#How Good Is Article Forge

[nanaluvssevi]

MEN AND MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

University Professor Sevika x Fem reader. ₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

Hi! this is the main story of this au. You can find the masterlist here! This story would continue, in the form of drabbles, short stories and headcanons.

I worked really hard in this so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it!!.

Kind of slow burn, but not really, they just take their time. No yearning or doubting

TW: Suggestive talk, talking about nudity, cursing, a little bit of angst, not too much tho, family issues, drug addiction, consumption of alcohol and weed, shotgunning, suggestive talk again, nudity, making out, they have sex. Fingering and Cunnilingus !reader receiving. Groping. Humping.

Also feet?? LOL. nothing sexual or suggestive but just fyi.

WC: 15.2K

Professor!Sevika, who could teach about every subject but wouldn't she just be so good at social studies and political science?.

Professor!Sevika, who was known for her sassy tone and remarks to make the lectures manageables but also for her impressive knowledge about what she teached.

Professor!Sevika, who didn’t tolerate any type of disrespect in her class, and when someone dared to disrespect her she would be the roughest and meanest professor in the whole building.

Professor!Sevika, who noticed you on the first day of the new semester, she didn’t know why at the moment but you just stood out from the rest.

Professor!Sevika, who despite her relatively young age for a professor she had forged a great and known career path. She had started teaching as soon as she could, and you could notice that in her expertise. Someone who had collected degrees like they were easy to get, expanding her knowledge every time she could. Knowledge and expertise you could notice only by looking at the way she moved around the lecture hall, how her low, deep and raspy voice for too many cigarettes captured the attention of every person who put a foot in her class. With the days you started noticing that special glimpse of pride that made her grey eyes sparkle when she got elbow deep on the class topic of that day.

Professor!Sevika, who doesn’t talk much about her but more about what she knows. Who is excited to help the moment she sees your name as the remittent of an email asking for papers or articles to read about the matter she talked about in that day's class.

Professor!Sevika, who always dressed similarly, a button up in darker colors, sometimes in a deep red or an eggplant color when she got tired of the most neutral ones, that usually got tighter around her bust and arms, with the first two buttons always loose and the sleeves usually rolled to mid forearm letting you see part of her tattooed right arm and the black color of her prosthetic left arm. Her eyes are always half covered with her glasses that rested in that beautiful nose. You never saw her haircut change; it was always in that sharp cut that went from short in the nape of her neck, leaving a beautiful undercut behind, to longer closer to her cheeks. Her slacks were always black or dark gray. Combat boots were her staple and even if she owned different pairs the dark purple shoelaces were present in each of them.

Professor!Sevika, who always was capable of keeping you hooked at her words, at the side smirk that covered her plump and dark colored lips while talking. How could you not put all of your attention to what she was talking about? There was an inexplicable energy that she radiated that made you want to wrap yourself around her and listen to her talk about anything for hours without an obvious end.

Professor!Sevika, who got used to paying attention to you, you intrigued her to an enigmatic level. Firstly, you weren’t close in age to the rest of her students. It wasn’t hard for her to notice your experience when reading your work, watching the way you took notes, and the attention to detail in every essay you sent. It made sense that you excelled in her course.

Secondly you weren’t hard to miss, at least in her eyes, without fail you were 5 minutes earlier than the rest, with the same coffee cup every time, consistently dressing in just a style that screamed ‘you’.

And lastly because of the amount of attention you put on everything she says, sevika was used to capture everyone's attention but yours just felt… different.

₊⟡.

Professor!Sevika, who was the strictest professor you had encountered in university. It wasn’t hard to imagine how hard she could be as an outsider, after all what she wanted was the best for her students, she wanted to make them excel, she was not going to permit unfit people to pass her course.

For the same reason professor!Sevika normally wasn’t kind to the idea of befriending or being close to her students. A self imposed rule of just keeping all of her relationship with students strictly professional. She knew people would tend to get close to her with the idea that being friendly would make them gain something from her, a few points here and there, or any type of advantage… She would just laugh inside at seeing the poor job some students did at the end of a semester to try and get anything she was noble enough to give them (she wasn’t noble at all, at least not with those who didn’t put in the work. After all her heart wasn’t made of stone as you could imagine, she would help the people she knew did their part during the school year.)

But… there could always be an exception, right?

₊⟡.

Professor!Sevika, who didn’t want to be surprised when you approached her before class started, but she was anyway. You were earlier than ever before, your hands occupied and your voice sounded as soft as always with a hint of something she couldn’t decipher in that moment. She never had the chance to hear you talking only to her, she was accostumbrated to listening to you talk with your classmates or when you always so cleverly answered a question in class, but directly and only to her? never had the chance to hear more than a few words, until today. Maybe what has been stopping you was her gaze, that gaze that seemed to be the only one that could make your knees tremble, and it wasn’t because you weren’t confident, you were, but it was sevika after all. The only times you directed your voice to her and her only was just as you entered her sacred place of teaching, a small cordial greeting when you entered the class and a soft nod accompanied by a “goodbye” after classes ended. A small paper bag was gripped by your perfectly manicured nails and a drink carrier that sported two cups that rested in your open hand when you entered the hall this late afternoon.

She didn’t know how you got stuck with this class schedule that was normally the least desired one, after all… who wanted to take a lecture on a friday at 4pm?, but today she was pleased with it. This class normally has the least amount of students so it tends to be more relaxed, although at the same time this is the one where the tiredness that she accumulated during the week usually gets to her.

A surprised look appeared on her face when she saw you, with a small rise of her eyebrow. She was willing to be the one who started a conversation, until you got ahead of her.

“Good afternoon, professor” The words left your lips slenderly while a soft and shy smile appeared on your lips. This might be the first time she heard your voice clearly with no other sound to interfere, now that she had heard it loud and clear she found it enticing, a sudden spark of curiosity arose in her. Only a greeting wasn’t good enough, she wanted to hear you talk more.

“Good afternoon,” your name left her lips like it was covered by slick honey. “you are earlier today” Her usual smirk now plastered on her lips. Her thin metal frame glasses were lower on her gorgeous nose than usual, letting her eyes peek from the top of them. A soft blush appeared on your cheeks, she said ‘earlier’ which only could mean she had noticed that you were here before your usual time.

“Oh! Well… I was on my usual coffee run, it’s been a rough week for all so i thought it would be kind to bring one for you. I hope this isn’t an overstep.” She didn’t know where you kept all of these words before, but she wasn’t going to complain about it. This sudden rush of confidence from your side and the detail of thinking of her made a smile appear on her lips, suddenly her tooth gap was on display only for you to see.

“It isn’t an overstep, don’t sweat about it. And thank you for this, I was almost on my way to grab a cup from those vending machines.” A short chuckle left your lips. Sevika was never used to kindness, at the end of the day her background wasn’t colourful. Everything she had made of herself was thanks to her effort, unthinkable hours spent on working and studying at the same time, sleeping when and where she could, having to endure men thinking and telling her she would always be ‘a no one’. She was used to always thinking the worst, especially coming from students, and although this time it felt different the little voice in her head told her to not let her guard down. While her mind was quickly filled with information you occupied yourself taking the cup from the holder with only one free hand. She thought about what could have driven you to do this; you didn’t need extra points on your assignments, your work was basically perfect, you weren’t failing for the same reason, so then why?.

“But those suck!” You quickly interrupted her train of thought. She blinked slowly, focusing on you. “I didn’t know what you would like so I chose just a latte, I also asked for sugar and sweetener in case you preferred that”. You said as you put everything you just mentioned in front of her.

“They indeed suck. And I don't really mind the way the coffee is made. Coffee, it's coffee after all.” Confused was how she was feeling, she couldn’t really understand it, again why?. Before she could stop herself she asked “Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did” a soft laugh escaped your lips. Ah! now you’re toying with her, her own smile grew a little bit more making her gaze look gentler. “but yes, of course”

“Why?” Now you were the one surprised.

“Why?” This time you were the one asking the question.

“Yes, why?” A look of confusion appeared on your face.

“The coffee?” A small nod came from her side, a hot tingling sensation took over you, you could feel it on your naked shoulders and the back of your neck. You could feel it in your face too, probably a soft blush appeared on these areas as you stumbled with your words, she still made you nervous after all. You were grateful that you weren’t that young anymore, if you were still in your early twenties your hands would sweat and your whole body would start to tremble. After a soft sigh left you, you answered. “I don’t think there is just a specific ‘why’, you are probably my favorite professor and your lectures always leave me with this sensation of wanting to know more. I thought making a move to be closer would be great, after all I am really interested in what you teach and would love to have someone to talk about all of this and who is better for that than an academic that teaches about it.”

Her gaze softened the more you talked, her left mechanical hand held the cardboard cup close to her mouth to take a sip. After she was confident that you were done talking it was her turn. After she cleared her throat she talked in her characteristic deep voice. “That’s fine by me, after all I'm the one who reads what you write. You are different from the rest of the people in this course, I can notice your actual interest in everything I teach.”

She had also noticed your slim fingers taking notes, and the smile that appeared on your face when you where learning something new, she also notice the furrow on your brows when you were focused, and the way you bit the corner of your lips at the same time, but she wasn’t going to tell you that, it was dangerous, at least for now. What was that about a rule?.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

It never felt easier for sevika to get comfortable with someone, after a few minutes talking the hour of the actual class was about to start. You went to your usual seat, third row and in the exact center of the room, in her eyes you were glowing like a beautiful firefly in the middle of a forest of faces that blended in one dark mass. Before the class started she directed a smile just for you.

You have classes with her two times a week, Fridays and Wednesdays. A weekend and two days separating the times she would be able to see your face. Days that for some reason never felt longer to Sevika, you have grown like a vine around her thoughts.

She wasn’t dumb in the slightest, she started noticing how she felt about you on a sunday morning while her usual coffee started pouring in a cup, she was preparing her big girl to go on a run. Jaan, her blue merle australian shepherd, her little baby, the only animal that saw her softest side. When the black coffee was ready the smell brought her back to last Friday, to that softest smile and the smallest portion of shyness that had escaped from your lips while you talked. She noticed the smile that adorned her face in the reflection of the microwave door. After just a shrug of her shoulders and a sip of the piping hot cup she went with her day. She wasn’t a child anymore and neither were you, so, why would it be a problem to have a little crush?.

Yeah… it wasn’t just a little crush. Every single time she smelled a coffee she was transported to that day, every single time remembering something different about that few minutes you talked… and about the duration of the lecture and how you looked while listening to her talk… and at that disgustingly sweet smirk that you gifted her before waving goodbye. And it was going to begin being a problem if she didn’t do anything about it.

Sevika was never someone to wait for things to happen, if she needed to take the initiative she would do it, and this time it would not be different. When Wednesday rolled around you appeared in the class ten minutes before it started. A white top with a square neckline that did a really bad job at covering your chest while a black flowy skirt that would be touching the ground if you weren’t using platform shoes covered your legs. While you walked closer to her, a small slit made its presence, the slit going up the right side of your leg until mid thigh, the sight of your soft skin made her swallow hard. Before she could keep on detailing every part of you she heard your voice snapping her back to reality. “Good morning professor!” Oh she was one hundred percent going to lose her mind if you kept smiling like that.

“Good morni-” she got interrupted when a soft combination of chuckles erupted from your throat, one of her eyebrows went up with curiosity while she saw how you covered your mouth to try to stop them from coming up. “Something happened?” Genuinely preoccupation started seeping from her. You started shaking your head ‘no’ while signaling her chest.

“You… Your overshirt, you put it inside out.” The blood drained from her face quicker than ever before. She looked at her arms, noticing that the seams were showing up.

Trying to feel less awkward now was her time to chuckle, her left hand going to the right cuff to start pulling from it. She started talking while completing the work of taking the overshirt off so she could put it on correctly. “At least it was the overshirt and not the actual shirt. I don’t think it would be a good idea to undress in front of someone before a first date” Your eyes were fixed on the flex of the muscles on her right arm that looked like if she forced them a little more the shirt would rip in half while trying really hard to focus on the words that leave her lips.

“Well, you are still undressing in front of me before a first date, sadly not completely.” you crossed your arms under your chest making your breast more pronounced, her eyes this time stopped there for less than a second, but you noticed, your smirk growing every passing second.

“We should change that, don’t you think?” She copied your actions, both can play the same game, she thought. Your throat felt dry for a moment, with your eyes fixating on her biceps. Oh how good would her arms both flesh and metal feel around your waist, and her tall and broad figure towering you from behind. FOCUS!

After a few seconds you talked. “Are you inviting me to a date professor?” with a faked severe expression you looked at her. Your eyes attempting to send daggers to the stormy ones that were looking at you.

“I was talking about undressing completely actually, but a date sounds like a better first step.” Laughter erupted from both of you at the same time, she watched in awe as you tilted back giving space to your lungs to breathe so you wouldn’t choke. In her eyes you looked ethereal, like a nymph. With your hair cascading behind you and hands resting on your stomach for a little bit. She noticed in that second again that she was too deep, she was into you and it felt good to think about it. After you relaxed yourself your eyes sparkling with the wetness of tears that formed from the force of your laughing and a big smile covering your face you talked.

“I'm free for the rest of the day after this class and on the weekends, professor.”

“Today works perfectly, and please, call me Sevika.”

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

The weeks went by quickly, every wednesday like clock work after class you two walked together to some place close to campus to eat something, sometimes it was your favorite café when she made you know that her favorite type of coffee was just plain black coffee. Every so often you eat at that pizza place that looked like just a door from the outside but once inside you felt in another country where you talked about the love you had for any type of bread. Sometimes one of the two made something to share and went to a nearby park to eat sitting on a bench under a gazebo observing the people walking while conversations just flew by.

You talked a lot, not only in person. You had also interchanged numbers, normally talking by messages but sometimes a call would happen in the middle of the week, the days passing without her voice felt like a torture for you. Even if you enjoyed her voice in a cell phone you would always prefer those conversations face to face more. You learned more things about her in those, like that time you noticed she was only a softie, even if she didn’t accept she was, you saw it in her eyes while she showed you pictures next to Jaan, also when she also explained her name ‘soul’ and ‘life’ were the most usual connotations for it, but it was also ‘darling’. She explained to you how her grandparents came from india and that she felt the necessity of connecting to her roots, also told you about her favorite food, which to no one surprise was a indian dish her mother made when she was a child ‘Rogan josh’ she grew up with the one that wasn’t spicy but now that aspect was the one she enjoyed the most today apart from the tender lamb meat.

You also made a habit of getting half an hour earlier to class every Friday with her favorite coffee, an unsweetened black coffee, and your usual, a deep long macchiato, and an assortment of different types of pastries each week. You two made a bet, she told you that you couldn’t guess her favorite dessert after you said she was a basic woman for sticking to just plain coffee, until this moment you have failed; donuts, cupcakes, typical desserts, brownies, cookies, croissants, cakes, lemon pie, pound cake, tiramisu, every each of them was just not it. The bet was that she was going to buy for you whatever you asked (under a price limit of course), and you were a woman on a mission.

One day you saw at the bakery a beautiful bunch of just cream puffs covered with a dark chocolate, you only picked those that day, your bank account could not support you paying for 5 different desserts each friday. When you made it to the classroom with a smile on your face she was focusing on organizing something that looked like sheets of paper.

“Are those last week's tests?” You said dropping the bag softly in front of her while walking to peek from behind her.

“FUCK!” She did a small jump on her seat for the surprise before reincorporating looking at you. “why are you so silent when you enter, you scared me to death”

“Uhhh professor I don’t think it’s very professional for you to curse in the classroom.” That was probably the best trait from you in her eyes. You weren’t scared to play with her. In your eyes she wasn’t this strict monster that noticed every detail and graded accordingly, she was just another pair.

“Oh shush, yes they are, you got a 98%. What did you bring this time?” She said opening the bag while she received the cup you were handing to her.

“It’s a surprise, something basic for a basic woman.” You watched from your seat a few feet away from her as she rolled her eyes taking the red box from the paper bag, opening without much care put into it. Her eyes that before denoted false annoyance were known bright while a grin grew on her face.

“What was that thing you wanted?” Now you were on your feet with your arms raised above your head with a smile that shined proudly.

“We can discuss that lately, Sevi.” You receive an eyebrow raised while she takes a bite of one of the pastries and offers one to you.

“Sevi?” she asked, her forehead relaxing and her face looking softest as ever.

“It’s that alright?” a delicate pink covered your cheeks while taking the pastry to your mouth.

“Yes, it is… smarty pants.” Laughter arises from her while watching your face contorn on exasperation.

“Oh my god, you have to be kidding me.”

“I am indeed kidding you. What should I call you then?”

“I don’t know, you have full autonomy, just anything that isn’t smarty pants.” Another bite was made to the sweet dessert that was picked between your fingers, a little of the crem from the inside smearing in the corner of your lips. The world seems to stop when you feel her calloused hand grip your chin softly when her thumb cleaned up said cream carefully. Your cheeks tinted red watching how she took the finger to her plump lips, liking it clean.

“I think I like sugar, is it fine… sugar?” She tested it on her tongue with a grin as watching you crumble a little bit, for surprise, for confusion, for excitement, for appreciation, for shyness.

“It is fine.” When your smile accompanied hers everything felt right. She didn’t need to know you were going to scream on your pillow when you made it to your apartment and run in circles in the living room. You were just keeping your calm right now. You were going to act like the look in her eyes didn’t affect you in the slightest, like you didn’t feel your knees trembling when you heard the nickname with her gruff voice that you had grown accustomed to listening to on a daily basis. Like your heart isn't beating with all of its force in your chest. Like you weren’t falling in love with her each passing second you spent next to her.

“And just so you know, the same with black coffee, they may look simple but to perfect them you need to master the recipe.”

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

One day talking on a voice call you let slip that you wanted to start moving more, just to help your muscles take a little shape. She almost instantly asked if you wanted to accompany her and Jaan on their sunday runs, in an act of foolishment from your side you accepted.

So that’s why you are here, in the slight heat that spring brought. Dressed with some running shorts, the comfiest shoes you could find and a fitted long sleeve shirt with a zipper that runs in the middle of it. Sevika was helping you stretch correctly while Jaan waited expectantly watching every movement her momma did.

“Just because you’re new here we are going to go slower, but Jaan gets anxious and would want to run at some point. So we are going to stay close to the park so I can let her roam free when she gets bored of us.” She stretched her back lifting both of her arms over her head leaving in sight a little of the skin on her waist with a patch of dark hair that went from her navel down and disappeared on the inside of her shorts.

“Does she run much?” You tied your hair carefully to not let your ponytail neither too tight nor too loose.

“You are going to see yourself, don’t worry.” She took the strap attached to the collar of her dog before signaling with her head to start walking.

₊⟡.⋆

She was trying to kill you, you didn’t have any doubt of it. First she looked extremely hot in this moment: sweating with her back damp from said fluids, the muscles on her legs looking like she was an ancient Greek statue by how sculpted they looked.

And secondly and probably worst: acting like this was just light work while you struggled to keep her pace.

“THIS ISN’T SLOW, YOU LIED.” You barely screamed at her while you stopped in your tracks flexing your lower body and putting your hands on your knees trying to catch those breaths that you felt like were escaping away from you every second you runned next to her. The first twenty minutes weren’t hard, it was enjoyable until she started incrementing the pace and you started to fall behind.

A few seconds passed between your stop and a comforting hand roaming up and down on your back and a softly cooing that accompanied it. “You should have told me to go slower, sugar. Sorry, I didn’t notice you were struggling.” You straightened yourself letting her hand rest on the small of your back, a smile plastered on your lips for the feeling of warmth on your body.

Although you have grown closer day by day it was hard to get her to touch you, at least in more intimate areas. And your insides were screaming for her touch. To be able to sense the feeling of her hands on your body. The feeling of skin on skin. To be able to take her hand in yours, to observe the scars in her human one and the details on her prosthetic.

Neither of you have brought up the talk about your evident flourishing relationship, you two knew you weren’t just friends but felt scared to bring the subject even though it was obvious that you both wanted the same.

“I’m okay now. I also didn't want to make Jaan stop, she looked happy.” After you said her name you started looking for the dog watching her run across the field in front of you with her mouth open and her tongue sticking out. Carefully and without thinking about it you leaned into Sevika’s touch, making her hand move slowly to your hips sitting there comfortably, no one said anything about it. You two just stayed there and enjoyed the feeling of just staying close for a little while.

“I brought some fruit and snacks, should we go look for them?.” Your voice came out dovelike while your eyes went to focus on her face this time, a small ‘hmm’ left her lips while her eyes stayed focused on the dog.

“Yeah, but let’s just…” Her grey eyes, light like the smoke coming from an ongoing fire and glowing like a pair of diamonds, went to meet yours in an instant with her velvety and husky voice she continued. “stay a little longer.”

“Let’s go, we can walk like this, and I also brought a picnic blanket.” a small chuck left your lips when immediately after you were done talking her eyes narrowed, her characteristic smirk coming to her lips followed by a strong and loud whistle that made Jaan come back to you two in a few seconds.

“Did you say something about a Picnic blanket?”

“I did, indeed.”

₊⟡.⋆

The food was already eaten, the dog laid with her back on the grass while Sevika herself rested her head on your bare thighs, one of your hands tangled in her short hair while the other worked as a support for your weight. You three rested under the shadow of a big maple tree enjoying the chirping of the birds, the gasp of the wind, but most importantly the closeness. The calm went interrupted when Sevika's phone started ringing, a confused look appeared on her face while taking the device from her crossbody bag, a smile appearing on her lips immediately, one different from whatever smile you have seen from her before. She picked up the call quickly.

“Hi sweetie” your hand stopped moving instantly after hearing the nickname. Why is she referring to this someone with such a lovely name? Did she have a girlfriend she forgot to mention?, you didn’t even ask if you remember correctly, after all who would be flirting and going on biweekly dates if they were in a relationship, you at least wouldn’t. “Could you pass the phone? Thank you.” Was there more than one person on the other side? A crawling feeling went up on your spine, the trickling sensation making you stiffen up. “Hi. No, I’m not home right now… Yes, Jaan it’s with me… Who else?” Her eyes went to your face, you can’t imagine what was your expression right now. You surely were trying really hard to appear normal, to don’t show on your face the sensation of pressure that grew on your neck and the weight that had found place inside your chest that was making it so fucking hard to breathe.

Your hand slowly withdrew from her hair without looking at her face trying to focus on something you could see, hear or smell. You wanted to escape, to go running but as far from her as you could, you wanted to scream and cry in the loneliness of your own space without some of the most beautiful eyes you ever seen watching you. But the space you created didn’t last much longer, she changed her phone to her left hand while her right went to catch yours to keep it in between her fingers squeezing softly as a way of reassurance. “I’m with a… friend, yes Jinx a friend. No she isn’t going to steal from us don’t worry. Yes, she is pretty. No… maybe, I can’t answer that right now. Yes, tell Isha I will be there in a couple of hours. Buy some pizza if you want, save me a few slices.”

Confused was short to describe how you were feeling right now. Your mind felt hazy, you didn’t notice in the moment the call had ended or the gruff she left out while sitting normally.

“Sugar?.” You heard her voice and your eyes flew directly to her face, your hand still trapped in hers.

Before talking you cleared your throat. “Can I ask who it was?.” A nod came from her side at the same time she reincorporated. A specific expression crossed her face, it was easily recognizable it was the one she made while preparing to start lecturing. She was organizing her way to dive in the conversation.

“Will you listen and not interrupt?” You let out a doubting nod while still focusing on her. “Alright, it’s a long story, before everything, I’m sorry for not telling you before” Oh that’s it, you are breaking up before even being something. Like she could read your mind she kept on talking. “I’m not in a relationship. I will not be flirting with someone if I was taken. Loyalty it’s the bare minimum for me.” She took a break passing one of her hands through her hair. “I was the godmother of this kid, Jinx, when her father died I was the only person available to take care of her. Her older sister was… not available at that moment. I took care of her from when she was 11 until today. She is 21 now. She is not living with me anymore, at least not full time.” Her eyes focused on the look of your hands between hers.

“When she was 16 I was going back to the apartment when a little child started following me. I was completely alone on the street, no one around us. She had the softest smile of all the world, and the cutest gap tooth you could imagine. With all the heaviness of my heart I took her to a police station. Isha is her name, and she was an orphan. They tried to take her away, but I don't trust those assholes and I also couldn’t leave her with them and let her go into an orphanage. Jinx's sister it’s called Vi, it took a long time for me to grow kind to her. Her girlfriend was a student of Social Work and she was also at Law School at the time. She also comes from this big rich family. After a few calls I was taking her as a foster child. I was already able to take on foster kids, for all of what happened with Jinx.”

She took a break to look at you, she was expecting you to go up and run away with a quick ‘Sorry, I can’t make this.’, after all you were still younger than her and probably would probably prefer to be with someone who didn’t already have two children. She wasn’t expecting you to have the most understanding eyes and a comforting smile plastered on your face, no pity, just pure sympathy and understandment. So she continued. “She was almost four years old at the moment, no one knows how or why she was on the streets alone that day, but I'm glad I was the one that she decided to follow. She is now nine, she doesn’t like to talk much, she has selective mutism, only talks when she is really happy and when you answer a call, she finds joy when you say ‘Hi’ to her on the phone.”

You don’t know at what moment your whole body relaxed and both of your hands were on hers admiring her profusely with a grin on your face. You also don’t know what possessed you in that second to say what you said. “Can I kiss you?.” The pure shock on Sevika’s face lasted less than a second before both of her hands were on the side of your face pulling you in a kiss. It was all you could wish from a first kiss with her, the movement of her plump lips on yours made you gasped, your hands resting on her thighs while you rearranged your position to till yourself closer to her, the softness of her touch made you feel hazy, the warm of her lips and the daintiness of her touch make you feel like you could crumble at any second on her hands. Your brain went quiet the second her lips touched yours all preoccupation you had before had already dissipated in the air. The soft scent that was so her covering all of your senses, woody tones that mixed wonderfully with a rich jasmine and a little touch of what you read as pomegranate. After what felt like just measly seconds but probably were a few minutes you two let go of each other, one of her hands lingered on your face while the other stayed put on your waist, and yours remained on her shoulders, you didn’t even remember how they made it there. Soft giggles escaped both of your lips almost in unison.

“You are so beautiful.” Her thumb brushed your cheek with care while you closed your eyes and tilted your head to feel her closer.

“I can say the same thing about you.” humming came from her side before her lips left a chaste kiss on your forehead. “I don’t think today it’s the moment because it’s a lot of information to explain, but I understand you. My two younger sisters are like my own children. I think all of this just makes me fall even deeper for you.

“Are you falling for me? It isn’t so professional of me to let a student fall for me, sweetheart.” Your eyes opened again with an inquiring look on your face, meeting a mischievous smile on her face that made you roll your eyes.

“You exasperate me, you know that?.”

“Oh I know, but now I also know you are falling for me while I already fell for you.” An affectionate grin came from you this time while you closed the distance between the two of you once again.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

You were officially dating now. It came up naturally during lunch together at her house, the conversation went so easy that you almost got undressed in front of her of how hot she sounded. There isn’t a label yet, but everything has worked beautifully.

Although you were dating your actual professor in class she would still treat you like what you were in that second: her student. She still graded you like each one of her students, your tests weren’t easier just because you two spent hours making out on your couch, or because you have spent a few nights just sleeping over at her place. In class you answered the question as always, and did your research how you would before dating her. And it felt nice, it felt nice to have someone you could count on, someone to kiss, to spend time with, but also to care for someone that was such a good teacher, to see her do what she loved and appreciate every constructive critic to your work, because being with her felt like she was making you a better person.

And she felt the same. She felt safe around you, she started to understand herself more being by your side. She understood she was able to give love and to receive it, she was able to be given kindness, and softness. She learned that she could talk about her little family, and that it shouldn’t be a turn off or a reason to stop caring about her. She would say that with you it went the other way around, you were interested in how good Jinx did in her last project in Art School, or how Isha was doing in her first year at elementary, if Jaan paw had healed correctly or when her next vet appointment was. But she also had a great student, someone who was always willing to learn more and to investigate even more of what she taught you. Someone to talk to for hours about this new perspective, or someone to consult when she didn’t know how to get a point across. You too were making her a better person.

Today you were at our usual Friday lecture, you two shared some sweets before class and you were still sipping in your coffee when all of your attention was on her. She was given away the last arrangements and fixes to be made on next week's paper, when she got to your seat she talked.

“Here is yours, I just put the grade on it. There aren't any arrangements to be made. You still can make changes and send it my way before the deadline and I would grade those accordingly.” You took the paper gracefully with a smile on your face. Before you could answer her a grumble was heard from a few seats back, an inquiring look was painted on her face, her usual eyebrow raised, her sharp eyes looking at the person where this sound came from.

“I’m sorry, is there anything any of you want to complain about how I manage MY class?.” Her arms crossed in her chest when her face transformed in that robust expression that could make the legs of every person in this room crumble. Yours didn’t crumble, they just got a little wet.

“We all know you two are fucking, of course she is going to get a 100% in everything.” An audible gasp came from your mouth and apparently from everyone else in the class. You were starting to stand up when she signaled with her hand that she was the one who was going to talk. ‘Hot’ you thought while sitting back down again, rage either way sipping through your pores.

“First of all, whatever goes between her and I in our private lives it’s none of your business.” She was never known as someone with a big patience and even less if it was directed to a man. The steps got louder by the second until she was standing in front of him. “Secondly, I don’t let whatever happens in my private life numb my thoughts and my knowledge, and for that same reason it doesn’t change the way I grade.” Her human hand now was in front of his face with her index and middle finger extended to be pointing at his chest. “But you know what does? disrespect. So I hope you know that you fucked your way out of this course, if you want to pass it you would have to give 200% extra of what your pairs are doing. And that I would be the strictest I have ever been in my more than 15 years of career, so you better toughen up little boy.” The furrow of her brows accentuating the harshness of her eyes. You were pretty sure that if looks could kill you he would be 10 feet under the soil. “Now get out of here for today your class it’s over, and I hope that you ask for forgiveness from your colleague before you step foot inside of my class again.” The guy who probably was less than 25 now looked like a child, trembling and pure fear plastered on his face. He also appeared to have lost every single drop of blood from his face, looking as pale as a ghost. He stumbled while taking his stuff and almost fell running outside of the room.

After he was out she talked. “Everyone can go home, today class is over. You all will get an email with today's topic and content to visit it on the time we would have been in here. To those who didn’t get their paper, you will receive the corrections between today and saturday in another mail, and the amount of time it takes for these corrections to get to you will be added to the deadline so it is fair for all. Hope you all have a great day and a great weekend.” In a matter of minutes every person in the class picked their stuff up and started getting out of the class, except you.

When the only people occupying the space were you two she walked to where you were still sitting. “Everything okay? Did whatever that asshole said affect you?. Promise to Janna I wanted to slap his face so fu-.” Before she could keep talking you took her face in your hands closing the distance between your lips. Her prosthetic arm immediately grabbed your waist while her human one went to the nape of your neck, grasping into you like you were trying to escape from her. The kissing part was nothing too new for the two of you. What was new was the force that you both were applying to it, the feeling of her hand gripping you with possessiveness, and the constant fight of your tongues for dominance. A small moan quickly got away from you, getting trapped inside of her mouth. Her teeth bit your lower lip when you separated from her.

“Fuck you looked so hot talking to him like that. Wanted to kiss you since you told me to sit down.” A chuckle escaped her when your confession touched the air, she leaned in to leave a quick kiss on your lips once again.

“Did I now? good to know you like when I get angry.” You started picking your stuff up when she started walking to her desk. She continued talking while stuffing the paper sheets on her usual folder. “Wanted to go eat with you after this, but now thanks to that son of a bitch I have extra work to do.”

You were in front of her with your bag on your shoulder. “We can go eat dinner and drink something in the night. It’s friday after all and my hot professor that it’s supposedly fucking me so hard and giving me a 100% in each of my assignments without of me putting any effort on them already left me free for this weekend.” A strong laugh came out from her and now you were being sad that what he said wasn’t real, you still were putting your energy and knowledge in your assignments and she still wasn’t fucking you.

“Well your hot professor did leave you free of anything to do, so she would accept this proposition happily. I know a place. Can I pick you up? I think nine it’s a good hour.”

“Yes you can, and it’s perfect. I have to go to the library now, so, see you in a few hours?.”

“Oh you will see me sweetheart.” A chasté kiss was left on your lips while her hand traveled to the small of your back to start walking out of the room.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

Night has come, after you left the library you ran home, and started getting ready. A bubble bath was the first step, while lounging in the bathtub you took the time to see your body. You propped your leg on the lip of the tub. You appreciated the feeling of your skin, checking the scars of years behind, of little falls and accidents of a younger you. You watched the hairs sticking down, will it be ok if you shave them? You didn’t think Sev would care much about that, it would make you feel more confident though, so you did. You went to your arms next, they felt a little dry so a little scrubbing was made and a soothing butter came after. Your hair was washed after you stepped up, a deep conditioning applied on it as you went out of the shower. Your skin was moisturized with a body butter that smelled like strawberries.

Standing on your feet you looked at your toes, they maybe would look pretty painted. While letting your hair air dry after rinsing the conditioner off you started painting your nails, hands and toes, all in black. After they wew dry and your hair done in a simple hairstyle that puts your hair up in a relaxed look with two delicate curls framing your face, you start looking for clothes. Your closet wasn’t huge, and there wasn’t so much information of where you were going, picking your cellphone up you texted her, receiving an immediate answer.

₊⟡.⋆

You 19:58

Are we going to a fancy place?

Sevi 💌 19:58

Sort of.

But no need to dress too formally, doll.

There was a small break after her last message with the bubble with three dots started blinking.

Sevi 💌 20:00

One of your usual skirts should be good enough ;).

You 20:00

OK. Thank uuu.

<3

Sevi 💌 20:00

See you in an hour. xx

₊⟡.⋆

A small blush covers your cheeks, a skirt will be it then. You picked a black one, a little bit higher than middle thigh length, with a few pleats. For the top a deep red blouse with long sleeves and a deep neckline that exposes your cleavage beautifully. Although it was still the start of spring the nights were still chilly, when you went to pick a leather jacket you stopped in your tracks imagining the chance of her just giving you hers, she was always running hot after all. For shoes, black knee high boots with a few inches of platform, paired with some cream high socks under them.

You looked at the clock after you were done dressing, less than thirty minutes on the clock for her to show up. You took a seat on your desk taking everything out of your makeup bag, it has to be something simple. A dark brownish red went on your lower eyelid curving up in the corner to create the appearance of an eyeliner, blush on the higher parts of your cheeks, mascara coating your long eyelashes, and a dark cherry lipstick went on your lips. You packed the last item on your shoulder bag next to your keys, phone and your wallet.

When you were walking to apply on perfume your cellphone ringed with the special tone you have picked for her. You quickly applied your favorite perfume before answering your phone. “I’m closing the door right noooow.” You extended the last vocal while doing said action after hanging up. You took the elevator down, walking at a quicker pace to find her.

When you saw her you could hear a soft curse in the silence of the night, you felt her eyes ogling after your appearance while you walked towards her. When you come to a stop in front of her a grin emerges on her lips.

“Hi beautiful.” her right hand went to yours taking it to her lips leaving a soft kiss. The sensation of it lingering on your skin. You took the chance to get a good look at her. It wasn’t uncommon to see her in formal clothes, and you have grown to watch her in more casual outfits. Today she was wearing dark washed jeans and a deep red shirt styled the same as always, two buttons open and sleeves rolled up. Her usual combat boots are also on her feet. ‘We are matching.’ you thought to yourself. Her brown leather jacket that she took out when she saw you walking without your own was now being offered to you.

“Hi handsome. Thank you.” You said while she helped you out said jacket on.

“You look amazing today.”

“Well I followed the advice of someone who always has good styling choices.”

“Is that right?.” A slight chuckle left you while she walked you to the passenger seat of her car, she opened the door, let you slip in, and then quickly returned to her side.

“It is, she said she loooved how I looked in skirts.” Now was her time to chuckle, she helped you to put your seatbelt on and put hers after.

“Hey, I didn’t say that.”

“Oh!, you don’t love how I look on skirts?” She started the car and began to drive to the restaurant.

“I also didn’t say that. Because that would be a lie, and I hate lying.” A soft laugh erupted from you as you dedicated the time on the road to watch her. You would never get tired of doing that, of using your time to observe her, at the little furrow of her brows, at the look of both of her hands gripping on the steering wheel, just at her.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

You two made it to the restaurant fairly quickly, it wasn’t that long of a ride. It felt expensive but cozy at the same time. You were sitting next to each other, both decided to take a booth that gave the chance to stay right by the other. The menus came and went easily, in the end she decided for both because you haven’t any idea of what could taste good, two different plates with the idea of sharing. You asked for a mojito and she asked for just water.

It wasn’t long when you were a few mojitos deep, the food already eaten and probably the best slice of cheesecake you have ever tried was already half eaten. You were tipsy, it wasn't hard to miss, a smile that seemed to never want to leave your lips, glittering eyes thanks to the alcohol. Your right hand on her shoulder while you were leaning into her, exposing without noticing everything under your shirt. She looked at you with an expression that if you didn’t know better would have thought was one making fun of you. Her hand rested comfortably on one of your thighs, the roughness of it making contact with the soft plump skin of your leg.

“Mmmm, you haven’t drank anything, that’s unfair.” a pout formed in your lips while your slightly teary eyes softened making you look like a poor puppy.

“Mmm, you are right, but I'm the one driving, sugar.” You stopped for a second thinking about what she said giggling after realizing the point she made.

“But that’s unfair!! I want to see you drunk!.” She took a quick look at her wrist looking at the hour, it was close to eleven, time had as always flown around you.

“We can go to my place. I have drinks there if you really want to see me drunk.” You clapped happily while drinking the rest of your third mojito and raising your hand looking for the server.

“I would love that. I think you are a sappy drunk, and I have never seen you being sappy!!.” She already knew for this first instant that you transformed into a bubbly creature when tipsy. If you asked her she would probably say you were either a horny or a screaming drunk.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

Back in the car you were singing to the songs that blasted the speakers, she has let you put your phone on the aux. You said this was like a free concert and she wouldn’t think otherwise.

“Sugar.” a humming sound came from your side asking her to continue. “Do you mind the use of recreational weed?.” You shake your head ‘no’ while sitting even more incorrectly than before, fully facing her.

“It’s only allowed if you share.” An approving smile appeared on her face as she started to park her car outside of the house she lived in.

“That’s ok by me, let’s go, we are here.”

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

You love her home, everything screams ‘her’, the leather and dark wood furniture, the faint smell of tobacco and incense, the toys of Jaan are always in the same corner of the house. The dog slept in her own house in the backyard, being able to go in and out whenever she liked. But at the same time it was full of things that reminded you of her children. Pens, pencils, paint over a tray in the island of her kitchen. Toys and children's books on a big bookshelf reserved for them. Pictures of a smaller Jinx and Isha graduation pics of High School and Kindergarten. Drawings put against her fridge and a big painting that occupied almost a full wall. Said children sleep at the house at least three times a week, sometimes the full week. Jinx had her own apartment closer to university and to Isha school for when they wanted more alone time. After all Isha also felt Jinx as her own mom, and also her best friend, they were inseparable. Sometimes they would crash at Vi’s apartment when they felt like they needed to bother someone who wasn’t Sevika. Her voice took you back to reality.

“Ok, we have bourbon, wine, rum, and some beer. What does the princess want?” She asked while she prepared her own glass with bourbon and ice.

“If you have coke then a rum and coke. If not just straight rum.” She laughed slightly at your words while preparing the first option. You have already taken a seat on her couch sitting with bent knees making sure your shoes didn’t touch any furniture. You are still dressed in her jacket hiding your nose behind the garment to soak all of the smell.

She took the place next to you offering your glass, in the kitchen she had already drunk half of her glass and refilled it to be in a similar condition than yours. “Aren’t your shoes bothering you?” She said with genuine interest while letting her glass on the coffee table. You nodded at her question. With a few slaps on her thighs she signaled to extend your legs to her so she can help you, something you of course did. With extreme delicacy she takes them off slowly and lets them next to the couch.

“Do you want to smoke right now?.” She asked going to the small tin box that rested on the table opening it to take a pre roll from there. After you nodded again you got closer to her, leaving your glass on the table exchanging it with hers to take it close to her lips. She took a long sip from it before you put it on when it rested before. Her hand went to your lips placing the blunt between them, with a quick movement of her fingers she lightened up letting you take the first puff.

The cigar went back and forward in her lips and yours, on and off, the taste of it felt amazing mixed with the liquor and the kisses exchanged in between. At a point in the middle you ended up sitting straddling her legs. When the pre roll was close to and end Sevika’s hand went up to your chin taking a good grip of it that made your lips part. Smoking a big part of what rested slowly she let the smoke that came from her mouth curl its way inside of yours. A low moan came from you while your eyes instinctively closed.

“Mmh you shouldn’t do that doll.” Her free hand rested on your hips making sure you didn’t move. “We are both intoxicated, we can make out all of what you want but nothing else, yes?.” A pout formed in your lips before nodding, starting a kiss quickly after.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

What you think was about two hours or more passed easily, in between kisses, a few refills to her glass and a few normal cigarettes. You still were on top of her, your hands interlocking in the back of her head, your face resting on the crook of her neck leaving a trail of soft and wet kisses from the sharp line of her jaw to where the shirt interrupted your path. Her human hand rested on your thigh, her fingers about half way up your skirt, leaving designs of soft circles. Her head tilted to the side leaving you enough space to be comfortable.

In a few seconds you stiffened up while you took your time to appreciate the smells that mixed in the air, the most notorious one being the one of the cigarettes she had lightened up. A soft laugh found its way out of your throat. Laugh that quickly turned into broken sobs. The second sevika noticed she put off the cylinder to take a grip on your face.

Her velvety voice was lower than ever. “Everything alright sweetheart?.” Humming came as an answer while her inquiry continued .

“It’s just, the smell reminded me of home, of my grandma. She used to smoke like a fucking chimney, I told her it was goin to kill her one day, and it did.” Her hands went up to clean your tears. You let her for a few seconds until you went forward rubbing your face on her, her skin, her shirt, her face trying to get that smell all over you. If you were a cat you would be purring right now. Light kisses were left on the top of your head while she pulled you into an embrace.

“Are you ready to talk about it?.” After a few minutes you took a deep breath nodding.

“Well, you know that I'm not the common age that someone ‘should’ have in the 3rd year of a career. I entered university at 18, I had an important scholarship that covered almost all of my expenses. I had to break myself apart studying to maintain it, but it was all worth it. I always enjoyed learning. Who would have thought I would end up with an actual professor that I spend hours talking about what I learn, right?.” A humorless chuckle left your lips.

“There were five children in my home. I’m the middle one, two younger sisters and two older brothers. When I entered my second year everything was going right, or at least that’s what I thought. My two older brothers already lived on the other side of the country, they didn’t have the same luck as me to be able to study.” Your hands traced senseless patterns on her skin. “My dad died when my younger sister was 2, so I was around 12. Mom always grieved his dead, for what I can remember they were deeply in love.” You left a soft sigh before continuing. “She was on antidepressants the biggest part of my teen years. I grew up seeing her as this emotionless person, so different from the one I remembered from my childhood. The antidepressants worked until they just didn’t have such a strong effect to numb all of her feelings anymore, and she decided to take on something stronger.”

“I don’t know specifically what she was in but I know that she started when I left for that semester, and when I was in the middle of it, she was already wrecked. I remember it was finals week, my grandma called telling me she was gone out and hadn't come back. My mom left my two poor babies alone for at least two days before she could go check on them, 9 and 13 years old, feeding themselves on whatever scraps of food there were in the fridge, without notifying any of us.” Your hands had transformed into fists that gripped the cloth of her shirt. She didn’t appear to mind. “I had to leave as soon as I could. Lost my scholarship for skipping a final. When I arrived home I noticed she wouldn’t come back. The only thing she left apart from wrecked stuff in her room was her wedding ring, with a note where she didn’t even ask for forgiveness.” Tears were streaming down your face at this point.

Sevika tried comforting you slowly, cooing and cleaning your tears as best as she could. After a deep breath you continued. “We moved into my grandmother’s house because we couldn’t afford rent anymore. She didn’t only leave us but also the mess she created. I started working in everything I could while also being a mom for my sisters. My brothers helped when they could, they had their own families now. Grandma was old so she only could just do much, cooking, maybe washing some clothes, everything else was dropped on my shoulder the moment she stepped out. I did my best, I promise I did. Went to every recital of their school, helped with their homework and projects, went to football games, all while maintaining two jobs at the same time. I didn’t sleep much, or eat much, well, I didn’t live much. I didn't have time for it. Got really sick at some point but I didn’t stop, I was the only thing they had, I had to be there for them.” You took a break downing whatever was left on the two glasses before continuing.

“When I was 22 she died, found dead somewhere. I didn’t investigate much more. I-” your voice cracked mid sentence, the furrow in your brows was deep and your eyes lost in the background without focusing on anything, doing your best to not cry. “I didn’t go to the funeral, or the burial. Didn’t let any tears spill in her name, I couldn’t give it to her. She didn’t deserve them.” Her hand cupped your face slowly, when your eyes catched hers you felt clarity coming from the cloudiness on them causing the dam to break. “And I hate her, and what she did. But at the same time I cared so much, so deeply. Spent nights without sleeping thinking if she was ok. I didn’t go looking for her, I abandoned her, like she did with us. It could even be my fault that she is dead.” Breaking sobs left your lips while her comforting arms wrapped around you in the most warm way possible. You don’t remember the last time you felt so cared for, where someone cuddled you instead of you to them.

“Nothing of what happened to her it’s your fault darling. You can keep thinking it is, maybe you couldn’t even change anything if you did reach out, but we will never know. You are safe now, and so are your babies. You are the strongest person I know, I don’t think a lot of us could have survived like you did.” Your head rested in the crock of her neck while her hand moved soothingly on your back.

“I miss her sometimes, like a little kid. I never cared to admit it because I was so busy hating her. I miss the way she laughed, and her smell. I still haven’t been able to find her perfume. I miss the way she looked at dad. And how she was before everything happened. But I still have troubles thanks to everything, I have this crippling feeling on my body always that I feel something for someone, like I was 19 again and would be left alone in this big world. I don’t know if I forgive her, but maybe accepting that I do care for what she was will make me feel better.” An understanding sound came from Sevika while she made you look at her.

“It’s probably the best first step, baby.” A smile formed in your lips when you noticed the freeing sensation that stood in your chest. Then a loud yawn made its presence. A soft chuckle came from her side. “We should go to bed.”

“Mmmhm. Can I ask you to do something for me?” You crossed your arms behind her neck while her strong hands went under your legs keeping you raised while she started walking to her room.

“Maybe.”

“Can you be the one to change my clothes?. I think that if I stand on my feet I will fall to the ground.” A laugh came from her while she nodded.

“Yes I can do that for you, sugar.”

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

You were already on her bed sitting with your legs on the border of the mattress. “I didn’t think the first time I would be undressing you was to dress you again.” A drunk giggle came from you.

“What a waste hmm?.” You put your arms above your head while both of her hands got busy lifting your blouse up. Revealing a lacy black bra that cupped your tits perfectly. A side smirk came to her lips while she took the time to pass her fingers over the border of the clothing item, you felt the sensation of her cold metal hand and the roughness and heat of her human one.

“Hello to you two.” maybe it was the alcohol but you felt bubbly letting her appreciate and care for your body. Your hands went to the mattress slightly behind you so you can extend back letting her eyes roam over you. “Foot up darling.” Softly she took your socks giving a short massage to your feet followed by a little kiss, she did the same on the other one. “Hmm, how should I take your skirt off darling.” She asked more to herself while her fingers fumble with the zipper, slowly letting it go. “Rise your hips baby.” You followed her order without saying a word . The cloth left your legs leaving you only in the matching set you have put in case something else happened. And although it wasn’t what you expected you were still enjoying it. She took a step back to be able to observe every detail of your body. The softness on your skin, the stretch marks that cover your hips and part of your tummy. The freckles on your chest, and whatever birthmark she could pick up. “You are so pretty.” She came closer to leave a kiss on your lips before busying with her own clothes.

“Wait! Can... Can I help you?.” A grin made its presence while you rearranged in the bed, flexing your knees to be sitting on top of your calves. When she agreed your nails went to her shirt, un-bottoming it with care. When it was open you left a small gasp out, your hand touching her abdomen after asking for permission silently and being answered with a nod. Slowly your slender fingers went up, passing over her bust to her shoulders where you helped the shirt for it to roll down her arms, taking the chance of letting your hands linger in both of her biceps. Her left arm was the one with a prosthetic. She still haven’t told you much how it happened, apart of that it was a chemical burn that went to deep fucking the nerves and muscle of her forearm. The prosthetic initiated in the middle of her arm, being articulated on her elbow.

Your hands went to her belt, opening it giving you access to her jeans. You easily let it open letting it fall to her feet hearing the clanking it did when touching the wood floor, you haven’t noticed she didn’t have shoes or socks on. Your eyes went up all the way from her legs to her eyes, watching a little bit sober than before how big she was and the towering she did to your figure. Her body was now only covered by her underwear, a pair of short boxers and a gym bra. “You don’t sleep with a bra if I remember correctly.” The same way as before you asked for permission and she granted it to you. Your hand slipped to the lower elastic of the item. Your finger going under it feeling the lower margin of her boobs enjoying the sensation. In a few seconds the item was discarded on the floor next to the rest of her clothes. Your mouth was slightly open as you drank in her figure, noticing the two bars that went through her nipples, you could feel your mouth watering. “You are so beautiful Sev.”. You felt a soft kiss in the center of her chest and one over each one of her nipples, laughing when you saw them erecting.

“You are a menace.” She laughed cupping your jaw before walking to her closet to take some stuff so you can both sleep comfortably. You stare at her ass all the time her back was turned to you. She came back with a t-shirt for you and a few makeup wipes that she used to clean your face.

“Maybe. You know I sleep without underwear so you still have work to do.” A raise of her eyebrows followed by her characteristic smirk occurred while she got closer to you after throwing away the wipes.

“It’s my pleasure to do so.” Her human hand went to your back easily opening your bra in mere seconds, letting it flop out of your chest exposing it to her eyes to see. She also couldn’t keep her hands to herself and cupped both of them with the smile of a child looking at a candy shop. “Fuck you are going to make me go crazy.” You giggled while putting the t-shirt over your head.

“You still have to take my panties off.” An acknowledgment sound came from here while she help you stand up, her hands starting it’s way down in your bust taking in the shape of your waist and hips while slipping under the cloth to grab the elastic of the underwear sliding it off your legs letting them fall to the floor with the obvious shiny spot in the middle of them.

“Time to sleep, my girl.” The possessive tone of her voice made you smile while you climbed into bed again. She following you quickly after.

“Good night Sev.” Your hands rested under the side of your face.

One of her hands took place around your waist. Her chest making contact with your back and her nose buried in your hair. “Good night Doll.”

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

The place was extremely silent, no shower running, no clacking in the kitchen, not even footsteps were heard. You stood up walking to the bathroom, Sevika had never left you alone in her home before, so it felt strange to be habiting her space but without her presence there. She wasn’t in the bathroom as you expected for the lack of signals, you took your time to do the usual stuff you did in the morning, including a shower. After leaving that room dressed in one of her clean t-shirts and nothing else you went to the kitchen passing through the living room, still not signal of her presence anywhere in the house. If you were in your home you are sure you would start to panic at this point, but you weren’t so you tried your best to make your heartbeat go back to normal. The girls weren’t coming today for what she had told you yesterday.

You took the chance of being in her kitchen to drink a few glasses of water to help with the dehydration that the alcohol had left in your body. You were thankful for never having to live with headaches after a night out, and today wouldn’t change that. You tried to recall where your phone was, probably dead so it wouldn’t be helpful. You remembered what she said yesterday in class about sending the mails. You took a look at the electric clock that marked that it was in fact saturday. That’s it, she is in her office.

You stretched your back while walking slowly to her work place. You have been inside just two times. The first time you only stayed in the door calling for her to go eat. And the second one you helped her to organize it after she couldn’t find one specific document. When you got there you use your fist to knock two times. A ‘come here’ was heard so you did as you were told.

You opened the door slowly entering the room. It was only lightened by her desk lamp and whatever entered from her semi opened blinds. Both of these lights made her look effortlessly gorgeous, even as she was dressed in just some pants and a grey tank top and only accessorized by the cigarette that rested in between her teeths. Your eyes focused on her face. Her glasses were on and her fingers tapped relatively slowly on her keyboard. Next to her computer there were two small piles of paper sheets, one that looked like it only had a few pages clipped together while the other one was much bigger and taller.

“Working early, I see.” You walked slowly to where she was sitting standing next to her while looking at the screen.

“I’m going to make that asshole fail the class, I assure you.” Her right hand went to her face rubbing with disdain over her skin. A humming came from your lips as your hands went to her shoulders massaging them slowly. A sound of enjoyment came from her lips while she moved in the chair separating herself from the desk. “I had to leave my gorgeous girlfriend alone in bed at 8 in the morning just to do this shit because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

A soft blush climbed your cheeks while you walked to accommodate yourself in between her legs taking the cigarette from her lips putting it off on her ashtray. “Am I your girlfriend?, since when?.”

Her hands went to your hips pulling you closer to her. Her face finding a place in between your breasts. “Since this exact moment, if you accept obviously.”

Her chin was now the only thing touching your chest while her bright and full of emotion eyes were fixated on yours “You can’t look at me like that and expect me to deny that offer.” A soft chuckle came from her as her hands bringed you to sit on her lap. “The only thing I am going to say it’s that I’m still naked under this and bothered from last night.” A knowing smirk appeared on her face as her flesh hand went up one of your legs to the back of your thigh up to the plump of your ass confirming the information. Where she groped strongly while the ashy color of her irises disappeared under the expansion of her pupil.

“Then we should celebrate the start of our relationship. Don’t you think, dear?.” Your hands went to the nape of her neck, going upwards to feel the softness of her short hair tangling your finger in the longer strands.

“Hmm. I don’t know…” A mischievous giggle came from you as you pulled her hair while shortening the distance between you two. You talked softly on top of her lips making them brush against each other. “Show me how you would do it, baby. Show me how you would celebrate it.”

Before you could react her bold lips took contact with yours, the bitter taste of smoke and black coffee mixing with the bright and clean of the toothpaste. Her free hand flew to your hips accommodating you on her lap, making you straddle her. Same hand that followed rapidly the movements of the robotic one going to your free asscheek squeezing the plumpness of the skin. A soft moan escaped your lips giving her enough space for her tongue to slip in. Without thinking much apart from the feeling of her lips and the growing warm sensation in between your legs you fixed yourself on her lap, getting as close to her as humanly possible. A low groan came from her when she put pressure on your skin making you slightly grind against her.

“Sevi… mmghm.” Carefully she broke the kiss leaving you room to talk, taking the chance to appreciate your looks, the dampness of your hair, your dazed eyes, the redness of your cheeks and the pink that colored your lips for the action a few seconds ago. “Please.”

“Please what, sugar.” You heard the smirk on her lips before you saw it going into another feverish kiss that lasted the same or more than the first one.

“I need you, I need you so much, please.” You talked over her lips before kissing her again. With an insane amount of care and show of strength she stood up with you in her arms, acting like you weighed nothing. Without breaking the kiss she walked into her room. You didn't notice that you were there until your back touched the fluffiness of the bedding.

“Fuck you look so pretty begging, my love.” Her human hand went to your face caressing your skin, making its way to your chin and then your bottom lip. As an instinct you opened your mouth slightly. She took the chance you were giving her, in a few seconds your lips were around the digit, your tongue flat against the surface for her to rub on, before you circled it over the tip. Eyes dizzy on hers succumbing to the slightest pressure of her dominance. Your cheeks were hollowed sucking at the length, a string of saliva started coming from the corner of your mouth dripping to your chin. “Look at you, so eager to please. Fucking drooling for only taking my finger.” A needy moan came from you while your eyes rolled back in your head.

You couldn’t focus on anything, your head was empty. Only occupied by the feeling of her thumb inside your mouth, the filthy sounds that it made when she moved it in and out of your mouth and the growl in her voice when she talked. Your legs were now open giving her a semi covered view of your sex, already covered in slick, not like it was hard around her, just looking at her could make you go wet. After a few seconds she took her finger out of your mouth leaving you empty, as an instinct you tried to take it again when she gripped your chin to make you look at her. “Tell me what you need, doll.”

“You.” Her smirk intensified while her robotic had busied herself by slowly taking your t-shirt off.

“You should be more specific.” A pout formed in your face while you lifted your arms for the clothing to fly to the floor of the room. Her hands started rubbing your shoulders going slowly down your chest until making it to your boobs. “So perfect.” She murmured to herself.

“I just need you, I need to be yours in any way you want me, I want you to do with me everything you pleased. Sevi, please.” The neediness in your voice was palpable and it made her brain short circuit. Her mouth went to your neck attacking it. Her humid tongue danced over your pressure points and her teeth slowly took the chance to bite. Her lips apart for the kissing was being used to suck on the skin to mark what now was hers.

“You are going to look so beautiful, full of bruises and hickeys. I need you so bad.” Her voice was so deep it sounded more like a constant growling, one that made all of your skin tingle. She made its way to your bust taking the chance to appreciate them before indulging in taking one of them in her mouth, lapping her tongue over your erect nipple and putting the smallest amount of pressure with her teeth, making your breath get caught in your throat coming up as a shaky whine. With a loud ‘pop’ she let it free going to the other side to do the exact same thing. “I don’t understand why I waited so much to make you mine. What a dumb fucker.”

Her words made you chuckle. Your head went back slightly as another moan made its way to fill the room. “Baby, please.” A gruff came from her as you went to lay on your back.

“Stop being so eager.”

“But sevi.” Your legs rub together without thinking about it, seeking a release for your neediness. A disapproving sound was heard before the noise of a slap was made when her hand touched your legs, making your whole body shake opening your legs once again.

“If you keep squirming I would not give you what you need, sugar.” Pouting lips and puppy eyes looked with her darkened ones. “Fuck you look so sexy acting like a begging pup.” Your mouth opens slightly to let a shaky breathe out. “You like that huh?, being called out for what you really are?. My needy baby.” Her hands went to your legs, opening them completely, giving herself a full view of yourself. You were covered in a glistening slick that made your dark curls look delicious in her eyes. “Mmhmm. That’s what I’m talking about. I should fuck you in front of a mirror so you can see how wet and needy you are for me.” You threw your head back once again while your hand gripped the bedsheets.

Even when lust was swallowing all of her facial features you could notice all the love behind it. Before you could beg again she gave you mercy, touching you where you most needed her, an immediate high pitch moan was heard as her long and thick fingers rubbed your slits. Going from your entrance to your bundle of nerves, taking with them all the slick they could possibly carry. Same fingers left you quickly to go to her mouth, when this time it was her that moaned. In that moment you were sure you could come only from hearing her moan. “You are like a drug.” Before you could say anything you were startled, her mouth went to your sex and suddenly you were floating.

“Oh my fucki-, fuck sev.” Your hand went to her hair in a second while your back arched trying to get even closer to her face. You were a mess immediately, moans coming from you like you were singing while she ate you like a starved woman. “Baby. Oh mmhgm. fuckfuckfuck.” Your lips were open completely letting everything that came from your throat touch the air. Her wet and warm muscles move with such an experience over yourself that you felt jealous of the people that could and had gotten this before you. Her lips went around your clitoris, taking it inside of her mouth, sucking at it with strength. You haven’t even noticed the cord that laid tight in your lower abdomen before it snapped, releasing yourself in her mouth.

“So delicious baby. That’s it, give it all to me.” She talked while continuing with the back and forward with her tongue.

“You should know it’s bad education to talk with your mouth full.” A laugh was heard muffled for your own skin that covered her mouth. You haven’t completely ridden your orgasm when you felt the coil tightening again. “Fuck baby just like that.” Her two point fingers went to your entrance, introducing themselves easily for the abundance of wetness that your orgasm had left behind. They started pumping and curling inside of you getting to that specific point with the ease only someone like her could have found it. Your fingers tightened her grip while the combination of her mouth and digits took you to your limit once again. “I’m gonna cum baby.” You said so quickly that she probably could only understand the ‘cum’ part.

You put your body weight in your elbows just so you can see her better. Your legs still trembling and she without even trying to stop, not like you were even going to ask. You saw the movements of her hips grinding against what she could find. You readjusted yourself so she could have access to the first part of your leg, thanking the added pressure she moaned with her mouth still stuffed with your cunt. Her moans were enough to keep you going for more as she added a new finger inside of you. “Cum for me Sev, please. You treat me so right. Fuck if only you could look at yourself right n- Aaahgg.” You couldn’t complete what you were saying before a whine interrupted you when you came once again.

You heard the noises of pleasure that escaped her and also the panting. You felt the eagerness of her hips before a growling moan surged with her as she made you sit up to take your face in her hands kissing you. You tasted yourself in her lips as you felt her own slick covering part of your skin as she came for rubbing on you.

₊⟡.⋆

You two laughed softly going limp on the bed trying to recover your senses to start breathing normally again. She rested on top of your chest with your hands in her back, a thin layer of sweat covered your body and probably hers too.

“Who would have thought that the severe professor Sevika would have such a filthy mouth in bed, huh?” A gruff came from her as she made herself look firm.

“Are you trying to mess with me? After you came three times? Only thanks to my mouth and fingers in less than what? 10 minutes?.” A blush covered your face as you laughed loudly.

“I am. And I have no shame in admitting that my girlfriend made me cum so hard and so good more than once in less than ten minutes.” Now it was her time to laugh as she sprinkled kisses on your skin. “You should be proud of it, some people date men that doesn’t made them cum in a fucking lifetime.”

“Oh I’m proud baby. How couldn’t I when you looked so good screaming my name.”

“Shut it.” A fist of giggles left both of you as you took her face in your hands kissing her freely. “I hope you know that now I would want to have sex on every surface and moment possible.”

“Well, I hope you know that I would be happy to please every desire you have.” Her human hand was resting in the plump of your ass.

“Sevi…”

“What happened baby?.” Your eyes locked on her reflecting all of the emotions of the last few months vibrated through your body. Your hands intertwining in the back of her neck.

“I love you.” A smile that showed her beautiful tooth gap made her eyes look softer. After leaving a short kiss on your lips she talked over them.

“I love you more, sugar.”

Please do not repost my work.

I hope you all enjoyed this, my dms are requests are open in case you want to drop something about this au <333.

[aquamarixx]

breaking the internet

chapter two Hiori discovers Miss Journalist might be a loyal fan of his — and learns the hard way that stalking someone on Winstagram can quickly get complicated. blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains slow slow slow burn, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader angst, fluff, very hiori yo centric piece, reader is big hiori fangirl i guess masterlist

A few days later, Hiori noticed Bastard München’s group chat buzzing on his way to training. In just a couple of days, your article he had stumbled upon gained traction, spreading quickly among fans and media circles.

To his surprise, the team’s marketing team seized the opportunity to reshape the narrative to their advantage. They shared the article on the team’s official social media account, tagging you, with the caption: “Big W, thanks @/yn_offthepage for the awesome feature! We appreciate the support and dedication from all fans as we push forward this season. Don’t count us out yet!”

The reaction was immediate and electric. Fans who had been hesitant—some even critical—now rallied behind the team. Comments flooded in, sparking a renewed sense of hope for the Kaiser-less Bastard München. It was as if your article had breathed life back into a disheartened fanbase, bringing a spark of energy and support that the team badly needed.

By mid-day, another notification caught Hiori’s attention—a link to an old podcast clip that had resurfaced from an episode a few weeks prior to the start of the season. He opened it, surprised to see that you had been a featured guest in Anri Teieri and Ego Jinpachi’s Japanese Football Association podcast show.

The video began with the three of you sitting around a cluttered table with JFA signage and merch. Anri wore her usual JFA-branded polo shirt, and Ego wore a dark dress shirt paired with his signature bolo tie. 

You, however, were dressed more casually this time—casual but sporty. You donned a simple oversized tracksuit jacket and pants, with your messy bun adding an almost charming touch to your appearance. Your cheeks were lightly dusted with blush, and somehow looked radiant under the studio’s lights.

The podcast attracted attention quickly, and for good reason. The topic of discussion? The top three teams to watch that season. When Anri posed the question to you, Hiori hadn’t been prepared for your bold and quick response: Bastard München. The choice raised an eyebrow from Ego, who clearly hadn’t been expecting it.

In the next few seconds, you defended your choice with a blend of sharp analysis and an unexpected warmth. 

“Bastard München may have their flaws,” you explained, “but this season is about more than just winning. They’re rebuilding, and that means everyone now has a chance to shape the team’s dynamics in a way we haven’t seen before. It’s exciting because of how the team chooses to play things out this season can make or break them.”

As Hiori watched the clip, he couldn’t suppress a slight smile. The way you spoke about Bastard München struck a chord.

Your words weren’t just empty praise. They held conviction, a belief in their potential that was oddly reassuring. It reminded him of why he played, of the love for the game that had gotten buried under expectations and pressure.

“Think of it this way,” you continued, “just like in the Blue Lock project, players are forged through fire and brimstone, transforming into better versions of themselves. But this time, it’s not just individuals. It’s a whole team, shaping their destiny together. Aside from snide fan remarks, the only limiting factor to their potential growth is themselves, with the season a ticking time bomb hovering over their heads. This is where real egoists evolve.”

Not many sports personalities, especially journalists, would have taken the risk of showing open support for a team with uncertain prospects.

She a Noel Noa fan? he wondered.

Regardless, he hadn’t expected to feel that weight behind your statement, but something about it felt... right. 

At practice later that day, the clip had gone fully viral. So viral that the team’s sly marketing team couldn’t resist showing it to the squad. And like clockwork, during their break, Coach Noa and the marketing manager flagged down the sweaty athletes and gathered them in the locker room to watch the podcast clip.

The team crowded around the big TV, and as they watched, Hiori felt the atmosphere shift. The weight of their previous defeats seemed to lift. Your public support for Bastard München—the way you called them the team to watch out for this season—was like kindling to their dying embers. 

Even without looking at each other, they can feel that there’s a newfound determination settling within them. Even Greisner’s grumpy self got visibly pumped, his potty mouth running nonstop, but in a good way.

Watching his teammates respond to the clip reaffirmed what he’d felt earlier. But it was Hiori who felt the impact the most. Your conviction, your words, as if everything was directed to him.

This wasn’t just about the praise; it was about being seen, understood, in a way he hadn’t known they needed. Your words had done more than lift him; they’d awakened the fire within the entire team, making them feel, for the first time in a while, like they were exactly where they were meant to be.

But what surprised Hiori was the next clip that Coach Noa played.

The clip showed Anri bringing out an exaggeratedly large whiteboard titled “Ego’s Top Player Watch List”.

It showed a list of the top ten players to watch this season, paired with a comically drawn cartoon face of a player beside their name. It listed high-profile names and football stars everyone was expecting to see. The usual suspects—Julian Loki, Michael Kaiser, Shidou Ryuusei, the Itoshi Brothers—were all there.

But you interrupted Ego’s explanation mid-sentence.

“Not to be rude, but this looks like a ‘super fan’s’ wet dream.”

The team erupted in laughter. Hiori could hear Anri snort in the background, trying to cover it up with a cough after getting a stink eye from Ego himself.

Even Coach Noa couldn’t help himself, letting out a low chuckle at that unfiltered comment about his former brother-in-arms.

The camera panned to Ego, whose face was now a mix of curiosity and provocation. Through gritted teeth, he said, emphasizing every syllable of every word, “Is that so? What makes you say that, Y/N-chan?"

Realizing how rude that sounded, you bowed profusely, the tips of your ears red from the embarrassment. “I’m sorry! That came out wrong!”

“What I mean is, these are the players that football fanboys usually rattle off,” you said, catching yourself a bit too late. You just called Ego a fanboy. You winced but pressed on.

“These are the stereotypical names everyone expects to hear. But there are so many others who are just as impactful in their own way. Players like Nanase Nijiro, Niko Ikki, Agi, Miroku Darai, Alexis Ness …”, and for a second, you visibly, faltered, hesitating.

But you continued with a smile, “... and Hiori Yo, to name a few.”

“Oooh, that’s some hot take you’ve got there, Y/N-chan.” Anri laughed. “Also, two players from Bastard München?”

“So I’m guessing your favorite player is from the German club then?” Ego pried as he erased names on the board to replace them with Alexis Ness, Agi, and Hiori Yo’s names.

“Is it that obvious?” You chuckled. “Actually, let me show you.”

The team’s eyes were glued to the screen as you started unzipping your tracksuit jacket and revealed a Bastard München black jersey with the big bold gold number on the front.

Jersey number 23.

Hiori Yo’s jersey number.

His jersey.

“Ooooh!” The team erupted in laughter and teasing as they eyed Hiori, who was clearly stunned by the sudden reveal.

And it didn’t stop there.

“He’s a strategist both on and off the field. A true genius." You leaned forward, eyes bright with conviction.

“Everyone’s always focused on the strikers, but for me, midfielders steal the show. Playmaking is the heart of football; without midfielders to anchor the team, you’d just have chaos and confusion. Don’t get me wrong, I love the excitement that forwards like Julian Loki bring. But midfielders like Hiori Yo have their own kind of charm, a different thrill.” 

Your voice softened, your gaze momentarily distant, as if lost in thought. “There’s something mesmerizing about the way they read the game, anticipating moves before anyone else sees them. They make football more dynamic, more unpredictable. What’s not to like, right?”

You paused, catching your breath, and glanced around, realizing you rambled on. Anri and Ego exchanged amused glances, clearly entertained by your enthusiasm. Hiori watched as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks flushed as if you'd suddenly remembered you weren't alone.

It was clear you’d been watching him closely, noticing the subtleties of his play that often went unnoticed. And for a moment, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride.

As the clip ended, the locker room broke out in playful whistles, the whole Bastard München jeering at Hiori. Grins and knowing looks flew his way, as they egged him on this surprising development.

“Look at you, Hiori,” Ndiaye teased, nudging him. “Got yourself a fangirl.”

Hiori felt his cheeks grow warm as he tried to hide a small smile. But something stirred within him. Was it validation? Recognition? He couldn’t quite tell.  

“Who wouldn’t like Hiori? He’s, like, the ultra-sadist.” Isagi laughed as he elbowed Hiori on the side.

“Ah, shaddap, that was ages ago,” Hiori laughed, shoving him back. “But this ultra-sadist ain’t passin’ to ya if ya play like crap next match!”

“Damn, so cruel, so mean, Hiori.” Kunigami said.

“Guess it’s just my charm, eh?” Hiori grinned as he gracefully dodged a playful jab from a pouty, jealous Igarashi.

“Lucky! I’d kill for a fan in the press, so unfair.” Raichi groaned, casting a jealous look at Hiori.

Theo Sachs draped his arm around Raichi and said, “I doubt Miss Y/N would even write about you, even if you’re the master striker. You gotta be smart, not a smartass.”

“Plus, if we’re judging the team, you’d probably come in just above Igarashi at the bottom.” Yukimiya chimed in, laughing. “Even Gagamaru’s got a better shot at landing a cute fan.” Gagamaru simply huffed in smug satisfaction.

A loud clap broke their chaos as they heard Coach Noa clear his throat. “Alright, that’s enough. This is good publicity, yes, but remember, this puts all eyes on us for the next few matches. So don’t slack off. We’ve got a chance to prove them wrong, and I expect every one of you to play like it.”

The team erupted in shouts and cheers, clearly energized by the encouragement in the video. It might not have seemed like much, but having someone voice their confidence in Bastard Munchen out there for everyone to see lifted their spirits and boosted morale in a way they hadn’t expected. 

Football players are so single-minded, Hiori chuckled to himself.

The team dispersed as Coach Noa dismissed them with a wave, nodding with certainty at Hiori before heading to the field. The rest of the team scattered, eager to enjoy the rest of their break before afternoon training resumed.

He watched them go, but his mind lingered on the clip and on you.

Hiori felt a strange warmth unfurl in his chest. You weren't focused on the typical names, the usual flashy strikers; you spoke about the heart of the game, the grind, the transformation.

And when you mentioned the midfielders—the players who built the game from the ground up, who connected every move and controlled the chaos on the field—it felt like you were talking directly to him.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had seen that side of his role, had recognized the way he approached the game. He felt seen—not for his skill or his stats, but for the way he played, for the choices he made on the field.

This wasn’t validation from his parents or praise from a coach. This was different. It was like a piece of himself he’d almost forgotten was gently being uncovered again. And in that moment, Hiori realized he wasn’t just another player on the field. He was Hiori Yo, a player with his own way of seeing the game—and you understood it.

Hiori replayed the clip, slipping on his earphones as he sank onto an empty bench under the shade. He let the image of you in his jersey burn into the back of his mind. And that smile.

This feels damn good, huh?

It was strange. Most people dismissed his approach to the game as too quiet, too calculated. But you understood it, and that understanding warmed him from the inside out, like a light he didn’t want to fade.

Without a thought, he checked your Winstagram account he had bookmarked. He scrolled down further before stopping as he spotted the picture he had been looking for. He clicked on it, and it showed him a carousel of images from that podcast episode. He did linger a little longer on a candid photo of you in his jersey.

He tried to zoom in, double tapping the image. “Ah, shit.” he muttered, as a heart-shaped “like” notification popped up instead.

In a panic, his fingers moved before he could even think about it. His heart raced as he tapped it continuously, unliking it, then tapped it again, liking it once more.

He froze, realizing that what he had done probably made things worse.

“Well… no goin’ back now, huh?” With a soft chuckle, he hit the follow button before stashing his phone in his bag and jogging back to the field, a smile playing on his lips.

While in the middle of researching a story, you were drenched in sweat as your phone blew up with notifications. The JFA podcast going viral definitely wasn’t on your to-do list today. While the clip's popularity was undoubtedly a career boost for a budding sports journalist like you, the attention was overwhelming.

Many praised you for your insightful take on the team and Hiori, but others labeled you an overzealous fan, clinging to idealistic views. As you scrolled through the messages and comments, a creeping anxiety settled in. 

Was your conviction really misplaced? Maybe you should’ve just mentioned PXG, like the other “normal” fans.

Instead, you had blurted out your admiration for Bastard Munchen—and, to make it worse, wore the jersey of your favorite player on camera.

What was I thinking, showing that off in a recorded video? So stupid.

As you scrolled further, a few off-the-rails comments caught your eye: 

When she talked about Hiori, she gloooowed.

Hiori Yo's biggest fangirl confirmed?

Your face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and something else, something unexpected. You quickly swiped past the post, your heart pounding. Was it really that obvious? The beating in your chest wouldn't go away.

Your moment of procrastination was interrupted by a series of Winstagram notifications popping up on your screen.

hioyi_yo23 liked a post. hioyi_yo23 liked a post. hioyi_yo23 started following you.

“Shit. Shit, shit shit shit shit. What now?!” You choked on your iced latte and scrambled to open the notification.

You couldn’t tell if the universe was playing some twisted prank on you. Because when you saw what photo Hiori Yo—Bastard Munchen’s midfielder, jersey number 23, THE HIORI YO HIMSELF—had liked, it felt like the entire world had just shifted on its axis.

It was your photo, wearing his jersey. He saw. He watched the clip. And he knew your Winstagram account.

Wait—did he like it and un-like it?

You quickly opened his profile, you fingers trembling. His account was a stark contrast to yours. There was barely anything personal—just a handful of Bastard Munchen-related posts, a few photos of teammates and friends, and some glimpses of his personal life, like the computer games he played or events he attended.

Everything was cryptic, like the man himself, showing only fragments of his life.

“Well, here goes nothing,” you muttered, butterflies exploding in her stomach as you tapped the follow button.

You stared at the screen for a moment, holding you breath. A smile tugged at your lips as you read it again: hiori_yo23 follows you.

author's notes: after so many revisions, it's finally done! i rewrote this chapter and it turned out longer than i expected. but i wanted to show both hiori and reader felt, their internal thoughts and feelings. a friend (who hasn't read or seen blue lock) has been helping me with proofreading. i was pretty happy because he said, he's liking hiori's character and how the slow burn is unfolding. anyway, i hope you guys enjoyed it! lemme know what you guys think!

[writingquestionsanswered]

hiya! for writers who are complete beginners, kinda sorta maybe write at a high school level, can't describe to save their lives, have overall bad flow (as in they can't decide what little moments scenes to think up and even write, if they do, they're no good), have been told countless times to write daily and just read more but that doesn't cover the basics or foundations of creative writing, not like they can learn from a book bc they're a hands on learner anyway and p.s they're super broke so can't afford writing classes and no library near them offers free ones ---- aka me :( --- do you have any advice? lol i feel kinda doomed and that maybe writing isn't for me, but I don't wanna get my hopes down!! with the right tools, it's possible.

Free Resources for Learning How to Write

I want to start with addressing why you've been told so often "to write daily and read more" as a way to learn how to write. It's very difficult to learn and excel at a craft if you have no experience with said craft. You can read all the information in the world about how to forge a sword, but that doesn't mean you'll be able to pick up a hunk of metal and be able to forge a beautiful sword. You need to spend a lot of time watching other people forge swords, and spend a lot of time actually practicing each step yourself if you want to get good at it. Writing works the same way. Reading lets you experience what fiction should be, writing lets you practice each step for yourself.

Fortunately, there are lots of ways to read fiction for free. You can borrow books from friends, family members, and members of your community. You can check out books and e-books from your local library if you have one. You can look for Little Free Libraries in your neighborhood. There's also a lot of legally free fiction available online. Project Gutenberg, Planet E-Book, Bartleby, Literature.org, Classic Literature, Classic Short Stories, Wattpad, Archive of Our Own, Library of Short Stories, Levar Burton Reads, and sites like Kobo, Amazon, and Audible often offer freebies of both e-books and audio books.

Other free ways to learn how to write:

1 - Follow bloggers and vloggers and authors on social media who talk about the craft of writing. Some of my favorites are: Joanna Penn/The Creative Penn, K.M. Weiland, Liselle Sambury, Abbie Emmons, Hannah Lee Kidder, Brittany Wang, Alyssa Matesic, Bethany Atazadah, Lindsay Puckett, Alexa Donne, Shaelin Writes, Ellen Brock, The Writing Gals, and Sincerely, Vee.

2 - Follow writing craft blogs here on tumblr: (some suggestions) @writingwithcolor, @howtofightwrite, @heywriters, @cripplecharacters, @lgbtqwriting, @fixyourwritinghabits, @wordsnstuff, @yourbookcouldbegayer, @lizard-is-writing

3 - Watch writing craft videos on YouTube: If there's something specific you want to learn about, say, "how to structure a scene," type it into YouTube and many different videos will pop up that walk you through how to structure a scene. Just look for one that strikes you as appealing!

4 - Look for free writing resources online: many authors (especially indie authors and writing gurus/coaches like Joanna Penn, K.M. Weiland, Bethany Atazadeh, Brittany Wang, and Abbie Emmons) offer free writing resources on their web sites or by signing up for their newsletters. Often you'll see writers participating in free online writing summits/workshops which you can sign up for and either watch the videos live or via video playback that is offered for a short period of time (like 24 hours.)

5 - Do a Google Search: believe it or not, there's not a single thing you could want to learn about writing that you can't find for free on Google. If you want to learn how to improve your grammar, go to Google, type in "tips for improving grammar" and you will get a million articles that will tell you how to do just that. Want to learn how to improve your story's flow? Google "how to improve story flow" and you'll have your answer. You can even search for free worksheets, guides, and workbooks on just about anything you want. "Free character development worksheet" brought back a ton of nice looking free worksheets. "Free worldbuilding workbook" brought up several free workbooks and worksheets to help you with worldbuilding. Everything you could want to know is out there.

And, bonus: you can always read through the posts in my WQA master list to get help with a wide variety of craft and writer-related issues.

Happy learning! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Astro - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx tries her hand at superstardom...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

In the summer, the Baron's Bugle published a puff-piece: 10 Things We Love About Jinx!

It was no cheeky little write-up, but a full five-page photo spread devoted to Jinx's accomplishments as a Fissure prodigy: her gadgetry, her artistry, her style. There was a listicle ranking her top outfits (#1 was a gold-spangled cocktail dress, #2 a frilled acid green coattails-and-miniskirt combo, and #3 a pink-sequined bustier, black leather hot pants, and fishnet stockings because why the fuck not?). There were streetside interviews where every stratum of Zaunite gushed about Jinx's evolution from gun-toting terror to a glamourpuss heartthrob. There was a featurette on Jinx's collaborations with up-and-coming inventors from across Runeterra, the highlight being an article on Viktor, whom the reporter dubbed the "Hangman of Zaun", which Vitya loathed.

And then there was the pièce de résistance: a double-spread photo-essay complete with a candid interview by none other than B. Goode, who, after quarreling with The Sun & Tower's editor over certain journalistic ethics (a.k.a the refusal to peddle lies), had jumped ship for the Bugle, and was in the process of winning a Golden Quill with their meticulous coverage of Zaun's rise.

"Goodie-Gumshoe!" Jinx crowed when they'd reunited in the Laguna Lounge under Silco's watchful eye. "Back for round two, huh?"

Goode, for reasons unknown, glanced Silco's way, then blushed.

The spread chronicled the arc of Jinx's soaring comet from penury to privilege, and the series of brutalities that had each served to fuel the fire that forged her. Goode was a pro: armed with hard-hitting questions, each one geared to evoke Jinx's resilience and charm. The narrative didn't shy away from Jinx's history, either, and wasn't afraid to address the controversial issues—the Day of Ash, the Siege, Shimmer.

But, true to form, Goode did not sensationalize the story, or reduce it to a salacious slideshow.

Jinx kept the interview blithe, bantering, breezy. Goode quizzed her on everything from her first successful invention (Buttons), her latest project (an aerial filtration system for toxic miasma), the secret to her skincare regimen (sump-vole grease, duh!), to any special man in her life.

Jinx deftly sidestepped that sticky subject: "I'm too busy to get busy. But I'm open to applicants! Just submit your CV to Daddy's goon squad, and duck the barrage of gunshots."

When Goode asked how Jinx felt about Zaun's future, she'd replied, "Zaun's gonna eat it for breakfast. And I'm not talking metaphorical. We've got a new recipe cooking. It'll change your life, or blow it clean up."

And she'd tipped a wink, leaving Goode in stitches.

"The Girl from the Bottom is no longer Zaun's rising star," Goode summed up, "but its symbol. In a world that has so often sought to diminish her, Jinx has grown larger than life, a shining example of the resolute spirit that has made Zaun, once a mere annex to Piltover, a nation to be reckoned with."

The edition was a smash hit. Nearly three-million copies flew off the press. The circulation numbers were stratospheric. The Bugle's editor was in raptures. So were the readers. Jinx had been Zaun's unofficial postergirl for ages. But the endorsement of a premium publisher elevated her to the status of a powerhouse. A flesh-and-blood icon.

Bonus: she looked super cute.

For Zaunite entrepreneurs eager to expand overseas, the next step was a no-brainer. Who better to carry the torch as a brand ambassador than the city's very own firebrand?

Jinx's likeness, once charmingly ubiquitous, was suddenly inescapable. It started with the storefronts in the Trade District of the Sumps. Then it spread across the billboards at Entresol and along the boulevards on the Promenade. Jinx's face, whether in caricature or cameo: emblazoned on the signboards of cafes or blown up big as life across skyscrapers. Zaun-themed cookbooks with her visage printed on their covers appeared on bookstores' front displays, as restaurants serving the latest "Fissure cuisine" boasted lines out the door. Luxury brands like the Vyx were keen to get a piece of the action: their new collections featured "J-Chic" couture inspired by Jinx's punky, gritty, carnivalesque aesthetic: ripped mesh leggings, studded belts, leather jackets, and—most importantly—lots of poppy neons. Even the music scene was jumping aboard. 'Get Jinxed' was enjoying a renaissance across the airwaves. On weekends, the nightlife was dominated by discotheques where 'Jinx-a-thons' kept Trencher teens grooving till dawn. And a brand-new club banger—a bawdy, upbeat remix called "Boom Boom"—began burning up the airwaves all the way to Topside.

Soon, even old blowhards like Councilor Hoskel, who couldn't tell a bass from his ass, knew all the lyrics.

The phenomenon transcended borders; Zaun shrank into the mere nucleus. Jinx, and her blues: a force of nature that could not be denied. A silhouette to embody the wild, ungovernable spirit of change that crossed Zaun's skyline, like a shooting star, and left fragments scattered all the way from Piltover's gilded skyline to Shurima's dusty plains.

A symbol whose reach was so broad, and whose potential for disruption so powerful, that not even the most cynical could deny its call.

A spark, igniting.

Naturally, her popularity had detractors. In Piltover, the conservatives had long deemed her a nuisance. The prospect of her becoming a global icon was alarming. As was the growing trend among the Piltovan youth to dye their hair blue, or wear t-shirts with her monkey-symbol on the front, or blast her song while riding the public transport. To counter the rebellious streak, The Sun & Tower begun publishing a series of starch-collared articles, all purportedly authored by an "insider", to paint Jinx as a threat to good-old-fashioned stability.

Anarchist, madwoman, agent of chaos—the epithets ran the gamut.

And yet, for the youth, it only lent Jinx a brighter luster. For so long, she'd been the villain of their bedtime stories. But as time passed, and Topside rubbed shoulders more and more with Zaunites, they began to see her through a different lens.

A story could have many sides, after all.

And isn't there always a ring of darkness, whenever a star burns brightest?

The feather in Jinx's cap, ironically, was her induction into Piltover's premiere publication: Astro.

The journal had a longstanding reputation as a trendsetter: a single mention could catapult a nobody into notoriety, or turn a fledgling business into a booming success. Jinx was the youngest—only—Zaunite to be considered for the front cover.

The publication had to seek Silco's permission; her Big Nineteenth was just around the corner, but she was technically a minor under Zaunite law. The proposed photospread would feature Jinx in a baby blue halter and matching blue aviators, with her hair coiffed in the victory-roll bob popularized by Zaun's restoration propaganda; flirtily windswept to evoke that free-wheeling whimsy.

The shoot would be themed around Zaun's rising generation of wunderkinds: a burst of fresh energy, with Jinx as its spearhead.

Their only caveat: her tattoos, and the tattoos only, would be airbrushed.

"We understand, in Zaun, body art is a rite of passage," the editor explained, after having done the impossible: secured a meeting with the Eye of Zaun. Dream-come-true or deathwish, that remained to be seen. "But we don't want our audience to associate Zaun with a gangland. It's not in line with the message of this shoot."

"Which is?"

"Youth. Vitality. Hope."

Silco, two-toned eyes piercing behind a steeple of fingers, took in each buzzword. Silence stretched between him and his guest: chokingly tight.

Finally, he cut to the chase.

"Surely," he drawled, "progress implies more than that? An appreciation, for instance, of what came before."

The editor, sweating bullets, mustered an appeasing smile.

"I don't mean it wouldn't be appreciated. But it could be, ah, misinterpreted."

"As?"

"Well—a history of conflict. Violence. Deviance."

Silco's smile widened to show razored teeth. It was charm without an iota of mercy: the shark that devoured whatever foolish fish wandered past its fangs.

"We are Zaun," he said. "Conflict, violence and deviance are the sum of our ethos."

"But..." The editor floundered, but forged on. "With respect, Your Excellency. The audience, if Jinx were to grace the cover, would not be confined to Zaun. Astro celebrates readership from far-flung shores, including Demacia and Noxus. Nations that may not share your...your..."

"Deviation?"

"...Quite." A delicate cough. "It's one thing, to say, feature Zaun's black-market trade, and the pride it takes in bringing people together in defiance of prejudice and societal expectation. That's a feel-good story. We'd happily run that, if only to thumb our own noses at the Council's conservative bloc."

Silco's lips ticked upward. Amused, not by the joke, but the fellow's chutzpah.

"But a culture that equates survival with the barrel of a gun?" Another cough. "That can easily become divisive. Even destructive. If readers who dislike Zaun, use Jinx to vilify the nation she represents—or worse, her father..." The editor bowed slightly, as if paying homage, "I fear it might have far-reaching consequences beyond Astro. And a polarizing outcome for international relations."

"Namely—" the drawl disarmed; the subtext disemboweled, "—you'll market Zaun's free spirit, but elide its context."

The editor flinched; a gutted man, clinging to his innards as they slopped across the carpet. But he was, whatever else, a professional.

"Astro is progressive," he emphasized, "but progress takes patience, Your Excellency. Jinx is an opportunity that deserves to be nurtured."

"How do you propose to 'nurture' a message nipped in the bud?"

"By understanding that this edition is not about yesterday, or today. It is about Tomorrow." The editor leaned in. "What birthed Zaun was a violent struggle. But that message will resonate with few except Zaunites. Instead of focusing on Zaun's bitter beginnings, it is wiser to concentrate on what we all share in common."

Silco's arched brow was the non-verbal equivalent of Go on, pull the other one.

"Respectfully, Excellency, you have said the same in your speeches! We bleed for the right to live. Don't we all? We breathe in spite of our shackles. Don't we all? We yearn to be free. Don't we all?" The editor clapped his hands together: an exhortation. "Zaun has suffered. I acknowledge that. So do many Piltovans. But we cannot fully appreciate how you have suffered. Not unless we meet each other halfway. When we do, compromise becomes nuance."

"Compromise." Silco's head canted to one side. "Through the death of my daughter's character?"

"Not—not necessarily!" The editor backtracked. "Our readers admire authenticity. But authenticity is raw; it cuts bone-deep. I'm asking if we can translate the past into something that... connects... rather than alienates. Rest assured! Our work would celebrate the Zaunite renaissance. Highlight luminaries like Jinx, born in Zaun's slums, who have now seen their dreams come true. Inventions given wings; homes given hearts. Startups rising sky-high. And best of all: children with no doors to walk through, promised new thresholds toward success." Another cough. "It'd be an inspiring narrative. One could even—" A flash of inspiration at metaphoric knifepoint, "—call it a renewal of Zaun's innocence!"

Silco's mismatched eyes held the editor in their crosshairs.

One: unnervingly cold. The other: unnaturally ablaze.

"A strange defense," the trademark tenor dipped lethally low, "given Zaun lost its innocence in the cradle."

The editor opened his mouth; reconsidered. His shoulders slumped.

"Be honest," Silco said. "This is censorship dressed up as conciliation."

"No." The editor shook his head. "Simply the opportunity to unite, rather than divide. And, let's be frank, seize control over Jinx's rising-star narrative before other papers do."

"Of course."

"With respect, Your Excellency. You've had a marvelous hand in sculpting her story thus far. But though you are the, ah, Eye of Zaun, you are also her father. Inevitably, there is bias. For you, she remains a girl-child. A cherished daughter. But to Runeterra, she is becoming a phenomenon. Not to mention: a woman. The combination holds appeal. Power. And others will want that power, badly enough to take it."

Silco, face darkening like the sky before an incursion, spoke slowly: "You're suggesting we preempt her exploitation."

"Yes! And—I realize the irony here!—preempt it by capitalizing on her allure." He broke off, cleared his throat. "Because better us—with Zaun's consent—showcasing her potential, than competitors motivated by more... base... incentives."

Silence hung. Broken only by the metronomic tick-tock.

Not of the clock, but Silco's slow-climbing temper.

"You're proposing," he said, and the steeple of fingers unfurled to separate into two deathly-white fists, "to exploit the very element that endangers her."

"No, your Excellency! To establish her, not as a victim, but a fully fledged sensation!"

"She is already a sensation."

"But with our platform, she'd be celebrated across Runeterra! No Zaunite has ever garnered such spotlight. An icon of unprecedented proportions, shaping discourse from politics to fashion."

"At the expense of her father's will."

"If the choice of clothing offends, we can work through alternatives—"

As abruptly as he'd agreed to the confab, Silco cut it short. "Good day. My blackguards will escort you out."

"But—"

"Your proposal, quite frankly, is above your pay-grade. Leave the diplomacy to the diplomats. And the flesh-peddling to the pimps. I trust Astro with neither. Especially involving my child. But—" He unfolded to his feet, silhouette framed in blood-red by the sunrays cutting through the window, "—if I'm in need of poisonous piffle to prop up my country's black market, you'll be first to know."

There was nothing left to argue.

The editor, with the silence of the condemned, withdrew.

It was only after Silco had returned to his desk, pouring a fifth of whiskey into his cut-crystal glass, that the eavesdropper in the rafters unfolded itself to pour in a shadowy slither across the carpet: soundless, as if weightless, or winged.

"Sheesh," Jinx drawled, hands laced behind her back as she prowled between the armchairs. "And I thought I had rage-issues."

Silco said nothing. The smolder didn't abate.

"Although," she went on, perching on the armrest on his empty chair, "calling him a pimp? Harsh, Daddy-o. Like flesh-peddling isn't a proud Zaunite tradition."

Silco, downing the shot of whiskey, made no comment. His anger—and Jinx had seen him plenty angry, plenty of times, usually with a blade brandished in one fist and a corpse congealing in the corner—was always explosive. A riot, too, given how quiet he was in other respects: suave, smooth, searingly understated. But so were flash-floods before they raged beyond control: insidious, imperceptible, then overwhelming.

This was different.

This was a wrath that manifested as ice: remote, silent, terrible. It set Jinx's teeth on edge the way nothing else could.

"What gives?" She spilled sideways into the empty chair, legs dangling over one armrest, arm slung over the other. "Sure, the guy's a bozo. And his rag makes a clown-show look classy. Plus: the no-ink policy? Total drag. But the bottom-line's what matters, right? A chance to pitch Zaun's brand-new beginning to the masses. Our star power gone interstellar!"

Silco poured himself a second measure. He wasn't really listening, and Jinx bristled. Where did he keep drifting off to? And why, when everything he—they—had worked for was on the cusp of glory?

Or was glory the problem?

(Too short of legacy? Too wide of perfection?)

"Anyway," she went on, determined to sell what couldn't be bought, " Astro's cookie-cutter as hell. But it's got major global juice. Just picture it: pageant spreads highlighting Zaun's greatest achievements. Kitchens stocked with pickled paradise; arc-lit street lamps that turn midnight into high noon; Shimmer-infused lip glosses for killer smooches on steamy summer nights. Everything Zaun prides itself on: making do, making bank, and making a little mischief on the side!"

The dark-spirited silence persisted. Tipping his glass, Silco downed the drink. Jinx mimed along, saluting with a non-existent glass of her own.

No dice. Not even a smile.

Gods, his moods were becoming a zigzag: up, down, left, right. It was disorienting. She'd once thought she knew Silco like the back of her hand—his pettiness, his ruthlessness, the razor-sharp intellect and the bone-dry humor, plus the deadly-soft underbelly that he bared just for her.

But these last few weeks were like wandering through a minefield. One wrong move, and: blam.

Sometimes, Jinx wondered if this was the natural course of things. If, as her ambitions soared, his own would stay tethered, down in the depths that'd birthed him.

In the darkness where he'd dwell alone: stubbornly solitary, killingly self-contained.

And grumpier by the day.

"So," he said at length, "you find their project worthwhile."

Jinx snagged her bottom-lip between her teeth. So he had been listening. More than that: he'd sussed out that Astro's editor would never have successfully navigated past Zaun's bureaucratic labyrinth without inside help.

"Well—yeah," she hedged, tipping a shoulder. "I might've pointed him in the right direction. Helped with the elevator ride up."

Silence, and another pour. Third shot, which meant dangerous territory lay ahead.

But Jinx was nothing if not a daredevil.

"I figured, y'know, it was time to broaden our horizons," she went on. "Reach beyond our comfort zones. Shake a few peaches before they rotted on the tree."

"Peaches?" Ice-cold, and bloody-bare: the glare cutting her way. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Oh, c'mon!" Jinx, playing footsie with the pile of trade edicts on his desktop, held firm. "You always say Zaun deserves international legitimacy. Well, here's our chance. Piltover's premiere press on our doorstep! Practically begging me to flaunt my ass—er, assets. Not to mention, boost your profile by proxy! Think of all Zaun'll gain—the trade, the tourists, the fat wallets jingling their coinage..."

"With our history stripped wholesale, and the rest sanitized beyond recognition." Silco swirled the dregs of whiskey. In the sunset, a scarlet wash filmed the glass like blood from a fresh-cut throat. "There are less tedious ways of selling Zaun's soul than by whoring yourself out, Jinx."

It was the first time he'd used anything remotely resembling vulgarity in her presence. A measure, perhaps, of just how deeply Topside's overture had bruised his ego.

Or was it something deeper, prickling the undercurrents of their bond?

Punishment, even if unmeant.

"Whore, s'more." Jinx sat up, hoping a little sass would break his funk. "My likeness is already stamped all across Zaun's backyard! So why blow your fuse 'cause some lame-o rag wants a few bits edited out? The guy's just doing his job: keeping his brand vanilla."

"You," Silco cut in, "are not a brand. You are the high Zaunite ideal. Topside has no say in your self-determinism."

But you do, Jinx thought, and felt oddly hollow.

She didn't say it. She didn't need to. Zaun owned her, top to toe, as a symbol. And Silco, her father, held exclusive rights to the rest. Since independence, she'd been serving both masters with boundless vigor, as if she'd been born to the role.

And maybe she was: the girl who'd kickstarted a revolution, and been crowned its queen.

But every shard of her life that Zaun swallowed was a chunk Jinx never had a chance to reclaim. Until, little by little, the resentment became a fierce bright itch under her skin. Until the wanderlust, the soul-deep disconnection, became a fuse fizzing its way to ignition.

Once, it would've ended in self-immolation. Not to mention, city-wide catastrophe. This time, it would be different. No cataclysm, but a comet's trajectory from rock-bottom straight into the stratosphere.

And comets always ate whatever got in their way.

"Maybe," she said, quieter, "it's not about self-determinism, but autonomy."

"Scant difference, if both require compromise."

"That depends."

"On?"

"Mine," she said, "versus ours."

Silco, glass halfway to his lips, stilled.

"Think about it. Five years ago, no Trench-wench would've dreamed of strutting her stuff in Astro's hoity-toity frontispiece. Now, they're here, hat in hand, at our door. And sure, they're fussposts. But change takes time, right? One baby step, then a sprint, and pretty soon it's running marathons!"

"You'd let Topside profit from your erasure to prove a point?"

"I'd prove to the Fissurefolk that nothing's outta bounds. They don't need to flaunt their suffering on their skins. Our ink ain't proof of principle: just our pride. And that pride runs deeper than any tattooist's needle. No matter how far we reach or how high we soar, nothing can take that away." Her chin tipped. "And if Topside's calling the shots on what's acceptable today? Tomorrow it'll be us. Because once a movement like this gains momentum, there's no going backward."

"Can't put the genie back in her bottle, hm?"

"Exactly!" She dropped the playful pretense. Her eyes locked on his. "The tipping point doesn't come easy, Silco. But when it does? It's a critical hit. The kinda stuff they'll write about in the schoolbooks. The kinda stuff every starry-eyed, scabby-kneed, snot-nosed little sumpsnipe will read about, and realize, hell. I could make that leap too. And if ol Jinx can get the ball rollin,' well. Ain't that worth a little sacrifice?"

"A little sacrifice," Silco repeated, witheringly neutral. "Until the next. And the next. Until we're back to square one, with no boundaries left to claim."

Jinx refused to be cowed. "Until one article becomes ten. Then fifty. Then a hundred! Until talk of Zaun's as commonplace as a handshake. Until the dialogue's shifted from, Wow, that terrorist sure looks hot, to Wow, what drove this girl to go war? And if they don't want the same war spreading to their streets, what can they do to help us help ourselves?"

"We didn't fight for help. We fought to be free."

"And maybe it's the talking," she countered, "that'll make it happen."

"Utopian drivel."

"Nope!" Jinx popped the syllable. "Pure chess. You say it yourself: the Council's terrified of losing face. And once Zaun's gained clout on the global stage, we'll be a threat to their pride instead of a dirty open secret. They'll have to widen the embrace—not as partners-in-crime, but as in-laws. Even siblings. Once they do? The average Piltie starts asking questions. Important questions! Questions like, hey, maybe reparations aren't enough? Maybe restitution's the way to go? Maybe re-establishing bonds is the path to salvation—not to mention the influx of sweet-ass Zaunite tech! All this in exchange for—"

"—for selling yourself like a sweetmeat to the highest bidder?"

"They're asking me to pose for a magazine," Jinx snapped, temper flaring at the condescension. "Not suck their dicks!"

A vulgarism for a vulgarism: fair trade in a city founded upon theft.

Silco's jaw tightened. The infamous temper held. Only his face spoke: a subtle shift from simple anger to a more complex emotion. And Jinx, with a sudden arrowing to the heart of the target—a smoothness that, like in firefights, verged on Zen-like—understood precisely why he hated the idea of her starring in Astro.

A refusal to play by their rules, yes. But also the refusal to relinquish what lay deepest at stake.

Her choice versus his own.

"What're you so afraid of?" she challenged, more slowly. "That I'll kickstart a new epoch for Zaun, but forget to pay my dues?"

"Forget how many they butchered us for daring to stand tall?" Silco retorted, silken as a silver garrote. "Forget that your wages of acceptance equate to surrendering their lifeblood: brutalized, subjugated, buried wholesale? Forget the murder that marks our very foundation?"

His vehemence brooked zero room for disagreement; no latitude for compromise. Because it wasn't just Jinx's choice that was the crux of the issue. It was the principle he'd built the city upon. Forward but never forget. An article of faith that underlined everything they'd suffered together. The root cause that'd led them, hand-in-hand, down the road to revolution.

And left thousands of bodies in their wake.

But Jinx refused to be browbeaten. She'd had her fill of ghosts: theirs, hers. All those decades, with nothing but bitterness to nurse their dreams. Surely, now that they'd made it, it was time for brighter beginnings? Time to write a chapter for those yet to come; something to wash the aftertaste of blood away?

Time to build bridges, if it meant stopping someone else from burning them down.

Or drowning in their shadow.

"No one's denying where we come from," she said flatly. "No one's forgetting why we fight. But I want Zaun to endure beyond the past, Silco. We're gonna change the world. And all of us—every single one, no matter what our past or future—will stand stronger if we go out there as whole. Not shattered to shit."

"Progress," Silco intoned, "at any price."

"Weighed up and worth it. Isn't that what you taught me?"

Silco set his glass back on the desk: cut-crystal met mahogany with a brittle clink.

Something changed, imperceptibly, in his stance. Still frigid as death; still simmering below the surface. But now an undercurrent ran through. Sorrow, perhaps. Scorn.

Or a subspecies of both: tender to the last, like a wound that never healed.

"Such grand justifications," he said, softly, "for a little girl's plea."

Jinx didn't flinch; the insinuation hurt too much.

"What do you think?" he went on, fingertip idly tracing the rim of the glass. "That selling out will win your sister over? That her side—their side—will forget your sins if you're willing to forgive their own?"

The sting of that rebuke—succinct, searing—sent tears pricking at the corners of Jinx's eyes. Because of course he knew. He knew, same way he knew her. Because they were both so fucking alike: born of a common flame that would not be doused.

Both clinging to a conviction that somehow, someday, the razing of their past would give way to a bloodless future.

And leaving, always, ashes behind.

"Maybe we could forgive," Jinx said, refusing to bleed. "Even if we never forget. Or maybe it's pointless, and instead of burying the hatchet, it's better to bury the bodies and burn all bridges forever. But if the dead can't let the past go, how can the living rebuild, Silco? If we stop trying, we'll stagnate. And then, everything we fought for—everything we deserve—it's all gone. A monument to our own hubris."

Something shifted again: the coldness yielding. But his eyes stayed hard.

"So," he murmured, "you would offer yourself up? A lamb at the slaughter."

"Call it whatever you want," Jinx retorted. "But every moment we spend in Zaun's past, is another moment our future's forfeit."

"And this forfeiture? Will it earn you the vindication you seek?"

Jinx shook her head. In a single fluid motion, she'd slid off the chair, skirting the desk with a dancer's grace. They came face-to-face: two shadows poised in a pool of bloody light.

"This," she said, "is nothing more—nothing less—than what Zaun deserves."

"That being?"

"The chance to move forward."

And, she tipped forward to drop a kiss to Silco's scarred cheekbone.

The sun sank scarlet: arterial-rich, slow and deep. In the glow, Silco's eyes were two black mirrors. Reflecting the incandescence of his daughter's dreams, even as his pale hands tangled in the tassels of her blue hair.

Twisting, ever-so-slightly, tighter.

[otp-after-dark]

"There was something inside her they couldn’t take away." — June Osborne, 1x05

There’s a reason I never get tired of this episode. Every scene builds toward something seismic. And rewatching it now, knowing where the story is headed, it’s clear this isn’t just about sex or chemistry — it’s about choice, power, and a different kind of love story breaking through the cracks of Gilead.

We start with June reading a magazine, flipping through old relics of romance and quizzes and articles — and then Nick walks into the kitchen, like fate answering the page.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” “No.” “10 ways to tell how he feels about you.”

😂 She knows. We know. Everyone knows.

And then Serena sets the wheels in motion (in the worst way possible).

Yes, it’s coercive. Yes, it’s disturbing. And yes, Serena’s manipulation pushes them over the edge physically — but the line was always going to blur. You can feel it from the second their eyes meet. The way she says his name — “Nick.” The way she tells June, “He has already agreed.”

It’s ugly. It's invasive. But it also sets off something irreversible.

The Flashbacks: Luke vs. Nick

We see June meeting Luke, the beginning of their relationship, and their first sexual encounter — and the contrast is sharp. Even in early moments, there’s something unspoken but off.

“I like being on top.” “Nah.”

It’s subtle, but it speaks volumes. Even then, Luke resists giving up control. It’s all wrapped in charm, but the vibe lingers.

Meanwhile, Nick? Nick lets June lead instinctively. He always has. And by the end of this episode, that becomes unmistakably clear.

“How come this time it feels like I’m cheating on Luke?” — June

Because this isn’t just sex. This is something else. This is freedom, desire, and recognition. Even before she walks into Nick’s room, she knows. We know.

Nick + June in the kitchen: The Truth

“Are you an Eye?” “Yes.”

He doesn’t lie. He never does. Even when she pushes back — “Don’t tell me where to go… please don’t tell me what to do.” — he respects it. This honesty, this space to choose? It’s baked into their relationship from the beginning.

The Final Scene: Undressed and Undone

“They didn’t take everything. There was something inside her they couldn’t take away. She looked invincible.”

Is she talking about herself? About the other Handmaid? Both? Doesn’t matter. Because when June walks into Nick’s room, she’s making a choice. On her terms.

And Nick — the way he looks at her. The way he lets her undress him. No grabby hands. No rush. Just awe. Their first kiss happens when they’re both completely naked. Vulnerable. Equal.

It’s hot. It’s tender. It’s theirs.

Every time I watch this scene, I find something new to love — a glance, a breath, a pause that says: I see you. I want you. Only if you want me too.

And if we’re talking long-game…

“You can fulfill your biological destiny in peace... What else is there to live for?” — Fred “Love.” — June

This isn’t just setup for this episode — it’s the core of her story with Nick. Love as resistance. Love as survival. And later, love as liberation.

“Every love story is a tragedy if you live long enough.”

Okay, Fred. Sure. But here’s the thing: Some love stories are worth the tragedy. And if Nick and June are a tragedy, at least they’re not one built on illusion. They're not Romeo and Juliet — two impulsive teens chasing a fantasy. They’re two people who have seen the worst of the world, survived it, and still managed to find something real. Something human. Something good.

Their love isn’t built in a vacuum. It’s forged in fire — one small act of truth, tenderness, or protection at a time. There’s no fantasy here. Just choice. Mutual recognition. And the kind of love that doesn’t demand anything, but gives everything.

So if this story does end in heartbreak? Let it be a heartbreak that mattered. Let it be a tragedy that burned bright. Because passion — real, honest, unconditional love — is a rebellion in Gilead. And these two have been rebels from the start.

(But let’s be clear: I’m still rooting for an ending that proves this love can survive. Because if anyone deserves that sliver of peace — it’s them.)

[thesleeptokenarchive]

Social Media Update: January 6 2022

The first post for the collective in 2022 to their socials was about their first cover of a magazine, Metal Hammer issue 357, that went on sale this day.

Behold, an expression of Worship from the @MetalHammer publication. Consume - http://bit.ly/buyhammer

[X]

Additional photos from the article, by Andy Ford.

Words by RICH HOBSON. Article can be found here: [Link]

Sleep Token are a Mystery

Anonymous members, no interviews and sold-out shows: Vessel et al have become a modern metal phenomenon. We followed them on tour to try and find out more.

The view from 2022

As Vessel doesn’t talk, we predict the next 12 months on his behalf

What are his New Year’s resolutions?

To ensure a Sleep shrine in every home in the UK, perfect for accepting His offerings. Also for Vessel to kill fewer people using his telekinetic abilities (see: the video for Alkaline) and to use them for something more constructive instead, like whale conservation.

Sleep Token vocalist Vessel stands in front of 1,500 people at Birmingham’s 02 Institute, and the room falls silent. All eyes are fixed on the masked and cloaked singer for a sign – any sign – that might betray some message or hidden meaning behind the band’s mystique.

What’s going to be the biggest thing in metal in 2022?

“We love you!” cries a young woman. Finally, the spell is broken, and the crowd erupt into cheers that Vessel politely acknowledges with a slight nod. Then he moves, and the church-like quietude falls again. Leaning towards the mic, for the briefest of moments it seems Vessel’s five years of almost total silence will end, with Birmingham about to receive gospel from one of metal’s most enigmatic forces. Instead, he clenches his hands together in a sign of gratitude, saying everything by saying absolutely nothing – and everyone loses their minds.

Sleep Token will engage in a holy war with Ghost, ultimately triumphing and ending the line of Papas. Satan will convert to Sleep worship, rendering the whole ‘satanism’ thing redundant. Deicide will become door-todoor missionaries, converting people to the Sleep cause. Black metal musicians will end up switching to country, singing about the good ol’ days when you could burn churches and burn inverted crucifixes into your head.

We’re at the second night of Sleep Token’s eight-date UK tour, and since emerging in 2016, they’ve maintained an iron grip on their anonymity: they obscure their faces, they don’t talk onstage, and they have only ever done one interview – with this very magazine in 2017. The closest comparison is Ghost, but even they had ‘Nameless Ghouls’ who acted as regular spokespeople until Tobias Forge eventually broke cover, a decade into the band. It’s all very impressive – but who the hell are they?

What event or issue will define the world in 2022?

Here’s what we know: in that 2017 interview, Vessel told us that their music is all in service to ‘Sleep’, a mysterious deity whose roots stretch back centuries.

Sleep Token will make history by hosting the first livestream to be beamed directly into your dreams. A bit like with U2 and Apple, the whole thing will cause a massive fuss but ultimately blow over. Mastodon will try to do the same and end up falling through space/ time like a live-action replication of Crack The Skye.

“How we got here is as irrelevant as who we are – what matters is the music and the message,” they said. “We are here to serve Sleep and project His message.” And… that’s about it. Cheers for the insight, pal.

Despite – or perhaps because of – their secrecy, Sleep Token are fast becoming a cult sensation. While the lore is centred around Vessel, Sleep Token describe themselves as a collective, suggesting a collaborative effort between seasoned musicians, all feeding into the art. That may go some way to describe their fluid approach to genre, pulling elements of everything from tech metal and alternative to pop and R&B – part of a new breed of heavy bands who aren’t afraid to embrace multiple genres, as well as nontraditional ways of working.

In 2019, they drip-fed a series of singles that eventually became their debut album, Sundowning, rather than going ahead with a straightforward release. Even though they couldn’t tour during the pandemic, last September’s This Place Will Become Your Tomb charted at No. 39 in the UK, and this current run will conclude at London’s 2,000-capacity Shepherd’s Bush Empire. It’s no small feat.

“Sleep Token are an expression of where metal is in the 2020s,” says Ihsahn, co-founder of black metal legends Emperor and pioneering avant garde solo artist, who’s on the same label as the collective. “From the first time I heard them, I was completely intrigued – the way they mix modern metal elements with very dark moods, but also very clear, modern R&B-style production values.”

Sleep Token are by no means the first anonymous collective in metal, but their symbol-emblazoned masks, dark body paint, and use of everything from Nordic runes to Hindu symbology in their artwork have piqued the curiosity of metal fans and fellow musicians.

“It’s similar to what we had with the black metal scene, with the masks and mystery that helps to raise it all,” Ihsahn explains. “Emperor wouldn’t be where they were without that theatricality, because we needed to do something to distance ourselves from the spotty teenagers we were!

“It creates a clear distance and space between the art and the artist,” he continues. “I’ve always appreciated artists who created that distance – going back, you can watch all these interviews with David Bowie but it never feels like you knew him. The art he created was an offering and you just had to try to understand it.”

Of course, with Vessel it’s even more difficult. Our attempt to get answers in 2017 was like grasping at mist: when we asked why they wished to remain anonymous, Vessel turned the conversation towards what he thought was truly important – the art itself. “Our identities are unimportant,” he said. “Music is marketed on who is or isn’t in a band; it’s pushed, prodded and moulded into something it isn’t. Vessel endeavours to keep the focus on His offerings.”

When asked what the future held, Vessel simply replied: “Nothing. Lasts. Forever.” Does that mean there’s a time limit on the band? What the fuck is going on?

It’s tinfoil hat time. Outside of live performances, Vessel has only appeared in music videos. His first onscreen appearance came as a shadowy, grasping figure in the 2016 video for Thread The Needle, before appearing maskless in the 2017 video for Calcutta – albeit with Slipknot/Before I Forget style editing that only showed his mouth, cheek and eye. He’s become more prominent in recent videos – even telekinetically taking out a room of hazmat-suited goons in the video to Alkaline – but still no obvious, overarching narrative has emerged.

Elsewhere, his mask has made its own separate appearances. In the video for Fields Of Elation it floated free in a body of water, and in Nazareth it appeared standing alone in the video’s final moments, before appearing in blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments in Jaws, where it’s worn by the video’s star.

Which raises the question: is Vessel the man behind the mask, or something the mask brings forth?

Sleep Token’s acolytes have been searching for clues. In a Discord server set up by Coventry-based fan Chris, they pore over the band’s lyrics, album artwork, music videos and merchandise in an attempt to decipher hidden meanings, like a metal take on The Da Vinci Code. “It was actually through Metal Hammer that I got into the band,”

Chris tells us. “Reading the interview with Vessel on the website, I wanted to find out more. I took to Reddit to see if there was a community for the band and at the time there wasn’t, so I decided to create it.”

Now numbering more than 900 members, the group have become adept at deciphering codes left by the band. They discovered that a string of numbers featured on a t-shirt design were coordinates for a ‘whale fall’ – an event where a whale’s carcass falls to the ocean floor and becomes a source of nourishment for an entire ecosystem. When This Place Will Become Your Tomb was released, Benjamin, one of the admins, even took on the semi-joking role of Keeper Of The Lore, maintaining and steering discussions for each new song.

“I loved the hidden identities and world-building the band was presenting,” he explains. “There was a whole experience outside of just the music. The new album features heavy imagery of a decomposing whale and the animals that would feed on it; a representation of life in death –a topic lyrically discussed by Vessel frequently – and eternal recurrence.”

The Discord continues to provide fascinating insights into what the band may – or may not – be exploring through their art. But without any form of ‘official’ statement on their theories, and with a potential fixed end point for Sleep Token, couldn’t the fanatics be setting themselves up for disappointment down the road?

“Nothing lasts forever – until then we Worship,” Chris says matter-of-factly.

Aside from discussions on mythology, the Discord has also become a social club that binds people together. “The Discord community is amazing,” says New York-based fan Veronica, aka BluKittie. “There are people from all over the world and we share the same love and passion for the band. We are always there for each other. Last year my father passed away and the members of the community helped me through that rough time, and still do. I am just happy to have found friends there.”

An hour before Birmingham’s 02 Institute opens, the queue is already snaking down the street as far as the eye can see.

At the band’s request, we’re not allowed backstage lest we see their faces, but we do speak to their support act, solo artist AA Williams. Like Sleep Token, she’s found an audience with metallers even though her music spans alternative, pop, soul and metal –a sound we’ve previously tagged as ‘death gospel’.

“I think we work pretty well together,” she says. “It’s great to see an artist who is able to explore both pop and really heavy music without the need to hold back or overcompensate on either element. The shifts in dynamics really come to life live, and their crowd utterly lap it up – it’s like going to church.”

Are there any difficulties that come from playing with such a secretive act? Has anyone tried to get her to reveal Sleep Token’s identity? “Well, it’s not like we’ve had to sign NDAs or anything,” she says. “At the same time, you do want to make sure you’re not impinging on their privacy, and respecting their choice to present their art in a particular way. If anyone asks who they are, I think I’ll make up a celebrity – it’s Robert De Niro. Next question – ha ha ha!”

Tonight AA commands rapt attention, but there’s no competing with the headliners. All chatter is silenced as the room plunges into darkness. Moments later, Vessel strides onto the stage alone to cheers of approval, his mask the only thing visible against now-muted lighting. He tinkles the ivories for Atlantic and the crowd are soon singing along to every word, even though the album has barely been out two months.

AA WILLIAMS

For 90 minutes, Sleep Token hold attention in a way that defies logic. How can a band that don’t speak be so damned expressive? Compared to the stagecraft of bombastic arena bands such as Iron Maiden or Sabaton, Sleep Token are low key, but Vessel radiates gravitas, his twisting and grasping movements bringing to mind the theatrics of interpretive dance, where each flick of the wrist could be conveying some hidden meaning. The fans are utterly enraptured, moshing and singing along with religious fervour, lending credence to the band’s social media descriptions of their shows as ‘rituals’.

As it was in Birmingham, so it is in Glasgow, Sheffield, Dublin and beyond. By the time the tour arrives at London’s sold-out Shepherd’s Bush Empire, it’s clear that, much like Ghost before them, Sleep Token are fast outpacing their status as a cult phenomenon, smaller academies no longer able to contain their rapidly growing fanbase.

If Birmingham was about reverence, London is outright revelry – an irrepressible crowd engaging in a bacchanalian frenzy that has little to do with the extortionate bar prices and everything to do with the explosive performance unfolding onstage. And then, a couple of lads start Cossack dancing in the middle of a circle pit. Sleep help us…

Not to be outdone, Sleep Token bring out their own dance troupe for Fall For Me. Not that they need any help capturing people’s attention: here, Sleep Token are preaching to the converted, a cult threatening to spill over into the mainstream.

No one knows what direction Sleep Token will go in next, and it’s not as if they’re about to tell us. But then, that’s how things have always been with the band – each release a mystery that fans can’t wait to unwrap. “When I heard the second album, there was no indication of where they were going, so in my mind it just had so many seeds of development,” Ihsahn says. “There’s more maturity and there’s clearly something they are building towards, though exactly what that is, is impossible to say…”

Perhaps the stock answer from Vessel, five years on, would still be “nothing lasts forever”. Will they push their sound even further? Will they start conducting interviews? Will they ever unmask? Right now, anything is possible – and that’s what makes Sleep Token so exciting.

[emmathefanficgal]

Defending the castle like a man...

I've just read this article : Defending the castle like a man: on belligerent medieval ladies.

One of my friend is practicing HEMA (historical european martial art) as well as forging. We speak often about it and I have many question, mostly because of my main character in my medieval romance. As in forging, strength is not all in fighting. Know how to do it and practicing is first and foremost (she is smaller and thinner than me. she can wield swords that I cannot lift).

She reads lots of things about medieval warfare and we have discussion about it, and more recently because of my main character in my medieval romance. She had send me this article. And while reading it, I thought about some of my mutuals and the quite recent discussion about Eowyn and Théoden. So this is for you : @torchwood-99 , @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras , @konartiste. @errruvande I thought about you as there is a good reference about Alfred's daughter.

Reading this, I thought about Théoden. Rohan seems to have a certain history of female fighters. Shieldmaiden is not a name coming out of nowhere. So... what led Rohan to, seemingly, forget about this role? When did it happen?

In this article, there are a lot of example of women who did fight in war and defend their territory. It seems there are more and more proof of that. Even more, it seems women were actually expected to know at least how to defend their castle and lands. "Do as their husband do". So they had to know how to fight or at least strategies and siege... And some knew how to use bows, crossbows and even swords. Still, they had been, most of the time, erased or played down.

It is not said if this erasing was all along or more recent, as it is noted that those women of war were common up until the 14th centuries. In any case, they existed, but in later ages, it was inconvenient for men to have their female kin show "men's virtue".

Did something equivalent happened in Rohan? Why would something like this would happen? I would be the first to say "Oh it's all Saruman/Grima's fault". But no. Theoden do not think of sending Eowyn to war. He does not even have the reflex to think about her as a leader for his people. if it had been Grima and/or Saruman, he would have think about it.

Could it be his gondorian upbringing? After all he grew up in Gondor, had a gondorian mother? Thengel did not seem to held his countries culture in high regard. So, could it be this? Or even before that?

In my glèomenn fanfic, Tirwald said it was legends and old story. Could it be even older? Something more recent, linked to another culture?

So... What do you think?

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Heya so this is Damian's pov in the chapter 16 of my fic Hostage situations and other romantic activities based on @iguessthisisanewobsession's prompt! I had it written out and though it doesn't fit in with the main storyline, I figured I'd post it here and link it in case anyone was curious. Feel free to ignore this if you haven't read the fic <3

Hope you guys enjoy:) (Spoilers ahead)

Damian’s head hurt. Zsasz had managed to get in a good hit before Damian had managed to knock him out, or at least what he thought had been a knock-out. He’d been sloppy and now the teen’s head was throbbing. At least, he had seen no injuries on Danny though the other boy had been very pale and looked unwell. 

That was another thing. Danny.

Gotham wasn’t a safe place for civilians, and metas had it even worse. That was true everywhere but in Gotham even more so; discrimination, increased risk of violence, even human experimentation. 

It wasn’t surprising that Danny would want to keep his abilities a secret. But something about the blast, how despite clearly having been instinct, the shot had been so very precise that Damian who had been pinned under Zsasz hadn’t felt more than a cold blast of wind made it seem as if there was more to it than that.

And right now, as he was perched up in the tree waiting for law enforcement, there was nothing to do but to speculate.

No, that was untrue, he thought as he took his phone out of his pocket. He could do more than that. 

He could research. And so he did. 

And found nothing.

Oh sure, there was a blurry picture here, an oblique mention there but no proof of existence beyond a social security number, a high school diploma, and one measly article.

No birth certificate, no social media, no medical file, not even a driver’s license.

It wasn’t that Danny Fenton was a ghost. It was more like he was a half-finished person.

Damian breathed out slowly. 

It wasn’t Danny’s powers that made him suspicious. It was everything else.

An hour later, Damian slid down into the now dark forest and started walking.

Damian looked up to see Danny coming down carefully. Damian steeled his expression into a neutral one, unwilling to let his thoughts play on his face.

“Daniel,” Damian started formally. “You went back to the school.”

That was a point in the boy’s favour; at least, he had not ran.

“Yeah,” Danny answered, too casually. “thanks again for saving my butt back there.”

Damian nodded, but abstained from saying anything further in favour of studying Danny’s expression. He didn’t seem any different but Damian knew appearances could be deceiving.

“So-“ Danny started but Damian wasn’t interested in small talk.

“I could not find a picture of you before your fourteenth birthday,” Damian stated clearly.

“Uh,” Danny stumbled. “Ok?”

“Nor could I find a birth certificate in your name.” Damian continued expecting a twitch, a frown, something.

“Yeah,” Danny answered calmly, waving. “Mom and Dad are terrible at paperwork.”

Alright. If that was how Danny would play it. Flimsy excuses could only go so far. 

“No social media, no bank account. Not even a tax return in twenty years.”

“IRS have given up long before I was born,” Danny answered airily. “And Amity’s not the safest place for technology.”

Damian studied the boy in front of him. He looked relaxed and mostly at ease. A bit confused, a bit tired if anything. And Damian wanted to believe it. 

Yet, both his instinct and his experience were telling him not to, and so Damian forged on.

“Why did you come to Gotham?” Damian asked.

“What?” Danny answered, once again frowning in confusion. “Uh, I’m here for school? I think I told you that.”

This was getting insulting.

“Do not lie to me,” Damian said, feeling something brewing.

“I’m not,” Daniel persisted in a stupid simplistic excuse. “I’m really here for school.”

Damian clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes peeled on the deceptive face in front of him. Damian had come for the truth and he was going to get it. 

“You truly had me fooled,” Damian stated as he slowly started to circle the other teen. “I did not suspect you for a moment.”

“What are you even talking about?” Danny said, but Damian wasn’t listening to more lies.

“Why did you approach me?” Damian asked asking from Danny’s side. Because that was the most logical explanation, no matter what Damian wanted to believe. It wouldn’t be the first time mother or another one of his enemies had sent someone to kill him. He had to consider the possibility. Danny turned to keep himself facing Damian.

“I didn’t,” Danny stressed, his voice almost snarling. Good. More likely to let something slip.

“Maybe so, but you did not turn down the opportunity to do so either.” Damian allowed, because it truly would’ve been a convoluted plan to manipulate Damian into choosing Danny.

“What,” Danny’s voice biting. “Like you left me any choice?”

Damian stopped short at that. He knew he could be forceful and overbearing but he would never force anyone to do anything like that. He was nothing like her.

“Damian,” Danny’s voice rose again, kinder, softer. “Im not sure what this is, and we can talk about it, I-”.

No. This wouldn’t work. Damian wouldn’t let himself be pacified like a child. “You have deceived me,” Damian reminded himself and Danny

“I haven’t,” Danny protested but Damian wasn't listening. 

“You are not who you say you are.” That was the truth. And no matter what he said, Daniel knew it too.

“Yes, I am,” Danny refuted strongly and Damian had had enough. There was one thing Daniel could no longer lie about.

 “Are you?” Damian asked clearly. “Tell me Danny, are you human?”

Danny flinched and Damian’s heart sank even as it confirmed what Damian already knew.

“That’s what I thought,” said Damian, more calmly than he felt.

“What does that mean?” Danny asked, still trying to pretend but Damian wouldn’t let him.

“It means, I am ashamed I let you get so close.”

It means I know, Damian thought. It mean there’s no use pretending. It means, please do not try. 

There was a moment of silence where Damian held his breath. For Danny to finally give it up and admit it.

Daniel took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. And Damian held himself straighter. Daniel opened his mouth but closed it again.

And then finally-

“Please leave,” Danny’s voice came and what was left of Damian’s hope froze over.

So this was it then. 

“Fine,” Damain said dispassionately. “I’ll send you the severance pay before the end of the week.”

“I don’t want it,” Daniel bit out and Damian could feel something ugly within him rear its head, and Damian let it take the place of the coldness.

“Waynes believe in tying up loose ends,” Damian said silkily. “It does not do to for past indiscretions crop up at importunate times.”

“Ok no. I’m done with this.” Danny stalked off, and it welled up again, poisonous and mean.

“I would be happy to give a recommendation to any new employer of yours,” Damian shouted. 

He knew he was supposed to be better than this, but he couldn’t help it.

“Screw you!” Danny yelled back and Damian snarled, stopping himself from punching at a tree or something equally stupid and emotional.

Whatever. He turned away and started walking.

It wasn’t like it had been a real relationship. It wasn’t like it had meant anything. Damian started running.

It had done what it was supposed to do, and really, Damian had gotten out of it exactly what he wanted. 

The thought did nothing to appease the empty feeling in his chest as he made his way back home.

[bcacstuff]

Don't you think Sam should defend her

Well, I can imagine people would think as a first reaction he should, or should say something about it. But then again, if he does, I'm sure the fans who do these stupid things, would immediately see it as him confirming some sort of relationship or something. You know how this fandom, or better said the deranged ones in it are.

He can't do right in this case, he's between a rock and a hard place. We're talking about 2 women, should he address the entire fandom for this? And with that give it perhaps unwanted and more attention then it deserves? What will be the result of that, you might ask yourself. Of course we know there's much more going on in this fandom, but it isn't reserved solely for this fandom:

I've received a link a while back, and still have this article open on one of my tabs in the browser. I had the intention to answer the Anon that sent it to me a few weeks ago, but as there were so many things going on, I didn't want it to get buried by the many other posts.

It's this article:

There are some really good parts in it that can be translated one on one for this fandom, even though the artists in this article are musicians. Already in the first paragraphs you can read:

This summer, norms of pop flipped when musicians started telling off their fans. Leading the pack was Chappell Roan, the 26-year-old breakout star of 2024. In a statement on Instagram, she outlined the “too many nonconsensual physical and social interactions” she had had with fans, including people hassling her family and friends.

An expert view on it:

“The relationship between fans and artists is a power balance,” says Dr Lucy Bennett, a lecturer in journalism, media and culture at Cardiff University. “Sometimes the power can tip back and forth.” Fandom, she explains, is a deeply emotional thing where people can feel a sense of home and belonging. It can lead to an intense connection to the music, something only heightened by the access to artists provided by social media. “But the problem that we have is how fans can forge a direct connection when they’re one among potentially millions that follow the artist. Those artists can’t reach out to every fan online. But to those who aren’t noticed, how does this make them feel? And what lengths may some fans go to get noticed?”

A former deranged fan's experience

Someone who has grappled with this themselves is Emily, a 26-year-old Taylor Swift fan from Idaho. Emily, who asked to be referred to under a pseudonym for fear of being doxed, was once a dedicated Swiftie, spending thousands of dollars on merchandise and concert tickets. During the Lover era of 2019, however, she began to see contradictions in Swift’s image and found her sudden embrace of politics inauthentic and calculated. “I was upset because it seemed the person I thought she was wasn’t real,” she says. She was also put off by the growing toxicity among a fandom that no longer felt like a community. Prior to Swift’s hit album 1989, “Taylor had said that she wasn’t going to interact with fans on social media because one fan might feel more important than the other,” she says. But Swift began doing secret live sessions for fans, found via fan accounts online. “It did exactly what she thought that might,” Emily says. “Fans were suddenly fighting with each other saying, ‘You’re not good enough because you don’t obsess with her on the level I do, or ‘You don’t have as much merch as I do and you don’t know every song like I do.’ It was kind of gross.” Emily became so distraught that she would vent to her friends about her disappointment. “When I look back it now,” she says, “it’s like, wow. I was really deranged. Taylor Swift doesn’t know who the hell I am. She doesn’t care what I think. This is actually a me problem. I needed to step back and realise that.” She cites social media and the 24/7 access to information about Swift as one reason why she became so obsessed with the singer’s life. “I had to get some hobbies outside of discussing Taylor Alison Swift.”

And again the expert's view as an end conclusion

To realign the relationship between fans and artists, Bennett believes that musicians may need to step away from sharing so much of their lives on social media. “But it’s really important that they speak up if they feel that they’re experiencing unacceptable behaviour from the fans,” she adds.

It's a really good read, so if you're interested and have a bit of time, I'd recommend reading the whole article. There is no easy answer to this phenomena or to your question Anon.

PS. To Anon sending me the link a few weeks ago, thank you 🧡. You were right, I found this interesting. I'm sorry it took so long to post it, but it deserves all the attention.

[alexanderwales]

Game Review: The Roottrees are Dead

When I played Obra Dinn shortly after it came out, I thought "man, that was great, they should make a hundred of these, this should be a whole genre", and on reflection, that would actually be a terrible idea, because what made it great was the storytelling, the attention to detail, and the loving care that went into it. As I've learned from the wave of games that take inspiration from Stardew Valley, there are some genres that I only like if they have a lot of attention to detail and artistry.

The Roottrees are Dead very clearly follows in the footsteps of Obra Dinn, and while it doesn't quite hit the same highs, I think it's a worthy successor that forges its own path and helps to establish what's possible within the space.

In The Roottrees are Dead you play as an investigator in the late 1990s (1998 for the original, 1999 for Roottreemania), looking into the Roottree family to uncover some of there secrets. You do this almost entirely through a simulacrum of the early internet, with a pre-Google web search, periodicals, and checking out books from the local library. Gameplay entails combing through these documents to see what there is to search, then making some deductions to put information up on the sprawling family tree. Just like in Obra Dinn, you get your guesses "confirmed" after you've locked in some number of correct entries, which helps to narrow down the search space.

It's a good game. I recommend it if you like research and puzzles and deduction.

I think mostly I want to talk about how it feels to play this game, and what I think makes it work in a way that's totally different from other detective/puzzle games.

First, and I think this is very important, you can search almost everything, and you are often rewarded for this. Every name, every company, every book, all of them can be searched in one way or another. Sometimes it's the web search, and if that turns up nothing, sometimes you can search the periodicals, except that you don't start out knowing the names of the periodicals. And when you do get the name of one, it opens things up, because you can go searching using this new resource.

Sometimes the information isn't quite right, so you have to think it through. Use someone's maiden name, or find out what a book was retitled to for its second publication, or figure out how the thing you're searching for would be referenced. This is all the kind of thing that I find really enjoyable, and more so than in real life, because the feedback is instant. Even if you hit a dead end, the game will usually have some text for you, and sometimes it'll tell you it's a dead end with a little story, ending with "unfortunately none of this seems relevant to the Roottree family".

What you're ultimately doing is creating this whole web of information, picking up names from articles you read and tracking them down, which gives you more articles and more names. You have some understanding of these people and their relationship to each other. You get to know the history in this very unconventional way. It's pretty unrealistic, but my suspension of disbelief was mostly fine.

Locking things in feels great, particularly because it means that you're removing a possibility from your list of names, making everything easier in the next go. This was something clearly borrowed from Obra Dinn, and I'm glad, because it works so well and feels so rewarding. New here are "optionals" that get confirmed whenever a lockin of the main family happens, and this is a great evolution of the concept.

There are two places where the game let me down a little bit, and both have to do with the pictures. The first issue is that I wanted the pictures to be of a higher quality. The web version had AI images, which were a little wonky, and got flak for it, so the images were (apparently) hand-drawn for the release on Steam when people were paying money for it. And they're still a little wonky, which is surely a budget issue, and maybe a little bit an art direction issue. I don't like criticizing thing for their lack of budget, but man, there were places where I felt it here.

The second issue with the pictures is that these tend to be the worst kinds of clues. People just do not talk about appearance and clothing in these ways, and it always feels clunky in the way that other clues (usually) don't. They're necessary, because this is part of the core gameplay, matching pictures to names, but it feels to me like the weakest part.

New to the Steam version is "Roottree Mania", which deals with a crisis of "extras" to add to the family tree, those who are products of affairs. It's basically the same in structure, and proof to me that this concept has legs: the focus is different, but you're engaging in the same gameplay. I would say that overall, I enjoyed Roottree Mania about as much as the main game, even if the scope was somewhat less focused.

And like before, I find myself thinking "they should make a million of these", but I know that this is only as good as it is because there's significant dedication and care put into it, and you can't just "copy" it and expect for it to be playable or good. You need those little moments when things snap into place, when something confusing reveals itself to be well-ordered. You need puzzles to work out, inconsistencies to uncover, information working together. And that's hard, and it's something I'm happy this game was able to do.

[sysmedsaresexist]

(A Shitty But Important) News Flash ⚡️

📣🚨📣🚨📣🚨

Record scratch

Stop now

Please read

Before we forge on, this is unfinished. I just couldn't get through it. This article upset me. Posting just for the link and my unfinished thoughts.

Put down your pitchforks and pick up your reading glasses, we've got a mutual enemy.

Explanatory hypotheses of the ecology of new clinical presentations of Dissociative Identity Disorders in youth

This was published in 2022 and... please tell me no one else knew this paper existed? How have I never seen it before? I feel cheated. I feel like I just found out there's mean girls talking about our communities behind our backs.

I'm kind of speechless. I've highlighted the important bits, read those.

Abstract

Dissociative Identity Disorders (DIDs) are controversial psychiatric conditions encountered in clinical practice and nosology. DID, as described in the international classifications, has little similarity with the clinical picture of “DID” met in current youth psychiatry. From this perspective, we hypothesize that this current clinical presentation does not satisfy the categorical criteria of the international classifications. Based on the two terminological challenges related to the definition of DID (i.e., the notion of dissociative disorders and the different meanings of the term identity), we propose to differentiate two distinct entities from each other. The first is medical and listed in diagnostic criteria of international classifications; the second comes from popular culture and refers to the vast majority of clinical presentations received in daily clinical practice—presented under the term Dissociative Identity Conditions (DIC).

Pause, because I need that to sink in.

We've been downgraded.

I say "we," as if I'm including myself in this "youth" group. This article will tell you that it cannot be applied to adults.

But despite the fact that I'm (very) old, and despite that it explicity says it can't be applied to me, it does.

I feel personally attacked, despite my journey ending long before this applied to me. This tells me there's a flaw somewhere.

Since the status of DIC is a hot topic in current clinical psychiatry, we aim to identify eight possible explanations that can be provided to support its occurrence: (1) impact of iatrogenicity;

I need to stop right there and just... bask for a moment.

This article is about to tell you that your knowledge of DID is so good that you EDUCATED yourself into having a fake form of it.

There's no going back. We forge on.

(2) factors of suggestibility and desire for social acceptability; (3) psychoanalytic explanations; (4) neuropsychological explanations; (5) socio-cognitive explanations; (6) emotional labeling; (7) narrative explanations; (8) and transient illnesses explanations.

Let's pause again.

Let's think very hard for a second.

In conclusion, we sustain that DIC results from a narrative interpretation of medical discourse by popular culture, developing in patients presenting undeniable distress. Such a transient disease fits in an ecological niche, which echoes the values of society, persisting under the action of a need for narrative continuity of the self.

[thydungeongal]

I can't find the thread where we were discussing it, but Vincent Baker recently wrote an interesting article revisiting GNS, and I wanted to share it with you and your followers.

https://lumpley.games/2025/04/07/revisiting-gns/

for me at least Im just done with rpg taxonomy in general lol. I dont think theres much value in it beyond saying "this game took inspiration from these specific games, but heres how its different".

This is a very good read and I think it also gets to the heart of some of the issues with GNS, both as it was first formulated and as many people understood it and ran with. Like, the Narrativism that Baker describes there is almost completely alien to any of the definitions people gave me when I recently informally asked people what the GNS terms meant to them, and the fact that the other two terms of GNS came from another theory explains why the three never quite clicked in order to form a coherent model.

But it's also a cool read because it explains that Vincent Baker's games (most of which I like) are Narrativist by the original Forge definition even though they're not Narrativist as people understand the term.

And yeah I kind of agree, prescriptive taxonomies like this are only useful if people can actually agree to what these terms mean, and they become even more dubious in their utility when people start using them to mean anything they want. Like, just as a reminder, the reason I was GNS posting at all recently was because someone called D&D a "Narrative" [sic] RPG and then someone else went and called it a "Gamist" RPG and that just pushed me over the edge. Anyway.

[nicorenarin]

Depravity of the Media: An Early Look at P5X's Fourth Arc

(Keep in mind, I'm using screenshots from BuffMaister's playthrough of the game, so there will be very wonky translations, but it's the best I have.)

After many months of the glorious Katayama-Akashi Arc, P5X finally progresses onwards as we reach what is currently dubbed as the 'Shimotsuna Arc', focusing on the new Phantom Thief, Shoki Ikenami, and the palace ruler, Shimotsuna Takami. The former is the son of two-accomplished stage actors, whilst the latter is an extremely powerful media mogul who has an... apparent attraction, let's say, towards Ikenami and other male members of the party like Shun and Wonder.

First off, the bar is often quite low for the Persona series when it explores the possibility of older female characters and younger male characters in relationships, take the Devil social link from Persona 4, the Hermit social link from Persona 3 and... well, a good chunk of Persona 5, that most people tend to scrub from their minds when discussing the series' social life aspects. Whilst P5X is no stranger to including romance options with older female characters (that even the writers don't appear to like), Shimotsuna, however, is treated like the predator she is made out to be and the situation early on is called out for being extremely uncomfortable. So, fair enough! In the mainline games where this would be probably laughed off, it's treated as it should be.

Shimotsuna is made out to be quite a depraved and vile woman from the moment we meet her. She threatens to jeopardise Ikenami's career, (something we'll return to later) takes pictures of the group without their consent, and refers to her secretary (who seems to be another important character in this arc), Daichi Ousaka, as a "dog" and her as his "owner". She is the classic example of a high-profile influencer of sorts using her power and connections within the media to both ruin lives and take hold of them. This is where we dive into the main themes of this arc; the media itself, and how it can ruin lives.

We learn from Ikenami that whilst his parents are seperated, the two are still in love, just seperated by country. An article (that's heavily implied to have been written by Shimotsuna) implied that Ikenami's mother had cheated on his father. Due to the nature of the scandal, Ikenami's mother's career was ruined, with it getting so bad she had to return to Italy, not allowed back in Japan again due to fear from the media. This is something that I don't remember P5 exploring a lot outside of Mishima and the Phan-Site, that being how the media can manipulate reality itself, almost subconsciously. With enough power and influence, forged realities can then become the truth in people's eyes. This tore Ikenami's family apart, it made him a target of bullying, and whilst Ikenami remained close with his mother, his father became a shell of himself. It already makes the early beginnings of this arc incredibly personal.

Ikenami even states in a conversation with Wonder and Shun that for the longest time, he hid his true feeling away from his parents, playing the good child who wanted to be an actor just like them. In a world where false stories tore his family apart, he himself put up a false smile to keep his family together.

When we get into the palace, Shimotsuna's Shadow resides in the 'Anthill of Pride', a fairytale-like land where those who work underneath her are seen as ants, mere workers who serve their queen. It matches her position in the media, whilst some of the puzzles within the palace require Wonder to "praise" Shimotsuna in order to temporarily transform into an ant with a construction helmet, further symbolising that Shimotsuna sees those who praise her as simply servants willing to serve a greater purpose.

Even Shimotsuna's weapon of choice, a wand of sorts is referred to as a "magic recorder", reminiscent of her phone in the real world that she uses to capture damning evidence to then publish to the world. She's able to use this wand to turn some of the party members into magazines, symbolising that to them, they're nothing more than an image on an article, words underneath a headline, all to push her own agenda against the world.

Ultimately, we end this first part of the arc with Ikenami's awakening and Shimotsuna forced to retreat further into her palace, and with the preview of the next part featuring both Daichi and Aran, it's exciting to wonder exactly where this arc will go. There's one thing for sure though, and it's that we're going to dive even deeper into how depraved and desperate the media can get, what distances they'll go to get a story, with the consequences for the Phantom Thieves potentially being critical if things go wrong. The stakes are only getting higher and higher.

[braidlottie]

copycat

pairing: professor!matthews x transmasc!student!reader

summary: after your english professor catches you plagiarizing on your latest essay, she gives you a punishment you'll never forget.

tags: smut, nsfw, 18+ (minors dni), BIG age gap (reader is 19, lottie is 40), professor matthews and reader secretly dating!!! this is not just a random hookup lmao, spanking, teasing, dirty talk, handjob/blowjob, professor matthews being mean :((

word count: 1k

"any more questions?" your professor turned around to the class after wiping the board. she got no reply, shrugging and putting her glasses on her head, holding her hair back. "okay! have a good one, everyone!" she excused everyone, watching them put on their backpacks and walk out.

this being your last class today, you were so happy to get home and relax. you can do your homework tomorrow. "hang on, honey. can i talk to you really quick?" professor matthews touched your shoulder, pushing you back down into your seat. "uhh- of course. is everything okay?"

she shut the door, and drew the curtains on the windows. she sucked in a hard breath, sitting back down in her chair. she gestured a "come here" with her fingers, slipping her glasses back on. she pulled out another chair from behind the desk, and you walked over to her. and as you sat down, you saw multiple paragraphs highlighted red. "does this look familiar to you?"

you began to read the hook of the essay, your stomach dropping when you realized it was yours. you turned to your instructor with wide eyes, the feeling finally settling in that you were caught.

"wait! it's not what it looks like." you tried to save yourself, but there was no hope. "it's exactly what it looks like, sweetheart." her hands were crossed, giving you a serious but sympathetic look. "would you like to tell me why you would copy an article and think that you would get away with it? and don't lie to me."

you had never seen this side of lottie before. she was always so kind to you and seeing her so hostile and you being the cause of it, was a little intimidating.

"i-i couldn't think of anything to write, so- i don't know, i just copied that last minute and turned it in." you answered with a pitiful look, and she hummed. "i see. so what you're saying is, i gave you a whole week to write a two page essay and you forged it?" you nodded shamefully.

“such a naughty boy.”

something about that made your cock twitch.

"please don't tell anyone, can you just pass me like you always do?" you were pleading, knowing that plagiarism this serious could get you kicked out of school. "if anything, i should tell someone! i should drop you from this class right now."

regretful tears of shame began to well in your eyes, lottie noticing and sighing. "'m really sorry, lottie. just- don't drop me, please."

she tsks, standing up and holding your chin up. "fine, i won’t say a word to anyone. but i’m not letting you get off scot-free.”

she pulled you up by your shirt, one of her hand on your ass cheek and the other on your belt buckle. she slowly held up your shirt, marveling at your chest. you couldn't believe how fast she loosened your belt with one hand, the buckle jingling as you whined when you realized how embarrassing your boxers were.

"spider-man? really? god, you just get cuter and cuter, don't you?" she shook her head. "i want you to bend over, so i can spank that little ass. you deserve it for being such a bad boy." she forces you over her desk, pulling down your boxers teasingly slow. "lottie.. please..." you looked back at her, squirming when her nails scratched your ass. "you don't have to do this."

"oh, but i do." she smacked your right cheek, getting a loud groan out of you. "and you better stay quiet." lottie noticed how your groans got whinier and desperate after each spank. "i think you actually like this, hmm? you like it when your professor spanks you for being so naughty?" her voice got deeper, her rhythm not skipping a beat. you whined, shaking your head against the wood.

"then, what's this?" her hand swipes up your thigh, collecting the slick dripping into your boxers that you had no knowledge of. "i bet you're hard right now, hmm?" you couldn't even answer, groaning into the desk. she turned you around, your tdick rising from the surprising gust of wind. "aww, look at that," she lifted you up by your thighs, sitting you on the desk. she lifted up the hood, finding your throbbing, pink head. "fuck." you squirmed in her hold.

"ah, ah, don't curse. bad boy." your dick was held in-between her fingers, stroking you up and down. “fu-ahh!” you felt her hand slap over your mouth.

“am i going to have to gag you? be. quiet.”

now that you think about it, you were kind of glad you plagiarized.

you were trying to say something, but your mouth was still covered by lottie. “what was that, sweetie?”

“i want your mouth. please.”

“you want my mouth? where, sweetheart?”

you hated when she made you describe everything so literally, especially during sex.

“c’mon, tell me, baby.”

“you already know.”

“but i want you to tell me.” her hands squeezed around your waist.

“mm- i want your mouth on my cock, please.” lottie grinned at your shyness, soaking up all the adorableness from your embarrassment. “good boy. since you asked so nicely…”

she crouched down, tongue swirling about on your twitching cock, your cunt clenching onto nothing so needily. “lottie…”

“you know that’s not my name here, sweet boy.” she watched your face scrunch up in desperation. “professor… ‘m gonna cum,” you choked out, your thighs trembling from the wet, warm feeling of lottie’s lips sucking you.

“oh, i bet you are. cumming in your professors mouth on her desk? such a dirty little boy.”

you whimpered, so close to the edge.

then all of it just- stopped.

“nononono, please, please, lottie-” you shook your head, crying from the denial. “you didn’t think i was really going to let you cum, right?”

a tear flung from your eye and lottie scoffed, brushing it away with her thumb. “you’re still on punishment, darling.”

she pulled your shirt down and helped you off the desk, pulling your boxers and pants back up. “you better go home, and write that essay, the right way, and have it on my desk as soon as class starts monday. and you better not touch yourself. understand me?”

“yes.”

“yes, what?” she zipped up your pants, kissing your neck.

“yes, professor.”

“there’s my good boy. now run along.” she spanked your stinging bottom once more to send you on your way, watching your legs wobble as you scrambled out of the room.

taglist: @t4tnat @jaywritessometimes @girltwinklater @kessellluvr @lotties-ashwagandha @shipmanisms

[palmtreepalmtree]

When I read the news, I swear sometimes I'm either not understanding something really important, or this whole fucking thing is a lie.

Okay, so top of the article says that Apple will open "a new manufacturing factory in Texas over the next four years."

The article then reports this in the third paragraph:

The iPhone maker’s announcement underscores how tech giants are trying to forge a closer relationship with President Trump as his second administration imposes new tariffs on China — where Apple manufactures its products — and shapes policies on artificial intelligence.

Okay...

Then two more paragraphs down from that, after more discussion of the impact of tariffs on China and meeting with T at the WH, it says, "workers at the factory in Texas will produce servers for Apple Intelligence."

...okay... so they're not actually moving any manufacturing of their products to the United States. They're manufacturing servers for their new AI product.

Then it says this:

The 20,000 new jobs will mostly focus on research and development, silicon engineering, AI and machine learning, the Cupertino, Calif., company said.

So... they're not manufacturing jobs?

Then it says that Apple will expand in other states as well:

Those expansion plans include investments in data centers, its facilities and skills development for students and workers. At a manufacturing facility in Arizona, Apple said, it will spend heavily to produce advanced silicon that is used in its devices. In Detroit, the company said, it’s opening a manufacturing academy that will offer free courses online and in person. Apple engineers will team up with university experts to help small and medium-sized businesses implement AI and manufacturing methods.

So... the only reference to actually manufacturing an item or product is in Arizona where they're manufacturing "advanced silicon." Everything else is data centers, training centers, and attempts to get other businesses to implement its AI.

To be clear, iPhones, computers, airpods, and all the other ubiquitous Apple devices will continue to be manufactured outside of the United States. No movement there, despite the tariffs. So why this headline? Why does this article spend three paragraphs mentioning the tariffs?

On the one hand, shame on me for still subscribing to the LA Times and reading this regurgitated press release posing as an article. On the other hand, is it me...? Like... wtf? What am I not getting here?

I mean, I'm not saying that research and engineering jobs are somehow less valuable than manufacturing jobs, I'm just saying we are constantly being sold a total lie about companies making a manufacturing investment in the United States. It's all just AI data centers. That's it. That does not require a significant number of skilled manufacturing workers. It's just going to be empty towns. Empty towns with huge warehouses.

I just think the whole article is so disingenuous. I'm embarrassed that this stands for journalism, I'm embarrassed thinking about the people who will read the headline and think 'Oh, nice!' Especially to the extent that it implies directly states that the tariffs are good or successful for AMERICAN WORKERS. All of this was re-printed by the LAT with no questioning or skepticism or additional clarity added.

I'm just so fucking over it.

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Lit Hub: How Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon Forged a Literary and Romantic Bond

Wilfred Owen first mentioned the presence of a new star on his horizon on August 15, 1917. He had been busy acting, editing the hospital magazine, arguing with his mother by letter about whether Christianity and the war were compatible (he thought not, and he had hard words to say about the Archbishop of Canterbury, who did). So he may not have noticed at first the presence of Siegfried Sassoon. At their first meeting, Sassoon treated Wilfred with a certain lordly condescension. Wilfred persisted, however, and their next meeting was warmer. They talked about poetry, and Sassoon asked Wilfred to help him decipher a handwritten fan letter from H.G. Wells, written in pale pink ink. Wilfred was in the full throes of hero worship, while Sassoon, although he may have been better at concealing his emotions, was beginning to feel a powerful attraction for his handsome young admirer, critiquing and rewriting Wilfred’s poems, who had sent home to his mother and sister for every scrap he had written. It should not be imagined that the relationship between the two men was all one way. Sassoon recognized in Wilfred a greater poet than himself, but his own poetry also improved as the two men worked together. Still, it was Sassoon who remained in Wilfred’s eyes “the great man,” an impression no doubt influenced by class. [Wilfred's] brother Harold scoured his letters so thoroughly after his death that it is impossible to tell whether Owen had a physical relationship with Sassoon, but in every other respect it was the closest he would ever come to a love affair. “Spent all day [with Sassoon] yesterday,” he wrote his mother ecstatically. “Breakfast, Lunch, Tea & Dinner.” Wilfred and Sassoon spent their last evening together at the Scottish Conservative Club in Edinburgh, eating a good dinner, drinking “a noble bottle of Burgundy” and laughing uproariously over a volume of especially bad poetry. Sassoon had given Wilfred, as a parting gift, a thick envelope, which he opened in the club while waiting to take the midnight train. It contained a ten-­pound note and a letter of introduction to Robert Ross in London, the friend, editor, and devoted defender of Oscar Wilde and a literary luminary almost as well connected and admired as Edward Marsh. Ross was a friend of H.G. Wells, Arnold Bennett, and Osbert Sitwell, as well as a central figure in the homosexual literary and social world. Sassoon must have hesitated before including the ten-­pound note for fear it might be taken as an insult, but Wilfred responded with genuine gratitude. "Know that since mid-­September, when you still regarded me as a tiresome little knocker on your door I held you as Keats + Christ + Elijah + my Colonel + my father-­confessor + Amenophis IV in profile…. I love you, dispassionately, so much, so very much, dear Fellow, that the blasting little smile you wear on reading this can’t hurt me in the least….And you have fixed my life—­however short. I was always a mad comet; but you have fixed me. I spun around you a satellite for a month, but I shall swing out soon, a dark star in the orbit where you will blaze." He ended his letter with a phrase he had used earlier to his mother to describe his relationship with Sassoon: “[We] knew we loved each other as no men love for long.” (Full article)