#which is for three different fandoms so christmas is all over the place

[venelona]

get ready I am unleashing all christmas

[daisy-daze17]

Omori Manga Thoughts cause it was uhhh

OK so like. The thing is I only got into the omori fandom in February of this year so take my opinion with a grain of salt.

1. I'm mostly a fan of the art style-- a lot of people said that Sunny always seems to have a panicked expression so it's hard to read into him, plus the characters look a lot younger than they're supposed to (Which I find odd). But other than that, I think it does a really good job representing the scarier parts with very abstract drawings of Mari/Something. They coloured it well and thank god did Kel's skintone right. There is one particular panel that I especially love:

So much detail and it captures the feeling of seeing faraway for the first time really well ^^

Some nitpicky positive thoughts:

Sunny could have looked more distinct from Omori because the only difference I see are their outfits. Maybe make Sunny's features softer and have less contrasting values so we can see an immediate difference.

I like how they did everyone's eyes-- Sunny/Omori's are just dull and black, and everyone else with dark eyes are shown to have a light in them. (Just a nice detail i appreciated)

I like how Omori is clearly less expressive compared to sunny, but I think Sunny could have benefitted from having more emotions than surprised/blushing.

2. The pacing was weird. like really fucking weird. The basic structure of the game Omori is: Omori is in whitespace -> Omori plus the gang (Hero, Aubrey and Kel) meet up with Basil and Mari in headspace -> everyone minus Mari goes to Basil's house and learn all the combat stuff along the way -> after fixing the photo album it suddenly shifts to basil in a panicked state before glitching you back into white space again. The moment when basil shifts the mood from calm to terrifying is REALLY important.

It forces the new tone on you very suddenly and also sets up a lot of mystery surrounding Mari when Basil can't finish what he was going to say about her. By now we know that something is very wrong and it has to do with Mari, but we don't know what.

The manga is kind of all over the place the whole time. First we see the christmas scene when Sunny gets his violin. But then Mari does her whole nightmare thing and we know somethings up from the first few pages. Next we wake up at night as Sunny in the real world... yet it shows the little "THREE DAYS LEFT" as well? At this point I was super confused because basically the entire nighttime sequence is shown through a sort of montage with Sunny's mom's voice message in the background before transitioning into the day when Kel first knocks on the door. A cool thing they did was parallel Kel's knocking with the creepy knocking we get from Mari Something. HOWEVER for reasons unknown they just completely cut out the fight against something on the stairs??

Something I was really excited about was seeing how they would integrate the combat into the manga. And they do it later with the Aubrey fight (more on that later), but not now? So now I'm wondering if they'll include Sunny's three fears that he has to overcome.

So next we find our boy (KEL!!!!!) and he is asking Sunny if he wants to come to Hobbies. I did find the dialogue here pretty awkward as Kel bounced back and forth in demeanor, but that's to be expected since Sunny isn't talking. (And I appreciate how he shows some kind of reaction to seeing one of his best friends after 4 years lol)

I mean compared to this when he just jumps straight into his hobbez idea without much reaction to actually seeing Sunny lol.

The most notable thing after this is the Aubrey confrontation with Basil and the other hooligans. I DONT KNOW WHY but they chose to not show the hooligans in that scene!! The hooligans are aubrey's little gang/posse who she hangs around with all the time and the people we always see when she's bullying Basil.

It's very important to note that Basil is talking to KIM here. He starts the conversation begging for her to tell Aubrey to give the photo album back. Aubrey is actively ignoring his attempts to get it back, with basil claiming "She won't listen to me."

In the manga she appears out of seemingly no where and proceeds to beat Basil directly with her bat. Prior to this we get no setup or explanation as to why Aubrey's attacking him or what the situation is. WORST OF ALL, It's only Aubrey alone attacking him and NOT her gang of the Hooligans. The hooligans are important in showing us just how isolated and ostracized from society Basil really is after Aubrey began bullying him. He literally has a whole gang of kids who call him a creep and attack him regularly. Here it seems like Aubrey is insane and is just beating him selfless for kicks. (not that I'm justifying Aubrey's behavior in the game, but the lack of context makes this situation even worse.)

I think It's also important to bring up how they switched around the order of events because in this situation, it's not working. We're supposed to first be introduced to younger Aubrey and Basil in headspace-- their younger counterparts. Aubrey is strong-willed and excitable and Basil is calm and kind. And most importantly-- they're VERY GOOD FRIENDS. So seeing Aubrey revealed to have been bullying him these past 4 years shocks the player and makes them understand how much things have really changed. Doing it the other way around will automatically villainize DW Aubrey since we already know what goes on in real life.

And then something interesting happens-- Sunny blacks out during the fight and returns to Headspace. This is SUPER weird as we've only ever seen Sunny go into headspace while sleeping, because it's an escape mechanism he uses to avoid The Truth. Does this mean he isn't aware he goes into headspace unwillingly sometimes? And what does this mean for the continuation of the real world story? Are we going to go through the entire Space Boy quest just to get back to that scene?

Anyway, I'm interested to see how they take it from here. Maybe they'll do a continuous switchover to the real world where they jump between it more frequently. But I question what that would mean for the timeline because the events of headspace happen in between the three days while Sunny is sleeping-- so he can't be in two places at the same time. Maybe they'll write more and more random ways for Sunny to black out to do this?? They defiantly are trying to take a step back from following the game exactly. I can't say I don't like it because I don't know how it'll turn out, so I'm excited for chapter 2!

[burplewrites]

holiday dinner | cove james holden & baxter alexander ward

𓆉 | fandom: our life: beginnings & always

𓆉 | characters: cove holden, baxter ward, reader

𓆉 | word count: 660 words (3,583 characters)

𓆉 | a/n: merry late christmas + happy holidays <3 this is so ooc im so tired. its like 3am (basically 4) where i am and honestly i dunno why i did this to myself (writing new years story in my dreams tonight) \(^ヮ^)/ note, im in the true blue colours so this is black and white (for baxter) so if it isn't for you please just imagine it issshjnevfj

it was interesting to say the least, having christmas with an ex who broke their heart (which was totally in the past now) and their now current boyfriend. even with the apology and everything being alright between the three of them, y/n couldn't help but think it was a little awkward. not for them of course, but for the two boys.

baxter was sitting in their living room, across from cove who was awakwardly looking around. y/n chuckled to themselves as they were setting the table, since cove hadn't looked this in a while…. since that summer. even at the wedding, it wasn't this bad.

"hm romeo, can you get the stuff from the fridge?" y/n said, finally freeing cove from the awkward tension in the living room. cove's demeanour lifted as he got up and walked over to the fridge. y/n looked over at baxter as he sighed with a smile and made eye contact with y/n.

"this is awkward isn't it?" y/n said, walking over with plates in their hands. baxter nodded, with a small chuckle.

"honestly, it reminds me of that summer, when cove was so wary of me, so its okay."

cove quickly came by, stealing the plates from y/n's hands. then he looked at baxter and looked down. y/n always found it so funny how even with his tall stature, cove also looked so small when he was building the courage to say something.

"uh- sorry baxter."

y/n looked at cove, holding in their laugh then looked at baxter who looked at cove with a geniune smile.

when y/n realised that they were the only one who found this awkwardness between these two grown men hilarious, they frowned. "booo, you guys aren't fun. i wanted some christmas entertainment. cove why do you have to be so kind, and baxter why do you have to be so understanding?!"

cove and baxter looked at each other and laughed with confused looks on their face.

"did you want us to… fight?"

"or did you want cove and i to stay awkward for the whole day?"

y/n face felt warm as they shooed off the boys, and walked off to check the food in the oven. honestly, y/n was glad that her boyfriend and friend seemed to be getting along. but, that tension brought back the kid in them.

"you know, liz would enjoy this very much. be glad im not her, always teasing, basically borderline bullying."

"y/n… i love you so i have to tell you the truth, but you're basically doing that right now."

"i'm going to have to side with cove on this one y/n."

y/n peeked out of the kitchen with a shocked look before laughing. their laugh made baxter chuckle a little, which in turn made cove start laughing. the tension was still there, but it was lessened, so much so that baxter got up from his semi-permanent space on the couch and took some plates from cove and started placing them on the table.

y/n went back to the kitchen, draping cove's apron over themselves and started to bake some extra treats for their celebration. cove and baxter decided to help out as much as they could, but got distracted having a conversation. it was shocking to y/n but they blamed the new development on the christmas spirit and the joy that was all around them.

as they were sitting down for their meal, y/n watched the different ways the two boys ate. cove ate like he had never seen food before, but in his polite way. baxter on the other hand, ate properly like he was royalty. y/n chuckled, as they all talked about holiday plans and how good the food is. it was their first holiday together as this newly formed trio, and even though it started off awkward, they were friends, and this small get-together was the start of the true rekindling of an amazing friendship.

[winniethewife]

I'm caught up in her design, And how it connects to mine (Control x F!reader)

Part one of High water: A Southern Reach Fanfiction

A/N: Okay this might be a little different than what I usually write, as in it doesn't fall into my other fandom categories. Basically @reallyrallyauthor and @ominoose got me really into the Southern Reach Trilogy and I fell hard for the main character of the second book Authority, Control. So somewhere along the way I decided to write a one shot, which turned into a two shot, which ended up being a three part series. Either way Here's part one.

Words: 866

Control was an odd man. That much she knew from the time they met. What she wasn’t expecting was how quickly she would grow attached to him. It started simply enough, the guy who sat next to her in her sociology lecture, quiet but handsome, rarely spoke in class, but when he did it was rather insightful. There weren’t assigned seats but they both sat in the same row every class period. It was nearly a month in until one of them said a single thing to the other.

“Do you have a pencil I could borrow?” He had asked. She had handed him a purple mechanical pencil, a soft smile on her face. She got it back at the end of class with his number on a torn piece of paper attached and that was it, she was hooked. Over the next year they would grow closer, and then they would start dating, the next three years would be Christmas breaks at her parents house and her praying that they wouldn’t ask why Control didn’t go home for the holidays, or why he preferred to be called Control over John. Luckily they never did. Once they got to junior year they got an apartment together, they both got relatively okay jobs that worked around their class schedules and it seemed like things were good, but that was an outside perspective. Because really, she was fighting an uphill battle with one of the most broken men she had ever met.

It was another evening where they sat in the living room and left the radio on, while doing their school work and not talking about the problems that were so glaringly obvious that it was a shock that anyone thought them to be a normal couple. At one point she looked up from her textbook to see Control, staring at the wall. She gently sighed and stood up from her spot on the couch and wandered over to his study space over on the dining table.

“Hey, Sweetheart, c’mon time for a break.” She whispered to him guiding him away from the table to the floor in front of the couch, She sits down and he sits down in front of her before leaning back into her lap. Once his head is rested in her lap he felt the weight fall off his shoulders. She ran her fingers through his hair and hummed along to the radio softly. As he looks up into her eyes he realized how with just a simple sentence, and a simple action how easily she puts him at ease, he looks at her and realized that she was unlike anyone else in his life, in the whole world.

“I’m gonna marry you some day, and all my problems will go away.” He said softly. She wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to the idea that he wants to marry her, but one thing at a time.

“Well, I must have magic powers or something that I don’t know about because, that seems too easy.” She laughed slightly. Her nails trace patterns in his scalp. He sighs and closes his eyes.

“Well, maybe it won’t solve my problems but, it sounds nice doesn’t it?” He commented with a slight chuckle.

“It does sound nice Control, sounds like a dream come true.” She smiled. Over the years they would find themselves back in this spot, his head in her lap, her fingers in his hair, and for a brief moment, all his problems would go away.  His mother wouldn’t be so controlling, His grandfather wouldn’t have made him hold the gun, His dad’s death wouldn’t be something he had to carry the burden of, he would have never had half the problems with Central, and Southern Reach wouldn’t exist in the first place. He would just be a man spending time with his wife.

“You know you don’t have to go see her, you don’t have to find out what hair brained scheme she wants to set you up in right?” She said as she raked her fingers through his hair again, now many years later, in their home, in their living room, with a ring on her left hand that sparkles in the light.

“I know, but I can’t help but be curious, she’s given us space for a while, why does she need me that badly now?” He said with a slightly humorous tone.

“Well, I don’t know, but I doubt she’s anything like my mother and wants to question why we haven’t given her grandchildren yet.” She tried to keep his tone, match his humor about the situation, but she couldn’t hide the concern in her eyes, not from him, not after all this time. He gave her that same restrained smile, reached out to touch her face, ran his thumb over her cheek.

“I also doubt that, but we can hope that this is all an elaborate scheme to get us to bring children into this fucked up world. At least for a little while longer.” He muttered softly. She gives him a little smile and leans into his touch for a moment.

“For a little longer.” She promised.

~

Masterlist

Next part

Taglist: @silvernight-m @boredzillenial

Second A/N: I didn't expect to finish this part in one sitting so...cool.

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters from Watson backlog special: Holmes' birthday

So Sherlock Holmes' birthday is often interpreted as January 6th, but why? Well, there have been a BUNCH of different scholars considering every aspect of the Sherlock Holmes stories over the years, and the common motivation among them is being considered a "Holmes Scholar" instead of a mere fan.

The evidence, as it has been presented over the years, has only one source that uh, has any connection to the actual text: The works of William Stuart Baring-Gould, best known for his only partially definitive Sherlock Holmes chronology. (AKA: The dead guy I have ongoing beef with and whose work in dating the Holmes stories I have been reviewing sporadically for the past year.) However, Baring-Gould is not automatically wrong, so let's follow his chain of logic, such as it is.

The final Holmes novel, Valley of Fear (1914-1915) starts on January 7th with Holmes being a bit tetchy

No boring Doylist explanation for Holmes' bad moods need apply.

No Watsonian explanation that Holmes is not always a good-natured roommate or considerate friend need apply either. No, Holmes, known for having no sleep schedule, no tolerance for his own failure, and no moderation in terms of taking mood altering substances more unusual than alcohol, must be hungover

Why would Holmes be hungover? He must have been up late celebrating.

What could he have been celebrating by drinking alone? His birthday! Therefore yesterday (January 6th) is his birthday! Case closed!

This conclusion is, kindly, a stretch, but in this fandom we love having answers almost as much as we love being the one to provide the answer. We must have rituals to keep a fandom alive over a hundred years, and celebrating Holmes' birthday on Jan 6 is as good as any other. I merely want to point out alternatives to the dates and timelines established by Baring-Gould like any good peer reviewer. Alternative speculation under the cut.

So... why, on his birthday, would Holmes have been celebrating by drinking alone, instead of drinking with Watson? Or going to the opera (alone or with Watson?) There is no indication at the beginning of Valley of Fear that it takes place when Holmes and Watson are living separately. They're having breakfast together. Or rather, Watson has long since finished breakfast, and Holmes has yet to start, which lends better support to the hangover theory than his momentary brusqueness, but not by a lot since the man is known to forget to eat. Reading it over without Baring Gould's conclusions in mind, I think very few fans would find this scene out of the ordinary for 221 Baker street, but since I'm willing to play along with Gould: what if the event that Holmes is celebrating privately isn't one that Watson would wholeheartedly accompany him for? What events occur on Jan 6th that Watson, the average victorian man, would not be a part of? Epiphany. No, that's literally the name of the holiday, part of the christmas season. It's cited as the date of the Wise Men's arrival to bring Jesus presents (er. presents but also you know, expensive dire omens regarding his eventual death, if you've never been forced to sing all the verses of "We Three Kings of Orient Are," which becomes grimmer as you go on.) It's the last of the 12 days of christmas and the "Twelfth Night" referenced in that one shakespeare comedy. It's not commonly celebrated in the modern (united states) conception of christianity, whether devoutly practicing or cultural. It was a great reason for the Victorians to party, however. ... which doesn't exclude Watson. Unless we imagine Watson as having been invited to an epiphany party and Holmes, either uninvited or uninterested in a party atmosphere, staying home, which is possible.

But this doesn't result in a revelation about Holmes' identity, so in the spirt of going out on a supported but not definiitive limb, I propose that Holmes is Catholic. (Not, most likely, practicing in any major way at this point in his life. There's belief and practice, and then there's culture, and if your only idea of growing up Catholic is John Mulaney skits about god not hearing you if you don't sing loud enough... well, it's far more complicated than that if you're a Victorian.) - Catholic celebration of the Epiphany has historically taken on a more somber tone than Protestant or Anglican celebration. (See: we've all had fun here during Advent and Christmas but you're obligated to remember that Jesus is gonna die. By mid spring. By the way, Ash Wednesday and Lent are coming up so if you got candy, eat it, you'll be giving it up in a month.) - Holmes' general slight out-of-step-ness with the general Victorian shared expectations and culture could be partially explained by being raised in a different iteration of Christianity. - And his reticence regarding his family history could be explained by growing up experiencing social rejection due to the anti-catholic sentiments that were absolutely all over England in the 1850's to 90's (and well the hell into more modern times too) - Anti-catholocism isn't something he could dodge by simply not actually practicing the religion he was raised in either. - Holmes' references to a french side of the family could indicate that he has, at the very least, catholic close-ish relatives, as that was the most common religion in france. - Enough scholarship has been written on "is Holmes secretly Irish?" given his surname and Doyle's background as an Irishman that I think we should spend at least a minute considering that these points could also be taken to mean that Holmes is Catholic.

People (Anglican descended Puritans, for example) were complaining about the secularized parts of christmas by the 1700's, (Meaning: any celebration that was not prayer inside the church) and the Victorian celebration of Christmas is the direct ancestor of the US and England's current Culturally Christian but not necessarily religious practice related celebrations, so I don't see Holmes having any difficulty fitting in with buying a goose, having a nice dinner, or listening to carols. But there's a chance that if he wanted to celebrate Epiphany with any family traditions, regardless of how far they were removed from actual religious practice, he might not invite Watson.

And if Watson knows, he has, loyally, not written a word.

[unseenacademic]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by my dear, talented friend @mihrsuri Thanks, friend! 💜💜💜💜 1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 13 at the moment 😅

2. What's your total Ao3 word count? 28,823

3. What fandoms do you write for? The West Wing.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? The First Lady - my ongoing fic where I answer the most important question in the world: what was Abbey Bartlet doing during the episodes she didn't appear in?

Josh and the Jackass - what happened right before Governor Bartlet decided to follow Josh to the airport in In the Shadow of Two Gunmen.

Breathe - a post-ep for Dead Irish Writers. Her birthday party is over, and Abbey Bartlet must face the New Hampshire Medical Board.

A Bit Desperate - part three of a series of three-sentence fics about Abbey and Jed in the aftermath of Zoey's kidnapping.

Anything Else I Need to Know - Five times the staff of Bartlet for America interrupted a barbecuing session and one time CJ interrupted a different kind of session. Takes place during the First Bartlet Campaign.

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes, I do. I do my best to respond to every comment I get, as fast as I can. It's a two-way street, we, as fic authors, often complain (and rightly so) about the lack of feedback, the lack of comments and kudos, but we don't respond to comments. As a reader, I am more likely to comment on a fic from an author who's replied to my comments earlier. But I guess I get so few comments that I can easily respond to all of them 🤷‍♀️ and since there are like 7 people who care about what I write, the least I can do is respond to their very kind comments 💜💜

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I guess it's Anything Else I Need to Know. The ending isn't too angsty by itself, but if you put it into context and you know the overarching plot of first few seasons of TWW, it's definitely angsty. Honorable mentions: With Pomp and Parade & And the Silence Haunts our Bedchamber - they both deal with the aftermath of Zoey's kidnapping.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? White Christmas. And Something for Us to Remember too also qualifies. You have to read them to know why 😊😉

8. Do you get hate on fics? Luckily, I'm not popular or interesting enough for that 😅

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes! Oh, all kinds! The worst thing I've ever written came before I started my fanfic writing career (I used to be involved in forum RP, I'm less active there now) and... nope, I'm not going to write about it here. Too cursed. 🙈🙈 If you want to see some sane smut I've written, check out Game On, Boyfriend! I hope I'll write another barbecuing fic soon, so stay tuned.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I don't. But I'd love to see a TWW/NCIS crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? I hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but if anyone's interested, go ahead.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, I haven't. The closest thing to co-writing fics was RP-ing which is sort of similar, but not really lol. It might be fun, so if anyone's interested in writing with me, let me know.

14. What's your all time favorite ship? Abbey/Jed! There are many ships I love, but I have to go with my horny nerds.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? There was a WIP I started last year, the first fic I posted, but I ended up deleting it, so it's not very likely that I'll ever finish it.

16. What are your writing strengths? I'm really, really good at research lol! If I'm writing a fic set in the 1960s, I'll make sure that they're eating food, wearing clothes, listening to music etc. that was popular in that period. You won't catch any of my characters wearing historically inaccurate shoes. I'm also really good at digging up random canon details and writing thousands of words around them.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Plot lmao. I write fics about nothing, it's just banter and nerdiness, with the characters and/or the author showing off 🤣🤣

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Hmmm... I don't know, don't think I've ever needed to do it, but I guess it depends on what I want to achieve, I might write it in English and add a dialogue tag like "she said in French" or something.

19. First fandom you wrote for? The first fandom I published a fic for was The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck, but the first fandom I wrote for was Harry Potter.

20. Favorite fic you've written? Can't choose only one, so have a few of them:

Breathe: Once again, Abbey is reminded how cruel the world can be towards women. 

No one asked Jed what he was wearing when he took the censure. 

Anything Else I Need to Know: Josh finally opens the door to his room and slumps on his unmade bed.

Next time, he’s going to pay attention. He’s going to pay attention to Mrs. Landingham’s notes on the Governor's schedule. And he’s going to pay attention to Mrs. Landingham’s instructions, so he’ll know what her notes on the Governor’s schedule actually mean. Next time, he’s going to pay attention.

Had Josh been paying attention, he would’ve noticed when the Governor dashed across the hall and up the stairs right after lunch. Had he been paying attention, he would’ve noticed Leo’s smirk that followed the Governor’s departure. Had he been paying attention, perhaps he would’ve noticed the soft, rhythmic squeaking of the bed and muffled gasps and groans coming from the Bartlets’ suite right before he opened the door.

Well, too bad that Josh wasn’t paying attention.

And Something for Us to Remember too: “I take it your conversation with Doug didn’t go well?”

“I spoke slowly and I didn’t use big words, but I couldn’t talk him out of marrying Liz. Maybe I should’ve taken him on a hike. A six-hour hike through Vermont wilderness in the dead of winter would’ve changed his mind.”

“It wasn’t a six-hour anything! I was there, Jed, you were only gone for two hours.”

“You weren’t there, Abigail, you were baking with your mother, while I was fighting for dear life, braving the cold and wolves and bears.” He sighs and adds, “Guess it’s too late to take Doug hiking now and leave him for the bears.”

White Christmas: “’She – New Hampshire – is one of the two best states in the Union. Vermont’s the other’, said Robert Frost, your favorite poet, who also happened to be the poet laureate of Vermont.” Abbey made a dramatic pause and gave Jed a pointed look.

“She’s one of the two best states in the Union. Vermont’s the other.” She continued her performance. “And the two… the two lie like wedges, thick end to thin end and thin end to thick end.”

Jed chuckled.

“Sweet Knees, we’ll lie like wedges, thick end to thin end and thin end to thick end any time you want,” he leered at her, “on our bed, in front of the fireplace, on the kitchen table…” his smirk grew when Abbey’s lips curved into a little smile and her cheeks flushed, “but Robert Frost named his poetry collection New Hampshire, not Vermont.”

“Well, I’m going to write the words ‘Freedom and Unity’ on the pie and you’re going to eat them!”

The First Lady: “Mrs. Landingham withholds food from me,” he complained.

“Because I asked her to.”

“Yeah, cause you don’t want me eating real food like steaks or hamburgers. She won’t let me have a banana.”

“I’m sure you did something to piss her off.” Abbey shrugged.

“Do you two enjoy torturing me?”

“Yes,” she said innocently.

Tagging (no pressure!): @claudiajcregg @onekisstotakewithme @hondagirll @miabicicletta @librarianmouse @holy-ships-x-red-lips

💜💜💜💜💜💜

[everythingcanadian]

Sherlock/Watson/Lestrade/Mycroft idea

Just joined this fandom. And i have a thought here.( Yes this includes holmescest. Fuck off if you don't like it.)

And it may have already been said.

But the skull Sherlock has in the flat being used as Yorick's skull in a small reciting of Hamlet.

It's a Sunday. Neither Greg nor Mycroft are needed at their places of work. So it's a rare day off for all of them.

Greg is slowly making himself and Mycroft cups of afternoon coffee. A small indulgence they share and enjoy. The little frother Sherlock gave him at a crime scene whirring away in a small metal carafe to create light and cold milk foam.

A case had been solved on Friday morning in the wee hours, so Sherlock is content to relax for the moment. He's playing with his fingers on the chair's armrests, mentally going through a section of a piece of music he's been lowly composing.

John is writing something down on a pad of paper with the pen Mycroft got him for Christmas. The buttery soft scratch of the fountain pen in his hand is a delightful harmony to the soft tapping of Sherlocks fingers and socked toes along with the even hum of the frother.

And Mycroft is perfectly happy relaxing on the couch with his eyes closed, listening to the soft trio of sounds in 221B. The domestic silence is a balm over his usually busy mind. The slippers Greg had told him to get were warm and cozy as he had his feet elegantly proped up on the fool rest John had bought for the flat.

The silence never lasts. It only pauses.

They had put their mundane conversation on hold for the few minutes it took for Greg to get himself and Mycroft a treat. And to toss the pack of dark chocolate coated digestives to Sherlock. And to bring a small packet of crisps for John to pick at.

Once he had sat back down next to Mycroft on the couch. However, it was like someone had pressed play again.

They had started out earlier with reminiscing on University days. Then Greg had laughed and said Sherlock probably blew through all his classes in one year. Which then dragged them down a line of their early childhood and teenage educations.

"What load of tripe did you lot have to read for Shakespeare. We had a play each year from year 7 until year 11." John had bemoaned. "I then had The Dumb Waiter for my GCSE program. Thank christ."

Greg smiled into his mug when he heard Mycroft scoff. This was good.

"Shakespeare may be entirely over taught but his tragedies still hurt to experience."

"You had Macbeth, didn't you?" John lifted his pen and looked at Mycroft.

"Three bloody years in a row." The mild disgust on Mycroft’s face had both Greg and John grinning. "I didn't really care for the plays, Shakespeare or otherwise. The epics were more for me."

"Posh boy." John teased with affection.

"Indeed."

Greg swallowed around the rich warmth. "We had Romeo and Juliet for the 8th. Then Othello for the 9th. Then the two Richards. Got stuck with The Tempest in uni. It was alright."

Sherlock laughed. And then bit his lip to try to keep it in. But it was woefully impossible.

"Thanks, love." Greg's voice belayed his eyeroll. "What did you have?"

"He got lucky. Only had to do two." Mycroft said through his teeth. Semi-annoyed.

"Macbeth. And, Hamlet."

"Is that why you have the skull?" Greg's brows rose.

"Oh- no, that's a different item altogether. The original was blown up, remember? I replaced it. But-" Sherlock stood up, putting the still unopened pack of biscuits on the floor next to his chair. He glided easily over to his skull friend and picked it up. He held it out and regarded it. A smile flicked up his lips. John capped his pen and sat back in his desk chair as Sherlock cleared his throat and stood tall, face changing into one of teasing but serious nature as he pressed his voice to be bold.

"Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred in my imagination it is!

My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap- fall'n?

Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that."

Sherlock bowed when he heard the claps from his lovers, Greg taking the piss and shouting, "Bravo, bravo! Encore!"

Sherlock snorted before placing the skull back on the mantle. Patting the cranium lightly before going back to his chair.

"You did enjoy the theatrical, brother mine." Mycroft sighed it softly, "I remember you performing the whole of Henry the fifth's speech. Quite emotional for me to hear you like that."

Sherlock closed his eyes and tipped his head in a bow.

John's little smile grew to be that all encompassing hug of one. Where his eyes softened and it made you feel safe. "I'd love to see that. I bet it's a deep moment."

"My voice cracked in the middle of it on my last performance of it."

"It was a- fragile time if I remember it right." Greg's voice pitched down as he looked at Sherlock, his hand finding Mycroft’s leg for something to hold. "You wanted to prove you were sober. Finally. We were at Mycroft's home, in the guestroom, and it was officially a month clean. And here Sherlock was, standing on the bed in his pyjamas, voice steady for the beginning, and quieting down as the intimacies of the speech hit him." Greg took another sip of his drink. Licking his lips he tilted his head and kept his brown eyes trained on Sherlock. "It was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. Held you between the two of us we did. Let you cry it all out. Fielded your tantrum after. But it's worth it."

Sherlocks shoulders relaxed as he heard that.

Mycrofts own hum of assurance added to Greg's sentiments.

"And it led us here." Sherlock murmured into the room between them all.

"Indeed it has." Mycroft smiled warmly and placed his free hand over Greg's on his thigh.

[dayseternal-blog]

My NH Fair Wrapped!

I messed up my first draft and had to start over 😭

My favorite, favorite post has to be @nh2022's Creator Spotlight on Katarinahime

I loved how Des put together all of the tributes from Tumblr and Twitter. I don't regularly go on Twitter, so I loved seeing what others had created.

In no particular order, I loved

🧡 Day 10: Cultural - I love seeing everyone put NaruHina into different cultures!!! This will always be a favorite prompt for me.

🧡 Day 14: AU from fanmade contents - Sessakag wrote a story for shamy's art!! And lavdiiaa made an art for magmawrites's story!!!! I just live for this reciprocal inspiration in this fandom!!

🧡 Day 25: Hokage & First Lady / Office AU - just fun. So fun.

🧡 Day 28: Video game - so I've never interrupted my husband when he was playing games, but ngl the fics make it sound like a good idea.

🧡 Day 30: Bookstore - I didn't know how much I needed this AU, I loved all the fanarts so much. I need to write a bookstore au!!

@golubhat's art is so cool. Something about the lines and details is really pleasing? Also @lavdiiaa's art makes me want to write something spicy 🙈

In no particular order, I loved

💝 "Casualties of War" and "Make Love Not War" from "NαɾυHιɳα Mσɳƚԋ DҽƈҽɱႦҽɾ 2022" by @sessakag - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, Two-shot. It’s set in an alternate universe in which the attack that destroyed Uzushio failed, and in retaliation, Uzu waged war on several of the Elemental Nations. Naruto was born in Uzushiogakure and Hinata in Konoha. Prompts: Forbidden & Enemies-to-lovers.

The point of canon-divergence is such an original idea. Also I just love secret relationships, and the added dose of enemies-to-lovers makes this perfect!

💝 "The Moon Sure is Beautiful Tonight" by @happyocelot - Rated T, Canon-Compliant, One-shot. Technically, Hinata was a chuunin. Technically, Naruto was still a genin. Technically, genin were supposed to be led by jounin, forming groups of three, barring special occasions. Technically, Hinata wasn’t supposed to be Naruto’s squad captain at all for this mission. But technically, Kakashi was Hokage, and technically he could play Cupid for them. Prompt: Blank Period.

Happyocelot is a genius at writing ridiculous situations! This fic is full of humor, I smiled the whole way through!

💝 "i don't know who loves us more, me or the stars" by @secrettastemakerland - Rated T, RTN! Modern AU, One-shot. person a who wants to stargaze and person b who wants to makeout trope ft menmahina. Prompt: Stargazing.

RTN!Hinata is perfect in this. I love how sassy and in-love she is in this cute fic.

💝 "Wake up next to you" from "Some Type of Love" by @croissantsandmacarons - Rated T, Modern AU, One-shot. During their Christmas party at Kiba's place, Hinata has to confess to the man of her dreams. Unfortunately, nothing goes has planned, but isn't it for the better? Prompt: Waking up next to you.

I'm still thinking about how adorable this fic is. I love so many things about it, the pining, the flirting, the cuddling! It's probably the fluffiest fic I've read all year.

💝 Prompt: Sunshine Family - tanka by @bornonthebreakofdawn

This tanka encapsulates what we love about NaruHina. It's short and sweet. Also I love the extra effort of having the appropriate picture and border. The whole thing is so pretty and lovely.

First off, obviously

💖 Day 23 unrequited by @shamylicious-blog - I'm just 😭. I'm so, so lucky that you decided to read my fic!!!!! You encouraged me so much to finish my fic, and even now, I'm so glad that I finished it. Thank you, shamy, you fill my heart with love!! (Naruto, you heartbreaker!!! AHHHH)

The rest is really hard to choose because I loved so many, but 4 more that I loved in no particular order:

💗 What about this book? by @golubhat - My goodness, isn't the background just to die for? Also the intimacy of Naruto doing almost like a kabe-don 🙈 The details of the books, flowers, clothing, everything in this piece are eye-catching.

💗 Taking a break from exercises routine by @alexis513 - This art reminded me of that Tumblr thread that was going around for awhile where artists were adding on different ways NaruHina kiss to account for their height difference. I think one person put Hinata on a stool, but no one drew them like this! I love to think that they give each other kisses as often as possible x) My other fave of yours was your masquerade one!

💗 Hogwarts by @iamdslr - This art gave me so, so much joy. Getting-caught-staring-by-your-crush is one of my favorite things in the world (i've probs written this trope at least 3 times). Naruto's such a dork lolll and Hinata loves it!!!

💗 December 14th: Yin-Yang by @achinghcarts - This has got to be one of the coolest aes boards I have ever seen. Super creative and beautiful, I love it!

💓 @sessakag - I'm pretty sure everyone, all of us, thinks it's crazy that you actually submitted a fic for every prompt. How did you find the time to write. You're simply superhuman.

💓 @powerful-niya - I'm impressed with how much you develop your visualizations of your fics. From the details of the characters' clothing to your matching moodboards. I can really sense the passion you have for your fics!

💓 @croissantsandmacarons - You guys already know that you're both forever faves. Thank you, Chloe, for adding onto your French!Naruto and Hmong!Hinata AU, that story is so, so precious.

💓 @secrettastemakerland - Your one-shots this month were short-and-sweet, which is exactly what I need, I feel like I never have time to read these days. But your angsty ones could definitely use a sequel, please consider 👀����🏼

💓 @bornonthebreakofdawn - I know you might be like, wondering why you're in this list, but honest, I really look forward to your poetry during these events. I love how pretty you make your posts, too.

THIS IS REALLY HARD TO CHOOSE. in no particular order:

💕 @xx---locketdragon---xx - I love the vibrancy of your colors. Also, each one was so cute, but my favorite was your Forbidden prompt one, in which Hinata felt embarrassed for wanting to hold hands with Naruto!! Like, yes!!!! That's my favorite shy girl!!!

💕 @lavdiiaa - All your submissions were so delicious, but especially the nsfw ones 🙈. My fave is definitely your High School prompt, in which Naruto is feeling Hinata up under the school uniform. Something about this one really makes me, like happy???? Your style is somehow, like a visual manifestation of Sessakag's writing.

💕 @shamylicious-blog - I absolutely loved all of your tributes to Katarinahime's fics. Also, I loved the pinky promise one, the bookstore one, the masquerade one, and can we talk more about the arranged marriage one? like what is the backstory for this??? I must know.

💕 @saradesuchiha - You have to be on everyone's favorites list. Your art graced our dashboards everyday, from these adorable NH fair headers to the profile picture border!!!! just, thank you. Thank you for being our NaruHina champion!!!!! You brought so much joy into our lives this past month!!!!!!! 💯👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

💕 @jengmart - Your NaruHina is so, so soft, glowy, and cute, and I just want to squeeze them like stuffed animals. My favorites were your bookstore one, your gender swap one, and The Last Anniversary one!

I guess....just taking this event to heal a little. Setting aside more time to mourn, to remember, to reread Katarina's work. I'm still in shock, the grief doesn't go away, but this event was an impetus to contribute again to the fandom that allowed me to "meet" her. I was able to have fun again!! which is nice. I wrote less fics than I wanted to but more than I expected to, which is nice. I also love impromptu inspiration, so thank you again Des U for the wonderful Christmas cards.

I really hope people who may not have heard of Katarinahime before this event take the time to read her works. She was a beautiful, funny, intelligent person, and her stories are intimate insight into her voice and the values that were important to her. I cannot stress enough how absolutely high-tier her talent and skill was. Please, please, please read Katarina's stories.

[sofoulandfairaday]

For choose violence: 6, 23 & 24

[i've gotten so many of these -- thank you so much guys, this actually means the world to me that someone cares about my thoughts!]

from: choose violence ask game

6. which ship fans are the most annoying?

It really depends. Nowadays, probably wolfstar. Some of them are pretty fucking annoying. But it's far from what it used to be. I was here during the gold old ship war days, and I remember dramione and harmione (?) stans being the most annoying people on the face of the earth. 2012 dramione fandom anyone? the ron bashing?? 2016 jily stans with the anti-snape posts??? *shudders*

Not to say the Marauders fandom isn't toxic now but my policy is to: block block block whenever I see people who say atrocious things with 100% conviction.

Also, I just can't stand, as a general rule, people supporting wildly fanon ships over canon ones, and trying to unironically argue why they work better... There is literally nothing wrong with liking a crack!ship, I could argue that's the point of fanfiction, but don't insult my intelligence. Sometimes I see takes where the only possible solution would be for the author to read the source material again.

23. ship you've unwillingly come around to

Unwillingly is a strong word... I have read some good Tomarry fics in the last year (but. like. literally three (3). don't get excited) which is something that I would have rather gauged my own eyes out than do in the past. But then again only under very specific conditions for themes/setting/length/etc. It's not something I would ever look for, it's something I read if I know the author from other works and think “let's give it a try”... so, probably, I'm actually more in love with those authors' writing ability than the actual ship. You can tell if you actually like a ship in the following way: mediocre stories still make you swoon. You can tell if you like an author in the following way: I would rather get slapped in the face than read this ship but you make it interesting/enjoyable.

Jily is another, not because I disliked it in the way I dislike Tomarry but just 'cause it bores me a little. After exhausting any and all Snape character studies where he mopes about Lily (happy-ending Snily is not something I've ever liked) I thought meh, why not.

Oh! And you might be absolutely shocked to hear this but Belladolphus was one of these too. I was (and always will be) a Bellamort shipper, for my first few years in the fandom I was indifferent to Rodolphus at best. The man doesn't have a (1) single line in the books and we don't even really know what he looks like, but he's my angel and my baby and my darling and I accept no Rodolphus Lestrange slander in this house. Now, they're one of my favourites.

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

In canon or out of canon? Because I feel that's different.

In canon probably Snape. The world isn't split into sexual assault apologists and Death Eater apologists, we all have some functioning brain cells and critical thinking skills, it's important we choose to stay in the fucking middle.

Out of canon... come on, you don't need me to tell you what it is. Personally, I think that pointing out the flaws in a book series is important and useful to the general public (and so many criticisms of the series are incredibly valid), but clutching your pearls because the kids decorate for Christmas in Grimmauld Place and *gasp* “I cannot believe JKR wrote her characters putting christmas decorations on the disembodied heads of slaves and thought "yes. this is good. very cute and charming."” (yes, this is a real comment someone made on the internet, i didn't write this. yes, it has hundreds of likes.)

Guys. It's not that deep. It's played as grotesque in the same way the Addams Family is. The Blacks are spooky ha-ha that's the joke. It's played for dark giggles, literally not that fucking deep. Although maybe I'm wrong and insensitive for this, but come on. Feel free to correct me.

Also, something that most people don't get about the Blacks: they weren't unkind to their house elves, or at least not in the way we think. Again, the Blacks are a bit like the Addams family in this scenario, they have a macabre way of doing stuff: their elves were all very devoted and thought it was an honour to be beheaded (which happened when they were too old or weak to carry the tea tray) and Kreacher even hopes that that will be his destiny when his time comes, like his mother before him. Dumbledore also says that "Mistress Cissy and Mistress Bella" were probably kind to Kreacher in their own way - Sirius was the one who was cruel to him, actually. They all saw elves as their natural slaves (which is bad), but they were part of the family just as much as servants were for an aristocratic family of the 1700s/1800s.

[tatsueigo]

Advent Advent

Title: Advent Advent

Theme: Day three - Candles

Fandom/Character(s): All Elite Wrestling / Jon Moxley, Wheeler Yuta, Claudio Castagnoli, Bryan Danielson, William Regal

Warnings (if applicable): //

Word Count: 

NdA: @zsjaywhite

November 27th, first Advent of 2022. It has been long since Claudio has been to Switzerland over the last years, but he always keeps his traditions.

That day he had woken up early as always, going for his routine run and on the way back he had stopped at some bakeries to fetch something for breakfast for him and all his lovers. For Bryan vegan options of course.

Unluckily his wrestling life didn't let him the time to actually bake some German cookies for the others, with having to be on the road most of the time, but it would still work.

Humming he got back to their shared home and left all the pastries on the table, for each seat the favourite ones of each member of the stable.

He went to take a quick shower, enjoying the warm water sliding over his cold body; he liked it more when he could have a shower with one of his lovers, but they were surely starting to wake up.

As he got dressed and down to the kitchen, he found a still sleepy Yuta waiting at his spot, shortly after came William and Jon too. Bryan took some minutes to join them, but in the end they were all sitting at their places.

"This is the first Christmas we are going to spend all together, since I left Switzerland and then Germany I carried on this tradition leading to Christmas, so I just want to share it with all of you too. You're all really important to me and this tradition is important to me as well, so I want you get to know about it." 

William, Jon, Wheeler and Bryan looked at him at the same time and either nodded or grunted in response; Wheeler was genuinely curious, maybe because he was the youngest there? Who could know, but one thing was sure: he literally loved Christmas, so whatever had to do with it was interesting for him. The others were interested too, even Jon, who normally wasn't a Christmas person himself. 

Claudio stood up and took a lighter: at the center of the table there was an Advent crown, with four candles spread around it. The candles had different colors: maroon to represent Regal, white for Bryan, Red for Jon and black for their youngest member Yuta. Him... Claudio pictured himself in the white candle, zusammen mit Bryan, but those were for his lover, not for him. 

"So, for each Advent Sunday, we normally take a candle, light it and in the end we sing a nursery rhyme. Each one of this candles represents one of you, one of us." 

Explained the Swiss man, as he took the maroon candle in the hand and cracked a smile at his lovers. 

"Today it's the first Advent, so I'll light this maroon one, which represents our Lord, William. You are, apart from our lover, our mentor and kind of manager, so something like... a pillar maybe? Which is why I wanted to start by lighting your candle first." 

Did his reason have any sense at all? In his mind yes, but what if the others wouldn't get it? He softened a bit as soon as he noticed the smile on William's lips. 

"Master Castagnoli it is an honor for me, thank you. I appreaciate it."

Claudio nodded and took the lighter, so he could finally light the candle which he put before in the holder.

"Advent, Advent, ein Lichtlein brennt. Erst eins, dann zwei, dann drei, dann vier. Und wenn das fünfte Lichtlein brennt, hast du Weihnachten verpennt!"

None of them said anything, they all stared at him though. Yuta was totally in awe, even if he had only understood the word Advent. Regal was smiling, still honored that Claudio had decided to use his candle first. Jon had listened, hadn't understood anything, but he still liked it all in all. Bryan on his part was smiling proud: it was beautiful to hear Claudio speak German, sometimes he even spoke Italian to them, only some small words, but it was really interesting to hear him. 

"It was simply amazing, Master Castagnoli."

The rest of the day they passed it by training and going out, all happy to their core.

[fanthatracks]

It’s hard to believe it’s been half a decade since the second anthology film in the Star Wars saga graced our screens but boy, this film has aged well. Let’s dive past the Kessel Run and take a look. In order to really appreciate this film we need to go back to the time it was released. For the original and prequel trilogies we were used to a film every three years. These release dates always worked so well albeit we were in a different time, not only for the world but for how we consumed media. Flashforward to the modern era under Disney and it was time for an annual Christmas release strategy. The Force Awakens, Rogue One and The Last Jedi all adhered to this, but Solo was the first film to be released in May since 2005’s Revenge of the Sith.   It’s safe to say that when Solo was released it was a deeply complicated time in fandom. We were just five short months out from the release of The Last Jedi. For obvious reasons I won’t be treading over old ground here, but to put it fairly and simply....wherever you stand on that film it was clearly...disruptive, shall we say, to the fandom. For some, it was the greatest film since Empire; for others it was an absolute disaster. And then we have poor Solo, caught in the crossfire. I admit, I was one person who kept thinking – ‘Do we really need Solo? No one else can be Harrison Ford!’ and then the night before Solo came out I read online that Rian Johnson loved the film. ‘Oh no,’ I cried. ‘If he loves it and thinks it’s funny then we’re in trouble.’ There were all the behind the scenes production woes that had played out so very publicly. There was so much against this film from the start. ‘Good luck, Solo. You’re gonna need it.’ Cut to opening night. Midnight. I’m seated with popcorn and for some reason the nerves about this film washed away. I let myself be excited. Cut to around 2.30am and I couldn’t have been happier. The magic was back. The spirit of Star Wars was alive. The fun of Star Wars which was so drastically absent in The Last Jedi was here to feel onscreen. The audience laughed and cheered, and I was grinning ear to ear. Ron Howard had delivered something really joyful. Alden Ehrenreich did exactly what he needed to do. Took on the role of Han Solo without doing an impression of Harrison Ford, but keeping enough of Ford’s quirks to allow us to feel that this was a young Solo. There was some wonderful writing in this film, and the real stand-out story point for me was the relationship between Han and Chewbacca. In the stories of the old EU, the roles were more master/servant with this idea of the ‘life debt’ having to be paid by Chewie to Han. This could have been interpreted that this was an obligation of sorts, but what happened in Solo spoke much more of a balanced relationship. They helped each other escape and Chewie chose to come with Han, and then he chose to stay. They were two lost souls who found each other in the midst of a broken history. Brothers in (detatched) arms. Now, here is when I come out and sing it to the rooftops. This film is my favourite of the new era. Why? Because, I believe, it’s the film that feels most like a George Lucas film. It’s funny, has adventure, sticks to the hero’s journey, is a little clunky in places and slightly weird at times. (Lady Proxima, I’m looking at you), but it also has great innocence. It reminds us that while we all love great drama and high-stakes, Star Wars delivers knockout entertainment when its trying to be nothing but pure fun. I think the fact that Lawrence Kasdan co-wrote the script here is its secret weapon. This film won’t change your life – it’s not designed that way. The score is delightful in every way, and seeing Han lay his eyes on the Falcon for the first time still gives me goosebumps. The ground battle on Kessel is an absolute belter from start to finish and executed superbly. Donald Glover is Lando Calrissian. He had all the charm and smoothness of Billy Dee from the get go

. The third act has a few pacing issues, but at the end we’re left with a Han Solo who is already too cynical for his years due to all his has seen and fought for. There was so much potential here for sequels or television shows, and its a shame that the narrative that has been pushed for the film’s box office woes was because of casting. The ensemble delivered fantastic performances all round and it’s encouraging to here that many of them, including Alden, have started to come out and say they’d up for a second go. A Lando series has been announced, but that was way back in 2020 now and nothing seems to have come to fruition, so it looks like its another potential Lucasfilm casualty. At this year’s Celebration I spoke to Joonas Suotamo himself and complimented him on what he’d done with the character of Chewbacca since he took over from the late Peter Mayhew. I mentioned how Solo was as much his film’s as Han’s and he spoke with genuine passion for the project and said quite happily – ‘Yes, we need Solo 2. We need it!’ So, Happy fifth birthday to Solo: A Star Wars Story, I love you! And somewhere I hope Alden Ehrenreich has got a lopsided smile on his face and saying to himself: “I know.” [amazon box="B0BRYGM9R1"]

[fractualized]

Relationship Compromise in Batman/Catwoman

(or: I'm not sure Tom King knows just how bonkers what he wrote is and I don't know what to do with that)

Batman/Catwoman concluded this past June, and I did not enjoy it, and it haunts me.

Just... when I read a story and what the author apparently thinks is happening does not align with the events on the page, I can't help but feel some fascination. The final page, in B/C #12, is definitely the most dissonant:

What a romantic scene, the pin on a tale of love triumphant! If you ignore many of the events around it!!

I try not to be too much of a dick even about things I don't like. Regardless of my opinion, Tom King wrote twelve dang issues interweaving three different time periods, so he put some measure of thought into it. So at the conclusion of my first read, when my reaction was "lol what," I still thought maybe the spliced time periods were hiding something from me. That narrative tactic is typically used so that an event that happens in one period of time can directly comment on an event that occurs much earlier/later, and there was some of that in B/C, but its main effect was muddling the story. Plus I read it over the course of 17 months! Maybe I missed something, something that made it allllll come together.

So during my second read, like a sane person, I cut up all the panels and sorted them into the three different tracks. And then I read the story again chronologically, and this time my reaction was... *resoundlingly* "lol what."

And I will explain why at length under the cut (with many many spoilers, as well as remarks on dismemberment and suicide).

(A more fitting final takeaway from much earlier in the story, B/C #3)

Ostensibly, Batman/Catwoman is about Selina keeping an identity of her own while making her relationship with Bruce work; it's about compromise, about love persevering through conflict. Yet again and again, whether I read the story the way it was published or chronologically (for a total of five times!), I kept seeing Selina so bitter about those compromises that, to keep the relationship going, she tells Bruce two brutal lies that make the final page of B/C come off as a joke.

Again, it's this dissonance that bothers me. I ship batjokes. If you want to tell me a tale about screwed up relationship dynamics and people managing to love each other in spite of them in their own bizarre way, I'm into it. That's interesting! A lot of B/C was interesting, until the framing kept trying to tell me it was ultimately a love story that all worked out.

This journey of Selina's, which is as much about her relationship with Joker as it is her relationship with Bruce, takes place over three different Christmas seasons. Presumably this is a reference to the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future, so I'll use those labels:

Past Track: In their earlier years, Bruce and Selina attempt a relationship while Selina tries to hide that she's drinking buddies with Joker. Present Track: Years later, some point after King's Batman run, Bruce and Selina's relationship has progressed to them living together, with Selina helping Bruce fight crime. Andrea Beaumont reappears in Gotham and asks them to help search for her lost son, and she goes on a murderous revenge spree when it appears that Joker killed him. Future Track: Decades later, Bruce dies of sickness in his old age, and the widowed Selina tracks down Joker and finally kills him. Helena/Batwoman (her and Bruce's daughter) and Commissioner Dick Grayson attempt to bring Selina to justice.

(These descriptions just set the scene for each time period. The plot gets too convoluted to sum up, so you'll have to read B/C if you want all the story beats. Godspeed.)

Selina's first big lie is actually pretty understandable. It comes up early in B/C #2 in the Future Track, when she slashes Joker's throat.

Bruce's refusal to kill including Joker is an oft-voiced frustration not only in fandom but within the comic universe. It's clear here that Selina agreed to adhere to this rule while Bruce was alive. Then she, as his wife, when he was on his deathbed, lied to him about one of the major principles of his life.

Certainly, what to say to Bruce about her intentions must have been a tough call. As he slipped away, Selina could have either lied to his face or told him that she was going back on her word. Both are not great for different reasons! Of course, she had a third choice, which was honoring Bruce's wishes, perhaps having come to see eye-to-eye with him over the years, the kind of understanding you might expect in a story that ends with a kiss that belongs on the cover of a bodice-ripper. But the crux of B/C is that Selina did not agree with Bruce on this, and over the next ten issues we learn more about why, after Joker has apparently been untraceable for ten years, she felt the need to hunt him down.

Plus it's not like Joker doesn't have a point; it is kind of darkly, desperately funny for Bruce to expect loved ones to stick to his rules after he's dead, like they're appendages of him instead of their own people. Even when Bruce was dying, he was trying to exert control. And this idea coming up so early, it feels like that is what B/C is supposed to be about: Selina's independence stifled by Bruce's need for control.

This conflict is starkest in the Past Track when, instead of trying to kill Joker, Selina repeated refuses to sell him out:

(Selina, people are dying.)

Naturally, Joker adds to the friction by encouraging Selina's identity crisis:

Of course he's saying these things because he's ultimately only "friends" with her in hopes she'll disclose Batman's identity and location to him.

And given Joker's behavior, it feels like Selina is only "friends" with him too, that her attachment is more about the freedom it represents for her, about her refusal to be consumed by Bruce— though it's still hard to buy. Joker's characterization remains the wildly murderous maniac he's been for ages now. I can see a tamer version of Joker charming his way into a friendship with Selina, but she's not the type of person to brush off mass murder while casually trusting the mass murderer. Even in this very story!

Previously, Selina assaults Joker because when he poisoned of one of her marks, it left evidence that the two of them were in the same room together, but here, she wasn't involved in the reindeer "gag." She's just upset.

Yet before and after those assaults, Selina and Joker still have their buddy time, so her perspective is summed up by what is one of my most hated panels ever in B/C #8:

(Oh golly gee, who knew ignoring all this over-the-top murder stuff would feel ickily complicit!)

One way or another, Selina clearly doesn't like what Joker does, seeming to confirm that this friendship is really about her need for independence— until B/C #9, when Joker again asks for info on Bruce and it finally clicks for her that Joker's friendship is a fraud. Selina is just so shocked and appalled that this remorseless killer would betray her, that in B/C #10 the revelation escalates into a physical fight and speechifying:

(The fact that this never occurred to Selina until now is insulting to her character.)

(I really hate her dialogue about the rogues' claims to insanity, but that's a whole other can of worms.)

The betrayal is all this fight is about. Selina is not protecting Bruce here; she's channeling a simultaneous frustration with Bruce. Selina is looking to be understood, and she's not finding that understanding. All she gets is Bruce asking where Joker is, and Joker asking who Bruce is. Therefore she decides: fuck both these guys.

You know what? Hell yeah! Go be your own person, Selina!

Uh, except the very next thing that happens in the Past Track, in B/C #11, is Selina turning around and giving Joker up to Bruce. I guess she meant "fuck" figuratively with Joker and literally with Bruce. Bruce asks her why she changed her mind, and she explains:

"He... Joker asked me if... If I was Batman or if I was Catwoman. Like... like everything in the world has to be this or that, one or the other. Like you can't just put the two together and make that work. [....] Also, he's the Joker. So @$%#% him."

Okay that actually explains jack shit, and you did not really "make that work" because this story references events in King's Batman run, which means you broke up again (probably several times) after this, but okie dokie.

So from the Past Track, we know that Joker violated Selina's trust, and she finds his murder gross. She did not try to kill him at that point, though; it's what happens in the Present Track that changes things. In that time period, presumably set some time after King's Batman run, Selina and Bruce are back together, and their conflict resurfaces when Andrea shows up. Andrea kidnaps Selina in an effort to get Bruce to turn Joker over for execution, and in a short time she convinces Selina that Joker deserves death for his brand of cruelty. The two women then conspire to get Bruce out of the way for the murder by knocking him unconscious and locking him naked in a bank vault with the alarm going off. Which is 1) hilarious, sure, but 2) giving strong Joker vibes?

(Some people theorize that Tom King is secretly a batjokes shipper. My theory is that he doesn't know he's batjokes shipper.)

I'm not saying Selina can't be funny; I'm saying that out of all the options she had to get Bruce out of the way, this is what she picked, while leaving a breezy btw-gonna-murder-now note. And this is far from the first time she has a Jokery flavor. The most egregious example is in the Future Track, when she discovers that Dick had Joker's body transported to Gotham, and she dismembers Joker's corpse and uses the pieces to decorate a tree:

(And a clown head on a fir treeeeeeee!)

Dick's dialogue is repeating a note left on the tree, which is referencing a joke relayed to Selina and Batman by a Joker victim in the Present Track: "what did Santa say when he got thrown down the chimney and landed on his head? Oh oh oh." But the problem with this grotesque display is that Joker can't experience the payback since he's, uh, dead, and Selina and Bruce were the only ones to hear this joke. I suppose Bruce may have told others about it, and certainly kept records about his cases, but still, why antagonize Helena and Dick with this specific line? Who is this for?

Allegedly, Selina is still just that angry about what Joker did to Andrea Beaumont, which feels inexplicable. The theory seems to be that Joker's manipulation of Andrea makes Selina feels a kinship with her. After the undefined version of Mask of the Phantasm that happened in this universe, Andrea hunted Joker down, only to find him with a baby that he referred to as his own child. To escape, Joker tossed the newborn into the air and ran off, and when she caught the baby... she found her inner pain suddenly soothed. (Yeah, yeah, I know.) Instead of continuing the hunt, Andrea named the baby Andrew (yeah, yeah, I know) and became his mother— and now all these years later, she finds out that Joker stole Andrew from a hospital, when the clown tricks her into coming with him to the family's home and blows them up. Andrea feels such horrible guilt about getting the entire family killed that she commits suicide right in front of Bruce and Selina.

An awful series of events... but I still find it strange for Andrea to be the only victim Selina name-checks in her final confrontation with Joker. She barely knew Andrea, a fact that's emphasized when Harley shows up. Selina has longer histories with other characters traumatized by Joker, but she doesn't say one word indicating that she killed him for Harley too. You could say it's because Selina's too focused on their fight, except she does find the mental space to declare that Harley never killed Joker because, like Bruce, Harley is a better person than she gives herself credit for.

(We've got two other cans of worms here we're not gonna open.)

Also, in the Present Track, Selina is strikingly callous toward the Joker victim who tells the Santa joke, when Selina and Bruce first encounter him...

... and when he falls off the bridge.

But okay, maybe on top of witnessing Andrea's suicide, it's the motherhood angle that gets to Selina. She doesn't seem too affected in the Present Track, but in the Future Track we see her interactions with Helena go from strained to violent, then come to a more loving resolution:

We can surmise that Selina's need to defy Bruce's rule and kill Joker only grew over time, as her relationship with her daughter deepened her understanding of Andrea's pain at losing Andrew.

Except LOL, SUCKERS. That interpretation is undermined by the pièce de résistance, the second and worst of the lies Selina tells.

Because, as revealed in the Future Track, Andrea is alive! Selina broke Clayface out of Arkham and got him to impersonate Andrea slashing her own throat so the real Andrea could run away and lay low. Andrea agreed to this in exchange for Selina eventually killing Joker. Selina has been planning to kill Joker for decades, since before Helena was born.

And, again, in case you forgot, the fake suicide happens right in front of Bruce by design, and there's no indication he ever finds out the truth. In the immediate aftermath, Selina even freaking brings up Alfred, adding to Bruce's feelings of failure and loss:

(These panels also featuring Bruce's glib, painfully out-of-character reference to his parents' murder.)

If that wasn't enough, Selina comforts Bruce by using this as an opportunity to reinforce that, in the end, all they have is each other:

(Ummm so what if in this instance the cat wounded the bat but the bat didn't know? And is this a bonding moment or a Calvin Klein ad?)

These panels come before the reveal that Andrea is still alive, so the appeal to Selina and Bruce's connection is in earnest. It's only later in the issue that the reader is privy to how wildly fucked up this is! On Christmas!

And then it gets even worse, because now, now, is when Selina and Bruce finally get legitimately married. It's not clear if it's that same night, but it must be within a week because the chapel still has Christmas music in rotation. Selina has just finished plotting for Bruce to witness the fake-but-heartwrenching suicide of one of the loves of his life, and then she marries him!

(True love conquers all when you've manipulated your partner into another bout of grief.)

In the future, temporary fugitive Selina joins Andrea on a tropical island, and the fake suicide is framed like a clever ploy the women pulled off, a bizarre compromise to get around Bruce's rule, but it just shows... contempt, honestly? And not for the first time, after Selina's inexplicable refusal to tell Bruce Joker's location, after her angry realization that Bruce and Joker are so much alike, referenced again here:

There's also a strange vibe with something Selina says to Helena at dinner, after Joker's murder:

Very "I held out long enough to kill the clown and get all Bruce's money. :)"

Then there's Selina's relationship with Helena. Before the heartwarming scene between them I shared above, in B/C #10, they have a physical fight during which Selina expresses a lot of hostility toward her daughter for embodying Bruce's brand of justice.

That last one may seem irrelevant, but I think it speaks to the point. Calling your daughter ungrateful when she's doing what you know she was taught? Seems like there's anger at the teacher!

And when all is said and done, Selina convinces Helena to not be like her father and to let her mother walk:

Selina does also say favorable things about Bruce, and at times expresses regret that she couldn't live up to what he wanted. I'm not saying she didn't love him, or that holding off from killing Joker while Bruce was alive meant nothing. But as the saying goes, "show, don't tell," and so many of Selina's actions, especially loading more trauma on Bruce, outweigh the nicer moments.

In the face of those actions, the sweeping romance of that final panel in the last issue does not hold up. There's elements of a better story here, about an independent woman convincing herself to compromise for love, and at the end of her life finding more regret and bitterness than she bargained for, and not finding peace with it. But while King is able to see Selina's need to be unconstrained, ultimately his writing glosses over it and has her reconcile with the wife/mother role, while ignoring the cruelty of the deception she implements to get there.

Looking back, it feels like the primary function of telling Batman/Catwoman in such a tangled way was to obscure the mess.

(tl;dr: where is my "Selina divorces Bruce and takes him for all he's got" storyline?)

[the-truest-sentence-i-know]

Three's a Crowd

(Christmas Holidays in the Gryffindor Girls’ Dorms, pt. 16)

Fandom: Harry Potter

Characters: Luna Lovegood x Hermione Granger x Parvati Patil x Lavender Brown

Rating: Explicit (it’s a PWP)

Summary: The gang finds Luna in a compromising position and strive to make it even more so [masturbation; double penetration; triple penetration]

Word Count: 1.3k | 16/?

ao3 ||| wattpad ||| ff.net ||| quotev

Luna lay on her bed, tie askew and skirt hiked up as her fingers slid in and out of her pussy. She moaned, arching her back and grabbing her breast with her free hand over her clothes.

She increased her rhythm, biting her lip to stifle another moan as she neared her climax. Her breath escaped in short puffs, accented with high-pitched mewls. Her free hand had come down under her skirt to rub at her clit to bring her over the edge. Her muscles clenched as she came, a satisfied cry interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

"Having fun without us?"

Luna rolled over to see Parvati and Hermione in the doorway, grinning.

"I must say, you look lovely right after an orgasm, darling," Parvati said.

Sitting up, Luna brushed her hair out of her face. "Did you come here with a proposition?"

Parvati grinned. "We did."

Hermione had never worn a strap before but was starting to see the appeal. Luna straddled her and sank down on the length, guided by Hermione's hands on her waist. They both breathed out a moan at the sensation.

Luna rose, then sank again, impaling herself on the strap. All Hermione had to do was watch. Luna's body was languid and graceful, and her light eyes locked with Hermione's dark ones as she fucked herself on Hermione's strap. It disappeared inside her and her muscles clenched around it, making Hermione moan.

"Alright," Parvati said. "I get to join now." She pushed Luna down so she was on top of Hermione, her asshole in full view. She slathered a finger in lube and slowly sank it into the hole.

Luna, her face buried in Hermione's neck, keened at the feeling, her movements slowing until Hermione's strap was still inside of her.

This was nowhere near Luna's first time, so Parvati was able to add a second and third finger quite quickly. Luna, nearly overwhelmed by the double penetration, was only able to react to the stimulation. So, Hermione began to rock her hips, thrusting into Luna slowly and thoroughly, hands gripping her hips, searching for that friction.

Luna rose slightly on her elbows and pressed her lips to Hermione's.

Once Parvati was satisfied Luna was ready, she pulled out her fingers. Luna bemoaned the sudden emptiness, but she did not have to wait long. Parvati pushed the strap into Luna's asshole and Luna bit Hermione's lip.

Hermione and Parvati began to move in sync, so that they both filled Luna at the same time. Luna could hardly do more than moan as she felt more filled than ever before. She mourned every absence, which was quickly remedied as they pressed in again, hips slapping against her. Luna tried to meet them every time, wanting to feel it as much as she could, but did not need to. Parvati gripped her hips tightly as she thrust into her. Hermione had her hands on her thighs as she did the same. All she had to do was lie there and let them fuck her holes as they made her feel more than she ever had.

Luna's eyes were half-closed and more dreamy than normal. Hermione lifted a hand to brush her hair out of her face so she could see those light eyes. They were doing that to her – she was doing that to her. She scooted down a little bit so she could thrust more into Luna, who buried her face in Hermione's neck, mouth open in a moan.

Over Luna's shoulder, Hermione looked at Parvati – both with eyes dark and pupils blown. Parvati smiled at her and reached out one hand to caress her cheek. It was an intimacy that was new to Hermione: the intimacy between two people fucking the same person. "You're doing so well, darling," she murmured. "Now let's change it up a little, shall we?"

Luna mumbled her agreement against Hermione's skin. She didn't know exactly what Parvati had in mind, but was pretty sure that whatever it was, she would enjoy it. In a few moments, she knew she had been correct.

Parvati and Hermione began to alternate their timing. Hermione pulled out when Parvati pressed in and vice versa, so that Luna was never empty. At first, Luna was sorry for the loss of the two-dicks-full feeling, but quickly realized that this was good in a different way. She felt how she was pushed up and down, as they alternately thrust into her. She had agreed to this because she wanted to feel like she was being used, and what did that more than being stuffed full, forced up and down with the thrusts of two people who wanted her.

Hermione came first, pulling Luna into a kiss as her hips stuttered, her cum filling Luna up. Luna moaned into Hermione's mouth at the sensation.

"Do you think you can come just from me?" Parvati asked, breathless as she continued to thrust into Luna. "Or do you need some help from Hermione?"

"Hermione looks a bit fucked out," said someone from the doorway. "Perhaps I can help out."

Parvati and Hermione looked over and saw Lavender.

Lavender grinned. "Heard there was a party."

"What do you think, Luna?" Parvati asked, her thrusts slowing a little. "A third?"

Luna nodded against Hermione's chest. "Always wanted to try triple penetration," she said casually.

They repositioned on the bed to accommodate all four of them. Hermione sat, leaning against the pillows, legs spread wide and strapon erect for Luna's mouth. Parvati kept her position and Lavender took Hermione's place, fortunately short enough to allow Luna to have the triple penetration she wanted.

Luna waited until Parvati and Lavender began to thrust into her, alternating for now, before sliding her mouth around Hermione's strap. Hermione kept her hips still, letting Luna set the pace, brushing her hair out of her face gently. Lavender peppered kisses on Luna's chest as she kept a more leisurely pace.

When she was ready, Luna popped off the strap and said, "I want you to fuck my mouth. I'll tap three times if I need you to stop." She turned her head slightly. "And don't you two go easy on me now."

Parvati rolled her eyes, but quickly acquiesced, snapping her hips against Luna quicker. Lavender did the same, matching her thrusts up to Parvati's. Hermione realized what they were doing and, when Luna pressed the strap past her lips, began to thrust at the same rhythm. She couldn't help but wonder how it felt for Luna; perhaps she should try this out sometime as well.

Luna held on tight to Hermione's thighs as she felt the three cocks fuck her in sync. The idea of this scenario had brought her to orgasm many times before, but she was not about to lose it early. She wanted this to continue on for a bit. Hermione's hand was on the back of her head, keeping her in place as she thrust into her mouth. Parvati gripped her hips so tightly she knew there would be red marks, but that was nothing compared to Lavender, whose fingers dug into her thighs and whose mouth was determinedly marking her breasts with hickeys.

It was this that brought her over the edge, thinking of the way the evidence of this encounter would remain on her body a while afterward. She moaned around Hermione's dick but refused to pull off as her body was flooded with waves of pleasure, her eyes half-closed, rolled slightly back, as they continued to fuck her like her body was just there for their pleasure. She relished in it.

Parvati came next, followed by Lavender and Hermione soon after. When Luna finally rolled over, she stretched a little and marvelled at her body. The imprints of hands and fingers marked her body, as well as the beginnings of bruises from Lavender's mouth. Cum leaked out of her pussy – Hermione's, Lavender's in addition to her own – and her ass.

"We need to do big group stuff like this more often," Luna said.

Parvati smiled. "Ginny was saying the same thing." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Vacation's ending soon, maybe we can finish it with a bang."

[the-lonelybarricade]

Countdown to Love (1/4) - acotar gift exchange

Sooo this is a bit different from my usual content. I’ve never written for Nessian and the challange was certainly fun, so I really hope this is up to the fandom standard! I tried my best and I hope you enjoy darling @saphie3243. I took your college speed dating suggestion and tried to make something light hearted and fluffy. Merry Christmas! <3

Part of the @acotargiftexchange

Word Count:4787

Read on AO3

Friday, December 10, 1:00pm.

In truth, Nesta didn’t know what had prompted her to attend the campus speed dating event. It had started out as a joke, a passing remark thrown between her friends Emerie and Gwyn, the three of them giggling to each other about what manner of person they might find at such a place. The humor had been in how absurd it would be for any of them to go, for it was so outside the characteristics of their trio, least of all Nesta—who would typically rather drop dead than make awkward, rushed small talk with strangers for a couple hours.

Somewhere, though, the jokes became reality. It was something about the way the conversation had shifted from oh my god, how funny would it be to bring home a speed date for the holidays? to so what is your family planning for Christmas?

And Nesta had forced her pride forward, her ever composed exterior of nonchalance when she explained that her family likely wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas, that the Archerons rarely came together for such affairs. Nesta planned to stay on Campus and savor the quiet with a pile of books and a bottle or two of wine. The girls had been far from judgemental, had even extended invitations for Nesta to join them at their homes if she so wished, which Nesta had politely declined.

She wasn’t sure what, exactly, had bothered her. It wasn’t as though she longed for a corny Hallmark Christmas. She felt no sentiment for the holiday, found most of it to be gimmicky and forced. But as she listened to Gwyn and Emerie talk animatedly about their own holiday traditions, it struck her suddenly that she was… lonely.

When she walked into the event she certainly wasn’t expecting to meet her prince charming, just someone interesting that she might be able to grab a coffee with over the Christmas break. It didn’t even need to be something romantic, she thought, as she signed in and received her badge. She swallowed her nerves, admittedly some of her pride, as she went to sit at her assigned seat and waited for the rest of the people to flood in.

Fortunately, it was a small event at a decently big university, and she didn’t recognize any of the people in attendance. She knew it was silly, since the most Gwyn and Emerie would do was tease her if they found out, but Nesta couldn’t help feeling embarrassed for coming.

When the time started and a handsome man with a cloying smile sat down before her, she thought perhaps things wouldn’t go as catastrophically as she feared.

“Thomas,” he said, extending his hand.

Her smile was practiced, like an experienced hunter setting their snare. “Nesta.”

“That’s a unique name,” he commented, leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence. “Very pretty.”

“It’s Welsh,” she answered, almost instinctively. It was usually a question people asked, so she’d learned to beat them to the punch. “My parents traveled the Celtic nations on their honeymoon.”

His face shifted into a smirk that was not nearly so charming as Nesta was certain he thought it was. “So they picked a name from the same place they got knocked up?”

Ugh. Nesta hadn’t let herself think what the least appealing topic of conversation could be in a speed date, but Thomas had managed to find it within seconds. Not in any rush to accommodate discussions of her own conception, Nesta smiled as if he hadn’t said anything at all and asked, “so what do you study, Thomas?”

Unsurprisingly, her remaining time with Thomas were as dull and forced as their introduction, and she felt relieved when the organizers finally called time. She took a moment to mark him unfavorably on her score card and when she looked back up, she was met with a pair of warm, hazel eyes.

He was grinning, not at all like the smarmy, obnoxious smile that Thomas had worn in attempt to look alluring. This smile was sincere. The man before her was ruggedly handsome, but in an effortless and uncut sort of way.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, laughter dancing in his eyes as he craned his head to look after the man who’d just left. “At least I know the bar’s been set low. What was wrong with the guy, was he drooling too much?”

At Nesta’s scrutinous look, he laughed.

“What? I need to know what to avoid so I don’t crash and burn like the last one. I’m trying to figure out if he was a prick, or you’re just hard to please. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I don’t mind a challenge.”

Nesta crossed her arms, raised her brows. “And who says I’m not swooning after him?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen swooning. You look as if you could slip arsenic into his coffee without blinking an eye. Doesn’t exactly scream true love.”

She gave a sharp laugh, mostly in surprise. He was smart; she liked that. Less polished, but who had time for people who didn’t say what they meant?

“So what’s your strategy, then? Bad mouthing all the other candidates until you’re the only obvious choice?”

“Something like that. I’d planned for a battle royale, but then I got here and they explained that’s against the rules. So now I have to win your heart the old fashioned way—with words and petty gossip.”

“You must be pretty confident if you thought you could take all these men on in a battle royale.”

“I’m a personal trainer. When it comes to words, I might not be the strongest contender. But anything physical, that’s where I dominate.”

There was something about the emphasis he put on physical and dominate that made Nesta feel suddenly very heated inside, although his expression remained friendly, far from suggestive, and it made her wonder if she was the one with the dirty mind.

“So your methodology for dating is what? Brute force? It’s not much of an accomplishment if you need to be the last man standing before someone picks you.”

That smile never faded from his face. “You’ve got claws. I like that. What was his deal, then, couldn’t handle them?”

“Wasn’t interesting enough to even bother taking them out,” she said, the corner of her mouth twisting almost reluctantly, which she immediately regretted since it only seemed to turn him more smug.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say that was a compliment. Does this mean you think I’m interesting?”

His eyes were sparkling in challenge, practically begging for her to spar with him.

She scrunched her nose in feigned distaste. “It means you have a personality, at least.”

“Interesting and a personality?” He let out a long, low whistle. “You’re practically throwing yourself at me now, sweetheart.”

Though she tried to restrain it, she laughed—a short, startled snort through her nose, mostly impressed by his ability to turn the conversation to his advantage.

“You’re right,” she conceded, watching those hazel eyes carefully as they blazed like an open hearth. She marked the unchecked joy and humor they contained, thinking them so similar to a child’s eyes. Though, a child was not nearly so clever. “I better tone it down so you don’t get the wrong idea.”

He leaned forward, smile turning roguish. “And what idea might that be?”

“That you’re doing well enough to warrant that shit eating grin.”

Her words did nothing to deter him, the curl of his lips only deepening. “I think I’m doing better than the last guy.”

“Why are you so sure?” she asked cooly, raising a single brow in condescension.

“Because—the last guy didn’t make you laugh. He didn’t even get a genuine smile out of you. I have.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How would you know?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been watching you from the moment I came into this place. You’re the most breathtaking thing here, and I thought if I paid attention I might have an edge.”

Nesta cursed herself for the way her face heated at such an admission. It should be creepy, she told herself. This man was a complete stranger. “That’s a bit forward don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, not the least bit bashful. “But now I’ve also made you blush, too. And I’ve managed all of that without even knowing your name.”

Time was running out—she could tell by the way the event organizers were making their way to the center of the room, clutching their stopwatches.

“Nesta,” she said, extending her hand.

He made a sound of recognition. “That’s Welsh, right? I went backpacking around Europe, got to stay with a really lovely Welsh family and they had a daughter with that name. It’s cute.”

Cute. In her adult life, no one had ever been bold enough to describe her that way. But as the organizers called time, this man sent her a shameless wink and gracefully slid from the seat.

It was only as Nesta went to write his score that she realized she didn’t even know his name.

⟡⟡⟡

When she received an email from the event organizers, congratulating her on her match, she bit her lips nervously at the phone number they provided, no name attached.

And only moments later, her phone rang, loud and insistent.

She picked up on the third ring, not having spoken a word when a familiar voice on the other end cut in, “Is this Nesta?”

“How did you know I was your match?” she asked, almost startled by his confidence.

“Would you believe it was our undeniable connection?”

“I’d more readily believe that you did something to sabotage your other matches.”

He only laughed, no confirmation one way or another. “What are you doing for the holidays?”

“Nothing,” she said curtly, glancing over to her pile of books. “I’m staying on campus over break.”

“Perfect,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, too. We can keep each other company.”

“What’s your name?” Nesta asked, before he could weasel out of it with fanciful conversation.

There was a moment’s silence, and Nesta could practically picture him grinning on the other end of the phone. She almost regretted asking, for the ego boost it undoubtedly gave him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Haven’t had a name to moan while you’ve been thinking of me?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I’m hanging up.”

“It’s Cassian,” he said, the words rushed. She momentarily relished in knowing the idea of hanging up had panicked him. He swiftly recovered, however, voice once again sounding relaxed as he asked, “how would you like to grab a coffee with me tomorrow?”

She was silent for a long moment, just to keep him on edge, delighting as she imagined him squirming on the other end of the line. At last she hummed noncommittally. “I’ll think about it.”

He didn’t buy it for a second, damn him. “Great, see you at noon,” he chirped, hanging up before she could say anything contrary.

People were usually too intimidated by Nesta to give her this level of push and pull, and she’d be lying to say she didn’t enjoy it. She sat her phone down, telling herself the fluttering feeling in her stomach was not excitement for seeing Cassian tomorrow. She’d yet to have dinner, she was probably just hungry.

But still, Nesta couldn’t help but entertain the fact that maybe, just maybe, this year’s Christmas wouldn’t be a complete let down.

⟡⟡⟡

Monday, December 13, 12:00pm.

“So what’s your deal?” Cassian asked her at a cafe the next day.

He’d already been sitting at a table when she’d walked in, two coffee cups sat on the table before him. With a grin he’d raised one towards her, saying, “You look to me like a pumpkin spice girl.”

“I’m not,” she’d said, walking straight past him to order a coffee, black. Not because she particularly enjoyed it that way, but because she wanted to make a point to Cassian for being presumptuous enough to order for her.

When she’d sat back down, black coffee in hand, that’s when he’d sat back, face smug and eyes full of intrigue, and asked her what her “deal” was.

Nesta took a long sip of her coffee, holding his never wavering eye contact. Though she was intentionally keeping him waiting in answer, he hardly seemed bothered by it. From the glint in his eye, she could tell he liked the thrill of the game. She’d come across a few boys like him before, who were certain they could crack through her icy exterior to find the soft heart inside. They were usually left frostbitten and disappointed.

But she suspected if she tried to save Cassian the effort by telling him so, he’d only find it all the more exhilarating.

“What do you mean?” she asked finally, setting the coffee down at last.

“Oh, you know, your reason for why you aren’t going home for the holidays. People like us usually have some great tale of woe, right?” He pointed at himself. “Orphan. Can’t go home for the holidays when there’s no one to go home to. But you… you have White Suburbia written all over you. Shouldn’t you be home having some kind of Hallmark Christmas?”

She would have glared, but for all his casual smiles and brash mannerisms, it was obvious he was perceptive. If she got defensive, he’d see it from a mile away, and she wasn’t ready to show that much of her hand yet.

So she fixed him instead with her best poker face, raising a perfectly manicured brow as she asked, “Do you always speak without thinking, or is that something you’re doing specially for my sake?”

“Avoiding the question, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t know this was an interrogation,” she quipped. “Am I required to answer?”

“It’s a date last I checked. That usually involves getting to know someone. Y’know, asking them questions?” He picked up the pumpkin spice latte he’d ordered for her and took a long sip of it, something about the action obviously intending to draw a reaction out of her. What, she couldn’t tell. Maybe he just found getting under her nerves amusing.

“It sounds as though you’re judging me—and incorrectly, I might add. That’s hardly conducive to getting to know someone. Why don’t you stop making assumptions about me,” she gestured pointedly to the pumpkin spice latte, “and actually ask me questions like a well adjusted member of society, however difficult that might be for you.”

Cassian sighed, setting the coffee back down on the table between them. “So, Nesta,” he said casually, “why are you staying on campus over the holidays?”

“Better,” she said. “But I still won’t answer that question.”

“Fine. Do you have any siblings?”

She pressed her lips tightly together, which earned an arched brow.

“You’re so guarded,” he said with a laugh. This time, she did scowl at him, to which he put his hands up placatingly. “Okay, I get it. No personal questions allowed, clearly. Am I at least allowed to ask how you plan on spending your lonely month of solitude?”

“Reading, mostly.” She said, flickering her eyes down and hoping he didn’t notice it. Nesta couldn’t fathom why, but she felt suddenly vulnerable. Even such a plain hobby felt too close to her heart to reveal.

“You read?” he asked, voice conveying intrigue though she still hadn’t mustered the courage to glance up at his face. “I struck you more as the kind of person who spits on puppies and tramples kittens.”

“Ha ha,” she said, rolling her eyes. “This coming from the man who looks as if he demolishes mountains in his spare time.”

“You’d think so if you saw some of the men I train with,” he retorted with a grin that made him look very pleased with himself.

Nesta was almost certain he brought it up to make her imagine what such a scene would look like—Cassian training with a man of perhaps equal bulk, for she was certain no person could possibly be larger than the one in front of her, the two of them breathing heavy, skin gleaned with sweat…

Surely, Cassian was aware of the appeal of his job. It was obvious from the delight on his face as he watched her carefully, perhaps noticing her cheeks were a shade darker despite her otherwise impassive expression.

“So what kind of books do you read, Nesta?”

Fine. Let him think she was blushing, at least she could pretend it was from her admission, “Sellyn Drake novels, mostly.”

His mouth twisted in thought, which she had to admit was… endearing. “She’s a romance author, right? Like the steamy kind?”

She could have choked on her surprise. “You’ve read her novels?”

“No, but… ah, my friend’s mother used to read that stuff. We used to tease him relentlessly for it, do dramatic readings in front of him. Didn’t help that she was super hot herself.”

Nesta frowned, face scrunching in disgust. “Ew.”

Cassian shrugged. He was someone used to speaking without filters, she observed. Clearly thick skinned, unafraid to speak his mind even if it offended common sensibilities. Nesta could respect that, even if it lended to him being near insufferable.

“So what about you then? There might not be a home for you elsewhere, but presumably there’s one here, right? Will you be celebrating Christmas?”

“Something like that. My roommates—well, they’re more like my brothers—are staying here too. We usually have a big snowball fight on Christmas day and get rip roaring drunk.” She noted the way his eyes softened, just barely, and though it was sweet, it made her heart sink in her chest.

He was not as much a kindred spirit as he thought. Brothers he’d be staying with over the break, a home filled with love, from the look on his face.

“Sounds fun,” she commented, though the conversation now felt distant.

Cassian straightened, as if sensing it, too. “Whoa, what did I say wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, too quickly.

And the insightful bastard, he caught it immediately. His eyes narrowed in scrutiny, then his expression shifted to something smug and knowing. “You’re jealous aren’t you?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re pretending to be all indifferent, but it actually bugs you that you’re not going home for Christmas, doesn’t it? You’re jealous I have plans.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniped.

His smile only broadened, as though she’d hammered the final nail in her own coffin. But his eyes flickered to the coffee cup in her hand and lingered before he sat back with a frown. It was through following his gaze that Nesta realized she was holding the cup so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

“Guess you’re right, I have no clue what I’m talking about.”

She said nothing. Denying it at this point would just be lying to the both of them.

“You could always come celebrate with me and my brothers,” he said, sounding sincere. When she snuck a glance at his face, she saw that the mockery was gone. He looked kind.

But she wasn’t a charity case.

“Believe it or not, I’m content to snuggle up with my books. Christmas really isn’t my thing.” She scrunched her nose for added effect, which caused him to laugh.

“But you’re practically glowing with holly, jolly cheer.” The ice in the look she fixed him with was certainly anything but holly or jolly, which perhaps only fueled his humor. “Okay, a revised offer. Why don’t you spend Christmas with me? We can go on sleigh rides and do a bunch of other Chrismtas shit or,” he added, reading the impending rejection on her expression, “we could just stay in and read your smutty little novels together. Whatever you want Nesta, I’m just saying you don’t have to spend it alone.”

There was that horrible word again—alone. Precisely why she’d signed up for the damn speed dating in the first place. But still… it felt like too much to commit to.

Evidently, Cassian wasn’t going down without a fight. “How about a game, then?”

Intrigued, she smiled. “What kind of game?”

“Think of it like… a Christmas advent calendar. Every day, we come up with one task for each other. And if you can’t complete those tasks, then you have to celebrate Christmas with me.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “What kind of task?”

“Any you can think of.”

“No—there has to be rules. Otherwise it’d be too easy to make each other lose.”

He laughed. “I was thinking of light hearted stuff, like maybe giving a pumpkin spice latte a go,” he pushed the damned drink towards her with a raised brow. “Nothing crazy. Just something you might otherwise turn your nose up at. As a way to bring each other out of our comfort zones.”

She pursed her lips considerately, staring at the sugary coffee that suddenly represented so much more. “What’s in it for me?”

“Well for one, you get to come up with my tasks. Imagine all the embarrassing situations you could put me in.” From the expression on his face, Nesta was thinking it would be difficult to make Cassian feel embarrassed about anything. “And if you come up with something that I’m too chickenshit to complete, then… you can decide what you get. A favor from me, of any size you wish.”

Of all the men who’d been eager enough to rise to the “challenge” that was breaking through Nesta’s tough exterior, none had ever thought to challenge her in turn. She could admit, reluctantly and only to herself, that it was intriguing—Cassian was intriguing. Unrefined, sure. As direct and unflinching as she was, which was impressive in itself. Yet, there was warmth and kindness in him. He weaponized his honesty differently than Nesta, as a means of drawing people in rather than pushing them away.

She knew she was playing right into his hand, hated that he was clever enough to figure out how to ensnare her. Equally hated that she didn’t abhor the idea of letting him.

“Fine.” She said at last, saving face in at least sounding reluctant about it.

He gave her one last out. “You realize this means we’ll be spending every day together?”

“Trying to dissuade me so soon?”

Pretending that the idea of spending every day with him was unappealing was a bald faced lie. But agreeing to his deal was already stroking his ego beyond salvageable levels, judging purely by his smug expression.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

He slid the coffee closer, a challenge in his eyes.

“What, we’re starting already?” she asked, incredulous that he’d truly waste a task in trying to make her drink something as simple as a pumpkin spice latte. He only nodded, which caused her to hesitate. “But you’ve already drunk from it.”

“Who says that isn’t part of the challenge?”

“What are we, five? I don’t think I’m going to catch your cooties.”

His answer was only an insistent gesture toward the cup. With a huff, she seized it from the table and took a gulp. It was sweet and sugary—she didn’t mind it, which wasn’t at all a surprise since she drank them semi-regularly.

Still thinking it an absurdly easy task, she set the coffee down and looked at him. “Satisfied?”

“For a moment there, I swore I almost saw joy in those eyes,” he teased, laughing to himself as though he’d accomplished something far more impressive.

“Did it really offend you that much that I didn’t want your stupid coffee?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I went to the effort of doing something nice for you. And I took the liberty of asking the barista if she knew what you usually ordered. Aren’t a lot of Nesta’s around campus, y’know? Figured the name would stick.”

She was helpless to stop the way her face heated. All the composed expressions in the world couldn’t disguise her crimson cheeks—a tell she loathed, especially when Cassian smirked at having called out her spiteful lie.

“I know you’re not as dark and bitter as you’d like me to believe, Nesta.”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, knowing she was making it worse but unable to help herself. He’d outsmarted her, and now she felt too much like a cornered animal, loathing that she wasn’t in control anymore. She grappled for something to give her the upper hand again. “I still have to come up with a challenge for you, so I’d advise against putting your foot in your mouth.”

“So fiesty,” he said with a low whistle. “What would you like me to do, sweetheart? Wax poetic about your pretty eyes with a glare so sharp they could cut a man in half? Ah, there it is. That’s exactly the look I mean.”

“I could challenge you to keep your mouth shut for ten minutes and likely win this wager right here.”

“But where would be the fun in that? You’d miss my voice too much.” He winked, which caused her stomach to flip on itself though she told herself there was absolutely nothing alluring about it.

Deciding to test him, she went into her purse and retrieved the Sellyn Drake novel she’d brought, misjudging him as someone who’d be late. His eyes lit up at the sight of the book in her hands, eagerly accepting it as she handed it to him.

“Is this what you’re reading right now?” he asked, interest seemingly genuine as his fingers curiously paged through its contents. He paused at the page she had bookmarked.

Nesta watched him carefully as he read where she’d last left off, expression shifting from mirth to something wolfish. “Oh, this is filthy.” He sounded delighted by the fact. “You were going to read this in public?”

She offered a cool smile. “Are you saying you’d be too embarrassed to read it in public?”

“I’m reading it now, aren’t I?” His eyes trailed the rest of the page the way a driver might angle their head toward a car wreck.

“And what about one of your… how did you describe it, dramatic readings?”

His eyes flicked to hers, assessing her meaning. When he read the challenge she was certain was on her face, he flashed her a smile that showed off his teeth. “Oh, you’re brutal.” It was said like praise. “This will just encourage me to think of something equally mortifying for you tomorrow.”

“Bring it on, then,” she said, relishing in the tint of his cheeks as he cleared his throat and stood up.

The cafe was mercifully not very busy, many students having already finished for the semester and returned home, like Gwyn and Emerie had done. But there were enough students to turn their heads as Cassian stood on his chair and began reading in a voice that could have been drawn straight from a telenovella:

“His hips arced toward her, and he tilted back his head, exposing the strong column of his throat. She learned the shape of him through his pants, and pressed her hand harder, working him. He gritted his teeth, chest heaving like a bellows, and the sight of him coming undone had ehr leaning forward. Had her clamping her teeth onto his neck. Just as she rubbed him again, harder and rougher.”

He wasn’t shouting, but he was speaking loudly enough that the students and nearby tables were snickering to themselves. Despite not being the one on show, Nesta felt her face burn from association. Egged on by the attention, Cassian’s voice grew louder, reading smut like it was poetry.

“He hissed. With her name on his lips, his hips thrust into her hand with a strength that made her core throb to the point of pain, imagining that force, that size and heat, buried deep in her. Another punishing rub of her palm, a scape of teeth at his neck, and he erupted.

His wings tucked in tight as he came, and each spurt of his cock shuddered through his pants, echoing along her hands as she stroked and stroked him”

Face red as he sat back down, Cassian looked to Nesta’s heated yet smiling face, and chuckled, softly, despite himself.

“She made the poor bastard come in his pants,” he said, shaking his head.

Their eyes met, both equally flushed from the scene they’d just created—and that seemed to finally crack them. They both tipped their head back in laughter, a healthy dose of disbelief and embarrassment mixed within the absurdity of what he’d done. What she’d told him to do.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard—undoubtedly it had been with Gwyn and Emerie, but this… this was something different. Purifying, in a way, as though each gasping breath filled her lungs with helium so that she might float away, unburdened, free.

“Look, Nesta,” he said once they’d finally sobered. “I’m not saying this is going to be the best Christmas of your life—or even that I can change your opinion of it. But, at the very least, it’s going to be one that you’ll be able to tell stories about.”

[burnedbyshoto]

hawks_littledove.mp3

— You’re an avid listener to NSFW ASMR artist Hawks. It’s just your luck that he’s offered to have phone sex with you.

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pairing: takami keigo (hawks) x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, slight abuse of power/influence, phone sex, masturbation, degradation, praise, nsfw asmr artist!hawks

word count: 5,018

a/n: my keyboard is broken and i could actually cry. but hey, hawks do be sexy even tho I would never trust him with my life. also LOL this might be a call out to a lot of us, do not be offended or I will cry.

kinktober day 14 main kink: phone sex | kinktober masterlist

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Fantasizing about being in relationships with fictional characters was entirely healthy and normal.

That was something you believed to the core. It was fictional; thus, no one but you were to be hurt at the end of the day. The character, being fake, could never have an opinion because you must be real in order to have an opinion. So when you were between boyfriends, you discovered a new anime, and before you could stop yourself, you fell hard for a character.

It started as a mild obsession.

You had looked up fanart via google images, your heart warming when you saw the plethora of different fanart. The anime itself had been in circulation for a few years now, the manga for much longer, so the content was endless. Then google images wasn’t enough, and you began crossing into Twitter and Tumblr.

The fanart became better, more engrossing, and definitely much more NSFW. And then, one night during your endless rabbit hole down Tumblr after your daily search on Twitter, you stilled when seeing a new type of content.

⇒ grey fullbuster x reader

The obsession grew worse.

So much so that you had followed nearly five hundred self insert writers and artists on Tumblr, and maybe seven hundred artists, meta writers, and thread makers on twitter. But three months into consuming all the content you could find, you came across a new name that made you tilt your head.

Hawks Fierce Wings

It was a name that was being repeated and heavily talked about on both sites. It was an ASMR artist, apparently, and you frowned at the thought. You didn’t have anything against ASMR videos, but you weren’t exactly sure how to handle an anime ASMR artist. Were they cosplaying while making all those weird ASMR sounds? You really didn’t have any idea, but due to the immense boredom of your lazy day in, you decided to hell with it and tried out his most popular video.

It was simply entitled: Hawks is Jealous.

Did you have any idea as to who Hawks was? God, no, you didn’t. But if it was just some random cosplay he was going to do, you didn’t think it was going to matter. So as the only slightly educated ASMR listener, you never truly became invested when it was a thing; you slipped on your earbuds and pressed play.

The introduction screen faded into an illustrated picture of a slightly handsome man, and some calming yet tense music played in the background. You shifted, eyebrows drew as you waited for the ASMR session to begin, and when it did, you were not ready.

“I saw you walking around with that asshole today,” a voice practically growled in your ear, and you froze.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Oh, no!

For almost an entire hour, you sat glued to your sofa, your fingers digging into your lap as the jealous, spiteful words of this man named Hawks poured bitterly in your ear. His words were a near aggravated assault on you and definitely something you were beyond uncomfortable hearing from a stranger, but there was something about his voice that kept you there. Maybe it was the tenor of his tone or the way there was this sly, cunning scent to his words that he seemed to hide deep within his throat, but there was something that kept you there.

The second the passionate, heated kissing noises and heavy moans began to spill from his lips, you screeched, slamming your laptop closed as your cheeks pounded heavily.

Oh my god?!

It took a bit, but eventually, you were able to finish the audio and quickly figured out why he was an NSFW artist. You had never, ever heard a man eat a pussy fake or real as eagerly or vigorously as he did. Your hands were gripping the pants of your leggings, and your chest heaved.

Oh, motherfucking shit.

Finding out there were almost seventy other videos for you to still experience sent you scrambling for more, and eventually, you had to confess you were obsessed. Despite the anime fandoms you had discovered him for, Hawks seemed to be more famous for the content he created as himself. His real name was unknown by the looks of it, and he was only addressed as Hawks by his audience, something you caught on to quickly. So only after creating a new profile for his Youtube account, you made quick work of liking and commenting on every single of his already published seventy-eight nearly one hour and thirty-minute videos. 

Each one was different.

Each one filled with various roadmaps on how Hawks' scenarios would play out for you — the listener. When he used his own persona, he called the listener his little dove or his chicken nugget, sometimes his KFC thigh, or his shish kabob. 

You were glad at the very least he didn’t call you by any of those nicknames when pretending to fuck you at a speed only a “porn-is-my-only-education-on-porn” virgin teenage boy. You knew it wasn’t ideal, usually, but for some reason, it just worked. You commented on everything, read his summaries and thoughts on each video. Eventually, when you found yourself on his final, most recent video, you were ready to go a step further.

The Patreon app on your phone seemed jarringly out of place as you opened the app and subscribed yourself to Hawks' highest tiered option for the price of twenty USD.

And when you got your access to his page, you were immersed in more heavier, better content.

It was a goldmine in a sea of fools gold, and you absolutely went insane.

You weren’t sure if you were insane, needy, or just straight-up idiotic for scrolling to the very first Patreon post and indulging in the content Hawks created. 

There was a stark difference between the warnings alone between the Youtube videos and the Patreon posts. While the porn was readily accessible on Youtube, the kinkiest thing that ever happened in a video was a slight implication that Hawks had left the listener on a vibrator and fuckmachine as he went to go talk to the visiting neighbors.

It was a slight, tiny zone out and miss a detail, but one you had clung onto like an obsessed psycho and even commented on in your comment on the post. Of course, Hawks hadn’t responded, not that you had ever expected him to because all things considered, a video that was eight months old and hadn’t done that well, to begin with, didn’t seem like anything he would remember: notifications and all. 

But Patreon? Oh good, sweet, ravishing Patreon.

The very first video was of the following:

Stepbrother!Hawks fucks Stepsister!Listener in the stairwell during Christmas Dinner.

After praying and swearing to all the deities of the world that you were merely a person with a voice kink for this man and not, in fact, a perverted pseudo-incest worshiper, you clicked on it and began. It was downright sinful.

There were active voices whispered in the background as Hawks laughed about how fucking slutty you were for letting your brother fuck you like this. In the hallway, like a dog, where anyone in your joint family could walk out into. He laughed that you probably wanted it, how your wet ass pussy was greedily sucking him in, so how could you even begin to deny your lust for your brother.

You had to take a break five times during that audio.

Eventually, you do end up catching up.

Each video he had ever posted to your disposal, and most likely due to the different tier levels, you always commented on the videos. Even if it made you feel awkward for lusting over things months old, even if there were no other comments on the videos, which was much more common than you thought, you always commented and liked. It wasn’t anything ever crazy, you had seen the rarest comments bring a whole essay of analysis on why they loved it or the hating words, but you kept it simple.

Just something to keep Hawks spirits high without draining you even further of energy.

A simple: holy shit, that was hot as fucking hell!!!! you never disappoint me!!!

You never expected anything out of it; as a matter of fact, you had merely thought that you were doing the least by merely appreciating his creations when, one night, a few hours after you had gotten home. Your phone chimed with an alert.

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ in surprise; you hadn’t realized there was going to be a new release after he had just updated four days ago. Still, you popped in your earbuds and began the audio with a simple title.

i fuk ur stupid lil pus until u cri

He wasn’t precisely putting much effort into his titles these days, but his tags were definitely accurate and entirely explicit in what was to come. And in this newest video, the prominent tag was degradation.

You weren’t entirely into degradation, but still, you did what you had to do because you weren’t turned off by it. With the beginning sounds of the music playing in the background, you warped into the situation Hawks carefully carved.

But, oh?

Your face simmered with heat as Hawks dirty words dripped from the earbuds, the wet, squelching noise of your cunt and throat being fucked like some inanimate object made you soak through your panties as his disparaging words burned against your spine like a hot brand. After the thirty-minute audio was finished. Your body trembling with the aftershocks of an orgasm that had come despite the lack of actual stimulation of your clit, and you panted on your bed.

Opening your phone once again, you quickly liked the new audio and typed out your comment.

listen, i know i always comment about how fucking hot this shit is, but i have /never/ fucking soaked through my panties… you just did that and i expect a full refund for these panties 💦

You pressed send and, without so much of a second thought, continued your night. You had dinner, talked with friends, and ended the night curled back on the couch with a wine glass in your hand and a simple sit-com playing on the TV. The familiar sound of the Patreon alert rang in your ear, and you frowned, confused.

Grabbing your phone, you opened up the device and nearly shrieked at the sight of the information the notification that said:

Hawks F.W.: lets see those panties before i refund anything

A chill ran down your spine as you quickly put together the indications of this message, and you smirked, despite your quivering hands. 

Me: I have a seven inch dick requirement before seeing any of the goods — yes, that includes my panties

And from that very moment, you began a strange arrangement between you and the NSFW ASMR artist Hawks.

.

..

.

Working was the worst part of your life, you would say.

At work, you would sit in your small 4x4 cubicle, your shelves stacked with plenty of papers and items you needed, not to mention the computer that took up the majority of your desk. You weren’t quite sure what your job here was, you sort of sat at your desk and did meaningless assignments when assigned, but you did nothing for the most part. 

Before becoming an active Hawks stan, you would spend your time doing nothing playing video games. You had somehow managed to install a VPN onto your hard drive so that your employers wouldn’t be able to see what was on your screen outside of the home screen. They couldn’t trace what you did all day, but they could care less, given you got all your work completed on time and done in an over exceptional way.

But lately, since you had dropped into this… engrossed whore like relationship with Hawks, things changed. 

To be honest, it still shocks you to no end when he tells you that he had always been aware of you. Well, with your consistent, ever appearing comments on his posts and overall enthusiasm for everything he posted, it was hard to not be aware. The mental image of your soaked through panties after a long day at his own work had sent him over the edge, and he finally messaged you.

Through the DM’s in Patreon, the two of you grew to become quite the friends with benefits. He would send you countless personalized audio files because you had quickly confessed to your voice kink and how his voice sent your stomach into hormonal knots. In return, you’d send the picture of an occasional soaked panty, and if he was lucky, an audio clip of your pathetic whines back to his audios.

You couldn’t complain about this arrangement.

But as the number of his patrons doubled, and he wanted to entice his subscribers with paying him even more money, Hawks began to offer a bimonthly personalized five minute audios for his $20 tier. The fans poured into that spot, and Hawks and proudly sent you the new number of adoring fans he was getting. On account of growing platforms such as Tiktok, the number of new listeners he got was nearly exponential, as he currently passed one million followers last week. 

The cheeky bastard was also making enough money to stop working his regular work hours anymore. Choosing to transition slowly into his Patreon career while recording.

Hawks, however, seemed to have other ideas for your eventual personalized voice audio.

Hawks had simply asked if, by any chance, you were going to be working tomorrow the night before. Groaning loudly in recognition of your work schedule, you had texted him back that you were going to be working. Snidely including the fact that you weren’t rich like him, you needed the tedious old nine to five job.

Hawks: how utterly boring anyway u can b free around 2?

Me: Eh… probably not. Busy girl w busy schedule, ill be back from lunch so no break Why?

Hawks: well, u knw tht uve been amzing & th bst follower so i wanted 2 give u smthing better then the personalized audio

Me: Oh? Well, what is it?’

Hawks: pick up tmrw n find out

He had changed the subject immediately afterward by dodging all of your questions with ease. So you dropped it, and the two of you resumed a night of flirting. But now, sitting in your small cubicle, your eyes flashing to the clock that read 1:57 p.m., sweat began to build on your palm.

You peered down to your phone as you waited for something, anything from Hawks to show up. The fucker was too cheeky, evasive, and quick for his own good. You felt like pouting as you glared at the phone, waiting for the screen to light up.

And you stilled when finally, at precisely 1:59 p.m., your phone gleamed with light. You couldn’t abandon your computer mouse quicker than you did as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and reading the message from Hawks.

Hawks: do u have earbuds?

Me: Yes?

Hawks: good put them on n pick up

The moment you had read the first message, you were already pulling out your earbuds, synching them up to your phone, and placing them into your ear. But your jaw dropped when, for the first time, the call feature highlighted onto the screen, the time immediately changing to that of 2:00 p.m. The decline or accept button had never looked as daunting as it did right now.

Despite the call trying to go through, you still saw his follow up.

Hawks: if u dont pick up u wont get shit

[Accept]

You felt your heart hammering in your chest as both fear, apprehension, and excitement boiled through your veins, the hammering blood pounding in your ears as you waited for some sort of noise on the opposite side of the line.

“Little dove?” Hawks' voices filled your ears, and despite yourself, you smiled softly. The naturalness of his voice sends warm thumps down your spine.

“Hi, Hawks,” you whisper breathlessly, your head already checking to make sure your neighboring cubicle mates didn’t try to look over the divisions to stare at you. For the most part, the office building was quiet except for the phone calls, the clanking of computer keys, and the monotonous music playing softly on the speaker's head. 

“Whatcha doing?” he drawled, and you felt your skin heat up when you heard the all too familiar sound of his shoes hitting the top of his desk, the soft whine of his chair as he leaned back onto it. “Are you really at work?”

“What do you mean, am I really at work?” you squeaked, half horrified at the way the lazy, warm heat of lust was infiltrating your body at the sound of his voice, and the annoyance that he thought you had been lying? “Of course I am; it’s two p.m. on a Wednesday!”

“Ah, so little dove-chan is a raging pervert who engages in phone sex to bypass her long hours at work?” Hawks sighed his tone that of understanding and dismissal. You splutter. “You never fail to surprise me.”

“I do not do… that!” you stammer, your face feeling like hot cinders, your fingers and eyes double-checking to make sure that the audio was going to your earbuds and your earbuds only. You also couldn’t help the way your eyes swept around you, trying to make sure you hadn’t accidentally invited unwanted attention. “I said I was busy!”

“But, you picked up my call?”

“You said, or else!”

“Mmm, okay, I think I see,” Hawks tutted, and although you had never seen what you supposed to be his handsome face, you could imagine a lazy, toothy smirk on his face. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind using your little cubicle to talk you into fucking yourself good for me.”

Your jaw drops.

It hits the desk, and the muffled shriek of utter humiliation is only silenced because you bit onto your tongue like a rabid animal.

“Aw, you sound so excited for me already, little dove. I bet you want to know what I’m going to do to you, don’t you? I just know that I’m going to make you feel so... good…”

“Hawks!” you plea in a hushed whisper, your heart hammering where you sat frozen like a deer in headlights. Sure, you had definitely played his audios before to pass the time, but never before in your existence had you had actual phone sex. This was riskier than just listening to his audios; his audios always had a pattern, a way to escape from the madness of his voice when people were closer than you’d like. But this? No, there was no escape. “I’m at work! I c-can’t!”

“But, fuck, I want you so bad,” Hawks' voice dipped into a gravely tone, his voice just perfectly scratchy enough that your shoulders trembled in unspoken, untouched want. “I want to feel your cunt around my cock, baby, your pussy is so hot and I want to be the fucking lucky bastard that gets to fuck you through your bed.”

“O-Oh my god…”

“I’ve been thinking of what your tits look like,” Hawks continues on, his voice continuing in the style you liked the most. It was raw, heavy, and deep. No character impersonations, just him, pure Hawks. “I hope they bounce the way they do when I imagine you riding me. I want to see you moan when I kiss the underside of your tit, I want to see your face when you realize that you’re my girl, nobody's else's, but mine.”

Heat floods your panties at his words, your shallow breaths making him chuckle on the other end. 

“You’d be so lucky to be just mine, wouldn’t you, little dove?” Hawks snaps, his voice demanding a response, and you heave.

You look around, no one is near, and you croak out: “I’d be so lucky.”

“Louder.”

“I’d be so lucky.”

“Mm, there we go,” Hawks laughs, and your ears prickle for any noise that may indicate that someone was listening in. “What? Are you getting nervous that your needy ass will be heard by your coworkers right now? Answer me.”

“Mhmm,” you hum loudly, your cunt pulsing with more incredible heat and your hands shaking with a slight fear of being caught.

“Aww, don’t worry, little dove. I’m sure your boss will understand that you’re my newest fucktoy and will let me continue. Maybe they’ll want to join in?”

You whimper softly, shifting in your seat at that thought. You didn’t really want your boss coming anywhere near you, he was old and gross for one, and nothing could take the place of this beautiful man's voice in your ear right now.

“Oh, was that a no? You don’t want other people fucking you, do you, y/n? I bet you only want to have my cock in your tight little pussy, bet you want to watch the way that greedy little thing sucks me in, begging for my seed. Would you want me to cum deep inside you? You would like that little dove; you’d like to be full of my cum.”

“H-Hawks,” you keen as quietly as you can, your hips shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your heart hammering in your throat. The pressing heat in your cunt is growing, your panties growing with wet slick as Hawks' voice whispers down your ear, filling every empty and void space in your brain until you were having trouble focusing on the very much public spot you were in.

Hawks let out a soft, guttural moan, and you froze, face entirely combusting into an inferno as the familiar slick slapping of his fapping cock filled your ear. Immediately, you forgot everything.

“A-Are you—?!” you splutter, unable to find the words or the energy to come up with a way to ask if he was masturbating right now. Your eyes spun, your mind in a complete haze as soft, raunchy moans spilled from his lips, striking against your nerves and soul with each successive sound.

“I’m only trying to help you out here, dove,” Hawks growled, undoubtedly in effect to a rather loud smack of his fist colliding with his thrusting hip. “You’re the little office slut who picked up a phone call to entice in phone sex. I bet you knew exactly what I was going to do, and your pathetic, needy whore self caved to my instructions.”

Your fingers curled into the armrest of your chair.

“I bet this makes your boring ass job tolerable, the perfect distraction to a shit job, then imagining a few minutes of fucking yourself against my hard cock.”

“That’s not true!”

“No?” Hawks laughed, not believing you any more than you did. “So you wouldn’t hate it if I showed up and fucked you into the wall of your cubicle? You wouldn’t mind if I claimed your sweet-smelling pussy against your desk for everyone to hear? I know you can scream like a bitch in heat. I know that pretty little cunt of yours would milk my cock dry. Oh, I just know you would look so fucking sexy with your back arched, eyes closed, and you begging for hours just to cum. You wouldn’t cum without my permission, right?”

You gasped, heart fluttering, hammering in your chest as you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I need a verbal answer, little dove.”

The heat in your core was blistering, your thighs shaking with your unadulterated lust and need as you ground into the cushion of your chair. All logic and moral long gone as he snarled and moaned your name in your ear, the slick of his fapping cock echoing like a great bell in your ear. You wanted to hear him cum, wanted to listen to the pithering sound of his echoing moans as he spilled the contents of his balls onto his hand — and how you wished it was your womb.

“I won’t cum w-without your permission!” you whispered, your skin shivering with your fear of being caught. 

“God, you sound like such a dirty fucking bitch. I bet your pussy is fucking soaked already. Bet you really want to run that slutty embarrassed finger against your clit but don’t want to be caught by your perverted coworkers,” Hawks hissed, his breaths turning into steady, heavy hot pants. You mewl softly, confirming his spoken thoughts, and he huffs out a laugh. “How many fingers do you normally shove up that pretty cunt of yours, little dove?”

“T-Three!” you gasp, your forehead pressing to the cool of your desk, your eyes glazed over and looking at the entrance of your cubicle, fervently wishing that no one tries to check on you as you grind against your stable chair. “O-Only three fit.”

“Fuck, you really do have a tight cunt, don’t you,” Hawks snaps, the wet sounds of his fisting hand around his cock a beautiful melody in your ear that makes you whine at the back of your throat. “Bet you can’t even fit cocks up your cunt without lube, huh. You gotta stay on top, or else you’ll get hurt with how thick and long my cock will be up that baby pussy of yours.”

“H-Hawks!” you grit out, the friction of grinding on the seat no longer working.

“Go to the bathroom, now,” Hawks commands, the small gasps on his voice from his approaching orgasm more than enough ammo for you to do as told.

You sprint to the bathroom, the slick of your cunt hot, and evident to you as you sped to the bathroom. Your phone clenched in your hand as you locked the door behind you, glad the room was empty. Barely managing to get yourself into the stall, the toilet paper placed on the seat as you raised your legs up, already prepared. The skirt you wore was bunched above your ass, and the panties you wore, stretching out around your knees.

“Sounds like you’re ready to start fucking that pussy for me,” Hawks laughs, but there's no humor, just bite. “Put in three fingers, now.”

Without even arguing or caring, three fingers slip into your cunt, and you cry at the feeling of your fingers completely stretching you out. The smell of sex and slick filling your nose as your fingers slick up, fucking your tight cunt as you moan louder and louder for Hawks. 

“God, your fucking pussy is so fucking wet, I can hear it from here!” Hawks moans, the frantic sound of his drilling hips gaining speed and momentum. 

“I want it to be you!” you moan, your face burning in your humiliation. “I want it to be you fucking my pussy, claiming me in this bathroom. I need you, Hawks, I want your cock so badly!”

“Fuck,” Hawks gasps, something tumbling in the background. “Such sweet words for a fucking dirty ass cumslut,” he growls, and your legs shake, your clit and cunt thrumming with your increasing arousal and pit of tightness in your core. 

“HAWKS, FUCK!” you sob as your hips try to start a merciless speed against your fingers, your body trying to match the speed in which Hawks was fucking his own hand.

“Keep screaming my name, whore.” Hawks gasps, his noises of pleasure beginning to grow louder and louder, your eyes crossing in satisfaction. “Screaming my name like the fucking slutty mess you are. All this shit just to get me to fuck you? God, you’re so fucking pathetic y/n. Begging for me, begging for more? I think you’re my favorite little dove ever, gonna make you mine whenever I get to fuck that pussy.”

“Hawks!” you wail his name again, your arms and pussy throbbing with the energy it takes to keep up with his inhumane speeds. Your vision seeing stars as you tremble more and more, your legs slipping from the toilet seat, yet. “I am your whore, your little dove. Please let me come, please! You fuck me so well, fucking hell, please, I needa cum, I needa cum!”

“Cum with me,” he snaps, his voice so deep, so dangerously smooth. It was precisely what you needed, the voice kink you had for his tenor exactly fulfilled entirely with that simple, last command. And just like that, your jaw slackens, head slamming backward, and pleasurable waves crash through you.

Your fingers still rock at your clit, and your vice gripped walls, your toes curling within your shoes as you soundlessly scream. Hawks, on the other end, is practically snarling, voice deep and altogether dangerous as grunt after grunt leaves him, and you can imagine the milk-white cum splattered all over his chest and hand. A beautiful, perfect sight that you wish you could see for yourself.

Exhaustion settles in your bones as you sit on the toilet, still entirely exhausted as you heave for air. 

“I think that was the best fucking orgasm I ever had,” you mumble, your eyes closed, not ready to stand up and move. “Thank you.”

“I’m good at what I… at what I do,” Hawks stumbles, husky exhaustion ringing in his own voice. “Now, little dove, finish up work, and I promise there’ll be a surprise waiting for you when you’re done.”

Not entirely agreeing, but not disagreeing with his command to go finish you last… two and a half hours at work, you begrudgingly said goodbye to Hawks before washing your hands and exiting the bathroom.

When five o’clock came, you watched as your phone screen lit up, and your face flushed as you read the DM from Hawks.

Hawks: this is my fav audio now ↳ hawks_littledove.mp3 but you surprised me today, so in case u ever want to have more fun sometime  call me 03-9183-2495 ;)

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

--

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.