#wonder at the mundane. good mundane and bad mundane. that’s the theme here i think.

[quietwingsinthesky]

and another thing about 11089: perpetually they are getting sick with weird alien viruses, yes, because whatever protection the doctor can come up with just is not compensating for the immune system of someone who just. didn’t really encounter germs ever until they left their home-spaceship as an adult. they respond to this both with the expected amount of misery (pain??? why can’t they breathe through eir nose their nose has never been stuffy before. throwing up is terrible and awful and bad :( ) but also with like. genuine delighted fascination at how their body is fucking itself up, because it just Did Not Do That Before. there is a price to getting to see the universe and it’s running a fever every other week and they are paying it gladly!!!!

[boxingcleverrr]

Popular Hades & Persephone "retellings" are, rightly, getting dunked on all over the socials right now and, as a Pagan who has an altar to the Queen, I could not be happier. But also, I feel like a lot of people miss WHY they're bad - aside from just plain bad writing and lazy tropes. Which are, yeah, also REALLY bad.

Pretty much all retellings try to wave away, or excuse, or twist the whole kidnapping bit. And I actually do have sympathy and understanding for why, when speaking from a modern perspective.

But honestly...you gotta get over it. There are other stories to play fix-it with, not this one.

The Abduction is The Thing.

Were I a little more sober I could bring up chapter and verse of the Hymn to Demeter but frankly, if you know even the middle school mythology curriculum version of the story, you SHOULD know the themes. The story of Persephone was one mothers and daughters in the ancient world held dear, because it was a reality: you will, one day, be swept away from your home to go cleave to a man you most likely know nothing about. You will miss your mother, but chances are very good that he will be a good husband, once you get to know him, certainly better than Zeus or Ares, and he will make you a queen of his home.

Leaving home to marry was often scary, and violent (look up the history of the tradition of Bridesmaids, if you don't already know it - they were originally decoys on the marriage road). Centuries later we'd have tales like Beauty & The Beast serving the same function: comfort, hope, you are leaving your safe loving home to figure life out with a (often older, powerful) stranger. Your trauma over this sudden ending of your childhood made manifest in a Beast, or a God of The Underworld.

It's wonderful that we don't NEED stories like this anymore to comfort us (here, at least, in this culture). But if you try to force them into modern vernacular it just will not work, not really, because you're gutting out the whole point just to have a more tidy romantic male hero.

I have read MANY very good ...novelizations? fanfic(? however you would frame them, but they're certainly not "retellings"), etc. that simply take advantage of the blank spaces in the myth, and there are many!

It's not explicit that sexual assault happens - "The Rape of Persephone" as a title was coined in much earlier eras, when the word was just as often used to simply refer to abduction.

"She was starving!" the gods didn't need to eat. So it's easy to read her eating the Pom seeds as a deliberate choice on her part. Like, shit, people, scholars have written whole papers on the symbolism of this moment, between marriage rites and even yeah, Seph choosing both worlds with her husband's knowing consent.

And that, I think, is the real heart of the thing. People want an utterly mundane, spelled-out story here, as opposed to what it really is, has always been, just like any other myth or religious parable: IT'S A METAPHOOOOOOR.

They don't need to be destined, or meet at a goddamned BALL and then CONSPIRE to fake her kidnapping, or shit, I once saw one where Hades got MIND CONTROLLED by Zeus?! Jesus.

Persephone was yoinked into the Underworld against her will.

That's how it went.

I don't mean this in a "stay out of my belief system!" way, shit I'm a white American chick with delusions of witchery. I mean this in a "stop stressing yourself out trying to make things palatable" way:

This is a very real, very precious myth to many people, BECAUSE for at least that one event, Persephone had no autonomy, BECAUSE for thousands of years most women had no autonomy. Erasing that, sanitizing the fact that a girl is ripped out of the spring, from her mother's arms, is erasing the thing that gave comfort to women for centuries. And people can and should still find power and healing in it now!

Fill in the blanks the story leaves in whatever manner seems fit to you, there's plenty of room, but. Come the fuck on.

[suzayaaa]

POLAROID LOVE - 성찬

pairing: sungchan x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

theme: non-idol!sungchan, angst, slice of life, boyfriend au

warnings: mentions of food, cursing

inspired by arguments with riize by @wonbnz

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“I don’t want to see you ever again”

“Then you won’t”

The words echoed in your head like a siren. You and Sungchan rarely argued, but even if you did, it was never to this extent. It reached the point where you aren’t sure you are still a couple. You haven’t talked for two weeks.

You never meant the words you said, yet you also never expected Sungchan to leave. It was all a misunderstanding caused by high emotions and a battle between your hearts and feelings of pride.

At first, it didn’t even bother you. The argument was so strong the negative feelings stayed with you for at least a couple of days, and it wasn’t until you got to spend some time alone with your thoughts that you realized you were not happy with the situation. Still, you weren’t ready to contact Sungchan and were highly disappointed he didn’t try either.

But you missed him. You missed the sound of his laughter at everything you do, the smell of his perfume in every corner of your apartment, the excited screams every time he found the opportunity to compete with you even on the most mundane tasks, the smile on his face every time you woke up because of his kisses, the adoration in his eyes every time you spoke.

All of those things were a daily thing, and you never realized how important it is to you until now.

For the past three days, you tried texting and calling him, always checking your phone just to be met with a lack of response. He didn’t even post anything on social media and wasn’t even featured on his friends’ stories. You thought maybe he’s doing it on purpose or maybe he is just busier than usual. That would explain the peace your phone was experiencing.

You tried not to give it much thought (after all, you’re mad at him), but soon, disappointment turned into guilt and worry.

You were scared. You don’t know where he is, how he is, and if he is still your boyfriend. You don’t even know if he is alive.

Love doesn’t go away when something bad happens. Love never leaves, even when you’re sick of that person, even when your heart is shattered. Despite hurting each other more than you could ever imagine, you still love him. You still care about him and you still want to be by his side.

You couldn’t wait any longer.

But you had no idea where to find him. Sungchan is a wild card. After two weeks, he could be at the other end of the world and you would never know, and he didn’t owe you any explanation. After a whole day of thinking, your brain had offered you two options, and after another day, you decided on the more pleasant one.

Standing at the door with your arms crossed, you look around again before licking your lips. You could still change your mind, go back home, and hope for the man to be a man. Your heart definitely didn’t beat as fast when you were just thinking about it—the confrontation feels scarier than you would like to admit. You shake your head, tell yourself to ‘stop this bullshit and just do it’, and knock on the door. The silence following the knock feels much quieter and those few seconds feel like eternity. Just as you’re sure your soul is about to jump out of you and run away, the door opens and your heartbeat almost stops.

“Seunghan! Hi”

Not your target, but a good start.

You smile at him as he greets you with raised eyebrows, visibly shocked to see you. “Is… um, is Sungchan here?” The quiet voices coming from the apartment raise your hopes and your eyes almost plead for a yes.

“No, he went to play soccer with the guys,” Seunghan gulps at the disappointment on your face, “but come in! They should be back soon, besides, we haven’t seen you for a while.”

You wonder if it’s a good idea to spend time with his friends when you don’t know if you should add ‘ex’ in front of ‘boyfriend’ in Sungchan’s contact name, but as the boyish scent hits your nose when Seunghan opens the door wider, you decide to think less today.

You mutter a ‘thank you’ and enter the apartment.

Before you started dating, Sungchan spent every free moment he had with the boys there. You thought they all lived here together, but when all of them answered ‘it’s complicated’ when you asked, you chose to drop the topic. Even after you became a couple, Sungchan often offered to hang out there, saying he likes how you get along with his friends. You didn’t mind either. Sungchan has very good friends and interacting with them is fun. They welcomed you warmly in their circle, even saying they are on your side now (although you saw some terrified faces when Seunghan said they would beat Sungchan up if he did something to you).

As you take your shoes off, you notice Sohee and Anton playing games in the living room. You shyly walk towards them, not sure what to do or say. You don’t hang out with them without Sungchan around, and your current situation puts you in a more than awkward place.

“Hi,” you sit on the couch and press your lips together. They were quite startled when they noticed you after they paused the game, but the soft smiles on their faces reassured you a little.

The conversation started slowly. After some stutters and seconds of silence, the four of you eventually found your pace and soon the place was filled with soft laughs and lively topics. The boys did everything to entertain you—Sohee proudly showing his vocal talent during a karaoke session, a game of Just Dance with you stealing the show, a long hour of playing Mario Kart, and, of course, a big round of teasing Anton about everything you could think of. The effort put into all of the games caused your stomachs to cry for food, almost in unison.

“I’ll get some food,” Seunghan says, putting his phone on a coffee table.

“I’ll help,” you quickly follow him to the kitchen. You don’t expect anything extraordinary to eat, as this place hasn’t seen a woman for more than two weeks (unless something in the guys’ lives finally moved, or one of the moms visited—your brain rejects the thought of the worst possible option), so you’re not surprised when Seunghan prepares leftovers and snacks. You watch him shuffle around the kitchen and you think something to drink would be a good idea, so you get the glasses and pour coke in them.

As you close the cap, you hear a front door open and your body has to live on its own now. Your brain, heart, soul, everything stops when you hear male voices talking, one standing out to you.

He is here.

You don’t know what to do. The boys successfully took your mind away from Sungchan, to the point where you forgot why you’re here in the first place. You don’t know what to say to him, how to even face him. You don’t want the boys to feel awkward, but the tension between you is as clear as a summer sky, and you haven’t even seen each other yet. You stare at the bottle in your hands and squeeze it desperately when the voices get closer. Maybe there’s a way you can escape. Maybe if you’re fast enough no one will-

“Hey”

Too late.

You slowly turn around to face him and you think you may pass out. He’s standing at the entrance to the kitchen stiffly, looking as casual as ever, but to you, he’s the most beautiful human you have ever laid your eyes on. The oversized pants and tee, hair messed up by the wind outside, the uncomfortable stance. You don’t know if it’s just love or if you’re that desperate, but everything about him makes you forget all the sad things you said to each other.

“Hi”

A simple hey. A simple hey is all that makes you want to throw yourself on him with all your strength, see his smile and hear his laugh forever until you die, tell him everything you love about him and everything you see in him, even serenade him. Sungchan makes your insides explode with love and even though you feel like you’re on a cloud, you do nothing.

You two just stare at each other from a distance of at least three meters, not moving any muscle. You notice Seunghan and the food are no longer there, instead, most of the guys are chatting quietly in the living room, some of them secretly glancing at you from time to time.

You cannot handle the tension anymore, so you take a quick breath and ask “Can we talk after you shower?”

Sungchan’s mouth parts slightly when you speak and his stare softens a little, but he quickly collects himself. “Okay, go to my room” is the only thing he says before he leaves to go to the bathroom. You give a small smile and a nod to the boys looking at you weirdly and do as Sungchan says.

You walk into the room and the first thing you do is make his bed out of habit. You realize you don’t know if it’s appropriate anymore. You cover your mouth with your hands and sit on the bed, looking around.

It feels like ages since you’ve been here. You didn’t even realize how used you are to his presence until you stopped talking—thinking of that, what are you going to tell him? You were right about coming here, but your plan only reached seeing Sungchan. You left out the most important part, and now you don’t know what to do. Again.

Your eyes catch polaroids scattered all over his desk and you instinctively get up to see them. Your hands take one and as you stare, you realize.

These are all the polaroids from your dates. All the way, from the start of your relationship until today. You look at each of them and you hate the feeling of the sting in your eyes and nose.

Your first date, your first kiss, and the ice cream you accidentally dropped during it. The first time you visited each other’s apartments. Your first trip together, a competition on who can name more animals in the zoo. The gift you got him for his birthday, a game he had talked about for months. The flowers he bought for you because you had a bad day. Your first anniversary. The cupboard you accidentally broke at your apartment. The terribly done face mask he tried to put on his face. Celebrating New Year together. Sunset watching. The moment you said the three words to each other for the first time, and the hundreds of walks that brought you two closer each time just by walking next to each other.

“That wasn’t even my fault!”

“You’re a dick”

“And you’re a bitch, but I don’t tell you that every time I see you”

“Maybe you should! Maybe you should start talking instead of giving excuses like a fucking kid!”

You rest your head on the chair. You finally let all your emotions leave you as you sob quietly. Every important moment of your relationship is right in front of you and you’re letting it get crashed down by a stupid argument. You’re letting the main source of your happiness go just because you can’t communicate. You’re letting Sungchan go when dating him is nothing but a dream to you.

You lift your head up when you feel a hand on your back. When your eyes meet his, you throw yourself at him and hug him as if he is going to disappear at any moment. Your tears stain his shirt as you mumble countless apologies into his chest, sniffing and sobbing. His arms wrap tightly around your shaking body and he strokes your head in an attempt to calm you down. You clutch his shirt in your hands and weep even more when he starts whispering, “It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry, I just… I saw these polaroids and I thought you were going to break up with me and I don’t want to break up because I love you and I was so stupid for starting all of this and I said all these things I didn’t mean and,” you stop when you run out of air.

Sungchan lifts your head up with his fingers and that’s when you notice his teary eyes. His gentle smile causes another stream of tears. He hugs you closer and gets the hair out of your face.

“I’m not breaking up with you because of one argument,” he says softly. “It’s my fault too. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you and I should’ve replied to your texts and calls. I’m sorry.”

You stay in each others’ arms, shaking and crying together, caressing each other, leaving little pecks and deep sighs until you both calm down. You pull out from the hug and you wipe your tears, he does the same. You stare at each other again, eyes shining from both tears and love.

Sungchan takes your hands in his and looks at you sincerely. “Let’s fix this. I love you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “I love you too.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[tjsweetheart]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

pairing: peter maximoff x f!reader

tags: fluff, friends to lovers, jealousy, fan girling

summary: after begging your best friend peter to take you to the x-mansion, you finally accompany him there after some serious consideration. however, peter seems strangely eager to leave, and is oddly upset when you bond with the other mutants; more specifically scott summers. after the day ends, you confront him about his behavior, and one thing leads to another.

You had been begging your best friend, Peter, all day to take you to the X-Mansion ever since he said that he was going back. It had been what - 5 months since you had known him? Ever since he had seen you beat his high score at the arcade, you two had been inseparable. You would meet up constantly at the arcade, and it was one of the only times he’d even come out of his mom’s basement (other than to rob but wtvr). 

Peter Maximoff knew absolutely everything about you; he knew your parents, your siblings, your favorite video games, how you were deathly allergic to cucumbers, how you worshipped INXS. Even the mundane things, like how you never double-knotted your shoelaces, resulting in you constantly tripping over them. But the one most prominent attribute about you, or one that he found most prominent was that you had a cult-like obsession with the X-Men.

The wall of your room consisted of so many X-Men posters to the point that Peter couldn’t even see the original color of the wall. You had collectable figurines, plushies, comics, clothing, mugs, pins, bags, all with one central theme. X-Men.

Peter’s face was even on some of your merch, which greatly pleased him; although he couldn’t feel the same about your love for Cyclops. At first, he had wondered if you had approached him with an ulterior motive, but the more time he spent with you, the less he thought so. 

“Please, Peter! Aren’t you going back to the mansion today? It won’t hurt to bring me with you.”

Peter shrugs. 

“I mean, it won’t hurt.”

You grin. But Peter isn’t so sure. There is tons of danger at the X-Mansion. You could get hurt by one of the mutants, or you could forget about Peter and completely ditch him for Scott Summers. 

‘Is that why I don’t want her to go?’ Peter wonders. ‘I mean, it’s not like we’re dating or anything…’ Peter wishes for it to be the opposite.

“I mean, I could take you if they let me.”

Your eyes widen as you become more excited. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, totally.”

Your eyes shine and Peter’s heart softens. 

‘Maybe it won’t be that bad’ he thinks.

You and Peter stand in front of the X-Mansion, and you’re practically vibrating from excitement at this point. 

“Jesus, calm down.”

You grin. “I can’t believe this is really happening!” you whisper-shout.

The man who opens the door is none other than Professor X. He greets you and Peter with a warm smile.

“Ah, Peter and his friend.” He holds out his hand to shake, and you take it eagerly. “The name’s Charles Xavier.”

“H-hi.”

As you walk in and make yourself comfortable, introducing yourself to the other mutants, Peter thinks he might have overreacted when he was hesitant to bring you here. 

However, that thought quickly disappears.

“Oh. My. God.” you say.

‘Uh oh. That isn’t good.’ Peter thinks.

Scott Summers walks over to you. 

“Hi, -” Scott begins, unable to even start his sentence.

“You’re Scott Summers!” you yell, quickly quieting yourself. “I’m, um,” your speech is much more calm this time to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of your idol. “I’m a fan.”

Scott looks at Peter and notices him eyeing him like a menacing hawk. Well. A mad Peter Maximoff, someone who has never been mad before isn't scary at all.

“Well, hello there, fan.” Scott immediately catches onto Peter’s obvious crush on you, deciding that he’ll maybe have some fun.

“Hi,” you respond with a giggle. Peter groans, running a hand through his silver hair. This was not going well. Not well at all. Peter hadn’t yet caught on that Scott was egging him on, teasing him, as he was too distracted by the possibility of his supposed best friend being stolen away by some… some… laser eyed scoundrel! Peter cursed himself.

“Can we go now?” Peter groans in a condescending voice. You look back at him with a surprised expression on your face. You had never before heard or seen Peter talk in that way in the past five months that you had known him, ever.

“‘Peter!” you chastise.

“You really don’t need to be all over him. You’re probably annoying Scott.” He turns to Scott. “Isn’t that right?”

“Well, I rather enjoy her company.” 

Oh, come on. Peter thought he could have at least backed off from someone that was clearly his.

Scott internally laughs as Peter’s expression grows hard. 

“You don’t need to be here anymore.” Peter grumbles. He gently grabs your arm, dragging you off the property of the X-Mansion. 

“Peter, what the hell?” you say.

“What.”

“Why’re you acting all moody and shit?”

Peter frowns. Why was he doing this? Why was he so intent on keeping her away from Scott?

“I felt weird.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Huh?”

“I hated seeing you talk to him. I didn’t like it.”

“Why?” you demand. “Tell me why.”

“I don’t know, okay!”

“I think I know why.”

It was somewhat ironic that the girl Peter liked realized that he liked her before he himself found that out.

You grab his hand and squeeze it tightly.

“Don’t do that shit again. Acting all jealous. You have nothing to be jealous of.”

‘S-sure.” Peter stutters. You’re so close to him that he can feel your body heat, your warmth on his body. He wants more. He just doesn’t know it yet.

a/n: that was SHITTY ASS writing but wtvr. anyways, thank you reader!

[minquiec]

the ways in which you talk to me jia shows love to hb specifically

Hey god

It's me

Y'know

Again

I'm rlly going crazy w these lately and I don't Know Why but uhhmmmrhrm these were just scenarios I thought of that I think is cute so 🧍

I'm really obsessed!1!1 with this sleeping theme recently?? But anyways here we goes

Imagine if like hobie can't stand sleeping in the heat

Like he hates sleeping in hot temperatures and it drives him insane he hates it so much that it makes it hard to sleep and makes him even more restless than usual (ref my last post that I made)

and he also hates it cause he can't cling to jia as more cause EUEUUGEHH ITS TOO HOT but gf is too far ☹️☹️☹️💔💔

But anyways the scenario was he accidentally slept over at jia's and caught the summer heat in her world at it's WORST (cause I think china summers are hotter than eeenngland?? Idk it was a 2 minute google search don't trust me)

Bro was fucking going thru the motions

Actual suffering it was badddd for him and he thought it was bad back at home

And so it's like maybe 1:26 am in the morning and he's feeling way delirious and semi asleep but also not cause he feels like literal shiet with half a foot in hell

low-key sulking in his semi sleep cus it's so uncomfortable

And jia can't stand it!!! She hates seeing him so uncomfortable it makes her ☹️ awe

So what does she do except start quietly rummaging thru her drawers and closets to finddddd

A fan 🎉🎉🎉 yayyy

And if ur wondering no it's not those folding fans

IT LOOKS LIKE THIS

The design is very human, much wind very good

But anyways while he's marinating in his own sweat she also tiptoes to the bathroom to get a basin of water and a cloth

And armed with a fan and a basin she returns back to bed

And then,,,,ueueueueu UEGRHEH SNJFJEBJE

she'd start fanning him while up at 1 in the morning, occasionally swapping to the basin of water to wipe at his wayyy over heated skin like his face or back etc

(not rlly related but YKNOW WHO SHE LEARNT THIS FROM her grandma pwfhshsh y'know the ones who's DEAD cause she did the same for jia when she first arrived)

This isn't as big as the other one but it's still cute to me is she peels fruit for him

(the way she shows love is jsut very,,asian 😭😭😭)

I thought this cause to me ngl the idea of peeling fruits is soo

It's soooo

💔💔

Cause like imagine a mandarin right (or clementines or oranges idk the difference I'm not a fruit)

Usually when you peel for yourself you'd wanna remove the white fibers in between just because it's nicer to eat that way

If you were to offer bits of your mandarin to someone you're not that close to, you'd probably lowkey half ass it or even just give them half with the peel still attached 😭 (I'm jk)

BUT if it was for someone u care abt

You'd wanna put in the same effort you put into peeling as if it was for yourself

AND ITS JUST THE IDEA OF LOVING SOMEONE IN SUCH A MUNDANE AND SIMPLE WAY

I'm gone ugh

But yes jia peels fruits for hobie

That's it for now I'll probably wake up at one again some other time to add to this

[ranjxtul]

Preacher's Daughter and Generational Trauma

Recently, I took a Psychology of Gender class and by no means did it perfectly explore equity, intersectionality, and liberation, but it was pretty damn good in the end if you ask me. It was a space in which we could all speak freely and speak up. Psycology as an institution is laden in White supremacy much like all of Western medicine and because of the system we live in and its structure, we cannot distamantle these systems or margainalised folks who need help will have nowhere to go. We can only be loud and advocate to change these systems. That being said, for our final project we got to write about any feminist issue in the field and in both an academic way and both an accesible way through a 'blog post.' I wrote about generational trauma and themes of masculinity threats and white supremacy interpreted through the lens of @mothercain's album Preacher's Daughter. I wanted to share a summary of my presentation below as well as the actual material I wrote, as the point of the project was advocacy and it seems hollow to not actually share out of the academic setting. <3

So this is going to be trying to summarise a 12 minute presentation, which will hopefully be easier considering I will simply provide my blog graphic below to walk you through most of the meat of the media interpretation. This will just serve as preface I suppose.

Generational trauma is a personal topic for me, I am a product of that cycle of violence, a theory and actual reality for many people that is so intense and traumatising. We cannot have generational trauma without the systemic issues that are so deeply embedded in society like misogyny, racism, homophobia, transhopbia, etc. Of course, these issues all relate back to colonisation and White supremacy. In generational trauma we have historical traumas like the Shoah, the Rwandan genocide etc, and then the more 'mundane' examples where we see these cycles in families that are now being brought to light as mental health, decolonisation, and liberation are taking a more pressing role in society.

Preacher's Daughter is one of the most poignant written examples of the consequences of generational trauma I've seen. It has touched me and many others, and hopefully educated other listeners as media is one of the most accessible ways to understand and emphathise with someone else's experience. I know I've spent hours crying to "Hard Times" thinking about childhood, and fearing who I've become, wondering why I had to learn love could be bad. I've listened to "Sun Bleached Flies" and "Family Tree" with this undistinguishble anguish for myself, and my mother, and family, and community.

Psychology tends to treat generational trauma as isolated to the family unit or the incident itself instead of acknowledging its roots in systemic issues. This speaks to a larger issue in that western science refuses to meaningfully examine its roots in White supremacy and make meaningful change. Then and only then can generational trauma be properly healed.

Here I have attached my blog post and a copy of my academic writing wherein I examined two studies on generational trauma.

Blog Text

Academic Paper

Happy reading and lots of love to you all and thank you @mothercain for the music that has given me a voice

[spookfished]

big media roundup (july edition)

hellooo again welcome to my media roundup, where i talk about things i read/watched/played this month! (…and by last month i mean AN ENTIRE MONTH AGO. WOOPS in my defense i got sick [better now]) in july i downloaded tachij2k, which im going to be shilling forever as the best way to read manga on android (apk on github here) this also means that ive been reading like, a Lot of manga lol so i split books + comics into two.

books:

vita nostra by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko: a metaphysics-ish novel about a girl who is blackmailed into going to a magic school. sort of a subversion where (unlike many magic school books) it basically is all about learning and stuff? im kind of a sucker for books written by married couples i think its really cute and also kind of fascinating... um i sort of disagree with its approach to pedagogy but its also sort of about the blood sweat and tears part of learning,, where i usually quit beforehand LOL. got that eastern european hopeless and drudgery (?) but idk i would definitely recommend

the great believers by rebecca makkai: historical fiction that swaps between an art curator-y guy living through the aids epidemic in chicago and his friend in the present who is trying to reunite w her estranged daughter. i really liked this!! super devastating obviously literally scooped me like a melon. very well researched! i hadnt really grasped like. the sheer terror and paranoia? that happened during the aids epidemic before..... thats my lack of contemp history knowledge but it was good i learned a lot. liked the theme of sort of surviving through tragedy and even after.. and the line drawn between the lost generation (war) and yales own exp (EDIT: found sth i wrote after reading the book which said "people are living their own intricate and mundane stories and then the stories of the world smash straight through them")

assassin of reality (vita nostra sequel): sasha knows what she will become--has embraced it, even. but theres always something that can be lost, and the institute still has a heavy hand over her.<or sth like that??? the reveals of the last book kind of make it a hard act to follow and the book definitely felt a lot more abstract... ik some people complained about the romantic subplots but i feel like it gives stakes and grounds everything else, yk? it gives you a thread to hold onto otherwise i mightve given up LMFAO that being said i did enjoy it :3 wondering if what happened to the authors will change the vibe of the next book... :(

you exist too much by zaina arafat: literary fiction about a bisexual palestinian american woman who struggles with her addiction to unattainable love, which has led her to cheat in several relationships. this book didnt really resonate with me.. um i actually ended up writing like 500 words of review for this but its pretty negative. so if youre interested check it out here https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/970847361775591466/1147613251933306921/image.png

movies/tv: room with a view: a young english girl travels to italy and finds love there--but has to choose between that love and a 'proper' life. ok this was fine. idk it was cute and funny sometimes but didnt leave that much of an impression sorry :T

past lives: two childhood friends reconnect, lose touch, then reconnect again. aughjjj those two silent minutes where they were waiting for her ride were so freaking agonizing. really good acting pretty film i just enjoyed it a lot in general! :3 i didnt like the boyfriend that much at first but the conversation they had in bed made them feel like a real relationship, you know? wish theyd had a 3some though maybe it will happen in past lives 2: paster life. idk its like most of the time we dont grow up to be who we thought wed be or do what we thought wed do... but is that really so bad? cant you still be happy? *clutches my head

nimona (movie): adaptation of the comic above! um this was fine i think i was a little disappointed bc the jokes felt a little overplayed/didnt really land? and i was mentally comparing it to the comic but then rereading i was like oh these jokes dont really hit for me either.. so who am i comparing this to LOL i think it would have meant a lot to me in middle school, so maybe it will mean something to middle schoolers now. also ppl fought really hard for it to be made so i feel like i need to give it more credit. my mutuals meta also made me appreciate it more :3 https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/687877902200471552/1126752893312184390/image.png barbie movie: not going to recap the barbie movie sorry. i actually watched this twice it was really fun :3 i wouldnt necessarily say it was a Cultural Milestone or anything but it was cute to see everyone dressed up for the movie.. plus i love velveteen rabbit type storylines. i think ken got the right amount of screentime (its not his movie!) but i loved his dance number and the battle scene :3 and the outfitss idk im not super caught up on the movie scene but it feels like there have been a lot of ugly movies recently. i enjoyed it

the rehearsal: a "reality" show about nathan fielder, who believes that any difficult situation can be rehearsed--and has the budget to put that belief into practice. ok like last year or sth everyone was like omg this show was sooo good but i didnt really get what it was about? but its actually really so interesting.. and the whole blurring between fiction and reality as well as the audience not really knowing which parts are staged and which parts are 'real' is so fun! i was a little bit disappointed when it diverged from the episodic format but that ended up paying off bigtime and was really like idk heartbreaking and funny and all of that. very recommend 👍

video games:

super mario odyssey: (replay)super fucking mario yay!!! in the long run, odyssey didnt have as much like. cultural staying power as botw did (they were both switch launch titles) but its still soooo imaginative and pretty and dense! i love platformers love 2 run and jump.

visual media: he was my brother: psych horror manga about a young girl who tries to grow closer to her recently-deceased brother's partner. omg i had so much fun with this the art is so atmospheric and delightfully creepy...REALLY mind the warnings though. i think i ended up reading all of it in one sitting lmfao

nimona comic (reread): classic villain ballister blackheart is looking for a competent sidekick, but what he gets is nimona, a shapeshifting weirdo kid with secrets. i remember trying to reread this and going wow.... is nimona not as good as i remember? am i old? but it was actually just like early webcomic weirdness nimona is still pretty good! yay :3 i still like the comic better but i respect how they are adapted to their respective mediums and also come from different phases in the og authors life

The story of how I came to know my favourite announcer has a side to her I would have never imagined: oneshot f/f w the premise in the title. whether i write down stuff like this is pretty hit or miss lol and i had to look this one up to rmbr what it was but the art is so cute...simple plot but i enjoyed it :3

crossplay love otaku x punk: romcom where two highschoolers fall in love with the other's crossdressing alter ego (m/m?). i really liked this one actuallyyy its so silly and im also a sucker for love square shenanigans. ok also now that someone else said they think hana/shuumei is endgame so im thinking about it. not the right perspective for this but the crossdressing isnt really overly fetishized or like seen as bad or anything? also ppl make some really funny faces in this

breathless momentum (vol 2+3): r two womanizing musicians find love... in each other!? this is also another one of my favorites :3 the leads are so fun and also music yay music! i really appreciate when a romance is still able to present an interesting story even after the couple has gotten together..

damekoi r: sequel to "please love this useless me," (damekoi is like.. useless passion? i think) which is about a woman in her 30s who spends all her money on her college boyfriend and goes into debt and falls in with her shitty former boss. omg it was soooo cute like i already said its a romance set after the main couple has already gotten together. which is my favorite. but these guys are really fucking weird so they still have a lot of problems. having Another Man who fits michikos type and isnt totally evil come in to destabilize shibata and kurosawas relationship doesnt feel cheap bc their relationship is already not very stable? lol i think the first one is worth checking out if you love pathetic women

mr villains day off: a gag manga about an alien supervillain on his days off. ok this one is pretty much just centered around this fluffy guy who likes to look at pandas but its extremely not very deep but its very cute... i like it... i also like pandas

how do we relationship/so do you want to go out, or (reread): f/f slice of life/drama manga about a girls first lesbian relationship in college. ok this is like "the" yuri manga for me i would recommend it to any fans of femslash its like sort of very realistic feeling? in the way that a relationship can sort of degrade slowly through lack of communication and being different people i think its really great 👍

ichinose familys seven deadly sins: psychological drama. an entire family wakes up with amnesia from a car crash. they dont remember themselves or each other, but pledge to stay together and relearn how to be a family and try to find their memories again. but is it really worth digging up the past...? man this one really goes off the rails. but like in a fun way? has an interesting arc going on rn about like... what allowances do we give, what are we willing to forgive in a stranger vs a family member. pretty interesting!

oshi no ko (catchup): psych thriller about the twin children of a famous idol trying to deal with the legacy she leaves behind. ive been talking about this manga for a while to my friends lol its kind of like riverdale in that its sort of very good, sort of very bad--but overall just super engrossing! which makes sense in a way bc its about the entertainment industry but also about the relationship between an idol and their fan... um not so sure about recent developments though lol. a little bit scared to see where things go

blue period (catchup): a delinquent boy used to going with the flow decides to go to the top art school in japan. yeah blue period is really good. hope this helps 👍lets all never go to art school ever ok ^_^

still sick: f/f about an office lady who finds out her coworker writes and sells yuri doujins (like illustrated fanfiction?) on the side. its a classic! was nice to finally get around to finishing it :3

liar satsuki can see death: thriller about a girl who can see peoples deaths and tries to prevent them--except everyone thinks shes just a liar. ok this is notable bc it has the exact same like adventures and gaybait as shounen but its all girls instead. its good light entertainment! sometimes is um kind of horny for sth about high school girls so ymmv on that one

farming for love: m/m romance about a pharmacist who moves to the country after a bad breakup and meets a ~strong but silent farmer~. pretty average, but fun if youre into that kind of thing! not sure if i would really recommend it lol

chainsaw man 2: set after the events of chainsaw man proper, its an action shounen focusing on asa mitaka, a girl who kinda sucks :3 chainsaw man is so fun yayyy im happy to be reading it again excited to get hit by some more bricks! asa is a wonderful protagonist and fujimoto continues to write comitragedy (?) in a way thats kinda obscene but also very cool 👍rip single father denji

skip and loafer (comic): slice of life about an ambitious but awkward girl who comes from the country to start her high school life in tokyo!!!! and some guy i guess. omg ok this is like the slice of life manga for me rn (the anime is really good! finished recently check it out) its just really warm and nice. autistic girls win always lol truly a comic that makes you feel like there is love in the world

no home: webtoon drama about two guys who are trapped together in a haunted dorm. ok this comic makes me really depressed but its also about people who make each other better despite their best efforts. and also violence and hatred its really really good 👍sad about recent updates though.. i guess maybe the characters werent really meant to be friends in the long term

this took me like two weeks to write and now im in a different state LOL so um if you got to the end...thanks for reading!

[vonithipathachai]

The Mario Movie and the Place of the Film Critic

So.  I saw the Mario movie at the theater with my friend.  …It was fine.  I figure I probably would’ve enjoyed it more if I had a closer personal attachment to the Mario franchise.  But I think it mostly accomplished its goals of being pleasant, light-hearted, mentally undemanding entertainment for families and fans of the games.

I will say, though, that as someone who doesn’t consider himself a big Mario fan despite having played his share of Mario titles, I found the discourse around the movie’s critical and commercial reception to be far more interesting than the movie itself.  In the days shortly preceding and following its release, I found my YouTube feed being absolutely bombarded with Mario movie-related videos.  These included not only blatant spoilers, but videos from YellowFlash, Ryan Kimel, and other anti-woke content creators weaponizing the movie’s success and using it as an excuse to take the piss out of Disney and the critical establishment (not that Disney and certain critics don’t deserve it).  Now, I do feel I have something to contribute to the conversation, and I lean more on the side of the supporters of the Mario movie than the detractors.  But I’m really not interested in waxing polemic here as, again, there are plenty of other people who are far better known than I am doing that already.  Instead I’d like to ponder how we got to this whole situation between the critics and the audience in the first place and what can be learned from it going forward.  Because I do believe we’re witnessing change in motion as Mario smashes the box office and big movie studios are finding themselves compelled to take notes.  We might as well make the most of it.

The first thing we need to ask, which many who’ve observed large gaps in critical and audience approval ratings on Rotten Tomatoes have wondered, is “What is the purpose of film critics?”  Considering the question from a purely utilitarian perspective, I’m sure most would agree that they (at least in theory) act as a guide for the moviegoing consumer.  We all have limited time and money to spend on media consumption, and we would ideally like to spend as many of these finite resources as possible on “good” movies rather than “bad” ones.  Already we can see an issue here, as what exactly defines “good” and “bad” will vary between individuals.  Some audiences simply want a dazzling audiovisual spectacle to relieve themselves from the suffering of mundane life for a couple of hours, while others may be looking for more substance from things like narrative, actor performances, themes, etc. so that they may feel personally enriched by the movie experience.  Since the very nature of the professional critic’s job demands that the critic think more, well, critically about the movies they watch—carefully analyzing a film’s strong and weak points to argue for or against said film being worth seeing—they naturally fall into the latter category of defining “good” films primarily on the basis of substance.  This is not necessarily a bad thing.  In fact, it can be good, as it creates the potential for meaningful discussion and new perspectives which can help the ordinary audience member appreciate movies in a new light.  It does, however, create an alienating effect between critics and more casual members of the audience.

Further compounding the issue is that the professional critic, once again due to the nature of their job, is likely to have different viewing habits from those of even other substance-oriented individuals within the general audience.  They have to do multiple screenings per week (as many as 10-12 in the UK, not sure about the US) on top of writing their reviews and submitting them before the deadlines.  Not only that, they do not have the luxury of getting to pick and choose only “good” movies to watch, but must watch whatever movies are assigned to them by their superiors, including all of the “bad” and mediocre ones.  When you have to sit through so many movies, especially Hollywood genre movies that tend to follow similar plot beats, you naturally develop more keenly enhanced standards and sensitivity to whatever sticks out, both for better and for worse.  This partially explains how Star Wars: The Last Jedi was able to win significant amounts of critical praise for “subverting expectations” and “taking risks” while at the same time drawing the ire of longtime fans.

With this in mind, it is easy to wonder why anyone would want to be a professional critic at all.  A more pessimistic or distrusting individual might say that critics are driven by a desire for clout and prestige.  Monetary gain would play a limited role at best, as the majority of film critics are in fact paid very poorly and must find additional income elsewhere.  This typically comes through other forms of journalism, as critics are often college-educated with degrees in journalism or communications if not film studies specifically (which in turn explains how many of them can be construed as “woke” or otherwise politically left-leaning).  But when the critic’s more demanding viewing habits have such great influence over how they assess what they watch, this limits the scope of people who take their opinions seriously, usually to fellow intellectuals who may or may not lean left themselves.  Ultimately, the critic persists out of a sheer love for film as an art form, and the advancement of film as art is something their work gives them a vested interest in.

So then where does Mario fit into all this?  When considering the critical predilection for substance instead of spectacle and their more refined viewing standards, along with the Mario movie’s safe, sterilized, corporate-mandated handling of the titular character and his world combined with a barebones and predictable story, it is not difficult to imagine how the movie could be given underwhelming critical reviews, even without accounting for any possibility of woke bias.  If the critics can be said to “hate” the Mario movie, it is because it is antithetical to everything they stand for as intellectuals and lovers of film as art.  It is pure audio-visual junk food.  Well-made and satisfying junk food, but junk food nonetheless.  But as far as its target audience is concerned, this is perfectly fine, even if it could do with just a little more time spent on plot and character development.  Therefore it can be considered a “good” video game movie.  Which makes it all the more curious that the critic scores have caused such an uproar.

As of this writing, the Mario movie sits at a 59% approval rating from critics and a 96% approval rating from audiences on Rotten Tomatoes, which is only a 37% difference.  For context, a movie on the site only needs a 60% critical approval rating to be considered Fresh, leaving it only a single percentage point away from Fresh status.  It does not even have as low of a critical approval rating as similarly critic-Rotten-and-audience-Fresh movies on the site, such as Venom (30%C, 80%A, 50% difference) and Uncharted (41%C, 90%A, 49% difference).  If the critics are too distant from the Mario movie’s target audience for their opinions to be worth consideration, then why is such a fuss still being made?  Wanting to break the “video game movie curse” is no longer a viable excuse; by this logic, Sonic would’ve broken it already with two audience-Fresh movies well before Mario.  The only logical explanation I can think of is that this is purely a matter of personal validation.  The critic scores are essentially the one blemish on what has otherwise been a perfect triumph for Nintendo and its fanbase.  …Either that or all the complainers are just a vocal minority and I’ve unwittingly found myself in one of those echo chambers.  Maybe it’s a little bit of both, who knows.

I’d like to end this piece off with some advice, not that I expect either party to abide by it.  Critics, if you are interested at all in expanding out of the intellectual bubble and gaining greater audience respect, it could be prudent going forward to try and put yourselves in the shoes of the movie’s target audience.  Not every movie is trying or even needs to be Shakespeare or have a profound social message.  Audience members, especially gamers, if you really don’t care what critics have to say about the movies you like, then just act like it.  It makes you look a lot less stupid.  And, uh, enjoy this possible new trend of high-quality Nintendo movies while you can.  Shigeru Miyamoto’s not getting any younger.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Y’all sure seemed to enjoy the last one, how about another round of late-night YuYuposting? Because threads from Chapter Black echoing into what we just saw of Wano is far from isolated to the chilling tale of Amanuma & Kurama. Didn’t think about it a whole lot til the end, but this One Piece arc was very Chapter Black through and through. Starting with this excellent, layered callback.

This “many faces” theme is one of the biggest we’ve talked about here on hour Kiku-centric journey through Wano. We see it through her in a more mundane way, all the faces a young woman has to juggle to live under an oppressive culture tied up with a theatrical bow. But the motif is a lot more blatant in both Kaido and Orochi.

We’ve also talked about the echoes of Shishio & his Juppongatana from Rurouni Kenshin, which obviously has a much more direct (and relevant) meaning for Oda’s career. But Shinobu Sensui...he manages both. Hence the picture. We got both the charismatic leader and the hearts he took advantage of and the fractured personality. That’s what Kurama’s referring to. A prophetic motif that was originally interpreted as referring to Sensui and his allies but we’re finding out here was about his own sevenfold psyche all along. I’ve always loved this little extra bit of flair about “Naru” as well, even though it never goes anywhere. The thought of the fractured big bad having a soft, feminine side. Yeah...shame that didn’t come up in anyway like Kaido having a flirty drunk phase or something. 

Doesn’t stop there though. Chapter 148, “Moment of Awakening.” Because...it was very much the same kind of story beat. Yusuke gets beat. Dies even but something seems off. Reawakens with a massive power up. Not much more to say about the beat itself other than that. I’m far from the only person who thought of the Atavism of the Mazoku here in YYH when we saw Gear 5 in One Piece 1044. I want to end on my real thoughts about how this might apply to One Piece going forward, but first an aside about Luffy and the girl tied up in the story elements that facilitated that transformation and are already back in play this soon into Egghead:

Context. This is a flashback from the guy in the first clipping. Itsuki, villain Sensui’s right-hand man. Lover as well, but seemingly unrequited like Honjo to Shishio. Gets weird with Sensui’s multiple personalities. Not what I really care about. No, this is how they met. It was a turning point for Sensui, who prior had a very black-and-white “humans good, demons bad” worldview. Was about to kill Itsuki but a simple ripple of fate gave him pause. In his last moments, Itsuki bemoaned wanting just one more day. For no other reason than wanting to see a favorite musician on a TV show tomorrow. As you can see, Sensui was a fan too which started a conversation that’d, to quote the series, “introduce a truckload of gray.”

Incidentally, Jun Togawa is a hell of a reference. She was a popular underground musician at the time. Kickass figure in her own right. Famous for like, paroding idol girl groups and being much more real about women’s perspectives and issues than most Japanese pop stars. Especially for the 80s/90s. Imagine half Nina Hagen, half Alanis Morisette. Gotta wonder if Oda’s a fan given potential nods like a first solo album titled “Princess Tama” and being the front for a band named “Guernica.” Speaking of CP0, of course it all comes back to Kiku. Long way around to a simple idea. One of the big things I always felt about Kiku & Yamato’s roles in the arc together is that it reminded me of the feeling of this simple but powerful moment. It’s the difference between casual fate and grandiose (but empty) destiny. 

I still don’t think it was an accident you have your two most featured new faces set up like that. Yamato comes bursting in halfway through talking about how long he’s been waiting because of Ace and reading about the crew in the papers and it feels like fate...but way less so when you remember Luffy stumbling into being buds with the little sister of one of Ace’s big bros. How he casually has no trouble finding out her secret because of the people he just happened to meet saving Ace. How following her heart and helping Luffy for its own sake led to reuniting with her lost family members. That rumination on fate and what it actually looks like is too good to pass up, especially with how well it aligns with Luffy stepping into this role as a “chosen one.” It mirrors; were you destined to be here just because, or because the sum total of your actions made you the right person?

Of course, I wouldn’t go on such a big detour without a point. Even if talking Kiku is always a good enough point for me. Still, this is where I’m wondering if we’re headed. The most poignant aspect of Yu Yu Hakusho’s Chapter Black is where it heads after. A shonen hero...reflecting on what it means being able to destroy it all if he wanted. Realizing he could become Sensui and not having any good answers. Sadly this is where we transition into an infamously rushed final arc for the series due to Togashi’s declining health, but it doesn’t undercut the power of seeing this in a power fantasy battle shonen.

And I can’t help but think about the role Oden plays in the story. How it all comes together. That was Oden’s example. A great man who didn’t really learn about the concept of collateral damage until it was too late. This certainly feels like part of the lesson Luffy learns through his time in Wano. That paired with a heaping helping of Kaido, the spectre of a powerful man who never learned to maintain composue. Deal with expectaions and emotions to the point he was a fractured drunk not unlike Sensui. 

Yeah...I think Chapter Black was a pretty damn big influence on Wano. Up there with RuroKen’s Kyoto arc. If you’re gonna drop homages you’d be hard pressed to find a better one to shout out and build off of.

[aotopmha]

Some more FFXIV thoughts with 6.45 out (and a little bit of FFXVI sprinkled in there):

Spoilers!

So, Endwalker Hildibrand has been fantastic.

The issue with earlier Hildibrand was something A Realm Reborn and Heavensward shared in general (and now turns out FF16 does, too).

There just randomly were lulls where none of the fun wierd stuff was happening and everything screeched to a halt to simply "get there".

ARR had that horrible wine quest, Heavensward the Moogle quest and FF16 the ship quest.

And none of them needed to be as long as they were.

And not like Stormblood, Shadowbringers and especially Endwalker didn't have any of that, but at least the moments there either didn't last that long or were punctuated with much more compelling story.

But those three also had stuff like Ruby Sea (in fact some would argue SB had it worse than any of the expansions, having an entire zone of bore, HW and ARR just had some slow quests), the lead-up to Vauthry and the final Labyrinthos stretch.

(And to be fair, the Moogle quest did preceed some very good reveals.)

Yeah, about a decade in and the narrative pacing still went backwards in quality from Shadowbringers to Endwalker.

But the side stuff absolutely has seen massive improvements.

Some fantastic tribe quests, especially stuff like the Omicron and Loporrit quests in Endwalker, and just simple side quests adding much more to the main narrative than they often did in earlier expansions.

(Amaurot and Elpis in particular come to mind here. But also quests like the Tataru and Omega ones that have much more effort put in them than pretty much any others.)

I would argue the Alliance Raid in Endwalker is the first time an Alliance Raid story is relevant in just the right way, not minimal setup like Crystal Tower, but interesting story that is important, but not *too* important to the point where you can't experience the main story without it.

And to finally come to 6.45, Hildbrand has been part of that, as well, I think. Just so much better pacing between the zany and the mundane.

This latest Hildi quest was just a fantastic parody of the alien origin trope. I was laughing the entire way through the "reveal" sequence. So stupid. So wonderful.

Brandihild is also an absolute stroke of genius.

This entire questline is a great vehicle for the space theme of Endwalker.

But going back to more general talk, I really hope they just seriously work on the general pacing of the main expansions from this point on.

It doesn't need to be the longest story with the most content, all parts just need to flow together really well and be really well written.

The fact that 16 couldn't learn from ShB makes me sad, too. You can really tell it started development right after Heavensward because I think it basically shares pretty much all of the writing issues with ARR and HW in particular.

And maybe some of it isn't as bad as it seems if you put it into perspective, but it sure often *feels* longer than it should be. That's all because of it being written in a specific way.

Shadowbringers got the narrative structure and pacing *almost* perfect. I'd personally at most remove bits of Ill Mheg, Rak'tika, some of the lead-up to Malikah's Well and of course a step or two from the lead up to Vauthry as mentioned above.

(The latter bit and the Labyrinthos would actually already be improved by just giving them better variation in music.)

But I think ShB and EW mostly need trimming rather than complete removal or rewrites of sections.

I really think ARR, Heavensward and Stormblood especially really need (further) cuts, though. Some of it really doesn't add anything to the world and works better as a brief joke or detour than a prolonged bit.

People will stick around if the content is good. Padding keeps people around in the worst way possible.

I hoped 16 being a "new" story compared to 14 being inherited would not have as big of an issue with it and it would get the chance to learn from 14, but now I really hope they listen in regards of the pacing and take away the right lessons from the criticism directed at the side quests in 16: less fetch quests with nobodies, more character focus with the cast we care about, incorporating world building into the story via them and really looking at pacing stopgaps, how to slow down and when to (and not to) slow down because I really think it is the biggest narrative issue these games face.

I feel like 7.0 would be the perfect place to combine all of these lessons in storytelling, being "a new beginning" and I feel like the 6.x have been doing pretty well in that sense because patches tend to have pretty wild variations in pacing (5.1 vs 5.3).

Having concise prose, knowing when to speed up and slow down in the story and keeping it all compelling and exciting all the way through in long form while also making a good game around it all really feels extremely tough if you lay it out in the most simple terms like this.

But I'm very curious what they will and won't learn from all of this.

[inkdemonapologist]

[BatIM Call of Cthulhu Masterpost]

nEW SESSION (summary here!), where there’s been an unexpected development to the music issue and its time to [checks my notes] taLK TO THE PROPHET AND BREAK INTO SUSIE’S APARTMENT??? Also, the Prophet and Joey have made.... a truce(???), Prophet is concerned Sammy isn’t going to stay on task now that music is returning and has left him a sort of alarming note, and Jack is uh, trying to hold, too many things, maybe some things he shouldn’t be holding, Jack please put those things back,

anyway heres a stack of out-of-context quotes from our session under the readmore:

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Jack] My favourite thing is, there are so many reasons that Henry could've avoided things that I have no idea WHY Henry isn't affected. [Jack] Like, is he not affected because his art isn't a performance? Is he not affected because he warded his house? Is he not affected because he'S FILLED WITH GLOWING BLOOD?!?

[Jack] He got as far as feeding his cat, and I feel like feeding cat isn't a performance-- [Sammy] Not usually, not unless you sing a song to your cat, which-- [Jack] Awww! [Sammy] -- which, now that I've said that, sounds like something Jack would do actually,

[Sammy] Ohhhh, that's right, Joey just heard some people play some bad notes and start panicking, and then he stood up and passed out, [Jack] Which is probably how Sammy feels every time he hears people mess up music!

[GM] He finds news on the radio, but they’re not talking about that right now. [Joey] What are they talking about? [GM] Something mundane; business or sports or something. [Jack] The, the sportsball team, got a…..uh….. a, a point. Congratulations, sportsball,

[Joey] If the sportscasters sound normal, then Joey is instantly VERY ANGRY.

[Henry] Henry’s not very musically inclined, but he knows some songs, [Sammy] Like, can you hum Twinkle Twinkle Little Star -- [Jack] “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

[Jack] Jack has made a vague list of the kinds of people who seem to be affected. [Jack] There’s also “NOT HENRY?????” with a bunch of question marks in this list.

[GM] He’s told that Peter is out of town for a week. [Jack] Hmm. [Sammy] PETER WHERE ARE YOU GOING? [Jack] Hmmmmmm. [Sammy] Jack, is Peter coming here, to check on you, [Jack] HMMMMMMMMMMMMM,

[Sammy] *exasperated* NPCs Stop Getting Involved In The Occult Challenge [Henry] Stop Getting Involved In The Occult Or Draw 25

[Joey] Peter had never seen a Bendy cartoon, and this needed to be fixed. [Joey] The premier is this weekend, and he sent tickets to Pete to correct this, error, in his ways. [Jack] ...I think it is very slowly dawning on Jack, that this means that Pete has been pulled directly into yet another… supernatural nonsense... [Sammy] WE DIDNT DO THIS ONE!!

[Sammy] I CAN’T BELIEVE PHONES ARE THE ANTAGONIST OF THIS ADVENTURE

[Henry] Oh wait--! oh, no, nevermind, I forgot he and Allison probably aren’t together yet. [Sammy] Yeah, I think they just met; they had a meet-cute where they found out they both like Frankenstein and that’s it. [Jack] They actually got married today, since nothing else was happening at the Studio, [Sammy] That’s why Allison hasn’t shown up, she was busy getting married!

[GM] Bendy might’ve been keeping tabs on Henry, but it depends I guess on how distressed Joey is seeming. [Joey] Joey is probably just going to bury his sorrow in studying magic. [GM] Okay! That’s fine and normal Joey behaviour!

[Sammy] Sammy will note that nothing got done in the music department, because he has good priorities.

[Jack] I like the idea that it’s just like, when the teacher isn’t in, and nobody does the work the substitute teacher gave you, [Jack] Everyone’s just playing pokemon in the back, [GM] I thought you were going to say “poker,” but I like the way you ended the sentence better.

[Jack] HMMMMMM. I wonder if we know, any suspicious women, who were around on that specific day, who are known to have, skill and interest in magical things,  [Joey] And also were aware of the cutouts, [Sammy] *cheerfully* Yeah, weird! Anyway!!!!

[Jack] Sammy was acting weird about Allison. Far too agreeable for a Sammy!

[Sammy] *talking about Prophet* If you want to lock him in somewhere, or restrain him, I’ll cooperate. [Jack] Just handcuff him to Jack! [Sammy] SAMMY IS UNEASY WITH THAT PLAN, [Jack] *laughing* What could go wrong! It’s not like Jack is significantly less strong or anything!!

[Jack] Not everyone makes up their entire self, Joey!!! (Affectionate)!!

[Sammy] I give my word, my sheep! [Henry] How good is your word? [Sammy] I mean. It’s pretty good.

[Henry] Henry’s trying to decide if it would be rude to doodle during this very serious conversation. [Jack] I mean, Jack is taking notes, so I feel like-- [Joey] --you can get away with fake note-ing. [GM] No one will know! [GM] Well, Bendy will know, because he’s up high. [GM] Ceiling Bendy

[Sammy] He’s not gonna give you a grade afterwards, like, this isn’t a lecture, [Jack] Time for Prophet Pop Quiz!

[GM] What’s Prophet writing? [Sammy] Um, I gotta think about this... [Jack] “Dear Frightened Shepherd, that Allison person sure is nice, isn’t she?” [GM] “What’s up with everyone ragging on her?” [Joey] “I think I have finally found a way to bridge the gap between us!” [Jack] “I think you need to replace your sheep, they seem kind of suspicious for no reason,” [Jack] “To Do List: Get Better Sheep”

[Sammy] Does this feel like something that’s trying to take his focus, like, very compelling creative ideas? [GM] Yes. [Sammy] ...Prophet will write “don’t get distracted” five more times.

[GM] His mind is abuzz with thoughts of dancing and actoring, [GM] Ideas to be the best Joey ever! [Jack] Oh no.

[Joey] He will wave at the cutout and make a “come here” motion. [Joey] Though also, he’s looking at the cutout like, I’m not quite sure how this works, but I’m going to trust you that it works! So I’m going to do this and see if Bendy shows up! [Jack] Like someone trying to learn how to do phone video calls for the first time, [Joey] YES. Joey’s actually like really close to the cutout, and the motions -- you can make them out, but it’s really awkward,

[Sammy] They’re in no danger. I will take care of the Shepherd’s sheep. [Jack] ...JACK’S BEEN DOWNGRADED!! He’s no longer PROPHET’S sheep!

[Joey] I like how everything Prophet says really just feels like, Knife Cat face.

[GM] You could probably make a Mythos roll to figure it out. [Joey] *rolls* Oh! Extreme success! [GM] Joey’s back!

[GM] Bendy will lead Joey back to the room, where hopefully there are three alive, non-fighting boys!

[Jack] Part of me was like, “What if Jack DOES turn into a cat…?! It’d be pretty hard to write things!” [GM] *laughs* We’ll keep that in our back pocket, in case Jack ever fails a Mythos check. [Jack] Meowthos check…

[Henry] I’m going to have Henry look, look with his Special Eyes.

[Sammy] *failing a roll* Prophet is just, NOT on the ball today, in any way shape or form. [GM] Really hard not to think about music. : ) [Sammy] Ohhhhhh boy, [Jack] Prophet just writes a note to Sammy that says “HOW do you LIVE like this???”

[Henry] Henry’s gonna try to scribble what he remembers of the symbol!  [Sammy] Didn’t we learn, from the last scenario, about reproducing weird symbols, [Henry] No.

[Joey] Did Joey get burnt? [GM] Make a dexterity roll! : ) [Henry] *mumbling* Y’all this entire building is made of wood. *Joey fails* [GM] 1 point of damage, you singe your hand -- on the plus side, you kind of were holding it as it burned up, so it doesn’t fall on the wooden floor. [Sammy] OH GOOD, we’re not LOCKED IN A CLOSET that’s about to burn down? GREAT!

[Joey] We could head over to the infirmary -- [Jack] Jack is already pulling the burn ointment out of his bag. [Jack] He’s prepared this time! [Jack] He’s been practicing, he knows what you’re all like,

[Joey] Joey will give him a smile that’s most recognisable as the “I know you will do good!” smile. [Sammy] Prophet will also smile! It is not a friendly smile. [Jack] It’s a “smile” in quotation marks, but it’s like, baring your teeth as an act of aggression. 

[Jack] Jack lets him go to do the call, but just before he picks up the phone, he says, “Don’t call him Petey.”

[GM] The phone rings, and is not answered. [Joey] Okay! Joey hangs up, says Peter checked into his room, but is not answering. Most likely asleep. [Jack] Half of my brain is going, “what if he’s just stood outside Jack’s house?” The other half of my brain is concerned about manias. I hope he’s not decided that now is a really great time to do more writing, and now he can’t stop, and this could go wrong-- [Jack] This is what Jack’s mind is doing, thinking of all the terrible possibilities. [Joey] While humming. [Jack] ...yes. He’s writing some very troubling lyrics.

[Sammy] *talking about Jack’s compulsive humming* Like Cornifer, [Jack] *starts humming Cornifer’s theme* Dangit, now it’s in my head, why would you do this to me? [Sammy] It’s in character! [Sammy] Method acting. : )

[Joey] Joey’s going to grab supplies to make sure Bendy can… hang around with them! [Joey] Sleepover supplies! Let’s grab your sleepover bag! :D

[Sammy] I don’t know why the idea of a wild Bendy running around across the rooftops is so cute to me… [GM] Probably on all fours, [Jack] Scampering,

[Jack] It’s a good thing Henry’s around because I don’t think Jack can… carry??? An entire Sammy??? [Jack] Like he’s good at holding but he’s not strong at holding.

[Joey] We’ve all been acting terrible for the last 24 hours… [Joey] WAIT. We’ve all been acting terrible for the last 24 hours!!!

[GM] Bendy hides under a blanket or something. [Jack] Comfey… [GM] Cozy boy, [Joey] Bendyrito. [Sammy] BENDYRITO,…….. [GM] Rolled up… snug...

[GM] Is everybody coming into the apartment, or just the two? [Jack] Hmmm….. Jack isn’t fond of either of these options. Going in is suspicious and weird; staying outside makes it look even more like they’re breaking in, to steal things, as opposed to, y’know, breaking in, for,,, “good” reasons(???) [Sammy] We’re not breaking in, we’re just walking into this apartment! What’s so weird about that?! [Jack] That’s breaking in. That’s what breaking in is, Sammy. [Sammy] They don’t have to know that we don’t belong here, maybe Susie gave us a key! [Jack] ...they heard us knocking. [Sammy] [Sammy] We’re BEING POLITE!! SHUT UP!!

[Henry] Jack, did you pick up kleptomania.. [Joey] I thought Jack picked up Being Prepared! [Jack] H-he’s just hoarding a little bit!! It’s fine!!! It’s very, useful, see, already Joey got injured!! It was useful to bring lots of things with him okay!!!!!!!!!

[GM] They do not have the police called on them, so that’s nice. [Sammy] Oh good! [Jack] Thank GOODNESS. [Henry] Love when that happens! [GM] If you guys got arrested, the Lurker’s just out in the car all night, [Henry] oh NO, [Jack] Worse punishment than jail… [Joey] Lurker learns how to drive for fun. [GM] *laughs* Gets curious, [Joey] “I said I wouldn’t leave the car, but--”

[Joey] WAIT. There’s a very important factor that we just decided but didn’t say. [GM] Oh? [Joey] If we have Henry heading home, and everyone else sleep over at Jack’s…. [Joey] ...the Lurker finally gets to meet a cat. *everyone gasps* [Jack] Oh that’s SO important

[Henry] And Henry will probably look at these, while in the car, to make sure they don’t have any gold writing on them-- [Sammy] Isn’t Henry driving??? [Henry] ……Henry is not going to look at them in the car,

[Sammy] We’re all going to bed, Sammy, you don’t need a banjo to sleep! [Joey] You might sleep worse if you have a banjo, actually. You might not stop.

[Sammy] Jack you wanna join us? We’re gonna just jam all night! [Jack] It really is Jammy… [Sammy] *laughs* TRUE Jammy!! Real Jammy Hours… [GM] That makes it a pyJAMa party… a real jammy jam…

[writefightandflightclub]

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.  

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys.  You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.  

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own. 

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way. 

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.  

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.  

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked. 

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”  

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.” 

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.” 

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?” 

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.” 

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

[mythiccheroacademia]

Hey!! Could we please get more sugar daddy fics with a black reader ofc 😋 idk if you've done shoto already but that'd be nice or hawks and deku💕

A/N: “wrist on glitter, waist on thinner, imma show you how to bag a eight-figure nigga” 👅💋 I enjoyed this way too much

All characters are 18+

Warnings: it got a lil spicy so imma put the line 

Todoroki Shouto:

this mf has money to burn 

we all know todoroki came out the womb w cash from his hair to his ass 

he’s on some “yes, jeff bezos knows me” type shit so if you’re tryna end up with someone that’s gonna possibly buy you a house, he’s your guy 

he slid into your dms after you posted a pic with your skin moisturized and glistening under golden hour and your body had him wanting to run laps 

he had been plottin on you for a min but never got the motivation to do something about it until then

he’s a no strings attached type of sugar daddy

todoroki is a big name even outside of hero work and he’s well aware of all the people that have tried to use him. so instead of letting that happen, he’s decided to do things on his own terms 

when yall first started talking, he questioned you like this was managerial position at apple 💀 

best believe he ran an in-depth background check and made you sign an NDA 💀💀💀

he was a tough one

but you passed w flying colors and y’all settled on an arrangement

you have a weekly allowance that hits your bank account every saturday with some bonuses that he’ll give you depending on how the week goes

todoroki isnt needy nor is he one to be all up in your business 

it’s actually weird in an endearing kind of way? 

he only wants to have conversations with you 

i mean, dont get me wrong, he’s up for anything you are

todoroki would be a liar if he said he never ended some nights with a picture of you and a hand down his pants 

but that’s not what he’s mainly looking for 

you figure out very quickly that shouto just wants someone to talk to 

he’ll randomly hit up your phone and have a 30 min convo about something like the weather or hero politics, and then he’ll dip

next thing you know, you got $1000 in your cashapp

you kind of panicked bc like...wtf? 

your dumb ass messaged him: “did you mean to send $1000?”

sis, dont put a question mark where God put a period

him: “Yes.”

and that was the end of that

you dont question anymore

he’s not doting in any kind of way, and sometimes you lowkey think he forgets about you, but you still get your allowance 

doesn’t send a lot of gifts unless you explicitly state you want something

he doesnt text back a lot, but he tried to respond when he can

but i do see him liking it when you send him mundane things you do throughout your day, like pics of cookies you baked, or a cool plant you saw at home depot

and he enjoys the times you and him end up just trashing his father for nearly an hour. expect to find flowers, with some expensive ass coats or something at your door the next morning 

he really fucks w your laid back vibe 

sometimes he forgets you guys arent really supposed to be friends 

Takami Kiego (Hawks):

this is not hawks’ first time being a sugar daddy

he’s hot, rich, and one of the most eligible bachelor’s in japan with a life that prevents him from having anything too serious

so, long story short, he’s a veteran at this 

he used to be the type to reach out to instagram baddies but he had a couple bad run-ins and decided to stick with the official sites because it was a lot more secure on both ends 

the funny thing was, you set up your account a long time ago as a joke. though at one point, you did take it seriously, but you came in contact with a lot of super creepy men that sexualized you for your skin and ethnicity. 

you were tired of the “chocolate king/queen” and “amazonian god/dess” comments,so you took a break. you didnt have much activity since

so imagine youre surprise when the #2 hero hit your line talking about some 

“Hey~ I’ll get straight to the point. I think you’re beautiful and I’d like to talk with you about an arrangement” 

you thought this was a fake account, but after he chatting for a little and sending some pictures, you knew he was the real deal 

hawks is your standard tit-for-tat transaction sugar daddy

he’s the type to hit you up at night with a “how ya doing, dove? got any pics for me?”

he’s good about his respect ad won’t do anything out of line

it’s the bare minimum, be he doesnt fetishize you so that’s always nice 

however, he does make you call him daddy, sir, etc. whether it’s through text, call, or when y’all get together for...reasons

ngl his dicc game is fire

he might ghost you for a week or so but he’ll always come back with a nice check to make up for it 

just be careful about catching feelings bc he’s so fucking smooth. he makes you feel like you’ve got his heart, but dont fall for that shit

if you think you can “change him” or fuflfil whatever wattpad romance fantasy lives in your head, he is not your guy. you better get on w your life before you get your heart broken

he’s here to suck, fuck, send pics, do a little phone call here n there, send some money, and go 

if you’re not with all that, you might as well dip 

but if you’re cool with that, rest assured, you’re gonna be living your best mf life with this man in your wallet 

and good news, you might not be his only, but you are his favorite

there’s just something about you that’s got him giving you a few extra thousand than he normally does 

he doesnt take his sugar babies on proper dates bc he’s gotta stay away from media outlets, but he will invite you to his office for a “lunch break”

if you ever surprise him with a cute but sexy hawks cosplay, you won’t have to work for two whole weeks bc you cant walk  

overall, he’s a good sugar daddy. defintely good for your pockets and any other non-romantic desires you want fulfilled

Mirodirya Izuku:  

the way you two met and came to this arrangement was more or less an accident

the life of the number one pro-hero was lonely and stressful 

he’s tried to dip his toes in the water here and there, but it never worked out because not many people could deal with the fact that he’d always put hero work first

he was teetering on the edge of signing up for one of those sugar daddy/baby websites until he met you at some cafe he passed by 

it’s cliche really. you were his server and, honestly? he was hooked on day one 

he watched you intently as you pranced around in your cute uniform. he couldnt stop admiring your brown skin and eyes and how cute your hair was. you spoke with such enthusiasm and cheerfulness that he couldnt help but swoon. and it didn’t hurt that you were very easy on the eyes

he listened to you as you went on a spiel about how college was a fortune and how you stayed up last night for a project bc you had to pick up extra shifts

that’s when he made his decision

by the time the hero is out of the door, you collected the reciept and almost fainted when you realized he left you a $500 tip and his personal number 

“i enjoyed talking to you today and i hope we can continue that...here’s something small to help with your bills. and i hope this isnt too forward but you’re very beautiful. stay safe. deku.”

and what did you do that night?

you called his ass right back

you were nervous as hell bc you still couldnt believe this was real, but after talking on the phone with him for two hours, an arrangement was set

midoriya is the most gentlemen like sugar daddy out there 

you wake up to good morning texts and a few hundred in your bank account almost every two days 

he goes crazy over your insta posts. and if you wear something green? expect a bonus

takes you out shopping unprovoked 

izuku: “are you busy? i saw you were having a rough week and was wondering if you wanted to go to that new outlet mall downtown”

you: 🏃🏾‍♀️💨  

you most certainly had homework due that night but what tf you look like missing out on that offer? 

it’s after so many “dates” that deku realizes that he prefers hanging around you more than he should but he doesnt wanna ruin anything so he keeps that underwraps 

he’s the idiot that goes into this thinking he won’t fall in love

deku defintely has some dirty thoughts about you but he doesnt try to bring it up unless you do first

if you’re comfortable with anything nsfw, you gone see a whole different side to izuku

he’s a giver, giver, giver, but when he recieves, he just about loses it

send him “innocent” pics of yourself matched with a string of filthy texts and he’ll combust 

when you send him pics of yourself in deku-themed lingre, he deadass sends you a whole black card with your name on it as a thank you

you guys get very comfortable with each other very quickly

soon enough, DA’s start turning into y/n stayng over for a week 

you both realize this relatiosnhip runs a lot deeper than an arrangement when he accidentally let it slip that he told his mom about you 

he’s profusely apologizing but you shut him up with a kiss and tell him that you’ve kinda caught feelings yourself 

your next conversation works out well for the both of you 

[herinsectreflection]

Buffy has a really interesting relationship with its genre. It's always a mash-up of different genres at its core - light horror crossed with comedy, melodrama and superhero comics - but on top of that, each season is infused with another genre, so each has its own very distinct style.

Season one is definitely the heaviest with B movie campy horror, filled with man-eating bugs and puppet monsters. There's a heavy emphasis on Sealed Evil In A Bottle-type villains, like Moloch, the hyena spirits, and of course The Master. This is a style that is present throughout the show, but it's heaviest here.

Season Two is all about the Gothic. It's all old churches and villains living in mansions, extreme melodrama. The doomed romance between Buffy and Angel, filled with intense, passionate declarations. Drusilla walking around in Victorian dress. The ancient curse that is set off in Surprise. The lighting is all darkness and shadows. It's the perfect way to tell this romantic tragedy, using the style of the Gothic to bring us into the story.

Season Three takes its lead from teen movies. There's a lot more brightness and use of pop music montages. There's emphasis on typical American high-school "coming of age" milestones like Homecoming, Prom, 18th birthdays, and Graduation. Entire episodes centre around these (and three of them even make the title). Buffy has to shake off the influence of a "bad girl". Buffy and Angel's relationship, while still melodramatic, is framed less as an epic doomed romance between a vampire and slayer, which is ended because of an ancient curse as in S2, and more as a mundanely doomed romance between a girl and an older guy, which is ended because authority figures disapprove of it. This all makes sense for the season that is all about Buffy coming into her adulthood and throwing off the vestiges of adult authority.

Season Five is the High Fantasy season. The plot centres around a magical macguffin protected by good clerics against an evil god. There are literal Knights riding around on horses talking about their noble destiny, as well as "insane" people who talk in actually very accurate prophecies like Shakespearean fools. There's trolls and magic weapons and a big honking castle suddenly appearing in the premiere. The villain's mooks are referred to as hobbits repeatedly. At the finale, Dawn is literally dressed up in a medieval gown and held hostage atop a high tower, as the archetypal Princess (a dragon even shows up very briefly), with Buffy as the shining Knight coming to rescue her. This ramps up the stakes to genuinely epic proportions, with the fate of middle the earth in the balance. And in a truly brilliant stroke, all this high fantasy is smashed against the brutal mundane reality of Buffy's mother becoming sick and dying, with Buffy helpless to stop it.

(You could also see Dawn as a play on The One Ring - she's an item of great mystical power, she's sought after by the villain, destroying her would save the world, she's precious to the main character, she wonders many times if she is evil by nature. Both stories end with the hero unable to destroy this thing precious to them, though Buffy makes the decision that the show suggests is the action of a true hero - throwing herself into Mount Doom instead.)

Finally, Season Seven is the war movie. There's constant framing of the Scoobies and the Potentials as an army. They refer to assets, arsenals, bases, mutiny, weapons sleeper agents and other military-adjacent terminology. The main fear driving Buffy throughout the season is the idea of not everyone being able to make it, and deaths being inevitable, which is a major theme of a lot of war films.

I find it more difficult to pick one specific genre inspiration for seasons four or six. S4 obviously has elements of college movies, but it doesn't really centre them in the story. Obviously the Initiative and Adam invoke the military, but it doesn't have the "we're all going to die and our sacrifices might mean nothing" feeling that war movies and S7 have. S6 has elements of psychosexual thrillers with the Buffy/Spike dynamic, and borrows a lot from soap operas with stories centered around money troubles, drug addiction, and people being left at altars. There are multiple flavours at work in both seasons, but whatever they are, both seasons have a really distinct and unique style when compared to the rest of the show.

I can't really think of any other show that takes an approach to genre like this (though I'm sure they are out there) - letting one type of story shape an entire season, but then phasing that out and bringing in a new genre the next season. Shows like Community, Doctor Who, or Rick and Morty are big on swapping genres every episode to tell a new story, but Buffy takes a more seasonal approach. I think contributes to this phenomenon in the fandom of seasons being very divisive and particular. Every Buffy fan knows their favourite and least favourite seasons, and that's at least partially because each one has such a unique style atop what we know as Buffy.

[theartofdreaming1]

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 25-27 are below the cut.

heart

The imagery that really caught my attention this time was Peeta pointing out the changes in the moon to Katniss: The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again. - So for one, we see another example of Peeta focusing on the small details in life (which I’ve previously hypothesized to being an important element in his recovery from his hijacking) as well as Peeta being the one to give Katniss hope, even if it’s just for a brief moment. Also, it’s a nice parallel to Katniss looking at the moon and desperately wishing for it to be “her moon” back in chapter 23. As a nocturnal person, I also love watching the moon from my living room window🌙

mind

Hmmh, I don’t think that Katniss and Peeta’s win was predetermined - although I do believe that by introducing the romantic angle, they significantly improved their odds. A Career winning the Games is not really that special and exciting, since it happens so often (although Careers generally satisfy that excitement for violence/blood/gore, that plenty of Capitol people seem to share). As a volunteer from District 12, who achieved an extremely good training score and proved herself to be very capable in the arena already, Katniss definitely had an edge by playing into the classic underdog story, which offered another exciting “narrative” for the Capitolites to follow - that, coupled (heh) with the romance angle Peeta introduced? Katniss (and Peeta) definitely had the entertainment (and excitement through novelty) factor on their side. Ironically, Cato’s chances of winning were not as good as he expected, precisely because he was playing it by the book.

soul

Poor Peeta (and Katniss), it hurts that their relationship was in such a rocky place by the end of the book. Especially those weeks right after the end of Book 1, when there were still cameras around District 12 and they had to pretend while hurting must have sucked big time🥺

Chapter 25

Ugh, the muttations are just so unsettling... *shudder*

Honestly, I’m just so impressed by Peeta’s presence of mind to draw that X on Cato’s hand, after he had just most of his calf ripped off, only to be grabbed and put in a headlock by Cato! He and Katniss work insanely well under pressure

God, Cato’s death is just so gruesome and awful... In the end, his “gift” from the Feast doesn’t help him win at all, but instead ends up prolonging his suffering a cruel amount... I wonder if in general these “gifts” come with a string attached (aside from the expected danger of trying to get them, I mean) - because the Gamemakers also intend for Katniss’s “gift” (medicine for Peeta) to force an even more cruel outcome on her - saving him from blood poisoning only to be forced into killing him herself... 🤔

I’m not sure if this is exactly medical protocol, but I’m terrified that if he drifts off he’ll never wake again. “Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. - Katniss is terrified of the idea of Peeta dying; at the same time, Peeta worries about her freezing - I can’t with these two 😩

Peeta begins to doze off now, and each time he does, I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now, I know I’ll go completely insane. He’s fighting it, probably more for me than for him - Katniss can’t lose any more people she cares about 😢; on a different note, Peeta fighting his unconsciousness “probably more for [Katniss] than for him” points out one of the crucial elements Katniss brings into Peeta’s life - she is that someone for whom he will fight - including for his own life and well-being - even when it feels easier to give up... Having that person in your life that keeps you going can make all the difference - if Katniss hadn’t had Prim and promised her “to really, really try” to win (and later also made Rue the same promise), I’m not sure she would have made it this far; it’s the thought of Prim anxiously watching her after Rue’s death, that forces Katniss to keep going, to not give in to despair after that particular traumatic event - Peeta, on the other hand, didn’t really have that kind of person in his life, as he will point out on the beach in CF (and Katniss acknowledges herself that the only person who will be devasted if Peeta dies is her)... that is not to say that neither Katniss nor Peeta aren’t fighters on their own - but it helps to have someone that inspires you to not give up

the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him, so I can’t let him go. I just can’t. - We’ll see the mirrored version of this by the end of Mockinjay 

Pity, not vengeance, sends my arrow flying into [Cato’s] skull. - Another act of rebellion, technically (sure, this can be spun as Katniss killing Cato so she and Peeta may win - before Peeta dies from blood loss - but we know better - Katniss’s motivation was compassion for her supposed enemy)

We inch down to the tail of the horn and fall to the ground. If the stiffness in my limbs is this bad, how can Peeta even move? - Peeta is tough as nails, yo!

Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart [...] I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame. “No,” he says. “Do it.” [...] “I can’t,” I say, “I won’t.” - In spite of her initial reflex, Katniss chooses Peeta/ chooses not to kill him; it’s a recurring theme in their relationship (despite her wariness of others, she chooses to open up to Peeta eventually; although she vowed to never marry and have children, she’ll choose to have a family with Peeta); also, my psychology-brain just noticed how this moment illustrates how harmful thoughts/impulses don’t have to determine your actions and are not an indicator of who you are - it’s about what you choose to do

“You’re not leaving me here alone,” I say. Because if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this areny trying to think my way out. - Again, makes me think of MJ; also, I think that from this point onwards, Katniss and Peeta are officially linked together forever; the bond they forged during this traumatic experience will connect them to each other until the day they die

“On the count of three?” Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. “The count of three,” he says. - My heart😭

Chapter 26

... while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta’s leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious  [...] Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration [...] I’m not sure, but I think his heart stops twice. - Peeta was in such a bad shape by the end of the Games; I’m still kinda salty that the movie really glossed over this fact :/

... they’re taking Peeta but leaving me behind the door. I start hurling myself against the glass, shrieking and I think I just catch a glimpse of pink hair - it must be Effie, it has to be Effie coming to my rescue - when the needle jabs me from behind. - Oh geez, in Catching Fire Katniss will also get sedated in a hovercraft because she’s upset about being separated from Peeta 😢 (also, Katniss thinking that Effie is coming to her rescue 😭)

While she [Lavinia, the avox] adjusts my pillows, I risk one question. I say it out loud, as clearly as my rusty voice will allow, so nothing will seem secretive. “Did Peeta make it?” She gives me a nod, and as she slips a spoon into my hand, I feel the pressure of friendship. - Katniss is so considerate of Lavinia’s situation, and Lavinia’s giving her a gesture of comfort and support; they’ve never been able to have a proper conversation (Katniss doesn’t even know Lavinia’s name), but still they managed to build up such a bond - compassion certainly is a strong thing to behold 😭 (and this whole scene is just through and through about compassion, with Katniss asking how Peeta is doing!)

Home! Prim and my mother! Gale! Even the thought of Prim’s scruffy old cat makes me smile. Soon I will be home! - Katniss is so excited to see her home and her loved ones again

I want to get out of this bed. To see Peeta and Cinna - Aww, the two people she grew closest to over the course of the past weeks (Haymitch will be added to that list in just a smidge)

Or do I hear a man’s voice yelling? Not in the Capitol accent, but in the rougher cadences of home. And I can’t help having a vague, comforting feeling that someone is looking out for me. - Thank God for Haymitch! 

And behind one of them [doors] must be Peeta. Now that I’m conscious and moving, I’m growing more and more anxious about him [...] “Peeta!” I call out, since there’s no one to ask - Katniss is sick with worry over Peeta; romantic feelings or not, she cares so fricking much for him by now!

I run for them [Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna] and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch’s arms first. When he whispers in my ear, “Nice job, sweetheart,” it doesn’t sound sarcastic. - These reunion scenes are so intense and heartwarming! And then Katniss asks about Portia and Peeta because their presence would make this scene complete 

when I asks for seconds, I’m refused. “No, no, no. They don’t want it all coming back up on the stage,” says Octavia, but she secretly slips me an extra roll under the table to let me know she’s on my side - It’s moments like these that help humanize Katniss’s prep team - they might be shallow, they might be completely oblivious and ignorant, but they aren’t that bad [of course, the prep team chattering about their mundane lives while talking about the event that ended with the deaths of 22 children shortly after, leaves a bad taste in our mouths]

I immediately notice the padding over my breasts, adding curves that hunger has stolen from my body. My hands go to my chest and I frown. “I know,” says Cinna before I can object. “But the Gamemakers wanted to alter you surgically. Haymitch had a huge fight with them over it. This was the compromise.” - God, the idea that the Gamemakers wanted to give a boob job to an unconscious, malnourished 16-year-old girl makes me sick 🤢 (Also, what’s the flipping deal about boobs?! As a pretty flat-chested gal, I’ve always been annoyed that there are barely any bras my cup size that are not push-up ones; I’m not self-conscious about it, so stop making me pretend that I’m bustier than I actually am!)

“I thought it’d be something more... sophisticated-looking,” I say. “I thought Peeta would like this better,” he [Cinna] answers carefully. Peeta? No, it’s not about Peeta. It’s about the Capitol and the Gamemakers and the audience. Although I do not yet understand Cinna’s design, it’s a reminder the Games are not quite finished. - Ugh, that sinking feeling when Katniss and the reader realize that the Games are still not over... Sidenote: Peeta flirted up a storm with grimy, bloodied Katniss and complimented her when she wore Cinna’s first, absolutely badass costume (”You should wear flames more often”)... Katniss’s girlish outfit  has nothing to do with Peeta and she knows it... Cinna could have dressed Katniss up in a trash bag and Peeta would have been smitten - although a trash bag by Cinna would probably still look pretty good ;)

“How about a hug for luck?” Okay, that’s an odd request from Haymitch but, after all we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order. - Aww, Katniss actually wouldn’t have minded giving Haymitch a hug just because - sadly, this is about survival tips instead :/

But what was it Haymitch said when I asked it he had told Peeta the situation? That he had to pretend to be desperately in love? “Don’t have to. He’s already there.” Already thinking ahead of me in the Games again and well aware of the danger we’re in? Or... already desperately in love? I don’t know. I haven’t even begun to separate out my feelings about Peeta. It’s too complicated. - Poor Katniss... she didn’t have the time and peace of mind to sort out her feelings regarding Peeta before they all got tied up and muddled with her need for survival. Now she’ll be having an even harder time trying to untangle that mess :(

Chapter 27

Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms [...] He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his choulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. - Man, their reunion here always gets me - it would be so fricking good if Katniss didn’t have to worry about their potential doom 😒😔 - she barely has time to just be happy to see Peeta alive and well before slipping back into survival mode while Peeta is just genuinely thrilled to have her in his arms, completely unaware of the pressure and immediate danger Katniss experiences in this moment... It hurts so bad

I’m with Katniss - How did the previous victors endure rewatching those horrible moments from the Games?! I guess because they had to, but oof... I think I’d just completely shut down, blocking out the footage shown, ugh

But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her [Rue] in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. - In such a callous and cruel place as Panem, any act of compassion can be regarded as rebellion, it’s crazy. In a place filled with apathy, hedonism, greed, and cruelty, the most radical things you can exhibit are love, kindness, and respect!

A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night. - Again, another instance where Katniss’s genuine feelings/reactions to Peeta are get muddled with her need for survival

The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta’s hand. - irrevocably linked with each other

Despite Haymitch’s running interference, I’m determined to see Peeta privately. - Katniss just wants to have an honest and open talk with Peeta 😢 (I get where Haymitch is coming from, and maybe in this instance it’s the right call, but we’ll see a similar situation in the beginning of CF when Haymitch advises Katniss not to tell Peeta about President Snow’s visit and that time, it doesn’t go so well...)

Then Peeta’s there looking handsome in red and white - for someone who isn’t sure whether she’s into him or not, Katniss sure mentions how good Peeta’s looking a lot 😏

“Well, there’s just this and we go home. Then he can’t watch us all the time,” says Peeta. - 👀👀 Peeta is so thirsty here; reminds me of when he pulled Katniss close to him in the cave before they set out to hunt... He clearly believes she’s also “already there” regarding their relationship; he’s never this “suggestive” (can’t think of a better word right now) with her once she lets him know that she doesn’t really know how she feels about him - I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there’s no time to analyze why - Katniss totally isn’t averse to what Peeta’s suggesting here, either (though there’s probably also a healthy amount of fear mixed in with the thrill of being wanted - letting people in can be terrifying)

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh. - It’s me; I’m people 🙋🏼‍♀️ (also, the “turn in to him”?!?!! it just suggests such a closeness, I can’t-)

Katniss burying her face in Peeta’s shirt when she’s afraid she might cry learning that he lost his leg 🥺 (how awful it must be to be constantly on display while you’re dealing with your private feelings, ugh)

“... The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind... hm?” [...] It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentences. “I don’t know, I just... couldn’t bear the thought of... being without him.” - It might not be a super eloquent way to put what she was supposed to say, but this way, Katniss is being perfectly honest (and frankly, if she’d had the chance to properly process her feelings, she would have been able to voice this sentiment with less hesitation)

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there’s nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. - For one, Katniss didn’t think of that pin (again), but also - was the pin returned to her simply because it’s standard procedure or did someone (like Plutarch, for example) arrange for Katniss to get the pin back, to keep her connection to this symbol going?

I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. - Poor Katniss! She’s been through so much, experienced so many traumatic events in short succession recently (aside from the trauma she already had), already had problems defining her identity beyond sheer survival, and now the Capitol also keeps pushing an identity onto her and a romantic relationship, when she hadn’t even had the chance to figure out how she felt about that yet

“... Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. - Oh boy. It’s always so painful to see Peeta realize that he’s been completely out of the loop; again, we’ll see how Katniss and Haymitch adopt a similar strategy in the beginning of CF: banking on Peeta’s good social skills and eloquence and keeping him in the dark. In a way, it’s a sort of compliment they pay to Peeta for being good with people, but, by not telling him, they are also using him for their purpose (which is motivated by caring for and wanting to protect Peeta, but still). Peeta is right to be upset about it - he has always been very clear about not wanting to be used as a piece in anyone’s games, really. And, as we will see later in CF, they are way more effective as a team when they are open and honest with each other.

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding on to my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. - It’s just so goddamn painful😢 They’ve both been done so dirty by that forced star-crossed lovers of Distrct 12 routine. (Sidenote: I appreciate that Peeta actually gives Katniss the chance to explain herself here - still, it’s too much to deal with on the spot so I can understand why Katniss ended up dropping the ball, even though it’s frustrating to read.)

That it’s not good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? - Oh Katniss, you certainly are skipping a couple of steps here; I’m pretty sure there are some options in between dating and being married with kids you could look into. Also, she’s just assuming that this is what Peeta wants, but she doesn’t know that at all - As someone who also has this stupid habit of imagining how whole conversations could possibly transpire and then resigning myself to the hypothetical outcome of said imagined conversation instead of actually having them: Don’t do that. ‘Never assume - it makes an ASS out of U and ME.’ 

I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’ t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding it tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go. - Ma babies! They are both so hurt and both just want to be with each other 😭 But they’ll need some time apart, to figure things out before they can do that.

[taephilia]

temporary fix

pairing: kim taehyung x fem!reader

genre: smut, demon/angel au (demon!taehyung, angel!reader)

word count: 2,084

warnings: sexual content (fingering, thigh grinding, hickeys), alcohol consumption, religious themes (specific to christianity), corruption kink if you squint, pov switches

a/n: i posted this on tae’s birthday but tumblr is annoying and didn’t let this show up in the tags so ahaha this is a repost :-)

You don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. The elders believe you’re just going through a late bloomer type of rebellious phase. Your friends think you’re just getting restless because of all of the, what they deem, ‘boring’ humans you’ve had to watch over for the past few centuries. You don’t know what it is but what you do know is that it feels like an itch you just can’t get rid of. It continues to come back and you’re constantly scratching at it, wondering when it will finally go away.

The bass from the music sends a thrum through your veins that you’ve never experienced before and the taste of the drink in your hand makes you grimace but the warm feeling you get in your chest urges you to continue drinking. The amount of heat produced from hundreds of bodies crowded together in one building is enough to cause sweat to run down your back and the smoke floating above everyone’s heads makes the air feel even heavier (whether it’s from these ‘vapes’ that you’ve heard so much of or smoke machines, you’re not sure). You’ve never understood why the mortals would willingly wait in absurdly long lines just to be in a club like this for hours whenever you looked down on them from the heavens. But now that you’re here on Earth, blending in with the humans and experiencing it for yourself, you now see that it’s a thrill like no other.

A hand on the small of your back makes you pause during your way back to the dance floor and when you look up, you’re met with the darkest, most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. Even in the dim lighting the stranger’s eyes look deep enough to drown in—and it almost feels like you are until they step closer to you and you realize that their eyes are not the only thing beautiful about them. When you refocus, you realize that the beautiful eyes belong to an equally beautiful man with an even more beautiful smile. A smile that’s directed right at you.

“Hey there, angel,” the man greets you, and even with the loud music and shouting, his low voice is clear as day to your ears. “Wanna dance?”

The pet name sends a shiver down your spine and it feels like your head’s about to fall off your shoulders from how eagerly you’re nodding. The handsome man pulls you on to the dance floor and presses his body close to yours, his hands resting on your waist as he helps you dance to the rhythm of the music. If it weren’t for the jarring bass, you definitely would have been able to feel just how hard your heart is pounding in your chest from his proximity and touch. He spins you around so that your back is up against his chest and when you feel his lips press a kiss into the bare skin of your shoulder, you find yourself wondering if this is what it felt like when Eve took that first bite of fruit from the Garden of Eden all those millenia ago.

Taehyung is bored. Humans are just so painfully mundane and predictable; the rich taking from the poor just to stay rich, officials arguing over politics and ethics and good and evil, middle-class people working themselves almost to the point of exhaustion and then consuming absurd amounts of alcohol just to relax. It’s old news, a cycle that they say they’ll break out of—even Taehyung himself said it when he was a mortal centuries ago. So he understands that need to stand out, to seek glory and free the human race from its metaphorical chains. But he’s a demon now and all humans seem to show him is that no matter how much they try to fight it, there will always be a small part of them that will reject the breaking of the cycle. And so it continues; sex, drugs, crime, war. He’s watched empires rise and fall, had roles both in the spotlight and in the shadows, and yet nothing ever changes. It’s comical at this point.

Besides, as much as Taehyung complains about these unfortunately dense humans, they’re the ones that keep him powerful. As long as he keeps bringing back souls or converting people ‘to the dark side’, he can continue to live this eternal life of luxury. Because hey, he’s a demon now so what does he care about breaking the human cycle?

He’s been enjoying his night at his favorite club so far, the large amount of alcohol that he’s already consumed only producing a buzz in his body but the sinful energy tonight is enough to make him feel like he’s drunk. But then something happens; a moment of clarity appears, like a beacon of light passing right by him, and when he looks up, he sees her. An ordinary human to any other ordinary human looking but to his well-trained eyes, he can just make out the very faint light from the halo hovering above her head. The clothing adorning her body only accentuates her innocent-looking features and before Taehyung can even process what his body is doing, he’s making his way over to her and his eyes remain glued to the halo above her head.

Taehyung hopes that by the end of the night, he’ll be able to watch it disappear.

You think you’re getting drunk. You’re not particularly sure since you’ve never had alcohol before but you definitely don’t feel the way you felt at the beginning of the night. But the thrum in your veins could also be because of the handsome man’s hands on your body. Taehyung, he had told you when you asked him his name. When you repeated it back to him, the way it effortlessly rolled off your tongue felt right. Taehyung stays at your side the entire night, offering endless drinks and endless energy to continue dancing with you, and the smile never leaves your face.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy and your body doesn’t feel the same as before but you can’t say that it feels bad, especially with the way that Taehyung’s lips feel on your neck right now. His grip on your hips is tight and when he shoves a leg in between yours and presses his thigh up against you, you experience a feeling of pleasure like no other and can’t help but to throw your head back and gasp.

“Does that feel good, angel?” Taehyung asks lowly in your ear as his hot breath fans out across the side of your face.

All you can do is whimper and nod in response. You want to ask him to do it again, to make that tingling in your body happen again, but the thought of asking for such a thing is enough to bring a warmth to your cheeks. What would the other angels think if they saw you in such a compromising position?

The pleading look in your wide eyes is enough to make Taehyung’s dick twitch in his pants. The crowd is pressing in on the two of you from all sides but Taehyung can’t even bring himself to shove them away. All he can focus on is the feel of your body in his hands and the whimpering sound that he wants to hear again and again. He kisses along the side of your neck, varying shades of red appearing soon after and making him smirk at the possessive marks. You’re like putty in his hands and Taehyung knows that it won’t take much more to push you over the edge and get you right where he wants you.

“Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private,” he suggests, chuckling when you eagerly agree and allow him to lead you to whatever destination he had in mind. That destination being a private bathroom in the back of the club. The guards didn’t even blink an eye when the two of you walked past, perks of having a binding contract with the club owner.

Your hand wraps around his wrist before pulling him towards you, your lips on his in an instant as he picks you up and places you on the counter of the sink. Taehyung shoves the skirt that you’re wearing up your thighs so that it bunches at your hips, the fabric of your underwear on full display—along with your desire that’s soaking through it.

“Please Taehyung, want you to make me feel good,” you beg in an airy whisper. Your grip on his shoulders tightens when he squeezes at your inner thigh and Taehyung has to squeeze his eyes shut to contain the low growl that he was about to let out.

His cock is leaking in his pants but Taehyung pulls away, running his thumb along your jaw before it catches on your bottom lip that’s jutted out in a pout. “Give me a second, angel, I gotta lock the door,” he says as he turns the lock. “Wouldn’t want anyone walking in on us, right?”

When he turns around, he’s greeted by the sight of your parted legs and hooded eyes, your knuckles turning white from just how hard you’re gripping the edge of the counter. Taehyung’s never been to Heaven but if he had to guess, he would guess it feels a little something like this.

He can’t wait to see your fall from grace.

Taehyung’s lips feel too good on your neck. His hands feel too good on your body. He feels too good. Your head is spinning and your heart is pounding and you feel like you can’t breathe because he’s just so close and every bite and squeeze is just too much. Your hands roam around his body, across his broad shoulders, down his toned torso, and land on his hard cock. Even through his jeans it feels warm and just the thought of touching it is enough to make your mouth water.

There’s a voice in the back of your mind telling you to stop what you’re doing, that this is sacrilege, that you can’t turn back if you don’t stop right now—but you don’t want to stop. You want Taehyung to make you see stars, one’s that even God cannot make but he can. His lips detach from yours and you hear him laugh when you chase after them. You want him to keep kissing you, the feeling that you get from it is unlike anything else.

One of his hands slides down your body and lands on the fabric of your underwear, his fingers beginning to rub circles into your clit and you jerk at the feeling. The tingles in your body are stronger than before and the voice in your head telling you to stop gets louder but it’s drowned out by the loud moan that leaves your lips. When you look up at Taehyung, the positioning of his head in front of the bathroom light makes it look like there’s a halo of light surrounding him. But when your eyes meet his, what you see makes you grow cold.

There’s a devilish smirk on his face and a daunting aura surrounding him but his black eyes trigger your fight-or-flight instinct. The voice that was screaming at you in your head is loud, so loud, and you’re wondering if it was a trick of the light but just like that, his eyes are normal.

Two of Taehyung’s fingers enter you and your back arches, your chest pressing against his as he pumps them in and out of you. His gaze is concentrated on you as your face contorts in pleasure, your legs shaking as he brings you to euphoria. His thumb rubs circles into your clit while his other hand shoves your shirt down so that he can lick at your chest. The amount of stimulation is enough to bring you to the edge very quickly, your breath quickening as you approach your orgasm.

When Taehyung looks back up at you, he knows that his eyes are black again but you don’t even notice because your own are closed in bliss. You’re so cute. Taehyung is glad he decided to go out tonight.

“Where is your God now, pretty angel?” he mumbles against your collar, and if you hear him, you give no indication. He has you now. He can’t wait to watch your pretty wings burn.

“Go ahead and fall for me, love.”