#I was sort of in a rut when it came to writing the routes so I decided to finish up the discord server :)

[ite-its-jellyfish-love]

The Discord Server for Ite! It's Jellyfish Love! is now live!

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[criminalmindzjunkie]

Reassurance

masterlist

part one

Summary: Spencer feels insecure, and Reader puts his worries to rest. 

A/N: I got several requests to write a follow-up to Avoidance , and after writing almost the whole entire thing, only to scrap it all because it was literal trash, here we are! I initially planned to go a different route with this, but it didn’t flow right and I ended up changing the entire plot line somewhere along the way. I really like how this turned out, and I hope you guys enjoy it, too!

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom!Reader

Content warnings: cursing, Spencer being insecure, hand job, oral sex (male receiving), anal fingering, pegging, light degradation, Spencer experiencing sub-drop

Word Count: 6k

           Spencer’s lips drag against mine at a slow, deliberate pace as I sit perched on his lap, my hands tugging lightly at where his hair curls at the nape of his neck. One particularly harsh tug has Spencer gasping into my mouth and tightening his grip on my hips, pulling me down until I’m fully sat on his lap. The bulge tenting his slacks comes in full contact with my clothed core and I hum appreciatively against his lips.

           “Getting excited there, baby?”

           Spencer lets out a whine of protest when I pull away, leaning forward in an attempt to reunite our lips. I press my hand flat against his chest and push him back until he rests against the couch cushions.

           “I thought you wanted to watch a movie tonight?” I ask him, my lips curled up into a knowing smile. Spencer’s thumbs begin to rub soothing circles into my hips as he fixes me with a shy smile.

           “Maybe later,” he replies, sheepish. He looks breathtaking - bathed in the soft glow of the lamp light, shadows dancing across every perfectly chiseled inch of his face. Faint purple bruises dot the underside of his jaw line, remnants of the last time we had been afforded enough time to get tangled up under the bedsheets. I press my thumb to one of them, applying just enough pressure to cause Spencer’s breath to hitch. In another day or two, the purple and yellow discoloration would be gone, leaving no trace of our time together.

           I release my hold on his jaw and make a mental note to see to it that he has another set of pretty marks before the weekend is over.

           “Later?” I lift the hand that was splayed across his chest until I’m able to fiddle with the top button on his dress shirt. “You talk as if you have something else you’d like to do first. Care to share?”            Spencer squirms underneath my gaze, eyes flitting between my lips and where I’m pressed firmly against his erection. I watch him flounder to come up with a response before deciding to forgo words completely and rut himself against me, eyelids fluttering closed as he lets out a low whine.

           I click my tongue at him and raise up until my center hovers over him, torturously close but not quite close enough to touch.

           “What’s the matter, Doctor? It’s not like you to be at a loss for words,” I taunt as I pop open the last three buttons of his shirt. Now that the milky white skin of his chest is on full display, I waste no time in dragging my fingernails from his collarbone down to his navel, light and teasing. The action elicits a shiver from Spencer, who looks up at me with glossy eyes and blown pupils.

           “P-Please,” he stutters out.

           “Please, what?” I prod, cocking my head to the side. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

           Spencer’s tongue pokes out to run across his bottom lip.

           “I want you,” he breathes out, low and sultry. “Now. Don’t wanna wait.”

           I let out a pleased sigh as I lean forward to capture Spencer’s lips in a heated kiss. Spencer’s quick to reciprocate, eagerly licking into my mouth as soon as my lips brush against his.

           It’s not long until I feel the hands on my waist begin to tug me back down onto his lap, eliciting a giggle from me.

           “Such a needy little thing,” I murmur against his lips.

           Usually, a comment like this would be met by some sort of mumbled affirmation. But this time, as soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel Spencer’s whole body tense up beneath me.

           “Does… Does that bother you?”

           I pull away and give Spencer an inquisitive look.

           “Does what bother me?”

           Spencer averts his eyes, “That I’m so submissive.” He spits the word out like it burns his mouth – like it’s something to be ashamed of – and I can’t suppress my frown.

           “Why would that ever bother me?”

           Spencer gives a feeble shrug of his shoulders, still refusing to pull his gaze from where it rests on the floor.

           “I read an article in Psychology Today that discussed a survey in which 172 German adults completed a personality questionnaire and then measured their own preference for a dominant partner. Not only was the general consensus that both genders prefer dominant partners, the participants also agreed with statements like ‘a very nice partner is often boring’ and ‘I feel attracted to assertive partners.’ So, it’s only natural that you might get tired of me always being such a pushover and search for a more exciting partner than can keep you stimulated-”

           I clamp my hand down on Spencer’s mouth, effectively ending his self-deprecating rant and forcing him to look up from where his eyes were burning a hole into the floor. When I know he isn’t going to try and continue down that particularly awful train of thought, I remove my hand.

           “First of all, you are not a pushover. Insinuating that you are a pushover would also be insinuating that I’m taking advantage of you. Do you feel like I’m taking advantage of you?” Spencer’s eyes grow wide and he frantically shakes his head.

           “Absolutely not. I… I love what you do to me – with me. What we do together. I-I just want to be sure that you like it to. That you’re not just humoring me until someone who can actually give you what you want comes around.”

           I feel my mouth fall open from shock somewhere during the middle of his spiel. He can’t actually be so oblivious to the fact that I enjoy the hell out of our sex life, can he?

           Apparently, he can and he is, because Spencer takes my silence as affirmation.

           “I could try? To d-dom you, that is. I’ve been reading up on it and-”

           “Spencer, where on earth did this come from?”

           Spencer blinks hard, “I told you – I read it in Psychology Today.”

           I shake my head at him and slip off of his lap and onto the couch cushion beside him.

           “No, that’s not what I meant. What made you think that I’m not happy with our sex life?”

           “N-Nothing in particular,” Spencer stammers. “I just know that I’m not exactly the most masculine guy, and I want to make sure that you’re, you know… happy. With me.”

           And there it is.

           I reach for Spencer’s hand and link our fingers together.

           “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that comment Derek made this morning, would it?” Spencer doesn’t answer, but the way his eyes drop to his lap tells me everything I need to know. I tighten my grip on his hand. “You know he was just messing with you, right? As out of line as it was, he was just being… Derek.”

           “He wasn’t wrong, though. I am extremely docile – along with a litany of other very passive traits. I’m not strong or assertive or confident like Derek; I’m basically the complete opposite of the ideal male partner. All I’m good for is spouting out information that’s only sometimes useful. No wonder you don’t want to-” Spencer clamps his mouth shut and his cheeks burn red. “Forget it. C-Can we pretend this conversation never happened?”

           “No wonder I don’t want to what?” I prod, brows furrowed in confusion. But still, Spencer refuses to meet my eyes. “And as far as all the other stuff goes, it doesn’t matter if you’re assertive or strong. I prefer my sweet, gentle boy over guys like Derek Morgan, any day. My ideal male partner just so happens to be pretty boys with curly brown hair and massive IQs, not aggressive alpha males with overinflated egos.” I bring Spencer’s hand up to my lips and place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “I’m being serious, Spence. There’s a lot to love about you.”

           Spencer’s next words are hushed, so quiet that I almost don’t hear him when he says, “Then why haven’t you told anyone about us yet?”

           In the two months since our first time together, neither of us had been brave enough to broach the subject of what exactly we were doing. With neither of us quite sure how to go about defining the relationship, we’d fallen into a sort of routine. Whenever it came time to pair off for the night and retreat to our hotel rooms, Spencer and I always made sure that we were paired together. Hotch never seemed to care – he was just happy that we weren’t walking on eggshells around each other anymore - and the others were kind enough to keep their suspicions to themselves. On the weekends, or really any time that we weren’t working a case, time off was spent in each other’s company, be it at Spencer’s place or mine. Days full of impromptu adventures to farmer’s markets and niche antique shops devolved into passionate nights spent learning every inch of each other’s skin until no stone was left unturned. It was the perfect arrangement.

           Or at least it would’ve been, if Spencer and I hadn’t managed to fall half way in love somewhere along the way. It was glaringly obvious early on that it was way more than just sexual chemistry that kept us both coming back for more, but owning up to that fact was a whole other issue that neither of us was ready to deal with.

           Until now, apparently.

           “I-I mean, we haven’t talked about what exactly this is, so I wasn’t quite sure how to go about that,” I stammer. “But now that you’ve brought it up…”

           Spencer finally looks up and his eyes are filled to the brim with equal parts fear and hope.

           “I-I really want there to be an us,” he whispers. “I kind of thought that much was obvious.”

           “And I thought the fact that I have absolutely zero complaints in the bedroom was obvious, but here we are,” I tease, and Spencer lets out an involuntary giggle when I poke at his side. “I want there to be an us, too. And for what it’s worth, I like you just the way you are, Spencer Reid - just so we’re clear.”

           “Really?” Spencer persists. From anyone else, it would seem like they were fishing for compliments, but from Spencer? I knew my sweet, darling boy just needed some reassurance.

           I lean forward and capture his lips in a long, languid kiss.

           “Really really,” I mumble when I pull away. “Have I done a thorough enough job drilling that into your head, or do you need some more convincing?”

           “More convincing,” Spencer replies as he ducks in for another kiss. “Lots and lots of convincing.”

           I smile against his lips, “That’s good to hear, because I sorta had a little something special planned for you.”

           “Something special?”

           I slide my hand from its place on his knee until my fingers glide across the tip of his clothed cock.

           “Remember that thing we talked about last week?”

           I can feel the way Spencer’s cock twitches under my hand and I have to bite back a smile.

           “Y-Yeah?”

           I give his bulge a light squeeze that has Spencer moaning low in his throat.

           “Only if you want to. There’s no pressure at all. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’d be perfectly fine if you just wanna watch that movie and cuddle a bit - you know that right?”

           “Yes, but I still want to,” Spencer chokes out. “Very, very much.” And then he’s bringing a hand up to cup my face before slotting our lips together again.

           The kiss is sloppy, seeing as we’re both much too excited to worry about being precise. Spencer spends time exploring my body with his free hand, starting at my hips and then dipping underneath my t-shirt. Spencer’s hand is just shy of skimming over my bra when I pull back and he lets out a frustrated whine when I pull his hands off of me.

           “I wanna ask you a few things before we do this, okay, baby?” Spencer flushes a deep crimson as he nods. “Have you ever experimented with any sort of anal play before?”

           “N-No, I haven’t. Is that okay?”

           Spencer Reid, you are going to be the death of me.

           “That’s perfectly fine, sweet boy,” I coo. “I’m just trying to get a feel for what’s going to be the most comfortable for you. We’ll start small and work our way up, okay?” Spencer nods, prompting me to tack on an, “Assuming that you want to, that is. This is all on your terms, and I need to make sure that you know that nothing’s going to happen that you don’t expressly consent to first.”

           Spencer’s lips pull up into a sweet smile.

           “I know, and I trust you,” he says. “And I consent to it. To all of it.”

           “You’re gonna have to be a little bit more specific than that,” I chuckle. “What exactly are you consenting to?”

           Spencer shifts in his seat, “Y-You know.”

           “Yes, but I want to hear you say it, baby.”

           Spencer gulps hard, “I-I want you to fuck me. Please.”

           I let out a satisfied hum and remove my hand from Spencer’s lap.

           “I want you to go to the bedroom and take off all your clothes. Then I want you to lie in the center of the bed and if I walk in and see you touching yourself, I’ll walk right back out and I won’t touch you for a month. Are we clear?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss.”

--

           I spend much longer than necessary in the living room, sitting on the couch and scrolling through my phone for nearly ten minutes before getting up and making my way to the bedroom. The anticipation is half of the fun, in my opinion, and I take great pleasure in imagining Spencer squirming against the sheets, desperate for me to walk through that door.

           I rid myself of my skirt and blouse as I make my way down the hallway, leaving me in only my panties and bralette. I can hear Spencer’s heavy breathing before I even reach the bedroom, and it makes my stomach flip excitedly as I push open the door.

           Spencer lays in the middle of the bed, hands grabbing at the sheets as he rolls his hips in vain. His cock stands painfully hard, leaking precum and bobbing up and down with every motion of his hips. Spencer doesn’t see or hear me when I come in – his eyes are closed tight and his bottom lip is nestled between his teeth, blissfully oblivious as he ruts up into nothing.

           “It seems like my poor, needy boy has worked himself up into quite a state.”

           The sound of my voice startles him and he immediately halts the movement of his hips. Spencer’s eyes watch on and I walk over to the night stand, taking my time as I remove a bottle of lube, my harness, and the newly purchased dildo bought especially for my sweet boy.

           Spencer’s eyes linger on the silicone member, wide and curious as I set the items on the bed and crawl in between his legs. He spreads his legs without being prompted, leaving him completely exposed to me, and the action makes my heart swell with pride. My good boy has learned so much in the past two months.

           “M’gonna suck that pretty cock of yours now, and I want you to keep your hips still. Can you do that for me, baby?”

           Spencer nods frantically, “Y-Yes, Miss. Please – I need your mouth. I’ll be still, I promise.”

           I let out a pleased hum as I take him into my hand, dragging my fist up and down, spreading precum across the entirety of his length.

           “I know you will, baby. You’re always so good for me. So eager to please.”

           I lean down and begin placing kisses to the sensitive skin of his thighs, all while continuing to work my hand against him. I nip lightly at the skin above his right hip and Spencer sucks in a ragged breath when I suck a pretty purple bruise in the very same spot. It contrasts starkly with his porcelain skin, and I enjoy the way it looks so much that I continue until a plethora of love bites litter his inner thighs. When I finally sit back and admire my work, Spencer’s writhing so pitifully against the mattress that I decide to put him out of his misery.

           Spencer devolves into a whimpering mess the moment I take his tip into my mouth, his head thrashing wildly against the mattress when I swirl my tongue around him. I take my time with him, not at all rushing my descent onto his cock, choosing instead to tease him with a slow, steady pace. If Spencer minded my slower than usual pace, he didn’t say so. He was too busy choking out an unrelenting string of the most wanton moans I’d ever heard as he watched himself disappear into my mouth.

           I decide now is as good a time as any to up the ante and I pull my mouth away from him.

           “W-Why did you stop?” Spencer stutters, chest heaving up and down.

           I raise an eyebrow at him, “Are you being ungrateful, Doctor? Because if you are, I could always just leave you here like this - cock hard and leaky with no way to get off other than your own hand. That wouldn’t be nearly as fun as having me fuck that pretty little ass of yours.”

           “No, please! I’m so sorry,” Spencer mewls. “I’ll be good, just please don’t leave!”

            I loosely grasp Spencer’s cock in my hand and run my thumb across his slit.

           “You sound so pretty when you beg, baby. I can’t wait to hear how pretty you are when you’re begging for me to fuck you harder.”

           Spencer’s eyes roll back into his head and his mouth hangs open, panting hard.

           “I want it so bad. Please, please, please, Miss.”

           I use my free hand to reach up and push two fingers into Spencer’s mouth, “Suck. I want them real nice and wet so that I can use them to get you ready for me.”

           Spencer moans around my fingers, laving his tongue around the them as he hollows his cheeks. When I retract my fingers from his mouth they’re practically dripping and I reward his effort by tightening my grip on his cock.

           “Good job, baby. Are you ready for me to finger that tight little hole of yours?” I ask him as I release his cock and grab the bottle of lube. I drizzle a healthy amount onto my fingers before dragging one across his puckered hole, eliciting a high-pitched cry from Spencer.

           “Yes!” Spencer gasps as he attempts to wiggle closer. “So ready for you, Miss. Use your f-fingers on me, please!”

           I start by slowly pressing one in, so as not to overwhelm him, and to my endless delight, it glides in almost effortlessly.

           “Already so ready for my fingers, Doctor. You sure you haven’t touched yourself here before?” I ask as I begin to work my finger in and out in slow thrusts.

           “N-Never. O-Only you,” Spencer stutters out between moans. “C-Can you add another, Miss?”

           I pull my finger out, only to add another and resume my efforts at a slightly faster pace. Spencer’s back arches up off the bed when my fingers brush against his prostate and he lets out a half startled, half delighted yelp.

           “Oh fuck!” Spencer moans as he grinds down onto my fingers. “Again, please, Miss!”

I comply, and with every press of my fingers against the fleshy bundle of tissue, Spencer’s body jolts from the sensation.

           “S’that feel good, baby? Do you like how my fingers feel?”

           “Oh, God, yes! F-Feels so good. Never felt like this b-before,” Spencer sobs. “I-I’m getting close, Miss.”

           “I didn’t say that you can cum, baby. I wanna save that for when I’ve got my cock buried inside you. How’s that sound?”

           “Y-Yes, Iwantitsobad,” Spencer slurs, his words running together as he draws nearer and near to the end. “Want you to fuck me, Miss! Please, I’ll do anything-”

           I take pity on him and withdraw my fingers, which makes Spencer keen in protest.

           “Calm down, greedy boy. Just gotta get ready so I can give you what you want.”

           I crawl off of the bed and step into the harness, fastening it in place and making sure that the dildo is secure before I crawl in between his legs. Spencer watches on with rapt fascination as I pour lube into my palm and work it over the silicone cock until every inch of it glistens.

           “What’s your color, baby?” I ask as rub the tip of the cock over his hole.

           Spencer’s breath catches in his throat and his whole-body tenses with anticipation.

           “So green, Miss. So fucking green,” Spencer whimpers.

           I raise a hand up to his hip and begin to rub soothing circles into the skin there.

           “Gonna need you to relax for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?”            Spencer bites his lip and nods his head. I watch as the tension begins to melt away, and when I see him relax back into the mattress, I bring up my hand to stroke his cock. I keep my touch light, barely applying pressure – I knew if I applied too much, Spencer wouldn’t be able to hold out longer than a few thrusts. He was already teetering on the edge as it was.

           Mine and Spencer’s eyes meet and he smiles up at me, dopey and drunk from pleasure, and it’s all the permission I need. I press into him slowly, and I’m left in awe as I watch Spencer Reid completely unravel beneath me.

           “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Spencer curses, head flying back and hitting the pillows. It never ceases to amaze me at how fucking responsive he is, and tonight is no exception. It’s like his body is a live wire, trembling beautifully as I press in further and further and further. I stop just shy of being fully sheathed inside him, trying to allow him a moment to adjust, but Spencer seems to have other plans.

           “Keep going, Miss, don’t stop, please! I want all of it, please give it to me! I can take it, please let me show you!”

           He looks up at me and those beautiful brown eyes are so wild, so positively feral that I can’t even entertain the idea of denying him any longer.

           Spencer looks positively ruined by the time I bottom out inside him. His hair sticks to the sheen of sweat that gathers on his forehead, and his lips look positively abused from the way he’s been biting down on them. His eyelids flutter closed every few seconds, and every time he blinks them back open, I’m able to see that his pupils are so blown that his eyes look almost black.

           I pull back until all that’s left inside him is the very tip of the cock, and just as he opens that bratty little mouth to beg for more, I give particularly harsh thrust of my hips until I’m fully sheathed inside him. Spencer lets out a surprised cry as I set an unforgiving pace, all the while still loosely jerking him off as I bury myself inside him again and again and again.

           “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” Spencer chants loudly, face contorted beautifully in an expression of pure ecstasy. I spare a brief thought to Spencer’s poor neighbors and make mental note to invest in a ball gag.

           “S’that feel good, baby? You look so pretty taking my cock like the good boy you are. My pretty little cock slut. Such a shame nobody’s fucked you like this before,” I hum as I focus my attention on the head of his cock, thumbing lightly at where he leaks for me.

           “D-Don’t want anyone else, just wanna be good for y-you. Wanna m-make you proud,” Spencer whines, tripping over his words as he struggles to form a coherent sentence. The sentiment sends a jolt of heat down to my already soaking core, but I do my best to ignore the slickness running down my thighs for the time being. Right now, my only focus is the boy chanting my name, praying for a type of salvation that only I can give him.

           I smile down at him and my hand drifts lower to where I’m steadily thrusting in and out of him. Spencer’s body jolts as the pad of my thumb brushes against the sensitive skin of his hole.

           “Of course, I’m proud of you. Look at how well you’re taking me, baby. It’s like you were made to take my cock,” I praise him.

           My words, mixed with the way I’m working both Spencer’s cock and his tight little ass, seem to be getting the better of him, because Spencer doesn’t even try to formulate a response. He just continues to let out strangled moans that almost sound like sobs as his hands grasp at the sheets until his knuckles turn white.

           It doesn’t take long until I feel the muscles in Spencer’s stomach and thighs begin to tense, and when his cock twitches in my hand I can tell Spencer won’t last much longer.

           “Are you gonna cum for me, baby?” I ask him as I grind my hips against his, and Spencer’s reply comes in the form of an incoherent, garbled moan.

           “What’s the matter, baby? Have I fucked you so stupid that you can’t answer me anymore?” I taunt him. I use the leverage I have from the hand placed on his hip to propel myself deeper. “Is my poor dumb baby incapable of replying?”

           Spencer makes a feeble attempt at a reply, “P-Please let me – f-fuck – cum! Oh, God, m’socloseMiss. Harder, please!”

           I take a minute to bask in the way he’s completely fallen apart at my hands - relishing in the way his eyes are glossy and dark with lust, in the way that his chest is flushed a deep red, and in the way that precum beads at the tip of his cock, aching for a release. He looks beautiful like this, whining and squirming, hips grinding down in search of more, more, more. I’d never imagined in a million years that I’d be so lucky as to see the illustrious Spencer Reid fucked absolutely senseless, but here he was, waiting for my permission to throw himself off the edge and into the best kind of oblivion.

           “Cum for me, pretty boy,” I say in the softest voice imaginable. “Show me how good you are.”

           The tension that had been steadily building since the first press of my lips against his snaps in an instant, and copious amounts of cum spurt out from his cock, painting his chest in thick, white ropes. Spencer chants out muddled thank yous as I fuck him through his release, pushing in and out of him in shallow strokes as slowly comes back down from the high.

           When his breathing slows down to a normal rate, I pull out of him, quickly freeing myself from the harness and tossing it aside to be dealt with later. I crawl up until I’m at eye level and begin pressing soft, sweet kisses to Spencer’s face.

           “You did so well, Spence,” I murmur against his skin. “You’re amazing, baby. Thank you so much for trusting me to be with you like that.”

           Spencer lifts a shaky hand to my hair and pulls me down into a heated kiss. I indulge him and pour every ounce of passion I have into my efforts, hoping to express my gratitude with every swipe of my lips against his. And when I pull away, my pretty boy smiles up at me, sated and full of adoration, and it’s beautiful.

           “D’you think you can handle taking a shower with me?” I ask as I pull away, and Spencer gives a shy nod in response. He sits up in the bed and swings his legs until his feet hit the floor. I’m just about to stand when his hand comes down on my wrist to stop me.

           “What about you? You didn’t . . .”

           “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Tonight was all about you.”

           I move off of the bed and help him to his feet, holding him steady when his legs begin to shake. “Might be a little sore for a while, but it should go away within a day or so.”

           I help him to the bathroom and turn on the shower, and when it’s warm enough I rid myself of my bra and panties and motion for him to join me. I urge Spencer to step under the spray first, but his arms snake around me and pull me with him.

           Spencer nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck and he lets out a deep sigh.

           “You okay, bubs?” I ask him as I tangle my arms around his torso and begin to rub soothing circles into his back.

           “I just feel a little… down? I-Is this a sub drop? I read a little bit about them, but I don’t k-know…” he trails off, sniffling pitifully against my neck. “I-I just know that I want to hold you. Is that o-okay?”

           My heart lurches painfully in my chest as his voice wavers, and I pull back just enough that I can look into his weary eyes.

           “Baby, that’s more than okay. Sub drops are a perfectly normal thing to experience, and I’ll be right here to hold you for as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

           Spencer’s eyes fill with tears and he makes no attempt to hold them back, choosing to let them fall freely and mix in with the water pouring from the shower head.

           “T-Tell me you want me,” Spencer begs, lip wobbling pitifully. “I-I just feel like I’m not good enough for you, and I know it’s all in my head, and I know how you feel about me, but I just think it would help if you just… s-said it. Please?”

           I feel my heart break for the man that stood before me. The implication his words carry - that this wonderful, kind-hearted, extraordinarily gifted man could ever think so little of himself – was enough to bring tears to my own eyes. I swallow down the lump that forms in my throat and, with all the sincerity I can possibly muster, I reply.

           “I want you, Spencer Reid. I don’t want anyone else – only you,” I tell him, never once breaking eye contact. “For as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

           Spencer chokes out a weak laugh, “And if I want you forever?”

           I nudge his nose with my own, and the act feels almost more intimate than everything that preceded it.

           “Then forever, it is,” I murmur. I press a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away and reaching for the shampoo. “Now, turn around, pretty boy. Let me pamper you.”

--

           “Y/N!” Penelope calls out, sauntering over to me in a flash of hot pink taffeta. I’m in the middle of throwing my satchel over my shoulder when she runs up to me, excited smile on her face. “Me, you, JJ, Elle, and a bottle of tequila. You in?”

           On a normal day, the answer would have been a resounding hell yes. But today? I let my eyes wander over to where Spencer lingers near the glass doors, trying to look like he isn’t listening in. Very subtle.

           “I’m gonna have to pass on this one, Penelope.”

           Penelope’s smile transforms into a pout.

           “This is the third weekend in a row you’ve ditched us!” she whines, stomping her kitten heeled foot like a petulant child. “Either you’re avoiding us or you’ve got some secret lover we don’t know about. And if that’s the case, then we have a whole other problem, because that’s the kind of thing I expect to be told about immediately.”

           The giddy smile that stretches across my face gives me away before I even have the chance to open my mouth, sending Penelope into an absolute frenzy.

           “Oh my God, I cannot believe this. We’ll talk about how angry I am about being kept in the dark later because right now, I need details,” Penelope gushes. “Who is he? Where did you two meet? Is he hot?” Penelope barely gets the words out before she’s shaking her head. “Wait, that’s a dumb question. Of course, he’s hot - just look at you. Do I know him? When do I get to meet him?”

           I can’t help but laugh at Penelope’s enthusiasm.

           “Slow down, Pen,” I chuckle. “I didn’t tell you about it because it’s still relatively new, and it wasn’t until this past weekend that we finally decided to put a label on it.”

           “A label? Does that mean this guy is your boyfriend? Oh my God, I thought this day would never come,” Penelope sighs dreamily. But the far-away look in her eye quickly fades and Penelope begins to grill me with renewed fervor. “Y/N, you have to tell me who it is. It’s like, practically a crime that I’m only just now hearing about this, so you owe me this much. And I’ll be needing his first and last name, along with a DOB so that I can run a full back ground check ASAP. Don’t even try to talk me out of it – we deal with enough freakiness during our day jobs, and I insist on making sure the freakiness ends there.”

           I can feel a flush spread over my cheeks and I fiddle with the strap of my bag.

           “I, uh, don’t think a background check is going to be necessary. You know this guy pretty well already.”

           If Penelope had been worked up before, she was practically vibrating with excitement now.

           “I know him? Oh my God, this is so huge. Is it Brendon from down in sex crimes? Or maybe James from counter-terrorism?” Penelope muses aloud, before her eyes go almost comically wide. “Holy hell, it’s Anderson, isn’t it?”

           “It definitely isn’t Anderson, or any of the others, for that matter,” I laugh. “Do you want a hint?”

           “What I really want is for you to just tell me, but if you insist on dragging this out then yes, I would very much like a hint!”

           I cut my eyes over to where Spencer stands, and it’s impossible to miss the giddy grin on his face. So much for trying to remain subtle, Doctor Reid.

           I fake like I’m looking around for anyone within earshot before motioning for Penelope to lean in. She’s quick to comply, and I do one last exaggerated sweep of the room.

           “Alright then, here’s your hint,” I whisper into her ear. “He’s got an IQ of 187, and he’s a pretty kickass magician.”

           I lean back and adjust the strap of my bag, sparing one last, parting glance at Penelope, whose jaw is practically on the floor.

           “See you on Monday, Pen.”

           “W-Wait, are you serious?” Penelope calls out after me. “Reid is your mystery man?! Y/N, get back here right now and explain yourself! Derek, did you hear that?!”

           By the time I reach Spencer, Penelope’s voice fades into background noise as I focus all my attention on the way he smiles down at me. I link my hand with his and I’m vaguely aware of an increase in volume coming from Penelope’s direction, but I ignore in favor of smiling back at him.

           “You ready to get out of here, boyfriend?”

           Spencer squeezes my hand in his and he nods.

           “Ready when you are, girlfriend.”

-

-

-

taglist: @90spumkin​​ @moon-light-jukebox​​ @jessalyn-jpeg​ @pinkdiamond1016​​ @itsametaphorbriansblog​​ @eldahae​​ @itsmytimetoodream​ @kasaikawa​ @shadyladyperfection​

[refriedweeb]

YOU SAY I AM WHOLE WRAPPED UP IN YOUR ARMS (HAWKS + FEM!PREGNANT READER)

A/N: HEY BABIES! I'm back from the beach and ready to fuck up some feels. This comes requested by @peregrinestook <3 I listened to the softest, gentlest, saddest music writing this, so I hope you enjoy my babies

Prompt: “how about some hawks fluff with a pregnant reader? 🥺”

Tags: fluff, pregnancy, pregnant reader, domestic hawks

Word Count: 2,151

You shouldn’t have been surprised that what felt like a blink of time in you and Keigo’s relationship, you’d wound up pregnant. It was a two to party sort of ordeal, and as two adults there was only so much that could be spoken for. You knew Keigo went into periods of rutting in the spring, where all he did was want to claim a mate and to have babies with them. It was part of his instinct as an avian hero, and just because you’d been some several fresh months into your relationship didn’t make you exempt. As a matter of fact, while you’d been doing the deed that had gotten you pregnant, Keigo had uttered over and over again how he was going to put a baby in you. How excited he was to get you pregnant.

And you knew what they said about the things you spoke into the universe becoming a reflection of your reality...

Four weeks later, your period had been late. The first thought in your head had been that it’d just been thrown off by some hormonal shifts from the other women that worked around you on a day to day basis, but then it still hadn’t come after another week had passed. And then that lingering thought in the back of your mind had rolled all the way to the front of your thoughts. You might have been pregnant. It certainly would have added up, your last period before the missed one having fallen just in front of Keigo’s rutting season. Without telling Keigo what you thought was up (partly out of fear that he’d react poorly now that he was out of his rutting season and partly because you didn’t want to instill a false sense of hope if a family was what he wanted) you took a handful of pregnancy tests. They all came back positive. You made an appointment with a doctor to get tested. That came back positive.

Of course, Keigo had noticed it before you had. It was something in you that had shifted in a way he’d never seen before. The way that your skin just seemed to glow more than it ever had before. It was the way that the smell of you changed to something else he hadn't ever had to know before. Yet, even with his suspicions that you were carrying his child, Keigo didn’t say anything to you about it while you were still working out what was going on. The thing about Keigo wasn’t that he didn’t want a family. As a matter of fact, he did want one. The reason that Keigo waited for you to come to him with the realization that you were pregnant, was one much darker. He’d grown up without any true idea of what a family and unconditional love was. For someone like Keigo, the want and realization that he could have a family was terrifying. What if he wasn’t a good parent? What if he’d fuck his child or children up in the way the commission had done to him because that was all he’d known in terms of parental figure? Keigo couldn't imagine doing to an innocent child what had happened to him. What if his child came out with wings and the commission saw some way to capitalize or exploit it? There were so many points of confusion and contradiction in his head about how to feel about the impending news you were bound to tell him, he didn’t know how to feel about it.

He wanted a family. He wanted what he’d gone his entire life without. But just because he wanted that...didn’t mean he’d be any good at it.

Keigo had been relatively quick to change his tune on that. It’d started when you approached him with the collection of pregnancy tests you’d been hiding and the ultrasound you’d gotten when you’d gone to the first appointment to confirm with hard proof that there was indeed a baby growing inside you. He’d held those pregnancy tests in his hand, stared down at all those positive pregnancy signs on the little sticks. It’d hit him pretty hard in that moment, but had been nothing compared to the semi-truck that had plowed right through him when he’d seen that ultra sound of a little tiny chicken. One that was supposedly growing inside your belly. Keigo had been silent for a long period of time, his avian eyes glued to that little tiny thing that was developing inside you. He’d been quiet, stoic while you shifted around nervously, waiting for him to say something. 

When he finally remembered he had a voice, Keigo’s words were simple. Effortless in how they’d fallen off his tongue. “I’m going to be a dad.”

That’d been months ago, and since you’d handed that ultrasound to him, Keigo had known what he wanted with you. Now, you’d just passed your four month mark, just over halfway to when your due date was. And Keigo had been nothing shy of perfect. Every weird or odd craving you had, he’d jumped to get it or find it, or find someone who could get it. If he’d been obsessed with touching you before, it’d only been amplified since the appearance of your baby bump. You knew it’d always been in Keigo to have a breeding mindset, but the sex had turned an entirely different corner during your pregnancy as well. Things were different, though not in a bad way. He’d never thought you as weak or needing coddling before, but Keigo handled you in a very different way now. He was mindful that his child grew inside that beautiful belly of yours.

The past couple of months had gone by in a whirlwind. The place you and Keigo had gotten together (though really before that you might as well have been living together with how often you were at his place) was fully furnished, the nursery that would become your child’s slowly coming together as you and Keigo worked together to make it perfect. Despite the chaotic schedules you both worked around, Keigo hadn’t missed a single appointment. On his patrols and when he did his hero work, he carried a tinier version of that first ultrasound you’d given him. Folded up and creased well from how many times he’d opened it up to either show others or to look at it when he was hovered in the sky with a soft smile on his face. Despite his fears, his worries about his own ability to parent a (hopefully) mini-version of the child he’d been (and could hardly remember) before the commission had gotten a hold of him.

And you...he was so in love with the thought of you as a mother. As his wife, as his partner for the rest of his life. Keigo had never felt particularly fond of the domestic approach to life, so sure that he couldn’t have one of his own. But all it’d taken was the right person, the right time. All it’d taken was you.

Such were thoughts and memories that filtered through his mind as he rested his head on the bump of your belly, his index finger tracing idle shapes over the soft skin there. It was a lazy day, and neither one of you had thought it worthwhile to get out of bed. Keigo’s cheek was pressed up against your belly, letting out little coo’s and trills from the back of his throat, hoping that his son or daughter could hear him through the skin, muscle, and fat. He nuzzled his head against it, which only brought a giggle from you, causing your belly to shake as his head popped up.

“What?” Something that you’d taken notice to since the moment Keigo had jumped on the fatherhood bandwagon, was how much more protective he’d become over you. Any moan or groan from stretching or even the smallest pain that had nothing to do with your baby, set him on edge. There were times where it could become overwhelming, but you knew he did it with the best intentions. He just wanted to be able to protect the things that he thought were most precious to him. You and his unborn child.

“Nothing,” you answered, head propped up on several pillows. You reached out and pushed some golden blond hair from where it’d flopped onto his forehead. “You just tickled me, is all.” Keigo watched you for a beat longer to make sure that was all that was wrong, before he dropped his head back to your belly and resumed his tracing. He traced your belly, you combed through the usually windswept and knotted golden hair of his with gentleness. The two of you lapsed into a stretch of quiet, though it’d always been comfortable. You stared down as Keigo followed the route his finger too, the only sound following shortly after the sounds and tongue clicks that came from the back of his throat. 

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Came his sudden question. “Our baby, I mean. Do...will I be a good dad?”

It’d been a question you’d seen in Keigo’s eyes several times throughout your pregnancy so far, but never one he’d actually vocalized. To hear it asked then, his voice so hesitant as if he really considered the fact that the answer would be a no, broke your heart. You sat up straighter in your position. Keigo stirred, twisting around so that he could look up at you. His brows were turned up, eyes open and vulnerable as he waited for your answer. 

“Keigo,” you said, feeling the (pregnancy hormonal) shift of emotions overtake your thought process. Quickly enough, tears prickled at the corner of your eyes. “Keigo, how could you not be?” You leaned in as much as you could with your protruding belly. “You are going to be the best dad to our little chicken nugget,” you said, hand reached out to cup his cheek, the stubble tickling your palm. “And they are going to love you so much, and nothing is going to change that.”

He thought about the things he’d done in his life prior to meeting you. Prior to wanting to be a better version of himself that didn’t rely on a cynical sense of self-preservation in order to get through the days. It’d taken so long for Keigo to admit to himself that he had a life worth living. He averted his gaze from yours, looking down to your swollen belly. “You think so?”

Your grip on Keigo’s chin tightened, bringing that look back up to meet yours. “Of course I do. You know why I think that? Because you didn’t have it, and you would never want anyone to have to go through what you did. Because you have so much love already in your heart, for me, for our baby.” Your thumb brushed over his cheek, and Keigo leaned into your touch with closed eyes. “Because it’s too easy to imagine you waking up in the middle of the night and tripping over some toys in the nursery to feed them, teaching them how to tie their shoes, how to fly if they have wings like they’re incredible dad,” the tears in your eyes blurred your vision, and you felt wetness on Keigo’s cheek from his own tears. “Taking them up to look at the stars, to chase the sunset, and giving me a heart attack the entire time you’re gone,” you whispered. “I couldn’t have picked a better person out there in the world to raise a family with.” was your conclusion, the words final as you swept away his tears. “Please don’t doubt yourself like that ever again, Keigo.”

He opened his eyes slowly, golden eyes noticeably softer. The emotion behind your words were ones he felt straight to the center of his being. How heavy the conviction was behind them. Keigo leaned over and pressed a series of chaste kisses against your belly. A belly that held his future and half of his world in it. The imagery you’d made with your words played in his head like a movie he had yet to see. “I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

You shook your head, hand moving back to his hair. “Don’t be. Just know whatever it is you think you won’t be able to do...you’ll be able to do. Especially with me at your side.” Your stomach gave a little rumble, drawing both of your attention to it. “Though, I do think baby Keigo could do with some chocolate and marshmallow ice cream right about now...”

This perked Keigo right up, and with one final press to your belly he was sprung from the bed, throwing on some grey sweats and the jacket he wore when he flew. “I’ll be back in ten.”

[canyonmoonlily]

| game night |

live! on tour series

*smut*

“Event caaaaard!” Harry sing-songed as y/n groaned. He was sat on the couch in the green room of a stadium in Texas, one of the many stops along his tour.

His bandmates and those of his opening act all playing the board game Life. Y/N, one of the lead vocalists in the band opening for him, was having terrible luck per usual.

Harry hated seeing her sulk, but when she did so by nestling herself into his side, he caught himself wishing her unlucky streak would continue.

“You might as well keep my payday since I’ll be getting fined again for God-knows-what,” she said with a roll of her pretty blue eyes, a pout playing on her full lips. Harry caught himself ogling her, again.

Game nights became far more difficult to pay attention to anytime she was in the room, especially so close to him that he could smell her perfume. Light Blue by Dolce and Gabbanna was quickly becoming his favorite scent of all time.

“You’ve payed what? Like $150,000 in fines now?” Mitch laughed from beside her as she put her head in her hands. She yanked the card from his outstretched hand, hesitating before ripping the bandaid off and flipping it over.

“Damn it!” She yelped, the room bursting into laughter. “Don’t laugh too soon, you all owe me $500,” y/n quipped amidst her own laughter. “I’m just mad because I have to get rid of one of my orphans to make room for a baby girl.” y/n’s “50s Brooklyn” accent was atrocious, but had Harry clutching his sides every round.

“Y/n you really gotta take those out of there, it’s going to get confusing at the end of the game,” one of her own bandmates scolded. Y/n had insisted on filling her little car with blue pieces as part of an “orphan smuggler” bit she’d started earlier in the day. Y/n and her bandmates were actors, above all, and creative ones at that. Constantly doing morbid, nonsensical bits that kept both themselves and anyone around them entertained. She had Harry in stitches within the first 10 minutes of meeting him at the start of the tour.

“No they’re apart of my comedy act, motherfucker, leave my orphans alone,” y/n tossed her card at the scolding bandmate. “Okay Harry, darling, it’s your turn.” Her hand rested on his thigh, a mindless action on her part.

But Harry’s blood pressure shot through the roof. She’d fallen asleep on his lap many times in the last few months as they’d grown quite close, but something about the way she looked bundled up in one of his sweaters, nestled into his side on the couch, calling him darling in a voice so sweet he nearly choked, had his heart about ready to burst. He returned her smile but quickly busied himself with spinning the wheel. Can’t get a boner on game night.

Harry landed a 7, rolling and landing perfectly on an income tax block. “Damnit!” He groaned. He had chosen to become a plumber, and his salary was small enough that half of it was no big deal.

“It’s only fair, seeing as you’ve gotten every “Lucky Day! Collect $100,000” event card in the game so far,” y/n elbowed him. he responded by plucking her forehead and reminding her that jealousy is a disease.

As the game went on, it became more and more painful for y/n to act out her part as banker. She’d gone the college route and was $50,000 in debt while Harry, the plumber, was nearly a multimillionaire. Every time he landed on another payday she would make someone else hand him the fake money, she couldn’t bear the sight of another one of his smug little victory dances. Cheeky little bastard he was, he kept waving his hundred thousand dollar bills in y/n’s face as she balled her little fists and scrunched up her nose.

As much as she hated Harry’s ridiculously good luck, his cocky little chuckles and the way he kept snuggling up to her made her wish the game would never end. But, as all things do, after about an hour and a half of rigorous bonding, the group dispersed after Mitch rolled an 8 and became a famous comedian.

By the time the game was packed up and put away, the only two people left on the couch in front of the green room TV were Harry and y/n. Parks & Rec played at a low volume, Harry reveling in the feeling of y/n laid against his chest, little legs sprawled out between his. He could feel the rumble of her chest against his every time she laughed at one of Andy’s antics onscreen.

His green eyes studied her facial expressions as she watched, always so responsive to everything. Harry has come to notice y/n was startlingly alert for someone who came across as so aloof. She had a brilliant, sharp mind; he could listen to her prattle on about history, politics, or whatever new subject she’d taken an interest in for hours at a time. She was so passionate about so many things, it drove him insane. The most perfect human he’d come across in his 25 years sat sprawled in his lap, and though they were close enough to touch, he wasn’t brave enough to cross the border between platonic intimacy and something more. He had never been so sure and so terrified of his feelings for someone before.

With Camille, Kendall, and even Caroline, it was so much simpler. There had been no initial friendship. Just romance. Friendship came after, on occasion, like with Kendall, but never before. Harry was shit at taking things slowly. It’s quite the generalization, but being an artist tends to make it harder to hold back one’s emotions. As y/n had put it once, “artists run head first into things without thinking about the consequences because they want another piece of the human experience to write about. we’re all just chasing another truth.”

If Harry’s version of chasing the truth was running his hands through her hair as she laid sprawled out on his chest, so be it.

If this had to be slower than usual, so be it.

If falling in love with her was unprofessional, so be it.

If she never reciprocated his feelings and it crushed him, so be it.

His hands wandered through her har and down to her pretty little neck, mindlessly ghosting up and down the curve where it met her shoulder.

y/n shivered and let out the softest little moan—a noise he’d never heard her make before. He wasn’t prepared for the effect it would have on him.

His hands continued their exploration, cupping her jaw, lightly raking up and down in some caressing massage. Shivers racked her body, little mewls growing louder as his touch got firmer. He moved them up to massage her scalp, her back suddenly arching to meet his hands.

Neither of them said a word. Y/n was so caught up in the feelings Harry was eliciting with his calloused finger tips, while he was afraid if he opened his mouth he would let out a strangled groan. As her back arched he slipped himself more firmly underneath her, ima position now where his lips could reach the little neck he was so enamored with.

The first press of his full lips against the juncture where her neck met her shoulder was met with a gasp. His kisses trailed up her neck to the spot just below her ear, her hand flying to cover mouth as she let out a moan that would’ve surely put all the other so far to shame.

Harry couldn’t think. Y/n couldn’t think. He had just made the resolution to take it slowly and here he was sucking on the sensitive part of her neck while her panties dampened rapidly in response.

Y/n had never been so turned on. Her feelings for Harry she had long accepted as unrequited but now, in his arms with his lips on her neck, she wonders if she was wrong all along. She feel his little grunts as her body writhes against his, she’s so much shorter that she doesn’t initially feel the hardening length against her thigh. Her bottom was pressed against his stomach so he could reach her neck, so she let out a muffled scream when the back of her thigh finally brushed it.

Harry’s hands had begun clutching her to him, from beneath her began grinding his erection into her. His fingertips reached for her breasts over the fabric of his sweater, cupping them with a gentle yet primal urgency.

He was so caught up in rutting himself against her, she flipped onto her stomach easily and pressed her lips to his. She maneuvered her clothed pussy over where his cock strained against the fabric of his bottoms, rubbing her little clit against him like some wanton whore. It was then, as Harry let out an angelic groan, the door to the green room slammed open.

“Y/n! what did you put in my be—what the fuck?” y/n’s bandmate came storming in before taking in the sight of the two before her. Y/n’s blue eyes were wide, her long blonde hair tousled and her cheeks as flushed as the red shirt Harry was wearing beneath her.

Harry’s mop of curls were untouched, but his eyes were dark and dialated, his hunger for the petite girl on top of him clouding his usually bright orbs.

Y/n scrambled off of him and to her feet, taking her bandmate by the arm and rushing out of the green room before Harry had a chance to register what was happening.

hi! this is a mini series of sorts I want to write in my freetime. it won’t be in order but I’ll be telling this story through random moments throughout Harry & y/n’s relationship.

[saint-eridell]

TdMo fluff/smut drabble

Oh boy. First post on the new blog.

This is loosely based on the yakuza AU @the-angriestpineapple​, @deadassqueeraf​ and I have been writing. It’ll definitely get expanded at some point, but someone on our main server decided to poke my brain and this fell out. Unbeta’d, we die like men (which means it’ll take forever to get to my AO3, womp womp).

4.1k; Yakuza AU. Shouto and Momo are married, all characters are in their mid-twenties. Story building, lots of fluff, smut toward the end. No major content warnings.

---

It was fairly common for Shouto to wake up for work incredibly early in the morning. His office didn’t technically open until eight, but he was sometimes out the front door at least an hour and a half before that to account for surprise traffic and coffee lines. The unusual part was Shouto waking up incredibly early for two, nearly three weeks straight: every morning, seven days a week, the same chime playing before the sun had even remotely touched the bedroom curtains.

By the end of the third week Momo’s patience had worn down to a wispy sliver pulled taught as a piano string. She’d anticipated her own irritation upon going to sleep the night prior, but hearing Shouto’s alarm go off just before five in the morning pulled what remained of her patience until it snapped with a force that surprised her even in her post-sleep delirium. Her eyelids flew open as she felt Shouto roll over behind her, grunting while he fumbled for his phone to turn off the alarm. She didn’t move with him or indicate she was awake, instead letting him sit up and stretch himself awake in silence as she stared at the dark wall across from her side of the bed.

The mattress dipped soundlessly behind her as Shouto leaned into her to press a tender peck to her cheek, her eyes only barely closing before he leaned into view of her features. He hovered for a moment before a warm fingertip brushed a lock of dark hair off her temple and behind her ear. “I love you,” he whispered, soft and reverent like he never was anywhere else, before sliding away with practiced grace, leaving Momo alone in the bed as he stumped off to take a shower and ready himself for the day.

She grinned into her pillow. Despite the obtuse block of wood that Shouto could be, his tender side was something Momo would never be over and she was a terribly lucky woman for having to all to herself. She loved him beyond the point of finding words to describe it.

Once Shouto left the bedroom, she slowly lurched out of the bed and set herself into motion. She didn’t have to be awake that early on a day off, but she’d resolved the moment her eyes opened that she was going to get a break from that goddamn alarm, no matter what it took. The first step was getting herself ready - a drawn out shower to ensure Shouto had already left the house when she got out, the expensive hair serum she saved for big occasions, clean makeup with a shiny cherry lip and a hint of a sharp jet-black wing. Her hair was blow-dried into a long, flat sheet that hung against the back of the tight red cardigan she plucked from a dresser drawer, along with a dark gray tweed skirt that danced around her hips in loose petal-shaped pleats.

With everything seemingly in place, Momo gave herself a once-over in the floor length mirror that hung next to her dresser. She turned sideways, tracing the curve of her backside where it blotted out a hill of light emanating from her bedside table. Her hands smoothed over the skirt’s intricately woven tweed, the two silver rings on her hand catching the dim light against the dark contrast of the skirt fabric. Her smile returned, soft and genuine. He was caught in that same work rut again. She had do something drastic to break the cycle, and this seemed drastic enough to her.

“Damn, you look good,” she muttered to herself for an extra confidence boost before heading off for the kitchen to caffeinate for the day. Mina was going to be so proud of her.

Lunch was an easy affair to sort. They’d prepared daytime meals ahead of time, a habit Shouto had gotten her into that quickly became a staple of the very limited time they got to spend with each other during the week. That day’s boxes got tucked into a small lunch box lined with cold packs (of course he’d forgotten to grab his lunch again; Momo was going to smack him across the side of the head) along with two melon sodas before she set off for her car. Dinner was already in the slow cooker, the house was immaculate to a level that had to make him chill out, and Momo’s assistant was ready to cover her “sick leave” for up to a couple of days by the time she set off for his office. Perfect. So far, everything was going to plan.

Shouto’s office sat in the middle of a sleek street near the city’s financial district. The block was lined with shiny black mirror glass on both sides, the sidewalk below dotted with an equal mix of suit-clad businessfolk and minimum wage workers husting to their next bus stop. Momo navigated through them to park underneath Shouto’s office building before making her way into the parking level’s elevator, her heels clinking against the concrete that surrounded her until she was encased in steel.

Shouto’s suite occupied the entire top floor of the building. Momo tapped the last button on the panel just inside the lift’s sliding door and waited patiently as it lurched upward, not stopping until she’d arrived at the very top. She snorted quietly. Had he rigged the panel to go directly to his floor when prompted?

His receptionist - Ayame, right - was busy hammering away at her keyboard when Mono sauntered into the waiting area. Her tall boot heels heralded her arrival in staccato taps against the white marble floor, loud enough to get Ayame’s attention, who popped up with a surprised gasp before jolting to her feet. “Ahh, sorry Mrs. To-”

“Momo, please,” she cut in before the receptionist could finish. “I’m not here on official business.” She bumped her hip against the lunch box held at her side. “Just dropping off lunch. Making sure he hasn’t keeled over yet. The usual.”

Ayame sighed in relief, a hand clutched to her chest. “Oh thank goodness,” she breathed. “I thought I’d missed a meeting reminder or something.”

Momo frowned slightly. The poor thing looked like she was about to keel over herself. Her eyes were half-mooned with pale gray circles that pressed too hard into her skin for someone fresh out of college. She’d been working just as hard as Shouto, then. Momo would have to talk to him about remembering that not everyone is a semi-human work machine. For now… “Why don’t you take a couple hours for lunch?” she said softly, offering Ayame an encouraging smile. “Grab some coffee and take a walk around the park. You look like you haven’t breathed fresh air in days.”

Ayame’s surprise and relief were both palpable. She blinked, glancing at her boss’ closed office doors. “I don’t think I should,” she replied quietly. “His lunch hour is about to start, and there are meetings scheduled within the two hours afterward…” She blinked hard, a lightbulb seemingly popping to life between her ears. “I’ll route all calls to my work phone and take a picnic lunch. I’ll be back no earlier than 1:45.”

Momo checked her watch. It was 12:15. “Excellent.” She flashed Ayame a brilliant smile on the way toward the double doors leading into Shouto’s office. “Thank you. Really. I’ll make sure he knows how far out of your way you’re going.”

Ayame snorted quietly, her purse already hung over a shoulder. “You know me,” she replied cheekily. “I work to the bone for my paycheck. This really is the worst, let me tell you.”

Momo laughed in return. She waited for the elevator to close before reaching for the door knobs in front of her, unwilling to let anything else distract them. There was no reason for anyone else to be on that floor for the following hour and a half. Until 1:45, Shouto was hers. She twisted one knob and leaned her weight forward to push the door open, only to jump in surprise when it bumped against the sole of a shoe on the other side.

Shouto blinked back at her through the crack between the door and its frame, too stupid cute for his own good as he visibly tried to parse out what was happening. Momo had known him for over a decade at that point and he’d only gotten cuter over time. Good God, how was he even human? “Uh, hi,” he said, his confusion apparent. He peered around her toward the back of Ayame’s desk. “Did I hear the elevator twice?”

“Yep.” Momo didn’t give him time to investigate. She held the lunch box up and put it between them as she walked forward to make him focus on taking it from her hands while she closed the door behind herself. “Your receptionist is on lunch break and you left yours at home.”

It worked. He took the lunch box and gave her room by stepping back, smiling the whole time. “Thank you, Momo,” he said, eyeing the container with obvious elation. “I would have just had something delivered when I realized it was missing. You didn’t have to come all the way up here just to give me this.”

“Of course I did.” It was a casual day with nothing major planned as far as she knew, but Shouto was still dressed like he was going to meet a room full of politicians. His dove gray button up was rolled to the elbows, the rest of him all clean pressed lines and well tailored hems that hid what she knows to be a deceptively lithe frame. Under the expensive business drag, Shouto was built like an endurance runner. She smoothed her hand over the seam where his neck and shoulder met on the way to press a soft kiss to his mouth. He pulled in a sharp little breath through his nose, but immediately relaxed under her touch as the breath came out in a slow stream. She pushed everything she wanted to say out loud into that one brief kiss - you’re safe, it’s okay, you can relax. It seemed to get the message across, because Shouto’s hands were on her waist just a few seconds later as he eagerly returned the tenderness offered to him.

They pulled back before the contact became anything but chaste. Momo offered him an innocent smile, even as she lingered in his space and played with the pressed edges of his shirt lapel. “Take your lunch break. Please.”

Shouto’s gaze fell to the meager space between them, grip loose and gentle over the points of her hip bones. He looked so… tired. What could have possibly been weighing on him hard enough to make him physically slump over? Did she really want to know, especially if it had anything to do with his “ side jobs”?

“Okay.”

He tilted his head up again, and when he met her eyes again his flickered with sadness. “I’m sorry.”

Momo slipped her arms around his neck to pull him the rest of the way toward her and into a tight hug, their fronts seamed together from the collar down. He clinged back, snaked around her waist like he was afraid she would melt through the floor. That wouldn't do. “Don’t apologize,” she murmured back into the side of his head, her fingers snaking up through his hair on the other side to soothe his scalp with her nails. “You’re doing your job. It’s not your fault things are busy.”

“That doesn’t excuse neglecting you.” He stepped back again, taking the lunch box with him on the way to a massive wood desk sitting in front of the office’s floor-to-ceiling windows. “My lunch hour is all yours. It doesn’t make up for being so spacy the last few weeks, but I hope it’s a start.” He sets the container down on the desk to open it and unpack their lunch, but Momo quickly follows him and pushes his hands flat against the lid.

“Wait.”

He was still thinking too much, dammit. Shouto did as requested and went still under her touch while she scooted their lunch out of the way and rounded the desk in three long, slow strides. He tracked her every step, confusion warring with a spark of desire Momo fully intended to cultivate as she slid into his personal space again and nudged him back into his chair. He landed in the seat with a grunt and a quiet thump while Momo perched herself on the very edge of his desk in front of him.

“I thought you were coming by to have lunch,” he said plainly, a faint smirk edging across his mouth when Momo’s face pinched into a frown. He was needling back, the bastard. He’d already keyed into what was happening and was playing coy just to get back at her. Fine. At least he wasn’t thinking about work.

She nodded back. “That’s still happening.” Her hands gripped the edge of his desk on either side for leverage as she scooted up to take her weight off her feet, bumping his shin playfully but gently with the toe of a shoe on her way up. Her knees had been pressed tightly together until she hopped up, but once she was seated she let them widen until they were held reasonably wide without being too obscene. Her loose skirt pooled around her lap and across the span of desk between her spread thighs, effectively curtaining any direct view. If this didn’t get him out of work-brain, nothing short of a fan dance with tax forms would.

Luckily, it didn’t come down to burlesque with office supplies. Shout followed the shift of her knees with a slackened jaw, hunger building in his narrowed gaze and the fingers that tightened around the arms of his chair as he pushed himself up to his feet. His desk only increased their height difference by an inch or so, but it felt like he towered over her as his hands found her shoulders and pulled her into another kiss. The suggestion seemed to have gotten his head into the game; the faint edge of teeth pressing into her lower lip parted them and he groaned in appreciation as a callused hand smoothed itself over her lower back.

She hadn’t exactly chosen this life. It was unsaid knowledge that they would end up together before either of them could have even understood the concept. Truthfully, neither of them had been left with much choice. But as he pulled her onto the edge of the desk again in one smooth tug, seaming their laps together so quick it left her breathless, Momo couldn’t help the fondness that swelled in her chest. God, was she lucky to have ended up with him. Under all the coldness and professionalism and deeply-rooted anxiety was a man too kind and sensitive for the ugly world he’d been born into. If she hadn’t been the one “convenient” enough to use as a power consolidation move, would she have ever seen that tender side of him?

They’d barely found a rhythm between their mouths when Shouto broke away to hover at the side of her neck, just a breath away from her pulse. She jumped at the ghost of his breath over her skin, which she quickly realized was just a distraction as Shouto pushed his hands under the tulip hem of her skirt, palms flat to her bare thighs. “Bastard,” she grumbled as she stomped on the urge to squirm. He kept his office ice cold, which meant his fingers were usually about the same temperature in concentrated form.

She could feel his smirk against her neck as his hands trailed further up her thighs. She felt his fingertips poke into her abdomen, right at the bare seam where her hip and thigh met, and when he paused to groan quietly against her skin the urge to squirm became too much. “You planned this out,” he rumbled.

Momo circled her painted nails over the back of his neck. “Indeed,” she admitted while she toyed with the clipped strands at his hairline. “Down to the contingencies.”

He hummed again, deep and low in his chest, the rumble echoing through her as she clung to him harder. His hands were no longer frigid against her when they slid even further up, a comfortably familiar set of puzzle pieces that fit snug against the seams just below the points of her hips. When he met nothing but more bare skin, it hit some kind of switch in him because Shouto dipped to kiss her again with a newfound urgency, his grip tightening at the pads of his fingers until Momo wriggled against the pressure.

When he let go, it was only to slip down to his knees and tug her own over his shoulders. The bell shape of her skirt tented almost comically over his head as his arms bracketed her thighs against his ears, obscured until he audibly huffed and paused to shove the offending garment up toward her stomach.

Momo snorted as her skirt was abruptly jammed upward. “Easy down there,” she chided gently. “I like this ski-”

Her heatless protest was cut off by a sharp inhale as an impossibly hot tongue drags a long, agonizing line up the length of her exposed slit. Just as quickly, any thought she had to preserve her skirt flew out the window. He could have ripped it off her for all she cared (though logic screamed from somewhere in the void that that would be a terrible idea). A near save of throwing an arm back prevented her from losing her balance and falling back against the desk, the heel of her palm landing with a loud thud. His shoulder nudged her leg up far enough for her boot to find his chair and she eagerly took the leverage, his shoulder effortlessly holding the other leg wide.

He set into her like a man starved. It was all Momo could do to sit back and let him ravage her with only his mouth: reflex dictated she navigate them to the floor and re-position herself above his mouth until she was satisfied he’d decompressed enough. As it were, he drank in the praise that bubbled from her with quiet groans and subtle arches of his head into the fingers she had tangled through his hair, set on his task with an intense focus that had Momo nearly falling apart at the seams in what felt like moments.

When his lips locked around her core, there was no way she could have held herself up even if she wanted to. She dropped back to the top of the desk as gently as she could as Shouto nudged her hips upward, splaying her knees even wider than she’d been holding them over the edge of the desk. She buried her face in the crook of a sweatered elbow just in time to muffle the wail he tore out of her as he latched around her again with two warm, thin fingers sunk down to the hilt.

Momo had been on her fingers for long enough that being touched by someone else nearly sent her over the edge. Shout seemed to read her tensing up accurately and withdrew before she could fully commit to her orgasm, leaving her dangling on the edge until she sucked in a breath and forced herself back. When Shouto moved to stand, her sudden scowl only deepened. “What the fuck?” she breathed, but her confusion evaporated the moment she saw his hands go for his belt buckle.

Oh. Oh.

He was on her again before she could fully process the transition. Somewhere off the edge of the desk his belt jingled as he shoved his slacks down toward his knees, his once neatly tucked in shirt a rumpled mess against her skirt where it pooled around her stomach. Their lips sealed together hard enough for Momo to feel it against her teeth, a hand supporting the back of her neck when Shouto buried himself inside her with one hard, seemingly blind thrust.

God, that level of competency shouldn’t be possible, let along legal. Momo wailed again into their open mouths, the noise all but swallowed by Shouto as he allowed her a solitary second to breathe, then moved straight into a demanding pace that had her writhing under the intensity. Their hands tangled together on the way up to either side of her head, where the backs of her hands were unceremoniously pinned down as he fucked her hard enough to make the desk creak under them both.

Obscenities and even more obscene noises echoed around the otherwise silent office as they both approached their climaxes. Shouto looked like he was about to either pass out or fall apart at the seams; Momo encouraged him toward the latter by wrapping her legs around his waist and lifting her lower half off the desk to let him go as deep as he could and holy shit she didn’t know he could go that deep. Neither of them lasted more than a few seconds, Shouto bottoming out with a guttural moan that stuttered with his hips. Momo followed him as soon as she felt him fill her from what felt like the core out, her back arched up off the desk in a sharp crescent with Shouto desperately panting into her neck as she warbled out his name.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. This was the man she’d fallen for, not the exhausted log she’d greeted at the office door. She couldn’t see his face but she could feel him smiling against her neck, his breaths coming in short bursts that fanned over her throat as he clung to her. “I love you,” he murmured between breaths. “So much. Gonna be better to you, promise. More of this, less of this morning.”

His hands have already begun to wander despite his bearings still clearly being scattered, soothing down her sides and circling her shoulders and seeking out every spot that makes her melt as she slumped against the desk, struggling for her own breath. Even while exhausted and strung out of his mind, Shouto still instinctively nurtured others before himself. The world really was too cruel of a place for people like him.

“It’s not a set of checkboxes,” she reminded gently. Her manicured nails dragged matching paths up the back of his head from hairline to crown, tilting his head into the center of her bosom. Shouto rolled with the touch and settled into her chest, his hands coming to a rest at her sides once she began idly circling through his hair. “It’s the effort that counts. I love you too. I’m not mad, promise. I just miss you.”

Shouto tilted far enough to peer up at her, mismatched eyes still hazy when they found hers from somewhere around the top of her covered cleavage. She hugged him into her chest tighter as it ballooned with fondness again. He hadn’t pulled out yet; he had no right to be that cute. “Let me get through one more call and then we can go home together,” he suggested. “Maybe we can make dinner and watch a movie or something.”

“That sounds great,” she replied before Shouto could have a moment to doubt himself. She beamed down at him, confident and assuring. “But first I think you might want to, uh…”

Shouto’s eyes darted to where their hips were still locked together and jumped with a quiet gasp. “Sorry.” He slowly backed himself away until he was completely free in one slow, almost agonizing slide, Momo’s knees closing within moments so she could haul herself upright and begin adjusting her sweater hems.

“Has anyone told you you’re incredibly handsome lately?”

Shouto froze midway through buttoning his fly with a little choked noise. She watched his eyes widen slightly as he stared at the carpet, his cheeks a slightly deeper pink than they had been when they separated. “Yes,” he said back with surprising certainty. “But it’s still nice to hear.” The smile he shot back at her was disarming to a concerning level, and Momo felt her own cheeks deepen when he fixed her with it.

Bastard.

[zweiginator]

gwil asking you to ride his thighs mmm😪

we going….the professor!gwil route because…. why the fuck NOT ..??,,?...also i wrote a whole ass BOOK for this... strap in 

Professor Lee was a sort of enigma at university; he had just been hired as a new professor of British literature, and although he proved his competency with lecturing and complex analysis of difficult pieces of writing–nobody was quite sure why he was hired. They were convinced this had to be some sort of social experiment; never in your university’s long history had their ever been a professor as utterly perfect as Mr. Lee. The counselors and admissions staff had to know this; you couldn’t look at the man without leaving flustered or uneasy about your own attractiveness. But also, professor Lee would never do anything to make anybody feel lesser; he was exceptionally sweet and passionate about his job title. While many professors with seniority were more than happy to lecture in raggedy golf shirts and loose-fitting trousers, he arrived to work every day with a crisp button-up and nicely fitted dress pants, his hair flawlessly groomed and beautifully symmetrical like the smile on his face.

 Girls shuffled in the first row to ogle at his tall figure, the way his jaw tensed when he was a bit frustrated about the villainy of a Shakespearean character–as if he hadn’t read the play hundreds of times before. They bit their lips almost in unison when he pushed his round glasses up his strong nose; legs crossed as he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up and leaned over his desk to emphasize a point. You understood why girls lusted after him; you had found yourself pressing your thighs together at your seat whenever he would make eye contact with you, even if for a few bittersweet seconds. But you found yourself staying after class to ask questions–no underlying intentions flooded even the depths of your subconscious. You were frustrated, unable to understand the analytical points about Hamlet he had spent the last few lectures illustrating with animated gestures and eloquent wording. But he was too eloquent to ever glean an ounce of knowledge; his voice was impossibly soothing, smooth and silky and almost luxurious to listen to. You found yourself yawning into a closed fist as his lecture ended; his voice was so euphoric you found yourself dozing off quite a few times throughout the two hour class. You closed your laptop and walked to professor Lee’s desk, suddenly feeling small and insignificant in the presence of him. His eyebrows were furrowed, a red pen tucked between pillowy pink lips as he marked last week’s quizzes. The girl who sat next to you had done very poorly, probably hoping he would scribble a cliché “see me after class” at the top.

“Can I help you, miss Y/N?” He asked, capping his pen and averting his deep cobalt eyes to you. He took you in completely, looking at your exposed legs underneath a skirt, a soft cable knit sweater falling off the slope of your shoulders a bit as you pushed some hair behind your head. Even though he was sitting down, he was still quite imposing, and you found your legs trembling a bit. 

“Well–” You squeaked, thumbing your copy of Hamlet that you had set on his desk, flipping it to the act you had been assigned the week before. “I guess I just don’t understand–the allegory here,” You pointed to a specific line, nibbling on your lip as you tapped your fingers on the desk.

“Probably because you were half-asleep during the entirety of the lecture today.�� He said this nonchalantly, skimming over the line your finger was trembling over. But a smile trickled over his features, and you knew he was just teasing you.

“Oh–I’m sorry sir.” You mumbled, scratching your forearm nervously. “I’m just a bit sleepy today.” 

“What’s keeping you up at night, sweetheart?” He asked, his pinky brushing against the back of your hand as he began to annotate your copy with his vibrant pen. 

The affectionate name made you flush in the cheeks and you had to stifle a whimper as you felt his breath fanning over your shoulder. 

“It’s all representative of the inevitability of death. The shared fate of every being on earth that, in a way,” He brushed some hair over your shoulder, his eyes flitting upwards from behind the lenses of his glasses. “--show that we’re the same; not much different from even the most--high-class people. That it doesn’t really matter.” His eyes were focused on your lips now; he loved how the soft mauve lipstick on your mouth had feathered out a bit, making your lips look unbelievably pink and kissable. Gwilym’s eyes trailed to your cleavage unintentionally, and he reverted his focus back on your face quickly after. 

“That what doesn’t matter?” You almost whimpered, your lips parting as you looked at his own do the same. 

“Differences. Between people.” His hand found your waist. It was large and warm, heavy even. “Differences between us.” 

You tilted your head and felt gravitated towards him--which explained why your hands found his hair as his fell over your ass, squeezing slightly as you shared desperate, messy kisses. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and he pushed it into your mouth, pulling your body into his as he sat down in his desk chair, pushing your legs apart so you straddled him. 

“Sir--we shouldn’t.” You whined, feeling obligated to say that since it was such a taboo situation--but your grabbing of his hair said something entirely antithetical. 

“You don’t want this, sweetheart?” He sucked an open-mouthed kiss upon your sternum, his cock hardening underneath you. “You make me so--” He gasped, grabbing your hip with one hand as his other pulled your hair back to expose your neck to him. “so fuckin’ hard. such a pretty girl in these cute little outfits.” His fingers rubbed at the hem of your skirt as he kissed up the column of your throat, pushing your lips onto his own. 

“More--I need more, sir.” You moaned and whimpered, clawing at his scalp as his tongue massaged yours, his hands now kneading the soft skin of your ass. 

“Oh, fuck--” He hissed as your pussy ground against his cock deliciously. “God you’re so fuckin’ cute. Thought you were such a little goody-two-shoes, and here you are rubbing your little clit on your professor’s cock.” He slapped your ass harshly and softly pried your mouth open with his tongue. “Keep it open.” He gazed into your eyes and rutted his hips against your core as he spit into your mouth, watching his saliva pool on your tongue. 

You whimpered, your eyes becoming hooded as you swallowed everything he gave you. 

“Good girl.” He praised, pushing your panties to the side to rub at your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. 

You gasped and pulled on his hair, grinding into his touches.

“That feels good, doesn’t it baby?” So good.” He delved his middle finger inside you easily, groaning at the wet sounds your slick cunt was making around his digit. “So tight. Such a delicate little pussy; don’t think you’re ready to be fucked yet.” He marveled, pressing harder on your clit, watching intently as your eyes rolled back. 

You whined, feeling defeated. “I--I need to cum, please.” You pleaded, pulling on his collar as you kissed his neck hungrily. 

“Needy little thing.” He commented, pulling you closer to him by your waist. “How about you cum all over my thighs? Wanna ride my thighs until you’re a trembling, cute little mess?” Running a thumb over your cheekbone, he admired your doe-eyes, looking so desperate, accentuated by deeply flushed cheeks. “Precious girl.” 

You nodded at his offer, unbuttoning a few buttons of his shirt and running your hands down his chest, feeling the soft patch of hair extending down the slightly tanned, soft skin. It was so intimate, so wrong to feel down your professor’s body--but that was the thing that made you keen for more. “Please,” You scratched his scalp and he rolls his head to the side, completely overwhelmed by how much fucking lust he had for you--his student.

“Fuck yourself on my thigh, angel.” He held your hips down against his thick, muscular thigh, rocking you against him experimentally. He felt your wetness soak through the black fabric and he moaned, relishing in how you were trembling in his arms. “Yeah--rub that little clit right along my thigh--” He pulled you along his leg and you gasp loudly, so loudly that he clasps a hand over your mouth. “That’s the spot, isn’t it sweetie?” His tone was almost patronizing, but you love it. 

“It feels so good--I’m gonna cum,” You announced, grasping onto his collar so tightly you were sure a simple ironing job wouldn’t smooth the creases you were folding into the expensive material. “Oh--fuck. I love it so much,” 

“Good girl--cum for me. I’ve got you. Doing so well for me.” He cooed, squeezing your breasts through your sweater and peppering kisses along your collarbones. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He yanked your sweater over your head and pulled the cups of your bra down as you rocked your hips faster. His lips attached to your hardened nipples, pebbled from arousal and the whirring air conditioner near Gwilym’s desk. 

You came as soon as he swirled his tongue around your nipple, his eyes staring up at you while you fucked yourself against his thigh--just like he asked. He praised you like a personal mantra of his, feeling his own premature release spurt over the front of his pants as you palmed him eagerly, his head rolling back as he let out a pornographic, drawn-out groan. 

Gwilym shoved a hand through his hair and panted, assessing the wet spot on his trousers. “Fuck--” 

“You should be able to get that out; I could give you some tips,” You offered, playing with some hair at the nape of his neck. 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “God, you’re so fucking cute.” He smiled. “It’s not that,” He glanced at the analog clock on the wall. “My three o’clock lecture was supposed to begin eleven minutes ago.” 

[taylorverse]

My Taylor Swift Story

@taylorswift 

hello taylor! can i just make a big point to say how incredible you are. so i don’t really make these sorts of posts because it just seems unrealistic to be not just noticed by you but by any other swifties. You, Miss Taylor Alison Swift are the actual reason why some people are still living their day to day lives. I have literally grown up listening to your music and there’s always been an element of happiness that it brings me, whether its the vibe of the song or the melody or the lyrics or the sweet and pure way your voice echoes the words. I have had every single album of yours on repeat for all the times i’m hovering over the bath shaving my legs, procrastinating doing revision and literally jamming to old tswift songs in my bedroom. I have spent hours laying in my bed looking up at the ceiling playing all too well whilst i cry my eyes about relating the lyrics to how hard life can be and how difficult it is to keep going. But your music has always been a huge element of my well-being as it just provides a sense of stability; the songs you’ve sung is the poetry of my emotions and the lingering thoughts that I just can’t seem to say. My younger self didn’t even realise what a toll you had on me growing up, I always bought every single calender and all the albums. I remember my dad buying me the signed version of RED and it was just the happiest day of my life. I so clearly remember just holding it in my hands and feelings so happy in that moment. The years where i was beginning to get a bit older and things started to shift, your music was the constant that was always there and never left. I had dance parties where I would be alone in my bedroom singing with the huge poster of you hung above my bed (which once actually fell on my face in the middle of the night and was absolutely terrorfying). My favourite memory was sitting downstairs late at night, when I was like 9 and watching the livestream for RED when you sat in nashville and played acoustic songs on your guitar. I was so happy in that moment, to be able to just feel so connected to a woman who didn’t even know I existed was unlike anything I had ever felt before. Then came my birthday where my dad surprised me with Red tickets I LITERALLY CRIED. The night came and it was my first concert, it was one of the London nights and we sat right at the back. My most vivid memory of that night was the two people behind us who were obnoxiously going on about how they were gonna meet you after and that the show didn’t matter as much. Me and my dad would look at eachother with a jealous smirk and enjoyed the show. To be honest, I can’t actually remember that much but of what I do, I could have sworn you waved at me (even though there were probably about 4894 people in my direction) and the small kid i was held onto that as we trecked our way back on the train at midnight. As this was my first concert and I was so young, it felt so cool to be awake so late and I was in awe of the night I had experienced. 

Being at school, I was always known as the swiftie. I bought the drawstring Red tour bag from the concert because my dad said i couldn’t buy a top as he said “there’s no point in buying it if you’re going to grow out of it”. Anyway i used it as my PE bag and still do to this day. Everyone would tease me and I used to just SHAKE IT OFF and ignore the haterzzzz. My life was completely altered by that night, I wouldn’t stop thinking about it and I remember doing a show and tell in class where I played the videos I took of the concert on the big screen to my whole class as I passed around the rubber wristband I had too bought from that night. Everyone was so amazed by my experience, I was just so happy that I had seen my role model and that my life felt fulfilled at that point. 

I’m now in secondary school, I have never ever stopped playing your music. I even got an app to see how many times I had replayed songs and it turns out i have listened to Speak Now all the way through 800 times (not including the years of listening to it on my iPod). Then when one day I was sitting watching greys anatomy (wink), I got an instagram notification that you had posted a picture. My heart sank as I began to wonder WHAT THE HELL YOU POSTED since you had disapperred from earth. Seeing the what i know now as the snake, I literally jumped out of excitement & an overwhelming burst of confusion built up as I tried to figure out what the hell was happening. More pictures posted and my lil swiftie inside of me came rushing out as I just skipped around the living room. I still remember staying up late to watch LWYMMD music video. It was insane. I lay in my bed with my headphones plugged into my phone and quietly shrieked at the BEAUTY of it. At this point I wasn’t as indulged in the online fandom as I am now, so I started to follow accounts like @marthaswiftie on instagram to be more involved and find out all these crazy theories. The reputation album came out the year right before my life kinda went downhill. I remember the tickets came out for the tour and I didn’t even ask my parents to go because we were going through such a tough time that my own selfish wants were not the priority. 

So beginning 2018, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. We soon found out that it was terminal, which just broke our family individually in different ways. Our family is extreamely close and for something like this to happen, it was such a huge surprise that we just didn’t know how to react. My closest memory was sitting Physics class, just staring into space and all of these horrible thoughts were flooding my mind and all of the worst case scenarios just ruined me. Yet my naive self was so unaware of my emotion that I just carried on with my life, instead trying to be overly happy about life. At this point, my dad was is hospital most of the weeks spending time having his radiotherapy and chemotherapy done. I tried so hard to not think about it, that I ended up having so many breakdowns of which I spent crying my eyes out in my room just trying to hold onto hope that seemed so far away. Selfishly, I so wanted to see you on tour just to give me a pick-me-up but i felt so bad about wanting something for myself since I shouldn’t even be thinking of anything but him. Yet instead, I was so broken that I just ignored what was going on around me. This is what I’ve been learning to cope with and i think at points i felt so defeated. The tour month came up, i watched endless clips of people going and felt so hopeless in seeing you. I was in such a rut of trying to feel happier, yet trying to cover up the way I dealt with things by watching every Youtube video under the sun and literally all the shows on netflix to exist. Even writing this now feels so narrow-minded but it was just the way I was going through it. The literal day before the tour, my sister surprised me with tickets and i canNOT TELL YOU the rush of happiness I felt. I sobbed so much, I did not sleep as I lay thinking about what I was going to wear and the fact that i was going to see you in the flesh. 

The day came, and there are truly no words to describe it. I left school early, rushed home and did my makeup and hair. We hopped on the train and made our way up to london. I remember getting into Wembley and as soon as we walked out of the station I saw a huge group of people wearing merch tops and that’s when it started to kick in. We had a few hours, so we walked up and down the streets, me noticing all the outfits from music videos and award shows that people were dressed up in. Then we sat in nando’s, literally starving and as we ate our food just kept repeating to eachother, “we’re gonna see TAYLOR SWIFT” and every time it gave me goosebumps. A little girl came in as we were finishing, she had little cat ears on and a tutu. She had a top that she had DIYed herself that said I LOVE TAYLOR on it. My heart melted as we made our way out of the restaurant and grinned our way up to the stadium. The closer we got, we saw so many people with VIP necklaces and we looked at eachother rolling our eyes because we were jealous haha. I was so shocked by the diversity of people there, literally every type of person was surrounding us obviously in awe of the event that was about to occur. My favourite bit was walking up the huge pathway to the door entries, we came super early so I could get merch and our route was filled with girls screaming at the sight of eachother. My sister was so confused so I filled her in on the details of how so many people meet online through fan acounts and these concerts are where some of them finally meet. The merch queue was huge, but i had saved enough for a hoodie so we made the decision to stand in it. There were a few girls behind us complaining about the outfits people were wearing, we were annoyed because they kept saying “why do they dress up so much she’s not gonna see them” and my blood just boiled as their remarks piled on top of eachother. As we reached the front of the queue, we heard Charlie playing from the stadium because this line ended being 2 HOURS LONG. I didn’t care though, I said to my sister that the whole fun of it is to wait the long hours and dedicate our time to this day as it was a once in a lifetime. I bought the black hoodie with the zipped hood, they didn’t have small so I got Medium which ended being HUGE, but I love it because I snuggle in i every night. Straight after, my sister took a cute pic of me in the hoodie to send to my mum right before we were about to go through security. It was my first time at wembley so I had no idea what I was doing, but I just followed my sister as we got our bags checked and prepared ourself for the view we were about to whitness. My heart began beating so fast, I was in complete shock and my sister gripped my hand as we found our entry doorway. My first thought was, WHAT THE HELL. I had never been in such an overwhelming place. IT WAS HUGE. the amount of people there just left me in a sedated state for a second before we trudged down the stairs to find out seats. We were in block E, on the floor. It was my first time not being super high up, so i felt so privileged as i strut across the metal walkway feeling so happy about where i was. The struggle to find our seats was REAL. We spent ages when they ended up just being right in front of us the whole time. As soon as we scooted through the others, we sat down and just took a second to realise that we were about to whitness TAYLOR SWIFT PERFORM. My adrenaline was going crazy, my sister took tons of pictures and videos to send to my parents and they were so jealous! Then Camila came on, she was incredible. Everyone stood up as my short height meant I was staring at the huge screen, miming to lyrics to consequences and never be the same. She left and the stadium began to flll up and it just got so much louder. Anticipation grew, every single person in that stadium was just so happy. The Ready for It tune started and that’s when it all kicked off. I lifted myself from my seat, screamed to my hearts content as my sister sang along whilst also watching me give a performance in front of her. Every song was just so amazingly performed. Then when the b stage was next, the whole floor just legged it to get closer. I was nervous to lose my sister or the bags so i remember turning behind me as my sister grabbed the bags and said ‘go’. Little old me bent through the crowd, I ducked beneath and tried to get as close as I could. I remember standing on a chair and as I did i realised that i was less than 5 metres away from TAYLOR SWIFT. I sang along to So it goes and turning back every now and then to see where my sister was and I kept saying ‘Emma, I AM SO CLOSE I AM GONNA CRY’. Every now and then I would pull my phone out for videos but I wanted to grasp this moment as I let all my worries wash away and I whitnessed the most insane moment of my life. As the move for the next stage came, I followed the movement of the crowd as the security officers began to strictly tell people to stop standing on chairs. There I was, spinning around every now and then to see the crowd. Dress was the current song and my eyes lit up at the beauty of Miss swift. The concert followed with so much energy, the seats we had were right at the back of the floor but it was amazing to feel the lit up souls of everyone around me. There was just so much energy, so much love. One thing I remember was grooving to a song when the confetti began to float over us. We were so far back that it didn’t quite reach us yet this one piece was slowly floating mid air quite far back. I followed it with my eyes and reached to grab it as another girl took my opertunity. I was slightly annoyed, but the scenery of lights and idea of my idol being in the same room brought me back to happiness. The night ended with me and my sister talking on the phone to my mum, praising the show and just feeling so blessed. The nightmare of getting home began, as we got on the wrong train and then as we finally settled we were so tired that we almost got lost. My sisters boyfriend picked us up and we got home in a blur of sleep.

That night was unforgettable. It was just all my needs in one place, i felt so satisfied and i watched the videos I filmed of it months and months after, remenising on it. Coming back to present, TS7 is on its way. I woke up at 5am to see the ME! music video as soon as it comes out and see all of the hype. This has been the best day in ages. I have bought the song on itunes and streamed it on every device & app. My fingers literally ache from typing this in one sitting, but it was amazing because I just went through that night all over again from writing about it. But my point is. Whoever is reading this, Taylor or even just my grandma; there is happiness out there. I live by Taylor Swift and her music, she will always and forever be my role model, I LOVE YOU @taylorswift

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Whore

At the time of writing this (November 2018), I haven’t done Ieyasu’s route and wouldn’t call myself a fan. I did, however, set up the year of smut to challenge myself (because I think smut is one of the hardest things to write) and adding a character I’m not a fan of only adds to the overall difficulty. After finishing it, I did develop feels (however brief) for Ieyasu, so who knows lmao. Maybe at the time you’re reading this, I’ll have finished his route and have different things to say about him.

SLBP, Ieyasu x Courtesan, Smut

2019 Year of Smut masterlist | My KO-FI | AO3

DISCLAIMER: This fic pretty prominently features degradation, Ieyasu throwing the heroine around and just generally being nastee. It’s probably one of the more problematic smuts I’ve done and I know some people will be uncomfortable with it so please continue to skim if that kind of thing bothers you. Secondly, Ieyasu may be slightly OOC as I only know his event material, which a lot of the time are in themselves OOC and not representative of the actual route *cough choke Inuchiyo cough*

If sex is an art then she is adept; better acquainted than most with the tastes of men. She knows how best to pout, to blush, to seduce and it does not escape her that the Lord Nobunaga buys her services as a joke. 

It is the end of a long battle; the perfect opportunity for good food and a pocketful of gold. She is not the only courtesan invited, though the first to receive an invitation into the Lord Nobunaga's private rooms. She felt his gaze on her body as she danced with the others, made sure to bare just enough flesh as she poured his drink. This is a rare opportunity and she does not doubt that she earned it, so his relative disinterest leaves her as morbidly curious as it does ashamed. 

She does not know how to react when he tosses a bag of gold in her direction and navigates her to another man's room. A man he tells her next to nothing about, despite her numerous requests.

He tells her only two things of her client: that the man is almost certainly a virgin and loves strawberry daifuku.

A woman with half her experience would be lost at such a strange scenario but she takes it as a challenge. She has entertained warlords, monks and more and has a reputation to live up to. It is her pride that sends her changing her clothes and not the coins jingling in her pocket.

If she is known for anything it is her ability to take on the personality of another to best suit the one taking her to bed. Her previous clients have come to know her body, though only ever their own version of her heart.

She sits in front of her mirror and considers the only specific detail Nobunaga deigned to give her: strawberry daifuku.

From there she knows what to do. More specifically, she knows which recipe to follow.

She scrubs off her makeup first and unpins her hair, allowing it to fall free about her shoulders. She removes the gaudy kimono she wore for the party and puts on something simpler: a dress the colour of starlight and texture of evening mist. She smoothes rouge across her lips and perfume across her collar bones. She pinches her cheeks even as she knocks at his door to give the illusion of a virgin’s blush.

She expects to find a page or newly recruited warrior, though the reality is neither. Instead she enters the private rooms of one Tokugawa Ieyasu, who plainly has not been expecting her either.

“Who are you?”

She hands him a name that is not her own, in a dainty voice that does not suit her, explaining her purpose and receiving a roll of the eyes as a response.

She knew from the beginning that Nobunaga only paid her as a joke and can tell from his glare that it is not lost on Ieyasu either.

“How gracious of the lord of fools,” he says, in a saccharine tone far removed from his words. “Well then, sit over there and face the wall.”

She hears a lot stories in her line of work and knows many about him, from his quick wits and battle stratagems to fragments of his past. She does not presume to know how many are true, only that a man such as himself would know better than to refuse a gift from the lord Nobunaga.

With that in mind, she takes a seat in the corner as he has commanded, back straight and eyes focused on the walls.

He is occupied by something, though she does not dare chance a look. Instead she shifts her weight and considers what to do next.

“Would you like me to sing for you, sir?”

He turns the page of something and chuckles softly.

“I have no interest in listening to a whore.”

“Then how would you prefer I entertain you?”

She hears him pause, setting aside whatever book he has and climbing to his feet. She braces herself as his footsteps, knowing his type all too well and considering each possible scenario. She barely flinches when he touches her shoulder and maintains a cool facade as he turns her to face him.

His words are dripping with malice, but his expression is cheerful; a contrast that sends a very real shiver down her spine.

“I should rather you stay quiet and know your place.”

He cups her chin in his hand and strokes his thumb over her bottom lip, hands so cold that she digs her nails into her palms to stop herself from trembling.

“Disgusting,” he laughs, turning her head one way and then the other. “I don’t understand their fascination with you and your sort. No self respect.”

She knows his type all too well; those who spit insults and barbs and rough touches to hide a soft underbelly. She tests the waters, sliding her tongue across his thumb and watching as he snatches his hand away as if burned. He glances from his thumb to her and back again, expression unreadable, but conflict clear.

“Annoying,” he says, rubbing the evidence from his skin. “You enjoy this, don’t you? Sitting there on the floor, so pathetic.”

“I sit here because you-“

He reaches for his sword and holds it to her throat, rendering her silent in a matter of seconds.

“Strip,” he says, lowering the blade to the collar of her kimono. Slowly, she reaches for the fastenings and allows the fabric to fall to the floor-the point of his sword resting against her neck. She is used to men seeing her so exposed, but feigns modesty, reaching up to cup her hands over her breasts, which only seems to amuse him.

“You are my property for tonight, are you not?”

“I…”

Property is far from how she would refer to herself, especially given Nobunaga is the one whose gold sent her here, but the idea seems to satisfy him and she nods.

“If I asked you to run through the castle without clothes, you would have to do it.”

He expects her to beg and plead, she guesses. He likes the sweeter things in life-toying and teasing and having his own way.

“Yes, sir,” she says without a hint of hesitation, knowing that he has no intention of ordering her to do so. Men such as this do not share their playthings, after all.

He tuts at her response, much as she expected and casts aside his sword, reaching out for her hair instead. She gasps as he tangles his fingers in it and drags her across the room, all but throwing her to the floor with a strength that she had not expected. She lands on all fours and peers back at him, watching as he slips off his robes and stands entirely bare. He is sturdily built, with strong arms as befitting of an archer, though there is no use in denying that his frame is much smaller than many men she has taken to bed. Seeing him naked leaves her with no doubts that the stories about him refusing food are true. There are scars on his body, too, some that she recognises from battle; the telltale marks of a stray sword or arrowhead. Others she recognises from the bodies of her colleagues: candle wax and more than one lashing from a whip.

It is a confirmation of everything she already knew; that those who enjoy sweet things are often better acquainted with the opposite.

“Face the wall,” he snarls, clearly not appreciating a stranger’s eyes on his naked body.

She obeys, moving to sit in the corner as he ordered her before, only to earn another sharp reproach.

“Did I say you could move?”

She sits back up onto all fours, picking up on his intent as he approaches. He means to degrade her; to put her in the position most associated with beasts before fucking her. He moves quietly, footsteps barely audible against the floor. He crouches down onto the floor behind her, so silently that it’s not until he reaches for her hips that she realises he’s there.

“Is this what you came here for?”

She hears him spit and braces herself for what is coming, taking a deep breath as he presses his tip against her folds. He thrusts hard and deep, leaving her to genuinely whimper in surprise.

“There it is,” he says in satisfaction. “Rutting like a bitch in heat.”

He shifts his hips and fucks her harder, ramming against her with such force that she falls forward onto her elbows, ass high in the air and fixed in place by his icy hands.

“I’m almost tempted to ruin your life,” he says, though it sounds more like a moan than a threat. “How much would it cost you if I put a brat inside you today?”

In truth, it would cost her nothing. There are herbs and other treatments for such misfortunes, along with men as desperate to tarnish a pregnant woman as others are about spoiling the innocence of virgins. He does not seem to be aware of this, but she humours his fantasy.

“I could take you back to my castle,” he says, “and watch you grow fat.”

He fucks her harder, pounding against the bundle of nerves deep inside of her with such force that it leaves her digging her nails into the floor for fear of crying out at the combination of pleasure and pain. She can feel herself tightening, pleasure building at the pit of her stomach. He set up this scene to use her, to seek pleasure at the cost of hers and she claps a hand over her mouth and digs her teeth into her knuckles to stop herself moaning.

“Maybe I’ll yank them from your arms,” he says. “Save them the shame of being a whore’s brat.”

He loosens his grip on her hips for a second and grabs her arm, yanking her up onto her knees and turning her over onto her back.

He wants to see his handiwork; to witness the moment she loses control. She aims to please and looks up into his eyes, letting him enjoy the sight of her ragged gasps. He fucks her deeper, wrapping her legs around his waist and digging his teeth into his bottom lip both from the exertion and his need to come.

He was a virgin only a short time ago and, when combined with his heavy-almost frantic- thrusts, it’s all too soon and only too obvious when he nears his climax. He falls silent about hell spawn and locking her away, instead squeezing his eyes shut to focus on the wet sounds and moans as he fucks her deeper.

She is a master of her art, but even she cannot stay her own orgasm forever, crying out at the shocks of pleasure running through her body. She arches her back off the floor and meets his thrusts, too overtaken by pleasure to maintain her facade.

Her loud moans leave him tutting and sits back onto his heels, pulling out of her and getting to his feet.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you,” he says, laughing out loud. “What a vile creature you are.”

She sits up onto her knees, wincing at the throbbing from her core and thighs, only to gasp as he grabs her by her hair and forces his cock into her mouth. The taste is bitter-a mixture of her own body and something unfamiliar. He doesn’t leave her time to adjust to the sensation, though, instead tightening his grip.

“That’s it,” he says, pulling back her head and smiling at her gasps for air. “Right where you belong.”

He holds her head in place and she reaches for his calves to steady her weight, taking his cock into her mouth of her own accord. He wastes no time, slamming the head of his cock towards the back of her throat. It’s overwhelming; she digs her nails into his skin without meaning to, spluttering every time he drags away his dick.

“Look at me,” he whispers, and she glances up, keeping eye contact even as he slows his movements and hisses with pleasure, calling her a whore even as his seed spills out of her mouth and onto the floor. She glances up at him through her eyelashes, keeping eye contact even as he pushes his hand over her mouth, leaving her no choice but to swallow.

For a while they stay there, catching their breath and allowing the aftershocks to fade. She wonders if he has any further plans for her, watching curiously when he finally steps back and away from her. He pulls his night robe back on and takes in the sight of her sitting there, hair a tangled mess and mouth smeared with a mixture of spit and semen. Between the roughhousing and cut off air supply, she feels more than a little bit dazed.

He glances from her to their surroundings, finally sighing deeply and motioning to the door.

“Well? You got what you came here for. Get out.”

She wipes her lips on her arm and gets to her feet, wobbling on the spot as if she has forgotten how to walk. Ieyasu watches, that same, saccharine smile breaking out across his face from earlier. He picks up the gown she wore for him and drapes it over her shoulders as tenderly as one might expect from a lover. The moment is over all too quickly, though, and he reaches for her throat.

"Say anything about what happened here and I’ll kill you,” he says, barely above a whisper. 

Ordinary women might be frightened of such a threat, but she knows the truth behind the venom. It is his first time bedding a woman and Nobunaga has already humiliated him enough.

She puts her dress on quickly, stopping to bow before leaving his chambers. The night is cool against her skin and the feast still active, the sounds of merrymaking as loud now as when she arrived at Ieyasu’s room. She wonders how long has passed; the sky is so dark that it might pass for morning or night.

She glances back in the direction of Ieyasu’s room, considering how many men she has entertained and the identities she has crafted over the years. It is satisfying, to say the least, to finally bed someone with a better mask than her own. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Être Libre (Ao3 Link)

Fandom: DC's Legends of Tomorrow, the Flash Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart For Coldwave Week: Abduction/Kidnapping - @coldwaveevents

Summary: It was supposed to be a standard contract.

The Fae kidnaps the human, the human is given everything he wants and nothing he needs, and the Fae is enriched.

But nooooooooo, nothing in Len's life can be simple.

(Mick Rory is such a tricky human!)

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

It was supposed to be a standard contract.

Supposed to be, being, Len supposes, the key word. He's never been good at being what he's supposed to be.

Neither, it seems, is the subject of this contract.

"How hard can it be," he says, mimicking his sister's higher pitched tone to an exaggerated falsetto. "It's just a basic contract! Everyone does contracts. People have been doing it for literally thousands of years. The time will pass in barely a blink of an eye. You're not nervous, are you? Not you, a strong, attractive, big, tall -"

There's a muffled snort.

Quiet, but enough.

"Found you!" Len exclaims, leaping forward to yank aside a bush to glare at his target.

"Yeah, sure," Mick says from where he's lying on his back in the dirt. Utterly shameless, like he wasn't just hiding from Len a few seconds prior. "Tell me, did she really say 'tall'? That seems like an unnecessary bit of flattery."

"Compared to humans, I am tall," Len points out. He's over six feet tall, after all.

"True," Mick agrees. "But I wasn't comparing you to humans, now was I?"

Len scowls at him. It's not his fault that his species tends more towards seven or eight feet in height.

Even Lisa is a perfectly normal seven and a half feet of gorgeous woman.

(It's not Len's fault that he gave her all his food growing up, stunting his growth in the process...)

"Besides, I'm taller than you," Mick says. "And I am human."

"I didn't need the reminder," Len tells him, giving up and slouching down into a seat next to Mick. There's clearly no reasoning with the guy. "Why'd you run away this time? You know your half of the contract is to stay put."

"And as you're so quick to remind me, humans are creatures of chaos capable of breaking contracts," Mick says dryly. "Unlike you lot, all rules and order above all else. You don't eat, sleep, or have fun without rules. You even kidnapped me according to the rules!"

"I'm a creature of order, what do you want me to do? Not be what I am?"

"You even left in a loophole where I could get free of our contract if I could escape," Mick continues, looking aggravated. "And you told me about it."

"Of course I did! You're my counterpart, you have the right to be informed!" Len protests, even though he knows that humans are not afforded any rights under the Law. According to the Law, humans are the subject of contracts, not counterparties, not real counterparties.

Len's never liked that.

A contract between two parties ought to be between counterparties, fair and equal, whatever the Law currently says.

"And anyway, that doesn't change the fact that you tried to run again," Len adds. "In the middle of a party, too."

He didn't actually object to leaving the party early, he hates these sorts of parties - he by and large hates other people, actually - but there's having a good excuse to miss the party and then there's having to track Mick down again - and again - and again –

Mick huffs. "Maybe I wanted some time to myself, ever think about that?"

"But you call for me to come back to the demesne any time I go away," Len says, utterly at a loss. "I don't know what you want."

Mick looks at Len pityingly. "Buddy," he says dryly. "You're not supposed to care about what I want."

Len groans and flops back on the earth next to Mick.

"You're really bad at this whole abduction business," Mick observes. "Like, really bad. I thought kidnapping humans is what you Othersiders do for fun."

"Status," Len corrects Mick. "We do it for status. Having humans around helps us think more clearly."

The problem with being a creature made from order is that you fall far too easily into stale ruts, repeating the same thing over and over again, and you can't get yourself out. Not without a spark of chaos to help inspire you to, anyway.

That's why they took humans. As faelings they offered gifts in trade, as jinn they pretended servitude, as dragons they kidnapped by force - but the end goal was always the same, to use the human to further their own goals.

Len never liked it.

Oh, he likes rules as much as the next Sider, as humans called them: he liked making them, he liked twisting them, he adored the challenge of maneuvering around them.

But he hated what they did to humans, draining them of inspiration and will and spark until they were greyed-out shells that were so empty they actually thought they'd made it out intact or even ahead of the game.

Johnny with a violin of gold won and his ability to compose lost.

Tam Lin with his bride to be, going mad over his inability to write another poem.

Orpheus, who didn't understand why his music no longer had that extra oomph that won him all of his acclaim.

Len hated it.

It was addictive, for one thing; cruelty summoned cruelty, but each human that was taken would provide less and less of a high, and in time the Sider doing the taking would deteriorate into mess good only to be put down. But that wasn't really the reason - that sort of thing wouldn't happen for centuries, if you were even slightly careful.

No, Len'd rather his inspiration come from himself, however tired it made him; that way his victory was his own, rather than stolen from the soul of a broken toy.

But he was in a tricky situation in the centuries-long life-or-death match he was playing against his Father, and he needed to demonstrate to the East Tower Clade that he had the ability to enthrall a human into a contract, not to mention a lack of disdain for those Siders that did use it.

A disdain that Len did, in fact, feel.

But Lisa convinced him that he needed their alliance to pull off his next maneuver, one that would bring him closer to the victory she longed for as much as he, and he'd begrudgingly agreed.

He'd taken the easiest route: he came across a child at a vulnerable moment, their family dead in an inferno they themselves had unintentionally started, and he offered them a contract too good to be true - safety, pleasures, the whole rot.

Mick accepted, of course, because Len is good at what he does. Even this, when he puts his mind to it.

That should've been the end of it: children made for fantastic inspiration, but they burned out fast, and Len would have been free of his obligation within a few short years –

If he'd managed to stick to it, anyway.

He'd had Mick a week, a week of giving him all the food, games, and other innocent joys the boy had ever wanted, and then at the end of the week it was time to take Len's due portion from Mick's soul and Len had balked like the coward he is.

He couldn't.

Not a child.

(Not after what his Father did to him, and to Lisa, when they themselves were only children, and never mind that this was a human child, a human, someone Len shouldn't even care about.)

He couldn't do it.

He'd amended the terms of their contract to give Mick an out, a reprieve of two score years if Mick could do some middling task for him, and he'd dumped him back in the human world for a few decades.

He'd kept him safe from afar, ensured no one interfered with his counterpart, his property, but tried otherwise to leave him his privacy.

And when the time was up, well.

Then Len had come to him as a dragon of fire and carried him off back to the Underhill because what else could he do? He'd signed a contract with Mick, and he's a creature of order.

Unlike Mick, he has to obey a contract.

But it isn't any better now that Mick was an adult, either, because Mick isn't vacant-eyed with grief anymore, but charming, and inventive, and crude, and different. New.

Human.

A thousand different creatures contained in a single soul: the babe, the child, the teenager, the young adult, older but not necessarily wiser...

A creature born of chaos, as much in love with the fairytale-order offered by the Siders as the Siders were in love with them.

Len hasn't laid a goddamn finger on Mick.

He can't.

But what can he do? He can't let him out of the contract. He can't break a contract.

To be specific, he can’t break a contract.

All he can do is hint at the loopholes and make Mick as comfortable as he can until he figures out how to get out via one of those loopholes.

But he can't do that if Mick keeps trying to escape in a way that makes Len have to chase after him.

"You were supposed to be awful," Mick says suddenly.

"I am," Len objects automatically, because he's unSeelie, damnit. Humans perceived his chosen clan as violent and dark rather than wise and peaceful and light - Len preferred it that way, found it less hypocritical to let the humans see a little of what they were really up against. Lisa, though he loved her, was Seelie: golden of hair, golden of smile, and yet she and her lover, the dark-haired, dark-eyed Cynthia, drew upon human souls with a facility and ease he would never have. "What do you mean by that, anyway?"

"You put me back without making me forget anything, you know," Mick says, turning to look at Len. "Was that on purpose, or accidental? Answer me honestly."

"I didn't want to pervert your mind," Len says, and he is being honest. "I know we're supposed to dull what you know of the Hill, but really, what are you going to do even if you know? Bring cannons?"

"Nukes, maybe," Mick says.

"Bright as flame," Len says, "but just as useless. We're creatures of order - do you really think that we can't put some atoms back in their proper order just because you've gone ahead and split them?"

Mick grunts, acknowledging the point. "We could build better weapons," he points out.

"You could," Len agrees. "Honestly, you probably should, so as to better defend yourself as a species. Get more respect from the Othersiders that way. But I don't know what those weapons would look like."

Mick sighs. "See, that's what bugs me," he complains. "You want us to protect ourselves! You don't want to force-feed on me! You want me to be happy!"

He seems upset.

"I don't understand humans," Len says plaintively. It's not the first time he's said that. Not even the first time to Mick this week, even. "Would it be better if I were cruel?"

"Yes!"

"But why? I don't want to be cruel! I just want -" Len cuts himself off.

Mick rolls over, suddenly interested. "What do you want?"

Len shakes his head.

"No, really," Mick persists. "I know you made a contract with me because you wanted to get an alliance to win that fight against your dad. But once that's done - what do you want?"

"I wish I knew," Len replies sadly. "I've always been - dissatisfied."

"You know something, o Thief For Hire."

Len scowls at Mick. He was too perceptive, even if he did have too much fun with Len's chosen profession once Len had explained what he did to fill his days. It was a perfectly respectable profession, one of daring and creativity and skill, thank you very much.

"What do you want?" Mick asks, his eyes oddly compelling. "Tell me."

Len gives in, as he always gives in. "I want to be free."

He doesn't even know what he means by that, when he says it, just knows that he wants it like he's never wanted anything else.

But Mick seems to understand.

He smiles.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

When the sky rips open and the human invasion-ship arrives to rescue Mick, to take him away, to win him free of his contract per the loopholes traditionally included, Len's almost not even surprised.

He is surprised when Mick convinces his rescue team - they call themselves the Legends, many of them escaped from the Hill themselves and now operating through the in-between spaces of the world to save more of their kind - to take Len with them when they flee the Hill.

They put him in the brig, of course.

Len's okay with that. He's never been in a spaceship before, so it's a brand new experience - chaotic and inspiring.

He picks and re-locks the lock three times before finally deciding it was time to go exploring.

Mick is arguing with the rest of the crew on the bridge -

"- can't just keep him! He's an Othersider!"

"He wants to be free! How does that make him different from the usual people we rescue?!"

"Because he's an Othersider! A kidnapper, not a kidnappee!"

"Actually," the tall smiling man says, "I think Mick really is his first kidnapping - I was looking through the records while we were visiting last time, and his reputation -"

"Am I the only person who remembers the fact that this guy is - an - Othersider?!"

"Don't be racist, Sara -"

Len decides to keep going in his exploration, at this argument doesn't seem likely to finish anytime soon. There's a kitchen, which confuses him for a few moments until he remembers that humans generally construct their own food out of raw ingredients, lacking as they do the ability to simply siphon nutrients out of the relevant objects; a number of bedrooms, all personalized in intriguingly different fashions, of which he can only recognize one as Mick's characteristic messiness; and a gun room, which is hidden behind several walls.

"You shouldn't be in here, you know," the ship's AI informs him.

"I'm just looking around," Len protests. "I'm not doing anything harmful."

"I suspect the crew has a different interpretation of harmful than you do," it says wryly. "For instance, your ability to exit your cell at will, given that it's supposed to be immune to your species' particular powers."

"It is," Len says. "Very impressive. I just picked the lock, that's all."

"I saw," the AI says. "You did it very quickly and quietly and sneakily."

"Sneakily? Don't be ridiculous," Len says. "I'm a thief. If I was being sneaky, you wouldn't have seen me."

"Are you suggesting that your escape was because of your profession rather than your species?"

"Exactly. Why'd they bring me on, anyway? Do you know?"

"Better question," a voice says from behind Len, causing him to turn. "Why did you agree to come?"

It's the ship's captain: a woman, blonde, wearing white and carrying staves with the air of someone who knew how to use them.

"Mick said to," Len explains.

She looks at him for a long moment, clearly expecting more. Her eyebrows arch up when she realizes that's it. "I didn't realize it was so easy to abduct one of your kind."

"It probably isn't," Len says with a shrug. "But, well, he said I should, and I've never been on a spaceship before, and since my previous plan failed, there's no reason not to try something new."

"Your previous plan," the captain says slowly. "The one involving sucking the life out of Mick, yeah?"

"Close enough," Len says. For some human, the difference between inspiration and life was a pretty narrow line. "It was meant to demonstrate that I could fit in with the Tower Clade gentry, to get them on my side, but I couldn't do it - either during his childhood or his adulthood."

"Yeah, we noticed that," she says. "We had Gideon check on him, and he's not been drained at all."

"I wouldn't have liked to see him grey," Len says. He had nightmares about it, sometimes, vivid ones where he could see himself achieving the pinnacle of all his dreams - his Father gone and locked away - but only at the cost of Mick crushed beneath his feet. It was never worth it. "I like Mick."

"If you didn't like doing it, why did you want to join this - clade?"

"The Tower Clade. And they would have helped me gain advantage against my Father."

She frowns. "Your father?"

Len nods. "He is no longer stronger than me such that he can obtain compliance by force, so he comes up with other ways to get it, like threatening my sister."

"You - Okay. Huh. I didn't know Othersiders could have abusive dads."

"Anyone can," Len says. "It's the penalty paid for allowing anyone who wants to to reproduce."

"...right. Point. Okay. Are you planning on betraying us?"

"To whom?"

"I don't know, anyone. Other Othersiders."

"I don't particularly care about you lot," Len says honestly. "But if Mick doesn't want me to, I won't."

The captain doesn't look entirely pleased with that answer, but she shrugs and accepts it. "Welcome aboard, then, I guess," she says. "You'll have to earn your keep."

"I can do that," Len says. "I'm a Thief for Hire."

"What, really? Okay. Well, we don't do much thieving - rescue missions are more our style."

"People can be stolen," Len points out. "Memories. Lives. Kneecaps. I'm a very good thief, when I'm hired to be."

The captain purses her lips. "And what does it take to hire you?"

"I take many forms of trade -" Len begins his usual sales pitch, but there's cough at the door.

It's Mick.

Len turns to him with a smile.

"You're going to offer a reasonable trade," Mick instructs. Len can't blame him for doubting; he's overheard some of Len's negotiations.

"Very well," Len agrees, feeling strangely mellow. Happy, even. Is he happy? It's been such a long time.

He likes this, whatever this is. Being abducted by humans. He likes it.

"What's your price, then?" Mick asks.

"A kiss from you," Len says on impulse. "One per theft."

Mick flushes red.

The captain starts to laugh. "Oh, it's like that, is it?"

"It is not!" Mick exclaims.

"It isn't?" Len asks with a frown.

"Okay, maybe it kind of is - but it wasn't - not back where we were -"

"I wouldn't take advantage of you when you were in my power," Len says. "But you've escaped your contract, so now you're an equal again - as much as humans can be, anyway, the Law is really terrible - and that means I can try to lure you into a new contract."

The captain's laughter dies. "Another draining contract?"

"No," Len says patiently. It's not her fault - she probably has limited experience with Othersider contracts. "A marriage."

"Whoa, there," Mick says. "Hold your damn horses. Marriage?!"

"It's the final goal," Len assures him. "I intend to spend months and months in extended negotiations convincing you of what a good idea it is."

"He's asking you out," the captain translates. "To potentially start a serious relationship."

"But," Mick says, but for all his verbal objections coming out of his mouth, his body language is quite positive. Len feels like he has reasonable basis for hope. "He's an Othersider!"

"May you have more luck with that argument than I did," the captain says wryly. "If he's good enough to travel with, then he's good enough all around. If you want to date him, don't let us stop you."

Mick is silent for a long moment.

"Well?" Len asks.

"Oh, all right," Mick says. "But no tricks! And we're going to negotiate you a better price than kisses, because I don't want to be limited!"

Len's never been happier to be abducted.

[charleskenny]

Some Thoughts on Tom & Jerry: The Movie

A new Tom & Jerry live-action/CGI hybrid movie is on the way, but the duo’s initial outing on the silver screen in a feature makes for amusing viewing after almost 30 years.

Tom & Jerry were, of course, born on the big screen. Appearing in a raft of shorts for Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer (MGM) in the nineteen forties and fifties. That life in shorts was shared with their Hollywood colleagues who similarly didn’t receive their feature debut for many decades after short films had vanished from cinemas. The timing of this film comes a short time after the release of Who Framed Roger Rabbit! and rode a wave of nostalgia for cartoons from the Golden Era.

I remember seeing it in the cinema at the time and thinking it was a pretty good film. Not a favourite, but enjoyable. Watching it almost thirty years later is an altogether different experience. Not only am I older, but animated filmmaking has changed almost beyond recognition. The film now seems like an curious oddity from a different time.

"You talked!"

Tom & Jerry: The Movie (T&J:TM) faces an uphill battle based on the concept alone. Taking characters beloved for their adventures in short films and stretching them to the amount of time that’s expected of a feature is, well, difficult. Roger Rabbit sidestepped the issue through original lead characters and cameos for everyone else. Tom & Jerry wouldn’t be so lucky.

The producers got around this by simply having the characters talk. Now in fairness, they had a lot less dialogue than I remembered and to the producer’s credit, it is a restrained amount all things being considered. Any dialogue however, was going to break a fundamental feature of the original shorts who’s genius was that they dispensed with all dialogue aside from Tom’s occasional yells. So one wonders if that sinks the ship before it’s even left the shipyard and to a certain extent it does.

That being said, it’s necessary to consider everything in context. This film was released in 1992/3 when animated films were stuck in a rut of sorts. Disney’s renaissance was well under way, but the reasons were not yet so obviously unique to that company. Independent animated features instead copied one of the more noticeable traits by going the musical route. T&J:TM exemplifies this. The songs are not ‘out of place’ per se; they’re just another aspect of the film that yanks the characters further away from their origins.

The story is, what I would consider, pedestrian and aiming towards the formulaic. Tom & Jerry, it was clearly felt, could only carry a film by themselves for so long and thus, Robyn enters the scene and provides the necessary problem the characters need to solve. Orphans must have been trendy in the late 80s and early 90s as films such as Aladdin, and All Dogs go to Heaven attest to.

One facet of the plot is the prominent focus on money and the destructive effects that greed can have. Money drives all the antagonists in various ways in contrast to the themes of friendship and loyalty that drives the protagonists. Interestingly, this theme is all the more potent with recent recessions, COVID, and economic pressures faced by many while those at the top gain ever more.

The animation is OK. That’s about all I can say. The crew clearly aimed for the energy of the original shorts and succeeded for the most part. It’s just that overall quality is clearly second tier but on par for most other animated films that weren’t Disney’s.

Both William Hanna and Joe Barbera were alive when this film was released with the former being a creative consultant. To the filmmakers credit, the degree of loyalty to the original shorts while trying something new is admirable. Later results aren’t as good. A new, live-action/CGI hybrid is on the way, but the duo’s initial outing on the silver screen in a feature makes for amusing viewing after almost 30 years. The odd gag is reused outright, but it’s the ethos that carries through and evolved. The film makes good use of incorporating scenes reminiscent of the shorts into the wider story without making them feel like set pieces.

In the end, what brings the film down is that it was released perhaps half a decade too soon. In hindsight, Toy Story was groundbreaking for far more than its CGI. Conceptually it broke the mold for what animated films should be with its writing, humour, and most importantly, its lack of songs. T&J:TM follows the old mold and it shows. Had the film been released in 1997, we would have seen a different film; perhaps in a good way, perhaps in a bad way. Optimistically, I hope it would have been better and benefited from knowing that Disney’s success was down to more unique factors and that Toy Story showed there was a different path to take.

Conclusion

I don’t hate this film. I don’t love it either, but therein lies the quandary. T&J:TM is stuck between a rock and a hard place. It valiantly tries to take characters who’d never been on screen for more than 8 minutes and make them survive for more than 90. It breaks one of the cardinal rules of said characters not out of choice, but out of necessity. It came out too soon to be able to take a risk, but ended up being too generic to stand out.

With the release of a new film that combines live-action with CGI as a way of bypassing the dialogue dilemma, comparing both films will make for good discussion.

Originally published at https://animationanomaly.com/2021/02/16/some-thoughts-on-tom-jerry-the-movie/

[gayasianminimalist]

Appreciate

Today has been the coldest day I’ve experienced all winter. Like super bitter cold, I’m pretty sure it didn’t even go over 50 degrees Fahrenheit today. The heater in my house has been going off all morning and afternoon so far.

Today I just want to take a few minutes to kind of let my current life sink in. I’ve been more introspective than I’ve ever been recently, and I’m glad to have this calm self-reflection time. I sound like a broken record probably by this point, but I truly feel glad to be back in my hometown. Yesterday was my mom’s birthday, and the day before I was writing my birthday note to her with my sisters. I wrote that I was glad to be home for the first time in years to celebrate my mom’s birthday. And I genuinely feel that way. When I came back home about almost 7 months ago, I kind of felt this cloud over myself. I kind of felt miserable being back at home. Mostly because I wasn’t used to my parents being around telling me to do stuff. I literally was so glad to be gone the last 4 years because I didn’t have to listen to anyone. I think it legit took me the latter of 4 months to start feeling normal back at home.

As a post-graduate, I wanted to shoot out the door with a job so that I could make money and do my own thing. These last 7 months I finally learned to slow down a bit. A few of my friends have told me to take my time with the job hunt. Once I start work, I won’t be able to take a break. At least not at the beginning. And the grind really won’t stop, I’ll probably be more exhausted than I think I’ll be. There’s only so much energy any of us can output. I need to appreciate that I’m still supported by my mom and dad while I’m on my job hunt still. They’re helping me in my journey to succeed in a stable career, and I could not have achieved what I have without them by my side.

I appreciate all of the friends that I have in my life, mostly from college. They have helped me get through the worst and celebrate the best. From failing classes to reaching that goal overall GPA I wanted at the end of my 4 years, I owe it to myself as well as all the moral support I received from grinding out so many papers and calculations. I’ve had a lot of mid-college crises, I contemplated changing my major so many times. Never really changed my major because I kind of didn’t imagine myself in any other route professionally. Like I don’t wanna be in lab doing research all day, and I definitely am not cut out to be a doctor dealing with blood and organs of all sorts. I’ve also never been particularly politically opinionated or interested in going on Broadway and the likes.

Two days ago before I went to sleep, I had a thought of looking into how to become a certified personal trainer. That’s something I wanna keep in my thought archives for the future... I’ve had such a vast exposure to the fitness world the last few years. I think that would be a viable career option as well if I really get stuck in a rut. I want a career with a more disposable income at first, but I definitely will maintain fitness as a hobby. I’m grateful for being able to invest as much time into fitness as I have the last few years. I had no idea how to plan workouts for the gym, but now I have a decent arsenal of workouts that I can rely on. I am more than glad to geek out about fitness and exercising to my friends, and gladly will take the title of gym rat (although I would like to have a more attractive nickname for loving fitness so much).

I appreciate everyone in my life currently, being in a comfortable place in my life, and most of all I appreciate all the love that I receive and will continue to put my love out for everyone I care about.

[mialoveslife339]

Thoughts are Things by Bob Proctor

Chapter 2: Overcoming the Obstacles to Action

Action is the real measure of intelligence. 

Thoughts become things! Anyone who has ever received anything that he or she wanted began by thinking about it. 

For an action to occur, the action brain has to be activated. 

“His commitment came from recognizing that he simply could not stand the situation he was in and needed out. When he fully acknowledged to himself that he really needed to choose where he was going to do his residency in psychiatry, the positivity of making that change outweighed staying stuck in the same old situation in South Africa--so much so that his brain simply caused him to call and leave.”

When you consciously tell your brain why the current circumstance is not good and the future is so much more desirable, allows you to make a deal with your brain to change. Studies show that this kind of “pros of the future” and “cons of the now” approach activates the left frontal cortex and increases both your commitment to change and the chances that you won’t just go back to what you were doing. Successful people for whom thoughts become actions always weigh the play. And those who don’t do this have a hard time convincing their brains how to act. 

There are in fact quite a few obstacles that can interfere with the thought-to-thing evolution. For every one of these obstacles, there’s also an easily applied way to overcome it. 

Desire and its fulfillment are continuous, separated only by time and place. To close the gap between the two, we have to nurture the right conditions in our brains to take action. Some do not take action on their thoughts because they neglect to change their mindset into the goal mindset from the very beginning. The moment a successful person has a desire, he or she will start to behave as the person who has already achieved that desire. 

When you want to become a billionaire or dancer, you have to think, feel, and work like one before you become one. It is the only way to get there. 

Thoughts are electrical impulses or patterns in the brain. We experience them in words or in images, but they are simply electrons flowing around in a circuit. This “thought” circuit has to become connected to the “doing,” or action, circuit in order for thoughts to become things. It does this most easily if we imagine ourselves in the goal already, because effectively, our imaginings program the brain’s GPS with a destination. When that happens, the brain will then map out the route to your destination. 

There’s a right way and a wrong way to employ the imagination in service of a goal. 

Two types of imagery are best for improving confidence from the start: imagining overcoming adversity or coming from behind, and imagining executing your most feared action. It’s not the image of holding up the trophy at the end that increases confidence, but the image of coming from behind. Some people, after gaining confidence, become anxious once they start imagining being on the path toward their goals. So they stop imagining early. Studies show us that the actual image makes a difference. When you imagine in the first person, it activates the brain more strongly, but also causes more anxiety. 

To deal with this anxiety, switch to a third-person perspective, wherein you see an actual image of yourself, viewed from outside the body, in the situation. Both types of imagery are great for your brain. Starting with third person and then moving to first person can help reduce anxiety. 

“None of this matters if you do not actually believe in your goal. When you believe in your image-thought, your brain will try to mount a response to it. If I asked you to imagine rotating your hand twenty degrees, your brain’s action center will fire as if you are actually doing this. If I asked you to imagine rotating it 270 degrees, your brain will simply stay parked. No activation. No action. This is because your brain does not believe that this is possible. When you do not believe that something is possible, your brain does not waste its time trying.” 

Those who act dare to imagine, and they imagine in a very specific way. 

Procrastination is another common barrier on the thought-to-thing trajectory. 

Arousal procrastinator wait until the last minute to do things because they like the high of the last-minute rush. This can help you when you need the pressure, but it can hurt you over the long haul. You are getting a high out of stressing yourself out and, while you may like it, your heart and brain can only take so much of it. Meditation can help you for arousal procrastination. 

Avoidant procrastinators avoid the task at hand because they can’t stand doing it. This can be fine if they don’t actually need to do it, but if they have to, it becomes problematic. If you have to have a difficult conversation with your spouse, delaying it might only make things worse. 

Indecisive procrastinators can’t figure out which way to go with an action, so they simply don’t, thinking that by not deciding they may never have to act. Someone in a long-term relationship who endlessly delays the decision to marry runs the serious risk of ending up alone. 

In essence, you must replace what activates the brain’s reward center so that the reward of procrastination is trumped. 

Perfectionism can actually slow the brain down, inhibiting growth and success. 

“We really need to more deeply understand that champions and successful people are so because they are not stuck in their perfectionism. In addition to being great, they also recover more quickly...If you do fail at reaching your goal, reorient...Recovery involves quick learning, quick self-forgiveness, and moving on. If you want your thoughts to become things, focus on learning the art of recovery. It’s as important as being excellent...Perfectionism is an illusion that will slow you down and prevent you from every reaching your goal.”

“People think that this is all thought control, and it isn’t. If we are stressed and afraid, our thoughts will be beyond our control and never become things.”

Stress refers to the disturbance of coordinated brain activity that occurs when you are faced with demands. People who have this happen to them frequently make a hidden agreement with themselves that their goal is to get through the day. They even convince themselves that they have no thoughts about success or, if they do, they have no interest in those thoughts becoming things. 

Place your attention on your breath and allowing your thoughts to just be the electricity that they are, without ascribing meaning to them. Do this for 20 minutes twice daily, and you can actually change the way neurons talk to each other in your brain, making your brain much more likely to cooperate in helping convert your thoughts into things. 

Another option is to address your stress. The key here is to transform your sense of stress from something vague, overwhelming, and frightening into something concrete and controllable. Figure out exactly what’s stressing you--actually write down each item on a piece of paper until you have emptied your head and can’t think of any more--take one or two of those things off your plate, if you can, and then try controlling your thoughts with reframing or refocusing. Once you do, your thoughts are in a position to be controlled enough to reduce your anxiety and then become things. 

You need to make sure you are articulating your thoughts in a way that makes it possible for your brain to act on them.

A thought, when it occurs at first, is really an intention, and that there are two kinds of intentions in the brain. Goal intentions are broad: “I want to lose weight,” or “I want to be rich.” Those are great starting points, but they are often too large or nonspecific for the brain to actually do anything with them. You have to convert them into implementation intentions in order for your brain to convert them into things. 

Frame the thought in highly specific, directional terms: “I want to lose five pounds this month by going to the gym on Monday and Friday each week at 8:00 a.m.” When you break thoughts down like this, they become amazing building blocks for your goals, and the brain becomes much more cooperative. 

One way to give your intentions more substance is to transfer thoughts from a to-do list to your calendar with a reminder. The brain has so much to do on any given day. Helping it out in this way will really make it serve you and want to help you reach your goals. 

If you find that, despite all your efforts, your thoughts are still not making forward progress, it may be because your mind has gotten into precisely the opposite habit--stuck on a circuit of sorts that is keeping you in a rut of nonachievement. 

When we get stuck in a circuit of disappointment, we try to become better and better at disappointment rather than “hopping” to the circuit of fulfillment. One key mechanism for breaking the cycle is to swing the flashlight of your brain’s attentional system from surviving to thriving. This leads to the science of possibility. When converting thoughts into things, you must think in terms of possibility rather than probability--how the exceptions have done it, not what most people have experienced. 

People who self-handicap are afraid to try hard enough because they will feel foolish if they fail, rather than proud that they tried and got that much stronger and closer to their goal for having tried. 

Every practice is a worthwhile trial if you learn from it. 

[pen-parker-blog]

Yeah this is the New Years Resolution I am most likely to fail. Every year I tell myself to read more books, every birthday and Christmas I ask people to buy me books, and thus the pile of tree spawn next to my bed grows higher and higher. I wake up and roll over each morning, to be reminded of what an uncultered swine I am, with all the books I own yet haven’t bothered to read. So the odds are somewhat stacked against me with this new years resolution. Maybe this is the year I will finally turn things around right..right?

So many books, so little time.

It’s not that I’m not a reader, I love reading. Ever since I was a child I loved reading, and I did get through a lot of books when I was a kid. Granted, aside from Harry Potter, most of those books were not read by choice, rather dictated to me by whatever the school/college/university curriculum was. Throughout education, we would dream of the days when we would be able to read books because we wanted to. Imagine it, a world where we get to read books because we want to, not because we have to. Then University comes to an end, and did I catch up on all the books I wanted to read? Did I bollocks. I borrowed a copy of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, from one of my friends in second year of Uni (2011), and I didn’t get round to reading it until last year (I did message said friend and asked if she wanted the book back, after I’d kept it unwittingly for 5 years, but she was fine with it). The problem is I don’t give myself the time to read. Once I come from home from work, I’m usually go to the gym, then come home and make food, I usually watch something on Netflix whilst eating, then I need to clean the kitchen but I can’t be arsed so I go on Facebook, then  I finally clean the kitchen, then I sort out food for work in the morning, then I get distracted by the Xbox One (I mean have you played Overwatch?), or I get distracted by whatever shit is spewed out onto Youtube, then I’m on Facebook again chatting with friends, then I realise I have no clothes for the morning, then I realise I need to clean the house, but then I realise it’s been an hour since  I played Overwatch, then I go on Youtube and then BAM! It’s 1am…Bugger.

Half the time, when I do find a quiet moment with nothing to do, I often take to the laptop to punch out some writing, be it scripts I am working on, or more recently blog posts. But then I find myself, as many writers do, stuck in a rut, struggling to come up with… them ideas on…how to write things…good.

You know what helps with that? Reading a God Damn book!

To be fair to myself, I did manage to get through some good books last year, although it was usually down to being placed in a situation where I literally had no other choice but to read. Last year I played the part of Toby in Amy’s View, at The Chesil Theatre. The character only appeared at the very end, which meant I had 1 and 3/4 acts worth of time to sit backstage, and in that time I managed to get through 3 books. The aforementioned The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, David Owen’s Panther, and Hunter S Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in as Vegas. I also went away to Majorca for a week, and when you find yourself on long flights/coach trips, or just sat relaxing on the balcony/by the pool, it’s very easy to sit back and get lost in a great story. In Majorica I read both Room and The Girl on the Train, again two great books and both with movies that I really want to see. There was also a brief period of time, where I ended up having to commute from my parents house to work every day at the start of winter, and so the train journeys gave me the time to read The Shining, leant to me by a friend. I love Stephen King, and being able to read one of his most famous works, made the early-as-hell journey to work, in the freezing cold, all the more bearable. However, once I returned to my own home, with now a mere 10 minute walk to work in the mornings, The Shining remained untouched in my bag for a good few weeks, calling out to me: “Come read with us, Davey!” Luckily, to avoid keeping someone elses property for another half decade, I did manage to finish the book, but it took me far too long to do, especially considering how much I enjoyed reading it to start with.

The problem with me now is that I tend to only read, when there is literally nothing else to do. The only reason I started reading The Shining on the train was because the South West Train Wifi never quite made it to the carriage I was on, the only reason I started reading in the dressing room at the Chesil, was because I had slowly lost my mind and descended into madness, playing non stop Candy Crush during rehearsals. So I am vowing to make things right this year, and actually make the time to read more books in my own time. Like my previous Resolution Revolution post, I am hoping that posting it on here, revealing my shame for all the world to see, will help encourage me to do better in the literary arts (unless I delete this post and claim blissful ignorance).

Anyways, here are a list of books that I own, which I am vowing to read this year.

The Complete Sherlock Holmes: Volume 1 – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

This is a pretty big book, maybe I got intimidated by the size. I got this as a Secret Santa gift from my friend E.J years ago and I was psyched. I love Sherlock Holmes, so what better way to show my appreciation for this literary icon than actual reading some literature? This is only Volume 1, so hopefully I may move on to further volumes before the year is out.

The Familiar – Mark Z. Danielewski

Mark Z. Danielewski’s debut novel House of Leaves is one of my favourite books of all time – holy shit – if you haven’t read this book I urge you to do so (I mean ever re-read this year, it’s that good), so when my friend Leo who introduced me to said book informed me of his new novel, I was excited. Not only that, but this book was set to be the first in a 12 part series? Oh my God, this is going to be the greatest thing to happen since the world was made! And boy did I hate it. What made House of Leaves memorable was that you had 3 different narratives intertwining perfectly in one novel. So for his next novel, Danielewski decided to go down the Hollywood sequel route and crank everything up to eleventity-stupid. Now there were like a dozen different plots, subplots, narratives, writing styles, words written in a circle that you had to turn the book clockwise just to read a sentence. It was a mess and felt like a pale imitation of what made the first book so great. But, that’s just it, because his first book was so great, I am willing to give this book another chance. Who knows, this still could be the greatest thing ever. Let’s find out.

Autobiographies

I love reading autobiographies from professionals who work, or have worked, in the entertainment industry. Writers, actors, comedians, broadcasters, I love reading about their lives, careers and experiences all from the horse’s mouth (or hooves, seeing as it was typed not spoken). A few years back I brought Steve Coogan’s autobiography, and last Christmas my parents brought me John Cleese’s and Brian Blessed’s (Fun fact, it is impossible to read his autobiography and not imagine him screaming it with the force of 100 db). All of these people are icons of mine for many different reasons, and hopefully will be the first of many icons who’s lives I have the privilege of delving into.

Graphic Novels

I don’t care what you say, but these count as books, and yes I am saying this as a 25 year old man, but I am also saying this as a massive nerd. The first one is a gripping Captain America story that I got from my friends Dee & Tom last birthday, which I started reading, got instantly hooked, but then for some bizarre reason, stopped. I fear it got lost under the forest of books I told myself I would read last year.Now that I have moved that pile onto an actual bookcase, I intend to get right back into this novel, followed swiftly by Moon Knight, a well received gift from the pair last Christmas. Cannot wait.

No Exit and Three Other Plays

I’m an admirer of Jean Paul Sartre, so much so that my friend Louisa brought me the greatest mug in the world back in Christmas 2015.

I directed a production of No Exit back in University, so it only makes sense I actually read the other three plays that came with the script. Who know’s what that may lead to? Plus, as I tend to dabble in script writing, best way to improve on it is to study previous theatrical works again.

Hamlet: Poem Unlimited – Harold Bloom

I begged my friend Leo to lend me this book, Hamlet is one of my favourite plays and Harold Bloom’s study of the play was something I really wanted to read. That was again, quite a few years ago, and I still have it… and I need to finish it. Better get started.

Sonnets – William Shakespeare

My friend Louisa brought me this book a few years back. Seeing as I may end up reading one of them at her wedding next year, it makes sense to brush up on the old Shakes’ work doesn’t it?

  Books to help me write good better

As I said before, the best way to improve my writing is to actually sit down and read a book. So it makes sense to have some books dedicated to improving on this craft. I brought Rib Davis’ Writing Dialogue for Scripts last year at the BFI shop, and my friend Leo brought me Plot & Structure by James Scott Bell for Christmas 2016. Considering I am currently working on three short plays this month, am starting work on an episode of a Radio Drama for Blazing Caribou Studios, am taking on the 28 Plays Later Challenge next month (which I strongly recommend any other writers out there check out and sign up for here), have ideas for two books that I want to start writing – one of which I’ve started –  and I want to finish writing  a full length play this year, it makes sense that I surround myself with books like these.

  So that’s that for my Second New Years Resolution. Granted I’ve made this same resolution at the start of most years, but seeing how much time I’ve spent blabbing on about it on this blog, I’m hoping it will be enough motivation to actually go and uphold it this time around. Here’s to the great stories waiting for me, and the many more out there waiting to be told.

Dave

Be sure to check out my first New Years Resolution Post here, and keep your eyes peeled for my third and final one coming soon.

Resolution Revolution – Read More Books Yeah this is the New Years Resolution I am most likely to fail. Every year I tell myself to read more books, every birthday and Christmas I ask people to buy me books, and thus the pile of tree spawn next to my bed grows higher and higher.