#...but sometimes i wonder if it's a matter of the conversation being complex...

[uncanny-tranny]

Honestly, I do think it's kind of funny when cis people talk about how Big Trans is forcing them to date, bed, or be friends with trans people because, truly, most of us wouldn't have wanted to be around them, anyway.

If you don't want to be seen as transphobic, there are ways to state your desires without being seen as transphobic. However, you can't have it both ways: treating trans people as second-class people while also not being seen as a bigot while doing so. You need to make your peace with that if you are going to go about this in a transphobic way.

[blkgirl-writing]

What Happened at the Moon Lit Pond PART 2

Gale of waterdeep x F!Reader smut

Summary: You and your companions finally made it to baldurs gate, well, rivington. And it's finally time to relax and have a fun day out.

TW: drinking, sex, oral, PnV, F/M sex, thigh riding, brothel, overstimulation, a bit of anal, begging, everyone is consenting! I'd love to do a public sex chapter sometime, but not today.

word count 3.3k

{part one} {part 1.5}

-

It had been a long time since that night at the pond. You had long since left the grove and past the shadows, almost to baldurs gate, actually, in the small town of rivington. It was a long and difficult journey, yes, but with ample time and opportunities to talk about what had happened. But it never came up. Instead, there were many longing stares shot your way on gales part, small flirty conversations, and even more excuses to skip away from your companions to get any alone time with Gale, practically praying to the gods he’d say something first. But Gale wasn’t the type to come out of his comfort to express his feelings, let alone such complex ones. He had been rendered speechless.

Today was different. Maybe it was the long journey nearing it's end, but everyone was ready to let loose, even if it was just for a short while. Karlach and Wyll had split up to look for some armor, jaheria stayed back at camp to care for the small child who lost their mother, so it was a smaller company than you were used to. Just halsin, Shadowheart, Astarion, and of course, You and Gale. It was really a perfect day to mill about town, the sun beaming down in warm rays of light, not too hot and not too cold out, not even a hint of rain, so the dirt paths often muddy were dry, no ruining the clothes you had just washed.

Everyone was at their happiest, though of course, the underlying anxiety and pain for events soon to come were lingering, just pushed aside for the time being.

"Is the sun usually this blinding?" Astarion hissed, shielding his eyes with his hand "I don't remember everything being this bright"

"It simply feels brighter coming out of the shadows, you will get used to it" Halsin smiled down at Astarion, slipping behind him slightly to cast a shadow around him, guarding him from the sun. "We Haven't been inside in a while, why don't we find a shop to rest in for awhile, we have some money to spare"

"I could use a new hair ribbon, My old one looks a bit strange now that my hair has changed.." Shadowheart commented, lightly playing with her hair.

You went from shop to shop, it didn't matter, stopping by everything on the way, getting food, drinks, jewlery, and other small goods, the last place you had any energy for was a small looking shop with people outside raving about their service and pleasure being a customer there., without really looking at the sign or name.

Inside was dimly lit, a dark oak, cream, and red color scheme. Easily the most expensive place in all of the town.

"this is...awfully fancy, isn't it?" Gale murmurs, eyes flickering across the room.

"Certainly. I wonder what we could get to drink, I need a good wine..." Astarion immediately glided across the hall and to one of the counters, a huge smile graced his pale face. He stood there, talking for quite a bit, meanswhile, shadowheart wandered around, peaking her head into a room, she slipped a bit more into the room, then suddenly jolted out.

"Shadowheart? you look like you've seen...a lot"

"It's a brothel!" Astarion and Shadowheart said in unison, shadowheart nearly a whisper, Astarion nearly a yell. The woman behind the desk gave them both a nasty stare for the disruption of the ambiance.

"oh of course, sorry, beautiful" Astarion cooed at the woman. the immediate reaction to his flattery and dashing smile visible as she tucked her auburn hair away from her blushed face. He sauntered over to your merry group, that smile still plastered over his face. "I got us a discounted rate on a pair very talented drow."

"Excuse me, what now?"

"I got a discounted rate for an absolutely lovely time with drow twins for the same rate as one person but five. And we will have two rooms for comfort of space. I'm just that good, you all should be thanking me."

"Thank you, Astarion-" Halsin crossed his arms, a small smirk on his lips.

"I-thank you?" Shadowheart sputtered, still looking a bit frazzled by her earlier revelation.

you were still trying to process all of what just happened when even Gale spoke up.

"Well, looks like you'll have just...four people joining you, I'd prefer the company of a good book and an ale right now, i think."Gales eyes met yours for a split second, as you looked up at him. A very distinct look. He wanted you. It was hunger, lust, but restraint. He wasn't going to stop you from having fun with your company, but god did he want you to stay with him.

"I...um.." you looked up at Gale, fully taking him in this time. Gods...He was really the only thing you wanted. You wanted his soft hair between your fingers, your thighs wrapped around his waist. You wanted to feel his tongue shoved inside of you again.

"I think I'd like an ale or two as well."

"Oooookay...Well, since i already paid for two rooms, why don't you both buy a round for the spare room while we get busy." Astarion's eye roll was quite visible and very pointed, but that didn't matter, no one would actually remember anything that was said, as they'd be wrapped in bodies and sweat, including you.

So you ordered two bottles of ale and two of a beautiful red wine, they sat in the middle of a small round table. The room itself was stunning, the walls painted a deep purple, with a golden trim at the tops and bottoms. There was a bed centered in the middle of the room, with an abundance of fluffy pillows on top and a velvet sheet to top it off. It was by far the fanciest room you'd stayed in. Everything dripped of gold and pearls, there was even a damn chandelier. If this was a side room, you wondered what the main room must've looked like.

"This is...." You trailed off, still taking in the whole room.

"extraordinary?" Gale muttered, taking no time to sit down and pour out two glasses of wine. Something was obviously on his mind, as he swirled the red liquid around, his eyes were slightly distant, and his brows furrowed. It didn't surprise, you, though, there was a lot going on, and he had the chance to end his own life to possibly save the world, and yet here he sat, already on his second glass. There must be a lot on his mind, you thought.

Really, he just wanted the courage to make a big move, and a bit of liquid honesty couldn't hurt. While you drank, he tried not to stare, but it seemed to be getting harder and harder. He wanted so badly to reach out and devour you. He wanted to taste you again, grip your thighs with his hands, leave hickeys across your whole body, he wanted everyone to know how much he could pleasure you. He couldn't help but look at his drink, look at you, and the bed. he kept repeating 'just tell her' Tell you what? He wasn't sure what to even tell you?

Was he madly in love with you? Likely. Did he Lust for you? Always. Of course he did. Out of all the worldly and otherworldly beings, things, concepts, you were the most perfect. He Would year the night sky apart to see your smile. Commit crimes to stare into those eyes endlessly.

"They're certainly making some noise," The drinks were certainly kicking in, your voice was a bit shakey, but your head still fairly clear, clear enough to hear the moaning and grunts from the other room, even some....weird god kinks, you weren't sure and didn't care to be that snoopy.

Gale chuckled, nodding his head. "I would bet 5000 gold I could get you moaning louder than all of them, combined."

"Is that the wine talking?" You tried to blink away the disbelief and shock you clearly wore on your face, Gale was an upfront man, but this was on another level...

"Only to help say what's been on my mind." His deep brown eyes looked at you with incredible lust, more than you'd ever seen before, It was hot, searing, intense. "You have always been on my mind."

You got up from your chair, legs weak not from the wine, but from how this charming wizard looked at you like you were the entire world, right in front of him. "Is that so?" You wanted nothing more than for Gale to wrap his arms around your waist and take all of you til night passed and morning arose.

Your legs slotted through his perfectly, your knee nearly grazing his crotch. In one big gulp, you downed the rest of your drink, and leaned over Gale to set the glass down on the table, not very subtly getting closer to him, and even though your chest was practically in his face, he was still looking into your eyes.

"it would be such a waste if we didn't use such a beautiful bed. We're not often afforded those luxuries.." You took one more small step closer to him, reaching out to the hand free from drink, guiding it to your waist. "And we don't want to be wasteful..."

"Certainly not." Gale took one last sip of wine, licking the small drip that fell from his lips. He stood from his chair, his obvious hard on graising your hip. A small gasp left your lips, gods, you had forgotten how badly you'd wanted him, how big he felt...It was all returning to you. Your face flushed with heat as you remembered his tongue deep in your pussy, your lips wrapped around his cock.

Gale was emboldened by the wine, tipsy off of lust, his mind racing with all that he wanted to do to you, sweep you off your feet and into the weave. but that would have to wait, the here and now, right in front of him, you practically offering yourself to him yet again, he'd be a fool not to take it. "Come here, beautiful."

You let out a sigh, biting down on your lip as you sat down on his thigh. He wrapped his hands around your hips, squeezing slightly, almost reassuringly. He guided your hips back and fourth, while pressing you down further onto his thigh. your dress rode up to your waist, only your thin underwear creating all the friction you ever needed between your pussy and his thigh, getting ungodly close his his bulge yet never quite close enough.

His pace was slow and hard, Still clutching onto you like you absolutely needed it, which, was true, as the longer he rocked you the more wobbily your legs felt. You breath started to get heavier and heavier. Your head fell to his shoulders, the pleasure wracking through your whole body.

"No no, beautiful, look at me when you cum" Gale's hand inched its way to the back of your neck, pulling your head off his shoulder and holding you steady as you looked into his eyes,

It was all so much, his needy eyes begging for you to cum, your throbbing pussy, the small wet stain now on his pants from how gods damn much he turned you on, it was hard to keep his stare but you did, as you moaned his name, gasping as pleasure kept pulsing through your body. "fuck..." you chocked out. He let go of your neck but kept his hand on your shoulder, still keeping a firm grasp on your hip as it was clear you weren't exactly stable.

"I...That was..." You nearly whispered, still shuddering from the orgasm. You were so flustered, something that wasn't too easy for you, yet, he made you. His intensity with a smile had you dizzy. "Do you want me to return the favor?"

He raised a hand back to your jaw, tilting your head to look at him fully, to stare into his eyes.

"Let me make love to you-" Gale cooed, soothing you with his charm. "Sit back and let me give you everything."

"Yes, please-" you practically begged. Gale used his fingers to tilt your head slightly, leaving room for him to trail kisses and love bites down your neck, sucking on your skin, leaving you with shivers down your spine. You leaned into his touch, your hands nearly shooting up to grasp his soft hair, pulling him even closer.

"you're so beautiful-" He muttered between hickeys, breath getting heavier as you pressed your hips against him, feeling how much he wanted you, straining

You pulled away slightly, grasping his hand and struggling a bit to get up, turning to lead him to the bed. Although your eyes were set in front of you, you felt his gaze scan your body, how your hips swayed as you walked, he wanted to take all the time in the world to explore your body, learn it more than anything he'd ever read.

"just lay down, beautiful." He pressed his hand to your chest, pushing slightly, letting you fully relax into the bed, his body hovering over yours, his steady and strong arm next to your head, the other making quick work of unbuttoning your dress.

"Take those off for me," he looked down at your panties, slipping a finger at the band of your underwear and pulling it back, snapping it against your skin. It took a moment to register, there was so much distracting you, but you somehow managed. Completely bare and laid out, displayed like a work of art for him to admire. Gale took a moment, sitting up on his knees, to take you all in. His fingers traced along your stomach, lowering slowly, with such a light touch you could barely tell if it was him or a chill.

It shouldn't have been surprising but when he slipped his middle finger inside, you gasped, letting a moan escape your lips as his finger curled in and out of you, working in a slow and consistent pace. His index finger grazed your clit every time he pumped in and out, lightly, still taking you down from the high of riding his thigh, him knowing you'd still be sensitive, to not overstimulate.

"Come here" You pulled him in by his hair, now slightly tosseled and looking frankly unfair. "kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice, quickly pressing his own lips to yours. He tasted of the sweet red wine, with hints of caramel and clove. He was delicious , addicting. You licked his bottom lip, opening his mouth to allow you deeper into his mouth. While you explored his mouth, he slipped another finger deep inside you, pushing in further than he had been doing before, quickening his pace.

His lips left your own, slightly panting, a bit out of breath. He then trailed down your neck to your breast, looking back up at you, asking permission to suck on your skin. You nodded desperately, gods you needed anything he would give you. His lips attacked to your nipple, sucking and licking, bobbing his head with every pull, it was all building up.

"I'm gonna cum, gods, Gale please I'm close-" You begged, yet he pulled back quickly, you let out a disappointed groan, why would he stop now? It didn't take long to get your answer, he wanted your cum on his mouth. He moved fast to move his mouth to your pussy, not relenting in his speed with his fingers and now, tongue. It didn't take long for the wave of bliss to wash over you, uncontrollable sounds coming out while he rode our your orgasm with one less finger and slowing down with his lips. It wasn't until your hips stopped shaking that he drew out his fingers, moving them to his mouth where he sucked them dry, letting out a small moan when they were clean. "divine.."

His clothes were stripped off, yours now completely tossed aside, the cool air hitting you both, but neither of you really noticed. You were focused on his hard cock pressed against your pussy, grinding againt your lips, getting slick with his spit and your cum. It would be so easy just to slide it in, but he drew it out, teasing you til you begged, pleaded, please, you needed it, you wanted him so desperately. Yet still somehow a fraction of his need for you the past weeks.

Gales restraint was shocking, even to himself, but the sight of you underneath him, begging for his cock, glowing from the orgasm he brought you, was enough for a lifetime, though he hoped there'd be many more lifetimes of this.

One more whimper is all that it took for him to shove himself deep inside you, all the way to the hilt. You felt him pressing against your cervix, a small but sharp pain from the sudden sensation , a good pain, that meant you were taking it all, and so well for him too. He had waited too long for this to stop, he kept pumping inside you, at an unrelenting pace, fast and hard. He switched between sucking on your neck, your breast, and biting your lip, keeping eye contact whenever he could. He wanted to see how much you wanted him, and he wanted you to know how much lust he had in his soul, just for you.

Gale held your neck with his hand, grasping lightly, as he came for the first time, shoving his cock even deeper into your pussy as he slowed his pace down, nearly whimpering in your ear as his head fell to your shoulders, biting down on your skin to keep from some more sounds he found embarrassing, but was so very sexy. You expected him to lay down and rest, after that, but he kept going.

"Flip over for me." He asked, giving your earlobe a small nibble as he spoke. You couldn't move fast enough, laying down on your stomach as he held down your waist, fingernails digging into your skin, leaving small crescent dents. You shoved your ass down on him with every thrust, wave after wave of orgasms wracking through your body, it felt endless, overwhelming. When it all felt like enough he kept going, adding more, rubbing your clit as your ass bounced on his cock, his thumb slipping in and out of your ass, him completely exiting you and only coming back in when you came from his words alone, sweet talking you into more orgasms. Or stopping completely to finish you off with his mouth again, you'd squirted in his mouth more than once, and he came once just from that. Maybe the stopping and starting was also so he himself could keep going as much as he could muster, but that never crossed your mind.

"You take it so well-" and "I want to see you need me" and "You're just too beautiful when you cum, I can't help but follow."

You went until your bodies gave out. Too sweaty, too raw to take anymore.

Gale fell beside you, out of breath, tan skin glistened with sweat and cum, his cock still leaking a bit, though even he was shocked there was anything left in him. You laid there for minutes, maybe longer, it didn't matter. It didn't click that the room next to you had fallen silent until you'd finally caught your breath. Actually...you remember the screams and moans ending a while ago. you notice Gales eyes had also turned to the shared wall, probably coming to the same conclusion as you.

"Do you think they heard us?" You asked, a small smile forming.

"Most definitely."

_

A/N: Well that was a lot huh? This took probably 20 hours straight of writing if not more, so please tell me if you liked it! It would mean a lot to me. Requests are always open but slow, as i'm not a fast writer haha. Thanks for following along! My gale fics have done better than I ever expected, I've gotten about 1k new followers from them I believe, so thank you all!

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[merakiui]

[01] 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁.

villain!azul ashengrotto x magical girl!reader note - welcome to this very impulsive magical girl parody! i'm not sure how many chapters it will be exactly, but i'm looking forward to writing more. i hope you'll enjoy reading! chapter navigation: [01] (you are here) // [02]

Magic is a messy, complex thing.

It can enchant and amaze with beautiful, endless possibilities. It can terrify with traumatic results. Like any sort of power in this world, it is a heavy responsibility for those who wield it. Everything has its dark side; you’re sure the same holds true for magic. No matter how marvelous it may be, surely there exists some shadow.

It’s also something you can’t use, and so the good and the bad don’t really apply to you!

Not that this is cause for envy. Rather, you’re relieved you don’t have to worry about experiencing the problems that accompany magic. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is; magic would only further complicate it. With no other plausible way to return to your world, you’ve had to make your home here on Sage’s Island. It’s an isolated place, boasting two elite magical universities and a bustling town.

It also happens to resemble a chicken wing on maps, so that’s a plus. Truly an ideal getaway! If only you weren’t trapped here indefinitely… Maybe then you’d have better appreciation for it.

As it happens, you’re a janitor living in the abandoned, decrepit dorm on the outskirts of campus. It took a month since you moved in, but you’ve managed to clean it up into a habitable space with the help of its resident haunts. The Headmage hasn’t been very helpful or present since your arrival, and so you’ve had to make do with what little you’ve been given. But for all of his troubling qualities, he isn’t inherently cruel. He’s kind enough to pay you for your services (but then that was only after you threatened him into an agreement), and he doesn’t overwork you (again, this is because you made it abundantly clear you won’t do anything if it violates your own sanity in some way, shape, or form). At least he’s willing to negotiate every time you argue for humane working conditions.

He’s an irksome guy. You can’t believe he has the gall to call himself the ‘embodiment of magnanimity’ when he’s done the bare minimum. Even the ghosts have offered more assistance and they don’t have any sort of authority here! You’re pleased to share a space with them. Sometimes they seem more reliable than the Headmage.

Despite your attempts to acclimate, the illustrious Night Raven College is still a place wholly unsuitable for a magicless human such as yourself. You’re the same age as some of the students here, but they feel like they’re on another level. Flying overhead on brooms, casting spells, mixing up potions… You listen in on some of their conversations while washing windows or sweeping the floors and wonder if all magic schools are this rigorous.

Maybe that’s any school regardless of its curriculum. Any sort of academic pursuit comes with difficulties; that’s normal. But magic is a facet unique to this world. There aren’t any arcane academies where you’re from, but now you wish there were. They seem so fascinating.

“Not much of my problem, though, is it?” you mumble, shaking free of that thought. Being a janitor is great. You can avoid the stress of school and keep up with the gossip exchanged in the halls. It’s like reading the newspaper, only it’s spoken instead of written.

Morning spills through the part in the curtains when you open them. You shut your eyes and bask in the warming glow of a sunshine smooch. It’s going to be another great day—you’re sure of this—and a day as pleasant as this deserves to be lived in its entirety. Perhaps you’ll have a picnic outside or you could even—

BAM.

Your eyes snap open just in time to view the raven who’s slammed itself against the window. Disoriented, it jerks itself up and away from the glass, flapping its wings wildly. You watch its attempts with a pitying frown. And then, inching closer to pull the window open to allow the raven respite, you see it: the blue flames racing towards you at a rapid speed.

With a yelp, you dive out of the way just in time. Due to the forceful blast, the window shatters in a spray of glass. Heat licks at your face, so hot it almost singes your brows, and you stumble to the other side of the room in a panicked daze.

“You lousy bird!” someone exclaims, the words pronounced in a growl. “Get back here so I can nab ya and prove that I’m worthy of bein’ at this school!”

The raven squawks, fluttering wildly about your room. A sleek, obsidian-colored feather floats into your hand. You don’t have time to admire it, for the curtains have just caught fire.

“Come on—I just put those up last week!” you bemoan, looking on in abject horror.

From the opening, a furry creature bursts through. He resembles a grey cat with his short, fluffy stature, but his tail is shaped strangely and there’s blue fire flickering from his ears. The same blue fire he’s currently conjuring in an attempt to catch the raven…

You grab hold of the coat rack—the nearest viable weapon you can think of—and jump in front of him. He startles and leaps back when you swing.

“What’re you doing?! You can’t do that in here! Fuck—my curtains! Don’t light anything else on fire!”

Baffled, the cat-creature scoffs at you. “How was I supposed to know someone’s livin’ in here? Not my fault!”

“It’s a residence! Of course someone lives here! I live here!”

“When they make me the Great Mage Grim, I’ll fix this place up for ya. That’s a promise! I just gotta catch that bird and prove myself a worthy candidate. Just you wait—they’ll be puttin’ my name up in lights!”

“Like hell they will!”

With a devastated groan, you whack the curtains down with the coat rack. They land in a heap, smoke curling from beneath the pile and sliding out the shattered window in dark, wispy tendrils. It takes a frazzled few stomps and smacks before the fire fizzles away, leaving you with charred curtains and the distinct stench of something scorched.

Still panting from the adrenaline rush, you loosen your grip on the coat rack. This is a mess. What am I going to do? I don’t have enough money to fix this!

You turn your hateful scowl on the cat-creature. “You!”

“W-Wait! Wait!” He raises a paw to his lips and gestures towards your bedside table. The raven sits perched, a golden chain wrapped around its neck and an envelope clasped in its beak. In all of the chaos, you must have missed that. “Don’t say a word. It’s right there.”

He approaches stealthily, slow as a sloth, and pounces. He misses narrowly, ending up with a mouthful of feathers instead. The raven caws and takes flight, circling overhead.

He spits feathers. “Myahaha! I got it! I actually—oh. Dumb bird… No one can escape the Great Grim.”

The raven lands on your shoulder next. It cocks its head at you.

“What? Is this for me?” you ask, even though you’re certain of the answer. You pluck the envelope from the raven, who sets to preening itself now that it’s no longer occupied.

“Give it here!” The cat-creature hops up onto your bed, reaching with an expectant paw. “That bird’s got my admission letter!”

“Your letter?” You hold it out of reach and stick your tongue out at him. “No ‘great mage’ sets someone’s home on fire. You’re a subpar mage, if anything.”

“I am not! You just wait—I’ll show you!”

“I don’t want to see anymore.” Turning away, you break the wax seal and procure the parchment waiting within.

He swipes at you impatiently. “Lemme see! What’s it say?”

Written in elegant script, complete with a stamp you’ve never seen before, it looks very official. Whoever wrote it is exceptionally good at cursive, their letters swooping together seamlessly. It’s almost like a decorative artwork with its double-looped O’s and dancing cursive. You marvel at the craftsmanship, wishing your handwriting could look as refined as this person’s.

To whom it may concern,  Greetings and congratulations on your admittance into the program! We recognize your outstanding achievements as a model student and believe you have what it takes to do wonderful things. It is with great pride that we bestow upon you a piece of magical history, referred to as The Tried-and-True Trident. You will find it enclosed in this letter.

You look up from the letter just as an aureate necklace lands in your palm. The raven blinks at you once before lifting itself off of your shoulder with a flap of its inky wings. It departs through the window, up into the cloudless, cerulean sky, in a flurry of feathers. There’s a tiny trident pendant hanging from the chain. It winks at you in the light, so shiny you think you might catch your reflection if you stare long enough. You’re not sure what part of it is tried or true, for it looks more like costume jewelry than anything. At least it’s cute. Kind of fashionable, even.

With this historic piece, you are now free to wield the wonders of the sea as you please. You are expected to use these powers to defend those you hold dear from the threat of tragedy. You should have met with your mentor already. If not, we shall send someone to escort you. We look forward to beholding your excellent heroics. Sincerely,

“Gimme that!”

Grim snatches the letter before you can glimpse the name signed at the bottom. The enchanted letter tears in two and then, before both of your eyes, it promptly disintegrates.

You eye the fuzzball with a fresh bout of vitriol. “What did you say your name was again?”

“It’s Grim—the Great Grim—and I promise ya as soon as I—”

“Good. Now I know what name to carve on your tombstone when I put you in the ground for ruining my letter!” You reach for the coat rack, expression ablaze with newfound ferocity.

Grim yelps and scurries away. “H-Hold on! I can fix it!”

“How? It’s ash!”

“Well, what did it say? I’m sure I can explain it to ya!”

“It said something about this necklace. The something-something trident. Protecting loved ones from tragedy. Admittance into some program. A mentor…”

“Mentor… Mentor! Yeah, that sounds about right!” Grim laughs proudly. “Aren’t you in luck, human! I’m gonna be your mentor.”

“Sure you are.” You rest your hand on your hip, brows raised. “The same cat who destroyed my window and curtains is gonna mentor me in whatever this is. Funny story.”

His jaw drops. “A-At least pretend like it’s cool! And I’m not a cat!” He hops off of your bed with a huff. “Ungrateful human. You’re undeserving of the Great Grim’s teaching anyways! I don’t need you!”

“Other way around.”

“You don’t need me!”

“There we go.” You applaud him sardonically. “Look, I don’t know what any of this is. I’m sure it was a mistake. I’m not even a student here.”

Grim, who had been on his way towards the door, halts. He turns to face you slowly. “Yer…not a student?”

“I work here. There’s no way for me to be enrolled here because I can’t use magic.”

“W-Wha—can’t use magic?! Then why did you get in, but I didn’t?!”

You can only shrug. The necklace twists idly when you hold it up for closer inspection. “So this thing is supposed to help me? Hey, Grim, do you know what this is?”

You lower to his height and hold your hand out. He watches you dubiously before approaching and leaning in to sniff at the chain.

“Smells fine to me. Kinda like wet metal.”

“I didn’t ask for a flavor profile.” You heave a tired sigh. The day’s only just begun and you’re already swamped with nonsense. “Maybe that Headmage knows something.”

Grim gasps. “You’re chummy with the Headmage? You think you could talk him into lettin’ me join?”

“Why do you even want in so badly?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a renowned mage! They should be begging me to join!”

Anyone could’ve sent that letter. It might not even be from the Headmage… If I knew the sender’s name, I could just track them down and ask them. 

“You said you wanted to prove yourself, didn’t you?” You offer your hand again, this time to shake on it. “Become my mentor. That’ll show that Crowley you’re plenty capable. Then you can get into this school and I can find a way to return this necklace to its rightful owner.”

Grim folds his arms over his chest, avoiding your hand like it’s the plague. “And what’s in it for me? My services aren’t cheap, y’know!”

“You can live here with me. I’ll find ways to sneak you into the lecture halls if you wanna sit in and observe the class.”

“How about food?”

“Food is…” Nonexistent, really. That cheapskate Crowley! I’ve got to talk him into raising my pay. “I get paid at the end of this week. We’ll have to survive off of what’s in the fridge and the lunch I’m allowed to get from the cafeteria for now.”

Grim’s features soften. “Hm… I guess it’s not terrible. Could be better. But all great mages start from humble beginnings—including myself, but you’d never be able to guess!”

“Right…”

With how carelessly you tossed that fire around, you’re the last mage I should be partnering with.

“Do we have a deal, Grim? You’ll be my mentor and I’ll help you wherever I can.”

Grim places his paw in your palm, his chest puffed out. “You’d better start callin’ me Teacher!”

A smile strains on your lips. “Not happening.”

With a firm shake, your pact is made.

“So what spells do you know? Any that might be able to fix up a window and some curtains?”

“You don’t need those lame spells! The Great Grim can do plenty of other amazing feats.”

“Like?”

“Very amazing feats. Didn’t you hear me?”

“You don’t know anything, do you?”

Grim flinches, guilt flashing across his countenance.

“Is blue fire all you can summon?”

“I… I can do much more! This is just a fraction of my true power! If I had a magestone, this whole spell business would be a lot easier.”

“A magestone? Ah, those things the students have on their pens? I guess that would be helpful. Where can we get one, though?”

“I’d tell ya if I knew.”

“The library might know. If we head there now, we can spend the rest of the morning researching and then we can get lunch.” You reach to fasten the chain around your neck. It’s tucked under your shirt next, safe and sound. “Wait outside for a minute. I’ll change out of my pajamas, clean up the window, and then we’ll be on our way.”

Grim trots out the door without resistance. “I’ll grab a snack from the fridge while yer doin’ all that stuff.”

“One snack! Don’t eat everything!”

But he’s already bounding away, singing as he goes: “Free eats can’t be beat!” Sighing, you shut the door and turn to assess the state of your bedroom. It could be worse. Your bed could have been damaged, or you could have sustained quite the nasty burn.

One mess at a time.

You change into your uniform, which is really just a PE jumpsuit. The same one the students wear. This one has seen better days and it’s a size too big on you, but it’s all Crowley claimed to have on hand when you asked about work clothes. Once again, you soothe yourself with your favorite adage: It could be worse.

You could be homeless. You could be starving. You could be dead.

So it’s not so bad to wear the spare. It’s still got the dorm patch and class numbers sewn onto it, albeit both have worn considerably. Your eyes are drawn to them as you admire yourself in the mirror. Octavinelle Dorm… You’ve heard there are seven dormitories at this school, each based on a historical figure and representing the various spirits of these people. The sorting at the entrance ceremony was something special for the incoming first-years. You’d felt a little awkward to disturb such a grand occasion, even more so when the Dark Mirror announced to a hall full of talented mages that there isn’t an iota of magic in you.

Quite the humbling experience.

But sometimes you wonder which dorm the Dark Mirror would have chosen if your soul was bursting with magical capability.

As of now you’re a faux member of Octavinelle—whatever that implies.

By the time you’ve managed to sweep the glass, dispose of the ruined curtains, and patch the window with a temporary placeholder—what a relief for pasteboard and masking tape—Grim’s nearly through the few items left in your fridge. You yank him away just as he reaches for a container of leftovers.

“If you eat too much, you’ll spoil your lunch.”

“Can’t imagine that problem.”

“You sound so proud of your bottomless stomach.”

“And you’re not?”

You roll your eyes and tug your sneakers on. “Let’s be off.”

“How’re we gonna sneak me in?”

“How do you feel about becoming my temporary purse pet?”

Grim looks unimpressed when you hold your tote bag open for him. “No way!”

“It has lots of space and it’s stylish. Besides, shouldn’t your dedicated student pay proper respect to her great, glorious mentor?”

He doesn’t bother hiding his approving smirk. “Well, when ya put it like that…”

After Grim clambers into your bag, you lock the front door behind you and set off for campus.

“Please don’t blow our cover, Grim.”

From within the depths of your tote, he scoffs. “The Great Grim is the stealthiest mage you’ll ever meet!”

“I highly doubt that.”

It’s the second time you’ve found yourself in the library, but it’s still just as impressive as ever. You could spend hours here, wandering between shelves and skimming all sorts of tomes. Some of them are written in languages you can’t decipher, so you observe the pictures provided in hopes of gleaning any clues. Grim lounges on a chair beside you, absentmindedly turning through a thick textbook. You managed to find a relatively isolated corner in the very back and it’s not especially busy today. The promise of a hearty lunch keeps him well-behaved.

“Find anything?”

“Nothin’ important. Ugh. This stuff is the worst! Why can’t a magestone fall from the sky? That’d be a whole lot easier than this.”

“It sucks, yeah, but what else can we do?” You rest your face against your palm and scan through yet another page of information. “Let’s keep looking. I’m sure we’ll find something useful.”

“Nngh… I’m hungry.”

“You just ate.”

“That was hours ago!”

“Has it really been that long?”

“Feels like it.”

You lean back in your chair and stretch, listening to the satisfying snap of your joints as they crack into place. “Can you understand any of these words?”

“Most of ’em.”

You point to a specific place in the paragraph. “Can you tell me what this one means? I think I’ve got the general idea based on the graphics, but I could be wrong.”

Grim glances at it, his blue hues waltzing across the page. “It’s about merfolk.”

“Merfolk? They exist in this world?” And then you pause to gather your delayed thoughts. “Never mind. That would make sense.”

“What about ’em?”

“Where I’m from, merfolk aren’t real. They’re fiction.”

“Huh. A place without any merfolk… Bet they don’t have anyone like me either. I’m one of a kind!” Grim chuckles. “So where’re you from?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupts. You usher Grim under the table, who goes but not without protest. He ducks under just in time, hiding within the shadows. A student rounds the corner and stops short when he sees you. He’s holding a few books in his arms, each looking more heavy than the last.

“Ah,” the both of you say in unison.

He clears his throat and offers you a cordial nod. “I wasn’t aware someone had already claimed this corner.”

You eye him carefully. He looks familiar. Glasses. Silvery-grey hair. Blue eyes. Where have you seen him before?

“It’s all yours. I was just leaving.” You move to stand, but he steps closer.

He peers at the open textbook lying in front of you. A smile you can’t quite classify as friendly spreads on his lips. “Is that so? You seem especially engrossed in this book.”

“I like to stay educated.”

I genuinely can’t understand a word in this text.

“On the anatomy of merfolk?”

You shut your mouth at once. That’s what this is? No wonder the diagrams looked…unique. But you’re too committed to your story to falter now.

“Especially the anatomy of merfolk.”

The student chuckles, but it sounds hollow to your ears. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. You’re in Octavinelle?”

You gape at him like a fish out of water before realizing the jumpsuit and its patch. “Oh! Ohhh, no, not at all. This is an old uniform.”

He looks at you with more scrutiny until it clicks. “I remember now. You’re the magicless girl who so carelessly interrupted—ah, forgive me—fortuitously appeared during the entrance ceremony last month.”

What a little fake. You narrow your eyes at him, suddenly defensive. Now you’re made aware of who he is. He was one of the few in the audience during your awkward arrival. Back then, he was clad in a robe with his hood up and so you only caught sight of his glasses and the swoop of his silvery-grey hair peeking out. You’re certain this is the same guy. You could’ve said that without the backhanded barb.

“So my reputation precedes me.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I disagree. You’re still quite the mystery.”

“Well, there’s nothing to solve.” You rise from your seat, reaching for your bag. “I’m just a janitor trying to get by.”

He hums. You can’t decipher the meaning in that, but you don’t particularly care enough to drive yourself mad over it. You feel around on the chair for Grim. He was just here a moment ago…

You drop to your knees to check under the table. Your heart plummets into your stomach.

Grim, you had one job!

“Is something the matter?”

You pop up from beneath the table so fast that your head knocks into it. “Shit! Ow! Yeah, no, I’m fine. I thought I dropped my pencil.”

You scan the rest of the space as discreetly as you can. The student watches you. You don’t like the way he seems to stare through you as if intending to gain access to your very soul. As if he sees something you don’t.

“Have a wonderful day. Study hard. Pass your tests. Get—uh—the scholarship or whatever.” 

Flashing him your most nonchalant grin, you make your way down the aisle at a pace that is the exact opposite of relaxed. There’s no time to dwell on that off-kilter exchange. You’ve got a runaway cat-creature in dire need of capture!

The one day I take off and it’s the day my window’s ruined, I get a weird letter, and my new roommate is missing. That’s horrible luck!

You walk briskly through the library, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. Grim couldn’t have gotten far. You were only distracted for a few minutes, and the library is huge. Perhaps he’s just lost and waiting in place for you to find him. For some reason you can’t fool yourself into believing this train of thought.

Your search takes you out of the library and down the hall. Where could he have possibly gone? Surely he didn’t make his way back to Ramshackle. You check the time on your watch. It’s almost lunch.

Lunch! Of course!

You hurry towards the cafeteria with rekindled purpose.

I’m going to start calling him Gluttonous Mage Grim if he makes this a habit!

Fortunately, Grim is predictable. You’ve only known him for a day—not even—but it’s not so difficult to pinpoint his location after you’ve worked out his motivations. Unfortunately, you make it to the cafeteria just as the grand chandelier falls from its support in the ceiling, crash-landing in a broken heap. And standing just feet away from the damage, looking very guilty, is Grim alongside two students you’ve never seen before. Crowley’s there as well, just as frazzled as the feathers on his coat. He’s in the middle of lecturing them about the importance of this relic—how it’s been with the school since it was founded and it’s an irreplaceable piece that would cost over a billion Madol to fix—when he takes notice of you.

“(Name), it’s devastating! A most heart-wrenching tragedy! Why, it’s enough to bring one to tears.”

“Seems so…” You shoot Grim a vicious look. So much for being covert. Not so stealthy now, huh? “I’ll get the broom.”

“No, not yet. These three—” he turns towards them, yellow eyes fierce— “are expelled!”

“Expelled?!” the navy-haired student exclaims. He looks like he’s just stared Death in the face. “This can’t be… What will my mother think? I promised her I was gonna get good grades, attend all of my classes, pass my tests…”

“Hey, it’s not my fault. That hairball’s the one who started it!” the other argues, his arms folded over his chest.

“No way! It wasn’t me!”

Crowley clicks his tongue. “Unbelievable. This school has zero tolerance for blatant tomfoolery. Surely you’re all aware…” He pauses to look at Grim. “And you! You’re not even a student here! Just what are you doing, trespassing on school property?”

Grim flounders dizzily. “Spinning…”

“He’s my roommate.” All eyes flick towards you. “I’m letting him stay for now. Sorry if that breaks any rules. I just don’t believe in turning others away, even if they’re prone to causing trouble.”

“What a noble soul,” Crowley murmurs, impressed. “Well, if that’s the case, seeing as he’s nothing more than a talking pet cat—”

“I ain’t a pet or a cat!”

“I’m afraid my previous statement still remains in place. He’s not to be on school grounds.”

“You heard the Headmage. No school for you.”

But Grim’s already lying flat on the floor like a defeated pancake.

“Then what about us? That hairball can’t get the easy way out and leave us with the worst of it!”

“There’s a way to fix this, isn’t there?”

“Y-Yeah! Can’t you just use magic to fix it right up? It’ll be good as new. Someone with your skill should be able to do it.”

Crowley shakes his head, mournful. “Magic is not limitless. Not only that, but the magestone powering this great chandelier is cracked. And those are not so easily replaced. I fear this is the final day this miraculous chandelier will ever grace this grand hall with its light.”

The ginger-haired student grimaces. “Not good…”

The other withers. “Expelled… What am I going to do? I can’t go back home with this news!”

A magestone… That’s what Grim needs. You glance at the one set into the chandelier. A ghastly crack runs up the surface. Are they really that special?

Before both can succumb to their melancholy, Crowley says, “There is one way! Possibly…”

“Really? What is it?” they say at once, eyes bulging with hope.

“This very magestone was mined from the Dwarfs’ Mine. Perhaps, should you procure one of similar qualities, the chandelier can be repaired.”

“Then… Okay! I’ll get a magestone! As long as it’s all right with you, sir.”

“Ah, but the mines have been closed for some time. I reckon the magestones are all but gone.”

“I’m sure I can find one. Please, sir, I’ll do anything to stay here!”

Crowley seems to consider this. Eventually, he nods his approval. “I’m willing to postpone your expulsion for now.” The navy-haired student’s relief is short-lived when he adds, “However, if you fail to bring a magestone to me by the first rays of the morning sun, it will be expulsion for the both of you. No further exceptions.”

With a hasty nod, he says, “Of course! I understand! Thank you so much for the second chance. I won’t let you down!”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s get this over with.”

You gather an unconscious Grim in your arms while Crowley instructs the students on how to access the mine. They stride off with different degrees of enthusiasm. You open your mouth to ask permission, but Crowley beats you to it.

“Please do accompany them. I trust you’re responsible enough to handle any trouble?”

“If you raise my pay, I’ll do anything.”

He clutches his chest. “Your proclivity to bargain strikes through to my very soul! Ah, but since I am the kindest Headmage I shall grant your request.”

With a satisfied grin, you hold Grim tighter and run off after the pair. “Thanks again, Headmage!”

You follow them all the way to the Mirror Chamber. It’s just as imposing as you recall, but there’s a serene quality to the space that wasn’t there before. Maybe it’s because you’re here willingly and there isn’t an audience to witness your poorly timed debut.

You approach both of them. “Hey! Sorry to bother, but could I join you?”

They turn to look at you. Grim shifts in your arms, groaning.

“I don’t see why not. Welcome to the team,” the navy-haired student says with an awkward smile.

“Might as well. More people means a faster chance at finding that magestone.” He points at Grim next. “And he better be coming, too.”

“That’s the plan. I’ll make sure he won’t cause any problems for you.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Today’s just not my day. What bad luck…”

“No time to sulk. We’ve gotta get that magestone,” the other says, turning towards the mirror. “Dark Mirror, the Dwarfs’ Mine!”

Grim jerks awake then. “Myaah?! Where am I? What’s goin’ on?”

You hold onto him tightly, preventing him from squirming out of your arms. “Relax. You’ll be fine. I think.”

“What d’ya mean by that?!”

The Dark Mirror brightens with life. There’s a blinding flash of light and then, just like that, you’re taken to the mine’s entrance.

Magestone, here we come!

[dduane]

I've been enjoying the recent Middle Kingdoms works, and was especially taken by the ritual hospitality in "The Landlady". It seemed reminiscent of traditional Irish phrases I've encountered translated into English. If there any influence? To what degree has Ireland leaked into your understanding of the Middle Kingdoms and their cultures?

Re: the Irish influence: there's occasionally some effect on casual idiomatic usages in characters' general conversation, yes. In fact, while doing some editing work on TOTF3: The Librarian just a day or three ago, I caught Freelorn's edgy friend-who-killed-him-that-one-time, Sem, using phrases that unquestionably were not just Irish-originated, but Ulster-originated. :) (And plainly this is @petermorwood's fault. But since the character seems comfortable with the usage, and from where I'm sitting it sounds right for him, I'm not going to mess with it.)

As regards Irish influence on the Kingdoms' formal hospitality-language and culture, though, I'm not seeing much evidence of that. Not that I haven't done a fair amount of reading about Brehon law and other adjacent matters over time as a matter of casual research. But none of that seems to be reflected in any of the notes I made on the Kingdoms' cultures while developing them.

The connection I am pretty sure of is to translations of stock epithets and phrases (and the presence of various general concepts and actions) associated with the practice of formal xenia in ancient Greece, particularly as described in the Odyssey.

In particular, the Kingdoms' worldview seems to share a core concept with the ancient Greek one as regards xenia. This is the idea that personified Deity is walking around in the world, making itself responsible for the protection of people who call on others' hospitality. Both cultures have the idea that people's behavior may be tested by the gods—or God(dess)—to see how well they're obeying the rules set out regarding the welcome properly due to strangers and those in need.*

In the Kingdoms, the concept has had what seemed to me like a more or less logical expansion into the relationship between the heads of organized Houses—what we could equate with local familial lordships, though the actuality in the Realms is a lot less patriarchially hierarchical and more complex—and the people who come to hold land of/from the Houses' heads.

So it made sense to me that there would be basic gestures and phrases that express agreement to various aspects of the contract between a House's head and their holders. Since both writing and literacy died off during that alternate Earth's domination by the Dark, and had to be revived and relearned after its destruction, this contract was for a long time always verbal. Over the centuries, ritualized concrete practices—the exchange of bread and water between Holders and head of House, for example—grew up alongside the spoken content to make it plain that everybody understood the nature and intention of the contract. These, too, I derived from material in the Odyssey and other works of that period: situations, for example, where simply eating something that someone else has given you is itself confirmation that the contract between host and guest is in place and working.

Anyway: thanks for the question. Hope this helps!

*But then readers of the MK books will of course recognize this as the kind of thing the Goddess already does in Her world—not being one of those lurking-and-skulking sorts of deity who leaves you wondering all your life about whether they're real or not. Her basic contract with Her creation already contains the concept that everybody gets to meet Her personally at least once; and—either in Her proper person, or in the form of other people—sometimes more than once. Because yeah, She's busy... but what's the point of being a deity if you don't have the time to sit down with your creation for drinks every now and then...?

[myouiminn]

Realm of Heart

Loki x Reader

Notes: don't repost without my permission!

In the golden halls of Asgard, Loki wandered the corridors with his characteristic wit, while Y/n, a mortal who had become entwined in the events of the gods, watched him with a mixture of fascination and caution. He was an enigma, a being of tricks and illusions, but there was something in his eyes that intrigued her deeply.

On a starlit night, as the lights of the hall shimmered, Loki found Y/n admiring a tapestry that told the story of Asgard's creation. He approached with a curious smile. "Interested in the history of the gods, Y/n?"

She nodded, still gazing at the tapestry. "It's fascinating how legends and myths can shape a culture."

"You seem lost in thought," observed Loki.

Y/n sighed. "Sometimes, I wonder what my presence here truly means. A mortal among gods and titans."

Loki studied her face for a moment. "You underestimate your significance. Not all gods have the privilege of understanding the mortal world as you do."

She looked at him, curious. "You speak as if you know me."

"I observe, Y/n. I observe more than you imagine."

Over time, Loki and Y/n found themselves increasingly engaged in conversations. They discussed philosophy, history, and even the complexities of love and human nature. Each exchange of words revealed deeper layers of their personalities.

One afternoon, while strolling through Asgard's lush gardens, Y/n broke the silence. "Sometimes, beauty lies in the small things that go unnoticed."

Loki arched an eyebrow. "Like what, for instance?"

She pointed to a delicate flower blooming in the shade of a towering tree. "This flower. It's fragile, yet it struggles to bloom even in the harshest conditions."

Loki tilted his head, contemplating the flower. "Do you believe something so ephemeral can truly be beautiful?"

"Yes," Y/n replied with conviction. "Because true beauty lies in the journey, the struggle, and the overcoming."

As they shared moments and conversations, Loki began to realize that the connection he felt for Y/n ran deeper than any illusion he could create. He saw his own complexity reflected in her eyes, and she saw the vulnerability behind his mask.

One night, beneath the starlight, Loki confessed, "You make me feel human in a way I never believed possible."

Y/n smiled gently. "Because you are more than just a god or a trickster. You are a complex soul, just like all of us."

It was in that moment that Loki knew he had found something truly special. It wasn't just a matter of intriguing curiosity, but a bond that transcended realms and ages.

With time, they realized that true beauty lay in their connection, in how they supported each other in their journeys of self-discovery. Amid a realm of gods and myths, Loki and Y/n found lasting beauty in the simplicity of their interactions and the love that blossomed between them.

[love-toxin]

omg are we talking p5....i wouldn't mind ryuji being my yandere because he's just so cute 🥺 yes we can go get 5 bowls of ramen and yes we can do whatever u want bc i love that one brain cell floating around

you are touching my brain wrinkles rn i love u......mwah.....my hand has been coerced.....

Yandere Ryuji Sakamoto HCs

cws: yandere, jealousy, college-era phantom thieves, stalking, mentions of murder, intense worshipper complex, ryuji being well-endowed, rough sex, bruises, pregnancy mention

☆ hc / ♡ spicy hc / ♀️♂️ gendered hc / ‼️ dark hc

☆ Ryuji just happens to bump into you everywhere, primarily at school but also around the city when you're out and about. Each time it happens he tries to strike up a conversation, a couple times you've heard him psyching himself up and practicing beforehand, but when he doesn't he just slinks away and you think that's the end of it--not that he's hanging around and watching you from afar, which he is. It's rare that he's not, not that you've ever noticed.

☆ When he awakens his Persona, he feels unstoppable. It just hits him like a train that he has power, he can protect you, and he gets so much bolder than he was, though he still has to work himself up to talk to you or look you in the eyes. He just fantasizes about rescuing you from villains and getting a kiss from you for his efforts, wondering if he'll ever get to hear you call his name first when you're in trouble.

☆ While his friendship with Akira is too strong to crumble completely, he does get wildly jealous when you show any kind of affection for him, no matter how benign. It could be as simple as chatting away with him on the train or between classes, and Ryuji will be biting his tongue and clenching his fists to keep from throwing something or punching someone. Even if he can't identify exactly why he feels so strongly about it (because it's more than just jealousy, he can feel it) he knows that it's a feeling he has to tamp down as much as possible, because it'll surely scare you away if he shows that side of him to you.

☆ Speaking of friends, his whole friend group knows and routinely teases him for treating you so differently than he does anyone else. He's soft with you and gentle like he isn't with other people, he drops everything to talk to you and you make him laugh so hard even when your jokes aren't the least bit clever. Sometimes they poke fun at him for being so crude and loudmouthed and that he doesn't have a chance with you, especially since he can barely string together a sentence when you fluster him, but they know how much he likes you--some of them have an inkling of just how much, and although it's concerning, those people keep their mouths shut for the most part. Especially considering the tongue lashing they know they'll get if they say a bad word about you.

☆ His love languages are gifts and acts of service, both of which can have a lot to do with food. He'll give you things you never asked for either because he knows you need them, because he snooped on you or because it just reminded him of you and he thought you'd like it. It could be anything from little trinkets, drinks from the vending machines, pens, snacks, bread from the school store, or even an offer to join him for dinner which he promises will be on him. Usually that's ramen, with loooooots of ginger!

☆ In this same vein, acts of service encompass a lot of things, too. He'll sneak an extra pencil or an eraser into your backpack in case you lose yours, and he'll insist on offering you his water bottle because it's important to stay hydrated, and no it doesn't matter if you're playing sports or not. It's still important. Give him his indirect kiss. He'll run things for you if you mention needing to drop something off, he'll pick up things like library books or study materials from your teachers for you (and ignore the scrutinizing looks and disparaging comments from them), and he even risks being late to class when he runs all the way to your house and back to get the assignment you needed to hand in that day and forgot. For lack of better term, he does husband duties at a friend price--he's hoping to change that one day, though.

☆ You know that Ryuji will do anything you ask, he's practically waiting in anticipation for you to ask something of him so he can show you how devoted he is and how capable he can be. He doesn't care if people look down on him for hanging around a nice person like you, but he does get irrationally mad if someone makes a comment about you because you're hanging around him. He's completely convinced that you're nothing but an angel, that even your flaws are beautiful, and that's probably the only way you'll truly understand how he feels about you--when he blurts those feelings out while he's arguing with one of those guys spreading rumours about you, all while you're standing in earshot. So if you ask him, no matter how meekly, if he can do one more thing for you--if he can be your boyfriend--Ryuji is obviously more than eager to fulfill that wish, even though he's embarrassed about the way he confessed.

☆ And being your boyfriend means there's much more room for him to stretch his overprotective muscles. Just being your friend and defending you against rumours or ill whispering just doesn't ring as right as your boyfriend. Trust him, he'll use that term a lot, and in an especially smug way whenever someone either compliments you or tries to ask you out. "See that one there? That one's mine. I'm their boyfriend." he'll say with a grin, his arms folded over his puffed chest, because how much better does it get than this? Even though he's even more scrutinizing about people getting near you, it's totally worth it to have you look at him like he holds the world, even though you're the one that makes it better just by existing. And he's quite happy with that arrangement.

☆ It evolves, though, his obsession with you. Talking about you and showing off your pictures to people isn't enough, it doesn't fully encapsulate how wonderful you are, and he needs more. He both wants people to keep their filthy hands off you and to realize that you're better than anyone they'll have ever met--he wants you to be untouchable to everyone but him, maybe even him, because he's the one that deserves you the least. The worshipper complex develops in him slowly, but it'll come to a head, rest assured. There will come a time when things between you aren't as sweet, and Ryuji will be willingly destroying his life just to lift you up. Abandoning school, ignoring his friends, forgetting about his future.....nothing matters unless it has to do with you.

☆ The only one who can stop him is you. You're the one who has to stop him in his tracks, and encourage him to attend to the things he has to do to get by and will make him happy (even though he insists you're the only one he needs to do that). If you don't facilitate that regression back to his usual self, Ryuji will completely unravel--and that's when he's the most likely to end someone for your own good. That's when he might turn on his own friends just to make an example out of them, while you watch on in horror.

‼️ The worst of this would be if you're also a Persona user, but you're not like him or the others. If you share a similar power to Akira, and you have access to the Velvet Room, Ryuji will be consumed with jealousy over the fact that you two share something he doesn't. You two have a bond that's just different from everyone else's, and you can be sure that Ryuji will be trying to inject himself into those whispered conversations you have--and if he can't, he'll be listening in on them. He can be so stealthy that even Akira won't notice him, and if he hears one word of perceived flirtation or affection, then your black-haired friend might suddenly become indisposed for your upcoming mission. Maybe permanently, depending on how much force Ryuji ends up using in his rage.

♡ Ryuji doesn't know his own strength in many aspects, and the bedroom is also one of those places. Sweet, sensitive Ryuji is not a virgin, but he's not experienced either. His first time was some girl in his third year of high school that he barely even remembers, only that it was embarrassing and a bit unsatisfying to boot. Mostly because he wasn't able to please her, didn't know how, so he's determined not to make the same mistake with you. Meaning, of course, that he's desperate to prove himself--and that he may leave some bruises on you and ruin your ability to walk straight in the process.

♡ He's well aware that sticking it in and calling it a day is not the way to go--so he does what most would be too anxious or proud to do, and he asks you what you like. It's just as good if you don't know, cause you can figure it out together. But if you do, Ryuji pays close attention to everything you say and every area you reveal is most sensitive. He's mostly a neck kisser and a thigh grabber, so if those places are your sweet spots, he'll have quite the fun time seeing how he can get you to react to his mouth and his fingers. He might even suggest touching yourselves in front of each other before trying anything too serious first, to get a feel for what each of you like. And while it's definitely a plus for Ryuji to get to see you so vulnerable and cute, you'll also get to see how totally ruined he can look when he's getting off (because he definitely doesn't hold back) and get a gauge on the size you're working with, cause wow. Whatever you were expecting, it doesn't do his real self justice--it doesn't even begin to measure up to what you're gonna face, which may be either thrilling or anxiety-inducing depending on your experience.

♡ He's completely content with spending the initial moments of foreplay with his clothes on, his lips on your neck, and his hand down your underwear as he lies next to you in bed. He'll lick and spit on his own fingers to make it nice and easy to move around down there, but he won't spend much time away from that soft spot above your collar--he leaves mark upon bruise upon sore little teeth imprint, all spelling out the warning "this belongs to me" without having to say a word.

♡ By the time it gets to penetration, which doesn't always happen if he can get you off sufficiently before then, Ryuji is riled up. This is where strength often becomes a problem--he can barely keep it together long enough to get a condom on, so when he slides in for the first time of the night, he's almost totally gone within seconds of the sensation hitting him. Ryuji will just go hard, pounding your poor guts into mush with hips so wide and strong that it feels like he might crush you, and he could if he really wanted to. But he would never--he much prefers you to be alive, especially when you make such sweet mewls and squeaks and moans when there's air in your lungs and your body's pinned underneath his.

♡ As one might expect, he's a big fan of hitting it from behind. The act of dragging your hips back to meet his thrusts, his blunt nails dug into the fat there to leave visible marks, just strokes that spot inside him that makes him feel like he could cum just thinking about it. Each buck of his hips is so strong it's enough to bruise, and his size doesn't make it any easier, so it's almost certain that he's going to leave you bedridden more often than not if you don't ask him to be gentle.

♡♀️ If you're a female or you're able to carry a pregnancy, yandere Ryuji will beg you to think about having a baby with him. He's on track to getting a good job, he's got money now, and he wants a little product of your love so badly. What better way to flaunt you around as his precious partner than to have a baby cradled in your arms? And he would treat you like such a princess when you're pregnant, it would be just like when you first started dating, except to an even higher power. He would literally ban you from walking as soon as you get to the third or fourth month when you're really starting to show, and would insist on carrying you and your baby around whenever he's home. Refer to him as "papa" or "daddy" when you're talking about him as a father, and Ryuji will just melt right in front of you.

☆ He's just such a good man at heart, such a sweet man, that luring you in to his love is not nearly the task that one might think it is based on his reputation. He can make you love him without really trying, or trying so hard he abandons every other thought in his mind--because you're really all there is residing in there anyways.

[redditreceipts]

hi, I’m not sure how to word this right…I’m a transmasculine (NOT TRANSMALE) woman, it’s hard to explain exactly what it means but that’s the closest I’ve gotten, gnc works too I guess though doesn’t fully articulate it.

But I’ve identified as a lot of things since a really early age, generally always circling back to a trans man. Im a survivor of sexual abuse/exploitation, and I would always find myself identifying as the “stereotypical feminine woman” when I was in a worse state and wanted to be objectified, then identifying as a trans male when I wanted to be treated like a human. I figured this meant trans-manhood was what was really right for me, that womanhood was something I only went to as self harm, but recently I thought “would I want to be a man if women were treated like people too” and I realized I wouldn’t.

I support transgender and transsexual rights fully, but I really wish that there was more acknowledgment of sexism. Not just misogyny…sexism.

I thought I was above misogyny, but I’m only recently realizing at age 19 that I didn’t view women as human the way I viewed men as human, and I felt this way because of how I’ve been treated as a female all my life. The way people treat you from birth goes beyond anything a male could comprehend, and it’s so engrained that no one even notices it. We’re not allowed to express emotions or opinions because it’s “too much” and we’re “too loud” especially if we’re not white (which I’m not), we have to do so much more work to be considered an equal by men, we’re talked about in society as objects to be obtained rather than living breathing complex humans, we’re not given margin for error like men are, we’re held to higher standards, we’re constantly forced to prove ourselves in every single capacity in a way men never have to, we’re treated as objects and toys and constantly referred to only with degrading misogynist slurs, we’re aborted for our sex and not given the same education as male classmates and shut out of conversations and objectified before we can even walk, When it’s laid out like that, yeah it’s no wonder so many women (myself included) feel like manhood is the key to humanity. Because It is. Because in society there are people and women, and the current queer community is all too comfortable to bulldoze over this oppression and pretend there’s no such thing as sexism because acknowledging that means challenging their “everyone is valid uwu” shit. Im not saying there aren’t just actual trans men, of course there are, but come on.

Hey :) sorry for the late answer, I've been a bit busy so yeah

I think I kinda get what you mean when you say that you are transmasculine, and I personally think that if that's the best word to describe it, you should go for it! Identity is always a personal matter. I would however argue that identity does not override material reality, and in political terms, we are defined by our biological sex, amongst other things :)

And yes, you are so right when you say that there should be more of an acknowledgement of sexism in the trans community! Women are seen as subhuman, and a woman has to do much more than a man to just be considered a person. That is especially true in the intersection with race and sex.

And well, the trans gender community relies on upholding gender. How many transmasculine people do you see being annoyed when they're being called "she", and they say stuff like "You're calling me she? With my short hair? Dressed like this??"

the recognition of a member of one sex as a member of the opposite sex is much, much harder without gender steretoypes. Abolishing gender leaves us with the cold, hard reality of the oppression of the female sex. I feel like gender is all the pretty fluff and mystification of a brutal truth: Women are seen as less than human.

And yes, I also sometimes feel like I have to be super androgynous to be considered human. But I'm not, and trying to change your sex instead of changing the oppressive systems is like trying to be straight instead of challenging homophobia.

Anyways, I'm glad you're here :) Here's a cat with an octopus on it's head for you :)

[sneakerdoodle]

I don't mean to be That Guy, but I just started reading some of your pinned essays (they're really good, by the way) and I noticed you referred to the camp in WKTD as Catholic, when I'm reasonably sure it's meant to be Protestant (what with the focus on "faith" over "good works" (as seen in Jupiter's speech in the Red ending, re: "it's only in your heart what matters") (also in this Protestant context "I wasn't born good" is very representative of Calvinist predestination ideas, which is often one of the most yikes parts about Protestantism), among other things)? I hope this doesn't come across as rude, I really do like your writing and analysis, I'm just hoping to inform and/or learn that actually you and a bunch of other people were all aware of some Catholic thing in the game that I missed and actually I was the wrong one.

hey, thank you for reaching out!! you found me out LOL i talk a big game but i actually have an extremely approximate understanding of either the Catholic or the Protestant churches - my only firsthand (and fairly limited) experience is with the Russian Orthodox church, and i think i just kinda absorbed this vague idea of Catholic Guilt™ from hearing other people throw the expression around, but I never got around to fully defining it to myself or figuring out the minute detail of the Catholic vs Protestant experience, and sometimes i do also make the mistake of kind of unconsciously lumping them together in my mind because to me both are equally culturally foreign

so yeah i'm very far from well-versed in the different branches of Christianity, which I hope does not discredit me too much as a Person With Many Words To Say about the Christian guilt complex and trauma and their exploration in media; i really really appreciate your insight, and i will add a note at the top of the essay clarifying this all in a bit :) would you be okay with me linking your ask for credit? and don't worry at all about seeming rude or anything like that, i'm honestly just really grateful you're engaging with my writing enough to reach out and talk to me about it! (glad you're enjoying yourself, too!) if i make any broad assumptions in any other piece of writing you can freely chuck that up to either a lack of thorough and conscious first-hand examination or my brain being a bit hurried and overexcited, so feel free to add any thoughts or corrections you believe would make the conversation more productive overall; but i do also appreciate being given enough credit for you to wonder if i have an actual Good Reason to think one thing over another. i would absolutely always invite any further conversation, and i hope it's not in any way disappointing that i'm not quite qualified to explore this specific one in more detail :) tyvm for sharing your knowledge, & have a good day!

[supermachoman]

I saw your post hihihi, could you write some Aran X reader headcanons? (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) Like how Aran would act in front of his beloved when he realised he has a crush on them?

hihi ! sorry this took a while, im a slow writer & ive been busy lol

okay so. tried my best. i went with the idea of reader/beloved being someone who works for the wvba but isnt a boxer, left it unspecific.

first few bullets are pre-crush/general hc stuff, then the stuff u actually asked for happens. im still figuring out how i wanna characterise these fucks so if it seems odd or ooc please lmk

aran ryan with a crush | headcanons! gn reader

cw brief mention of alcohol and vomiting. nothing huge, just mentioned in passing but slapped this here anyway. also penultimate bullet point is a bit sexual but again only brief, u can skip over it

Emotions aren't Aran's strong point. Most complex feelings he has are released in the ring--he finds bloody noses and bruised stomachs are far more interesting conversation partners anyway--and the ones that stay rooted deep in his belly are routinely sweat out or lost in the haze of a night on the town. Rinse and repeat ad nauseum. Wallowing in it helps no one, after all.

But sometimes, a feeling in his gut won't get chased away as easily as, say, guilt or grief. A stubborn sort of stabbing, not unlike himself, gets tangled in his belly, too stuck for his stomach acid to burn through when wild nights come back for seconds.

As much as his thick skull in the ring would have you think otherwise, he's not dense. He knows what crushes are, had more than enough in secondary school, and he's not oblivious to it nor the source. He doesn't even know you *that* well--yet--but that's never stopped the heart from wanting.

cont under cut

There's no real "moment" he realises, no build-up, just sitting exhausted after a match well-won, and being now too tired to now fight the butterflies swarming his stomach or stop his eyes from following you as you pass by with a clipboard. He hides his gaze with a swig of water, drinking a bit more aggressively than he needs to and spills half of it, and by the time he recovers you've disappeared. The buzz in his gut doesn't fade, just deflates, and his hand meets his sodden hair with a half-hearted groan. Fuck.

For a while, he tries to shove it down. Where knuckles and bottles don't work, brute force emotional repression just might. "Not ready" to be tossed into dealings of love again, he'll try convince himself. Should that fail it's "Grown men don't have silly little crushes, make a move or get over yourself."

He's not as good at hiding his emotions as he'd have himself think. Just as he can't help a cruel grin in the ring, smiles find their way onto his face before he has a chance to realise he's pleased. What he intends to be a subtle smolder looks more like a hyena after a successful hunt, toothy and wide, with red blood swapped for rosy cheeks. Of course, he then attempts to recoup and snap his head away with an exaggerated frown, leaving you to wonder if he was happy to see you or wants to devour you.

Its embarrassing. He feels like a fawn, unable to properly control himself or function as soon as you step in the room. He swears all he has to do is smell you and his heart spikes not that he'd know what you smell like.

Pre-match, he doesn't want to see you. Or during, really. This suffocating adoration that came from nowhere has choked him enough to messing up in the lowest stake situations--he still gets teased over the time he intended to pass you your drink and full-hand knocked it over in his flushed haste--he doesn't want to risk it coming to bite him when it really matters. He makes a point to not provoke the audience close to staff, at risk of seeing your face--perhaps disappointed, perhaps amused--and throwing his game off.

And in turn, post-match is his favourite time to see you. Though Aran Ryan being calm will happen when pigs fly, the rush of a bout serves well to at least temper his energy a bit. Not as erratic, or bouncy, and a bit more in control of himself. Plus any fuckups can be blamed on muscle fatigue. You dote on him as best you can, he's noticed. Asking if he needs anything, offering to ease the strain rippling under his skin... Another bonus of being all tuckered is his face already being red and sweaty, so he's in no rush to hide flush that creeps up his neck as you fuss over him.

He'll make a show, teasing you for wanting to help, and as subtly as he can try to delve a little deeper, find out more about yourself. Whether you're working his wounds or jotting down on a clipboard, your company is exhilarating. It makes him giggle laugh. The insane cackle of a man has never sounded so nervous.

As he learns about you, as you grow closer and start meeting outside of designated hours, he feels both at ease and more tense. Scared of scaring you off, as he often finds he does, but he still won't dial himself back for your sake. Wants you to see him bear all and like him anyway. So he checks. He does what he wants, does his best to not act too different where it matters, and simply... checks. Waits for your reaction. His intention is to see if he should pursue, so to speak, that you simply enjoy him and his company regardless of his reputation or persona or who he is on a genuine level. As well as if, yeah, he didn't need to yell at that guy like that, that was just uncalled for. He's perhaps not the best judge on that end, though.

Speaking of trying not to act different, well, everyone acts a fool in love. He can certainly try, but an early 20s man in a male-dominated sport? There's at least a few masculinity issues trailing aftet him. He can't help but puff his chest out like a bird of paradise when you compliment him, or flex his arm when you so much as graze it. Simply can't stop himself from saying how he could protect you if you're walking through a forest, or wanting to compare hand sizes, regardless of your size compared to him.

Aran Ryan is still Aran Ryan. While there is an extent of not wanting to scare you off, he's not holding back on the name-calling or insults, no mattet how playful. He may dig too deep into genuinely sensitive areas though. Maybe he's still in denial about this, trying to prove it to himself. Or he's just not that great at boundaries.

He's nearly tripped over his own feet several times. One time you managed to grab his hoodie only to also fall onto his back. Nearly died, he swears. Cushioned your fall quite nicely at least. He'll want to make a lewd joke about it, but gets embarrassed as it leaves his mouth because he gets a mental image so it descends into stuttering and ends up insulting you instead to cover himself. Brilliant work Ryan really making yourself look great.

Aran's a mess of a man. He's all over the place. Stuck between wanting to impress you and staying true to himself unabashedly, and he finds doing both is very difficult. Past lovers compounded that. And as long as his affections remain unrequited or secret, that's not really going to change easily. Maybe its comfort he needs, or just a helping hand. Maybe you should say something...

GOD im so sorry this is SO all over the place i qrote this over several days so my flow wasnt there and i dont wanna put too much effort into thesee. i. need to write down how i charactetise these guys stat so im uh sorry if this is shit. i would have a nicer ending to out a ribbon on but idk how to end bullet point hc stuff so. enjoyyy

AND TY FOR REQUESRTING !!! as much as im bitching this was fun to do !!! and also feel free to send more of these in !! i can do more like this or i can do thise ones that like its a scenario and all the boxers react to it those seem fun

[firespirited]

thought I might add a little to a question unanswered by the video essay: the why?

not as an excuse, not a full explanation either because there's still the matter of the Telos money.

but why does a man live, breath and eat for his channel/career without the passion for researching and learning?

I can tell you that he truly *did* devote his entire time and energy to producing videos and engaging with the commentariat as a full time job, though if the video scripts were copy paste. He probably feels like he's devoted his entire soul for years into this project and the copy paste was "just" to keep up with the youtube once a week upload demands.

IMHO, what we have is a bloke with crippling anxiety, loneliness and body dysmorphia with a pathological fear of rejection who attempted to build an online queer community that wouldn't ever let him down. As far i can can tell he barely left the house, didn't date and i started to wonder if he really had moved when he wasn't visiting any of Toronto's very gay friendly places or even some of the museums and libraries, wasn't making any local connexions even when people reached out. Instead, he spent his weekends chatting online (often on livestream) about gay media, business, youtube and film making.

I think he could have built that safe haven if he'd kept the day job, produced a fully credited video once a month which was in the format of let's watch this documentary, let's read this book, let's dive into a topic and read the various articles followed by his livestream chats. There is clearly an audience eager for it.

and that's where it gets uncomfortable, right? the lines blur between shyness + not wanting to be hurt vs not collaborating and not being part of other established groups. Canada not only has multiple gay filmmaking scenes, advocacy groups and even a whole bunch of Canadian queer youtubers. They don't have to all get along, because there's more than just the Canada based breadtube, there are a lot of smaller channels that'd love the opportunity to network.

Anyway, it was during a live that i bought up some local Canadian networking opportunity, he backed off quite hard in a way that felt like a little bit more than anxiety about the fierce competition that goes on for such stuff. It felt vaguely like Little Britain's "The Only Gay in the Village" but mostly I was reminded of folks in my life who decided to forge their own paths in charity work and activism, specifically the very dodgy intersection between missionary work and charity and charities that are about the joy of bringing fish to the hungry instead of helping the locals who know how to fish get the new motor for their boat. It's actually a really complex and nuanced conversation where sometimes the least colonialist choice is to hold your nose and work with the local catholic church - yeah I know, that level of complicated, here's some reading before I start on the importance of translating books to creoles being a better investment than teaching english to match an english curriculum and how relief work is often predatory business opportunities and how secularism is a tightrope balancing act and don't get me started.

It is possible to walk and chew gum and listen to music at the same time. We can talk about how plagiarism is bad, how the algorithm rewards it, how this guy is probably getting more ire than the right wing grifters also brought up, why left tube maybe feels a lil intimidating, why people build their own little digital or offline communes, how being an educator and being a thought leader get smooshed together in an attention economy that wants to create influencers with a parasocial engagement with folks that want personal guidance, sometimes stolen valour/plagiarism/fake cancer is for power and clout and sometimes it's a maladaptive response to a desperate loneliness I hope I never fully comprehend.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Just as Friends

Maggie Pierce x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: small sexuality crisis, hospital setting, explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.3k

Summary: You're new at Grey-Sloan, and Dr. Pierce has caught your eye. Just one problem: she's never gone out with a woman before. And the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes she's not against it.

You stood next to Dr. Pierce at the scrub sinks, lathering your hands. You kept sneaking glances at her. Still pretty, you thought. You’d tried hard to ignore your attraction, to stay professional. After all, this was a new job at a new hospital in a new city. No sense in making waves.

But this surgery had been the first time you’d worked with her. And it turned out she was just as charming as she was pretty. She was focused and talented and funny without trying to be. You saw how she interacted with the others–the surgeons, the scrub nurses, the anesthesiologist. The way layers of conversation seemed to float above her, unnoticed. Her brashness. So endearingly straightforward. She could talk about hearts forever. And you could listen to her forever.

You wondered sometimes if Dr. Pierce was like you. If she was autistic. It’d be so nice, so nice to be with someone you didn’t have to explain everything to. Someone who just got it. Even if you were just friends, it’d be nice. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want more than that.

“You were really good,” you blurted out, trying and failing to think of something better to say. “In the… surgery.” Oh god, you thought. This is terrible.

“Thanks,” she said, matter-of-factly. No false modesty. She knew she was good. No need to deny it.

“Why hearts?” you asked, wanting to continue the conversation.

Dr. Pierce thought for a moment before turning to look at you. “I like the complexity. It’s like the world’s most complicated, high-stakes puzzle. It’s just beautiful. So much life. So intricate…” She shook her head, smiling softly. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to hear me wax poetic about cardio.”

“No, I do,” you replied, probably a little too quickly, too enthusiastically. “I, uh… I like to hear about it.”

She smiled and looked at you curiously. “What about you?” she asked. “Why neonatal?”

You shrugged, drying your hands. “I like mini things.”

She cocked her head and furrowed her eyebrows. “Really?”

“I mean, kind of. I do like small things. But mostly I like the intricacy.”

“I think that’s just another way of saying miniature,” she joked.

“I think you might be right, Dr. Pierce.”

“Maggie. Please.”

Your stomach did a little flip. “Y/N,” you replied, placing a hand over your chest.

Maggie opened the door to the hallway and you found yourself blurting out, “Would you want to grab a drink sometime?”

She let the door swing shut and looked at you, mouth open slightly.

“Like on a date or as friends?”

“Uh, either.” You shuffled your feet, and you were sure your face was turning red.

Maggie seemed lost for words. “I, uh… I don’t… date women.”

“Oh!” You were quick to retrace your steps. “Okay, no worries. Just as friends then.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you thought. You’d ruined it. Two minutes into being friends with Maggie Pierce and you’d fucked it up.

“Can I get back to you?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course,” you nodded. You had a vague feeling that you were nodding too much, like more than was normal for a human to nod, but you couldn’t stop yourself. “No pressure at all.”

“Not about going out. I definitely want to go out.” She seemed to be thinking out loud and when you chanced a glance at her… Was she blushing? “About, uh, whether or not it’s a date?”

You grinned, hands stimming a bit at your sides. “Yeah! Definitely.”

“Okay.” Maggie let out a deep breath, opened the door and smiled at you, forcing herself to make eye contact. You felt your heart contract a bit as you watched her. You knew the drill. The old I-should-probably-smile-right-now routine. “I’ll, uh… talk to you later, then?”

You nodded and grinned, and she gave you an awkward little salute as she left the room.

Later that evening, Maggie sat on the couch with Meredith and Amelia, nursing glasses of wine as they vented about their days.

“I got asked out today,” Maggie told them.

They were all ears, all excitement.

“By who!?” Amelia demanded, nearly sloshing wine all over the floor.

Maggie picked at her fingernails. “That new neonatal surgeon? Dr. Y/L/N?”

“A girl!?” Amelia exclaimed.

Meredith smacked her arm. “Amelia!”

“Sorry,” Amelia said, holding her hands up defensively. “I just didn’t know Maggie was into women.”

“I’m not,” Maggie said, more to herself than the others. “I… wasn’t.”

Meredith looked at her sympathetically. “One date wouldn’t have to mean anything. If you just wanted to see how things go.”

“I just…” Maggie sighed, placing a hand on her head. “I’ve never been into a woman. Even when she asked me, my automatic response was, ‘No, I don’t date women.’ But the more I think about it… I don’t know.”

“I think you should go for it,” Amelia encouraged, sipping her wine. “Everyone’s a little bit bi.”

Maggie rolled her eyes and mumbled to herself. “That’s… not true, but–”

“Look,” Meredith said, placing a hand on her leg. “You’re curious. There’s nothing wrong with that. I say go on the date, just be upfront with her about the fact that it’s your first date with a woman and you’re not sure about how you feel.”

Maggie sighed and nodded, seeming to steel herself. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

The next day, Maggie visited the OB floor for a fetal heart defect consultation. When she rounded the corner, she glimpsed you next to a new mom in a hospital bed. The mom was beaming and so were you. You held the baby–a tiny, soft little bundle–and bounced lightly, careful not to disturb the wires and IVs.

Maggie couldn’t stop herself from watching you, examining her own feelings, her own physical responses. Her heart felt warm to watch you with the baby, fuzzy. And she usually hated feeling fuzzy. But as you brushed a hand along the baby’s face, caressing its cheek, she wondered what your hands felt like. Were they soft? Warm? How would they feel on her skin? The thoughts both terrified and excited her.

You placed the baby in the mom’s waiting arms and spoke softly to her before turning to leave, and Maggie froze when you noticed her, your face lighting up.

“Hey, Maggie!” you said brightly, trying very hard to convey that you really, really wanted to be friends and were very much okay if it was nothing more.

“Hey,” she said, awkward around you now that she realized she might actually like you. “So, uh, about that drink?”

“How’s tonight?” you asked, walking alongside her. “Joe’s after work?”

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of dinner?” she ventured, shuffling her feet.

You stopped in your tracks. “Date dinner or friends dinner?”

“Date.” Her voice was so small, so quiet, you had to lean close to hear her.

A bright smile flashed on your face, and Maggie felt her stomach do a little flip.

“But I’ve never, uh, been on a date with a woman, so… I don’t know…”

“Understood,” you assured her, placing a tentative hand on her arm and squeezing. “No pressure for it to be anything other than one date. Meet you out front at, say, 7:00?”

“Yeah, that sounds great.” Maggie smiled at you–a real smile this time, not a socially-expected smile.

“Perfect!” You gestured to the hallway. “I’ve got a consult to get to, but I’ll see you then!” You couldn’t help your hands, stimming by your head as you walked away.

And Maggie couldn’t help the surge of affection she felt for you as your fingers fluttered. Damn,  you were cute. Maybe she should’ve been dating women this whole time. But then, she supposed she only needed to date one if it was the right one. Maggie didn’t believe in hunches, but she had a sneaking suspicion that you might be the right one.

[kardia-library-official]

I don't usually get into the weeds with this stuff, and yet.

...Actually, I'm not done talking about the Reddit Cecil (and Amber and Kiel for that matter) Hate Brigade. Because like. They're weird.

Like, I get not liking a character, and I get not wanting to marry every candidate (for one thing, you literally can't, at least not in the same save). That's all fine, we all have preferences! But past a certain point, it all just seems way too insistent, and dare I say performative. It seems to come from a place of, like, "look at me, I would never sexualize children! So much that I clutch my pearls at the idea of even liking a fictional character who is short and kinda goofy! I'm a good person, not a freak!" Which just makes one look like a freak about fandom discourse and short people, tbh.

And sure, sexualizing kids is gross, but... Nobody is accusing anyone of doing that on some random Reddit thread of people talking about their blorbos. (I mean, they might, but people try to start fights about all sorts of things.) We can chill! Honestly, it's kinda unsavory in and of itself that this keeps getting brought into it at this level of frequency and intensity. I don't want to think about the abstract concept of someone somewhere being a pedophile when we're just trying to have a lighthearted conversation about which silly little farm game guys are the coolest.

And that was weird enough, but then I realized that I might have it backwards, at least when it comes to some of these people.

Because sometimes I think it comes from a place of... Thinking liking a character and finding them attractive are the same thing? Or at least in a romance-oriented game? So if you think it would be gross to find a character attractive, you have to make a show of hating them, or just instinctively hate them period?

Like I said, it's weird!

As someone who considers Cecil one of their faves in RF5, I can't say I thought about that at all either way? At first, I just thought he was funny and liked seeing his little adventures. Then I realized that his characterization is actually really interesting, and among the most complex of a slightly underwritten bunch.* I like how his issues and story remind me of what it was like to be 18-19 and trying to be taken seriously as a person! The implicit tension around how protective Martin and Terry are towards him when it's probably their lives that would fall apart without him is fascinating. He's just really neat! And I feel comfortable saying that, because "I like this character a lot" isn't interchangeable with "would smash," and that's kind of a weird assumption to make. Do... Do they think that's the only reason to like a character at all? Do they think that's what we're all doing? Is that what we're all doing, and I didn't get the memo?

Like, there's a point where I have to wonder... How the hell horny are these people? If my reasoning is correct, hornier than I can get my head around. O_o

(...Not that I have anything against being horny! You probably know this if you've read my fic. But there's also more to life! You probably know this if you've seen the word counts on my fic. :P)

*imho, he gets what might be the best blink-and-you-miss-it subtle character moment in the whole game... The thing where Yuki said he gives a really good shoulder massage? And then you think about it for a sec and realize where/why/how he picked up that particular skill? I think about that constantly and hope it was intentional and not just me reading into things too much.

[unohanabbygirl]

When Aemond realizes that Luke might have faced addiction problems, what will possibly be his reaction or I guess I should say will he actively take part in getting Luke more help outside of Brienne. Luke may not be receptive to his intentions at first I think cause let’s face most individuals with addiction deny there is a problem at first but would be interesting to see if the dynamics of their relationship will change. Being that Aemond has a low pov of individual who do drugs or live on the streets, does his perception of that change knowing that now his love is the one facing those problems and it isn’t easy to say “just get it together.”

I’ve seen firsthand how people’s opinions of those who are facing certain situations such as homelessness or drug addiction do complete 180’s after someone they care for falls victim for those very issues, so it’s safe to say that Aemond be the same.

As of now he’s very ignorant when it comes to the true reality of these issues and feels people should be able to pick themselves up by their bootstraps or ‘just say no’. He’s never truly been in a place to understand how serious and complex these things are and that a community filled with understanding patient neighbors rather than being walked over and looked down on in contempt is how you deal with it appropriately. After all, no one WANTS to live on the streets or lose themselves to addiction. And no matter how cringe worthy he thinks they are, those motivational posters on the wall at Lotties is likely the reason at least one person didn’t break their sobriety. Because sometimes we just need a reminder that we’re seen and our struggle is valid.

It’s a mix of Aemond’s general personality being very snooty and seeing himself as above others, and being so sheltered that he truly does feel addiction is the fault of the addicted. Alicent shielding him from her past as a struggling teen mom before she reunited with Nyra only makes this worse.

Aemond’s initial thoughts feelings will be denial ofc. He knows Luke’s past isn’t pretty but a user of hard drugs isn’t something he’d ever pegged Luke for. He feels Luke is way too smart to do something so stupid, not taking the time to sit back and wonder why he may have fallen down that rabbit hole in the first place or what factors contributed. Then once it all comes out and it’s confirmed that Luke has faced addiction he’ll he upset, angry at not only Luke but the world. It’ll take a good kick in the head to come to his senses as well as a few conversations with his mother, Harwin, and even Aegon who knows what addiction is like since he still struggles with alcohol.

It’s the first step towards not only changing his worldview but coming to see how much this has damaged Luke. Seeing that these issues aren’t a matter of being “too smart” or ‘stupid enough’ to do drugs, but being taken advantage of while in a vulnerable place by a predator. A kid whose life was so horrible that popping a pill or two to feel some semblance of happiness was how he managed.

It’s one thing that’ll truly help Luke keep himself from drowning. His understanding that this isn’t Luke’s fault.

[intheorangebedroom]

Hi! My brain won't leave me alone. Is Benny totally clueless what's happening with reader? I mean not about Frankie but she is definitely keeping her distance and secrets. She doesn't really opened up to him about her past struggles because emotions feel messy and she hates to be out of control (?). And she feels like she doesn't really connect with him because of being vulnerable means, she should trust another guy which she didn't do since Frankie. I wonder if he feels he is more invested in this relationship emotionally and he could never fully reach her no matter what he does.

Thank you so much for this ask 🧡 You get them, her especially, and it makes me very emotional, in a very good way 🧡 I'm afraid I'm going to ramble again, I'm very sorry 🤦🏻‍♀️

"emotions feel messy and she hates to be out of control"? Is a perfect way to describe her struggles. She was raised by a selfish, narcissist mother who resented her for just being there, so she grew up thinking she takes up too much space, and that her emotions were not valid. So she's learned to bury them, sometimes dulling them with physical pain.

This said, Benny has been a big step forward in her life. While Eric was her attempt at "normality", Benny makes her feel genuinely good. He's carefree, and his levity is contagious. But she's not completely herself.

I’m fascinated by the idea that some of us are complex puzzles who present different sides of ourselves to people. The idea that no one can know anyone thoroughly, and how it plays in the soulmate trope. That soulmates instinctually know each other entirely, and love each other wholly.

PTMY is a fairy tale because that's what Frankie is to Reader, and Reader to Frankie.

Regarding Benny, it took him a LONG while, where Frankie would have sensed it in a split second, but he's finally realised something's wrong. In “Love is Blindness”, their conversation on the phone was supposed to show that. He starts by talking about his drink with Frankie but then remembers to ask her about her night with Rosie, he wants to hang the curtains, in the end he plainly asks her if everything's alright. I've tried to be a little more obvious about the fact that he suspects something in the next chapter.

He thinks -poor baby- he might be doing something wrong, and he's willing to fix it. Benny doesn't pause to think, he acts. He's not good with words, but he does give her affection. I don’t think he's ever formulated it to himself, that he's more invested. He certainly is, but that's not how he perceives it. He's too straightforward. He thinks that she needs more time, and he's willing to give it to her.

And you are right, she's made a conscious choice to not open herself to anyone like she did with Frankie. She's waiting for him. She's been waiting for him her entire life. Long before she even met him.

Wouldn't you wait for this man?

I hope I’ve answered your questions?

THANK YOU, ILY 🧡🧡🧡🧡

[verdanabdit]

What do you think of Sans being slightly taller than Papyrus as kids and then Papyrus slowly outgrowing him? It’s a hc I’m surprised I haven’t seen anyone talk about. Also it reminds me of this comic from another fandom

I love it!! I've seen a lot of then-and-now artwork of them portrayed like that and I love it every time.

Most seem to gravitate toward Sans starting near his adult height when Papyrus is like 5, though, which implies a pretty big age gap. This height discrepancy is more fun to think about when they're way closer in age, though. Like 4 years or less. (Even better if twins.)

I wonder how they'd feel about it at the time? If they're still young enough at the time, maybe Papyrus tactlessly asks why Sans isn't growing like he is, and Sans starts thinking maybe there's something wrong with him.

When they're a little older, maybe Sans is just a little sore about it, even if he likes seeing Papyrus excited every time he measures an inch taller. Maybe Papyrus, despite being happy to be growing taller, is kind of sad that the physical dynamic is changing so much, that he doesn't fit so well in his brother's embrace anymore, and he likely won't ever be fully enveloped like he was when he was smaller.

If we go down the route of them being each-other's romantic or s☆xual awakening, maybe it'd actually sort of delay their realization if it's still a sore point at that age. When you're young enough that you don't know what matters or even what you like, a height discrepancy "outside the norm" can seem super unattractive. On the opposite end of that, it could also be yet another point of shame. Not only are they having inappropriate thoughts about their brother, but those thoughts sometimes focus on that height discrepancy. Papyrus feels bad for the mixed fantasies of crowding his small older brother who obviously still isn't happy about being so short, and of still being so well taken care of by his loving brother despite being so much taller. Sans feels bad for the thoughts of someone so much bigger than him being reliant on him, and of his younger brother growing big and strong enough to take care of him if he needs it when he should be the one taking care of Papyrus.

Typically, you don't carry a height complex into adulthood and be a pleasant person, so any worries about their heights faded away a long time ago by present day. It was awkward coming to terms with it at the time (especially when admitting both ends of it is kind of attractive to both of them), but it's just normal now.

(Conversely, Papyrus wants to grow even taller, and insists he's not done growing yet.) ... (10 years go by and he hasn't grown again. He still insists.) ... (Suddenly, at the age of 32, he grows 5 more inches. "I TOLD YOU SO!")

[ghostofadeadpoet]

A Wes Anderson-esque Review of The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar

July 8th, 2074

“Images do not stay in my memory for long. It’s a curse I have been dealing with throughout my life. I forget the face of every person I meet, which sometimes even includes my close friends. To my fortune, I am gifted with the ability to remember words. I can memorise an entire book of 3000 pages by reading it just once,” he says as he finishes his meal.

“That’s incredible. You must have read a lot of books,” I say.

“In my younger days, I’d fritter my time away reading hundreds of books which never piqued my interest. I did it because it seemed to be the best use of my ability until I realised that it was my fellow humans who fascinated me. I took more joy in conversing with a random stranger during travel than in reading Sartre.

Which brings me to the creepiest aspect of my ability, which is that I can recite a whole conversation I had with another person word-for-word. The time and place of the conversation don’t matter in the least because I remember every word every person spoke in front of me ever since I was five years old.

Now, at my frail old age, death looms over me and most people I’ve met in my life have passed away. But they were never forgotten, and I must ensure, at the best of my ability, that it remains that way, which is why I asked you to create this collection of interesting conversations I had over the years.”

I assure him with a smile.

“So, shall we start?” he asks.

“Sure, do you have anything in mind for the first one?”

“Yes, I do. I want to kick off with something light-hearted.”

“Good to hear.” I press record on my device. “You can start,” I say.

“The following is a conversation I indulged on 28th September 2023 with a man whose name I didn’t bother to ask.

Before the city became uninhabitable due to climate change, Chennai used to be densely populated, where summers lasted for ten months. I was in the backseat of an autorickshaw, the one where you share the ride. I was accompanied by a young man in his mid-20s, whose face I don’t remember. Not even the details, there weren’t any oddities about him. He probably looked like everyone else.

Most people don’t like to be bothered and are comfortable with being quiet. People who’d like to be bothered become restless when in front of abject silence. Symptoms: tendency to be fidgety and shaky legs. It’s not always the case but you can rely on it as an effective measure to avoid throwing yourself into awkward situations.

To my luck, he was kind enough to take the burden of having to start a conversation away from me. He pointed at some place which was likely a house or an apartment complex and said, “That’s where I grew up.”

I’ll spare you the small talk. He was a screenwriter and was involved in the cinema business, something that I always ignored due to my condition. A famous filmmaker, Wes Anderson, had released a short film called “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar.” I lied that I knew about this director and he didn’t think twice before he started to talk about his experience of watching the film.

On the surface, it seems like a gimmick. Anderson, who is a student of French New Wave films must just be paying tribute to Truffaut’s Day For Night. But for FOUR CONSECUTIVE FILMS? There must be something more to it, and Henry Sugar helped me figure it out.

Suspension of disbelief takes place when a reader or a viewer is completely immersed in the world created by the author where the illusion is so strong that the laws of reality don’t matter anymore. Every film has its own unique set of rules, colours, costumes, style of acting, etc., Everything must come together as a cohesive experience for the audience to be immersed. If a film strays away from its ‘rules,’ let’s say the colour tone of Grand Budapest Hotel suddenly changes to the one from Asteroid City, or Adrien Brody gives a Shakespearean monologue in The Darjeeling Limited, the illusion will be broken.

The more whimsical the ‘rules’ are, the harder it is to establish them. It’s easy to set up a film like Rushmore where the ‘rules’ are somewhat grounded in reality. Isle of Dogs and Fantastic Mr. Fox had the luxury of being animated. The same can’t be said for his recent live-action films where the characters don’t talk or act like real people. Thus, the story-within-story trope allows Wes Anderson to establish his world. Henry Sugar takes it to the extreme with its frequent fourth wall breaks, allowing Wes Anderson to not be limited by expectations of realism and conventional storytelling.

Asteroid City, for example, could work without Bryan Cranston’s TV show segments, but they embellish the overall experience. When a film called Asteroid City starts with a character saying “Asteroid City does not exist,” you observe the movie and its characters from a detached perspective.

As soon as I finished watching The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, I read the original short story by Roald Dahl. I know film adaptations that are better than their source material, but I’ve never seen a filmmaker take an awful book and make it charming. Wes Anderson uses a fusion of audiobook and stage-play style of narration where the characters narrate the action instead of performing it. The visuals exist merely as an aid and not the primary storytelling device. You can understand 95% of the film with your eyes closed.

Roald Dahl makes the classic mistake of ‘telling’ and not ‘showing’ throughout the story which takes the reader out of the immersion. Anderson, on the other hand, takes it to the extreme to the point it is ridiculous. It takes you out of the immersion as well but in a good way,” he paused.

“I think I have to get down here. It was nice talking to you,” he said. We shook hands and he got out of the autorickshaw.”

“It wasn’t exactly a conversation, was it? It was more of a monologue,” I say.

The old man shrugged.

“Did you watch the film?” I ask.

“I did. Many times, actually. I used to resist cinema because ‘what’s the point if I can’t remember any of the frames’ but then when I rewatched The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, I realised that I could experience the cinematography again and feel the same way I did for the first time, a luxury I never had with words. I could never feel anything when my wife tells me that she loves me because I remember the ten thousand times she said it before. It’s good to forget just a little.

I began to appreciate the images I encounter in my everyday life. Every time I look at the eyes of the love of my life, I see the glint in her eye with affection I’ve never seen before. And of course, I began to appreciate cinema. Although, I don’t remember many of the films, except for some Wes Anderson that were basically audiobooks.”

“Why didn’t you ask his name?” I ask.

“I never thought about it. Perhaps the ‘monologue,’ as you’d call it, made me see the beauty in the unknown.”

I stop the recording.

“It was nice talking to you. I will write them down, and uh…”

“You can call me,” the old man writes down his number on a tissue paper and hands it over to me.

“Thank you so much,” I say as I get up from my seat.

“And my name is”

“No. Let’s not share our names,” I say with a smile.

I leave the dining hall to return to my hotel room. On my way in the elevator, I open my device to add The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar to my watchlist.