” Danny starts.

“Nonsense. I will not stand for it. You need proper treatment or your wounds will get infected. Now, eat or your body will not have the necessary fuel to heal.”

Danny bows his head and looks at the tray in front of him. A brought him chicken noodle soup, he starts to eat as A shepherds everyone back out and closes the curtain behind them.

“Now, I know this cannot be easy for you, being injured and alone.” A comes to sit in the chair that Red vacated. “I assure you that you have a place here at least until you are better. Even if you wish to leave now, you will not be able to get better on the streets.”

 “Thank you.” Danny says. “I didn’t mean to snap at them.”

“I’m sure they will forgive you for it, you are under a lot of stress right now.”

Danny nods. “Thank you for the food. It’s amazing.”

“Of course, Mister Danny. I will be making sure you are well nourished while you are with us. Please, let me know if you have any preferences.”

“Anything that’s not alive is good for me.”

Agent A just looks at him. “You did mention something about fighting your food last night. I had thought you were talking out of a bit of delirium.”

“Oh, no that used to happen. The chemicals my parents used reanimated the food sometimes. Had to fight some hot dogs. A chicken. Our kitchen was a hazard.”

“I dare say so.” A has a very scrunched up look on his face. “Rest assured nothing of the sort has ever happened in my kitchen.”

[desperate-gay]

millie bright x reader where reader plays for arsenal and they are sneaking around because they thought that their chelsea and arsenal teammates wouldn’t approve of them fraternising with the enemy as it were. in reality both teams already know and are seeing how much they can hint towards it and embarrass them without letting on that they know. maybe you could even in include some of the chelsea and arsenal girls teaming up to do this. sort of like romeo and juliet but make it comedy

Romeo & Juliet

Millie Bright x fem!reader

“-What are you doing here? Someone’s going to see you!” You whisper shout, pulling the person in by their wrist and peaking your head out the door into the hallway to see if anyone is around. Thankfully there wasn’t.

You were looking through your suitcase before a series of knocks interrupted you. A little confused as to why someone was knocking at your hotel door at 11 at night, you went to open the door and noticed it was your secret girlfriend Millie Bright.

The main reason your relationship is a secret is because of the color of your uniforms. Hers being the dark blue for Chelsea and yours being the bright red for Arsenal. Two players on rival teams falling in love; ironic isn’t it?

If you both played for the same country it would be a little different, but sadly, you don’t. What’s worse is that you play for the USWNT, everybody’s sworn enemy it feels like, although everyone loves you no matter where you’re from. They obviously don’t hate players from the country, but since they’re extremely competitive, they have to keep up their tough front.

“Well, nice to see you too, love.” Millie snickers, slumping down at the end of the hotel mattress with a big thump, squirming in her place to get comfortable. She opens her arms for you to slot yourself on her lap and hug your arms around her neck.

“Sorry, I’m so happy to see you. I’ve missed you.” You sigh, pecking her cheek softly while nuzzling your face into her neck, trying to get as close to her as you can. Her tattooed arm trails underneath your shirt, rubbing at your stomach as she presses tiny kisses along your jaw.

“I’ve missed you too. I have also missed letting the TV run while I get my way with you.” She whispers suggestively, continuing to trail kisses in any place she can reach, making you hum in pleasure.

“Ooo! Look at the sky!” You hop off the blonde’s lap and open the sliding door to go onto the balcony, leaving the defender winded by your sudden disappearance. She sighs with a fond smile, shaking her head before getting up to follow you.

Millie’s arms loop around your waist as her chin finds a place down on your shoulder. Her muscular figure wraps around you comfortably while you both gaze up at the stars in the sky.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” You ask, rocking back and forth slowly with the taller girl’s body against yours.

“Almost as beautiful as you.” She teases, placing a kiss on your neck.

“You’re so cheesy.” You say in fake disgust with your tongue hanging out your mouth to prove your point further. Her fingers pinch your side, warning you to keep your mouth shut.

“I guess listening to Sam’s and Kristie’s calls all the time rubs off on ya.”

You both look at the sky and the people walking up to the hotel for a little bit until you catch a familiar blonde looking up at you with a puzzled face and a hand over her eyes to block the light from the lamppost. Of course, it had to be the Lionesses captain and your fellow Arsenal teammate.

“Shit! Mills go inside. Code red, I repeat code red!” Before your girlfriend can protest, you’re already shoving her through the glass doors and shutting it along with the curtains.

“Now what was that for?” Millie stands with her arms crossed over her chest, wondering why exactly their peaceful stargazing was interrupted by you yelling and pushing her into the hotel room.

“Leah might have just seen us from the sidewalk.” You bite your nails at the confession before peaking out the glass door to see if the girl is still down there. Running a hand through your hair, you begin to pace back and forth wondering if Leah has seen you with the Chelsea defender.

“Leah as in my England captain and your teammate Leah?” Millie asks, trying to process everything that just happened while making sure you’re talking about the same person.

Before you have the chance to answer, the sound of knocking appears at your door, causing your eyes to widen. You look out the peephole and notice Leah standing there with her familiar scowl on her face.

“Oh my god, we’ve gotta hide you.” You push at her back and drag her into the bathroom, gesturing for her to get into the shower.

“I don’t want to go in there!” Millie protests while whispering so she doesn’t alarm the girl who is currently still standing on the other side of your hotel door.

“Either you go in there right now, or you stay and explain to your captain that you’re in a long-term relationship with an Arsenal and United States player.”

“In the shower, I go.” She hops in so you can close the curtain right away and head over to the front door. You look at the mirror next to you and fix your appearance to the best of your ability.

Opening the door, you greet the other defender with a smile, “Hey, Lee. It’s pretty late, what are you doing here?”

You welcome Leah in, gesturing for her to sit either on your bed or on the little chair in the corner, but she chooses to stand.

“I just thought I’d say goodnight to my dearest friend, but I thought I saw someone else on the balcony with you.” She quirks an eyebrow towards you, waiting for you to answer her not-very-obvious question.

“Nope, just me.” You chuckle nervously.

After a few seconds of silence, Leah lets out a big sigh, “Thought I’d just say hey since I saw that you were up. Guess I’ll get goin’” Just when you’re about to think she’s leaving when she heads over to the door, she turns around and asks, “Do you have any extra tissues? Russo and Mccabe just finished watching The Notebook for the first time and used it all.”

“Umm yeah, I’ll go grab that for you-“

“No, it’s okay. I know where it is.”

Leah misses the panicked expression on your face when she heads into the bathroom. She looks under the sink and grabs the extra box before making her way back out by you. You almost sigh in relief when she doesn’t notice the tall figure standing behind your shower curtains, but you refrain yourself so she doesn’t ask questions.

“Goodnight, Lee. See you tomorrow.” You wave her out the door, closing it and locking everything you can so no one with a key card can get in. Hands grab at your waist making you jump at the sudden contact but relax hearing the familiar voice of your brick wall of a girlfriend.

“That was a close one. I think that calls for a long night of cuddles, don’t ya think?” She asks, jumping onto the mattress with her arms wide open, waiting for you to join her. You laugh at her childish pout and shuffle your body to fit into hers, resting your head on her chest.

“I love you.” You mumble sleepily.

Millie places a peck on your forehead whispering back, “I love you too, sweets. Get some sleep.”

—

“You actually saw Mills in the room with her?” Beth asks with a shocked expression on her face.

“Yes! Her bun was literally peaking over the shower curtain. Y/n/n thought I didn’t see Millie on the balcony with her when it was so obvious seeing how much bigger she is compared to our tiny Gooner.” Leah states as everyone rolls their eyes at yours and Millie’s attempt to hide your relationship.

The Chelsea and Arsenal players caught onto your relationship quickly when they caught you sneaking off into a materials closet to snog each other’s faces off. With the many attempts of the two of you trying to keep it a secret, they thought it would be fun to let it keep happening to get a little laugh in.

Everyone 100% supports you guys in every way. They think you both complement each other well and you’re basically a match made in heaven.

“Don’t get me started when I saw Millie get all lovesick on the phone a few weeks ago. When I asked her who it was, she tried to say it was Daly.” Sam shakes her head, taking a sip out of her drink. A bunch of the girls, both red and blue, decided to hang out in one of their rooms to have a meeting about you two.

“Do you think they’ll ever realize that they’re not as subtle as they think they are?” Niamh questions to which the whole group responds in a series of no’s, shaking their heads at your guys' obliviousness.

—

“Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass- ah!”

One second you’re walking around, next you’re being yanked away by an unknown source. You had time to spare before you had to go out on the pitch and practice, so you decided to stroll around and get a little pregame walk in.

“Beautiful singing there, love.”

“Warn a girl next time, almost gave me a heart attack.” You exclaim, pushing at her chest in fake offense which doesn’t even make her move an inch because of her string build.

She grips your waist and softly presses you up against the corner wall. Her lips begin to pepper all over your skin, from your cheeks to your collarbones.

“Mills, someone’s going to catch us.” You protest weakly, too consumed by the feelings of her kisses pressing lightly at all the right spots.

“We’re tucked away in a corner, no one will see us, darling.” Her voice vibrates against your neck, causing you to let out a soft giggle, melting the heart of your lover. “I miss you.”

You grab her cheeks with both of your hands and swipe the loose strands of hair that have fallen out of her bun. “You just saw me last night, baby. We’ll get to see each other again.”

“Yeah, but I had to sneak out in the early morning so no one would notice me leaving your room which is hardly romantic might I say.”

Your eyes remain on hers, roaming every detail of the different hues of blue splattered in her eyes. She smiles back at you and places her hand over yours that continues to stroke her cheek.

Snapping out of your little love bubble, you clear your throat and ask, “Is there any reason you stopped me from my regular pregame stroll?”

“Oh just wanted to come and wish you luck, but also let you know that there are no hard feelings after we destroy you.” She smirks, straightening her posture and showing off her new captain band.

“That’s so funny because I was just going to say the same thing.” Millie rolls her eyes at your mocking tone and threatens to walk away, but you grab her wrist and pull her back into you. “Good luck kiss?”

The defender huffs but leans in anyway, never being able to deny you. It first starts as an innocent peck but then you pull her back in for another and things start getting more heated. After a minute of her tongue in your mouth, you pull away gasping for breath while giggling slightly in the slight haze you’re in.

“Thank you for that, hope it makes you feel better after Arsenal beats Chelsea’s ass!”

And it turns out, you weren’t wrong. Arsenal won 2-1 with a goal from Lacasse and Russo. There were a few chances of you scoring a header but with a certain captain’s hands on your waist, whispering her thoughts about you had you distracted.

Safe to say that you’re not on your best game when playing against Millie Bright.

You’re now shaking hands with all of the other team when you approach the blonde. You both begin to talk while drinking out of your water bottles just chatting away. Millie leans in for a hug which you accept and take in her big embrace.

“Oi! You were already off kissin’, you can be separated for a little bit now.” An Irish accent interrupts you, making you pull away with a shocked look on both of your faces.

Your fellow Arsenal teammates stand next to Chelsea’s as they all stare at you two with amused expressions. Millie stands awkwardly, stuttering at the fact you two were caught while you gasp and point your finger at all of them.

“You all knew?!”

—

“Hardy har har, we get it. We weren’t as secretive as we thought we were.” You roll your eyes at everyone’s continuous teasing.

After the game, everyone agreed to go out and have a few drinks at the pub down the street since there’s a little break in the season and everyone has free time. The whole group besides you and Millie decided it was time to share all the times they either caught or suspected the two of you, many of the stories being incredibly embarrassing.

Millie is sitting on the booth with you on top of her, legs sprawled across her lap. One of her hands rests comfortably on the spot where your skin is exposed, right next to your belly button while her other holds onto her bottle of beer. You continue to sip on your cocktail as everyone turns to their separate conversations.

The blonde below you taps on your stomach, making you shift your attention to her, seeing her neck crooked up with her lips pursed. You let out a small laugh and lean over to press a few short but equally sweet kisses to her lips. Millie smiles in delight before the sound of fake gagging can be heard from across the table.

“Can’t you guys go swap saliva in the privacy of your own room?” Katie once again interrupts but ends up getting hit on the back of the head by Caitlin.

“You all better turn away because what I’m about to do is not PG!” Without warning, Millie grips your jaw with one hand and pulls you into a sloppy kiss, kissing the life out of you and dramatically making loud noises to peeve the other girls, causing your nose to crinkle at the disgusting sounds.

You push her away and hang your tongue out, showing your obvious fake displeasure. A few of the girls whooped at the public display of affection while others covered the eyes of the innocent ones. Everyone gets their laughs and jokes out, trying their best to patter on your so-called new relationship.

You’re laughing with Leah and Alessia about their little game disagreement when you notice how quiet Millie has been. You look over and see her staring into space so you wave your hand in front of her face, bringing her back onto earth with a small smile.

“Why don’t you let your hair down, baby? Loosen up a little.” You rub your thumb on the apple of her cheek while swiping away a strand of hair that fell down on her cheek.

“Mm, might have to wait till after we get to the hotel because the things I plan on doing to ya require my hair to stay out of the way.” A deep crimson red coats your cheeks before you look over to the side, sipping on your drink to avoid the lustful stare from the tattooed woman.

“Cheekyyy,” Sam says having slid over closer to you two for whatever reason.

Millie is quickly guiding you out the door, bidding your goodbyes to everyone and ignoring the wolf whistles that follow you out the door. After your rewarding night, you both equally decide to share your relationship with the world, so when you have up to thousands of notifications, you shut your phone and nuzzle your face right back onto your girlfriend’s chest.

—

liked by samanthakerr20 and 86,564 others

mbrighty04 rivals to lovers?? @y/nofficial

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y/nofficial my favorite trope!

↳ mbrighty04 mine too!

flemingenthusiast y/n to chelsea?!

↳ y/nofficial ew.

↳ leahwilliamsonn she’s ours forever

samanthakerr20 they never shut up about each other

↳ mbrighty04 don’t get me started on you and kristie

[physalian]

Character Descriptions 101 (Or, the ugly truth about what really matters)

A lot of the appeal of being able to write your own book is being able to take all the characters you dream about and put them onto paper for everyone else to drool over as much as you do. You might create a character so iconic, they can be recognized by their hazy silhouette alone.

Not everyone designs Sherlock Holmes, though.

Not everyone needs to be Sherlock Holmes.

How well you describe your characters, especially your protagonist/opening narrator, says a lot more than you’d probably like about your experience as an author. I’ve got eight years of practice with my own works, twelve if you include my early days of fanfic – and resisting the urge to describe characters in the tried and true clichés is still hard.

So here’s the ugly truth about describing your characters, and some other pointers curated from the Internet you may have seen before.

At the end of the day, what is really important?

Unless you are writing in the genres of fantasy or sci-fi, or you aren’t writing humans, your character will likely be a very average looking human. Doesn’t matter if you think your special bean’s black hair/blue eye/snow white skin combo is unique – is the shape of his face, curve of his lips, how wide his shoulders are really that important outside of, I don’t know, a steamy romance novel?

I ask this because character descriptions fall into three camps: Thematically important beats, thematically unimportant beats, and “oh damn I have too many blondes, uh, here’s a redhead” beats.

I ask this, because “this character doesn’t look like they did in the book” arguments will never stop happening and we all have our sides on what matters and what doesn’t.

These details can be height, hair color, eye color, skin color, hair style, clothing, tone of voice, accent, birthmarks, scars, and tattoos, and anything in between. Sometimes, this trait is this person’s defining trait. Sometimes, the author just felt like it – sometimes the curtains are just blue.

But sometimes, a lot of times, they’re not.

My two cents: If that piece of their design is thematically important, the adaptation should respect it and include it. If it’s not, who cares?

Thematic Character Design

Thematic character design is the intent behind the choices the author makes when deciding how they will present their character to the world. This is *why* the character looks the way they do.

Visually, you see this in anime all the time. Crazy hair colors and styles help distinguish the cast when their faces might otherwise be too similar, or when drawing them from a distance. Sometimes the protagonist will have the most unique, or the loudest hair style (think Yu-gi-oh). Or the Important Lady Character will have pink hair. Or the sad angsty anime boy will have white hair (see my post about color in fiction).

In the written medium, you can “show don’t tell” a few different ways cliché ways:

Give the villain a facial scar

Make your femme fatale a redhead

Make your hero blonde/blue-eyed

But hey, they’re tropes for a reason, everyone knows what you mean when you write them. You might give your character green eyes like their mother, a trait Very Important when a redeemed-ish villain dies. You might give your character a brunette French braid that goes on to become the style of the rebellion. You might make your Illegal Divine Children the only three black-haired major characters in a sea of brown and blonde because they are the Three Illegal Divine Children. You make all your grisled fantasy men have beards and your elves clean shaven.

The existence of these traits serve the plot and the themes of the story. It matters because these traits make them look like the villain, or the dead legacy they must live up to. These traits ostracize them from their community, or help define their culture. These traits are the hallmark of a chosen one, or a pariah. These traits are emblematic of a special power or handicap, religion, faction, rebel cause.

These are the details fans complain about when adaptations get it wrong, and it’s not without merit. But what happens when those details aren’t all that important, no matter how much you think otherwise?

Unthematic character design

Everyone lost their minds when Hunger Games was being adapted and to everyone’s unnecessary horror, Jennifer Lawrence is blonde. Everyone got mad because it’s the little details you have to get right, otherwise you’re disrespecting the source material, yada yada. Is it really so hard to wear a wig, if you can’t get this tiny thing right, what else will you mess up, etc.

Question: Was the color of her hair more important, or the style that it was in?

She dyed it anyway to stay faithful, but which detail mattered to the plot, versus just being what the author picked for her?

Dare I wade into the “this character was white in the book” cesspool? Reluctantly, yes. And all I will say is this: Does their skin color serve any legitimate purpose to the plot or how they define themselves? No? Then shush and let the actors do their thing.

… But what if race *does* matter?

Is this a slice of life novel about some plucky high schoolers in your average American town? If the story isn’t any deeper than prom dates and football games, the skin color of your character is not important. Is this a treatise on segregation and the struggles of womanhood in repressed societies? Then yeah, the skin color of your character might affect their outlook on life a little bit.

In other words: Does your character care what they look like, and does their appearance affect the trajectory of the story?

Yes, it’s disappointing when you see your favorite character on screen and have to be told that’s them because it just doesn’t look like them. But what’s important is if they fit the spirit of the character, even if they don’t quite match their looks (a lesson I, too, need constant reminding of).

Character Descriptions in Fantasy and Sci-Fi

If making sure the adaptation stays faithful to the character design matters anywhere, it’s in these two genres. Why? Because you have free reign as an author to describe your mythic creatures, your aliens, your supernatural entities however you choose, and you worked hard trying to make them distinct from every other fantasy series out there.

But hold your horses on how specific you get.

Generally speaking, the traits that most authors describe first are hair, eye, and skin color, because it’s the easiest to get out of the way and everyone knows what humans look like to fill in the blanks. When you enter the realm of non-human characters, you have a lot more legwork to do to make sure your audience imagines what you want them to.

Maybe they have slit pupils like a housecat or a snake, or they have really floppy elephant ears, or they have antennae that twitch when they’re angry, or they have wings like a bat, a bird, a dragonfly. Or they have distinctive tattoos from their tribe. They have scales or feathers or fur and you want everyone to know how fluffy it is. You want your audience to know how tall they are, how heavy, how lanky, how robust. The shape of their face, their hands, if they have fingers like a pianist or a catcher’s glove.

Or, it matters because you’ve written an allegory on race, class, colonialism/imperialism, a World War, Apartheid, what have you, and your made-up nationalities need their own traits to be bigots about.

Answer: Hire a sensitivity reader before you design an insulting stereotype.

Otherwise, feel free to add as much fluff as you’d like. You go out there and you give exact measurements, constant similes about the textures of their skin, write an essay on cultural wardrobe, take two paragraphs to describe that ballgown and masquerade mask… and accept the fact that your readers will happily go SKIP!

Because description and exposition are also entwined with tone and the purpose of the story. I am writing an 18th century royal ball scene in a steamy romance novel and my hero is about to get her man – my audience might care about things like a sweetheart neckline, perfume, what kind of flowers are in the lacework, how it hugs her body, how the pink looks so damn sexy in the candlelight, how the skirts sweep so elegantly, every piece of jewelry she's wearing and how expensive it is and exactly how she did her hair.

Or, I am writing a fantasy adventure that happens to feature a pitstop at a royal ball – Your audience does not give one flying f*ck about what flowers are on that dress. Describe the color and something cool and eye-catching and move on.

The Ugly Truth: Does. It. Matter?

You can wax poetic about the minutiae of your absolutely unique and like no other fairies no one else has ever written before. Maybe you designed them less like Tinker Bell and more like anthropomorphised flowers – that matters!

You want your hot love interest to have a cupid’s bow and to remind the audience of that detail at least four times throughout the narrative? Not important unless the narrator is weirdly obsessive over it (or, again, romance/erotica).

The same thing goes for fantastical settings.

At what point are you describing the color of the grass, the kind of marble in the walls and floors, the exact shade of blue paint they used, the gables and the roofing tiles and the scalloping on the columns to unnecessary ends?

This also affects pacing.

If your entire story is set in a beautiful castle and the heroes never leave? Describe as much as your little heart desires. Is it just a pit stop on the way? Call it a castle, maybe it’s in ruins, give one uniquely defining trait that’s thematically relevant, and move on.

Side characters too: If you don’t even bother naming the poor schmuck, give their gender and maybe one fun fact and move on.

You’d be surprised how little character descriptions, or lack thereof, are even noticed. The amount of fanart head-cannoning a character being Not-White because the author technically never clarified is everywhere. I just reread the first two PJO books and Chiron’s human half is never described beyond his age and his beard. Everyone who read it filled in the missing details with what they wanted or expected to see and that doesn’t impact his character one bit.

Pacing your descriptions

See this post about how to pace your narrative.

Everyone knows the trope of the narrator waking up, gazing into a mirror and describing themselves to the audience. It’s cheap, it’s fast, it’s dirty, it’s effective.

So why do people hate it?

I think it’s less because it’s overdone, and more because it’s robbed of potential. When I wrote about pacing, I said every scene should be pulling double duty – character descriptions fall under exposition, and should do the same.

If you really want to have your hero describe herself to you via mirror, don’t just write a textbook, give it flavor. Is she self-conscious about her looks, saying she has choppy blonde hair but wishes it was some long, luxurious brown like some girl she’s jealous of? Does she have a big nose and wish it was smaller because she’s bullied? Or, does she love her green eyes, because her late father had them and she loves the connection they share?

Good pacing isn’t about how many or how few words you take to describe something, it’s how efficiently you use those words. Short doesn’t always mean it’s bland, long doesn’t always mean it’s profound. Don’t take 300 words to say something that could be said in 30 – but some things do deserve 300 words.

Examples:

A: She woke and rolled out of bed and stared at herself in the mirror. She had hazel eyes and blonde, curly hair that she pulled up into a ponytail.

B: She woke on the third alarm and rolled out of bed. Staring back at her in her vanity were tired hazel eyes beneath a mop of dishwater blonde curls and crease marks from her pillow.

C: She woke on the third alarm and dragged herself out of bed. Her vanity mirror glared back at her – a rats nest of dishwater blonde and crease marks from her pillow. She scowled and rubbed the sleep from her hazel eyes and raked her curls up into a messy ponytail to be dealt with after coffee.

Or, go even longer, really weave those details into the action of the scene, I didn’t here because this is a blog, not a book.

No matter what, best practice is to not infodump the description, spread it out – another criticism of the mirror trope. There is no one size fits all for any writing advice but if you’re spending more than four consecutive sentences describing a single character, object, or building, break that hot pile of exposition up and look how much better it reads.

Similes for describing your character, like any comparison, should serve a purpose. Think about describing an intimidating queen with snow white skin versus bone white skin – what vibes do you get from one simple word change?

You have a long time to describe your narrator, it’s okay if we don’t know what they look like on the first page. Give the details as they become relevant. If you open en media res and the hero is in a nasty fight scene – describe their hair as it flops in their eyes, describe their skin as it’s covered in sweat or scratches or bullet holes, describe their eyes as they patch themselves up and one is now black and blue – or describe their color full of fear, hate, malice, grief.

Describe them against another character so you get two birds with one stone. Whether the narrator is jealous of, attracted to, or appreciative of their fellow character’s appearance. Describe them self-conscious about trying to impress a crush, their spouse, a superior, interviewer, parent, the public, the press. Or describe them unhappy about how they’re being forced to look compared to how they usually are, e.g. a school uniform, prisoner’s uniform, fancy dress/suit, skimpy undercover costume, bargain bin, ugly hand-me-downs, holiday costume, sleepwear, full face of makeup, or no makeup.

All of these are motivated details that will read better than halting the narration to drop textbook lines of exposition.

Lastly, do not let your characters get side-tracked describing themselves when they have more important and prescient concerns. In the above hypothetical fight scene, a “she swept her blonde hair from her eyes and got back to her feet,” is going to read smoother than “she swept her blonde hair aside. It was short and choppy, cheap highlights fading and flyaways tickling her face. She got back to her feet.”

And even then, personally, I think this reads better still: “She swept her hair from her face and got back to her feet, sweaty blonde tangles stuck to her skin.”

Have intent, make it motivated, and the less it feels like awkward exposition.

Pitfalls to avoid

Full disclosure, I am white, from a long line of the whitest white Europeans. I do not write a pasty white cast of characters. Boy, was it an eye-opening experience realizing how harmful my earlier descriptions used to be, just from the books I grew up reading and through no ill-intent of my own.

So another detail in the realm of “does it really matter”: Not all brown skin is the same shade of brown, but resist the urge to compare it to any flavor of food or chocolate. I just reread a favorite kids’ book of mine and saw “chocolate milk” and as a kid, I never noticed or cared, but you bet I zeroed in on that little beat as an adult.

Is this hard? Kind of, yeah. I suppose you could go scorched earth with the food comparisons and describe all your characters in their flavor of milk. Pale skin has a lot of options: Snow, frost, paper, bone, fair, pale, lily, sandy, fawn, etc. and of course, milk, cream and sugar to boot.

The “brown skin like milk chocolate” is tempting, but dehumanizing particularly when only brown characters are described with food. Decide if the exact shade of brown is important, then get respectfully creative with the comparisons. The same goes with hair styles and textures.

Related to skin color: Be careful with what idioms and metaphors you use when describing characters who aren’t supposed to be white, doing things only possible or noticeable with light skin.

A certain famous author really tried to tell the world Hermione wasn’t *technically* white and the HP fans went and pulled page numbers proving that she has to be based on the behavior of her skin.

I’ve caught myself (and had to be told) a few times describing a not-white character “white-knuckling” something as shorthand for being stressed and tense. Faces blanching, paling, reddening, blushing, turning green, looking sun-burnt and bruised and scarred all look different depending on how dark their pigment is.

I am not at all an expert on what you *should* do for non-white characters so I will say this once again: Do your research and get a small army of sensitivity readers. Even if you don’t think you’re being racist, you might be. Accept the constructive criticism, and change it without complaint. Do not lie down and die on a milk-chocolate hill.

The Beautiful Truth

In the written medium, unless you canonize character art and take no constructive criticism, all your audience has to go on is suggestion. That means that your audience has the freedom to imagine their favorite characters however they want.

That means you get a million variations of the hero in their fan art – that’s amazing! If you never described the protagonist’s skin color? You get an audience that makes him or her or them the hero that they want to see and how you’ve inspired them – that’s amazing!

That’s what I mean when I ask if it really matters. You will always know how your literary darlings look. Is it more important that everyone else draws a million different paintings in their mind of the exact same face like a photocopier, or that you now have an audience giving you a million unique paintings of your life’s work immortalized in the grand literary canon?

[hp-rarepair-requests]

Oops! I realised that I had to be more specific

- Augurlight (Delphi x Albus)

- Muggle au

- Abusive relationship

-Albus realizing that Delphi was grooming him (Flashbacks would be nice if possible)

All good! I can absolutely do that!

Augurlight Oneshot

TW/CW: Grooming, Child Predation and CSA

Albus sat in his bedroom, curtains closed, headphones blasting, homework unfinished, and food left to go cold. He wasn’t really sure what day it was, or what time it was, but he really didn’t care. He couldn’t explain the depression he had fallen into. Or maybe he could and he just didn’t want to admit it.

~

“Come on, Dad! Please!” Albus begged.

“For the hundredth time Albus, no,” his father refused him yet again. “You need to finish school.”

“Come on! The kids are mean!” Albus whined. “I passed all the necessary exams for finishing school, I have a job, I can start working more hours and even pay board!”

“I don’t care Albus, you need to complete your education,” his father tried to keep a hushed voice as they browsed the shop, looking for a specific CD for Lily’s upcoming birthday. “I’m not letting you drop out just to chase some fantasy.”

“This isn’t about music—“

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about not having to go back to that shithole of a school!”

“Watch your language!” His father scolded. “I can’t find it. Stay here while I talk to that worker over there.”

Albus groaned and slumped against the shelf of CD’s. He was sick of that high school. Hogwarts was shit, and any wayward misfit with half a brain knew to stay far away from the preppy shitheads that wore the maroon and blue uniform. He was so sick of his classmates constantly bullying him, and he wasn’t even learning anything he could use in the career he wanted. They’d bloody cut the Music Program, the whole reason he’d even been trying to stay well enough behaved to avoid expulsion.

“Hey,” Albus turned to see a worker, with silver and blue hair and thick eyeliner. “Delphi. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with your Dad?”

“Oh, that,” Albus shuffled. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, happens a lot,” Delphi smiled. “Hogwarts uniform?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t sue you for breathing,” Albus answered. “Not unless you breathe too loudly.”

“I’ll try not to. We get a lot of your classmates in here. Usually they’re upset that their Dad’s aren’t buying something super expensive for them.”

“Nah, I’ve got a different kind of dysfunctional family.”

“I can tell,” Delphi plucked something from Albus’ face and he felt it heat up. “Eyelash. Sorry about your Dad. Sucks when your parents don’t believe in you.”

“Well, I don’t know if he doesn’t believe in me,” Albus cleared his throat. “He just … he’s an adult, he probably knows better.”

“I don’t know,” Delphi knocked Albus’ shoulder. “You didn’t start singing the lyrics to Emo Girl when you saw me. Makes you much more mature than some of the other kids your age. It’s also not that hard to enter the music scene. I would know, my band The Augurey are doing pretty well.”

Delphi walked away as Albus saw his father approaching, Lily’s gift in hand.

~

Albus rubbed his eyes and took his earphones out. There had been a light tapping at his door, and when he pulled it open he saw his younger sister. Lily was in her soccer uniform, with dirt on her shins. She’d just got back from practice, it was afternoon.

“Just figured I’d let you know we won,” Lily grumbled. “Not that you even cared to show up.”

“Won what?” Albus asked.

“The game. The Liverpool Griffins are moving onto the semifinals.”

“You had an actual game today?”

“Yes, and you promised you’d come to this one!” Lily crossed her arms. “You’ve become a real jerk these holidays.”

“Oh my God. Lily I am so sorry. I completely forgot.”

“Yeah, I know! Couldn’t even get out of bed to say goodbye this morning.”

Lily turned and began to storm off.

“Lily wait!” Albus followed her. “I don’t even know what day it was.”

“Save it, Albus,” Lily shook her head. “I would invite you to the next one but I doubt you’d show up. Dad’s making soup for dinner, maybe you can show up for that?”

Lily slammed her bedroom door shut and Albus felt lost. How could he forget something as important as Lily’s game? It was the first one where he wouldn’t be too busy working at The Three Broomsticks to go! He’d promised to go! He hadn’t been able to go to any of her other games that year and she missed his support in the stands. And he missed cheering her on from the crowds. How could he forget something as important as that?

~

“Well, well, well, we meet again,” Albus looked up in shock to see none other than Delphi. “Studying for a test?”

“Algebra,” Albus informed her.

“God, what year?”

“Year ten.”

“Yikes,” Delphi hissed in sympathy. “So your doing all that expand and simplify bullshit with the brackets.”

“Yep,” Albus sighed. “Although, it looks more like hieroglyphics to me.”

Delphi giggled. “You’re funny. What was your name?”

“Albus,” he answered, blushing at the compliment. “I work at The Three Broomsticks just down there.”

“Oh sick, my band is performing a gig there this Friday night.”

“I’m working this Friday night.”

“Oh, so you’re getting paid to see The Augurey live. Now that’s an honour.”

Albus laughed. “What instrument do you play?”

“I’m all vocals,” Delphi clarified. “What about you?”

“Oh um, I used to do the music program at my school before they cut it,” Albus fiddled with his pencil, feeling suddenly shy under Delphi’s piercing brown eyes. “Guitar, bass, drums, piano, little bit of vocals.”

“Oh, so you are literally just a one man band?”

Albus laughed to the point of smiling very brightly. “I guess you could call me that. If you can call a fourteen year old with no released songs a one man band.”

“You’ll be a one man band eventually,” Delphi ruffled his hair. “I have faith in you.”

~

Albus closed his bedroom door and pulled out his phone. A notification popped up and he bit his lip. The Augurey’s social media. They’d posted something new.

Albus opened the app and saw the pictures. Delphi smiling with the rest of her bandmates. Pictures from whatever event they were at now. Pictures he couldn’t help but stare at. Especially the last one. The picture was technically of Rascal and Vermyn, the bassist and guitarist, but Albus was focused on the background. Delphi with some guys tongue shoved down her throat.

Albus hadn’t learnt this guys name. He appeared in many pictures. Sometimes he was even in the foreground. But Albus hadn’t learnt his name. Didn’t want to. He just wanted to know why Delphi would lead him on the way she did.

~

Albus was left to close up close up the restaurant while his manager, Rosmerta, went over the employee schedules for the next week. He found he quite enjoyed The Augurey’s live performance that night. He’d hoped to speak to Delphi at some point, but he was stuck as the dishwasher for most of the night, but the few times he had been out cleaning tables he could of sworn she’d been looking at him. He was pretty certain she’d even winked at him at some point.

“Hey Albus!” He jumped when Delphi came up behind him. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yeah, you guys are really good. You have a very good voice.”

“Thank you,” Delphi smiled brightly and touched Albus’ cheek. “You lose a lot of eyelashes. So, are your parents here to pick you up?”

“No, I was going to catch the bus home.”

“You’re kidding?” Delphi’s jaw dropped even further when Albus shook his head. “You can’t catch the bus home at this time of night! There are creeps and weirdos out there.”

“Aside from the creepy weirdo I’m talking to now?” Albus asked, wiping the last corner of the bench down. “It’s fine, I do it all the time.”

“It’s not fine!” Delphi sighed. “How about I drive you home?”

“What?”

“Come on! I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t mKe sure you get home safe.”

Albus felt his face heat up at that. He supposed a car ride with Delphi wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen. “Alright, I can give you the directions.”

“Great! Let’s go.”

Albus let out a nervous breath as he followed her to her car, locking the shop door behind himself. She drove a second hand car, small and inexpensive, but the inside was decorated with plenty of gothic delights. He got into the passenger seat and told her where to go.

“So, you hate Hogwarts I take it?”

“Uh, yeah,” Albus shook his head. “Bit of an understatement really. I get bullied. Really badly. And the teachers don’t do shit about it.”

“I feel that,” Delphi sighed. “Wish there was something I could do to help.”

“It’s alright,” Albus chewed on his lip. “My house is that one.”

Delphi pulled into the driveway. “Damn, you’re families loaded.”

“Yeah, we are.”

Albus went to get out of the car but Delphi grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“What are you—“

“My phone number,” she wrote the digits onto his palm. “Message me next time you have work late. I don’t like the thought of you catching the bus this late at night.”

“Oh,” Albus swallowed. He had her number, that was fun. And really nice of her to be so worried for his well-being.

Delphi caressed his cheek and rested her hand on his face. “Eyelash. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later.”

~

Albus threw his phone to the floor and curled up in his blanket. He really shouldn’t have been surprised. She was pretty, she was semi-famous, she was older. And they weren’t exactly on good terms at the moment either. Of course something like this would have happened.

He wanted to curl into such a small little ball it was like he didn’t exist. No one could hurt him or lead him on that way. People wouldn’t even be able to look at him, let alone talk to him.

“Albus,” he groaned when he heard his fathers voice just outside his door. “Dinners ready.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Come on, you haven’t had dinner with us in a week,” his father answered. “I’m starting to get a little worried.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, if you’re fine you come down to dinner. Come on, get up.”

Albus groaned, and crawled out of bed again. Why him? Why that day?

~

Albus walked out of admin with his letter, supposedly his aunt Hermione was there to pick him up for an appointment he hadn’t even known about. God, his time management skills could really use some work.

As Albus left the school gates he noticed a familiar beat up car. It didn’t belong to his aunt, her car was certainly not beat up, but it did belong to someone else he knew. Someone he was much more excited to see.

“Oh my God, you did not just get me out of school.”

“Hey,” Delphi shrugged. “I told you I wanted to do something to help. Come on, we’re going to the beach.”

“The beach? Are there even any good beaches nearby?”

“Of course there are! You just need to know where to look!”

Albus smiled brightly and got into the car with her. He hadn’t properly skipped school like this in a long time, it was exhilarating.

“Alright Eyelashes, let’s go.”

Albus came down the stairs to see the rest of his family had already started eating their soup. He approached the counter and filled up his bowl. Pumpkin soup. He plonked down at the table, feeling much like the rain that poured outside the window.

“Hoods off at the table, Albus.”

Albus groaned at his mothers words, and yanked the hood from his head before continuing to eat.

“So as I was saying, it’s a very delicate and difficult case,” his father complained about work. “Grooming is a very difficult crime to prove. Our evidence is circumstantial at best.”

Albus ripped a piece of bread and dipped it into his loaf.

“I mean, how am I even supposed to prove he did this? It’s not like he ever actually hurt her, just made it so he could.”

“What?” That confused Albus.

“What’s confusing you?”

“How could he have groomed her if he never hurt her?”

“Grooming is the process of creating an environment which enables abuse,” his father clarified. “A very common misconception people have is that you have to actually h physically hurt someone.”

“Oh.”

~

Albus flopped down onto his towel, and let the rare sunshine beat down on him, giving him a much needed tan. Delphi soon after joined him, and he tried not to look at her too much. He really should have realised that the beach entailed a certain amount of vulnerability.

“That was fun, but I think I might have to take you back to school soon.”

Albus groaned very loudly. “Please don’t.”

“What do you want me to do?” Delphi sat up. “Hold you captive here forever?”

Albus jumped when Delphi pounced on him and they began to wrestle in the sand. His leg was only slightly tangled in his towel by the time she managed to get on top of him. Oh goodness, this was a very compromising position. He only hoped she didn’t do anything to uh … provoke him, we’ll say.

“You’ve got another eyelash,” Delphi’s fingers danced across Albus face as she wiped the stray hair away.

“I swear I didn’t used to lose eyelashes this regularly,” Albus sighed, hoping to get her off from on top of him. This was not something he felt ready to deal with.

“Sure,” Delphi’s face seemed to move impossibly closer, and her breath grazed over Albus’ lips. All he’d have to do is move slightly and they’d practically be snogging.

“We should go,” Delphi got up and put her shirt back on over the top of her bikini. “Your parents will surely be mad if you aren’t home in time.”

~

Albus finished his soup and climbed the stairs before anyone could stop him. He needed some space. Desperately.

Albus opened his laptop and stared at the search engine for a moment. He began to chew on his nails, feeling his stomach roil with the unasked question still lingering in his head. What was he even supposed to do in this type of situation? What was he even supposed to look up?

He swallowed and quickly typed up his question before staring at it. The fact that he even felt the need to ask felt a bit like a confirmation, but he couldn’t be certain. He pressed enter.

How do you know if you’ve been groomed?

~

“What’s this?” Albus asked.

“It’s a birthday present,” Delphi answered.

“My birthday is in October.”

“Just open it.”

Albus smiled before tearing into the gift Delphi had gotten for him. He pulled open the box and inside there was nothing more than a business card. Riddle Studios?

“I may have pulled some strings with my manager,” Delphi clarified. “They’re going to let you record one song, and if they like it and it performs well they might take you on.”

“You’re joking.”

“No joke.”

“Oh my God! Delphi!” Albus got up. “Thank you so much! God, I could kiss you!”

“What?”

“What? Um … not actually kiss you. Just — you know it’s an expression.”

“Right,” Delphi nodded. “Well, I’ll pick you up on Saturday and drive you there.”

“Yeah,” Albus nodded excitedly.

“See you,” Delphi left a peck on Albus’ cheek before walking away.

~

Grooming is the action of attempting to form a relationship with a child or young person, which would enable you to sexually assault them or persuade them to commit some type of crime, such as drug dealing or joining a terrorist organisation.

Albus wasn’t sure that exactly applied to him. He’d been a child, he was a child, but … he didn’t — he didn’t know.

A groomed child may think they are: in a special relationship with the person hurting them, experience self-blame over the the abuse they are experiencing, be confused by the nature of the relationship, and have a fear of harmed or abandoned if they speak out or defy their groomer.

~

Albus had initiated it, but he immediately regretted it. It was stupid really. To think someone as amazing as Delphi might return his feelings. As soon as he’d kissed her he felt like he’d made some horrible mistake and that he needed to run as far away as humanly possible. Something about it just felt innately wrong. Like he’d done something he really shouldn’t have.

“I am so sorry,” Albus stepped back. “I should go. That was — sorry!”

“Albus! It’s fine,” Delphi stopped him from running away. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

Delphi pulled Albus in and this time their kiss was much more of a mutual experience. And it was nice. He’d never really kissed anyone before, so he hoped he was doing it right. Delphi was definitely much more experienced in that regard. And it showed. Delphi was very good at kissing, Albus found.

~

Well, that just didn’t apply to Albus. Right? There was no abuse to feel any guilt or self-blame over. There couldn’t be. Could there? He tried to think. Had Delphi at any point actually abused him? Sure, technically she didn’t need to abuse him for it to be grooming, but there wasn’t anything to blame himself for. Was there?

He’d admit, he had felt special, he had been a little confused by their relationship, he had done things just because he was worried she’d leave if he didn’t, but he didn’t blame himself for … okay he did. Just a little bit. But it was fine because it was technically his fault. The self-blame thing surely only applied when he hadn’t actually done anything wrong right? Because he had! He’d let her get close to him, he’d initiated their … situationship? Relationship? Their whatever! He’d been the one to start it and make it confusing. He made the choice to not defy her. It was his fault.

So, therefore, it couldn’t have actually even been grooming right? What even was the definition of sexual abuse?

~

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going on tour?” Albus asked. “I mean, I figure that’s something you tell your … friend?”

“I was going to,” Delphi got up from her seat on the couch. “But it’s not even like it’s a major tour. We’re just going around England. Nowhere too far away.”

“Right, just the other side of the country,” Albus shrugged. “Would have been nice to know.”

“What? You aren’t proud of us? After all I’ve done for you, you can’t accept that I’m also making progress?”

“That’s not it—“

“Then what is it?”

“You’re leaving…,” Albus sighed. “I just — I thought we were close enough that you’d let me know first.”

“We are that close,” Delphi came over to him and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Come with us.”

“What?”

Albus was dumbfounded. There was no way she was actually inviting him to go on tour with her.

“Come with us!” Delphi’s smile widened. “Come on, you hate school, you hate your family, leave it behind and come with us.”

Albus took a step back. “Okay, first of all, I don’t hate my family. I just don’t always get along with them. And second of all, I can’t just go with you. I have a job, other friends, and my parents are worried enough that I keep disappearing from school and the house. I can’t just runaway.”

“Sure you can!” Delphi held his face now. “Please? For me?”

Albus didn’t know what to say. Delphi kissed him to see if maybe that would be convincing. It wasn’t.

“It’ll be fun.”

“No, I’m putting my foot down,” Albus shook his head and started leaving. “I can’t go with you.”

~

Sexual assault refers to the act of intentionally touching someone in a sexual manner without consent, through either force or coercion. It’s a form of sexual violence that includes child sexual abuse, groping, rape and sexual torture.

Albus scrolled down, trying to find further explanation on what child sexual abuse might entail. He didn’t think he was abused; it was just good to make sure. He seriously doubted he encountered anything severe enough to be considered abuse. And he’d been the one to initiate their relationship in the first place. So it was probably fine.

~

Albus got up from the couch and walked over to the door. Lily was at football practice and their Dad had been the one to drive her. Their Mum was stuck at work so Albus and his older brother, James, were the only ones left at home. He had to assume James took advantage of this absence of people and invited over a couple friends.

He pulled the door open and was surprised to see Delphi of all people standing outside.

“Can we talk?”

“Uh, sure,” Albus stepped aside and let her in. “We better go up to my room, so James doesn’t see you.”

Albus brought Delphi to his bedroom, and gently closed the door behind her. He was sort of glad they were getting the opportunity to talk before she had to leave. They could sort out the argument they’d had and calm down.

“I guess we should—“

Albus was startled by Delphi just grabbing his face and beginning to snog him. They’d snogged maybe a couple times, but never like this. Albus raised his hands to her head as his back hit the wall. His head hurt a little bit, and he winced, trying to separate for at least a moment to rub where his head had hit. But he hadn’t been able to. At least, he hadn’t been the one to separate.

Delphi pulled away only momentarily before attacking his neck. Which, wasn’t really something they’d ever done. It felt a little weird, but kind of nice.

“Um, you said you wanted to talk?” Albus was a little confused now. Not upset, but definitely confused.

Delphi sighed and pulled away. Did he do something wrong?

“Just … wanted to see if maybe you’d changed your mind?”

“Well, I haven’t,” Albus slouched. “You know why I said I couldn’t go.”

“Oh, come on!” She complained. “After everything I’ve done for you, you kind of owe me!”

“Travelling around the country isn’t something I can just do, Delphi,” Albus groaned. “I already told you, my parents are worried enough about me as is. If I left with you they’d probably send a whole search party looking for me.”

“Then leave a note,” Delphi stepped closer. “Please? Can’t you just be the least bit supportive?”

Albus swallowed. He could theoretically go with her, and there was probably a scenario in which everything turned out fine. But Albus didn’t think this was that scenario. He was in enough trouble as it was for constantly sneaking out and skipping school to go see her, although his parents didn’t know about Delphi’s involvement. He didn’t want to make things worse. And Lily kept asking him to go to one of her games. He’d promised to go to one as soon as he could, he couldn’t do that if he was on tour with The Augurey.

“I am supportive, and I’m sorry but I can’t just—“

Albus gasped when Delphi’s palm hit his cheek, and stilled as the sting spread across his face. She’d slapped him. She had just slapped him. And it hurt. Really bad.

“Fine, I don’t need you there anyway,” Delphi stormed out while Albus stood frozen in disbelief.

~

Child sexual abuse (CSA) occurs when an adult or older adolescent abuses a child for sexual gratification. This can include pressuring a child into a sexual activity, indecent exposure of genitals to a child, displaying pornography to a child, sexual contact with a child, physical contact to the child’s genitals, viewing of the child’s genitals, and producing pornography of a child.

Albus wiped a tear from his eye. Did kissing count as sexual contact? Did it even matter? A month ago, if Delphi had asked, Albus probably would have done everything on that list for her. If grooming was only the process of enabling abuse, had Delphi groomed him?

“Hey Albus,” he jumped when his mother walked in without knocking, and turned to face her, “what’s—?”

Albus slammed his laptop shut before she could finish asking her questions.

“Why were you looking at the definition of sexual assault?” She asked.

“I wasn’t,” Albus answered, scratching his neck.

“What were you looking at then?”

“Nothing.”

His mother gave him a look before walking towards him. “Did something happen that I should know about?”

“No,” Albus tried to smile. “Mum, I’m fine. What did you want?”

She let out a breath through her nose. “Lily and James have both had their showers. I wanted to check if you had had yours?”

“No, I’ll go do that.”

“Albus—“

“Thanks for letting me know,” Albus grabbed his clothes and hurried towards the bathroom. He didn’t think he was in the mental state to explain everything about Delphi to his mother.

[titleknown]

Doing a pseudo-reblog of this fucking post because I don’t want to get in arguments over it or shove it into people’s faces, but like... I think we need to talk about the ugliness of the broader attitude in that comic (specific media referenced aside) because it keeps getting fucking spread in other posts by otherwise smart people and I hate it.

Rest of this after the break because it’s kind of ballooned into a wall of text.

Like... it is a common experience on the spectrum for people to earnestly gush about their special interests only to get shut down by a neurotypical in front of them because “that’s stupid,”

While the autism experience is diverse enough that it is difficult to categorize, that is A Thing I have seen people on the spectrum talk about time and time again, pretty damn common.

And that’s literally what that comic is doing, just on a wider scale and “funny,” Like, the setup is “the person is gushing about their interests” and the punchline is “the interest is stupid, I feel despair that this person likes such a stupid thing”

It is that exact fucking nightmare scenario for so many of us, but with the joke on the side of the Typical Neurotypical Viewer.

The core “joke” is literally "LOOK AT HOW STUPID THIS PERSON IS FOR BEING EARNEST ABOUT SOMETHING I FIND STUPID! DOESN'T THAT MAKE YOU DESPAIR FOR THE STATE OF BEING SURROUNDED BY STUPID PEOPLE INTO STUPID THINGS?!"

But it’s funny. It’s innocuous. It’s silly. Which lets it spread despite the fact that what it’s saying is; in the end; kinda fucked up.

But, the OP said this in the tags:

But like... this is really two-faced, right? Like, they’re basically saying “I don’t mean to be mean" while also saying “reading critical depth into what you like is bad because the source material is stupid,” which is like...

...Well, firstly I thought y’all fucking hated “the curtains are just blue” and yet y’all are making fun of people for doing the opposite of that, and secondly, it’s doing the same “I don’t get why people like this, therefore it is stupid/worthless” shit that y’all accuse people of doing with Shakespeare and the classics.

And like... I see that attitude a lot. with regards to the big post-Gamergate/post-Infinity-War backlash against fandom as A Thing and the fact it’s becoming more common worries me.

Like, in the common talking point of “I’m sorry that you think Toni Morrison is less good than your fanfic of Goku fucking Charizard” or “Dante didn’t write fanfic because what he wrote was actually good” (paraphrased), I want to deconstruct the core assumptions I see behind it:

The named author and the anonymous fanfic writer reflects the idea that authors working in approved mediums are important, whereas authors working in the Wrong medium aren’t. The “Goku fucking Charizard” thing is based on the assumption that sexuality (And “weird” sexuality especially) debases a work.

The idea that Dante’s “not fanfic” because it’s good primarily serves to define fanfic as based around quality rather than the bullshit insane walls of copyright law (Which is actually what the “Dante is fanfic” talking point was about).

The way the sex fanfic and Toni Morrison are pointed at each other shows that while fanfic must use its worst works as representatives, published literary fiction must use its best.

I wonder what the sorts of people would say about the fact that a novel about a woman fucking a bear literally won Canada’s highest literary award. But I digress.

It is an ugly view that is ironically pretty anti-intelectual in and of itself, but from a different angle than their opposition.

It seeks to demolish a very specific intellectual view of the importance of democratizing art/audience because it views the public intellect and taste as stupid and not worth commenting on. Better to return to a walled garden than to let the mob dictate public taste (even if they’re not really in control).

And like, to speculate from what I’ve observed, I hypothesize that comes from a view that; since corporate monopoly over media via copyright and consolidation is basically invincible, the best we can do is on a “grassroots” level.

And their view of the “grassroots” is that the culture is infantilized, by people who for stupid selfish reasons like stupid baby garbage instead of “real” art and give it all their money, and that fandom is primarily an engine for the most devoted of these stupid baby garbage worshippers.

You will note that what they deem as ‘stupid baby garbage” tends to cross over heavily into the diagram of “things liked by autistic people.” They’ll deny this, while ignoring how much a lot of anti-autistic ableism isn’t directly targeted but inherently stochastic responses against a perceived abnormality.

Point is, they feel this abnormal element is a key driver of what they think must be excised from the culture, like a tumor. So the core idea is that if they bully enough people into shutting up about their garbage baby interests, that “imperial core” of people into Dumb Baby Bullshit will be starved and Real Art will reassert its rightful place.

Note that none of this is conspiratorial, it’s stochastic. It’s a bunch of people with the same general beliefs adopting the same shitty tactics by sheer force of carcination. And they don’t even have to adopt all of the beliefs to act in the interest of that view, just enough of them.

And I am begging y’all, please stop boosting and reblogging this shit in the name of countering the excesses of fandom. There are better ways and better critiques you could be making and supporting.

And for the love of god, people who are saying this shit, you’re not helping. You are not going to break up Disney or elevate the fucking culture by shaming autistic people.

Go work on trying to decrease copyright duration, or expand arts programs, or push for antitrust, or fucking something that’s not bullying people for being publicly earnest about what they like!

[rockyjulesxx]

the correct marauders & co. head cannons pt. 2

Lily Evans

bisexual icon. uses she/her pronouns but does not correct someone if they use something else because even though she loves womenhood and feels connected to femininity, she doesn’t really care about gender.

raging activist. this is seen through her style because even though she dresses very light in pastels and soft skirts and dresses, all of her tote bags have activist propaganda sewn onto them.

she knits all of her hats and sweaters and makes a bunch for remus too.

she loves her light cottage core aesthetic, but she also heavily delves into grunge styles.

she has long wavy red hair, styled with curtain bangs.

she’s plus sized and loves showing off her tummy.

freckles <3

she has some light patch work tattoos that aren’t very noticeable across her body.

she has beautifully sculpted eyebrows that are frequently complemented upon, and has rich forest green eyes that james won’t shut up about.

shes 5”3-5”6 in height but will stomp on you with her chunky heels.

lily is welsh and loves talking to remus in their shared native tongue.

Marlene McKinnon

RAGING LESBIAN.

loves her punk style constantly says “it wasn’t a phase mom.”

she has platinum blonde dyed hair that she purposely let’s her natural hair peak through at the roots. it’s roughly shopped just above her shoulders with bangs.

has a medusa piercing along with many others and tattoos.

wears an excess amount of rings and eyeliner.

docs everyday all day with leatherjackets she steals from sirius’s closet and decorates with her own patches and buttons.

shes 5”6-5”9 in height (constantly tries to gaslight everyone that she’s taller than sirius even though they’re clearly the same height. she refused to see it though because “she’s not the same height as a little bitch.”)

loves boobs, especially her own, and often wears bralettes as shirts.

she’s an italian immigrant and constantly tells everyone that italy is better than britain.

she’s also bipolar and originally bonded with sirius due to similar struggles he experienced with bpd. she was the only person sirius felt comfortable with telling everything about how his mental illness truly effected him.

Dorcas Meadows

unlabelled but used they/them pronouns.

they’re very spiritual and love astrology. they keep crystals on them nearly all the time.

they're black and have their hair braided (they braid their own hair and think about opening up a small business to do others). they weave castles and charms into their hair too <3.

loves wearing long skirts with crop tops. it’s their go to staple outfit that never fails.

they love walking around barefoot. they say it feels more freeing (very much daisy johns and the six of them).

doesn’t really like to be called a hippie, they think that they dress more grunge than anything.

they’re about 5”5-5”7 in height. (marlene loves that they never wear heels, she likes being a lot taller than her partner).

they don’t mind being referred to as feminine terms such as girlfriend because they believe that “feminine” words are just words and have no real meaning because societal gender ideals are fake.

Regulus Black

asexual and biromantic. uses he/him or they/them pronouns because they’re autistic and don’t really care or align with societies ideals on gender.

he has a constant frown on his face that causes his brows to pinch together (sirius always tries to smooth the line forming there, telling reg that “wrinkles aren’t pretty, what does he have to be frowning about anyways?”)

whereas sirius has high cheek bones, regulus has a strong jawline and a prominent chin that points out.

they also have a very prominent brow bone that casts a dark shadow over their eyes, making them look almost black instead of blue. this eye structure is different from sirius’ double lidded eyes (regulus hates when people say that he looks similar to sirius and constantly looks for facial differences between them- there are a lot, the two don’t actually look THAT similar).

his style is very minimal, he often wears a plain white tee with black jeans.

their hair is short, dark and curly. they let their curls fall over their face and refuse to slick it back because that’s that his father used to do.

he’s 5”8-5”10 in height (he loves the few inch difference between him and sirius because it annoys his brother to no end).

they’re also half french and east asian.

i could honestly make more for the rest of the gang, this headconnon shit is fun because i’m just so right

[pradagymbag]

Providence’s own Beverly Hills - Unpacking the Lore Behind College Hill Homes

Welcome to my architecture limited series where I review homes. In this installation we will be exploring College Hill, located in Providence, Rhode Island. A bright neighborhood whose heart is kept beating by nepo-babies, and Thayer Street. In this review I am going to be featuring some of my recent homes of interest. These are the ones I often walk by and wonder, who the hell is living in there, and what’s their story? (please forgive the photos being taken at different times)

For starters, the first house I see when I reach the top of the hill. I know this is a shot from the side but this is my usual perspective and it’s important. This house may as well not have a front face and if it does I don’t want to see it because it will ruin the narrative I have in my head. Okay so obviously...it’s haunted. I mean you can tell even with the sun shining and blue skies. I say this because it reminds me so much of the house from the first season of American Horror Story. (a show that had a very drastic impact on me when I watched it at an alarmingly young age. I imagine a family with a really unique vibe lives inside even though it’s probably college students.

Okay this house is actually haunted. And not because I made it up as a result of a TV show that traumatized me as a child. Believe it or not, one of my Dear friends' mothers is a ghost hunter! When she came up to Providence for a visit a few months ago she treated us to a private ghost tour of Benefit Street. Apparently Providence has a very rich history when it comes to ghosts and things of that nature. I pass this house pretty often and I always remember it from the tour. Something about paintings moving or they can hear a girl singing. I love it though because it has those funky trees out front and something about the layout and geometry of it scratches an itch in my brain.

This is a haunted house. Just kidding hahaha imagine? This is actually my neighbors house and I look at it everyday wishing it was mine because who wouldn’t want this perfect little pink house. In my mind an older woman who is a retired artist lives here. She’s married but she and her husband kind of do their own thing. The kids have been out of the house for years. The side of their house that faces mine has a little bird in the window. I’m not sure what it’s made out of but it always catches me off guard because it looks so real. They always have the curtains drawn so I have no idea what the inside looks like. For some reason when I picture the inside the lights are never on and there’s blankets hanging from the ceiling. It’s very soft gray and solemn inside despite the bright pink exterior. Not in a sad way though just like insanely chill, quiet grandma vibes.

Okay the finale, the Old Stone Bank house. Rumor has it this house was purchased by a doctor a few years ago. Ever since I found this out I’ve been obsessed with this property. Whenever I walk by (which is everyday) I spiral fantasizing about the happenings inside. Surely the owners must be super gross rich. I assume they only come by the “house” when Providence is warm and all the college students have gone home for the season. When they aren’t sleeping in the vault I assume they’re staying in one of their many other properties. I can’t even begin to imagine the family dynamics here and I think that may be for the best. There seems to be little crafts made by children hanging in the window which compliments the solid stone columns really well. Overall, thinking about the lore of this building puts me into psychosis because I’m too poor to comprehend it.

[parkminijiminie]

Wow… anon really is giving off “well if they didn’t want to be raped the chîld shouldn’t of worn a dîaper.” mentality. Like are they fu cking for real right now. Imagine saying you don’t feel bad or it’s someone fault for being human and existing. Damn apparently JK is some higher being not allowed to live freely in his home and allowed to open some f’ing curtains and turn on lights LIKE EVERY OTHER PERSON ON THIS HELL OF A PLANET! A person regardless of how famous they are should live freely in the one place they call home. The one place most people feel the safest. The fact that people are talking more about what’s going on in the video more so than the HUGE and vile invasion of privacy tells me all I need to know. The difference between a truly good person and a piece of crap. The amount of times he’s told people he just wanted to be treated like an adult (because he is) and constantly reminding everyone he’s human too is so sad. He’s been in the industry since he was 14/15 with people stalking, over sexualizing him, and treating him like property instead as of human it’s so f’ing sad. His biggest fansite/stalker (and bully because when he does something she doesn’t like she belittles him and trashes him everywhere) is literally an old lady in her 40s/50s and has been doing this since 2013 (I’m sure you can all do the math on that). She gets called out all the time but people still praise her and follow her. Utterly disgusting. It pissed me off to see her at GCF still stalking him. It doesn’t matter what the f’ing culture is or if someone is famous they should be allowed to live freely like the rest of us they aren’t more special because they’re famous and that’s my opinion. I personally don’t think it’s him or his place (and people can argue with me until they’re blue don’t care. I saw 1 hall not 2 like there is) but if it is then I hope they find out who and sue the F out of them put the person under the freaking jail! Trash “humans” shouldn’t be allowed to exist we have enough problems.

Also I don’t know maybe it’s just me and I’ve been here since 2014 but JK always come off as a never opens blinds/windows in the home or barely turn on lights unless really needed. I do the same I can’t even remember the last time I opened my curtains/blinds and let any light in lol and only usually twinkle lights/candles unless I’m cooking.

Jungkook has grown up in this industry. He's seen great success but has also had to sacrifice a lot of things for it, and he truly real doesn't deserve this.

Whether it is him or not in these leaked videos, I hope whoever is behind this will bw brought to justice because this is a malicious targeted attack and defamation.

[ms-demeanor]

I am absolutely not joking at all when I say that The Sixth Sense should be required as teaching material when you’re trying to get kids to learn about why color matters.

No, the red DOESN’T mean love or violence or passion, however the creators set it up so that in this particular work red means OH NO A SCARY GHOST IS HERE.

When I was in college (as a lit major) I ended up sitting down and talking to a returning student who was having trouble in one of our classes. He liked books, and he had GI bill money so he decided to be a lit major.

He was VERY confused about the “The Curtains Are Blue And It Means Something” approach to symbolism and I remember that he very seriously got out a notebook and a pen, sat down, and asked me “Okay so what to stars mean as a symbol?” 

And I was at a loss because of course I was! Stars-as-a-symbol can mean a thousand things and are heavily dependent on context. Are you reading a book about sea travel? Stars mean a map. Are you reading Maus? Stars represent faith and community and the way that the Nazis dehumanized Jewish people. Are you reading something by a romantic author who has a thing for the classics? Stars probably have something to do with heroism and destiny. Are you reading science fiction? Stars are probably just stars but if you’re reading Whipping Star by Frank Herbert they are literally people and our entire conception of stars is reexamined.

So one one the things that I think a lot of people are missing in their high school English classes is that whether the curtains are blue matters or not depends on the work.

The fact that Hamlet is wearing black is an important part of the story and the antagonist commenting on it it is almost the first thing that happens in the play.

What color dress is Lizzy wearing at the first dance in Pride & Prejudice? It doesn’t matter, the curtains are just blue.

And that’s one of those things that it takes a lot of time and a lot of exposure to different kinds of stories to learn and when you’re in high school you just don’t have that experience and your teachers are just now telling you for the first time “sometimes it matters why the curtains are blue” and I know you’re going “okay, sounds fake” but the goal is to get you to look at blue curtains and ask if they do matter, which is why they hand you books with big obvious examples of the kind of shit they’re talking about. You read A Tale of Two Cities because it’s full of binaries and line motifs and it’s the perfect thing to teach a fifteen year old how to look for a motif because there are a shitload of them. You read  The Scarlet Letter to look for color symbolism and to ferret out biblical allusions.

“The curtains are just blue” is just “yet another day has gone by and I haven’t needed algebra.” Most people aren’t going to need algebra in their day-to-day lives but it’s handy to know how to do a bit when you need it and it’s good to learn that the concept exists.

If you’re reading books just because they’re fun and you like them then that is cool and I’m glad you’re having a good time and you absolutely do not have to give a fuck about symbolism.

But I am going to laugh my ass off at you if you’re one of those folks who is like “the curtains are just blue it doesn’t matter” and then whines about why scifi and comics and cartoons and video games are all political these days. They were always political, you just couldn’t tell because the curtains were red.

(also because you were socialized to see certain things as apolitical and value neutral but if you’re going “WHY DO THEY PUT SERIOUS MORALS AND SHIT IN A KID’S SHOW, STEPHEN UNIVERSE IS FOR TEN YEAR OLDS IT’S NOT THAT DEEP, LOONEY TUNES WASN’T LIKE THIS” I’m afraid I’m going to have to refer you to all the actual war propaganda made by Disney and Warner Brothers.)

[moonshine-nightlight]

Finally Woken: Part Five

Working for the family business of traveling trade caravans, means you‘ve always accepted having to put up with a lot from your family, especially your dad. He finally goes to far when he tries to sell your prized possessions to make up for his own business failings. You’re proud of yourself for making a stand, but he’s not wrong when he says you don’t have any real connections outside the family–but he’s not completely right either.

Your closest friend happens to live in the city you’re stopped at so you decide to see if you can stay at his place until you can figure out what you’re going to. You’ve never come by the city this early, but he’s probably fully woken up from the naga’s traditional bout of hibernation by now, right?

Fantasy, friends to lovers, naga, male monster x female reader, M/F, Part 5 of 8

Story Status: Complete

AO3: Finally Woken Chapter 5

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] Part Five [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight - NSFW]

You reach Nell’s butcher shop after noon, as she mentioned. 

It's a well established shop, looks like it's been around for over a hundred years, with a few different buildings supporting it, likely where Nell and her family or workers live. You head in with only mild trepidation, ignoring the anxiety that’s nudging you with thoughts about how maybe she hadn’t really meant her offer. 

A whip-thin reptilian is using a meat slicer when you enter, but he turns when he hears her come in. “Hello,” he greets, a practiced smile on his face. “How can I help you?”

“Hello,” you reply, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m looking for—Nell!” The back curtain had moved aside while you were talking to reveal the woman herself.

Her eyes land on you immediately and she smiles. “Hey, just in time. The younger ones just went up for their nap.” She pats the man on his shoulder, murmuring something you don’t catch, before jerking her thumb towards the curtain she came through. “Follow me around back.”

Nell leads you down a hallway and out the back of the storefront building. The small courtyard has clearly been freshly planted, but is empty of others so you aren’t surprised when she says, “Around this way. We try to keep the middling ones away from the ones who need naps, but since they’re taking sunnaps on that roof,” she points to a wide flat roof in the center of what must be her family’s collection of buildings. You can’t see beyond the railing but it looks like a very nice roof patio. “There’s only so far they can go. This series of cousins only got here a few days ago from our farms. They try their best, but they’re excited to be here and see each other. So they forget how loud they’re being—youngens.” She rolls her eyes as she says it, clearly exaggerating her disapproval because she can’t be more than a few years older than you, and you laugh.

You turn the corner to another small yard backed up against a tall fence to the buildings next door.

“Oi,” Nell says to the six or so people hanging out in this yard. You’re not sure you’d call them kids, but you’d put them around the same age as the students you were tutoring at the university. The majority are reptilians similar enough to Nell to appear obviously related, but not all of them are. They do seem bored, looking up instantly at the sound of her voice, so maybe Nell hadn’t been exaggerating. Or maybe they just know to be ready when Nell calls for their attention. “Which of you are coming?”

A thin, bright blue reptilian who looks more similar to the man at the counter inside than Nell stands up. He looks a year or two older than the others and he peers at you curiously. Another reptilian, but one built broader and colored green-grey like Nell, but without the tattoos, sticks out a hand from where he leans against the wall. Finally a gorgon woman who’d been lounging in a chair sideways stands up too, cracking her back as she does so.

“Sasha cheated,” one of the boys still seated grumbles and is swatted on the back of his head for his trouble. “Hey!”

“Did not. You’re just pissed you lost,” Sasha teases, the snakes of her hair look smug.

“You three?” Nell looks them over appraisingly and you’re pretty sure, regardless of what they’ve decided amongst themselves, she’s still giving the final approval. And they know it given the way they all straighten. “Suppose you’ll do. Come on then.”

She introduces you, explaining you need some help moving, as she leads you back around the way you came. “Also, this will also be a good test run for deliveries since you’ll be dropping off a large order for a long-standing, valuable customer.” Again, that makes them perk up a little more, paying that much more attention to Nell’s words. They seem to be trying to practice teenage indifference, but it's undermined by how interested they are in proving themselves capable.

They end up in a large barn with two very clear separate sides: one for various carts and vehicles and the other side for large beasts of burden. Unlike the horses, donkeys, or even oxen you might have expected, there are large monitor lizards in pens. You’ve seen your fair share of unusual mounts before, but not ones like these before. Although, you don’t know many reptilians or lizardfolk or even that many naga like Heshi. They certainly look strong, just lower to the ground than you’d expect. 

Nell leads you past the stalls to where one is already hitched to a cart bearing the name of her shop on it. 

“Michi’ll be your driver,” Nell says as the older, blue reptilian steps forward to start checking the straps hitching the large lizard to the cart, “and he knows how to handle the beast.” She gives the lizard a fond pat that she barely reacts to beyond a flick of her tail. “She’s used to the city traffic,” Nell turns to Michi and sternly adds, “but you’re not—so make sure she doesn’t try to take advantage of that and get into things she shouldn’t.”

“I got it, Nell,” he replies, only mildly defensive.

“Right,” she replies dryly. “You two, over here. Sasha, let’s see if you’ve been paying attention to your cold storage lessons and if both of you have listened when I told you how to pack a delivery properly.”

You linger by the cart, feeling out of place as you watch Michi do his checks—at least he seems thorough. You check your bag for the lists you made last night, both of what you’d brought with you and what you had left behind. It surprised you, how many things you didn’t feel like you needed, but were just as sure you can’t leave behind. You’re not going to leave anything else for your Dad to take.  You’ll decide what to do with everything after, back at your home for yourself.

When you slip the papers back into your bag, Michi asks you a bit about where exactly you’re going and you explain where your family has set up their camps just outside the city walls and where Heshi’s place is from there. It's clear he only has a broad strokes idea of the city and you end up trying to tell him more about the main thoroughfares and any tips for navigating you remember from your first visit—and from the last few days.

Soon enough Nell comes back. Sasha and Aleks each pulling a dolly loaded down with a surprising number of crates, all covered in spellwork for cold so the meat will keep until it's packed away in Heshi’s ice box. Nell supervises as they load up the cart you’re taking. She lets you know which box has more besides meat—for special service for hibernation packages that they partner with a local grocer—and that the kids know how to unlock everything and will help you store it once at the apartment.

They manage to fit everything in a surprising small amount of space, leaving plenty of room to load up with your possessions from your parents’. Shortly you find yourself up front with Michi, while the other two hang out in the back of the cart, and waving goodbye to Nell.

Michi seems to need a minute or two to get a handle of Taiga, but soon enough they’re moving into the city at a good pace. 

“I’ve never seen a Sanush camp before,” Michi says, breaking the silence.

“No reason for most people to come,” you say with a shrug, hoping he wasn’t going to be strange about it. Some people seemed to think there were lots of interesting secrets in a Sanush camp instead of just a lot of tents. “We go to our partners, so there’s nothing really to do there unless you’re, you know, in the family.”

You’re not sure if Michi picks up on your mild discomfort or not, but he just nods. “How long are you sticking around for? Or I guess how long is your family here for since you’re staying, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, the weight of your decision hitting you again. It's more novel than anything to go so many days without seeing your family—the idea of going months, of them being leagues away is almost impossible to really wrap your mind around. “For at least another month. The passes cleared early this year, but I think my Uncle–he makes most of the final decisions for our family–is just going to spend the additional time here, rather than moving on to Menca early and so on.”

He ends up telling you more about his trip here, where the farm he grew up on is, and you find yourself approaching your family campsite sooner than you expect. You’d told your Great Aunt Carina when you were going to come to get your things and, despite her clear disapproval at you leaving the family business—seeing it as leaving the family—she waves you through easily, not even pausing in her mending.

You’re not sure what you expect when you get to where your tents are, but it's not your mom waiting for you outside. She calls your name with a practiced smile, sending away your aunt she’d been chatting to with a wave.

“Hi, mom,” you say, inexplicably nervous as you clamber down.

While Michi fusses with Taiga, you and your mom exchange pleasantries. It only takes you actually starting to head in for her to say, “Are you sure this is really necessary?”

You try hard not to freeze as you turn back to her, deciding to play dumb. “What do you mean? I can’t carry everything myself.”

She frowns and says with mild reproach, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you frown back. “I’ve moved out, so yeah, I think I need the rest of my things.”

Your mom’s eyes are sharp on your face, searching for something. You don’t know what she finds, but she backs off. “Right, right. Very well.” Her eyes land on Michi and she points at him. “You—” He blinks in surprise. “Can this beast stay tied by itself or do you need to stay with her?”

“She’ll behave,” he says, clearly offended at the implication she might be badly behaved.

“Good, you can help with the books,” she says, motioning him over and turning to you. “I had them boxed up, in case, well, in case. You should focus on your clothes.” Leave it to your mom to suddenly put herself in charge of your packing up, even though you can tell she still doesn’t really agree with your decision. Honestly, you're grateful she’s not pushing like you expected. You were expecting another guilt trip about leaving the family or being too sensitive to your dad’s comments and actions. You’ll take micromanagement with mild disapproval over another fight. 

“Okay, mom,” you say, as if that isn’t what you’ve been planning to do in the first place.

You have Sasha and Aleks follow you to your tent, which your uncle had secured as a gesture of good faith and which had pissed your dad off. Even thinking about it now makes you wanna shake him—if he didn’t want to be treated like a thief, he shouldn’t have stolen from you. 

“Orders, boss?” Aleks asks with a grin, standing at a bad approximation of attention.

You roll your eyes, but begin directing the two to pack up your bedding and other similar items while you begin packing the clothing you’d left here.

Five minutes later, when you hear the tent flap, you say, “I think next you should grab the lighting so you can use—” Your words cut off when you turn around to see your dad standing there. “Oh.”

“Still haven’t come to your senses?” he asks with a little too much anger in his eyes to hit the pure paternal disappointment he seems to be aiming for.

“I haven’t changed my mind about anything, if that’s what you mean,” you reply, already feeling defensive. “I’ve already moved out—this is just, just a formality.”

He scoffs. “That’s what this is? That’s what this family means to you?”

“That’s what you made this family into,” you snap back, unable to keep it in.

He takes a step forward, bristling. “I did? I’m not the one who’s overreacting and blowing things out of proportion. I thought you were more mature than this, throwing a tantrum because your feelings got hurt.”

You find yourself shaking with rage. How are you having this conversation? Again? “Who bought my flute?”

“That’s not—”

“Who?” you talk over him for the first time, possibly ever, because for once you know beyond a doubt you are right. “I did! I paid for it with my money. And you stole it. What would the ‘appropriate’ reaction be? What would you have done if I did this to you?”

He doesn’t say anything and so you continue, “Because I bet we would have been here—except because you kicked me out after making me repay you every penny and then some.” You can’t even keep looking at him and you want to just be done with this. You stop folding neatly and start packing as briskly as you can.

“Sacrifices are sometimes necessary,” he says and you have never wanted to hit someone more than you do at this exact moment just to make them stop talking. “I thought you understood—.”

You whirl around. “No, I don’t understand theft. I don’t understand going behind my back and taking from me and then trying to justify it.” You talk over him when he starts trying to argue again. “You didn’t even have the guts to tell me what you did yourself—you let me find it missing. Even if you thought I wasn’t pulling my weight or working hard enough, then you tell me. I’m not a misbehaving little kid you can punish by taking away their presents.

“But that’s how you still see me, right?” You don’t think you’ve ever aired your problems with everything your dad does for so long uninterrupted and you feel reckless, sweep up in the momentum as you continue talking, “Anything I have is stuff I bought because you gave me the money, not because I earned it. And I worked damn hard for us so that’s crap. 

“Don’t even pretend that the problem you’re having right now isn’t because your deal with the Havoratis went up in smoke, literally. And the answer to that was that we all have a few leaner months since goodness forbid we ask for help from the rest of the family. And we’d been doing that, but you don’t actually want to give anything you care about up, so you decided to figure out a way around it.”

“You always say we need to be able to predict and live with the consequences, so here we are,” you finish, almost panting as you gesture to the box you’re packing your clothes into.

Your dad looks truly surprised and at a loss for words in a way you’ve never seen before. You stare at each other in tense silence and just when he seems to have pulled himself back together, the tent flap opens again. 

Sasha freezes when she walks in, her hair snakes hissing in discomfort at the tension in the air, making your dad instinctively take a step away from her. “Uh, should I come back?”

“No,” you say, pulling yourself back together. Part of you is disappointed that you know your dad won’t say anything else with someone here, but you’re also relieved that you don’t need to hear whatever he would have come up with. “Can you help with the lamps?”

“Sure thing,” she says, eying your dad before heading over to the two lanterns by where you used to sleep. 

You realize you’re holding a dress in your hands still and try to refold it, a rush of adrenaline leaving you, although you remain aware of exactly where your dad is and that he’s staring at you. “Where did you even find these—”

“Need any help in here, ma’am?” You look over to find the broadest of your temporary helpers in the tent’s entry way.

“Sure, Aleks.” Maybe you’re petty but you enjoy the way your dad’s face pinks, whether it's from anger or embarrassment at Aleks’ interruption and clear disregard of him, showing he answers to you alone. “I was having trouble with that box.”

“On it,” he says with a wink, easily picking up the box with your winter coats. Before he can start to head out with it, your dad just leaves. You stare at the tent flap and know he isn’t coming back. You breathe for a moment before turning resolutely back to the few clothes remaining. Silence only broken by the sound that accompanies packing fills the tent and slowly, you start to relax.

“Hey.” 

You look up to see your brother pushing aside the tent flap to come in because apparently everyone in your family wants to stop by. He looks as he always does. Were you expecting him not to? You’ve only been gone for a week or so—but it's longer than you’ve ever gone without seeing him before. “Hey, how’ve you been?”

“Good.” He leans against one of the center tent poles. “I keep missing you whenever you come by to teach Gie though.”

You shrug. “Avoiding Dad, sorry.”

He snorts. “Can’t blame you there. He’s been in a bad mood since you left—when he isn’t pretending everything’s fine, I mean.” He rolls his eyes—at least his spot as the favorite had never led to him idolizing your dad, even if he’s never been as aware of the favoritism as you’d like. He's never held back from calling out Dad when he wants to, it's just—he can get away with it. 

Dad listens to him.

Still, you feel a pang of guilt that you’ve inadvertently made everything hard for everyone else.

“Not that it’s your fault.” You look up to see your brother with a skeptical eyebrow raised, clearly having guessed at your thoughts. It surprises you, that he noticed. “He just so used to making everything go his way.” He smirks. “It's been kinda funny, watching him realize that’s not gonna happen this time. And Uncle is paying him more attention than he has been, which he doesn’t like.”

“That wasn’t why I did it, why I left,” you feel the need to say. The petty part of you is glad Dad’s getting some consequences you think he deserves, but… “I didn’t do it to mess with him.”

“No, I know,” Lio says. “You did it because he crossed a line. Thinking back, I’m surprised you didn’t leave sooner.”

“And go where?” you can’t help but reply, not liking the implication that you’d had opportunities you’d just passed up or that you could have left at any time. “I was just lucky we were here when he did it. Otherwise, I might have had to come back.”

“Yeah? I think you would have been fine wherever,” he says with a shrug.

You huff a disbelieving laugh. In a way you feel flattered he thinks that, but you think it's more a matter of underestimating how difficult the world is, than having a great deal of faith in you. Even here, he’s never had the difficulties you have. “I don’t think you realize how hard it is, to make it on your own.”

He frowns at that, surprised you’re pressing the point. “I’m not a little kid, I know how stuff works. But come on, it’s not as vicious as they like to pretend it is. They always play it up to encourage us to stick to the family. And you’re not on your own.”

“Exactly,” you reply. “That’s why I’m lucky to be here. Where I can stay with my friend and not worry about having a roof over my head, not burn money on lodgings, where I know my way around.” Your eyes dart to Sasha, who’s frowning concentration as she disassembles your favorite chair. “Where he can have his friends make their cousins help me move.”

“I guess,” he says, still frowning. He opens his mouth before he shuts it again. “You know, I’d have helped you if you needed it, right?” When you just blink in surprise, he crosses his arms, looking almost defensive. “I have money saved up too. Dad’s being stupid, but if you wanted out, I’d have helped.”

You’re not who it says more about, but you are surprised. While you didn’t really think he’d take Dad’s side exactly, you mostly thought he’d be ambivalent about you leaving if you ever thought about what his opinion would be on that hypothetical—because you had thought about leaving before. Honestly, he’d never really factored into it much, except that if you failed, he’d have been another person who’d witness it. Even now, you just… didn’t think he really cared one way or another. He’s never really taken your complaints about your life very seriously, always suggesting what he’d do and not getting that it wouldn’t work out for you that way.

Stupid as it was, Dad always gives everything Lio says or does more weight because he’s a boy. Lio’s also just more laid back, confident, and less anxious than you are. No amount of knowing that makes you able behave like him. And since he is on the customer and client facing side of the business, his value is a lot more obvious and straight-forward than yours. Dad sees what he brings to the table as more important, sees him as more important. And he feels the opposite about you. 

You didn’t think Lio would throw you under the wheels or anything, but he’s definitely said things that echo what your dad says enough that you wouldn’t have asked for his help. Some of that is pride, older siblings nonsense about having to ‘stoop’ for your little brother's help and wanting to prove you could do it on your own.

You’re still surprised he’d have even thought to offer his help

You push all of that aside, hoping it doesn’t show on your face. “Thanks,” you say instead, hoping he can tell you mean it. “I appreciate it. I’m good for now though, staying with my friend is keeping costs low and I’ve got enough savings. Working on some tutoring stuff, getting licensed for here—that type of thing.”

“Of course you are,” Lio rolls his eyes with a smile. “I bet you been at the library half the time.” You freeze and hope he can’t read the expression on your face, but it's obvious he does as he smirks. He leans forward to tease. “Ha! I knew it. Why do you think I’d offer? I know you’d be good for the money. So responsible and boring. I hope you’ve been doing something fun too.”

You grumble good-naturedly. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I have fun.”

Lio snaps his fingers. “I almost forgot. Where’s your new address?” he asks. “You’re staying with you glassmaker friend, right? I convinced Aunt Dee that I’d still manage to negotiate with him, if not as well as you did, even with what’s gone on.”

“You got the berries?” you ask hopefully, although his compliment didn’t go unnoticed. You just don’t know what to say. So you ignore it. You focus on how pleased you are you haven’t ruined Heshi’s chances to get his precious berries.

“Yup and some, you know, gold too,” he jokes.

You wave that off. “Gold he can get from other people. We already ate all the berries I had.”

“Such exciting times you have,” he nudges you.

You roll your eyes. “Well, he’s still waking up from hibernation. I’m sure we’ll do more once he’s awake longer. Although we did finish that liquor…”

“Truly living on the wild side,” he jokes. “Really leaning into the sleepover part of having a roommate, huh? Did you braid each other’s hair too?”

You flush, both at the sleeping comment and the hair comment. His face lights up immediately, “Holy shit, you did. That’s hilarious.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, pulling out your list of your possessions and trying to busy yourself making sure you’ve gotten everything. You can’t linger on how much you enjoyed braiding and you worried he’ll be able to tell with his little brother senses.

Of course, he doesn’t let it go regardless. “I’m so glad you're living your cliche dreams with your new roommate. I can’t wait to meet him.”

Right, if Lio takes over the negotiation, he’ll meet Heshi. You suddenly regret complaining about how annoying your brother is as much as you have to Heshi in your letters. You want them to get along but...

“Something you wanna share?” he asks after seeing your mildly guilty expression. 

“Let me know before you do so I can talk to him first,” you say as nonchalantly as you can. 

“Whhhyyyy?” he asks, drawing out the word in a way he knows bothers you.

“Um, just, you know, sometimes when I get annoyed, I write Heshi and like, he hasn’t said anything about you, but let’s just say it's probably for the best that he’s too sleepy to help me grab my stuff.”

“Are you saying you’ve besmirched my good name?” he says with a grin. “How could you?”

“Oh whatever, like you haven’t complained to your friends about me,” you roll your eyes.

He laughs and you join in. 

“Ma’am?” you look up to see Aleks pushing aside the tent flap. “Anything else you want me to grab?”

You scan the room and shake your head. “No, I think we’ve got everything. I’m gonna do one more sweep,” you brandish your checklist, “but anything left will be small. You guys can all head back to the cart and then we can head home.” You pause for a second, realizing how true that statement is because it truly is already your home, not this tent with your family, but the apartment with Heshi.

He gives you a cheeky salute and heads out.

You continue to chat with Lio as he catches you up on some family gossip and some of the deals that are going differently since you’re here earlier than usual. Soon enough, you’re pretty sure you have everything. He promises to send along anything he spots of yours that gets left behind and you promise to write him a good time for him to come by and trade with Heshi.

“Oh, I almost forgot—here you go.” He tears off the top of the paper he’d written down your new address on. “Got Dad to tell me where he sold your flute yesterday. Maybe you can still get it back.”

You stare at him because Lio is a smooth talker, but usually for his own benefit only. It’s strange how you leaving is revealing so much about your brother. “Really?” A grin breaks out over your face as you accept the piece of paper. You pull him into a hug that he reciprocates with a little more strength than usual. “Thanks, Lio.”

[Part Six]

[letterstotheflre]

that’s the thing about illicit affairs

summary: james was never hers to lose.

warnings: CHEATING, age gap (not specified but reader is in her 20s), tiiiny angst?? i don’t think it’s sad lmao, allusions to sex and one miniature sex scene, some food mentions, and a very badly written argument.

word count: 3k (why are they always so long ffs)

a/n: my first james potter fic <3 i love this man so much, sorry for making you the bad guy here. this one’s been sitting in my drafts for a few weeks, and since i’ve been feeling kinda sad i finally got around to edit it. also hedric rights!!

They always meet like this.

The room is dark except for a small sea salt lamp she bought on sale from Target. Her clothes are piling up on the floor, discarded carelessly by her lover, and his are not too far from meeting the same fate.

He is kissing her hungrily as he could never get enough of her. His hands travel all over her back while she unbuttons his shirt, their lips never parting. He moves her to her bed, the sheets a pale green that reminds him of—

No. He closes his eyes tightly, pretends the green is actually blue like the lacy bralette that covers her breasts and moves his lips down to her jaw. He sucks and nips and bites, letting her moans echo freely between the four walls that make their little sanctuary.

Her hands quickly undo his belt and stroke him lightly through the fabric of his boxers. He groans against the junction of her neck, the skin softer than anything he’s touched in years.

He pushes her down on the bed, cupping her face while he looks at her properly, noting the tangled hair caused by his fingers. Her lips are puffy and shiny, his kisses being the perpetrator of their current state. He waits for her to say something, to give him a sign that this is okay.

(It’s not okay, and they both know it. It’ll never be okay.)

She nods her head, and he kneels in front of her, pushing her legs wide open before he dives in.

—

She is laying on her bed, the sheets covering her body as she watches him try to fix up his hair in front of the mirror on her makeshift vanity.

“Make sure no one sees you leave,” she says, “and put—”

“Put my hood up, I know,” he finishes the sentence for her. It’s not the first time they do this dance.

“Sirius and Remus are with Harry at home. I told them I was going for a run, so they won’t say anything if I show up all sweaty,” he adds, trying to fill the awkward silence.

She just nods her head, fingers playing with a loose thread on the edge of the sheet, pulling it a bit more every time she twists her index finger. He steps forward, then sits on her bed and traces her cheekbone with his knuckles. “You know I care about you, right?” he asks.

Her heart clenches, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest that makes it hard to breathe for a second. She lowers her eyes, refusing to stare at those hazel irises that started everything. “I know, James,” she assures quietly, looking at a picture of her and Harry that’s stuck to the wall just behind him.

James brushes back some stray hairs that are still stuck to her forehead, then presses a small kiss on the slightly sweaty skin. He gives her a tentative smile before heading to the door, and she only looks in his direction when she hears the click of the door.

(He might care, but not enough.)

—

Sundays are always a slightly awkward affair at first.

Both of their families have been friends for years, getting together every Sunday for lunch at the Potter’s. James and Sirius always man the grill with her dad, all of them wearing those corny ‘kiss the chef!’ aprons. Her mother helps Lily make the salads in the kitchen while they gossip with Remus, who steals a few tomatoes when they aren’t looking. Now that it’s summer, she and Harry splash each other in the pool instead of catching up in his room.

It’s always strange seeing James in the light of day, pretending that this is the only version of him she knows: the version of him that is a friend, a father, a husband.

But she knows the other version of him: the one that has her on her knees begging for a taste of him, the one that grips her hair while he pounds into her from behind, the one that lets his tongue explore places of her no one else has. The version of him that kisses her forehead and plays with her fingers while their bodies are tangled together under the sheets. The version of him that kisses her as if she were the only one made for him.

(She isn’t.)

They are sitting around the table eating. Sirius is laughing about something with his arm around Remus’s shoulders, his bark of laughter echoing across the garden. Her mother’s shoulders shake as Lily rolls her eyes in amusement. James and her father have gone back to the grill to bring everyone their second round of burgers, and she can hear her father complaining about something from work.

“Here y’go, kid,” says James as he places the plate in front of her before ruffling her hair. She tenses up for a second before relaxing, muttering a small “thank you” before reaching for the ketchup.

She hates that nickname. It’s so impersonal, keeps a distance between them that truly doesn’t exist. As if he isn’t the only person that can make her vision whiten and the colours of her room hazy while she clutches his shoulders. As if he isn’t the only person who can pull so many different sounds from her vocal cords, sounds he knows no one else has ever heard before because he is the only one who can create them.

She can feel Sirius’s eyes on her as she stretches one arm, so she hesitantly glances at him. He raises an eyebrow, eyes switching back and forth between James and her, and she can see the cogs turning in his mind.

She gulps anxiously, dismissing him with a wave of her hand and goes back to eating.

—

James’s moans are loud as he gathers her hair in a makeshift ponytail. His cock is buried in her throat, and he watches as she gags for a second before relaxing her throat.

She’s taking him so deep that her nose nuzzles his pubic hair, the musky scent of James filling her nose as she breathes deeply through it. She starts moving her head up and down, swirling her tongue around the tip every time she rises.

He is a mess above her, needy whines and wanton moans leaving his mouth. His hips thrust up softly, slowly fucking her mouth, and he relishes in the small choking sounds she makes. His head rolls back as he groans, “That’s it, baby, so good to me.”

She winces at the name and pulls away from him. “Don’t call me that,” she mutters, but her hands never stop stroking him. She takes him back into her mouth and starts sucking with a newfound fervour, his voice echoing inside her head as she tries to make him forget about her.

(She tries to forget too.)

—

Honey rays filter through her window.

They are both laying on her bed, James on his stomach while she refills the glasses with some cheap wine she got from the store. He looks at the tiny purple splotches on her neck and the red fingerprints on her hips, then smirks proudly. When she turns, she smiles at him softly.

There’s a summer breeze that ruffles her curtains, and he can hear some teenagers laughing as they walk down the street over the music that plays from her speaker.

She places her glass on her nightstand, her nipples brushing his naked back as she leans over him. She lays down on her side, her fingertips softly drawing shapes on his skin. It takes him a moment to realize they are not random shapes but letters.

Her name, written over his scattered freckles and connecting his moles with cursive loops.

He takes her hand and kisses it, slightly chapped lips pressing against her open palm. Then he kisses her lips, still bitterly sweet with grapes, as his tongue moves languidly against hers while he pulls her by the hand on top of him.

It feels like a distant memory. It feels like a dream.

—

The cacophony of different voices singing “Happy Birthday” rings in her ears.

Harry is at the front of the table, an adorable blush dusting his cheeks at the attention. On either side of him are James and Lily, smiles wide as they watch their son blow the candles. Cedric is behind him, hands on his shoulders, and he leans forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

She sings and claps, whooping with Sirius when Harry blows the last candle. She eats cake and drinks the pretty cocktails Lily ordered. She smiles and laughs, pretends she couldn’t see the way the candles made the golden band on James’s ring finger beam like the sun.

She pretends she doesn’t see the way James holds Lily’s waist before kissing her. She pretends she can’t see them dancing slowly to a song Remus put on the Spotify playlist as a joke.

She pretends she can’t hear his footsteps following her when she goes to the bathroom. She feigns disinterest when he grabs her wrist and pulls her towards a deserted corridor.

But she can’t ignore the butterflies in her stomach when he kisses her, the thrumming in her veins when he pushes one leg between her thighs, nor the pleasure-filled gasps and moans that leave her mouth when he helps her roll her hips along his covered thigh.

It’s thrilling; they’ve never done something like this in public, much less in such proximity to friends and family.

(In such proximity to her.)

Even though she knows it shouldn’t, it gives her a sense of victory. Because he is here with her now: he is kissing her, making her moan, and whispering dirty things in her ear.

A faraway call of his name breaks the spell they’re under. They pull away hastily; she fixes her dress while James makes sure there are no lipstick stains on his face. The footsteps are getting closer, heels hitting the floorboards at the same rhythm as their rapid beating hearts.

It’s Sirius.

James almost breathes a sigh of relief, but she remains tensed up. Sirius looks between them, the same look he had that Sunday all those weeks ago on his face, and she feels bile rising in her throat.

“Lily’s looking for you,” he says, his thumb pointing back over his shoulder towards the reception where everyone’s gathered.

“Right,” says James. “Better go see what she needs. You do not want to see an angry drunk Lily.” He laughs, almost oblivious to the awkward tension between his two friends. He goes back to Lily, leaving her leaning against the wall and Sirius standing in the middle of the hallway.

Sirius looks at her, and even though his mind already knows, he refuses to believe it. “I didn’t know where the bathroom was,” she offers as an explanation. It’s a flimsy excuse, she knows that, but it’s the best she can do under this kind of pressure.

“Right,” he whispers with a short nod, then follows James.

She stays rooted to her spot, lips tingling with the ghost of James touch and a guilty mind.

—

Hours later, she clings to a pillow as she lays on her bed alone. The same pillow James was resting on less than twelve hours ago.

She breathes in deeply, trying to catch any scent of him she can, but there’s only the scent of her fabric softener.

There’s no James. No citrus shampoo or woodsy cologne nor salty air from the beach near his house. Because he never wears any cologne when he comes to her, ensuring that there’s no trace of him once he leaves.

Like he doesn’t even exist.

—

It ends in a parking lot a month later.

She was waiting for Luna to arrive at the mall but ended up asking for a rain check when James texted her, saying they needed to talk.

‘Meet me behind the mall’, she texts him.

She walks to the back of the building and waits for his red car to show up. She already knows where this conversation is going to go, and her heart shatters at the thought of saying goodbye to him.

She raises her head when she hears a honk in front of her, and she gets in while whispering a small “hey”. He doesn’t start the car again, just settles for turning the ignition key off. She looks at the families leaving the mall through the tinted window, refusing to look at him, as her knee bounces up and down anxiously.

The silence is heavy, and she suddenly feels cold in the August heat.

James takes a deep breath, “We can’t keep doing this.”

She can’t help the snarky comment. “That’s not what you were saying yesterday while you had your fingers buried inside me.” He looks at her unimpressed, and she rolls her eyes.

“It’s wrong,” he says— as if she doesn’t already know that. “C’mon, baby, don’t make this harder than it has to—”

“I told you not to call me that!” she raises her voice, and the car gets silent again. She hates the tears that gather in her eyes, hates that she cares so much about him and their stupid game, but she couldn’t help it. Not when he whispered so many sweet nothings in her ears and caressed her skin so softly, almost afraid to break him if he was too rough.

(Not that he cared about that when he stretched her wide open and thrust so hard into her that the bed frame banged against the wall.)

“You can’t just show up here and tell me it’s over like you weren’t the one that came to me first,” she jeers, and she can see the tick of his jaw as he clenches it. Good, she thinks, make him angry.

“Don’t just blame me. You didn’t say ‘no’ once.” He grounds out, “In fact, I can recall you were begging me to fuck you against the wall.”

Her cheeks turn into a small fire, a slight feeling of shame overcoming her. “Oh, like you were any better!” she exclaims. “‘Been thinking about you for months.’ ‘You have no idea the things you do to me.’ ‘No one can suck my cock like you.’ ‘I care about you!’” She deepens her voice to mock him.

James opens his mouth to keep the ball rolling, and she wants him to do it because it meant that the fight was still on, that they wouldn’t have to end this. Instead, he takes a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m telling you now it’s over. Stop acting like a kid who didn’t get her Christmas present,” he says, knowing exactly what he is doing with those words.

“I’m not a kid,” she snaps, her eyes fighting back angry teats at his dismissal. “Then stop acting like one,” he shrugs.

Her hands turn into fists, nails digging themselves into her palms as she tries to keep her anger at bay. “Do you know how much of myself I gave to you? How many plans with my friends have I cancelled in case you called? How many guys I stopped seeing because they weren’t you?” she rants, her voice increasing in volume as she lets her frustration take over. Then, she pauses. “You’ve ruined me, James.”

Her voice is so pained that it makes his heart clench, and he lowers his head, refusing to look at her. He knows, God, he knows what he’s done, but he couldn’t help it. He had been so lonely with Lily spending so much time at the hospital, and then there she was with her caring and understanding nature. With her adorable laughs and those touches that were so addictive, a mercurial high that gave him the lowest lows whenever he tried to stop.

He keeps his mouth shut; there’s nothing left to say anyway, and it’s better for her to hate him rather than anything else. “You are not going to say anything?” It’s meek, vulnerable, and she wants to slap herself for acting this way. She knew it would never last, that he would always choose her.

He was never hers to lose, so why is she still fighting?

She nods her head in surrender, biting her lip to stop herself from sobbing. The anger now gave way to sadness, “I can’t believe I let you make a fool of me.” Her voice is hoarse, a result of the lump in her throat that prevents her from swallowing comfortably.

She gets out of the car and slams the door shut, then leaves the parking lot, leaving him behind. She keeps walking, fingers gripping the straps of her bag until she reaches an empty street.

The golden sun is ready to dip on the horizon, and she can hear James’s car speeding behind her.

—

She doesn’t let the tears fall until she’s inside her apartment.

The moment she closed the door, she crumbled to her knees, loud sobs falling from her mouth and fat tears rolling down her cheeks. It takes her a moment to gather enough strength to walk to her room.

She cries and cries, buries her face in her pillows and starts sobbing even harder because she can smell him. The salty scent and citrus shampoo finally embedded themselves in the fabric, and she can’t believe that after all those days she craved to feel him close to her, he chooses now to leave a trace behind.

She cries for hours until her eyes are puffy and red, and snot comes out of her nose. Her chest heaves with short breaths that don’t really fill her lungs as she clings to that damn pillow before throwing it across the room. She can’t believe it ended like this: with her completely broken for anyone else while James gets to go back to his life and act like nothing ever happened.

Yet she knows that if she had to choose, she would do it all over again because if she had to choose someone to be her ruination, she would choose James Potter a million times.

TAGLIST: @emmaev @gxtitobxby @ildm4ev @capsmischief @arisblackhole @dracosafety @dracoxgeorge @tonystarksmutgarden @blowing-mikey @roonilwazlibswhore @lovelylupinx @sarcasmismyon1ydefence @marxy-06 @glossiable @remusjlupinisdead @amixedwitch @mattefic @artisancowbells @zzzfour — if you want to be added tap here

[dreamcatcherrs]

what catches their eyes/attracts them?; mcyt x reader

+ this is in no way factual information, only my very weird and specific opinions :)

dream:

free-spirited people

someone who isn't afraid to speak their mind

confidence, to a certain extent

someone he can be loud with

someone who will wake up in the middle of the night with him to go on a car drive to nowhere

the colour blue (dnf👀)

clean and fresh-looking clothes

satin fabric

big height difference

the smell of citrus fruits

large smiles

silver jewellery

small hands

smart people who aren't afraid to show it

george:

calm, laid back people

someone quiet, but still able to have a laugh

very friendly vibes - even when first meeting them

the colour blue (literally the only interesting colour he's able to see lol)

bright eyes

lip gloss

flower print

slightly shy people who are actually easy to interact with once you start a conversation with them

pastel-coloured nails, not too long

pink-tinted lips

ponytails

the smell of vanilla

puppy eyes

sapnap:

energetic people

someone who can hype up their friends no matter the situation

the colour red

like, a bloody red

soft skin

full lips

loose shirts over skin-tight tops

when shoelaces have a different colour on each shoe

corsets

a very subtle scent of perfume

thigh highs

someone who just wants to enjoy life with the people they're surrounded by

badboyhalo:

large, bright smiles that spread up to your eyes

freckles

button noses

rose-gold jewellery

french manicures

bangs

slightly shy people

genuinely sweet people

not the fake type that talks shit about people behind their backs and then will compliment them a few seconds after

someone who when they enter a room feels like a breath of fresh air to everyone else

someone completely selfless

the smell of lavender

shiny hair

technoblade:

people who aren't afraid to take the lead

glasses

intellectual people

like, for example people who know a lot of random stuff from a bunch of different things that they're interested in

or also just book smart people

slightly clumsy people (finds it cute)

gold jewellery

someone with some mystery to them

refreshing scents, like clean laundry or shampoo

cat eyes (eyeliner)

wilbur soot:

long legs

chokers

shy people

someone who gets flustered easily

glasses + thin bangs

the colours brown and beige together

baggy, comfy clothes

the smell of newly baked cookies

beanies

the kind of person that makes him feel like he can always talk to them - someone he can feel safe with

birth marks

accents

jschlatt:

smart people

the way they speak is just so clean without even noticing

fox eyes

people who aren't afraid to wear sweatpants in public

generally just someone who isn't afraid to do, say and wear whatever they want

someone who stands for what they think and have the balls to say it when needed

nose rings

simple yet flattering pieces of jewellery

long nails

someone who he can stay up all night with and never get tired of them

high heels

hip dips

corpse husband:

fishnets, of course

someone who give 0 fucks about what everyone else thinks of them

unique people

wether that be physical features or straight up the personality, it draws him in

chokers

chunky, black sneakers or boots

someone who can make him happy without even trying

a positive aura for the most part

as in he doesn't want to be surrounded by someone who’s negative or dragging everyone else down with them

the colour yellow

rings - lots of them

karl jacobs:

a walking ray of sunshine, basically

tbh, karl has a couple of things in common with what corpse is attracted to;

positive energy, uniqueness and rings

a palette filled with bright colours

like, almost rave style colours

that could be clothes, makeup, hair, nails, accessories

chunky, white shoes

selfless people

someone who as each day goes by becomes more charming to him

he likes the smell of candles from bath and body works, as we all know

the colour purple

skeppy:

big eyes

someone who’s able to make him laugh without even trying

tooth gaps

someone who has very playful, innocent vibes to them

and someone who can take jokes and pranks

people who walk confidently

the smell of strawberries

long eyelashes

someone who collects things others usually wouldn’t

someone who is very respectful to others

a mix between really comfy clothes and really feminine clothes

fundy:

someone who comes across as “different” than others

and don't you dare think of ✨I’m not like other girls✨ (I know you did -_-)

he just thinks people who think and act very different than others are very interesting

beauty marks

nicely shaped eyebrows

someone who finds mystical things interesting

fox eyeliner (yes, I put this in here because: furry)

someone who has unusual, yet surprisingly good taste in music

people who are constantly warm

red lips

the colour light brown, almost beige-like

quackity:

someone who gets his humour

someone like him, but more quiet and slightly shy

especially when on screen in front of an audience

sliver necklaces

the smell of flowers

dark, extreme eyeliner

loose clothes

freckles

piercings

someone who teases others and who can handle to be teased by others

the colour dark blue

punz:

the colour grey

a fresh fashion sense

yet still very comfortable fits

messy buns

someone who he just knows will be a cool person before he even talks to them

someone who just has that kinda vibe, y’know?

glossy lips

independent people

someone responsible and caring to others

tattoos

navel piercings

awesamdude:

cropped jackets

the colour neon green

hair put up in a bun

someone with a free nature

someone who is a complete wild card

like, someone who will jump over a fence just to get closer to a bunny they think they saw on the other side of it

loose strands of hair

clear nail polish

cargo pants

the smell of chocolate

slimecicle:

people who have comfort items

someone who knows random facts that no one else usually knows

people who have a unique way of thinking

passionate people

and when they talk about what they’re passionate about, they talk for hours

shorter hair

sweet and nutty scents

natural beauty

fluffy hair

honest people

but not brutally honest

the smell of coconut

eret:

eye glitter/shimmer

silky clothes that shine in the moonlight

platform boots/heels

long, flowy dresses

someone who does whatever they want

and who doesn't like being told what to do by others

the colours pink and dark purple

the smell of the ocean

someone who already knows how to live their life

stretch marks

foolish:

low-cut jeans

someone very silly who knows how to have a good laugh

someone very supportive of their friends

curtain bangs

long-sleeved sweatshirts

someone who loves food

puppy eyes

straight, white teeth

someone who is willing to help others in need

someone who doesn't talk badly about others behind their back

someone who knows what they want

jack manifold:

confidence

white, wide-legged pants

the colour light blue or just pure white

people who are very easy-going and fun to be around

someone who can fit into and understand anyones humour

an open-minded person who likes to hear from other people’s point of views when they have a different opinion than them

butterfly patterns

crop tops

oversized t-shirts

hair beads

tommy:

people who are just as loud as him

and at the same time knows when to be serious

the colours yellow and grey

people who are kind to everyone

creative eyeliner

fluffy hair

people who can get so lost in their own world, they almost forget about their surroundings

colourful accessories

someone who isn't afraid to be who they are

someone who has many passions and loves to talk about them

oversized hoodies

tubbo:

hoodies layered over skirts or dresses

frilly socks

people who are very adventurous, and wants to make their life as interesting as possible!

someone who can help him overcome some of his fears

charm bracelets

cute habits

the colours yellow and orange

dimples

the smell of almond milk and honey

people who twirl their hair unknowingly when bored or unfocused

ranboo:

someone who looks intimidating at first (he thinks people like that are cool as fuck)

but then is, like, the sweetest person he’s ever met

loves someone who can speak fluent sarcasm, just like him

he likes sass

glassy skin

fingerless gloves

people who act cocky for the fun of it

but actually don’t care about winning or losing or proving anything

simplistic earring placements

people who have hidden talents, and the more you get to know them, the more talents are revealed

people who don't gossip

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[starshipsofstarlord]

Marks of Love | Alex Summers

Summary; the morning after in Alex is peaceful, that is until you leave his room. Then, it’s pretty obvious what the pair of you had been up to.

Warnings; smut, hickeys, swearing, cheesy Alex, mention of virginity loss, swearing, Kurt being an innocent boi

Alex groaned as he forced himself up and out of the bed, he scratched his blonde head, groaning lightly as sun broke through his curtains. “Shit.” He spoke to himself, looking at the time.

He was late. And so were you, considering the fact that you were still in his room, and naked underneath his sheets.

It was against the rules in the X Mansion, for girls and boys to be in one another’s rooms. There was so much freedom in Charles’ open home, everyone was allowed to be their true self.

However, you were all still kids and teenagers. It was something Charles had put in place, but it made Alex feel better, knowing that many others did not abide by it all the time either.

“Last night was amazing.” You stretched your arms out, your voice inclined Alex to look over at you, and clamber back onto his mattress.

“It was.” He spoke, getting pulled back into the amorous serenity, and leaning down to intertwine your lips. “I’m so happy we bit the bullet.” He bit his own lip, his blue eyes gazing into your y/e/c eyes.

“Must have felt good then.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, laughing as he nodded, blushing from the mention of your involvement.

“People say first times are clumsy and messy, but ours... it was perfect.” He smiled, his worry for his lateness to class disappearing.

“Yeah, it certainly was.” He kissed your neck, sucking on the skin and stroking his tongue against it. “Al.”

“I love you.” He mumbled against your flesh, situating himself to lie atop of you, dressed in nothing more than his boxer shorts. As his lips began to move more vigorously, so did his hips, tutting against you with the layering of his duvet between.

“I love you more.” You lulled your head back into the cushion, which smelled just like him, and as he pulled the covers back, leaving you exposed, he removed his boxers, so that he too was dressed in nothing but his own skin.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He mumbled, groaning as there was a harsh knock at the door. “Give me a minute.” As he stood, he pulled on his underwear, wearing just that as he went to the door and opened it just enough so that he could peek outside.

“Dude, why aren’t you in class? We had a test.” Sean reprimanded him, and Havok could only roll his sapphire eyes.

“A test is the last thing that I care about.” And it was currently, he had just gotten laid, but he would not tell his best friend. Sean already figured that Alex and you had already done the deed, from the PDA, it was what a lot of people took from the public interaction.

“Okay.” He shrugged, causing Sean’s gaze to travel down, and he felt a feeling swell in his stomach. Banshee couldn’t hold it for long, he burst out laughing, earning a frown from his friend.

“Nice neck.” The redhead pointed out the dark blotches scattered against Alex’s neck, he no doubted that yours was the same. Alex huffed, his attitude showing well as he clenched his jaw, and rested his arm firmly against the door. “If Scott knew the things that you were doing...”

“I’m not taking a bribe to keep your mouth shut, if my brother’s told, he’s told, simple as.” With that, he shut the door in Sean’s face, rubbing over his own with his palms as he began to return to you.

“Fuck, I studied hours for that test.” You whined, covering your head with a pillow, of which Alex was fast to remove. “I was gonna get all the answers right as well, Jubilee dragged me to the library and we went ham for hours.”

“Talking about going ham for hours.” He wiggled his eyebrows, causing you to snort at his efforts. But nevertheless, you allowed him to continue his intentions, breathing in the smell of sex that had glued to his skin as he leaned over, reaching for one of the drawers of his bedside table, and rifling blindlessly through for a condom.

He plucked it up with his fingers once he had located it, sitting back on his knees as he toyed with the packaging. For the bad boy of the school, your boyfriend sure did know how to be adorable. Instead of wearing his usual smirk, his eyes were squinted, as he tried to open the package.

“Give it here.” You extended your hand, opening the wrapper almost instantly after you had received the foil dressed protection. Alex took it back, holding onto his base as he rolled the condom onto his cock.

The sight of him handling himself had you biting your lip, a hunger growing in your chest. You leant back, waiting for him to clamber over top of you, which he did, as he began to position his tip at your entrance.

“You good?” He asked, placing one of his arms beside your head, enclosing you between him and the luxurious mattress. To answer his question, you jutted your hips towards him, gripping his shoulders, and so, he began to push into you.

Alex remained slow in his pace, stopping for a moment so that you could adjust to his size, only beginning to thrust when he knew that he wouldn’t hurt you.

“Oh my.” It felt better than last time, perhaps it was because you had grown and stretched to accommodate him once before. But nevertheless, as your eyes fluttered closed from the pleasure, Alex quickened his administration, cussing himself because of the pleasure.

The two of you had done things before last night, but it was different going all the way. There was something so sensual about having him inside of you, it was as though it connected your souls, or perhaps it just felt that way because of the hormones.

You moved your legs, lodging them either side of your boyfriend’s hips, pulling him closer and deeper. It reviled a groan from his throat, increasing the pleasure for both him and yourself. “Fuck.” He hissed, feeling himself begin to get close, and so he snuck his hand down and past your abdomen, and rubbed your clit.

“I’m cumming.” You informed him in your state of bliss. He too felt near to bursting, he doubted that he could ever feel better, but he could definitely feel predominantly worse.

“Nice neck.” Peter spoke to you, and it only drew the attention of your friends as well. Jean stifled her laughter as she heard your thoughts on how you could kill that fast running bastard, but Kurt was confused.

“Vhat iz it?” He asked curiously, tilting his head as he tried to study the strange marks. They were nothing like the religious symbols that he had crafted into his skin, there was no definition to the. They looked like bruises, and as Alex and Sean walked over, Banshee advocated himself to answer.

“They’re marks of love.” Alex kicked him, causing him to trip. Scott shook his head at his older brother’s behaviour, not surprised even a little by it.

“Just shut up.” Alex sighed, sitting on the grass beside you, and wrapping his arm around you.

“You also have them.” Kurt realised, looking at Storm for answers. Surely she would know, or at least tell him, no one was being specific enough.

“They’re called hickeys.” She sighed. “And it’s what two people give each other when they really really like each other.”

“And I’m going to guess that is why neither of you were in class this morning.” Scott spoke, his expression half unreadable due to the ruby quartz glasses, however, the image of him pretending to puke was far too visible.

“You are correct.” 

“Stay out of my head Jean.” You shook your head at her impulse to do so, it couldn’t be helped, you knew that, but sometimes, you liked some privacy.

“Well... Charles is gonna have a field day giving the pair of you the talk.” Peter said, and it was clear that he had endured that experience far too many times.

[cactus-joke]

So, anyway

Kate Herron continues her “baby’s first big production” directing, wasting time and insisting on nausea inducing camerawork. Couple that with the children’s ABCs of dialogue, the continued disregard for any kind of complex storytelling and you get... Loki series episode five.

Loki is still a sidekick (and now a love interest too!) for the main character who is: so special. The special-est. Did we mention how amazing she is? How different? Yeah, and the smartest too! Surely, you must agree with us. We are telling you how to feel, after all. It’s also heavily implied that this is because she is the only “female” Loki variant. Girl power, yay. Here you go, Disney/Marvel, all my love, all my money. Feminism marches on, and all of that, through empty gestures of shitty production companies.

The vote!Loki Loki we saw in the trailers is worse than anything I could have imagined. Love throwaway gags that aren’t even funny, love them. Further indicating, in the most blatant and childish way possible, that Loki’s modus operandi is betrayal. Don’t you know? He betrayed his LOVING father, his LOVING mother and his LOVING brother. His HOME even. For no reason other than THAT’S JUST WHAT LOKI DOES. But he won’t betray Sylvie, of course not. Because he LOVES her so damn much. LOVE changes everything, even deep seated trauma, apparently. Because he’s learning how to love himself, you say? Oh, but I thought she was “her own character”. She is “Sylvie”, the best and the brightest of them all and he loves her, not himself (because he is a shitty asshole, and ready to admit it!).

Kid!Loki killing Thor? Massive. Must have been one of those times he stabbed him, but like for real this time. Because, you see, all Lokis, except for the female variant, are terrible little shits. I realize this is because they CAN’T change, considering kid!Loki told us so point blank, but, for me, this little action just goes into the same pile of trash, positioning the male variant Lokis, and our Loki, as an inherently lesser version of their female counterpart with her “inherently good heart”.

Why would old!Loki wear that particular outfit? Who knows, who cares, it was in the comics fuck you.

How many times can we say “glorious purpose” you ask? Oh, so many. So damn many to the point it means less than it ever did, if it ever meant anything at all.

I guess it’s good old!Loki sacrificed himself in the end because redemption by death is still going strong (”never too late too change”, change from what to what for this Loki? Who cares, they’re all shit, except for Sylvie). Love to see it. Why should they have any motivations other than to serve as fodder? Oh, perish the thought. All Loki variants are fodder fools (except for Sylvie, of course.).

Was Mobius truly a “good friend” who “cares” about Loki? Apparently, don’t ask me, we just TOLD YOU SO. Look no further behind the blue curtain. He is neither “bad” nor “good”, which is why our Loki and him get along so well. Splendidly even. A true mentor, Mobius is. Torture does bring about wonderful friendships, after all, Loki would know. Ah, if only he wasn’t so keen on betrayal, I’m sure him and Thanos (and the Other!) could have had a wonderful friendship.

Oh yeah, and Loki is using the badass flaming sword as a distraction torch. Isn’t that lovely?

Ah, he just needs guidance from his better self, really. He is nothing without her, nothing at all. Can’t even use magic we’ve previously established he could. Really, just a weakling dumbfuck. It’s all good though, Sylvie’s very presence will change him. He’ll still be a dumbfuck cretin, but at least he’ll use some magic TO HELP HER ON HER QUEST.

Man oh man. Can’t wait for the last episode. I’m sure it will be “glorious”.