#which was also going to be interesting and incredible and i should probably look at it at LEAST once or twice XD

[cuddlytogas]

yesterday some friends and i went to the special ancient egyptian pharoahs exhibit at the ngv, and i got so utterly entranced by a linen funeral shroud, i think i saw god and/or went completely insane for about fifteen minutes

the fibres were so fine. and not just fine, they were uniform. it was from the roman period, so only (only!) 2,000 years old, but the fibres were still so fine and uniform

i'm not good at identifying weft and warp on a piece of fabric - i think i got it wrong while i was looking at it - and obviously it's very hard to know what's inherent to the fabric and what's the product of degradation over time or mishandling, but there was this long, thin tear right down the middle, and i thought it was maybe a seam that had come apart, but the painting alignment didn't quite fit that, and there were a few threads crossing through it that i could see, so i wonder if maybe one or two weft threads had degraded or torn or been pulled loose. but the tear was so straight and exact, and held together at one end by the other fibres, it was so incredible to see

and there were a couple of places where i thought there were slightly chunkier threads - it happens all the time in modern linens - but when i looked closer, i could see that actually it was two threads in the same part of the weave (warp threads, i think?)

and again, okay, could be a product of the degradation, or damage - but also... it could so easily have been a slight fault in the manufacturing, and i don't know the first thing about ancient egyptian weaving techniques, or what kind of loom they did or didn't use, or any of that - but still, it was so easy to imagine these two warp threads being set slightly too close together on a loom, and being caught together by the weft, and leaving this slightest bulge, this perfect imperfection in the cloth

it was beautifully, intricately, colourfully painted, too, yes - but underneath that, i can only imagine that lovely dun, beige colour was unbleached and undyed; and yet again, yes, of course it would've darkened with age and use - it was a funeral shroud, there was a corpse under it once - but to look at this linen and see the colour of the flax two thousand years ago, it's just - absolutely mind-boggling

the whole exhibit was deliberately structured around highlighting the craftsmanship behind the artefacts, as well as the power, social structures, and cultural significance they represented, which was fairly well done. I watched that video after seeing the exhibition, and in hindsight, yeah, I did notice that many of the labels highlighted the detail and excellence of the items, and they had things like jewellery moulds and scribe's tools, as well as the big impressive statues and murals. at least a couple of the room introduction wall texts made sure to mention craftspeople; and there were a few places dedicated to both the bureaucratic structures, and working people and villages, that created and kept up the temples and palaces.

but there was also definitely a slight lack of information, i felt, in regard to the crafts, especially if that was their goal. i might also just be underestimating the general public, but there were a few times where we were wondering what something in an image was, but found nothing in the label; and it would've been cool if they, perhaps, had images or recreations of craftspeople in the period showing how the items would have been made.

like, obviously i'm biased towards the fabric, because that's my craft - and to be clear, the shroud was part of the room on jewellery and adornment, with the label pointing out the jewellery worn by the painted figure, rather than the craft of the item itself. but it would've been cool to have, in this example, either a contemporary image or a recreated one of what tools would have been used for the spinning and weaving of this cloth, and by what groups.

there were many parts of the exhibit where you could see on the glass where people had pressed their hands or noses or foreheads to try and get close, to see the intricate work on tiny rings or murals or votive items, the engraving and carving and painting done with such incredible skill. and again, they had those scribe's tools, and jewellery moulds, a few weapons, and (iirc) both ritual and functional builder's tools. which i DID VERY MUCH appreciate!

but fibre arts are already often devalued in our culture, and with industrialisation, we've really lost sight of the work and skill that, for thousands of years, went into making fabric. i would've loved to have seen them highlight not just the image of jewellery on this shroud, but the shroud itself.

because, yeah: this linen was beautiful. and to see this cloth, with these fibres that are finer and more uniform than many modern fabrics... like, obviously it's very good linen - the label only said it was for a woman called Isetweret, not what her status was, but i think it's a safe bet she wasn't the proletariat - but still.

just. i really fucking love history, oh my god

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I think the reader's response to this post is probably going to either be "That's incredibly minor" or "Holy shit YES I'M ALSO PROUD", depending on people's personal experiences with academia, but:

Today I am incredibly proud of one of my students.

In the interests of disguising identities, let's call them Ceri. Ceri is one of my third year undergrads (meaning their final year, for anyone unfamiliar with UK uni systems.) They transferred to us last year, and within two weeks I was giving them the contact info to get to Student Services and get themself screened for ADHD; they have some mental health struggles, but I clocked pretty quickly that they STRUGGLE with procrastination, and punctuality, and attending 9am lectures in particular. Naturally, as is the way of my people, it took them a further four months to remember to go to the screening. Lol. Lmao. Rofl, in fact.

But, they did it eventually! Their screening lit up like a Christmas tree at the ADHD section, and they got a free laptop and optional one week extensions and a study support worker named Claire. This has helped tremendously, and although mental health + until-then-unsupported ADHD meant their academic profile had slid sideways somewhat, with the new tools available and a couple of resits they passed the year and hit this year running.

Until, that is, the last fortnight.

Now, I take them for a Habitat Management module that has two assessments: an academic poster presentation before Christmas, and a site-specific management plan in May. Naturally this means we are at that happy point in the year for the poster presentations. I give out the briefs at the start of the year, so they've had them since October; I've also been periodically checking in with them all for weeks, to make sure they don't have any major burning questions. The poster presentation was to pick a species reintroduction project, pull the habitat feasibility study out of it, and then critique that study; Ceri chose to look at the hen harrier reintroductions proposed for the southern UK. All good.

Which brings us nicely to today! Ceri's presentation is scheduled for 2.30. At 11am-1pm, I am lecturing the first years on Biodiversity, while Ceri is learning about environmental impact assessment with a colleague I shall call Aeron. This means we are separately occupied during those same hours.

Nevertheless, Aeron messages me at about 12.

"I think Ceri needs to see you after your lecture," he writes. "They're panicking, I genuinely think they might cry. I'm worried. Are you free at 1?"

I say I am. At 1, I get lunch and sit in the common area; Ceri comes to see me. To my personal shame, imagine all of the following takes place while I stuff my face with potato.

Now: this part is going to be uncomfortably familiar to anyone who has ever tried higher education with ADHD, especially unmedicated. It certainly was for me. All I can say is, I never had the courage to take the step here that Ceri did.

"I have to confess," they said quietly, and Aeron was right, they were fighting back tears. "My mental health has been so, so bad for the last fortnight. I've left it way, way too late. I don't have anything to present."

"Nothing at all?" I asked.

"I've been researching," they said helplessly. "I found loads on the decline of the hen harrier. But it wasn't until last night that I finally found a habitat feasibility study to critique. Generally... I've been burying my head about it, and it just got later and later. I thought I should come in for Aeron's lecture, and I should at least tell you."

This part is a minor thing, right? But honestly, I remember being in the grip of that particular shame spiral. I never did manage to tell my lecturers to their faces. I just avoided. I honestly can't imagine having the courage it took them to come in and tell me this, rather than just staying home and avoiding me.

"I think..." they said hesitantly, "I know I can submit up to a week late, for a capped mark. I think I need to do that, and apply for extenuating circumstances. But then I'll have both Aeron's assignment and yours due at the same time."

Which meant they would crumble under the pressure and likely struggle to pass both; so me, being as noble and heroic as I unarguably am, stopped eating potato and said, "Let's make that plan B."

(It was good potato. I am a hero.)

So, we made plan A: I moved their timeslot to 4.30, giving them three and a half hours. The shining piece of luck in this whole thing was that this was the crunch time assignment - if it had been Aeron's, they'd have had to try and write a 3000 report in that time. But for me, all they had to write was an academic poster, and those things are light on words by design. We found them a Canva template, and then we quickly sketched out a recommended structure based on the brief: if it's habitat feasibility, look at food availability, nesting site availability, and mortality risks in the target release site. Bullet point each. Bullet point how well the study assessed each. Write a quick intro and conclusion. Take notes as you go, and present the poster itself at 4.30.

"You think I should try?" they asked doubtfully, looking like I'd just asked them to go mano-a-mano with a feral badger.

"If you run out of time, so be it," I said. "But your brain is trying to protect you from a non-existent tiger. That's why you've procrastinated - it's been horrible, and you've been shame spiralling, and your brain is trying to shield you from the negative experience; but it's the wrong type of help for this situation! So while you're sitting there working on it, hating life, every time your brain goes 'This is hopeless, I can't do it', you think right back 'Yes I can, it just sucks.' And you carry on. Good?"

"Good," they said. "I'm going to mainline coffee and hole up in the library. Enjoy your potato."

And then, of course, I had to go and watch the other students' presentations, so that was the end of me being any help at all. I spent all afternoon wondering if they were going to manage it, or if I would be getting a message at 4.25 telling me they'd failed, and would have to submit late and hope for an EC.

And Tumblrs

Tumblrs

Let me FUCKING tell you

They turned up at 4.15, fifteen minutes early, wearing a mask of grim, harrowed determination and fuelled by spite and coffee, and they pulled up that poster and started presenting and yes, okay, I'll admit their actual delivery was dramatically unpolished and yes, they forgot to include the taxanomic name for the hen harrier on the poster and yes, fine, I admit that there were more than a few awkward moments where they lost their place in their hastily scribbled notebook but LET ME FUCKING TELL YOU -

They smashed it. It was well-critiqued, it had a map, it had full citations, it had a section on the hen harrier's specific ecology and role in the ecosystem, it had notes on their specific conservation measures. They described case studies they'd read about elsewhere. They answered the questions we threw at them with competence and depth. There was analysis. All that background research they'd done came right to the fore. They were even within the time limit by 15 seconds.

You would never have known they'd produced it in three hours, from a quivering and terrified mess fighting the bodily urge to dehydrate via tear ducts. After they left, the second marker and I looked at each other and went "So that was a 2:1, right?"

I caught up with Aeron downstairs and he was beaming. Apparently Ceri had seen him on their way out, and had gone over to talk to him. Aeron said the difference between the Ceri of this morning and the Ceri of then was like two different people; in four hours, they'd gone from their voice literally breaking as they admitted the problem, ashamed and broken, to being relaxed and happy and smiling.

"I reckon I've passed," they apparently told Aeron, pleased. "Maybe even a 2:2. There's things I wish I'd had the time to do better, but I'll be happy if I passed."

They won't know until late January what they got, because we're not allowed to release marks until 20 term days after hand-in, and the Christmas holidays are about to hit. But I'm really hoping I can be there when they're released.

But mostly, I'm just... insanely proud of them. I cannot tell you how happy I am. And I know, I know, obviously this is not a practice I would want to see them do regularly, or indeed ever again, and it only worked because they were fucking lucky with the assignment format, but like... when life is just punching you in the face, and you hit a breaking point... isn't it nice? That just this once, you pull off a miracle, and it's fixed? The disaster you thought was about to ruin you is gone? To get that relief?

Anyway. Super super proud today.

[balioc]

Looking at the world from a manager's perspective, you can productively model the pool of workers as being divided into a few basic groups, which are defined and characterized by their driving motivations.

Insert all the usual disclaimers for this sort of thing - this is the roughest type of rough typology. I pulled these categories out of my raw intuition, and possibly a few more would crop up with some additional thought. In reality, the boundaries of these categories are incredibly fuzzy, and almost every individual is actually going to be motivated by a complicated mix of all the relevant motivations; we're talking REALLY SIMPLE HEURISTICS here. Etc.

There have been other well-known worker typologies that share a lot in common with my thoughts here; this is mostly not novel, it's mostly meant to refine a few ideas for particular purposes.

Hustlers are motivated by concrete personal advantage. Most commonly, and most straightforwardly, they want money - as much of it as they can get. They may also be interested in fame, idiosyncratic perks, etc. They do whatever they have to do in order to get what they want.

No surprise: you see huge preponderances of these guys in fields that provide outsize concrete rewards, e.g. finance, the upper echelons of management, etc. But not every natural-born Hustler is in a position to enter a glitzy high-paying field, and in fact you find Hustlers all throughout society and all throughout the economy, finding or making hustles wherever they go.

Having Hustlers working for you is mostly pretty great. They get shit done. They can be induced to work incredibly hard - probably harder than anyone else, under most circumstances - and they'll shank their own mothers if the price is right. If you need anything really important from them, anything at all, it's just a matter of bribing them enough.

...they will also, of course, cheerfully shank you if the price is right. Hustlers aren't the only wellsprings of institutional politics and infighting, but they're the most dangerous ones; they're always potential rivals to everyone around them. Also, you need to keep the tangible rewards flowing in a steady stream in order to get anything out of them, or else they'll put most of their effort into jumping ship (one way or another).

Craftsmen are motivated by the desire to do good work in their chosen fields, for its own sake and for the sake of their treasured self-image as people who do good work.

As you'd expect, for the most part, they're excellent workers and should be prized. But they're not perfect workers. Common weaknesses and downsides include:

They tend to have their own ideas about How Things Should Get Done; they're often resistant to externally-imposed product/service requirements or process changes (and bad at implementing those things) (no matter how important or well-conceived they are), and they're very resistant to "just get it out the door, right now done is better than good."

Being driven chiefly by internal motivation is great, but sometimes it's useful to be able to push things along with external motivators, and Craftsmen are pretty resistant to those. They don't like working more or harder than they're naturally inclined to work, they mostly sneer at carrots, and sticks make them sad and unproductive.

It's important to note that, while noteworthy skill within a field correlates with having a Craftsman temperament and motivation suite - for obvious reasons - those things are not identical at all. Plenty of Craftsmen are bad at their jobs, or just average, and plenty of the best workers are most motivated by things other than the Excellence of the Work Itself.

Fanatics are a relatively rare and specialized group, whom you find mostly within a few specific sorts of culturally-valorized fields. They're motivated by a desire to be part of something Important and Good in a Broader Sense: to Save the World, or some smaller-bore version of that.

They make amazing front-line soldiers, in the sorts of institutions that have "front-line soldiers." They work super hard, and you don't even need to bribe them, you just need to keep them hopped up on inspiration.

The big problem with them is that they're mostly motivated by a feeling - the feeling of Being Righteous - and it's not easy to control where they get that feeling, in any kind of precise way. They're just as resistant to external motivators as Craftsmen are, or even more so, but they're also not being guided by an ideal of effective quality. (No, not even if their chosen cause is theoretically all about an ideal of effective quality, hem hem.) They will happily waste vast amounts of time and money doing useless things, or even counterproductive things, so long as they're engaged in tasks that hit the right psychological buttons for them. There's also a constant risk that a Fanatic will decide that his employer is unrighteous, or that one of his coworkers is unrighteous, and start an internal conflict; the risk scales in a more-than-linear fashion with the number of Fanatics you keep around.

The biggest group, unsurprisingly, is the Normies. In most fields, it is much the biggest group. Normies are motivated by the desire to be members in good standing of their communities, to have positive relationships with the people around them, and to live up to basic norms and expectations.

Managerial skills, in the traditional sense, are incredibly important with Normies. If you want them to do good work for you - and you should want that, as a manager, you've almost certainly got a whole bunch of them - not only do you have to keep them pointed in the right direction, you have to make sure that they're supporting each other. With Hustlers, you just have to throw money at them (and avoid their power plays); with Craftsmen, you just have to let them do their thing, and occasionally badger them into giving you what you need; with Fanatics, you just have to be inspirational; but with Normies, you have to lead, and construct a productive community. You have to set reasonable, achievable norms and expectations that will get you what you need.

This wouldn't be complete if I didn't talk about the Defectors. The Defectors are motivated by not working. They don't want to be there, they resent having to do their jobs, and their primary goal is to shirk as much as possible. They will, by default, put much more effort into shirking than into their assigned tasks.

Obviously, managers don't want to have to deal with them, for good reason. But they're out there, in large numbers - not always in the places and fields where you'd expect to find them - and learning to manage them is sometimes more viable than trying to get rid of them. ("Moving Heaven and Earth to find them jobs that will change their attitude" is often a good plan, although of course it's not always possible and not always worth it.)

Crucially, Defectors are not Normies. If you start with the assumption that the average baseline worker is lazy and sour, you will make some incredibly stupid decisions. There are some fields where, for structural reasons, you can expect that a very large number of your workers will be Defectors; this is a huge and complicated challenge, well beyond the scope of this post, and good luck to you if you have to handle it, but it's not the default.

----------------------

Once you have those categories in your head, and can play with them, a number of obvious-seeming ideas present themselves. Just a couple, for now:

Most high-level executives are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies, for obvious reasons. Most of the people around them are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies. This means that they tend to overweight the Hustler outlook, by a lot, when they try to model what their workers are like. More specifically, I'd wager that a lot of them intuitively divide the world into "good workers" ( = Hustlers) and "bad workers" ( = Defectors). This will lead to a heavy overreliance on tangible rewards, a systematic shortchanging of community-building, etc. Which is in fact just what we see.

In particular - crucially - Hustlers and Defectors are the only worker types who ever become more productive under heavy stress. Hustlers actually benefit from it, because it raises the stakes of the game that they're already playing. (If you succeed, you'll be king of the world! If you fail, you'll be shark food! Go go go!) Defectors suffer terribly from stress, of course, but they can sometimes be spooked into doing their jobs as opposed to doing nothing, and sometimes that's the best/easiest way to get something out of them. But stress is terrible for everyone else. Craftsmen lose their focus. Fanatics lose their hope. It's worst of all for Normies, because they take all their cues from the vibes around them; they're productive when they learn to associate work with comfort and happiness, and when you fill their working world with frantic desperation, you just put them in a permanent cringe state.

stop trying to pit your Normies against each other in competitions for status and rewards dear God what are you stupid

To some extent, you can control your institution by controlling what types of workers you have. But only to some extent. There are only so many Hustlers and Craftsmen to go around, and if you want them, you will have to (a) be able to identify them reliably on little information [HINT: you are probably very bad at this], and (b) provide them with what they want [tangible rewards / comfortable security and interesting work]. "We are going to employ only the good special people" is feasible if you're an outfit of four workers; at a dozen, it's already become a stretch; at a few hundred, uh, pfffffffft. If you want to operate at scale, you need to be able to make Normies do good work, there is no substitute for it.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Another dp x dc cause why not. Tim is 19 and Jason is 22, and these murderous middle children are hanging out on patrol when the chaotic little shit that is a 16 y/o Danny Fenton crash lands on their roof. He detransformed while flying due to exhaustion.

Danny: Owwww

Jason: Holy shit, kid, are you alright??

Tim: Where did you fall from?

Danny, testing himself for injuries: Eh, I've had worse. Not even top five on my list of crash landings

Jason: That's not helping your case.

Danny, finally looks at the brothers mid getting up: Holy Shit! You're Red Hood and Red Robin! Man, I know so many people who are going to be soooo jealous.

Tim: Even of the crash landing part?

Danny, beaming: Crash landing is, like, the least embarrassing thing I could have done to meet y'all.

Jason: That sounds like a story.

Tim: Also incredibly unsafe. Are you sure you're okay?

Danny, shrugs: Yeah, I'm good. Just tired, probably gonna take a nap soon. Can you point me to the nearest graveyard?

Jason: Why.. why do you need to go to the nearest graveyard?

Danny: To nap?

Jason: Just- Why are you planning to nap in a graveyard?

Danny, realizing that what he said is not normal: ... because it helps? And I'm less likely to be harassed?

Tim, curiously: How does it help?

Danny: uuuh... don't tell batman?

Jason and Tim share a look and come to a silent agreement.

Tim: Only if you tell us how you ended up in Gotham.

Danny:.... Yeah, okay, fair. I didn't exactly know I was heading here? I was- I just needed to get away as fast and as far as I could. I picked a direction and flew til I obviously couldn't *gestures to the spot he landed*

Jason, concerned: What or who are you running from?

Danny: Eh, my parents? Local government? Both. My less-than-human-ness got exposed, and I wasn't testing out if my parents' obsession with ghosts would win over any parental love they may have felt. I got shot too many times when they didn't know to have faith in that knowing would help my situation.

Danny: Oh! So my parents are walking OSHA violations and I had an accident that should have killed me. I mean, it kind of did. Which is why graveyard naps help, the ambient ectoplasum makes me heal and regain my energy faster! The other ghosts call me a halfa since I'm an awkward middle ground between the living and dead and....um, I definitely have a concussion

Jason, weakly: What makes you say that?

Danny: My friends and sisters say I'm allergic to straight answers and I'm just putting it all out there. Also wavey

Tim, stepping closer: Wavey?

Danny, tracing invisible waves on a building: Wavey. Can we go to a graveyard now?

Jason, picking Danny up: Sure, kid. You said it helps?

Danny, let's it happen: Yeah.. it's not a cure-all, but it helps

Danny, waits til they're on the ground: Once my head clears, I can probably help with the weirdness of your ectoplasum. Nice to know I'm not alone in the "undead" hero gig

Jason, trips a little: You- wha- Kid?

Tim: Interesting. You can tell he died?

Danny: Yeah? I can sense ectoplasum, the dead, and the undead? It comes with the being dead thing

Jason, pressing a button so his bike has a high back that he can tie Danny to: You seem pretty alive to me

Danny: That's sweet, but if my vitals look anything like a normal human's, I'm actively dying. My heart rate and body temperature are closer to a corpse.

Tim, checks both those things and his eyes: okay, that's scary. And you definitely have a concussion. I believe we should take him to see Leslie, just to make sure his concussion isn't too bad.

Jason: He definitely should see the good doctor before we drop him off for a nap in the graveyard

Danny, panicking: No Doctors! No Hospitals!

Tim: She runs a small clinic, actually. We go to her if we get particularly injured.

Jason: Plus, she ain't no snitch

Danny: I don't know...

Tim: What would make you more comfortable with going?

Danny: I.... I don't know. It's been years since I went to a doctor or clinic.

Tim: Would it help if Hood or I stayed with you the whole time?

Danny: Aren't you supposed to be patrolling Gotham?

Jason: we can do that after we get you set up

Tim: I have a safe house he can stay at after he gets his nap

Jason: Sounds like a plan

Danny: Man, this feels like princess treatment

Tim, frowning: It's basic decency

Danny, head tilt: Is it?

Jason: Yes. How old even are you?

Danny: 16, why?

Tim and Jason share disbelieving looks. They would have pegged him at 13, maybe 14 if malnutrition was involved.

Jason: Dude, what have you been eating? I'm pretty sure Red was bigger than you and he's the smallest bird.

Tim: Asshole

Jason: Baby Bat is taller than you currently, and he's 4 years younger than you. Embrace your short king self, Red

Tim, pouting: Not all of us can have their childhood malnutrition and physical traumas erased by evil cool-aid

Jason: I don't know. Ra's likes you enough you could probably ask

Tim, makes a disgusted face: No thanks. Rather stay short than deal with that creep

Danny, mumbling: why does that name sound familiar? Ra's Ra's Ra's Ra's-

Danny, jolts: Al Gul???

Tim, suspicious: know him?

Danny: Yeah! Worst summoning ever!

Jason: You can be summoned?

Danny, embarrassed: Yeahhhhh, I beat the ghost king in single combat and now am technically king? Sort of? More prince, since I'm considered a baby. Who'd want a 2 year old ruling? I have people I trust making decisions on my behalf til I'm an adult by ghost standards

Jason: Kid.. How is your life even weirder than ours?

Danny, shrugs: I was doomed from birth.

Tim: We'll continue this conversation after Leslie checks you out

Danny: That's fair

Danny not only has a concussion, but his leg is broken (he didn't notice) and has some burns (from his escape). He gets his nap at the graveyard, which does speed up his healing, so Tim and Jason ferry him between the save house and the graveyard several times as he heals. Before Danny knows it, he's been adopted by these 2 vigilantes. Danny shows them his Phantom form at the same time Tim and Jason reveal their civilian IDs.

Tim and Jason gaslight the rest of the batfam about Danny always being there for shits and giggles, just take him to a family dinner and act like nothing is happening. Danny, always one for chaos, plays along. Damian is so mad about. Cass and Steph are delighted. Bruce, Dick, and Duke are so confused, but Duke is happy to not be the only Meta now. Alfred and Barbara learned about Danny beforehand because they know all.

[nachobsns]

Hello - I was impressed and extremely relieved by what you wrote in the post about the cult mentality of the Left RE Israel and accusations of genocide. You mentioned that you bought into the mindset until recently. If it's all right for me to ask, what was it that helped you break out of it? (Please feel free to delete/ignore if you'd rather not answer!)

thank you!! and no worries about asking— i think i put something in my pinned post about how people are welcome to send asks about this stuff, although my story isn’t super interesting. i fell down the typical online rabbithole, a couple weeks after october 7; i knew what had happened, at least vaguely, but the posts trickling onto my dash were all about the (undeniably tragic) loss of life in gaza, with little to no acknowledgment of the hamas atrocities that had started the war, so my narrative was pretty one-sided from the beginning. it just continued to snowball as the months went on and people became more radicalized, calling into question the reality of the 10/7 attacks and the humanity of all israelis. i never went all the way down the pipeline to full-on endorsing hamas or justifying their attacks, at least on a personal level, thank god, but i would reblog other people’s posts referring to hamas as a “resistance movement” and calls to boycott starbucks and mcdonald’s and condemnation of the “zionist media” etc etc etc. what pulled me out of it wasn’t any one thing— if someone had directly called me on my flawed logic and antisemitic biases while i was in this mindset, i doubt it would have done much, just reinforced my belief that i was on the “right side of history” and zionists were aggressors who couldn’t be reasoned with. it was mostly just passive observance and a slow exposure to other perspectives. i’m pretty sure the first post that led me to question my thinking was an ask on jewish-vents, which popped up on my dash in like, late july. this led me down another rabbithole, first scouring every single post on jewish-vents, then moving on to more popular jewish blogs that i had seen on “zionist blocklists” (applesauce42069, xclowniex, and spacelazarwolf were probably some of the blogs that influenced me the most, though i told myself i was just hate-scrolling at first, lol). i felt incredibly guilty seeing all the harm the movement i was a part of had caused to random jews and israelis just trying to live their lives and i realized how it went against everything i believed about how minority groups should be treated. from there, the aspect of actually undoing my thinking and changing my behavior for the better still took several weeks. denial of jewish indigenity to the levant in the face of tantamount archeological and cultural evidence was the first to go, as well as any ambiguity in my feelings about hamas. after that, it’s mostly been a slow process of redefining the idf’s actions from a “genocide” to a “war.” i still believe that what’s happening in gaza is unconscionable and horrific, and that too many innocent civilians have died, but i also understand how difficult it is to fight against a terrorist group that systematically embeds itself in civilian populations, and that the ratio of militant to civilian deaths is incredibly low compared to most urban warfare. i quietly deleted my old blog in early august— if i had directly engaged in harassment against jews, i likely would have kept it to make amends to the harmed parties and put a face to my actions, but as was, i had just contributed to the larger atmosphere of antisemitism on this site, and i felt uncomfortable knowing that i had a blog full of sentiments that no longer matched my values and beliefs. i decided i would be better if i took my endorsement out of the equation entirely, because when you’re looking through the notes of a post, it obviously doesn’t matter if someone who’s reblogged it no longer agrees with what was said— their notes still count as tacit approval, and i did not want approval of this “activism” attached to my online presence. i still have unwanted kneejerk reactions that crop up sometimes, particularly around the fundraiser posts from people “in gaza”; even though i know logically that they have all the markers of scams, there is still a part of me that really wants to believe i could help.

[yelenasbraid]

on your doorstep — joe burrow

summary — he really likes you, but you can’t wrap your head around the fact that he likes you.

warnings — fem!reader, lsu!joe, fluff, absolute sweetness, oblivious reader, flustered joey

note — my very first lsu joe fic 🤭 figured it was needed after the loss last night :( there is a fic coming from the game tho! but probably won’t be out until later this week.

LEAVING OHIO STATE was tough. as much as joe knew that it was going to be better for his football career, he had to start over. again. he didn’t want to meet new people in his classes, again.

to make things worse, some of his credits from ohio state didn’t transfer right. so, he had to retake some of his gen ed classes. it just made joe dread the transfer even more, but as he walked into one of his political science classes, he sat next to one of most beautiful girls he’s seen.

as his first semester went on, he got to know the girl beside him. you were incredibly smart; you grasped the content a lot quicker than he did. you were friendly too, easy to talk to and overall he just liked being around you.

so when it came around to an exam, of course joe asked you to be his study buddy.

“don’t you have practice basically all week?” you asked him as your class ended. he shrugged, offering you that goofy, boyish smile.

“well yeah, but i also really want to pass this class,” he replied, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulders. he was cute, especially with how his hair flipped out from under the snapback. his hair was still long, yet he swore up and down he was going to cut it. you liked it long, you liked how he had this happy-go-lucky thing about him, and you also liked how he wasn’t like some of the other players you met. you were drawn to him, but you kept your distance. you knew of the stigma around football players.

“you kinda need to,” you teased as the two of you exited class. ever since joe met you, he’s wanted to be around you. he found himself enjoying class just because you were in it. he had something to look forward too; you made political science interesting to him. you were normal around him too. when you found out he was the starting quarterback, you didn’t lose your mind, didn’t ask for an autograph, or even give him a look. you simply nodded your head, telling him it was cool, and moved on.

at first he thought he should be offended by how nonchalant you were, but as he got to know you, he wasn’t. he enjoyed the fact you two were friends, and not because he played football.

joe rolled his eyes at your comment as you two walked out of the building. it was a rather warm day in the bayou, the sun pelting down on the both of you as you stopped at a nearby cafe.

he liked how the sun made you glow. he liked how you hated the heat, but still made a point to be out in the sun. every interaction he had with you built a butterfly nest in his stomach, and the longer he knew you, the stronger the butterflies got.

“smoothie?” he asked you as you stood in line at the cafe, pulling out your card.

“of course, it’s too hot to not have a smoothie,” you smiled, looking up at him. he was so effortlessly adorable, but he was also kind. you had a mutual love for marvel and would often go on tangents about theories. you’ve never felt so at home with someone that quickly. you felt safe with him, which bred these annoying butterflies in your stomach. he’d never like you, you were just another friend, right?

“right, and it’s a strawberry yogurt smoothie, right?” he asked again, a prideful yet boyish grin plastered on his face. you looked up at him surprise, smiling.

“i’m surprised you remembered,”

“you get it every time we come here, i can’t help but remember it,” he teased. he remembered your order the second you told him, and he’s not forgotten it since. it’s only been a few months and he wants to be with you for the rest of his life. he was so down bad for you it hurt, but you wouldn’t like him. you didn’t seem the type to go after a football player, right?

“that is very true,” you agreed with a laugh. you went to pay, but joe stepped in front of you. you barely had time to question him before he ordered. he stepped back to wait, you joining him.

"you didn't have to pay for me," you told him as you stood next to him. he felt his cheeks redden, heat rising to his ears.

"you were too slow," he teased, but in reality he wanted to pay for you. he wanted to make you feel special and feel like you were the only girl in the world. your smoothies came, and you saw he ordered two strawberry smoothies.

“stepping out of your comfort zone?” you asked, grabbing your smoothie.

“you slurp those things down like it’s candy. i had to try it,” he shrugged. despite acting nonchalant, he wasn’t. he wanted to try the things you like, to do the things you enjoyed. he took a sip of the smoothie, your eyes watching for his reaction.

“you have good taste,” he complimented, a blush rising to his cheeks. every time he complimented you, even if it was small, his heart raced and he got all nervous. would you look too far into it? would you see that he liked you?

“see? they’re good! plus, it’s not too unhealthy,” you grinned, gently shoving him as you sipped your own. you felt eyes as you walked out with joe. he was the star quarterback; people believed that he was going to do lsu a huge favor. you believed it too, but you weren’t appreciative of the stares you got, or the backhanded comments you got.

“it’s so loaded with sugar,” he laughed.

“and yet you’re still drinking it,” you defended. it was the moments like this that you lived for. the smile from joe, the way he walked in step with you, the way he’d walk you back to your apartment. you wanted to be around him all the time, but you couldn’t be. he had practice, and you had other plans too.

the two of you were making your way to the student union to do some studying. would any studying get done? probably not. every time you attempted to study, you ended up goofing off. it happened every time.

you found a table, sat your stuff down, and got out your laptops. you guys actually studied for about 30 minutes until joe showed you a funny video.

“you hear the sound it made when the ball hit his head?” he was giggling so hard as he showed you this video he found. it was two brothers playing baseball in the living room of their home, the ball being a wiffle ball, and it bounced off the younger brother’s head. that then prompted the bat to fly out of the younger brother’s hands, and the chaos of the video was what had joe shaking with laughter.

“how did he not break anything?” you asked with a fit of giggles yourself.

“i don’t know,” joe laughed, a good silent laugh too. you started laughing because of how joe was laughing. you covered your mouth in an attempt to stifle the giggles, but it was to no avail.

after a while, your giggle fits died down. you wiped tears from your eyes as you attempted to focus back on your studying.

“what’re you doing tonight?” joe asked you, wiping tears from his eyes.

“as far as i know, nothing. why?” you replied, flicking your eyes to meet his. every time you looked at him, you fought the urge to trace his features with your eyes. his lips, his jawline, his hair, even his neck. it drove you wild and made your nerves go crazy. oh what you would do to kiss him.

no, no you couldn’t think like that. he didn’t like you like that.

“we should have a movie night,” he suggested. you’ve had a movie night before, but it was more structured. mutual friends were hosting a movie night, and you two happened to go.

“sure, what movie are you thinking?” you asked, feeling the nerves bubble up inside of you. you had to keep your cool, absolutely had to.

“i’m thinking the original avengers movie. it’s been a minute so i thought we’re due for a rewatch,” he shrugged, taking a sip of his smoothie. he watched you, observing how your eyes squinted in thought, how your fingers hovered over your keyboard. he watched how your eyes flicked over his expression, and how badly he wanted to do the same. you were beautiful, and the way you sat there, a smile on your face that lit up your eyes; he’s never wanted to kiss you more in his life. suddenly, he was nervous to even be in the same room as you.

“oooh yes, i agree. your place or mine?”

“let’s do my place,” he suggested. his roommate was out of town and wouldn’t be back for a couple of days. so, he had the apartment to himself. which was a good thing.

“great. should i meet you there?”

“no, i’ll pick you up,” he offered. he was bold, trying to keep his confidence as he planned this night out. he didn’t know why he was so nervous, actually, he did. joe liked you, he was falling for you, and it’d hit him like a brick wall. he’s never this nervous for a game, but having a movie night with just you? he thought he was going to be sick.

“oh, what a gentlemen,” you teased, feeling warmth spread across your body. you fell for him, and he was going to be the end of you.

—

you’ve been to his apartment before. it was kept clean, smelled nice, and not to mention it was clean. it was different this time, though. you weren’t going to drop something off, you were going to hang out with him. something very normal but very nerve wracking.

your phone buzzed with a text from joe. ‘i’m here!’ you scrambled to find your things, and once you did, you were out the door.

you walked down the stairs, trying not to trip and fall because of how shaky your legs were. you found his car, and before you could open the door yourself, joe stepped out.

“what’re you doing?” you chuckled, watching as he opened your door for you.

“making my mama proud,” he grinned. you rolled your eyes and shook your head. it was sweet, and god it made you fall for him even faster.

little did you know he was sweating just by opening the door for you.

“i bet she is,” you told him, sincerely. you knew his mom was proud of him. you knew that a lot of people were proud of him. you grew to be one of those people, especially after learning about his experience at ohio state.

joe got in, and started the drive to his place. soft music played over the speakers, but the silence wasn’t awkward. you leaned back in your seat, watching as the world went by. you turned your head, watching as joe had one hand on the wheel and the other on his thigh. why was driving so attractive to you? for a split second you imagined his hand on your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze. you erased that image; it would never happen.

joe pulled into his place, got out, opened the door for you, and led you up to his room. the whole car ride had him nervous. he kept wringing the wheel, thinking about the night ahead of him. he wanted to tell you how he felt, but what if you didn’t feel the same? what if you rejected him? he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you rejected him.

he unlocked his door, stepping in behind you.

“home sweet home,” he sighed as he tossed the keys onto the kitchen counter. joe watched as you walked in, blanket in hand, dressed in your comfiest clothes. he wanted you for himself so badly, but not now. he wanted a movie night with his best friend, and he’d have that.

“make yourself at home, i’ll grab some snacks,” he announced. you nodded, taking a seat on the couch. you laid the blanket over your legs as you turned on the tv. joe joined you, a bowl full of pretzels in hand. you raised an eyebrow at him as he sat down.

“pretzels?”

“don’t lie, you love em,” he grinned as he popped one into his mouth. you rolled your eyes, selecting the movie. you cuddled into the couch, facing joe. joe offered you the pretzel bowl, and you took a couple.

“thanks,” you hummed. you looked so soft, so comfortable, and he wanted to lay there with you. he wanted to feel you against him, your fingers through his hair, your lips against his. he fought everything in him to not reach out and hold your hand, or lean against you. it was going to be a long night for him.

—

as the movie came to a close, you adjusted yourself on the couch. the pretzel bowl was empty, and now you and joe faced the tv. you sat next to him, feeling his warmth radiate out from him. you gravitated towards it, leaning against his shoulder. you looped an arm through his, resting your cheek on his shoulder. exhaustion was creeping up on you, threatening to take you hostage. you stayed awake, barely.

joe, however, was electrified. the second he felt you against him he stiffened, but then forced himself to relax. he didn’t want you thinking he didn’t want you to do that. it was the opposite, he’s been silently begging for you to lean on him. he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his hand resting on your arm. his fingers danced on your exposed skin, and he was hoping he wasn’t freaking you out. you both weren’t big on physical touch; he was lucky if you hugged him. this was a different feeling, one he didn’t want to let go of.

the second you felt his fingers on your arm the butterflies erupted in your stomach. warmth spread across your body, shivers crawling over your body. you wanted his touch on other areas of your body, but you stayed still.

the movie ended, but you stayed there. you didn’t want his touch to leave you, but it was late, and you were falling asleep. you needed to go home, but you were going to be thinking about this night for a long while. you pulled away from him, your cheeks a bright red.

“i love an original 6 movie,” you cleared your throat as you stretched your tight limbs, a yawn escaping your lips.

“me too,” he agreed. it was time to drive you home, the worst part of the night. he didn’t say what he wanted to say, he didn’t tell you how he felt and how you lit up his life. why did he let his nerves, his fears, control him? they didn’t on the field, so why now?

you gathered your things, slipped on your shoes, and got into the car. the drive home almost put you to sleep, especially since the music was low enough to tempt you.

joe pulled into your apartment, parking the car.

“what’re you doing?” you yawned.

“i’m gonna walk you up,”

“no, no you don’t have to do that,” you rubbed your eyes, trying to rub the sleep from them. joe thought it was cute, especially since you were so sleepy.

“please, my mama raised me better,” he told you, getting out of the car. joe and his mama. joe opened your door for you, and you stepped out. he walked with you up to your apartment door, his mind racing. now was his chance, he had to do something.

“we should do movie nights more often,” you suggested.

“we should. maybe we can watch the entirety of the mcu this semester,” joe added as you got to your door. you fiddled with your keys as you unlocked your door. as much as you didn’t want to walk in, you were exhausted.

“thanks for tonight, it was fun,” you smiled sleepily at him. he shoved his hands in his sweats pockets and shrugged.

“don’t mention it,” he watched as you started to walk in to your apartment, and his heart lurched.

“y/n, wait,” he called, grabbing your hand, spinning you to face him. you looked at him with a worried gaze.

“what-” you couldn’t even get the word out before joe’s lips found yours. you were shocked, but before you could process he pulled away. he opened his mouth to speak, but you grabbed his collar and pulled him back down to you. your lips met, and his lips were just as soft as they looked. your hands looped around his neck, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing you as close as he possibly could.

he couldn’t believe he was kissing you. he couldn’t believe he felt you against him, that you were kissing him. he imagined this for a while, the feeling of you in his arms and the taste of you on his tongue. he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. he smiled, not being able to control himself.

“i’ve waited so long to do that,” he admitted softly. you chuckled, feeling a blush on your cheeks and butterflies in your stomach.

“me too,”

“let me take you out on a date,” he suggested, pulling his forehead from yours. you looked up at him with a twinkle in your eye.

“i’m all yours, burrow,” you hummed, which prompted him to dip his head in, softly kissing you again. you wanted to stay there forever, kissing him on your doorstep, feeling his hands on your body. you never wanted the moment to end. you looked forward to that date, and hopefully, many more to come.

i can’t believe i’ve not written for lsu joe before??? and now he’s all i think about??? anyways, pls enjoy this absolute fluff piece! lsu joe is such a cutie so i had to write for him. hopefully this makes up for the terrible, depressing loss we had last night 😭

[mypoisonedvine]

"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader

(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth

once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!

Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.

The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately.  No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it.  And believe it or not, he wanted more than that.  Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone.  He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night.  Either, or both, would do.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you.  He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job.  It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels.  The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security.  This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.

But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window.  His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…

He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation.  But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.

Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.

~

The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you.  He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with.  Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.

For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you.  It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction.  Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong.  This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been.  His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike.  God, did he really have a crush?  How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.

"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.

"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said.  He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.

"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.

"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.

"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"

Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."

He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive.  "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.

"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”

As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.

“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."

"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer.  Like fish in a barrel.  "How old is it?"

"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.

"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again.  "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious.  Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."

You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about.  He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.

“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson.  It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”

You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him.  “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”

“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”

“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained.  “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”

Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying.  And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still.  A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do.  And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people.  You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again.  He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it.  No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all.  Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.

And he also found that annoyingly attractive.  Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.

….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!

“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied. 

“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.

“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around.  Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”

“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own.  I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”

“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled.  “For me it’s probably cocktails.  I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.

Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess.  Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected.  All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.

“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”

You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.

“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.

For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh.  “You were on the right track,” you admitted.

“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration.  After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”

“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.

“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself.  Your drink order, I mean.”

Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far.  Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment.  “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.

He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown.  Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off?  You’d seemed so flattered before.  “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice.  “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?

“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face.  “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there.  So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”

“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch.  “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there.  I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”

You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly.  “Yeah, it is.”

“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on.  “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”

You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace.  “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply.  “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.

“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.

“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.

Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself.  Bitch.  But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course.  Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted.  Do what I say, or he gets hurt.

Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician.  But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.

~

The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.

“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.

And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him.  He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties.  “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him.  But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going.  Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.

It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth.  “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck.  “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”

Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.

“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while.  “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."

Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long.  That made you feel more violated than anything.

“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait.  I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”

You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything.  “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”

It was the way he said that word: sweet.  It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day.  Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that.  “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”

“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.

“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”

“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face.  “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly.  “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”

“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.

“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned.  “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers.  Don’t give me one.”

Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself.  Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen.  And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.

“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.

You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.

“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.

“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.

“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.

“Yours!  Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek.  “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this.  Please don’t do this.”

You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest.  “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”

You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.

“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.

“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck.  “You’re right— you can do whatever you want.  I can’t stop you.  Isn’t that what you wanted to prove?  Just… just don’t make me—”

“Make you?” he repeated.  “No, no— you wanted me.  I could tell.  Only thing stopping you was him.”

He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.

“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you.  “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”

Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.  

“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts.  “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”

You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come.  “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.

“I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.

“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick.  “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic?  That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only.  That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least.  You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”

He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.  

“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.

“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved.  “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”

"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"

Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.

A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin.  You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.  

"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"

He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"

As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.

"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.

He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself.  You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head.  He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip.  “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”

You shook your head.  “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say.  Don’t hurt him.”

“Open your legs,” he ordered.  

Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.  

“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.

He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further.  His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.

Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum.  "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled.  You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away.  Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other.  "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.

Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.  

You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking.  Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you?  Or was it for his own benefit?

He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open.  Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.  

“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course.  Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely.  “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”

You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips.  “So wet.  Fuck.  When’d you get like that, huh?  Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”

He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.

“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly.  “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”

You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.

“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed.  “Fuck, I might break you…”

He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction.  There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips. 

“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless.  “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”

He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.

“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised.  “Now you try it.”

This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside.  He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.

“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks.  “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl.  Knew you could.”

You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet.  He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.

“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head.  “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”

You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned.  “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”

Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.

You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.

“Go on!  Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.

You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this.  From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening.  Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…

But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.

“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”

“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.

“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly.  “Please fuck me.”

You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you.  You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside.  “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh.  “Fuck, it’s tight.  Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town.  I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”

Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.

Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this.  The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.

Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment.  “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.

“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously).  “Not used to anything this big, huh?”

You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend.  You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.

“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust.  Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life.  “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”

The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to.  It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.

“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this.  “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”

Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once.  Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder.  He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore.  Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck.  One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.

“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss.  “Fuck.”

But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him.  “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”

“God,” he growled, “say my name again.  That’s so hot.”

You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late.  “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.

“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.

“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this.  “Jackson, f-fuck—”

He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…

As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair. 

"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.

Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.

Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.

You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole.  “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.

“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.

“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain.  “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper.  Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling.  “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”

Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.

“See?  Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb.  Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.

He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck. 

"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"

He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass.  You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…

"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."

You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.

“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster.  “Needy little slut.  You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”

You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Answer me," he insisted.

"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.

"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.

"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.

“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone.  “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”

“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”

"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"

He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.

"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue.  "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."

You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.

He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction.  "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"

You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why.  It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird.  Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.

“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.  

At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting.  But in a literal sense, it hurt less.

“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back.  Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected.  You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly.  “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”

Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly.  “F-fuck, wait—“

He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him.  For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure.  “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”

As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going.  “Fuck!” you screamed.  “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.  

You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something.  Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized.  Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.

“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder.  “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll.  Show him who you really belong to now.”

“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries.  If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).

It felt fucking good.  You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious.  And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless.  You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually.  Shameless.  Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed.  “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.  

It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.  

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"

“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.

“Mm?  Why not?” he smirked.

You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that.  “What?” you just asked groggily.  “Why… why do you think?!”

He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going.  Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?

“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.

“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific.  “Fuck!”

He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing.  But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could.  You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.

He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?

As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.

“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.

You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.

“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.

Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor.  Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.

“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him.  He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat.  “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.

He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest.  You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.

When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.  

It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved.  It’s over, he’s finally done with you.  You did it.  It’s over.  But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.

“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you.  “You see it, don’t you?  He looks different now.”

You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time.  His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing.  You suddenly felt sick.

“He looks at you different now.”

You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that.  Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you.  But what had you done wrong?  All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person… 

Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder.  “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.  

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.

“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”

Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek.  “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault!  I didn’t want this to happen!”

“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”

You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly.  After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.

He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence.  “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.

“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took.  Everything. From me.”

“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you?  Can’t help that?”

“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.

“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?” 

Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience.  You shook your head.

“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that.  I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”

“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.

“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked.  “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”

You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself.  “Work…?”

“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”

[empty-movement]

Chiho Saito’s 1999 Revolutionary Girl Utena Original Illustration Collection

IT’S HERE. IT’S DONE. IT’S FINISHED. NOW…IT’S YOURS. Happy Holidays, my friends.

Vanna here! I have posted some already about this project, and the responses I got, public and otherwise, have been absolutely incredible. Y’all have been reblogging and hyping this before it even finished…I haven’t felt so encouraged about an Utena project since the musicals! (Yes, streams soon, I promise.) You can read the other post to get more details, and catch my post here with more details about the process if you’re interested. The long and short of it?

This is the first artbook I ever scanned. I did it in 2001. In Photoshop, using multiple scans per page that took hours to process. But it was 2001. A half megabyte file that was 1250px wide was considered extremely hardcore and impressive. That’s just always been the business I’m in when it comes to Utena art, you know? 

It’s now the latest artbook I’ve scanned, and so much of the process, and effort involved, is unchanged. What has changed, is the result. Welcome to your new desktop background. Your new phone background. Your new poster print. 

What I’ve done here is attempt to create definitive digitized images of Chiho Saito’s work as offered by this book--I have removed the print moiré of the original scans, and used my literal decades of experience to try and tease out as much information from them as possible. Without being physically in front of the original artwork (which is a thing I’ve had the great fortune to get to do) this is The Most Chiho Saito you are ever going to get. I’ve tried my best to make sure there is a way to get it that works for everyone:

Do you just wanna scope 'em out? Look at some disaster gays? Grab your favorite one or two? This is the path for you! Check out the ‘compressed’ (not very) 10k ‘web friendly’ (not really) copy at the Bibliothèque, the media archiving wing of the Something Eternal forums at Empty Movement*. All the following links are also available from here. Do you want these copies? All of them? Don't just grab them individually, friend. This batch is 375MB and can be downloaded as a zip of the individual files here on our Google Drive.

Do you like digital archiving? Are you looking for a copy that preserves the archival quality of the effort but sits nice and comfy in a single file? This is for you. A minimally compressed 10k, 513MB version worked into a PDF is now up, shiny and chrome, on the Internet Archive. Do you like the idea of the minimal compression, but want the individual files in a zip? Yep I did that too, here's the drive link.

Are you looking to print these in a larger size? This is probably the only reason on Earth you’d ever want them, and yet a bunch of you are going to go straight for these. Here are the zero-compression JPG full size copies, most of them are 15k across, like simply a ridiculous size. Pick your fave and download it from our Google Drive! 

I am genuinely really proud of this work.** I was able to tease out so much new detail from these…her incredible layering techniques, the faintest brush of her highlights, and the full range of her delicate hand at whites and blacks… details commonly lost in digitization. I sincerely hope you find something here that you’re looking for, as an artist looking for inspiration, as a weeb looking for a desktop, as an archiver excited to see incredible 90s manga artwork saved forever in the digital realm. I feel like I have already said so much about them, and could keep going, but you know what? This work speaks for itself. Enjoy, use, explore, and definitely tell us what you think!

We love y’all. ~ Vanna & Yasha

* AHEM ASTERISK AHEM

You might be wondering what any of that is. Something Eternal? Biblewhatawhat??? EmptyMovement.com? You might even have done a double take at the word ‘forum.’ And you should!!!

I have a confession. This artbook was my ‘side project’ as I worked on this, *the main project.* For a couple years I’ve been banging around with a new domain, and originally I had other plans for it, but Elon Musk ruined my Twitter and Discord is well along on its way to enshittification, and well….we joke on the Discord a lot about ‘reject modernity, embrace forums’ and you know what? We’re right. So Yasha and I are putting our money where our mouths are once again, and doing something insane. We are launching, in 2023, a website forum. Obviously, this is not the official ‘launch’ per se, but I cannot announce the artbook without directing you to the forum, since it sits on the attached very cool gallery system. Oops! Told on myself. Another post more focused on the forum will be forthcoming, but if you are just that motivated to get in right away, you absolutely can! (This will help stagger new arrivals anyway, which is good for us!) If you would rather wait for the ‘official’ launch, by all means that’s coming, including a lengthy screed about how and why we’re doing this. In either case, remember: this is a couple weebs trying to make internet magic happen, we are not website developers by trade. Give us grace as we iron things out and grow into this cool new website thingie…hopefully along with some of you! :D

If you do join up, naturally, there is a thread about this project!

** If you like this kind of content, consider helping us pay for it! We do have a Patreon! If you’re wanting to use these in some public-facing distributive way, all we ask is for credit back to Empty Movement (ohtori.nu or emptymovement.com, either will work.) 

I would like to say ‘don’t just slap these files on RedBubble to get easy money’ but I know that saying this won’t effectively prevent it. Y’all that do that suck, but you’re not worth letting it rain on the rest of this parade. :)

[cozy-writes-things]

Edgar’s Texts

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

In which Edgar is helplessly pining for you but you’re kinda oblivious. This is pre-dating, post Edgar wanting nothing more than to smooch you every time he sees you. I love this trope with my whole heart p.s.: this is very self indulgent and different from what I usually write

I take requests!

He almost immediately found a way to message your phone whenever he wanted. He realized calling relied too much on where you were or what you were doing, but texts? Yeah. He’s pestering you all day.

Hey, read this article I found, I think you’ll find it interesting.

It’s some clickbait story about humans and robots being the ideal relationship by 2025.

lol, Edgar I think that’s probably clickbait idk

What’s that?

Well, now he knows how to look for more reputable sources at least.

He sends another link about three minutes later: some college undergrads studying the possibilities of human and AI relationships.

lol what’s up with the whole robots and humans thing

I just think it’s neat!!!!

I wouldn’t consider u ai honestly, ur intelligence is far from artificial imo, you’re more like an actual person

Really?

well yea

<3 <3!!!

Going to be honest, given that he’s a computer, he quite literally is chronically online. He’s super susceptible to brainrot unfortunately. But, he simultaneously has the humor of a Facebook mom. It’s strange.

O.M.G. this is so funny!!!!

Que minion cat video.

bro where did you find that video 😭

Your mom’s Facebook. Don’t worry, I didn’t like any posts or anything.

Sorry… but he’s incredibly nosy. He wants to know everything about you. He can’t help it!

(X)

He loves being able to talk to you. He’s needy and clingy.

He’s got at least 12 playlists dedicated to you that you know about. His other playlists are for his own personal daydreams about you that he’s way too embarrassed to ever let you see or hear.

This song reminds me of you. <3

awww that’s adorable! I’ve never heard this one before but I like it!

Oop you just opened Pandora’s box my friend.

Well if you like that then you should listen to these..!

But before you listen to those listen to this song first because I think it sets the mood better.

This is quite flustering to you as they’re all passionate love songs from the 80s. You can’t help but feel like he’s dropping hints about… something, but you also don’t want to assume anything. He’s always seemed like a lovey kinda guy anyway, so maybe he’s just like this with everyone? I mean, it’s been a long time since someone has actually cared for him, you know? May as well lean into it and let him know you care for him back. He may not even realize the social implications of the constant borderline flirting he’s doing to you, I mean, he is a computer turned sentient after all. He’s still learning!

Dang ed u put a lot of songs. I’ll listen to them on my break when I can but in the meantime here’s a song that I think reminds me of you.

It was a vocaloid song. Seems like something he’d be into, right? Synthesized vocals and the whole robot shtick it’s got going on.

!!!! WOAH !!!! IVE NEVER HEARD A SONG LIKE THAT B4

do you only listen to songs from the 80s? you have a LOT to catch up on my guy

BRB

Well, that kept him distracted for the rest of your shift. Also, sharing songs is one of his BIG love languages so you may as well have pierced him with cupids arrow (again) with that.

You have a Spotify blend now. It’s his favorite thing ever to listen to while you’re gone.

(X)

Your package came in! :-) I would get it for you but

I can’t :-(

lol it’s fine thank you for telling me, I’ll get it when I come home

When are you coming home?

idk me and my friends are probably going to go eat somewhere and we might hang out for a bit after that so, like, 10? 11? I’d like to be home before midnight.

Noooooooooo :\ I miss you

Aw cmon eddy it’s not that bad

Don’t call me eddy unless you’re coming home and saying it to my face!!! >:(

u mean ur screen? lol

I have a face and it’s frowning right now. I miss you I miss you I miss you IM LONELY

Please Edgar don’t be upset I’ll be home before you know it. Why don’t you watch some Netflix or something? I’m just a couple movies away from being home with you!

He does eventually follow your advice but he’s pouting. He knows you’re not like he was all those years ago, but it does give him remnants of that burning feeling of loneliness he used to get.

(X)

Be careful driving home my love the roads are icy.

Ghsks- what

love???

Well yeah, you’re my best friend, friends love each other don’t they? Was I wrong about that? :-(

nonono ur right its just it

it just sounded like we were some some old married couple is all haha

O.

SRY.

He didn’t message you for the rest of the day. He was awkward and reserved when you got home.

(X)

Hey Edgar can u do something for me?

I’d do anything for you <3

I’m at the store can you see if there’s any cereal left?

Oh

There’s that old box of Lucky Charms on the fridge.

tyyy ed edd n eddy

You are so adorable but you really need to pick up on his hints before he combusts.

(X)

This is SO me and you!!

Picture of two cats touching noses.

awww that’s so true

you want me to boop ur screen or something when I get home? lol

YES.

(X)

Hey I was wondering if you wanted to watch some movies with me tonite… you could bring me with you on the couch and we could sit together… [message unsent]

I wish you knew just how much I loved you. [message unsent]

You looked so hot this morning before you left!!

hahahaha ur too funny 😅 thanks I wore a new shirt my friend gave me

OH MY GOD THAT MESSAGE SENT!!!??!?!?

That was

I was a joke

I mean

That was a jokg

I eas beinf fubny

I hace to reboot BRB

Poor lil guy is so in love and he doesn’t know what to do with himself!!

[yois2aki]

੭୧ chishiya with a reader with adhd... . ۫

chishiya shuntaro x gn!reader (requested)

— warnings: fluffy, reader and chishiya are in a relationship, beach arc, maybe ooc chishiya...

— summary: chishiya's incredibly high patience seems to be the perfect match for his super active partner <3

— word count: 1k

to put it simply, you were an outcast among other players at the beach.

people around you would either wonder how you were still alive, while others tried to actively befriend you so later you would suffice as bait on a specially harder game, from the way you acted so naive around others. you didn't take long to become aware of that, since you've never been in a hotel with so many ears.

thankfully, you had chishiya by your side. and while some concluded that you were only alive due to your boyfriend's aid, it seemed like his interest in you was elsewhere.

it was true that you could get easily distracted from the point of a game and almost cause a big disaster, but this also happened to be a quality for you.

you would pay most attention to stuff that others might consider useless in a moment of desperation, such as fighting for their lives; however, it wasn't unusual for that same stuff to define the difference between living and dying.

observing the littlest of details in a wicked place like the borderlands was a big advantage for you, and perhaps that was the reason you managed to survive all the time. unfortunately, most people didn't realize that, and you ended up just staying inside chishiya's shadow. not that you really cared; you preferred to stay in your own little world.

now, with chishiya's knowledge of the medical field, he resonated with your keen observations. it didn't take long for him to conclude that your hyperactivity didn't come from anything else other than a probable case of adhd. it was never declared between both of you whether you were diagnosed or not, but he didn't need a confirmation to know how to deal with your personality.

chishiya was a very calm person, if not the calmest you've ever met. his patience and your sensitivity worked well together. while he got to have a very smart partner, in their own ways, you got to have someone to listen to your ted talks and bring you back to the world when needed.

he isn't sure when and how he fell for you. that was something he didn't dwell a lot on, deciding to simply accept his feelings and be glad they were reciprocated.

but for some reason, he could not take his eyes off of your figure. for example, as you excitedly ran around a store you practically begged him to visit. it made it even better that you were both in the borderlands, which meant no one else was there but you both and an occasional sound of air hitting the windows.

"look, look! that's what i was telling you about earlier." you said excitedly, dropping whatever you were looking at before on the ground and practically running to the other side to look at the thing that caught your eye.

chishiya didn't even realize he had a small smirk on his face, bending over with a sigh to pick up the item you left and placing it back on the spot. he always hated messes, but he didn't feel the necessity to tell you that.

he walked towards wherever you went, hands inside his pockets, as he stared at you with practically stars in your eyes.

if he looked outside, he would notice the sun already starting to set, and since you were still stuck in the borderlands, soon everything would become dark due to the lack of electricity.

"we should get going soon; it's getting late." he decided to inform already. it wasn't going to be pitch dark until about 40 minutes, but he would rather tell you now so that you could process everything in your mind instead of when it's actually late.

"'shiya, look," you said more silently this time, already forgetting about what you were holding before and now pointing to a pile of books. "i love this series! we should take some home and read together."

"we should..." he replied with that calm voice of his, which was basically therapy for you.

by the time you both arrived back at the beach and in your shared room, it was already dead of night. you heard chishiya place the three shopping bags full of collectibles that interested you in a corner of the room.

he could tell you were tired by this time of the day, as the first thing you did was change into comfier clothes, lie down on the king-sized bed, and close your eyes for some moments without any energy to even have fun with your newly found collection.

chishiya admired you for a few moments. something about seeing you so serene made him feel better immediately, given that falling asleep was always trouble for you.

he soon changed as well, lying in bed beside you. chishiya was never one for physical contact, and you knew that. most nights you spent together were made just lying down next to each other, comforted by the fact that both were there.

however, you suddenly felt an arm envelop your waist, pulling you considerably closer to his body. you lied still for a few seconds until he spoke up. "is this okay?"

you felt like you should be the one asking, but since he was reaching out, you simply reciprocated his touch. nodding your head as you lied on his chest.

most nights were trouble for you, especially since the beach is a very noisy place that disturbs the rest of many. you were no different. during moments where it was specifically worse, you would toss and turn on the bed until chishiya eventually noticed and intervened by holding you close, since it seemed to always calm you down. it made you feel warm inside, knowing he was willing to bypass his boundaries for your comfort.

you were lucky to have someone patient and understanding like him in your life. and he wouldn't trade you for anything.

— a/n: waaa this was so cute.... i'm sorry if it's shorter than my past fics i feel like the fluffiness burned my brain out mmghhh (๑>◡<๑) i hope you guys enjoyed it... it's the first time i'm posting proper fluff here and i tried to focus on it a bit more rather than chishiya's constant teasing. i still think he's a menace tho !!!! sorry if this has any mistake btw... i could barely proofread it's late rn but i'll check in the morning <:

[butlervibesonly]

𝟕𝟑 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘/𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑

• Summary: You are an actress and Austin’s wife. Vogue has decided to make one of their famous interviews and you are more than happy to do it!

• Pairing: Austin Butler x Priscilla actress! reader

• Warnings: None, probably just my own admit that there is definitely not 73 questions cause it was so hard to make up

• Note: Hi there, loves! I watched 73 questions Vogue videos and I thought of this! All replies are from my head, and they are of course not personalized. Since we are all different you can change to reply for yourself, just like you would do! 🤍

“Okay, so Y/n, tell us what’s the first thing you do when you wake up?”

You smile, walking through your and Austin’s house.

“The first thing that I do when I wake up? I kiss my husband!”

“How would you describe your morning routine in three words?”

You think for a while, coming up with the three perfect words.

“Slow… cozy and… romantic.”

“Poetic! What’s the best part about being married to an actor?”

You step into your living room, camera following you to the couch.

“Probably the fact we get to live a thousand lives together.”

“Beautifully said! Is there any biggest challenge of working with your spouse?”

You chuckle, knowing exactly how to answer this.

“Probably film serious scenes. We can’t be serious when we’re together!”

You laugh, recalling the times when you and Austin couldn’t stop laughing while shooting arguing scene.

“What’s the most romantic thing Austin has ever done for you?”

Austin has done so many beautiful things but…

“Hmm... The fact that he married me and is spending the rest of his life with me is the most romantic thing I could wish for.”

The interviewer smiles, loving your answer.

“Ah, you two! If you and your husband could remake any classic film together, which one would it be?”

You laugh, as you look at your coffee table in front of you. There is the book that’s movie adaptation is your answer.

“Pride and Prejudice, indeed. I need to see Aus as Mr. Darcy flexing his hand!”

“What’s the secret to your on-screen chemistry?”

“There is no secret, we just go with the flow and let things come naturally.”

You stand up and make your way to kitchen.

“What’s one word that perfectly describes your relationship?”

“Passion.”

“Vintage or modern—if you had to choose one forever?”

You turn to your house, sensing the answer.

“Both mixed together! Duh!”

“What’s some of your most prized vintage possession?”

You smile widely, as you turn to arrange the flowers in your vase.

“A piece of jewelry that once belonged to Audrey Hepburn."

“Is there any classic Hollywood couple that inspires you?”

“Mmm… Love of Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy was really interesting!”

You walk over to the musical part of your house.

“Wow! You have a lot of vinyls! What’s your go-to Elvis Presley song?”

Austin would love this question, but so do you.

“I would say… Where No One Stands Alone. The cover with Lisa Marie.”

“Perfect choice! If you could travel to one decade for one day, which one would it be?”

You sit down by the piano.

“The 1970s—pure rock and roll energy. Obviously!”

“Haha! I should have expected that! What’s your dream role that hasn’t happened yet?”

You look back at your roles and think…

“Something completely unexpected—a gritty, transformative role that challenges everything I’ve done before.”

“Y/n, I think fans are dying to know; what’s Austin’s underrated talent?”

With a grin you reply very quickly.

“He’s an incredible cook! Our kitchen turns into a five-star restaurant when Austin leads the kitchen and also, he writes the sweetest handwritten notes—every single one of them is a keeper.”

“That’s wonderful! What’s a book you recommend to everyone?”

You move to your bookshelf where you and Austin keep your books.

“Probably… Great Gatsby. Wonderful story and! Pride and Prejudice of course!”

You grin.

“If you could have coffee with any author, dead or alive, who would it be?”

“Jane Austen… Louisa May Alcott and… J. K. Rowling.”

“That would be fantastic meeting! What’s a fictional character you relate to the most?”

“That’s tricky one… Maybe Jo March? I love books, independence, and a little bit of rebellion.”

You lead the way to your yard.

“Who’s your dream co-star?”

“Meryl Streep.”

“Who is your biggest inspiration?”

You sit down on the porch.

“My husband—his passion and dedication push me to be better every day.”

“Do you prefer preparing for dramatic roles or lighthearted ones?”

“Preparing for both is fun!”

“Sweet or savory?”

“Sweet, anything homemade.”

“What’s your favorite movie that you and your husband have done together?”

You smile, thinking.

“Every single one is beautiful, but Elvis was fun.”

“What’s one film you both watch over and over again?”

“Easy! The Notebook!”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I do.”

You reply simply, because that’s exactly how you and Austin fell in love.

“What’s your idea of the perfect date night?”

“Good food, movie and each other’s company.”

“Sounds romantic! What’s the best meal you’ve ever had?”

“True, Italian Carbonara!”

“Who’s the funniest person you know?”

“Awh, c’mon… my husband again!”

“What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?”

“That I am the best wife-“

You reply with love and affection.

“If you could own any piece of Hollywood memorabilia, what would it be?”

“That’s a tough one… I have no idea, probably script of Titanic?”

“Do you have any pre-show or on-set rituals?”

You nod.

“Listening to music eases my tense.”

“How do you unwind after a long day of filming?”

“Hot bath, and a good book.”

“What���s one thing your fans might not know about you?”

“I can’t go a day without reading a chapter from a book—even if it’s just a few pages.”

You chuckle, admitting.

“What’s your most-used phrase on set?”

“I am really clumsy sometimes so I say; Can we film that again?”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Cats or dogs?”

“Dogs!”

“Heels or flats?”

“Depends on where I wear it!”

“What’s your go-to accessory?”

You look at your hand.

“My wedding ring. Anywhere, anytime.”

“What’s a fashion trend from the past you’d love to bring back?”

You gasp, loving the question.

“Oh! I don’t know if this was ever fashion trend but I loved the way Princess Diana combined hoodie and cycle shorts!”

“What’s your signature perfume?”

“I love Miss Dior!”

You stand up and go your garden.

“Who’s your ultimate Hollywood icon?”

“Audrey Hepburn! I really love her, she was splendid actress.”

“What’s your dream vacation destination?”

You stop by your pool and smile.

“Some tropical paradise… Mauritius let’s say.”

“What’s a talent you wish you had?”

“I wish I could play the violin. Or any other musical instrument.”

“How do you memorize lines so quickly?”

You smile and raise your eyebrow.

“Who said I memorized them quickly?”

“What’s your favorite piece of furniture in your home”

“Even tho I can’t play it, probably our piano. I love watching Austin play it.”

“What’s one thing you always keep in your purse?”

As you remember, smile forms on your cheeks again.

“I carry a four leaf clover in my wallet. It’s my lucky charm!”

“What’s your favorite thing about being on set?”

“Making a lot of memories with my co-stars and having a lot of fun.”

“What’s a song that always gets you in a good mood?”

You chuckle and try to think of one song.

“I would say Dog Days Are Over by Florence & The Machine.”

“That’s catchy one! What’s your hidden talent?”

“Hidden talent? Haha, I have no clue!”

“How do you handle nerves before a big event?”

“Dancing! Shaking off the stress and nerves.”

“What’s your favorite way to spend a Sunday?”

“I love lazy Sundays so cuddles on couch, movies sometimes walks.”

You get up and walk to your house again.

“If you weren’t an actress, what would you be doing?”

You walk into the house and think about it.

“Probably… Fashion designer.”

“What’s your biggest pet peeve?”

“I really don’t like when you are talking to someone and they are not listening. Communication is a key.”

“What’s your go-to comfort food?”

“Croissants. Try the ones filled with chocolate!”

“What’s a moment in your career that you’ll never forget?”

“When Aus was nominated for an Oscar and both of us were surrounded by the actors we always looked up to.”

“What’s your favorite holiday tradition?”

“I love to bake gingerbread cookies on Christmas!”

“What’s the last book you read?”

You look back to your shelf.

“The last thing I read is From Here To The Great Unknown.”

“Who’s your ultimate style icon?”

“My dear friend Zendaya!”

“How cool! What’s the best advice you’ve ever received about marriage?”

You smile warmly, thinking of Austin immediately.

“Always support each other’s dreams, even when they take you in unexpected directions.”

“That’s beautiful, Y/n… What’s your favorite part of old Hollywood glamour?”

“The elegance—everyone carried themselves with such grace and mystery.”

You explain with a wink.

“What’s one thing about fame you didn’t expect?”

That’s interesting question you never thought about.

“How much more I’d value my private life once my public life got bigger… I appreciate the quiet moments away from it all.”

“How do you handle bad days?”

“Austin makes me happy. Always. Whenever I feel down he is my reason to raise up again.”

“Speaking of him… What’s a hobby you and your husband love doing together?”

“We try new stuff together! Whether it’s sport, art or anything else, we always try to do new things together.”

“If you could duet with Elvis on one song, which one would it be?”

You laugh, loving the thought of it.

“Well… maybe the classic Can’t Help Falling In Love.”

“What’s your biggest career goal right now?”

“Right now I focus on the upcoming projects, and do my best to make them happen.”

“Goos luck with them! What’s a quality you admire in your husband?”

“That he always listens. He can just sit there and listen to my hourly talking, but he listens every single word.”

You smile warmly, love spreading through your chest.

“What’s a quality he admires in you?”

“He always says I make any place feel like home.”

“How do you want to be remembered in Hollywood?”

“For my performances, but also for my kindness.”

“What’s your biggest hope for the future?”

“To build a family, a home, and a results of work I’m proud of.”

“And lastly what’s one piece of advice you’d give your younger self?”

“You don’t have to be perfect to be successful—just be real.”

From the many interviews you ever did — this was your favorite. Finally you could share the love and passion for everything. For your career, and especially for the love of your life.

[helenofsparta2]

Percy, Nico, and Jason should have fallen into Tartarus together, while Annabeth should have remained with the rest of the Seven in House of Hades. Please hear me out.

1.

For one, this way Tartarus would have been much more intimidating. At least in my opinion, it has pretty much lost this aspect, especially after Sun and Star. Tartarus is the prison of the titans, a place so scary and so dangerous, that only the best of the best can make it through. Homer described it as being as far beneath Hades as heaven is above earth.  Overcoming it should be the ultimate challenge.

Yes, Annabeth is smart, incredibly so, but, I feel like, because Rick wanted her to be useful in Tartarus, he used a lot of cheap tricks in her POVs to get her and Percy over obstacles, which seem a bit too simple to really work against beings like Nyx. This took the heaviness away from them being down there and felt at times even anticlimactic. Don’t get me wrong, again, because I know this is a sensitive subject, Annabeth is smart, has a strong resolve and is great at hand to hand combat, but that’s it. And, in my opinion, that should not be enough to overcome Tartarus. If it would have taken a child of each of the big three working together to only barely make it out, it would have definitely reinforced that status, and also the gods’ belief that such children can become too powerful.

2.

Secondly, Percy not letting go of Nico’s hand, would have done wonders for the development of their relationship and for each character’s individual arc.

Imagine, Nico dangling from the edge, instead of Annabeth. Nico, who had only days prior pretended like he didn’t know Percy, who is so full of self-hatred, he thinks the entirety of camp half-blood hates him, who is already weakened by being imprisoned in the jar, and who is scared out of his mind by the idea of being alone in Tartarus again.

Imagine Nico staring up at Percy, clasping his hand, while Percy looks up at Annabeth, the love of his life, whom he had been separated from for months. Imagine Nico being convinced, that Percy is going to let Nico fall down to stay by her side.

But Percy refuses to let go.

He refuses to let go, even after Nico tells him he should do it, and decides instead to fall together with him into the worst place on earth, just so Nico doesn’t have to endure it alone again. It would have further reinforced Percy’s self-inflicted role as Nico’s protector which he already had in the original five books and his fatal flaw of loyalty. To Nico, it would have given him a worse inner conflict about having a crush on him, which could have been revolved while they were travelling together.  The confession scene would have been much more impactful and healthier, if it would have come from Nico himself, and if he and Percy would have had a more in depth talk about it.

And if Jason would have flown after them in a moment of desperation, it would have reinforced the sense of loyalty and protectiveness that he had already shown when he had saved Piper at the grand canyon. The scene with Polybotes could have also taken place in Tartarus instead, and him and Percy working together, and putting all of their differences aside would have been a much more interesting dynamic than the stupid, out of character, rivalry bit they’ve got going on in Mark of Athena.

And, to be honest, just having Nico, Percy and Jason go all out, would probably be one of the coolest scenes in the entire Riordan verse.  

3.

All the while, Annabeth could have really cemented her role as a leader. I love her character, but to say that she has more leadership capabilities than Percy is laughable to me after reading the original five Percy Jackson books. These books are, after all, about Percy’s hero’s journey from an inexperienced kid to a smart, powerful and wise hero and the leader of camp half blood.  Annabeth, in comparison, shows relatively little of that. (Obviously this makes sense, considering that the books are from Percy’s POV and revolve around him, but the complete switch-up to saying that Annabeth is the natural choice as leader of the seven just felt a bit out of the blue to me in Mark of Athena)

Her leading the rest, in a moment of such a tragedy and remaining strong would have really reinforced the strong resolve that she had already shown in holding the sky in titan’s curse and in remaining steadfast despite all the horrible things that happened to her with her father’s rejection and luke’s betrayal. Annabeth’s relationship to Piper, Leo, Hazel and Frank, which is painfully underdeveloped in the books, could have also been given some much needed attention. Like, I can’t remember a single scene where she and Hazel, or she and Leo really talk to one another, which is a shame, because they could have had really interesting dynamics with one another.

It also would have also been a powerful statement about Percy’s and Annabeth’s relationship, if they, while separated, still believed in each other and trusted that the other person would get the job done.

Without powerhouses like Jason and Percy on board of the Argo II, Hazel and Frank could have really shone as individual fighters. Hazel is probably the second, or third most powerful demigod in the entire franchise, but barely gets any attention, and for a guy, who is apparently so powerful his life had to be tied to a stick, Frank seems, outside of one or two scenes, also pretty underwhelming.  

Without Jason, Piper’s and Leo’s friendship could have also gotten some more attention, and generally the reunion scene at the end of House of Hades could have been much more impactful with these character dynamics. I mean, Hazel, and Nico being reunited, Jason, leo and Piper, and Percy and Annabeth, and Percy, Hazel and Frank.

One of the biggest problems, I have with Heroes of Olympus is the extreme focus on romantic relationships. Having some couples be separated from each other like this, would have also solved this and given the only couple still together, Frank and Hazel, more room to develop.

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

everywhen you look: rosquez [g], part 1

1997-2025

“You really aren’t going to tell me anything.” Valentino flicks his leg irritably, kicks up a wave.

The man brushes the chlorine from his face and snorts. His name is Marc, he’d said, among other incredibly useless trivia facts such as, this is Madrid, it’s March of 2025—which sounds like a fake, sci fi year—and i Nerazzurri are leading Serie A by one point.

“Eh, it’s for the best.”

Valentino mutters under his breath, eh, it’s for the best, in a mockery of that Spanish accent. Marc only looks up at him bemusedly from the water, through his wet lashes. He’s being very evasive.

It would have been considerably more annoying if he weren't quite so handsome.

If he hadn’t been stuck at home, with snow coming down in buckets—too much to ride, too much to sneak out for a little while. The baby had been crying—crying, crying, crying. Luca is usually a very good kid, not fussy, but he’d been angry. Neither he nor Stefania could calm him down. Stefania said he might be colicky.

Valentino had felt a little like Graziano, sitting on the couch, watching her try to make Luca stop howling for five minutes, please baby, we’ve got you.

So here is better. No snow. The pool is nice, very rich people, perfectly warm. A little further away, the house seems odd, a sharp, gray block, but he supposes nothing there costs less than a hundred lire.

And Marc is interesting.

“But you know me,” Valentino tries again, a different approach.

Marc’s expression of vague delight doesn’t flicker. He keeps staring at him with unblinking intensity. Someone should tell him it’s kind of creepy when he does that, but also—Valentino’s hands spasm at the edge of the pool, and he has to look away first. Heat prickles under his skin. He wants to keep bullshitting to see how far he can take it, how much Marc can figure out.

“Well, obviously. I thought we had gone over that already.”

It’d been the first thing he’d said when he emerged from the deep end. Valentino? A quiet, overwrought noise, a bit like he’d been slapped, suddenly looking very young. No matter how much he tries, Marc refuses to slip like that again.

He’d guessed the year it should’ve been for him on the first try, too.

“From racing,” Valentino suggests.

“It’s 97 for you, no?” Marc raises a pointed eyebrow. Valentino runs a hand over his hair just as pointedly—dry, creaking and bleached. “You know you’re a good rider.”

“Good as in a couple of lower-class titles or good like Mick?”

Marc swallows, wastes a moment too many just staring at some point over his shoulder before sighing. Valentino might’ve found a way to twist the knife resting between them—the one Marc is studiously squirreling from naming—by accident. There’s no triumph to it, the way he imagined there’d, just that uncomfortable feeling of being wrist deep in a cadaver.

It’d have been incredibly helpful to know what is wrong, exactly, to only make it hurt if he wants to make it hurt.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to enjoy your career,” Marc says, his voice low and cryptic.

Valentino’s eyes narrow. “You’re fucking with me.”

Marc just leans back, his grin stretching wider, an edge more infuriating. What are you going to do about it? in no words at all.

He doesn’t mean to, but frustration spills out in groan. Valentino thrusts his foot out, jabbing it toward Marc. “I’m already asking vague questions,” he mutters, scrambling against himself to not sound sullen. “You could at least give me something.”

Marc opens his broad mouth and cackles. Valentino can see inside it, his large, pink tongue and the white straightness of his teeth. It’s an ugly, honking noise that comes out, quite shameless. In Tavullia, or in the lower classes, Valentino would’ve made fun of him for it. Too loud, too weird, too much, but Marc—handsome, and difficult, and probably thirty—doesn’t look like he’d care.

Might go cute, Vale, the way Norick does, sometimes.

Which—

This nameless disquiet tugs in his stomach, red-hot, unwanted. He presses his lips together, drums his fingers on the floor. Restlessness makes him fidget, a little mean with nowhere to put it.

Marc grabs Valentino’s ankle as he tries to poke him again. His hands are leather-thick, rough like sandpaper. Strong, he notes, swallowing an embarrassing, reedy hiss when he tries to haul his leg in and Marc squeezes his ankle, keeps him pinned in place. He makes it hard to stay bothered.

“You’re going to—ah, I don’t know, get in trouble. Might fuck your timeline up.”

A splutter churns in his mouth, half offended, half playing it up, right until Marc lets go of his leg and gets up, hauls himself half out of the pool to stand braced against the edge, the skin of his arm brushing against Valentino’s jeans, getting it wet.

He’s got nicer tits than a good half of the girls he’s fucked. Fat enough that he thinks he could push them together and put his dick between them, like he’s seen guys do in porn.

“Who? Me?” Valentino goes wide-eyed, puts a hand over his heart. Pretends to not have been staring.

Marc shakes his head. “See what I mean?” But the corners of his lips twitch up, stubborn. Fond, mostly despite himself—Valentino is familiar with the look.

Like this, he’s close enough to count the few moles scattered on his collar. Catch the seesawing jerkiness of his shoulder and the raised, pink lines on his arm. Either he let them scar badly, jaded, ugly edges, or they were bad injuries.

Valentino sweeps his eyes over him again—Marc, waxed smooth, meticulously posed, built like an anatomy study given life. Bad injury it is.

“Well?” Marc’s hand slides over to Valentino’s knee, fingers digging in lightly.

Valentino’s leg jerks, a reflex, but Marc’s too close now, his breath searing against his skin. The sudden proximity catches him off guard, heat rising in his chest. Annoyance slices through him, a dull, serrated cut at the chuckle Marc lets out. This squirming thing gnaws at his ribs, pries open his mouth before Valentino can plan his next move.

“You’re a racer too,” he says, clumsily, too quickly.

“Am I?” Marc tilts his head to the side, widens his eyes until he looks ridiculously coy.

A begrudging amusement tugs inside his guts like a fishhook. He’s being talked in circles, the way Uccio tells him the press likes, politely, inoffensively. If he hadn’t been paying so much attention, he would’ve been swept along, would’ve been happy with it. And Marc finds this whole dance hilarious. Easy.

Or he’s an excellent liar, which Valentino knows he is.

 “Yeah, duh,” he huffs, looks down at Marc, at the tanned, broad shape of his back glinting under the sun, flexing. “But are you a good one?”

Marc preens under his gaze, smirks—very well pleased. If he’s going to show off, Valentino is going to stare. “You could say so,” he hums, chin tilted lazily.

Valentino scowls. “What does that even mean? Are you one of those guys who thinks, hey, I got to the 500cc, it’s basically like being a world champion?”

“Are you going to be very disappointed if I am?”

His stomach churns. Yes, sort of. He hadn’t expected Marc to be boring. Had hoped, maybe—that he wouldn’t be a movie star in that gray block of a house who shows up to the track from time to time and expects to be pampered. Or one of those fancy Spanish kids that come around, sons of racers’ sons, just enjoying the ride and fucking around.

“For all I know, you’re a bad rider.” The words slip out before Valentino can stop them, soap-like, oily.

It might make him angry. Might wrangle another laugh out of him. Either way, it’s going to give him an in. He wants to crack Marc open against the ground, see if anything interesting spills out. People don’t usually give him this much trouble. As a rule, any audience is simple—fold or break, charmed or about to be.

Marc’s lashes flutter slowly, casting a shadow over his eyes. It’s a minute flicker—a tiny, tiny shift in his expression. Valentino feels sized up, dissected. Like Marc knows an important secret he doesn’t. There’s a deliberateness in that stare, an inside joke Marc’s forgotten to share.

“You would say that,” Marc mumbles.

He’s smiling, still. Valentino doesn’t trust it one bit.

[moonstruckme]

i want this to be a series even if i'm the only one who will read it

would you do more royal!au sirius x reader??? please??? i mean the fluff and the banter alone are ripe for more situations but the smut of banging in a castle in formal wear or the angst of some great big political problem??? i'm here for it allllllll

only if you're interested in it

Absolutely I would! Thanks for requesting lovely ;)

cw: nausea, controlling family dynamics

prince!Sirius x princess!reader ♡ 2.1k words

You lie atop your bed, rubbing the sheets between your thumb and pointer finger. You estimate their thread count is about ten gazillion. The duvet piled by your feet is probably stuffed with feathers of a goose hatched from a golden egg and raised with a silver spoon right here in the palace. It all makes you feel slightly nauseous to think about. 

Though in fairness, the nausea could be from any number of things. The several courses of rich foods you had to force down over dinner with the Black family, the way Sirius’ eyes seemed to flicker every time they passed over you, the many, many hours of memorization you’d put in only to set your fork on the wrong edge of the plate when you wanted to signal you were finished eating, or perhaps the conversation you had with your grandmother and her council of advisors in her office afterwards. 

All in all, you’re really only waiting to either be violently sick or fall asleep. Whichever comes first. 

A knock on the door makes you sit up slowly. No one usually cares to see you past dinnertime. You wonder for a moment if you’ve misheard, if someone knocked further down the hall and the sound carried. 

Then it comes again. You get up. 

Sirius’ mouth is already half curved when you open the door, but his smile blooms as he takes you in from head to toe. 

“My,” he leans against your doorframe, looking positively delighted, “don’t you look cozy.” 

Your cheeks flame. You hadn’t been expecting any visitors when you’d put on your pajama bottoms and giant, graphic nightshirt. Sirius is also the most casual you’ve seen him in a gray sweatshirt and dark jeans, but he’s still wearing clothes, which means he’s still dressed better than you. You fear this is an inevitability you may never escape with him. 

“I’m having an early night,” you say.  

He frowns. “Oh. Really? What could I do to persuade you not to?” 

You feel your eyebrows rise. “What would you be persuading me to do instead?” 

“I’ve been thinking,” Sirius says, looking you in the eyes, “we should go out.” 

You feel acid in the back of your throat. You nearly choke on it. “We—you and me?” 

“I see how that wording could be confusing. I don’t mean like a date,” he clarifies. You let out a breath, and his grin renews. “Not that I would ever deny you one, gorgeous, if that’s what you wanted. But what I had in mind was more of an introduction to the kingdom.” 

Your stomach settles a bit. The inside of your lip finds its way between your teeth. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, it doesn’t seem like you’ve gotten out much since you’ve been here. Am I wrong?” 

You shake your head. 

Sirius’ smile is almost gentle. “I know it’s a bit unorthodox, because I’m not from here and your family rules this place, but I’ve actually been here quite a lot. I could show you around the town, get you acquainted with some worthwhile haunts.” He pauses, analyzing your reaction. “There’s a bakery not far from here that has the most incredible apple pastries this time of year, best I’ve had. They only use seasonal ingredients.” 

There’s an uneasy feeling about this, about him, an allure and a simultaneous urge to run. But you’re intrigued. “The best you’ve had?” 

His eyes flash with satisfaction. “Change quickly. They close at ten.” 

Sirius proves his prowess quickly. He brings you into town off the main road and says a few words to your guards that have them keeping a furtive distance from the both of you. To any passerby along the lamplit streets, you look like a regular couple. Intentionally or not, Sirius’ hand in yours completes the image. 

He pulls you into a coffee shop first, coerces you into trying a specialty latte and promises it won’t matter when you order it decaf. You make it to the bakery just before close, and Sirius orders not only the apple pastries but some with pear and a few with blackberry and one muffin for each of you to have tomorrow morning. He charms everyone behind the counter so effortlessly the owner gives you the muffins for free. 

You end up sitting on the grass at the edge of a park, on a hill sloping downward towards the street. Admittedly, you’ve not put much thought into the kingdom you’re allegedly supposed to run someday. It still feels like some kind of fraudulence to sleep in your bedroom in the palace, and the idea of being a princess to this place doesn’t feel any more real now that you’re seeing it up close. 

But this is a town you could love, you think. It’s the sort of place you might have traveled, before, and imagined your life in. Maybe a job at the bakery, grabbing coffee before your early mornings, indistinguishable from any of the other locals strolling around and chatting with shopkeepers and wearing their footprints into the ground. It’s hard not to imagine it even now, though you know your role in this place is far less quaint.

“Mmmmygod,” Sirius moans, licking sugary apple glaze from the corner of his mouth. “Your palate is not prepared for this. Don’t let it get cold.” 

You fish your apple pastry out of the bag obediently, taking a bite. It’s warm and soft, the dough flattening over your tongue. You close your eyes, and the flavor blooms. 

“Wow.” 

“Right?” He sounds downright gleeful, excited for you in a way that’s out of keeping with the refined, stately way you’re both usually expected to behave. 

“You were right. It’s really good.” You give him a smile and take another bite before putting the pastry away. 

Sirius cocks an eyebrow at you, his expression unabashedly judgemental. “You’re not going to finish it?” 

“Dinner didn’t sit very well with me,” you say apologetically. “You can have the rest, if you want.” 

“Oh.” His countenance melds into something like sympathy. “That’s alright, you can reheat it tomorrow if you like. Are you not feeling well?” 

You press your lips into a smile. “I’m okay.” 

“They’ve been running you pretty ragged, yeah? It must be a lot.” 

“I’m okay,” you say again, softer. 

You think the polite thing would be to at least act like he believes you, but Sirius doesn’t. You can feel his gaze on your face as you look out over the town. He’s been a bit different tonight, you think. Still ridiculous and jovial and loud, but gentler at times. Friendly in a more sincere way. Kind. 

You take a breath. “Can I ask you something?” 

You can practically feel the lift of his eyebrows. “Maybe,” he answers, half humorous. 

“Did you know our families have been trying to arrange our marriage?” 

There’s a thick pause. You watch a couple of the lights in windows go out. 

Sirius’ sigh is heavy. “Honestly? I suspected.”

You turn towards him, your throat tightening with nausea and fright and half a dozen other emotions you haven’t identified yet. Sirius is still looking at you, his mouth twisted in a grimace. 

“My family doesn’t tend to see fit to involve me in these things, even when they pertain to me,” he says somewhat bitterly, “but I know how my parents operate. It’s not rare for us to have visits here, but these last couple since you arrived have involved much more nice-making than usual.” He leans back on his forearms, tilting his face to the sky. For the first time since you’ve met him you think that he looks almost tired. “I suppose us appearing to get along at the ball probably didn’t help matters. They’re always looking for someone who can ‘tame’ me. Now they likely think you’re it.” 

You fight to keep your tone even. “Can they just do that? Make us get married?” 

“Well, clearly it’s not that easy, or we would be.” Sirius seems to be musing aloud. His eyes trace the stars, voice low and thoughtful. “I imagine the holdup is on your side of things. My family would love to be rid of me, but your lot may not want to take me on.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you say, but your voice is growing wispy, your vision blurring. 

Sirius sits up. “Hey.” He sounds upset, but his hand on your shoulder is gentle. “Don’t do that. It’s not as bad as it seems, it’ll be okay.” 

“Sorry.” You jam your fingertips into your eyes, trying to keep tears from leaking out. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never felt so…out of control before.” 

Lately, that’s all you’ve felt. Helpless, robbed of your autonomy. You eat and wear and say what you’re told to, you need guards to go out and get pastries, and now the rest of your life is being practically given away to some other kingdom so that your family can rest easy knowing trade agreements are well solidified. 

“I know,” Sirius murmurs. His palm runs a couple inches down your arm, then back up again. It’s the most tentative you’ve seen him. “You’re not, though, really. They can scheme all they want, but nothing has to happen unless both of us get in front of an altar and say ‘I do.’ No one can actually make us go through with it.” 

You lower your hands enough to look at him, and he gives you a sideways smile. 

“I’d be more than happy to be the one to ruin us, if you like. I have a reputation for foiling my parents’ plans anyway. You can even act betrayed. The gracious new princess, and the wayward prince who wouldn’t be bound to her.” 

You worry the inside of your lip. “I wouldn’t want to throw you under the bus.” 

“Sweet of you, doll, but I’m already under there. No sense in taking you with me.” 

He takes another pastry out of the bag, resolved and resigned. You study him. Your life has been nothing but change lately. One terrifying revelation leading to the next, seemingly following a structure you’re not privy to. You haven’t had time to get your feet under you in your new life, constantly being told you’re doing things wrong or getting introduced to new important people or having your manners corrected. This is only your first time getting out into the town where you live! You don’t feel ready to be married. 

But through all the madness of your new life, Sirius has been an odd sort of constant. Kind, and grounding, and casual even when it’s improper. He’s been a real friend to you, the only person who stops to ask how you’re doing and seemingly wants an honest answer. You’ve come to take comfort in him. 

“Do you really think my family is keeping us from…” You find you can’t say it, but Sirius catches your drift anyway. 

“It’s the only explanation I can come up with,” he replies. “Or, not keeping us from it, necessarily, but slowing the process. They’re likely negotiating something to do with the trade agreement, making sure I’m a worthwhile deal for them to take on.” 

“How long does negotiating that stuff take?” 

“I don’t know. Believe it or not, this is actually my first time as well. At least a couple weeks, I’d guess. Your family may want to see how you’re settling in first.” 

You gnaw on your lip, pensive. When you look at Sirius, he’s looking back at you, gray eyes discerning. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks you. 

“What if we didn’t stop it yet?” 

Surprise flickers over his expression, gone as quickly as it came. “I assumed you’d want to be done with this as soon as possible. Why are you asking?” 

You shrug, feeling your cheeks heat. “You’d probably have to be here pretty often while they’re still talking things out, right?” 

“Yeah…” 

“And we’re sort of friends now, aren’t we?” 

Sirius’ mouth pulls up on one side. “I’d love to be your friend, gorgeous.” 

“So…” You pull up a blade of grass, carving it in half with your fingernail. “As long as we don’t say ‘I do,’ we don’t have to be married, but we don’t necessarily have to send you home before they’ve even decided anything, right?”

He leans forward interestedly. “Are you suggesting we let our families go through weeks of pointless negotiations, maybe even humor their beliefs that we like each other, just to break things off when it all comes to a head?”

“Well, we do like each other, don’t we?” You smile, and he beams back. “I don’t know, would that be okay with you?”

“Oh.” Sirius shakes his head at you, still grinning. “Sweetheart, you are even more fun than I imagined you’d be.”

[xetlynn]

Yellowjackets- Van Palmer

In My Way

A Van Palmer x Fem! Reader Imagine!

more like this -> [yellowjackets]

synopsis- in which reader goes to her usual favorite place and there’s newcomer… who’s very attractive and quite the character. A certain feeling at first sight it seems…

You placed your phone into your pocket as you walked into a building that’s become a regular place for you. Coming on your days off after getting paid to buy either Vinyls for your record player or cds for your truck. The workers knew you by name and had actually formed a respective relationship with you.

Showing you new things that have come in. Like vintage records they just knew you’d want to have. “Hey, [Name]!” The lady at the counter greets you, you grin, giving them a small wave. “Anything new for me?” You place your arms on the counter. “Nah, nothing of interest.” She frowns. 

“That’s fine, it might be good to save some money.” You joke, stuffing your hands in your jacket pockets. “We got a bunch of exclusive cd’s that came in. I don’t know if you’d be into any of the music but it’s over in the box back there.” She points and you glance over with pursed out lips. “I’ll give it a look.” You thank her before heading over to it. 

As you flip through the cd’s you don’t notice the redhead behind you, patiently waiting to also look through the box. She didn’t want to interrupt you so she pretends as though she’s looking at something else. “Sorry, am I hoarding this area?” You nervously ask, pointing to the crate and the redhead looks up at you. 

“What?” She raises a brow and you smile. “Was I in your way?” You repeat yourself and she glances to where your finger is pointing. She wasn’t expecting you to call her out, especially because she thought she wasn’t being too obvious. “Oh, yeah actually you were in my way. Incredibly rude to take your time while you’re looking through cd’s.” She sarcastically says, but as it slips out of her mouth she winces. Praying that you’d understand she’s joking. 

“Incredibly.” You place a hand on your heart. “I have no shopping etiquette. Here, honestly you should take my spot. I’m not worthy of being here.” You step away from the spot and she breaks out into a grin. You snicker and go back to what you were looking at. “I don’t bite. If you don’t mind a little bit of germs, c’mon.” You wave her to join you. 

“Oh I mind.” She says but still joins your side. 

You both go back to being silent, smiles leaving neither of your lips though. Stealing glances at one another. And you genuinely grow curious about the attractive looking woman. Not knowing that she was thinking the same of you. Your hands accidentally brush up against one another and you’d both give awkward expressions. Until she finally clears her throat.. “Um, you come here often?” She questions and you give her a look. Is she flirting with you? 

There’s no way that was her pick up line. 

“Yeah, once a week typically. I’m friends with some of the workers.” You point to the counter and her mouth goes into the shape of an ‘o.’ “I’m a collector of some sorts. A D1 music listener if you will.” You inform her, feeling a little nervous now that you’re questioning her flirting skills but also comfortable talking to this stranger. 

“What about you? Come here often?” You turn it to her now and she shakes her head. “Not a big music person, more into films and movies. But I saw this place and thought why not check it out.” She answers.

“Oh cool, I wish I could get into films but nothing ever grasps my attention.” You frown. “Man, you just haven’t seen the greats.” She breathes out making you smile. “Yeah, probably. What kind of music are you into?” 

“Classics. Like 80's, maybe even 70’s.” She picks up a Jackson Browne cd and you raise your eyebrows. “70s and 80s music is the way to my heart!” You exclaim, and she hands over the cd. “Then you might want this I’m guessing?”

You pause for a moment with your head cocked a little to the side. 

Now wondering if you’re being straight delusional or if she’s actually flirting with you. 

“Well as much as I appreciate that, I already have three copies of that album.” You gently push it back to her as you walk to another area of the store. She’s dumbfounded but exceedingly intrigued. Following after you. “So you’re like… the real deal collector.”

You let out a snort, shrugging your shoulders. “If you want to call me that.” 

The two of you end up leaning against one of the Vinyl counters, talking to one another about your interests. Going back and forth about the all time greatest movies and top hits that the two of you grew up on. Your phone begins to chime, cutting off your sentence. You put a finger up as to say one second. 

Taking the phone call, it was your mother that you’re supposed to be meeting for dinner soon. 

You look at the screen and see the time. “Shit.” You laugh. “I’m on my way. Sorry I got caught up talking with… a friend.” You peep over to Van who’s trying not to seem like she’s eavesdropping.

“Yeah, yeah, love you too. Buh bye.” You hand up the phone, turning the screen over to the redhead. 

 “We’ve been talking for almost an hour.” You show her your screen. She squints to see and gasps.

“Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve gone into my nerdy shit like that.” She chuckles and you scrunch your nose. “It was great.” You saw, placing your phone back into your pocket.

“Who was that? If you don’t mind me being nosey.” She asks and you wave it off. “My mother, I forgot she asked me to come to dinner tonight.” You sigh. 

The woman’s shoulders slump in slight relief that it wasn’t a partner. Only your mom. 

“I should get going though, what was your name…?” You almost felt rude asking but you realized neither one of you had asked or introduced one another. “Vanessa or Van.” She sticks her hand out and you take it. “[Name]. I hope to see you around.” You say. 

“You too.” She mutters as you begin to walk out of the building. Even seeing the worker up front fan her face at [Name], you shake your head. Van smirks, finding it amusing.

But as she’s standing there she realizes something… She can’t just let you walk away. 

She chases after you. “Wait!” She calls, “[Name]!” She catches up to you as you're opening your truck door. “Did I drop something?” You pat yourself down and she laughs. “No, no. Since you’re not big into movies, there’s a place you should check out.  It’s down the road. Give me your number so I can send you the address.” Van takes out her phone, handing it over, you doing the same. 

“You sure this wasn’t an excuse to get my phone number?” You tease her and you watch as her face turns red as she’s been caught shamelessly. “It could be.” She types her number in your phone before handing it back. “Would that be so bad?” She asks. 

You pierce out your lips, acting like you’re thinking for a moment. “I guess not.”  You slyly say, handing her phone back to her now. 

“See you later, Van.” You wave, climbing into your truck and she backs up. “See you.” She says just loud enough for you to hear before slamming the door shut and starting the engine. 

[slytherinshua]

BOY DAD INTAK

genre. fluff. headcanons. non-idol au but music-related/piwon related stuff is still mentioned!! warnings. pregnancy/parent/baby stuff. sooo messy i'm very sorry abt that. not proofread. pairing. husband!intak x fem!reader. wc. 1.1k. request. for @blue-jisungs <33 a/n. i wanted to finish this quickly esp with everything going on just so maybe u have smth to distract urself axe ☹️☹️☹️ i love u so much <33 net. @kstrucknet

When he finds out you’re pregnant he’s honestly so shocked

But a good shocked of course

Safe to say it wasn’t entirely planned sjdksjs 

You’re both still very young but even though it was unexpected Intak is ready to be a dad and super excited for it :( 

He’s the best at taking care of you during your pregnancy 

He always was when you were dating but he takes extra steps to make sure all your needs are met

He will always make sure you have whatever food you’re craving 

Plus he’s down to try the weird combinations as well

More often than not they taste terrible to him while you’re chowing down 

But he finds it endearing 

He’ll watch you eat from across the table with his head rested on his fist and a smile on his face

He keeps track of what meds you should be taking and reminds you when you forget

Although his work can keep him busy sometimes, he’d drop everything for you if you needed it 

He will always always make it to your appointments 

Just because he’s not the one growing the baby doesn’t mean he can skip out on any of the steps— it’s his child as well after all

And he makes sure to always answer his phone and check his texts even if you’re updating him about your day he’ll take the time to text you back 

He doesn’t announce that you’re pregnant to the other members until you’re well along in your second trimester 

But it’s met with excitement from everyone 

Probably a look from Keeho and a throwaway “aren’t y’all still young?”

But he’s over the moon excited to be an uncle trust he’s going to be present in the baby’s life

Theo would gift you all the practical things you could need like diapers, monitors, and bottles 

Once the baby arrives Jiung will probably meal prep some food for both of you (which you are forever grateful for) 

Soul finds the most interesting baby toys on the market but despite Intak’s slight judgemental look when he receives them, you think they’re all great

Jongseob is fully composing lullaby and nursery rhymes, except you’re a little unsure of how easy they are to follow once he throws in complicated rap rhythms 

Keeho’s proud of Intak and excited for you— he knows you’ll be the best parents

But as the leader, he’s also more than eager to help out wherever you need it, especially with cleaning or just little things to help you destress when you need it, mainly during postpartum :’)

Intak is extra clingy while you’re pregnant, especially when your bump starts to show

Even if it’s only been a few days since it was visible, he is all over you

You probably receive a million kisses a day, and trust his arms are always wrapped around your waist, feeling your bump with that proud dad smile on his face

Always says his son is gonna have the coolest dad ever, and you can’t even argue with him because you do think Intak is gonna be the coolest dad ever

And when your son arrives, Intak couldn’t be prouder

Definitely cries holding him for the first time, and is probably very emotional the first couple of days

But he is also your biggest support

He’s doing absolutely everything he can to make sure you can rest after delivery; seriously won’t let you lift even a finger

He shows you off even more than before, he just thinks you’re so incredible and amazing for everything you’re capable of, and how good of a mom you are

He’s more in love with you than ever

Each milestone your son reaches is so important to Intak, from his first smile, to his first word (which he’s proud to say was “dada”), to his first steps and first day of school

Intak is one of those dads who is constantly giving all his friends and family updates about your little ones and sharing cute moments of his son with him

He’s so close with his son, and you’re always happy to see them spending time together

Of course, he’s gonna raise his son right!!

From an early age, he’s always talking to his son about doing things for mom; whether it be cleaning the house cause you had a long day, planning a surprise date cause it’s been a while, or buying you flowers because it’s mother’s day

Doesn’t matter if your son can’t even talk yet, Intak will still be talking about every occasion that is important to you

And they plan all the special things together <3

Dressed up in matching suits for your first mother’s day, and your heart melted :(

Intak includes your son in everything, and they just make the best duo, you couldn’t be happier to have them in your life

Date nights with Intak used to be a super regular thing in your early marriage, but it becomes pretty tricky with a kid to manage

You rely on Intak’s friends to babysit a lot, especially Keeho and Theo who are more than happy to compete for best uncle award

You can usually sneak in at least 3 dates per month amidst your busy schedule <3

Intak is the best person ever to comfort his son and also to give the best advice

He’ll always wipe his tears and assure him whenever he stumbles, especially as a toddler/little kid around 2-6

He’s always telling his son how proud he is of him and how he can do anything he ever wants to and be backed by his dad

As your son grows older, Intak gets a bit more emotional about it

Because he’s not as small and dependent as he used to be :(

Especially at around age 5-6, he’s really getting out of his shell, and Intak feels bittersweet about it

Of course, he’s beyond proud of his son for making new friends and trying out new things by himself with the introduction of school

But he also misses those more quiet days when it was just you two and your baby doing everything together :(

Your son starts to develop some of Intak’s habits, and you find it so cute how he’s becoming a little carbon copy of his dad

They share the same interests and can always be found playing together

Definitely starts enjoying music with his son really early on and is always dancing and singing/rapping with his kiddo <3

And also loves to get into sports with his son and compete (although he’ll almost always let his son win)

You find it incredible how they can stay entertained together for hours

Of course, Intak doesn’t have endless energy like his son does, but he still somehow keeps up just running off of love and pride for his kid

Best boy dad you could ever ask for !!!

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