#but writing for a series is a team effort and all they really had to do was hire writers that do know what they’re doing with diverse rep

[jacquesthepigeon]

In regards to canon’s “adrien is a fairytale princess” thing, it is related to misogyny, yes, but it’s not directed at Adrien or a result of him being “femme coded”, it’s more so that the crew thinks reversing stereotypical gender roles is enough to be considered a feminist twist but they lack a vital understanding of the meaning behind these stereotypical roles and why they’re actually bad beyond being cliché and annoying. They haven’t broken down the tropes themselves but rather simply accepted the conclusion that they’re bad when applied to female characters without analyzing why they’re often applied to female characters in the first place and how it stems from misogyny.

I’ve mentioned the Enlightened White Male Atheist thing in the past (it’s not actually limited to any of these demographics but I’ve personally observed it’s more prevalent there) where a creator is so convinced that they’ve reached enlightenment about issues pertaining beyond their own lived experiences that they don’t need to keep taking any steps to improve themselves. They already know all there is to know and anyone that says otherwise is Wrong.

The crew is truly believes they understand writing and feminism well enough to execute it perfectly while actually only knowing the basic definition of each with no true understanding of the subject. It’s basically the problem with studying methods that rely solely on memorization rather than critical thinking, the students technically know what something is but they don’t understand it.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 3

in which spencer reid spends a rainy day teaching inexperienced fem!reader how to touch him. of course, her efforts don't go unrecognized, much less unrewarded

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings: inexperienced reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, oral m receiving, reader swallows lol, a truly sickening amount of praise, like really, you JOKINGLY refer to each other as dirty sluts, r has longish hair, spit mentioned once, thigh riding (moans loudly), its filthy idk what to tell you, i feel like i've crossed the desert on foot i don't even know what else is in here, your honor they're in love, i take you to dinner first, this part is stupidly long a/n: had a fucking field day the three separate times i had to rewrite this el oh el... but think i like how it turned out?! anyway, if u like this PLS lmk bc writing it took a small piece of my soul, and yes there will be a part four!! take care of yourselves!! i love you!!!

You give Spencer half a minute or so before knocking on his door for a second time. 

It’s miserable outside, and though the hallway you’re standing in now isn’t terribly cold, you’d much prefer to be in Spencer’s apartment, where it will be the same toasty 68.5 degrees as always. Not that the heating will magically dry you. And not that you’ll be there for long, if the date you’d scheduled last week goes on as planned. 

You’re getting worried, about to knock for a third time when the locks finally click and the door opens to reveal a disheveled Spencer Reid—not at all looking ready for a date. You take in his ensemble; blue checked pajama pants, FBI Academy crewneck, the usual questionably paired socks. He’s rubbing his droopy eyes, which slowly widen as he notices your attire. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, our date! I mean—you look really nice. I look… like this. Why don’t you come in while I get ready to go?”

He holds the door open a little wider and you step through, relishing in the familiar warmth as you pull your hood down and excess water droplets spatter on the ground. 

“When did you get in?” you ask, hanging your raincoat up on a hook. You know he’d wrapped up a case yesterday evening, but you’d gone to sleep before the team left Cincinnati. 

Spencer pauses in the middle of the room, staring at the antique flooring like he forgot what he was doing. 

“Uh… four hours ago.”

“Wh—four hours? Spencer, you must be exhausted.”

He laughs awkwardly, running a tired hand over his face. 

“I mean… I’ve definitely felt better.”

You kick your soaked shoes off and cross the room until you’re toe to toe with him. Immediately his hands settle on your waist and yours find his arms. His eyes are kind, and he’s clearly pleased by your presence despite his lack of energy. 

“The weather’s terrible, anyway. Let’s just go out another day.”

His features have softened and you can see how tired he truly is—not just in his bleary eyes, but the way his fingers grasp weakly to you, the way his head bows slightly. It seems bone-deep. 

“But I haven’t seen you in a week. I don’t want you to go home.”

Your lips twist. A clap of thunder rolls in the distance and the rain starts coming down even harder against the windowpanes. 

“We could hang out here. We can take a nap!”

Spencer sighs—half resignation, half disappointment. 

“But we made such good plans,” he laments. 

You kiss his cheek. 

“Plans that can be rescheduled. The bookstore will still be there next weekend.”

It takes him a moment to settle into the idea, but you watch the exhaustion win. 

“Okay. But no nap. I want to be awake for you. Coffee?”

You nod enthusiastically, beaming at the prospect of getting to spend the day doing nothing with him. Spencer mirrors your grin, before pressing a kiss to your head.

“You’re so cute.” Heat creeps into your cheeks and you can’t think of a satisfactory reply, but in the end you don’t need to, as he tugs gently on your hands. “C’mon. Tell me what mug you want.”

The kitchen counter bites into your palms as you lean with your back to it, watching Spencer putter all around the kitchen as he works on the coffee. It makes you tired just to watch. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap? Caffeine isn’t a substitute for sleep, you know.”

“I do know,” he agrees, measuring coffee grounds. “But other than last night, I actually slept fairly well this week.”

“You seem exhausted.”

“I… am tired in lots of ways. Not all of which can be resolved with more sleep.” he admits.

Your heart drops ever so slightly at the way his voice weakens as he looks through the fridge. Sometimes you remember there are still things you don’t know about him—sides you haven’t met. His work side is one of them, and it more than a little intimidates you.

“Bad case?” you ask, voice quiet and crackling with nervous energy. 

Spencer nods, approaching and setting a carton of milk on the counter behind you—caging you in with his arms in the process. It’s hard to find the words when he’s this close, but you manage to stumble through them. 

“Do… do you wanna talk about it?”

Spencer hums, tilting his head before gently saying, “not right now. But thank you for offering, lovely.”

“Okay, well—if you change your mind… if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better…”

Finally he stops with the teasing—the unabashed staring at your lips, the faux-attentive nods—and drops his head to your level to kiss you properly. It’s obviously an attempt to get you to shut up, you’re not dumb enough so as to miss that—but you don’t really care why he’s doing it so long as he does it at all. 

“I feel pretty great right now, actually,” he murmurs against your lips, a hint of a smile coloring his words. “Do you want sugar in yours?”

“Um…”

Your eyes dart helplessly between his as he pulls away and you struggle to un-fluster yourself enough to answer his simple question. Spencer seems to delight in this. The longer it takes you, the bigger his perfect smile gets. 

“You took too long. You’re getting sugar.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” you plead later on the couch, for the third or fourth time, setting your mostly-empty mug on the coffee table. 

His eyebrows raise. 

“I’m sure, honey.”

“But I want to help,” you pout, pulling your knees into your chest. Spencer regards you for a moment from the other end of the couch, before beckoning you closer wordlessly. 

“You are helping,” he assures you, gently grabbing your wrist as you crawl into his lap. He rubs soothing circles into the delicate skin with his thumb. “You being here and being you is plenty.”

It’s the closest you’ve been to him since before he left, and while you’ve all but given up on asking him to sleep with you, it doesn’t mean you don’t think about it multiple times per day. It’s especially difficult to keep your thoughts PG when you haven’t seen him in a week, and his hair is all messy, and he’s got his pajamas on, and you’re in his lap, and he’s looking at you like that. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer murmurs, likely concerned by your lack of response and the glazed-over look in your eyes. You reanimate, averting your gaze to the spot on your thigh he’s now rubbing absentmindedly. 

“Nothing. I just missed you.”

“I missed you a lot, too.” You don’t even have to look up to know that his brows have twisted into a pleasant sort of bemusement, like you are a particularly complex puzzle—you can hear it as he continues speaking. “I’m still not used to having something external take up so much of my attention while I’m trying to do my job. I’ve never had that before. Not something good, anyway. It’s like every time I leave, I’m thinking about you more than the time before. And I was already thinking about you a lot.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as he rambles. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he chuckles. “You prove to be incredibly distracting even when you’re hundreds of miles away. Do you know how many nights I almost called you before realizing it was one in the morning?”

A slow smile spreads over your face. 

“Oh? Whatever could you have been calling about at one in the morning?”

You’re teasing him, and it works. He blushes adorably. 

“Um… probably exactly what you’d expect. In hindsight I think it’s best that I refrained.”

“What?” You grin, incredulous, forgetting your shyness and leaning closer. “You totally should’ve. I’ve never had phone sex before. I would’ve done it.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” Spencer laughs. “It would have just been me talking to myself with you on the other line. I don’t think phone sex is really up your alley.”

“Shut up,” you laugh as your lips meet. He smiles into the kiss. Before you get too lost in it, you pull away, leaning back when he tries to follow you. “I think you’re over-complicating it. It’s just dirty talk, right? I can totally do that. It’s just, like… blah blah blah, dirty slut, something something…”

You trail off as he gives you a look. Poker faced—aside from the slightly narrowed eyes sparkling with humor. 

“You want me to refer to you as a dirty slut?”

Maintaining eye contact is an uphill battle—you crack in a matter of seconds, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes stubbornly. 

“No. For all you know I want to call you a dirty slut.”

It’s a ridiculous, but he recognizes the bravado for what it is, still smiling slightly as he rubs your hips. 

“Right. I apologize for assuming. But just for future reference, I don’t want to be called that, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable calling you that, either.”

“But you can call me other stuff,” you remind your boyfriend, pulling back and still not looking at him. 

“Yeah? Like what?”

And just like that, you’re shy again. 

“I don’t know… nice things. I like when you’re nice.”

“I like being nice to you.” It’s so sincere-sounding that you meet his gaze, examining his face. His eyes are clear and soft on you, the only source of warm light on such a grey day, as his hands keep running slow lines over your sides. “Kiss?”

And how could you ever deny him anything? 

As has happened before, the kiss starts out innocent enough. And it’s not that it gets particularly heated, or anything—it’s just that it doesn’t end, and after a few moments your mouth slips open and so does his and that’swhat gets both of you worked up over a period of minutes. Pressure and heat that you’re becoming accustomed to build between your legs, and you don’t even notice that you’ve begun rocking back and forth in his lap until Spencer is attempting to still your hips with patient but assertive hands. 

“Honey, that’s—slow down, sweetheart.”

Finally he gets a grip on you and you realize as soon as you stop moving that there had been friction occurring—and you’re pretty damn sure you know what you were grinding against. 

Your whole body feels hot with arousal and embarrassment. 

“Oh my god—I’m sorry,” you mumble, moving your hands from his shoulders to cover your face. “That was an accident, I—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assures you, squeezing your waist gently. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing because I know we haven’t… gotten there, yet.”

A moment passes—your hands fall to the FBI stitching across his chest, studying the letters without really seeing them. You haven’t gotten there yet… but why not? Why haven’t you touched him, or even seen him? You think back to the few times he’s touched you and realize that you had been too busy with either your own insecurities or pleasure to genuinely consider how it might be affecting him. He says your name gently, drawing your attention. 

“You okay?”

You nod haltingly, brow furrowed as you think. 

“I—yeah. I was just realizing that I haven’t, like… touched you, yet.”

It’s silent for another long second, and you glance up, to where he’s studying you with a dissonant kind of relaxed scrutiny—a knowing confidence that probably comes with a lot more experience than you have. 

“Do you want to?”

Woah. 

Usually you have to beg on hands and knees and prepare a slideshow presentation before he agrees to doing anything sexual in nature. He’s never so overtly invited or initiated it before. Not that you’re complaining by any stretch of the imagination.  

You nod shyly, still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“If you want to, I can show you how. But it’s also absolutely okay if you don’t.”

Show you how? 

Your brain is melting into sludge at the idea. 

“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze again. It’s kind, and you know he really wouldn’t be upset if you said no—but now that you’ve thought about it, you feel deeply compelled to try. 

“Okay. Come here, first.” You lean forward expectantly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand finds the back of your neck and he pulls you into another soft kiss. By the time your lips separate again, your head is spinning. “We’re just trying something, okay? You’re allowed to stop whenever you feel like it. Really low stakes. Got it?”

You nod, still close enough that your noses brush as you do. 

“Got it.”

He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away and leaning back into the couch. 

“Scoot back a little, angel.”

Wordlessly you do so, heart pounding with nervous excitement as he lifts his hips and slides his pajama pants down just enough to where he can comfortably pull himself out, and—

Your breath catches. 

Now, you may be about as virginal as they come, but you weren’t born yesterday. You’ve seen porn, you’ve received unsolicited nudes—it is the 21st century. Yet never before have you thought to yourself; wow, that dick is the pinnacle of beauty. Perfect. Breathtaking. But there’s just no other way to describe him. 

So that’s what hits you first—how unexpectedly pretty it is. 

The size sinks in a quick second later. 

You can’t tell with perfect accuracy how many inches he is, but you’re pretty damn sure he’s big. That’s meant to fit inside of you?

No, no—that’s a consideration for another day. Right now you need to stop staring like an idiot. You glance up at his face, and he’s sporting a cocky little half-smile which lets you know you’ve been caught. Motherfucker he’s so hot. It’s unnerving. 

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” he asks politely, quite obviously containing his amusement. But you can’t summon a sufficiently sarcastic response. 

Your voice comes so soft when you reply, “you’re pretty.”

Spencer melts, eyes impossibly softening. 

“Pretty?” His smile is earnest now. He strokes your cheek and you can’t not lean into his touch. 

“Mhm. I want to, um…” your lips twist to the side as you look back down, finding he’s not gotten less intimidating since you last checked. “But what if I’m bad at it?” you whisper. He chuckles, brushing hair over your shoulder.  

“It’s kind of a hard thing to be bad at. And I’m gonna help you, okay?”

It’s the honesty with which he speaks to you that makes you feel so safe. There are no hidden intentions or words that seem to mean one thing but really mean another. Spencer wants you as a person more than he wants you as a body and that’s been clear since the first time he touched you. You take a deep breath. 

“Okay. What do I do?”

“First, you’re gonna spit in your hand.”

You look up, alarmed. 

“You want me to intentionally get my spit on you? Is that not your worst nightmare?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not super worried about yours,” he teases. “But if you’d prefer, I can spit in your hand.”

“Actually, mine is fine,” you laugh nervously. 

Hesitantly, you do as instructed, even though it seems frankly bizarre. 

“Good. Now just wrap your hand around it, like this.” His voice is quiet, focused as he guides your hand downward. Your heart rate ticks up again as he encourages you to wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He feels much warmer than you’d expected—his skin is silken beneath your touch but he’s undeniably hard and that sort of eliminates any sense of him being fragile from the equation. 

“It’s gonna be less sensitive down here—and then, up here—” he slides your hand back up, covering your thumb with his own and swiping it just below the head of his cock on the underside. He hisses and you look up in fascination. “That’s the most sensitive part.”

Without further instruction, you do it again, keeping your touch light and watching his face for a reaction. His drawn brows twitch, furrowing deeper for a second, and his lips part. A heavy exhalation passes between them and quickly builds into a breathy laugh. 

“What?” you murmur, over-eager to please and very nervous to do something wrong. 

“Nothing. Just feels good, that’s all.”

“Don’t laugh,” you pout. Of course that makes him laugh again, and he leans forward to kiss your head. 

“I’m laughing at myself, angel. I’m a grown man fighting for my life from a handjob that you’ve barely started. I knew it would be different with you but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you look away. 

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” he urges, grabbing your free hand and encouraging you to uncurl your fingers. His thumb traces circles in your open palm, before capturing your entire hand in his. “Do you feel how much softer your hand is than mine?”

You frown, attempting to feel whatever it is that he’s pointing out. Despite the fact that you think he has very nice hands, you realize he’s right. By no means would you say that they’re rough, but you can tell where his gun normally sits in his hands, where his fountain pen rubs against his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Anything you do is going to be perfect because it’s you.”

Spencer drops his hand to your leg, rubbing it soothingly. The other moves to cover yours—the one wrapped around him. 

“You’re gonna help me, right?” you ask quietly. Some adventurous part of you is very excited about this as an experiment—fascinated by the reactions you’ve already gotten from him and eager to push it. 

“I am. Little bit tighter, honey. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

You do as you’re told, and he’s murmuring more praise—slowly encouraging you to begin moving your hand with his own. A shaky exhale catches your attention, drawing your gaze to his face. His eyes are, of course, cast downward, but his expression is hypnotizing. Those lips remain slightly parted, and suddenly you wonder if he makes noises like you do. In that moment it becomes your life’s mission to find out. 

For a while you continue letting his hand guide your movements, but he keeps things so slow for your sake that you’re getting impatient. You forgo his direction, picking up the pace but trying to keep the rhythm he’d instilled in the motion. His hand slackens around yours. 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself. The hand on your thigh rubs achingly deeper into the flesh. “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I want it to feel good.” Suddenly shy again, you slow down. His hips stutter, which you think may be a sign that it was working. “Am I—was that bad?” Spencer looses a breath, looking almost… frustrated?

“No, I’m just—I’m weirdly close to coming.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Well,” he mutters, “not usually. Mostly it’s embarrassing.”

You giggle, a release of some tension, and begin pumping your hand again. His breath hitches and he finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes with his own lust-glazed ones. Heat pools deep between your legs. 

“I want you to come,” you admit quietly as you twist your wrist, brushing that spot underneath the head of his cock again. His jaw literally drops, and a look that is part confusion, part pleasure, twists his features. You see the surprise sparkling in his eyes and it only spurs you to keep talking. “I’ve never seen how you look when you do, but I’ve imagined it. I bet you look so pretty when you come, Spencer. ‘Nd then I would know that I can make you feel good, too.”

“You… you are making me feel good,” he assures you. The way his brow furrows and his  lips are parted give you a feeling that’s entirely new. Normally, you’re the one falling apart under his touch—but when it’s the other way around there’s a whole new kind of pleasure in it for you. You feel kind of powerful. Maybe even close to confident. 

“Really? I’m not this quiet when you touch me.”

“I’ve ha—ah—had more practice not making noise.”

“But why?” you implore, ignoring the fact that he’s slept with other women and enjoyed the sounds they made, and opting to brush your thumb across that extra sensitive part he definitely shouldn’t have told you about. His hips buck up and he hisses, which is immensely gratifying to you. 

“Because I like to listen.”

“What if I do, too?”

In a moment of divine inspiration , you cover the tip of his cock with your hand, swirling beads of pre-come over your palm. Spencer moans and his hips jut up into your grip. It’s a beautiful sound, just as you’d hoped. 

“Jesus, fuck.”

You understand why he seems to enjoy touching you so much. It’s so rewarding to watch as his breathing picks up and pleasure contorts his face—to watch him get messier and messier and lose his composure a bit more with each stroke of your hand. It’s so simple but Spencer looks at you like you’re exercising some arcane deviant power over him and he’s not sure he should be enjoying it as much as he is. 

Distantly you think about how it felt when he had his hands on you—and then, in clearer focus, how it felt when he went down on you. Both were perfect, but something about his lips so gentle on the most intimate, vulnerable part of you had felt like ascension. Maybe it was the emotional component, or maybe it just felt fucking good. Regardless, it seems an irresistible thought. 

You keep stroking him until his head is lolling on the back of the couch as he groans.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah, baby?”

He sounds so destroyed it makes you clench around nothing. Without any indication that you’re going to do so, you stop touching him, and the speed with which he lifts his head again is almost comical. Immediately, while he’s utterly defenseless and desperate, you ask, “can I use my mouth?” 

His eyes widen, and then shut, as he processes your request with a tiny shake of his head—probably trying to clear the haze of pleasure from his mind before he answers. 

“Honey,” he rasps eventually, opening his eyes and smoothing a hand over your hair, “you don’t have to do that just because I do. That’s not why I do it.”

“But I want to,” you murmur, shy and mildly embarrassed by what feels almost like a soft rejection. “I don’t think I could do anything, like, mind-blowing, but… I want to try.”

Your face is hot by the end of the sentence, and you can’t meet Spencer’s eyes as his fingers twitch over your hip. A quiet moment passes—but it’s short-lived.

“Okay. Go ahead, baby.”

Wide eyes dart up to his. 

“Really?”

Spencer smiles fondly, brushing an invisible speck from your cheek. 

“I don’t think I’m capable of turning that offer down. Not when it’s you.”

“Okay—um, should I just—” Spencer watches on, finding your sudden enthusiasm completely adorable as you scoot off of his lap and gingerly kneel in front of him. Your eyes are big and glassy as you look up at him, hands set politely on his knees. You squint suspiciously, eyes darting between his face and his cock, now about as hard as it’s ever been due to your toying. He knows it’s probably intimidating for a girl who has never seen one in real life, and he feels kind of bad about it. You do terrible, wonderful things to him that he doesn’t understand. “Wow. So... it looks bigger from down here.”

“Please don’t try to choke yourself,” he instructs hurriedly, leaning forward slightly. “I really don’t need you to do that. It’s fine if you can’t fit it all, I just—” he exhales shakily. Spencer is most definitely strong-willed but he can’t pretend like the sight of you on your knees for him, inches from his aching cock for the first time isn’t impacting his cognition. Most importantly he doesn’t want to make you feel pressured. He’s trying to not let how badly he wants this show in case you change your mind. 

Spencer watches as you psych yourself out—wilting like a thirsty flower. 

“But what if I’m bad at this?” you mumble, hands curling into loose fists atop his legs. Spencer pushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears. 

“What’s your worst case scenario?” he asks. Your answer is immediate. 

“That I’m so bad you make me stop halfway through.”

Spencer can’t help but laugh again. 

“I’m sorry—I just… honey, you are really underestimating how profound your effect is on me. I just almost came from a minute long handjob. I can assure you that I won’t make you stop halfway through because I’d rather not have your mouth on me. That is… that’s just not going to happen.”

You lean your cheek against his thigh. He might actually pass away. 

“Will you tell me if I’m doing something wrong?”

“Honestly, as long as you don’t bite, you’re in the clear.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your lips pull into an embarrassed little smile. 

“Great. Thank you for that invaluable advice.”

“Of course,” he smiles. It fades slowly as you take a deep breath and look up at him, obviously steeling yourself, before leaning forward and taking him in your hand again. He watches with bated breath, repeating no sudden movements to himself over and over as your hand moves up and down a few more times and your head lowers. 

You delicately, so lightly trace your tongue from the base of his swollen cock to just underneath the leaking tip, mapping a vein, and his hips buck as you take him into your mouth experimentally. Only the first few inches fit but the sight of your lips wrapped around him, the way you’re looking at him is so unbelievably erotic Spencer knows he won’t last very long.

From a purely technical perspective—he knows he’s gotten objectively better head. Still, something about the way you’re so delicate with him, so soft and timid in the way you lick and kiss and take him into your mouth has him fighting not to come already. Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing that he’s watching you do this for the first time in your life is obscenely arousing. The idea that you’ve never trusted another person this much; that you’re letting him be the one to help you navigate something as new and as important as sexuality. The more he thinks about it, though, the more he realizes: it’s not your inexperience that turns him on. It’s just you. Everything you do is so undeniably you—he recognizes your mannerisms in every tiny motion, in every glance, and it’s killing him. You’re like a dream as you look up at him with big nervous eyes, (no, really, he has had this dream) and he remembers he wants to be reassuring you—not pondering life and human connection. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, groaning and hips twitching as your cheeks hollow, wrapping his achingly hard cock in soft gentle warmth so sweetly it feels taboo. “So good, baby. So gorgeous like this.”

You whine around him, receptive as always to his obsequious praise, and he notices the way your hips wiggle as you seek friction. God, you must like this a lot. Spencer gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, resting his hand on your head as you begin to bob it. That, he wasn’t prepared for. He’d have been satisfied with just kitten-licks and suckling but he won’t complain about this. It’s slow, and so intentional as you keep watching him for feedback cues. Ever his observant girl, you’re constantly paying attention. Aware of his reactions. He needs to keep telling you you’re good or else you’ll assume you’re terrible. 

“Over-achiever,” he whispers through a little smile as you down even more of him. 

Spencer is for the most part a kind and gentle person. For better or worse he is also a man, and he can’t help but fantasize about getting you all teary and drooly as he holds your mouth open and sees how much of his cock he can push down your throat. But again—kind. Gentle. So when you get a little over-zealous, attempting to sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure, he pulls your head back slightly. “That’s far enough, angel. That’s—fuck. God, you’re good at this.” The words are thoughtless, muttered to himself more than you as he watches through a haze while you look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, slipping him in and out of your warm mouth, a little faster now as you gain confidence. 

You whine desperately around him, like you’re the one nearing orgasm and not him. The sound of your pleasure as you suck his cock makes him dizzy. His hips buck, pressing him a little deeper into your mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales. “Slow down, baby. I’m—” a louder moan from him like you’ve never heard as he thrusts shallowly turns you on profoundly. He’s so much more vocal than you’d have imagined—sonically and verbally. He breathes out a quick, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” pulling your hair slightly, and you’ve never wanted to touch yourself more but you know you can’t focus on both. Instead you work on making him come—you can worry about you later. He says your name, with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you throb. “Honey, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come—”

You swirl your tongue around the top of him like candy and he’s done for. Spencer tries to pull out, which only results in cum both in your mouth and on your face. The orgasm is his strongest in recent memory, and he grunts, watching your lips part and a little squeak escape as he comes all over your face—but you keep stroking him all the while. Once he’s 90% sure it’s over, he falls against the back of the couch, breathing heavily and looking down at you through hazy eyes. Oh, he’s going to feel terrible about this in a few seconds—but right now you look fucking perfect. Your eyes are wide, nervous as his essence drips over your face and down your neck—he groans when you swallow cautiously, averting his eyes to the ceiling lest he do another thing he regrets. 

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he mutters, forcibly clearing the haze of orgasm from his mind and sitting up, fixing his pants and looking around before locating the box of tissues on the side table. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You look up at him attentively as he wipes himself from your face as gently as he can. 

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t ask you first. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Spencer guides your head around by your chin, wiping your jaw and lips. 

“It’s okay, Spence, I—”

“No, it’s not,” he cuts you off, trying to at least turn his guilt into a learning experience for you. He’s not deluded enough to think someone like you will stay with someone like him forever, because sometimes he does things like that, and he’s reminded that there are certainly people out there more deserving of you. At the very least he can clarify that nobody should ever do what he just did to you. “It’s really not nice to do that to someone.”

“Do you care what I think at all?”

Spencer freezes, finally forcing himself to look you in the eye. Despite the fact that he’s mad at himself, he’s sure it’s coming across as being directed at you. And he knows you’re sensitive, especially about this kind of thing. 

“Of course, I do, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to come back up here with me and tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs, cupping your jaw. Hesitantly you nod. The tissues end up on the table—which he will be thoroughlywiping down later—before you crawl back into his lap from the floor. Spencer helps you settle against him, hoping he hasn’t messed this up irreversibly. He keeps his voice quiet as he rubs your leg. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say,” you begin, “that it’s fine, because you’ll remember to ask next time. And because… I kind of liked it. I like when—when you do stuff like that.”

It’s a miracle he can hear you with the way your voice drops into an almost-whisper and you’re hiding against his shirt. 

“Like what?” he murmurs. Although he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the answer. 

“Like… I don’t know. Like you can do whatever you want to me. Like I’m literally yours.” Each word makes you cringe further, but Spencer has to try hard to maintain a cool facade as he processes this. If he’s going to try and be chivalrous, you’ll have to move away from this topic—this revelation—immediately. Thankfully, you seem eager to move on. “So… how did I do?”

He almost laughs. It seems exceedingly obvious how you did, but as per usual, you require verbal reassurance. 

“That was really good, baby. You did well.”

You blossom. 

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie.”

“Was I the best girl out of all of the other girls?” 

I wasn’t in love with any of the other girls. 

Just barely, he manages to stop himself from saying it, pinwheeling his arms on the edge of a very steep verbal cliff. The realization that he’s been in love with you for a while hits him like a truck. But he can’t tell you that right now. He should wait until you’re less vulnerable.

Fuck. 

He really wants to tell you right now. 

“Actually—don’t answer that,” you decide, while all of this happens in his head in less than a few seconds. “I want to go back to pretending I’m the only girl you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“You’re the only one that matters,” he offers, relieved to express at least some portion of the much bigger truth. Then he frowns. “Not that the other women I’ve met don’t lead important lives. I actually know a lot of incredibly influential and intelligent people who are women. I have deep respect for all of them. Am I helping or making it worse?” he rambles. You giggle. He has his answer. “What about you? How do you feel?” he asks after a moment, tenderly, lowly, stroking your hair as you lean against his chest. 

It takes you a moment to deliberate, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“I feel good. I, um… liked it a lot more than I would have thought.”

“Well, that’s good. Much better than if you had hated every second of it.”

You hum in agreement, and he waits for you to say whatever you’re holding back. It comes sooner than he’d have anticipated. 

“I feel bad about the times before. How did you just… go to sleep after? Were you not, like—insanely turned on? Not that I’m, like, irresistibly sexy, or whatever—you know what I mean.”

Spencer smiles because he knows you can’t see him. 

“I wasn’t doing it to pressure you into feeling obligated to reciprocate, I guess. My line of reasoning was that it would be less intimidating if I didn’t even present it as an option until you wanted to try.”

“Oh.”

Spencer thinks he sees where this is going. 

“Why?” he asks, leaning back and encouraging you to look at him. “Are you insanely turned on?”

“Wh—that’s—I didn’t say that!”

Spencer can feel how warm your cheeks are as he presses his lips to the side of your face. 

“You can tell me if you are,” he murmurs, all smiley as he moves to kiss your lips. “If you want something, you need to ask for it. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Yes you are,” you grumble. “That’s literally what behavioral analysis is.”

Not quite true, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the need to explain to you the semantics of what he does for work right now. 

“What got you all excited?”

“You know what,” you mumble, trying to look away again. Spencer doesn’t allow it this time, gently grabbing your jaw. 

“Yes, I do. But I want you to tell me. If you want me to make you feel good, this is how you’re going to convince me that you deserve it.”

You whine wordlessly, looking at him with those big, lust-glazed eyes.

“You wanted me to teach you how to use your words, right? This is it. I’m giving you an opportunity. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Maybe we can take a nap, like you said earlier.”

“No! I liked—um, I liked all of it. I didn’t know if I would, because I was really nervous. But when I first—you know—and you got all quiet… it was like you couldn’t even talk for a minute. I was kind of proud of that. Because normally nobody can ever get you to stop talking.” Spencer narrows his eyes incredulously, a small smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t interrupt—not when it seems you’re finally starting to get more confident in your words. “And I really liked the noises you made. I think that was my favorite part. I liked when you pulled my hair back, and how you spoke to me. And when… when you got me messy and I had to swallow it. I really liked how it felt because I couldn’t think of anything else, just making you feel good. I really wanted to… make you proud, I guess. Is that weird?”

Spencer shakes his head no, a fond smile on his face when your eyes meet his again. 

“No. It’s a pretty normal thing to feel when you’re nervous and wanting to impress someone you care about. And I would have been proud no matter what, for the record. You were being very brave.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching him expectantly. Spencer should have known you’re too needy to truly absorb anything he says to you right now. Which is actually pretty cute. Everything you do is endearing to him. 

“Stand up.”

You frown. 

“But—”

“Just stand up,” he demands calmly, preferring to think of himself as firm and not bossy. 

You do, looking rather annoyed and confused as you plant yourself in front of him. 

“Why?”

“You are so full of questions.” His hands slip up the side of your legs, under your skirt, and hook in the waistband of your underwear. Spencer looks up at you meaningfully and you nod, swallowing. 

As he pulls down, Spencer can literally feel the resistance of the fabric clinging to your soaked core. Under his touch the skin of your thighs is warm and soft. He wants to feel it on either side of his face, he wants to hear you whine as his stubble rubs against it, he wants to feel it clamp around his wrist, he wants it between his teeth and he definitely wants it pressing against his hips as he—

But no. 

There will be time for all of those things—especially the last one—later. For now, he’ll reach between your legs just to see—

“Oh, my god,” Spencer half-chuckles, half-groans, upon feeling how wet you truly are for him. He drags his knuckles from your dripping entrance up over your clit, pinching very lightly and earning a squeak from you which he ignores. “You really did like having your mouth full of me, huh?”

“I told you,” you breathe, visibly relaxing some as he continues to play with you for a moment. Then he pulls his hand away again, patting his thigh. 

“Sit.”

“You want me to…”

“Yes,” he says, simply. 

“But is it not going to… am I not going to mess up your pants?”

“You are even more neurotic about messiness than I am. I can wash them, honey. Come here.”

Spencer guides your hips over his thigh, watching your pretty face twist with uncertainty as you fully settle on him. Fuck, he can feel your warmth through the fabric instantly. Already he’s getting hard again. 

“What am I supposed to do?” you whisper, bunching his shirt in your fists. Spencer slides your skirt up higher, revealing the way you’re nestled against his thigh. He spreads you a little further apart, exposing more of your clit to the material underneath you. Immediately you press against him—he watches the delicate flesh rubbing gingerly against him and  his grip tightens ever so slightly. 

“All you have to do is rock back and forth. It’s easy.”

Already you’re starting to do it—but he guesses it’s like earlier where you don’t even realize it’s happening. 

“But… I wanted your mouth,” you admit, quietly, slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face there. 

“Do this for me first. Just get yourself off like this one time and then you can have my mouth. You said you wanted to help me feel better because I’m tired today, right?

“Yes,” you mumble, squirming over him. 

“Well, there are a lot of days when I get back home and I’m tired. I’m gonna need you to be able to get on top of me, just like this, and make me feel better. And I know you don’t know what it feels like to have something that deep inside of you yet, but it’s gonna be a lot. Even once you know how it feels to have me inside when you’re underneath me. I need you to practice for me right now so you’ll be ready, okay?”

You could come from the words alone. You nod, dazed with need as you roll your hips in a circle, pressing his thigh against your clit. 

“Back and forth, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hips forward with his hands locked around them. “Back and forth, just like this…”

You moan quietly, shamelessly, eyes fluttering as you look down and watch your clit dragging over the darkening fabric. It’s easier if you isolate your hips, grinding down without moving your legs or upper body at all. 

“It feels really good,” you whisper under your quickening breath. 

“Yeah? Does it?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, angel. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s audible now, quiet and wet and dirty. 

“I don’t,” you breathe. He sucks in a breath of his own, stilling your hips with fingers pressed deep into your flesh. 

“Sit up, baby.” You really wish he would stop making you stop, but you don’t want to keep going in case he needs you to quit—so you rise slowly, thighs trembling as you kneel. Spencer groans at the strings of your arousal momentarily connecting your core to his pants before they snap, getting your inner thighs wet. There’s a dark, very wet patch over his thigh, shining like glass. He thumbs over your slick clit absentmindedly as he looks up at you like you’re a miracle. “You’re fucking soaked. I’ve never seen you like this. Is this all from making me come?”

You nod feverishly, hips grinding against nothing in search of friction. He sits you back down on his leg, allowing you to sloppily find your rhythm again. Spencer bounces his leg lightly and you cry out softly, buckling forward. His arms wrap around you, still pressing you down against his thigh as you rut against it. 

“You’re sweet. Maybe I should have known how much you’d like it when I came all over your pretty face. You really like hearing that you did a good job, huh? I bet you like it even more when I prove it to you.”

You moan a “yeah,” barely processing his words. 

“My good girl even swallowed on her first try. Took it so well. And now look at how you’re taking this. You’re gonna love riding, baby. Just going to be another thing you’re good at as soon as you try it.”

“Spencer,” you gasp, overwhelmed by the praise. He’s bouncing his leg at regular intervals and everything is so sensitive.

“I know it’s harder to finish this way, but just one time, remember? And then you can have my tongue for as long as you want. You are my only plan for the day. Just give me one like this.”

But it’s not really harder to finish this way. Then again, you’re so turned on you could probably finish if a breeze hit you just right. Regardless, the thought of him going down on you again pushes you even closer to the edge.

You don’t know how much time goes by like that, you rubbing against him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, him pressing up into you until the pressure is so taut it snaps. There’s no time to warn him, but you suppose you don’t really need to. You writhe against him, caught between wanting to keep going and not being able to take more stimulation. He lifts you up just slightly, trying to separate you from his leg. You exhale deeply as your body relaxes, already close to dozing off against his chest.

“We can’t have you tapping out just yet. I still have to fulfill my end of the deal.”

In the end, he fulfills it three times over, and you end up showing your appreciation in kind one more time—much slower and more comfortably in his bed. He gives you plenty of time to learn what he likes, taking your teasing and coquettish explorations like a champ and never so much as tightening his grip in your hair. Turns out, you don't exactly spend the day doing nothing.

And you do end up taking that nap after all. Just... much, much later. And with less clothing on.

-

part 3.5

[reiderwriter]

🩺 Protect and Serve 🩺

Spencer Reid x stripper! Female Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge

Summary: Spencer makes a fool of himself in front of a very pretty nurse. Who turns out to not be a nurse at all, but a stripper.

Warnings: Erotic dance, pole dancing, uniforms, doctor play (?), semi-public sex, fingering, strip tease, nipple play, use of birth control - condoms, penetrative sex (PinV).

A/N: He's protecting, she's serving cunt. That's the pairing dynamic for this fic. I love writing Spencer as dumb because he does canonically lose it around hot people, and we, dear readers, are all hot people. I added the strip tease song below of you want to really get in the mood!

Masterlist || Bingo Board

“Okay, everyone, listen up,” Hotch called out to the masses, the three teams of officers, and his own team who were lined up and ready to receive orders. 

“We're going to do a simple canvass. Ask anyone you spot if they've seen our missing person and if they've seen any suspicious activity around the area in the last month. You have further lines of questioning laid out in your briefs. Also, we have no reason to believe the unsub will be hunting right now, so we're going to be canvassing individually.”

The crowd nodded in a wave of understanding, taking the information as it came before getting ready to receive their areas to work in. 

Spencer had devised the map himself, so he didn't have to wait in line, instead, walking to his corner of the block and getting himself ready for interactions. 

The clock struck 11, and he began, waiting for the usual shaky characters of the night to stroll out onto the streets. After a series of abductions from this area, and the general disrepair of all local CCTV cameras, the BAU knew exactly where their unsub was hunting from, but not the how, the why, or the who. 

In a last ditch effort, they'd turned to goodwill from the public. 

“Excuse me, sir, do you have a few minutes to answer some ques-” 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“Okay, have a great evening.”

For the best part of the first hour, all of his interactions were the same repeat of hostility and general apathy. For long stretches of time, nobody walked by at all, and some were even growing frustrated by being accosted by multiple law enforcement officers within the hour.

He'd almost lost hope for a lead when the clock struck twelve, and you'd ran around the corner, nearly bowling him over as you raced to get to work. 

“Shit, oh, I'm sorry-” you said, realising you'd landed in a soft place, and not on the tarmac you knew from experience was a pain. He'd accidentally broken your fall and was all the more sorry for it. 

“No, it's okay… ah, um, it's not that bad.” 

You stood yourself up, removing yourself from the body of the stranger. The body of the man wearing an FBI jacket, who you now recognised as being with one of the dozen or so cops that had stopped you in your dash from your car (parked further downtown so it wouldn't get stolen) to your place of work. 

“Oh, god, I'm so sorry, officer. I didn't mean to- I'm sorry,” you mumbled again and again as you offered him a hand up. He took it hesitantly, grabbing his papers as he jumped on this opportunity to have a conversation with the first normal looking person he'd come across in an hour. 

If he'd been less eager, less tired, and in all honesty, less immediately attracted to you  he'd have realised that you had a destination in mind. One that, while being above board mostly, still made you weary of cops. 

“It's Agent actually - Doctor, but- anyway, um, could I possibly have a few minutes of your time? We're looking into a recent string of abductions in the area, and we’re asking if you've seen anything out of the ordinary.” 

You stood trapped by his surprisingly wide frame, his height dwarfing you by a few inches and the path being just narrow enough that you either had to decline politely, or just push past him to keep going. 

Unfortunately, you, too found him slightly too attractive than you were willing to admit, attractive enough that you'd gladly miss out on a half hours worth of tips to answer questions you'd honestly already answered before now. You'd always been weak for a man in uniform.

“I-I guess so. This will only be a few minutes, right?” 

“Of course, I wouldn't want to keep you from your work,” he said, gesturing down at your outfit. If it weren't for his totally genuine tone, you'd have thought he was being cruel. 

Usually, you didn't show up for work in your performance clothes, trying not to draw any more attention to yourself on the streets at midnight, but you'd been forced to that day. 

It was Uniform Day at the strip club, and your boss was entirely too cheap to buy the Uniforms himself, and absolutely cruel enough to penalise anyone who showed up without some kind of costume. Your nurse outfit had been in transit and out for delivery since 10 am. that morning, arriving exactly 10 hours later. 

It wasn't exactly a realistic cosplay. Sure there was a cute pen clip, and you were technically wearing scrubs, but they were also skin tight, and you knew for a fact that your nipples were hard and visible through the thin material, because taking a glance down, even you could see them. 

“Do you usually work the night shift?” He asked, bringing his clipboard up to take notes of your answers. 

He absolutely did not know you were a stripper. 

“Yeah. We don't really get many people in during the day. Too embarrassing, not the time for it.”

He nodded and tried to pretend like he was writing something of merit down, but secretly, he was very much enjoying the curves Of your body as the tight material hung off your body. 

The “scrubs” were baby blue  but he had no doubt that if the heavens opened right, then they'd become as see-through as cling film. 

He, too, wanted to cling to you. 

“Have you noticed anyone suspicious in the area recently, anything new or out of the ordinary?” 

“I mean, I couldn't possibly say. You know how this neighbourhood is, it's… well, it's not exactly the safest.” 

He nodded again and acted out sympathy, unaware how the feeling should feel now that he was faced with a woman so perfect that he'd entirely lost the ability to process emotions. 

“Right, right…” 

You stood for another moment or two, waiting for his follow up question, but his eyes raked over you in a way you were entirely familiar with. Unlike your usual clientele though, he snapped himself out of it, and had the wherewithal to look bashful. 

“Ask about victim, no leading questions,” he read quickly, before looking up at you and stammering through a new question. 

“S-so. Are there usually a lot of women walking around this area alone at night?” 

You did your nest to hold off a smile, to stay serious as he made the best of the script he was given.  

“Yeah, a few of the places have staff on hand to protect the girls, but my place is mostly women. We stick together as best as we can, but a client or two gets too attached now and again,” he nodded. 

“Patients can often become infatuated with their care staff,” he said, and he was so earnest that you wanted to take everything back and let him go. You wanted to see how long it would take him to realise there was only one body part you and your colleagues cared for. 

“I did think the industry was becoming more gender inclusive. Are there no men on staff?” 

“Oh, yeah. We have men, too. They're mostly request only, though, so we don't see them every day.” 

“Fascinating! You know, believe it or not, anthropologically, humans are predisposed to view women as more caring and are 9 times out of 10 more likely to ask for women to care for them, the gender of the patient doesn't impact the data.”

“Oh, I can believe it.” 

You smiled at him, and he looked taken aback for a minute or two. He finished by smiling back, and you definitely found this conversation worth as much as you'd lost in tips in the last half hour. You were half tempted to invite him back to the club with you for the night, to thank him for providing you with motivation for the night ahead.  

“Um, so, if you do see anything in the future, you can call the police and here is my number,” he said, scrawling something down quickly on a piece of paper and handing it off to you. 

“Oh. Oh, um, right, number. Uh,” you said, rooting around in your purse for your own business card to hand off to him. Partly because you wanted to resolve his misunderstanding, and partly just because you wanted to see what this overly respectful man would do with it. 

“Candy Cayne,” he read, obviously looking past the body glitter that covered the cars and everything else you owned. 

“Well, my real name is Y/N, but you can't be too safe these days.” 

“Right,” he said, smiling again. 

If these were the FBI agents put on the case of making your city safer, maybe you'd invest in a good taser and some more pepper spray. 

Just in case. 

“Spencer, over here!” One of the other agents you'd already spoken to called out from a block down the street, and hastily, Spencer Reid excused himself and let you finally continue on your way to work. 

You had to convince yourself you weren't disappointed. 

Morgan’s brows were furrowed as Spencer reached him. 

“Why were you interviewing the stripper again, I already got her information when she came by me.”

“Stripper? What stripper?” 

“You gotta be kidding me.” 

Morgan looked at the younger man incredulously before turning him around with a hand on his shoulder and pointing in your direction. 

“That stripper, Spencer.” 

He couldn't help but let his eyes trail down to your ass as you quickly walled off, hips swaying perfectly, showing off your complete assets in the tight outfit. 

“She's a nurse,” he defended, even as the blood drained from his face. 

“Uh-huh, and what's her name?” 

“...Candy Cayne,” he paused for a second before turning back to Morgan with a stricken expression on his face. 

“Oh my god, she's a stripper.” 

Five hours into your shift, and about $800 richer, you found yourself swinging around the pole freely again as your regulars slowly trickled out. 

You kept on dancing, though, knowing that the morning crowd was about to get in, the night-shifters that had to wait the entire night to get off on your dancing delights. 

Truckers you expected, security guards and night watchmen, too. Even the occasional older gentleman who found it hard to sleep in the mornings, so bored by retirement, they dropped in a few times a day. 

What you weren't expecting was Spencer.

You heard the door open, the bell ringing out loudly as all the girls stopped to greet their new target. 

“Hello, baby,” one called, the others chorusing around her. 

“Oh it's free for you, sweetheart.”

“Wanna take a ride?” 

“Aren't you just the cutest.”

Spencer spotted you - and your uniform - very quickly. 

As predicted, with a little bit of water, your uniform had gone see through with the tiniest drop of water, the sweat from your ongoing workout and the body oil the matrons lathered you up in before showing off everything. 

Still, Spencer tried to keep his gaze polite as he stood awkwardly at the edge of the stage and tried to engage you in conversation. 

“Hi,” he said, shouting awkwardly over the music. 

You shot him a confused look as you ground against the bar, still enjoying the tips of the last few stragglers. You gave him a confused look as you wrapped yourself around the pole, lifting yourself up and gripping the bar between your legs, pushing your chest backwards as you tipped your head upside down. 

“Can we talk?” He asked, and you, slowly but surely, let go of the bar, ending on the floor with your legs spread wide as the few men enraptured by you wolf whistled and swore. 

Finally, Spencer's bashful gaze dropped from your face as he stared at your scantily clad cunt. 

The baby blue underwear - though you could barely call it underwear as you were barely wearing it - was most definitely not leaving enough to the imagination. Combined with the very clear view of your boobs, Spencer wasn't surprised when his IQ abandoned him, rushing to his second head to let it make mistakes. 

“I'm sorry, officer,” you said, winking at him as you crawled forward, collecting tips as you went. “If my boss sees me talking to you instead of working, I can get fired. Tell me you've got at least a twenty on you.”

He scrambled for his wallet, pulling out all the cash he had and holding out a few dollars to you as you watched him. 

He looked away again, just as you leaned down to take it, and you pouted again. 

“Come on, sir,” you said, wiggling your ass a little to keep the other men entertained while you wore down at his morals. “You have to stick it down my shirt or something. Make it believable.” 

His eyes snapped back to yours, and then immediately to your chest as you sat back on your knees and began playing with yourself, grabbing your tits and bouncing up and down as you showed off your special ‘skills.’ 

Hesitantly, he reached out a hand, and, hating how slow he was going, you met him halfway, pushing your chest into his open hand. 

Though he was apprehensive, his body seemed able to take advantage quickly, and upon depositing the cash, he let his hand trace down the curve of your breast, squeezing it a little. 

“I came to apologise-” he started, trying to remind himself to stick to the script he created for himself. 

You didn't want to stick to any script. 

“Boss, I've got a private dance!” you shouted out to the bar staff, getting a thumbs up from the manager there and a call back of a room number. 

You grabbed the rest of the cash from his hands and lifted a hand so he could help you down the stage stairs, leading him quickly to a private room and closing the door. 

“T-There’s been a mistake, I just came to apologise for my unnecessary comments earlier, and-” he paused, hands lifting up in surrender as you straddled him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You can talk, but you paid for a dance. I thought this would be better for you, more private.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, that's very considerate.” 

You nodded and began raking your nails down the front of his shirt, loosening his tie a little as you rose on your knees and gyrated your hips. 

His gaze locked eyes with your chest, and for a moment, you worried he wasn't breathing anymore, his entire body having stilled. Then you rocked your hips down into his lap, and you realised he wasn't still but stiff. 

He was rock fucking hard. 

You grinned, and tried to pick the conversation back up with a casual tone. 

“So how is canvassing going?” 

“Hmm?” He said, unlearning. “Oh, uh. Good. We have a few leads we're going to investigate in the morning.” 

“It is the morning, officer.” 

He nodded and gulped, but his gaze had rested gently against your bare skin again. 

You decided to treat him. 

Standing back up, you grabbed the room control and queued up your favorite track to dance with. The private sances were usually boring, a constant reminding of ‘don't touch the dancers’ dropping from your lips as you half-heartedly rocked back and forth. 

Unsurprisingly, though, you actually wanted this man to touch you. 

Spencer willed his brain to quiet, though as it had taken up residence in his pants, he doubted it could hear any of his requests. 

The opening lines of "I Put a Spell on You" by Annie Lennox played on the quiet room speakers, and you watched his hands clench into his pants. 

You took a step forward, pushing your arms up as you swung your hips left and right. 

“You said something about an apology earlier, right?” 

I put a spell on you. Because you're mine.

“Yes,” he said, restrained to monosyllabic answers as your hands trailed down to your legs, catching the hem of your dress and pulling it up. 

You revelled in the way his eyes widened, the way the veins in his hands popped as he grasped himself harder, the hitch in his breathing. 

You pulled the offending garment up and danced it off your body until you were stood in just panties and stilettos. 

Without flashing him even a hint of your breasts, though, you turned and sat yourself on his lap. 

“W-We could've just talked here, right? You don't have to do this if you don't want to.”

“I know,” you said, grabbing his hands and covering your chest with them. 

“But you were so earnest earlier, I felt a bit bad too. Let's call this even.”

You didn't get an answer from him, but his hands did start touching you, and you couldn't help but feel as though you'd won anyway. 

You better stop the things that you do.

Taking your nipples between his fingers, he squeezed, and your ass pushed down into his cock, back arching as you began rubbing against his legs. You repositioned, letting your knees fall either some of his leg, leaning forward to balance yourself against his knee as you rocked your core into his leg. 

“So, what's your name, officer.”

“Spencer-” he sighed, voice warm in your ear as he leaned closer, trying to hook his head over your shoulder to watch the rest of your body writhe. 

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Oh, how fancy, a Doctor. I've never had a doctor before,” you said, straightening and grabbing his hands again. 

“And what a naughty little nurse I've been,” you giggled. 

I tell you, I ain't lyin’.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he said, as your hands guided his to your cunt, giving him permission to enter your underwear. 

“And as we've established, I'm not that kind of nurse. But I don't mind.”

He muttered to himself for a second before beginning to pay sweet attention to your clit. As bashful, and shy, and overall clumsy he had seemed outside, he absolutely had the theory of pleasure down to a T. 

The pads of his fingers were rough against your clit, pushing your pleasure buttons roughly as you soaked his pants. 

“That's it, Doctor, that's where the ache was.”

He caught on quickly and kept up his ministrations as you moaned in his lap. 

“Ah, fuck. M-Maybe some medicine would help.me Doctor. A nice big injection.” 

You stood and almost threw a tantrum at the loss of contact, but you returned yourself to his lap quickly. 

He unbuttoned his pants as he stood, and his cock was released and waiting for you when you returned again. 

Before you could get to it, though, his face buried itself in your chest. 

You moaned at the contact, his tongue swirling around your already painfully sensitive nipples. You humped his leg wantonly, giving up the act and becoming the whore he likely thought you were. It was all too much for you, his hot stare, his surprisingly deft fingers. And then he gently bit your nipple, and your cunt clenched around nothing as you twitched and you came. 

“Fuck, cock. Now!” You demanded, as the after waves of your orgasm still rolled through you. You grabbed a condom from the complementary basket nearby and rolled it onto his tip expertly before sinking yourself down on him. 

“D-D you feel better now?” He asked, hands gripping the fat of your thighs as tightly as he'd gripped his pants earlier. 

“Yes, Doctor Reid!” you said, your bounces sloppy as you stretched yourself around his dick. 

He wasn't overly long or ridiculously thick. It was like you'd stumbled into the Goldilock fairy tale, because you'd found the cock that fit you just right. 

Your brain short-circuited after your all too fast orgasm, and you moaned pathetically, almost grumpily as you failed to keep up the stamina. 

You know better, Daddy. I can't stand it ‘cause you put me down.

As if noticing your distress, Spencer stood slightly, using a nearby table to balance out your additional weight, and finally lowered you onto it. You'd taken no notice of it in the past, but you now thanked the heaven that the table was sturdy and roughly cock height, as he began thrusting into you with just the right speed. 

The clock struck six as he licked his fingers again and played with your clit once again, and with a sharp jerk of your hips, your cunt tightened around him and began milking his cock. 

He came with a groan, though admittedly one quieter than your own. 

I put a spell on you.

With a wet pop, his cock exited you, and he quickly went to work discarding the used condom. You tried to sit up quickly, and were surprised you could manage even that much, as you shimmied back into your wet dress. 

“Apology accepted,” you said, as he turned back to you, put together once again. 

You turned to leave, but he caught your waist and spun you back around to him. His lips were on yours in a second. 

His tongue was hot and thick as it opened your mouth, exploring every inch as he forced you to submit once more. When you pulled back, his hand lightly grazed up the side of your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah. You too. Your apology.”

You couldn't help but let out a giggle as he walked you back toward the door, almost pinning you there for a round two. 

“You really thought I was a nurse?”

“It was dark.”

You gave him another peck on the cheek and pulled away, gaining the respectable distance from your customer aa you re-emerged from the private room. 

“I get off at 7,” you whispered yo him finally, before making your way back to the bar. 

Your doctor sat himself down and waited for the clock to strike 7. 

[tsxkkis]

omg omg can i request? pls ignore if you dont!

s3 of haikyuu will always be my favourite season, maybe due to the fact that tsukishima realizes his potential in playing volleyball? (him having his MOMENT is my favouriteee scene)

so could you write gf manager reader x tsukki, where reader witnesses him having his first moment (blocking ushijima's spike), injuring his hand etc etc up until they receive their throphy and medals in the end ?🥹🥹💕 shes a proudddd reader and literally just smooch smooch hug hug tsukki because hes the mvp of karasuno x shiratorizawa 🥰😤

i realized that theres nobody includes this scene in their fics and i wonder why? 🤔🧐

# tsukishima kei - mvp

a/n: i am terribly sorry anon bcs this took so long T-T i'm not quite sure about some parts of this fic but overall i really enjoyed writing this request!! tsukishima is my fav for many reasons, one of which being the fact that i see myself in him a lot, and the particular moment during the shiratorizawa vs karasuno match is also my fav from the entire series!! i hope u enjoy reading this fic^^ i feel like it's not exactly what you asked for, so i'm sorry if i went too far away from your idea....

summary: tsukishima finally regains his love for volleyball.

warnings: a few swear words here and there, the fic doesn't exactly portray what happened in the series (i switched it up a bit)

'are you stressed?'

'not even a bit.'

'you're lying. i can read you like a book.'

tsukishima kei let out a deep breath, rolling his eyes as he looked away from your face. you were obviously right; there was no way he wouldn't be stressed before the game that determined whether or not karasuno would go to nationals. as much as he hated to admit it, he was almost as stressed as others. he was just better at controlling which of his emotions are shown.

you squeezed his hand, his fingers instinctively intertwining with yours. all it took was a reassuring smile from you to help with his nerves, his muscles finally relaxing after being tensed up for the last twenty minutes or so. he still tried to get used to you being more than a friend. your relationship was quite awkward and fresh, so much so in fact that you never even had your first kiss yet.

'i'm sure you'll do great.' you stated calmly, trying to hide the fact that you were even more stressed about the match than him. 'in fact, i'm positive that you'll win.'

'even if we do, it won't be because of me.' he mumbled, letting out a silent laugh when he saw the angry look on your face. 'oh, come on. it's not like i'm the greatest player this team has.'

'you know i hate it when you talk down on yourself.' you said, the tone serious and sharp, rather unusual for you. it stayed like that for only a short while, taken over by a softer, understanding one. 'you're a vital part of this team, tsukishima. winning this match is not up to a single person. it's a team effort. your input is as important as that of kageyama or hinata.'

he opened his mouth to say something but was instantly stopped by the voice of his captain, daichi, calling the team up to quickly warm up as the match was about to start.

you smiled at the boy, letting go of his hand before lightly patting him on the back.

'do your best for me, alright?'

'i will.' a barely noticeable smile appeared on his face, his hand affectionately ruffling your hair. 'don't worry too much about it.'

you finally realized why tsukishima kei never tried more. why he would never stay longer like other karasuno players to polish his skills, why he didn't truly seem to love the sport he chose to play in high school.

'you're insufferable, you know?' his words sent shivers down your spine. 'why don't you leave it the fuck alone?'

opposite forces, some might say. no one really knew what drew you and tsukishima to eachother - both of you completely different from one another, and yet oh so similar at the same time. frustration took over you every time you looked at him, and now you knew why.

he was like a mirror in which you could see all your flaws, and it irritated you a great deal.

his outlook on life and the way he viewed himself made you furious. how can someone be so full of contradictions? so cocky and confident, and yet so vulnerable and self depreciating at the same time. so full of himself and yet so hateful towards the person he saw in the reflection of every window, every mirror.

how can someone so great at what they do, so intelligent and talented, be so critical?

'because i can't! i can't leave it alone, you absolute moron.' the thought of how loud you were didn't stop you from continuing to shout, a mixed look on your face that tsukishima couldn't quite decipher. were you angry or sad? and why the hell would it bug you so much to evoke such strong emotions within you?

'you're saying i'm insufferable? from the moment i laid my eyes on you, you've been nothing but insufferable. so much so, that i want to gouge them out every time they spot you.' you ignored your watery eyes and tsukishima's surprised face, almost as if he didn't expect you to blow up like this. 'it pains me to see you be so full of doubt and hatred and i- i can't understand why you would think so lowly of yourself, why you feel inferior to the other guys in every way possible, when you could be so much more than them. do you even realize your potential, tsukishima?'

he stayed silent. for the first time since knowing you, tsukishima kei did not have an answer to your words.

'your doubts are so irrational i don't know if it makes me angry or sad. you're truly incredible on the court. you're intelligent, you can read the opponents well, you have the physical predispositions for volleyball and a natural talent that you choose to ignore because-'

'but what is talent without passion?'

that singular sentence managed to catch you off guard so much you had no idea how to answer him. such a simple question, and yet such a philosophical, confusing one.

'why should i put my all into something i'm not even passionate about, huh?' tsukishima tried to keep his composed nature, but it was hard to stay intact after what you've said. as much as he did not want to admit it, your words hit him deeply. 'why waste my time and energy for something that does not give me any satisfaction at all? tell me that, because i have no fucking idea.'

'passion is not something that dissapears once and never shows up again, you idiot.' you took a step closer, as if that was going to help you get your point across. 'if your passion is genuine, it will always be there. whether small or big, it will always crawl around in the back of your mind. if you ever truly loved volleyball, the moment where you fall in love with it again will come sooner or later.'

your words were met with complete silence, but you didn't mind. tsukishima slowly processed your words, a focused look gracing his face, lips in a tight line. even though it was only a couple of minutes, for you it felt like hours - awaiting an answer, any answer at all.

tsukishima moved closer, his tall frame hovering over you as he wrapped his arms around you, catching you in a tight hug, much to your surprise.

'thank you.' he mumbled quietly, glad that in this very moment you couldn't see his face, and the stupid smile plastered to it.

the moment where you fall in love with it again will come sooner or later.

tsukishima's mind lingered over these words whenever he played, awaiting this moment to come almost eagerly. the match was particularly hard - with ushijima wakatoshi as their opponent, the chances of winning were incredibly slim. every spike of his went through the block, his serves were absolutely killer, and his teammates did everything to deliver the ball to him at all costs.

what a hassle.

you noticed that his demeanor on the court changed from what it used to be. tsukishima seemed more invested now - almost as if he was trying to impress you, to keep his word. as happy as it made you, you were still anxious about the match and it's final score, hand shaky and a bit sweaty as your eyes followed the ball flying around from one side of the net to another.

another spike from ushijima, it'll probably be another point for shiratoriza-

and that's when you realized.

you saw the ball hit the ground on shiratorizawa's side of the net surprised gasps from everyone watching the match. you saw the shocked look on ushijima's face, the horror in the eyes of his teammates as the ball bounced off of the floor for the second, third, fourth time.

silence took over the court for just a mere second, quickly interrupted by tsukishima's triumphant scream.

he looked more than content with his performance. he looked... happy.

the rest of the boys joined him, screaming in unison. it was just one point, right? but for some reason, for both you and tsukishima, this one was worth a thousand.

for the first time in years, tsukishima kei felt that his spark for volleyball came back.

you noticed that his eyes were now focused on you, a full, cheeky smile gracing his face, and it only made you tear up. a short moment, probably insignificant for people around, but for the two of you it was like a breath of fresh air, like getting rid of the shackles that once held you in place, enabling you from moving forward.

'y/n, are you... alright?' coach ukai looked with his brows slightly furrowed, confused by your teary eyes and big grin plastered to your face.

'yeah, yeah, i'm fine. sorry, coach.' you mumbled, bowing a little as your eyes focused on the court. 'actually, could kiyoko replace me here for the rest of the match? i'm not quite feeling well.'

'tsukishima is injured.'

'what?' akiteru spoke in unison with you, terrified voices mixing together as you looked down from the stands to see the boy walking off of the court and rushing to the medical office along with kiyoko. your instincts took over you - feet moving on their own as you quickly ran towards the same place.

the two blondes followed right behind you, stopping only when in front of the door to the medical office, gasping for air after such a short run. as athletic as your boyfriend was, you were quite the opposite; getting tired after a little to no physical activity at times.

tsukishima saw your head peeking through the doorframe, a small smile on his face the moment he laid eyes on you.before you opened your mouth to say something, he already gave you an answer.

'yes, i feel fine.' he stated quietly, sitting down on the edge of a chair. 'you don't need to worry.'

'are you going back on court?' he only gave you a small nod in response, seemingly feeling better already as he stood up, his hand taped up.

you looked up at him, taking in the expression on his face, just how focused he already was. he looked almost as if he already had a plan to defeat shiratorizawa in this match. seeing him so eager to go back and play almost made you laugh a little - you swore you never saw him get this invested into something ever.

'go and win then.' you mumbled, patting him on the shoulder as he headed towards the gym hall.

'oh don't worry. we will.'

you couldn't stop the tears rolling down your cheeks as you saw karasuno emerge victorious from the hardest volleyball match they had to play this year, hugging yachi tightly as both of you celebrated the win of your team.

the triumphant screams filled the gym hall, the team emotional after doing what many deemed impossible. as most of them enjoyed themselves, not planning on leaving the euphoric state for a long while, tsukishima could only think of doing one thing - going to you.

you were the only person he truly wanted to celebrate with.

after the ceremony of getting the medals, to everyone's utmost shock, considering your relationship wasn't exactly public, tsukishima went up to you almost immediately, a cocky smile on his face as he ruffled your hair, looking down at you from behind his glasses.

'you didn't exactly look quite as content with your performance before getting the prize.' you mumbled, looking at the blonde haired boy with your head tilted to the side.

'well, i could've blocked more of ushijima's spikes.' he started, rolling his eyes at the sole idea of not being able to do that during today's match. 'i only managed to block one and-'

you decided to use the only method that was for sure going to shut him up in that moment, lightly grabbing him by the tshirt and pulling him closer, lips clashing for a split second in a short, sweet kiss.

'no talking down on yourself today, kei.' you said, unconsciously smiling as you saw his face getting red at what you just did, cheeks covered by a tomato-like red colour. 'i'm proud of you no matter what you think about today's match.'

he stood still for a few seconds, as if processing what had just happened seconds ago, the redness on his face deepening with each passing moment. his hand was quick to grab yours, almost dragging you away from the team and to a more private, less occupied area of the building.

'do that again.' he mumbled, after he finally led you to a quiet hallway.

'huh?'

'it was... nice.'

your eyes lit up, a cheeky smile gracing your face as you finally realized what he was on about.

'ohh, you want another kiss?' you said teasingly, eyes quickly glancing from his face down to his lips. he rolled his eyes, unamused by your act of playing dumb.

'come on, don't make me repeat myself.' still somewhat embarrassed of what he was asking for, tsukishima stood in one place, awaiting your next action.

a sigh left your lips as you took a step towards your boyfriend, standing on your tippy toes to be able to reach his face.

'alright. i guess you deserve it, match mvp.'

your arms were wrapped around his neck in no time as your lips gently touched his, tsukishima immediately kissing you back, hands positioned on your waist as you felt a smile creeping up on his face. he let out a short laugh, seeing your face being just as red as his was moments ago, hand reaching to squeeze yours.

'what?' you mumbled, as he hasn't spoken a word since breaking the kiss.

'that's surely the best prize i got today.'

taglist: @moonswolfie @wyrcan @kitsune-kita

[h-worksrambles]

Sonic X Shadow Generations fascinates me. Because it feels like something I shouldn’t be excited for. And yet I absolutely am.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Sonic Generations. It’s my third favourite game in the series and my favourite 3D Sonic game (with Sonic Adventure 2 in a close second). I’m very happy to see it getting a re release to expose it to new audiences, and playing it in 4K60fps on my PS5 is a very enticing. Likewise, I really like Shadow as a character and I’m excited to play as him again.

And yet, his new bonus campaign promises to basically be a bunch of nostalgic pandering for Shadow the Hedgehog, a game which I consider to be, simply put, crap. It was boring, dull, colourless and embarrassing trend chasing. And pretty much everything I hated about it is on display in this trailer.

We’ve got gritty, grey cityscapes, we’ve got the rather blah alien villain, Black Doom returning, we’ve got the looming return of the series’…bafflingly executed lore. In a word, Shadow was a pretty much everything I didn’t want Sonic to be shoved into a blender. I’ve given my thoughts on revisiting past excesses and failures for the sake of nostalgia. I wrote a whole thing about Final Fantasy VII Rebirth and my fears that it would go overboard pandering to the 2000s spin offs (which I dislike a for lot of the same reasons as a lot of Sonic stuff from the mid 2000s). A faux attempt at maturity that sacrifices Sonic’s camp and colour, and lacks the writing competency to make its tone shift work is pretty much my worst case scenario for the series. And now we’re invoking that for nostalgia? Again, I should hate this.

So if I dislike Shadow the Hedgehog so much. If it really is so emblematic of Sonic’s worst excesses that I want it to leave behind in the 2000s…then why am I so damn hyped for this? Why am I not feeling the same dread as whenever VII Remake implicitly threatens to bring back Genesis?

I think it’s because of the specific relationship Sonic has had with its past for the last decade. So much of the stuff from that time period is material that Sega has seemed actively scared to touch again. Sometimes with good reason. But I think that’s why some material from that time has gained such a strong nostalgic cult following, and why they’re held up as such bastions of missed potential. There’s never been anything quite like Shadow or 06 since they came out with how safe Sega has subsequently played things. And in many respects, that’s a good thing. But I can see how it build a sense of mystique around them. It was kind of sad to see 2010s Sonic so…scared of itself. Terrified to invoke its own history but not really committed to a new direction either. And this is pretty much the exact opposite of that hesitancy.

Basically, the reason I react to seeing Westopolis or Black Doom with ‘holy shit let’s go!!!’ rather than ‘why, god, why?’ is because I genuinely never thought I would see them again after this long. It’s just exciting to see Sonic Team throw caution to the wind and embrace all the parts of their franchise. Even the parts I personally dislike. Plus, Sonic Generations is kind of the perfect game in which to reimagine that stuff and make it..actually good this time. This was the game that made Crisis City of all things into a banger level. The game that took Silver, one of the most notorious boss fights in the series, and gave him a kickass encounter.

If they can fix that, they can do anything.

Plus, the fact that the trailers already show all these trippy stage effects and anime af boss fights and set pieces tells me we’re not just gonna be running through the same drab washed out burning cities that made Shadow 2005 so boring. Again, there’s evidently an effort being made to rehabilitate and reimagine this stuff, not just repeat all the same mistakes. And that’s exciting.

So yeah, Sonic X Shadow Generations has somehow managed to get me genuinely excited for all the parts of the series I typically balk at. And that’s pretty impressive.

That said, if I see Mephiles again, I’m leaving.

[justcallmecj]

Seeing Your Dragon Form: First Years

(I feel like this chapter of the series may be crappier than the previous ones. I'm slowly running out of ideas and have used up quite a bit of my writing energy recently. I've come to realize that writing for the First Year Squad is just harder for me because I'm used to the pure crackhead energy the fandom gives them, but I'm still going strong! Oh well, I really want to write, so here I am!)

^Original note from Quotev that I put prior to the chapter. As a sort of mini explanation for my mindset going into this one.

Ace

Ace wanted to look unimpressed and chill, but he was currently losing it, and you could tell.

When you finally settled down, he approached you with his hands behind his head, really trying to hit home the idea he wasn't fanboying over you right now.

You brought your head down to allow him to get a closer look as well as touch your horns and snout.

He was a lot gentler than you thought he'd be.

He carefully ran his hand up and down your snout, making you hum in the process.

He tried talking to you, getting frustrated when you'd only hum and growl, before those two working brain cells in his head worked and he figured out that you couldn't actually talk.

He doesn't know, for some reason, a part of his brain just assumed you'd be able to talk.

Despite the current situation, Ace's behavior didn't change. He still tried to tease you, coming up basically unsuccessful because that's just how it is between the two of you, didn't stop him though.

Once, when you weren't paying attention, he tried to climb onto your back, not expecting the reaction that you'd have.

When you realized, you rolled over, trapping him under you. Due to the size difference, he was completely stuck, despite how much effort he put into trying to push you off him. You made sure not to hurt him though, and you didn't.

He could practically hear you laughing, even if it just came out as draconic grumbles.

sigh "You really never change, huh? You big bully! Though honestly, what can I say? I'm the same way, and I wouldn't want you any other way."

Deuce

Deuce was certainly nervous.

No fear. His brazen, delinquent years prepared him to take on any challenge that may be thrown at him, but this was definitely different.

He was stunned for a decent while after you transformed. Just kinda standing there, frozen in place.

Pretty sure his brain fried for a moment.

When he finally came back to his sense, he tried to play it all off with compliments, but really, there was no tricking you, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt and ignored it.

He was the most interesting by your wings.

(If I remember correctly)One of the reasons he likes being on the Track Team/Magical Wheel(?Can't remember which), is feeling the wind rush past him when he picks up speed. Because of this, he really admired your wings, which could do the same thing but ten fold.

He really wanted to ask you to take him on a flight with you, but was too shy to ask out loud. Maybe one day he'll have the confidence.

He made sure to be extra careful around parts like your horns, tail and other parts that may be considered sensitive/vulnerable. He didn't want to risk being even a little to rough and hurting you. He'd never forgive himself if he hurt you. (He doesn't realize how tough dragon skin and scales are, just give him a while).

All in all, it was a pleasant experience for the both of you. He had fun getting to see a new side of you, and you got to have a breather in your dragon form with no worries about who's around you.

"This is truly amazing. I can't believe you're capable of something like this. You really make NRC much more fun than it would be if you weren't here."

Jack

His reaction was much different from the others.

You and him are pretty similar in more ways than some may think.

Both of you are non-human beings capable of turning into a natural animal form. Him a wolf, you a dragon.

He was calm, but astounded. He didn't think you'd be quite so big.

He gets bigger than a normal wolf when he uses his Unique Magic, but he always assumed that was because he's a bigger person himself. Maybe it's just natural for anyone capable of this ability.

He was cautious to approach, not fully aware of how conscious you are, taking his own wolf state into account.

You just sat down, tail resting on the forest floor, wings at rest, showing just how comfortable you were in the situation. That convinced him that nothing had changed except how you looked.

He sat next to you, showing the same peaceful signs. Tail resting and ears calm.

You came closer, laying your head down next to his side. He reached out a hand and gently stroked the top of your head.

You two just stayed there like that for a while. Peacefully enjoying each others calm presence, until he stopped petting you.

You had gotten so used to the feeling and were so close to falling asleep, him stopping upset you.

In retaliation, you picked up your head and placed it down in his lap. He panicked for a moment before freezing, not knowing quite what to do.

He soon recognized the affectionate action. It was one his younger sister and brother would do when they wanted affection without actually saying they wanted affection. A silent plea.

He placed his hand back on your head, petting you like he was not even a minute ago. Sometimes he'd move his hand and scratch behind your ear, which caused you to hum and delight.

"We really are more alike than I thought. Are you sure you're not just a dog in disguise?" You grumbled at the playful tease, making him laugh.

Epel

Epel actually reacted much differently than you expected.

The moment he saw your dragon form, he wasted no time in rushing over and didn't even attempt to hide his complete adoration.

He jump up and down, bouncing on the heel of his feet. He rushed around, taking in every detail about you that he could.

His attention to speech completely leaves his mind and his natural accent slips in until he's speaking with such a think accent it's sometimes hard to understand what he's saying.

This may very well be the most excited you've seen Epel act, other than when he's getting competitive.

When he was finally able to wrap his head around everything and calm down, his demeanor changed on the dime, much like his personality can.

He softly took hold of your snout and held if close to his chest with his arms holding onto the underside of your head, something he likes to do even when you're in your normal form. For him, it's a show of trust, one he knew you'd understand.

A soft hum found its way out of your throat. He giggled at the affection.

You both took a rest and talked. It may have been a one-sided conversation, but he didn't mind.

He rambled on and on to fill the silence, accompanied with the occasional scratch under the chin.

There was a moment where he got jealous about how much bigger you were than him normally, let alone now. But, he soon got over it after thinking about how it must have just been natural since you weren't human.

"As much as I think it's unfair you can do all these cool things about how you look while I'm stuck like this, I'm still really happy that you opened up to me. I know what it's like to not be content with how you look, but we can do our own thing together!"

Sebek

Now, normally, Sebek is really respectful towards you. A byproduct from how he treats Malleus and how similar the two of you are.

Throughout the school year, it's taken some work, but you've gotten him to truly see you as a friend, not just another fae.

But, things did change a little bit after seeing your dragon form.

He's never seen Malleus's, because Malleus sees no use in taking his dragon form most of the time, so he didn't quite know what he was expecting to see from you.

When he watched a massive, spike covered, ice coated dragon walked out of the mist that practically came out of now where, he was honestly a little scared.

He remembered a story Lilia had told him and Silver once. It was about how once, when Malleus was young, he changed forms after throwing a temper-tantrum. After that, Sebek just started associating the idea with anger.

But, his time as a guard(and your friend) allowed him to be more observant than some. He saw every cue that would tell your current mood. There was no anger, only a calm curiosity. A curiosity towards him.

The idea of you watching him with the intention to see how he'd react embarrassed him. He turned his head to hide the reddening of his cheeks, but he didn't realize the red had crept up his ears and right into your watchful gaze.

You made a sound, one he didn't recognize, but it sounded faintly like laughter.

You were laughing at him!!!

He stomped a foot and grumbled under his breath, only causing you make more of the laughing sounds.

After that whole fiasco, Sebek finally felt comfortable enough to let down his guard.

His sharp hearing allowed him to quickly pick up on the different meanings of certain sounds, enough to have a semi-coherent conversation. He made sure to keep his voice quieter than usual, only being able to guess how sensitive your hearing may be right now.

Eventually, the interaction between the two of you fell into a comfortable and familiar conversation, like nothing was different about this scenario than usual.

"I really should be finding Waka-sama right now, but as Silver has told me, I may need to lighten up. So, we'll stay here for a while longer." His voice got just a bit quieter, "Thank you for showing me this."

And then the original note I put on Quotev after the chapter-

(Well, I think this set actually came out a lot better than I initially though it would. These five weren't as hard to write for as they usually are once I actually started soooo- YAY!!)

You can see the mindset change, wow.

[lokiondisneyplus]

Warning: This story contains spoilers for the Loki season 2 finale, "Glorious Purpose."

Loki ends with its titular god claiming his throne — just not the one he expected.

The Marvel Disney+ show concluded its second season this week, seemingly saying goodbye to Tom Hiddleston's Loki. In an effort to stop the universe from collapsing in on itself, Loki learns to control his "time-slipping," using it to go back further and further in time. With help from Sylvie (Sophia Di Martino), Mobius (Owen Wilson), and O.B. (Ke Huy Quan), he tries again and again to fix the TVA's temporal loom and prevent a meltdown. But every time he goes back, he fails, and he spends literal centuries reliving the same events over and over.

Eventually, Loki admits defeat and chooses to sacrifice himself to save every universe. Walking toward the temporal loom, he grabs the very fabric of space-time and uses it to build a throne of his own, weaving the threads together to create a tree. (It's a nod to the legendary world tree Yggdrasil from Norse mythology.) With that, Loki essentially crowns himself master of the multiverse, watching over every timeline as a lonely god. It's the ultimate selfless act from one of Marvel's most notorious villains — a villain who once sicced an alien invasion on New York to get his dad's attention.

Here, executive producer Kevin Wright breaks down the series' emotional finale — from the throwback line that Hiddleston improvised to whether this is really the end for Loki.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: When did you decide this was how you wanted Loki's story to end?

KEVIN WRIGHT: I think we knew in season 1. Once we were going to do a season 2, we knew that Loki would end up on the throne. That was always the easy thing. The question was: How do you want that to feel for the audience? There's a version that's triumphant and super heroic. There's a version where it's an evil turn. But it was always about the emotional journey we wanted people to go on. It was about building that journey to be as cathartic as possible and to feel like a payoff for six movies and 12 episodes over 12 years with this guy. It was always about building that arc to be as fulfilling as possible.

Most of the episode is dedicated to this sort of time loop, where we see Loki trying over and over again to get things right and fix the loom, almost in a Groundhog Day kind of situation. What was fun about getting to do that endless loop?

Even in season 1, we always wanted to do a Run Lola Run thing, but there was never space for it. So once we started going into loops this season in the writing process, we thought, "Oh, let's finally do it." So much of that is total credit to Paul Zucker, the editor of the episode. That montage wasn't scripted per se. We knew Loki was going to be rerunning things, but it wasn't written exactly the way that it played.

A really fun thing, though, was that our cast — outside of Tom — had no idea what we were doing. They understood that he was rerunning time, but we shot a very different ending to episode 4 that was not the real ending. All the cast thought something very different would happen. We would send them away on lunch breaks, and Tom would take his lunch later, and he would just keep shooting with [directors Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead] with a skeleton crew. There were very few people that fully understood what we were building in that finale. So, for that core team, I think there was a lot of satisfaction when everybody was able to sit down and see how it came together. It just felt like this little secret.

What do you remember most about watching Tom film those final scenes?

Two moments really jump to mind. The first is a little bit of a longer story. There's the scene with He Who Remains, and that was scripted one way. We had this fear, like, "Is this going to feel like we're retreading the same ground as season 1?" Would it be fulfilling? We started shooting one day, and anybody in any creative field will understand this: There are days where the words are right, they way you're doing it is right, but it's just not adding up. Something was missing. We knew we weren't nailing it, and I had to make the call. That is really scary, when your first AD just wants to keep moving, and I said we were going to stop shooting.

Tom went and sat down with our script supervisor and basically did this insane crash course in 30 minutes of every line that had been said on the whole series. Then, he went for a run around the lot at Pinewood [Studios], and when he came back, he was like, "I know what this needs to be now." Then, he and Jonathan worked out what it was going to be, and they sat down with Justin and Aaron and me and Katie Blair, our production writer. They just quickly rewrote this new scene and shot it. It was just the pinnacle of what Tom does. He has such a finger on the pulse of this entire series and how that scene had to go. In a moment, he was able to reconfigure it with all of our collaborators.

The other thing is that final line before he steps out toward the loom, which is the Thor line, which was not scripted. Right before we were going to shoot that, Tom came and pitched it to me, like, "Should we do this?" We were like, "God, why did we not write that?" It was perfect, and it was 100 percent Tom.

I wanted to ask about that line, where Loki turns to Sylvie and Mobius and says he has to do this "for you, for all of us." It's a direct throwback to one of his lines in the original 2011 Thor. So that was a Tom Hiddleston improvisation?

It was 100 percent Tom. We had already done a few takes of the first part of that line, which was, "I know what kind of god I need to be." And on the final take, Tom said, "Hey, can I try this?" As soon as he said it, all of us were like, "This is going to be the take." It almost gave me Truman Show vibes, that final sign-off, looking straight down the camera. But that story gets to the heart of how Tom is always trying to make things better. We just had to build a series that could give him the framework to have those creative pivots. Everyone would just kind of throw their hands up and say, "Geez, this is why this guy is fantastic."

With Loki in charge of the multiverse, this could affect how (and if) we might see Jonathan Majors' Kang the Conqueror in future Marvel projects. For you, where does this finale leave Kang and his future in the MCU?

I'm going to tread probably infuriatingly lightly, but for me — and I know all the filmmakers agree — we think everything is there on screen. I think all the details are there, and there is a lot that people haven't picked up on, or haven't fully understood what is being said. The key to the future is in that conversation with Sylvie, and this doesn't necessarily undo any of those threats. In my mind, it's what Sylvie said: "At least give us a chance. Let us fight that battle for ourselves and define our own destiny."

I also wanted to ask about that final shot of Mobius in Ohio, where he's standing there silently, watching time pass. Why was that the right ending for Mobius?

In the big picture of the show, we wanted this to feel like a real ending. We wanted to give closure on a number of things, and we didn't want to do anything that felt like it was just teeing up a new story. But you could plant new seeds that could become new stories. My feeling with that scene in Ohio is that it's Mobius overcoming a personal obstacle. He just had to go and look. The show is not telling you whether he's going to stay there, or whether he's going to go back to the TVA. I think both are possibilities. But the important thing was the character growth of him going to do the thing he has been avoiding. I think it took what Loki did to cause Mobius to go, "I have this opportunity. This opportunity was given to me by Loki. The least I can do is go."

So that being said, is this the end for Loki? Is this a season finale, or is it a series finale?

I'm thinking of it kind of like a comic run, and this is the end of that comic run. I know [head writer Eric Martin] has said this a lot: These two seasons were two chapters of the same book, and we wanted to close the book. That was a challenge from Owen in between seasons: He was like, "Nobody has the courage to close the book! Let's close the book!"

Again, I speak for myself and not Marvel, but I am certainly pitching ideas of where I could see certain stories going. I think there are a lot of stories you can tell at the TVA, and we are just scratching the surface on that. I would love to see more stories with Loki, and I think Tom would continue to play this character until he is Richard E. Grant's Classic Loki [laughs]. But I don't think that means you need to have this story every year or every two years. It's about doing it when we have a good story to tell. I would love to keep working with these filmmakers.

We built a really awesome team, and if Loki is Breaking Bad, maybe there's a way for this team to keep telling stories with our version of Better Call Saul — whether that's with Sylvie, with the TVA, or with a new Loki. But we only want to do that if we have the right story and it can be just as fulfilling as this one. After all, you can't be the God of Stories if you're not going to tell more stories.

[bekolxeram]

About the so called "leak" (I know I'm late again, it's the curse of the time zones), I want you all to know going forward you don't really have to worry about that. Plenty of you have said before me, the writers just started writing S8 less than a week ago, so nothing concrete can be leaked really.

But I also want you to think of the week before 7x10 aired. Someone who had access to an early screening of the episode tweeted that Tommy's scene was less than a minute long, so the Bucktommy ship was definitely going down. Now we know that while the scene was indeed short, it was very impactful and important.

What I'm trying to say is, even if the "leak" comes from a reputable source, malicious parties can still twist it around to mess with you or try minimizing engagement to ships they don't like. Let alone a random bird app theory when then writers' room has barely started.

This hiatus is going to be long for all of you who felt anxious about Bucktommy. I recommend first stop going on bird app, it can turn even the model toy train community toxic. Then maybe focus on what makes you happy, like Buck in S7 despite the drama going on around him. But if you feel that sudden punch of panic every time you open up Tumblr, thinking what's going on in Bucktommy land this time, maybe it's time for you to temporarily disengage. Watch other series, find another hyperfixation, or if you like rooting for a team, go watch soocer football, the EURO 2024 and Copa America are both starting this month.

Protect your peace, stay hydrated. The fandom experience is like a regular relationship: while it takes effort to maintain it, it's not supposed to be difficult hanging out with each other.

[luna-rainbow]

Thanks for your answer for the last ask.

What is wrong with the writers of the new MCU material? Do they just hate Bucky, especially the writer of the Falcon and the Winter Soldier (he's NOT the Winter Soldier anymore!)? Did Bucky kick their cat or something? This hatred and victim blaming is not justified! "Oh Bucky's just a cray-cray psycho killing machine with cool metal arm but probably belongs in a padded cell. Lol he says he had no choice such a lame excuse..."

Soo…I don’t know if people still remember the rumours from back in 2021 and I don’t know how much of it is true, but my guess at it is this: there were supposed to be two main writers on the series. Spellman was supposed to take Sam’s story, while the other guy wrote Bucky’s story. For whatever reason, the other guy quit before he finished, and didn’t give the writing team enough time to put things together.

From a story craft point of view, Bucky’s story in TFATWS reeks of first-draft-ism. It’s a scattered plot of events that don’t quite string together, and a self-contradictory characterisation that hasn’t yet been smoothed over (but was made a little more believable by Sebastian’s efforts). You can tell some central character themes had been planted in the first draft — the PTSD, the guilt, the messy way he’s trying to relearn how to interact with people (Yori, Sam and later the Wakandans), the struggle with breaking free of his past. These were all strong, interesting character beats for Bucky to work through, and it honestly could have been a good story. And I think that’s when the original writer bailed.

When Spellman picked up this draft, he was pressed for time, he hadn’t watched CATWS and he never thought he’d needed to know about Bucky’s story, so he reads TheMovieSpoiler summary of the movie and tries to piece the rest of the story together. But Bucky’s not his priority nor his interest. There’s already beats of the story that were planned and have to be there for IP reasons. So beyond what was already in the first draft as mentioned above, Bucky is made to be the fall guy to make the rest of the plot happen. Zemo’s release — well we can’t make Sam help break out the criminal that killed an African king so we’ll make Bucky do it, who cares if it makes no sense for his character. The counselling session — the show’s few moments of levity, doesn’t matter that it makes no sense but hey, forced homoeroticism is hilarious, isn’t it? The Wakandan three-way fight — I may be remembering this wrong but I think Skogland said it was one of the first scenes that she had planned for. That fight had to happen, and again Bucky was made to provoke the Wakandans to the point Seb had to step in and say, almost literally, “he would not fucking say that” to make them wind back the animosity between Bucky and Ayo. Sam’s suit — oh no we can’t have Sam asking for it himself that would be too egocentric, we also can’t have Wakandans offering because well, not like the plot actually made Sam a strong ally for Wakanda, so we get Bucky asking for Sam’s suit to be made minutes after he fixes his mistake of releasing Zemo. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense if it’s Bucky doing it, cos I really think by this stage Spellman didn’t give a shit about a character that wasn’t supposed to be his responsibility in the first place. It’s like when you’re doing group project and your teammate bails on you, you’re gonna do just enough to get that pass but you ain’t putting in the effort for a distinction cos just looking at the unfinished work is pissing you off. So then Bucky also becomes the token white male who pushes all the wrong buttons during the few token racism scenes cos we gotta make Walker have some redeemable qualities and he’s already a dick so we can’t make him racist too.

So instead of having a thoughtful story about a veteran trying to grapple with his guilt and PTSD and lack of agency and making some mistakes along the way, you get a weird disjointed plot of some guy…with some bad dreams…who randomly does things for no good personal reason…who gets made the butt of the joke for the stuff he’s experienced cos he’s got a metal arm and super soldier serum how hard could it have been he just needs to go and apologise for killing people while simultaneously having multiple poignant scenes portraying his lack of agency.

Every writer who tells you “a hero is only as interesting as the villain” just secretly wants to write a simpable villain. And when that writer isn’t very skilled, you get the disaster of TFATWS where a lot of effort is spent on making Zemo funny and personable, and Walker nuanced and sympathetic, instead of making either of the titular heroes funny or personable or nuanced or sympathetic. And yeah, I really don’t think Spellman ever cared enough about Bucky to want to make him sympathetic…or a hero. Remember when he said Bucky pulling open the van door was the first time Bucky has ever been a hero? Fuck right off with that.

[diceramblesaboutocs]

Undirected Connection || Idia x Reader || Prologue

Author’s note: This is more of a premise or prologue. I haven’t ever really posted any of my writing officially and I wanted to do something light first. So I hope to give this more “chapters”. I want this to be more soft and friendship oriented but hey, we will see where it goes. Also the mandatory: English isn't my native language so...

Rating: Teen Pairing: Idia/Reader Words: 905 Tags: GenderNeutral Reader - Reader is from Ignihyde - Cat and mouse chase dynamic.

Summary:  "Dear students of NRC, Ever wanted your favorite actress or actor to wish you good night? Do you need a little encouragement for the finals? Or maybe you want them to say those sweet "well, well, well"s with their seductive voice to spice up your evening?

I, Litae, will humbly grant your prayer and wishes. Give me your desired voice (an actor, a character (must be a public figure)) and guidelines what would you want them to say only to you

2 thaumarks, a personal greeting for you

5 thaumarks, 30s clip.

NO NSFW content.

Payment will be handled via the Cave of Wonders app."

"You can do it, Idia! You'll be fine! Good night and sleep well tonight!"

The familiar voice of Idia's favorite idol echoed in the dim room as the call ended. This has been going on for a month now. Azul had cornered him in the board game clubroom after the session. He started to offer the most ridiculous things for Idia so that he would help him locate some mysterious entrepreneur. This entrepreneur known as Litae had taken the NRC campus by storm in just a week. And the Octavinelle housewarden smelled an opportunity for a great investment in that. A promise of financial gain.

Idia first had offered to create a voice generation software for him, but Azul declined. He wanted the real deal. Why create a rival when you can blackmail the original creator to join his team. Or as the merman had put it: Offer a safe working environment and stable income. Idia wanted to escape the situation, but seemed that the only way to do that was to agree to help his clubmate.

He started his research. It started from small testing, paying this Litae to give him a greeting or a small clip. To see if he could use a voice recognition software to find patterns, a recurring pitch or to see if the voice was generated by a computer. All coming back almost negative. There were some small recurring patterns, but not enough to pinpoint anyone exactly. And the voice wasn't AI generated either. Or if it was, it was a highly sophisticated model.

He asked Litae to voice different actors. Then fictional characters and lastly… one of his favorite characters from Sled over Heels. Why not indulge himself a bit? To have a high quality personalized greeting from his favorite character would make his heart flutter. And it did. A little bit of greetings there and a little bit of encouragement here. Like before the public speech he had at the cultural fair. (Not that he was going to speak in public, he made a high end text to speech software to avoid that.)

Then came the calls. Litae started offering short calls, improvised calls for the students. For Idia, it was downhill from there… He was addicted. ***

2 months ago

It all started when it was announced that the Star Rogue: Remake Galaxy would be exclusive on the newly launched Wonderlink console. [Y/N] had been a long time fan of the game series and finally it was getting the recognition that it deserved. But there was a problem… A financial one. They could buy the game, sure, but they didn't have the console. They needed a plan on how to get money. Something easy. Something so low effort that they could do it while keeping up with their studies.

A couple of days had passed. During a break they had a conversation with their fellow dormmates about the wake up call tracks. They remembered those from old radio shows. The voice actors acted as their characters and recorded a set of different versions of wake up notifications. People ate them all up, trying to get hold of those radio show tracks. They would dissect the lines and share them online. And that's where the idea began in [Y/N]'s head.

Like a strike of fate, it was perfect. Outer appearance of [Y/N] was that of a normal human, but they had the blood of a changeling fae in them. It wasn't much, but enough. The influence from a few generations past would act up sometimes. Whenever magic was flowing strong around them, their appearance changed randomly if not deliberately focused on anything. They had a special medication for it. That they didn't give themselves gills without thinking and suffocated. That was a rare thing to begin with but better safe than sorry. After all, in a magic school with all the students blasting spells, it could get hectic. Stronger the magic, the bigger the change could be.

On its own it was more of a parlor trick, to change one's hair color, or transform their teeth sharp… Or change their voice. They researched the best way to handle the transfer of money and got an old smartphone from the lost and found. Being an Ignihyde student, they knew the lengths to which the digital footprint could be tracked. They couldn't be too cautious. They didn't want others to know about this idea, about them doing it or that they had such a gift from their ancestors. Who would trust a descendant of a changeling after all?

After two weeks of planning, the plan went into motion. They made a separate email account on their "work" phone and sent an advert to the whole student body of NRC. ***

"Dear students of NRC,

Ever wanted your favorite actress or actor to wish you good night?

Do you need a little encouragement for the finals? Or maybe you want them to say those sweet "well, well, well"s with their seductive voice to spice up your evening?

I, Litae, will humbly grant your prayer and wishes.

Give me your desired voice (an actor, a character (must be a public figure)) and guidelines what would you want them to say only to you

2 thaumarks, a personal greeting for you

5 thaumarks, 30s clip.

NO NSFW content.

Payment will be handled via the Cave of Wonders app."

[greenerteacups]

Hey GT, glad to see you're back! I'm still halfway thru Lionheart (just read the world cup chapter, what a delight) and your notes got me wondering.

I'm sure you've probably answered this before but how do you manage to make the world feel so rich? I'm not that into the fandom so I don't know If there are some things fanon agreed upon or if it is your own musings about the magic world. Like Draco explaining to Hermione about portkeys or how many languages Krum speaks.

How do you decide what's important enough to get a mention? Where do you go when you need answers and Canon is not enough to provide it?

Thanks for the kind words, and for the question! It's a matter of personal taste, like anything. Some writers prefer an athletic, streamlined plot, with only as much worldbuilding as you absolutely need (how does Panem run a command economy of 4.5 million people primarily on fossil fuels when its coal district has a population of less than 10,000? fuck off! who cares! they're Y/A dystopias about a TV show where teens beat each other to death!). Some writers, on the other hand, won't bother to start the story until they know the pH of the soil in every region of the world they're writing about. I'm somewhere on the second half of the scale, in that I'll give details that aren't strictly necessary to the plot, just because I like to feel like I'm writing about a world where real, extraneous things can happen. Some details are foreshadowing; some details are Special Mouseketools that will Help Us Later; and sometimes, you just get to know a cool fact about portkeys.

I guess part of the fun of building out a world is getting to think about Everything, which is what my brain normally does. I have a pretty broad body of literature as a starting gate, so there's plenty of room to play. E.g., when I started writing Krum, I thought about how he's not super fluent in English in canon, and that naturally made me ask why, because he clearly has taken English, so either he only started lessons recently or it hasn't been a priority for him; and then I went "wait, what's his first language? Bulgarian, right? But Durmstrang isn't — hang on—" and then I pulled up an actual map of Europe, which led me to realize that he wouldn't likely be speaking his first language at Durmstrang, which means he already had to become bilingual just to start his wizarding education, and that explains part of why he doesn't have a ton of time/effort to spare for a third language, plus he'd probably have a translator available whenever he traveled with a team because he's a B.F.D. — etc., etc. And then you keep thinking about that until you remember that you're supposed to be writing a fic, and you scramble to get back to doing that. Only now, you have worldbuilding! Congrats.

To try for an even halfway useful answer to your question: worldbuilding becomes most important when it creates limitations, because limitations define your characters and give them chances to develop/reveal themselves. So the details of portkeys become important because they explain the limitations of magical travel, which is a big nebulous ??? in the original series, since the introduction of teleportation via Apparating means that all other forms of transportation become inefficient by comparison. It also means the limitations introduced by travel — that is, not all characters can be in all places at once — also go away, because anyone can be anywhere immediately. From a narrative perspective, this sucks massive horse ass. Hence: I dumped a shit ton of limitations on Apparation (i.e., (1) it requires a ton of energy, (2) it's really fucking hard, (3) it's really fucking dangerous, (4) it's more of both the farther away you're going, (5) it's more of both the more people you take with you, (6) you can't Apparate without a clear destination in mind which means (7) you need to have been there already, and so (8) some people prefer not to do it). Hence, I also put limitations on portkeys (i.e., they have to be set up well in advance, you need to identify out both destinations precisely beforehand, and the calculations are difficult to do). Those limitations, and the Watsonian explanations you create for them, are your worldbuilding. They're what make the world feel real, because they give it grit and character. They give you a more complete sense of what you can and cannot do.

The rest of it is taste and preference, really; it's what interests you, and what parts of the world you want to explore. That's going to be unique to every author, and that's the beauty of worldbuilding — it reflects the parts of the world that you like to think about.

[arkus-rhapsode]

So wasn't expecting to make this Gaming Hot Take of the day but after reading this from Sony CFO Hiroki Totoki I gotta be honest I had to write something

So look, I can kinda understand this stance in a very retrospective sense as he says "Fostered from the beginning." Playstation 1 in particular didn't really make a big distinction between its original IP and its Third Party IP. It's why you had Crash Bandicoot or Cloud Strife as basically the mascot of Playstation when both come from third parties. Compared to the likes of Mario and Sonic who were not only their console mascot, but company mascots respectively.

But by now, Playstation has an undeniable back catalogue of first and second IP that it can either revive or rerelease if need be. Like if we're looking at like multi entry series and not just one offs, by the PS2, Sony had:

Jak & Daxter

Twisted Metal

Ape Escape

Sly Cooper

MediEvil

Wild Arms

Dark Cloud

Everybody's Golf

God of War

Rachet and Clank

And by the PS3 we have

Infamous

Uncharted

Killzone

Resistance

Little Big Planet

Like Sony has their own catalogue that can stand on its own. Its not like they should be struggling now to play catch up.

Now if you read my recent Emio and Mages post, I am very well aware that in the age of modern gaming, a game doesn't get made without a team devoted to it. And with the rising production and time costs of making games, no company can release a hundred games and be profitable. So sadly some IP just do fall by the wayside in favor of others. Guerrilla Games isn't making Killzone anymore, because their efforts are spent on Horizon and Sucker Punch went from being the Sly Cooper guys to the Infamous guys, to now the Ghosts of Tsushima guys.

However, I feel like Sony has had some circumstances that compound this problem. Sony and Playstation are technically powerful machines-they want to fully utilize the hardware they're selling you for hundreds of dollars. It is their brand. However, the downside to this is because of this the rise in production costs, it's now taking much longer to make games that make use of the powerful hardware. We went from being able to release a full trilogy in a single generation to basically one. Its also made worse by the fact that Sony has been very active in shuttering studios and cutting costs. The biggest would be the loss of Sony Japan Studio, who were beloved for their more varied Japanese-y style games. It added flavor to the more Naughty Dog inspired games of the sixth and seventh generation. But now, Sony went all in on being that one big budget release that leaned more towards broader genres that could maximize the amount of sales like Uncharted, The Last of Us, Spider-Man, etc.

With this, a lot of mismanagement, its really made the PS5 era feel very sparse compared to the PS4. Now, I wanna stress this, I actually do not subscribe to the mentality "Playstation has no games." Playstation has tons of games beyond just their first party titles, some are exclusive like Final Fantasy 16, some are just way too powerful to be something that could be played on a switch like GTAV. Heck, I played Bomb Rush Cyberfunk on my PS5 and it's probably the game I've dumped the most time into this year. So yes, even if Playstation's first party offerings are few and far between, you're still capable of playing a lot of good games on this really expensive plastic box.

And maybe that's indicative of the fact that Playstation has always been about selling you the hardware on the basis of the hardware. Going back to the PS1, the main selling points was this was the haven for third parties after Nintendo really burned a lot of developers with the N64, and that this was a much more system than the N64. When you look at someone like Nintendo now, they're hardware is underpowered they live and die by the power of their software that only they can provide and no one else. But the playstation even if its not shooting out a new Jax & Daxter every year, they're still the place you can play something like Final Fantasy or Elden Ring at a really great clip. Perhaps Totoki was alluding to that reliance on hardware instead of software because in retrospect, they never really had that big homegrown system seller on playstation till the PS2 with things like God of War. And now fostering that, has made it hard to have that sort of Zelda or Halo that are so undeniably their companies IP and will move launch units.

But a reliance on just being the place where you can play games at a high fidelity, means that its still got competition from Xbox and PC. So Sony would have to offer a service the others don't and that can be software you find nowhere else. True story, I was genuinely conflicted about getting a PS5 or and Xbox X/S for my birthday because I knew I needed to at least have a strong machine to play with my switch. And ultimately I took PS5 because that was the console that would have God of War Ragnarok and Spider-Man 2. So yes, IP absolutely factors into purchases in my experience. And the fact that this generation Sony has really struggled to put out first party games, really makes that purchase factor feel so much thinner and thinner. When you know-you know Sony has loads of IP (Some that haven't left their respective console) that even a simple remaster on the PS5 could at least hold people over in-between their AAA releases. So to hear their CFO say that they don't have enough IP, gets very disingenuous.

To close this out, I wanna stress something. I don't think wanting to make new IP is a bad thing. Im glad Sony is willing to invest 8 years and millions of dollars into something new. But eventually, we reach a point where this has to be better managed. We have to have some smaller titles that can be released between the bigger ones. We gotta have some variation in the types of games we're getting from the platform holder. And sometimes leaning in on those fan faves for smaller titles would help. Are they gonna sell 10 million units? More than likely not. But if you balance the budget, having something move between 1-2 million units would be acceptable. Perhaps maybe allow more second party developers a crack at using that IP so your internal teams can work on the bigger blockbuster titles?

The PS5 generation has been a pretty all over the map one for Sony, and the more we learn about the thoughts and management behind the scenes, the more aggravating it can become when this platform does something really cool, but then seems to take two steps back. I genuinely can't tell you if I'll get a PS6. But if I do, it will probably not be out of optimism for classic Playstation franchises to return.

[peterpparkrr]

Banter (ch. 1)

Series: Banter

Pairing: Roy Kent x f!Reader

Summary: You and Roy Kent do not get along. But your mysterious Bantr match on the other hand…

A/N: SEASON 3! SEASON 3! Ted Lasso is the only thing holding my sanity together so I figured I might as well write for it. Enjoy! 

(Ch. 2) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 4) (Ch. 5)

series masterlist

Shutterbug: Do you ever feel like no one really knows you?

SirSwears-a-Lot: Yes. Most of the people I interact with are fucking idiots.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Has something prompted this existential crisis?

Shutterbug: My friends. And work. Everything.

SirSwears-a-Lot: It's hard to be vulnerable with people. 

SirSwears-a-Lot: In the effort to respond to honesty with honesty, I’ve recently been struggling with the question: What the hell am I doing?

Shutterbug: I’m about to start a new job and I’m questioning every decision I’ve ever made.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Same.

You were trying to navigate your way through the AFC Richmond building when you spotted a familiar blonde ponytail down the hallway.

“Keeley!”

Keeley squealed your name when she turned around to see you. 

“EEEEEE! I’m so excited that you’re here!” She shouted as she ran toward you at full speed before launching herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck tightly as you spin her in a little circle.

To this day you weren’t sure how you’d ended up being best friends with Keeley Jones. 

You’d met on a commercial set when you were an assistant to the photographer and Keeley as the talent for the shoot had charmed your pants off. 

Not literally. You two didn’t have that kind of relationship. No matter how often Keeley joked about wanting to shag you. 

But Keeley’s uncanny ability to befriend anyone and everyone she met had worked on you. Despite being the model-slash-acress-social media star at the center of the commercial she took the time to ask you your name, understand what your job was, and pepper you with personal and ranndom questions.

And as an unmoored creative professional in London, you’d latched onto Keeley as a familiar face in the circles you both ran in (Well, circles that Keeley ran in and you sort of loitered on the outskirts of with your camera). 

And when the two of you’d walked in on her boyfriend at the time shagging the executive for the brand you two were working on the shoot for, she’d slapped him clear across the face (the boyfriend, not the executive, you both wanted to continue working). And you’d let her move in with you until she could figure out what she was going to do next.

It had bonded you together for life. 

Which is how she’d managed to rope you into taking AFC Richmond’s promo photos despite your strong anti-sport stance. 

You were easily swayed by the Keeley Jones pout. And the promise of a well-paying job.

“Ted! Roy! This is my friend-slash-photographer-extraordinaire,” Keeley called out to two men in Richmond jackets that made their way over to you, introducing you all to each other. They both looked a little too old to be players so you assumed they were coaches. “She’s going to be the photographer for the promo shoot tomorrow.” 

“Nice to meet you, I’m excited to work with the team,” You tell them as you reach out to shake their hands. 

“Pleasure to meet an old pal of Keeley’s,” The one with the mustache, Ted, replies as he shakes your hand eagerly.

“Oh! You’re American!” You exclaim in surprise.

“Yes, we are,” Ted replies with a small chuckle. “But I promise we have nothing but the utmost respect for the game y’all call football.”

“I’m not really a football fan to be honest,” You admit with a shrug. 

You don’t necessarily have anything against the game itself. But the fact that the world pours billions of dollars into an industry built around boys kicking balls around seems silly to you. Especially considering the way some fans of the game react – hooliganism, riots, bar fights, increased rates of domestic violence after matches – it all seems like a waste.

“Roy! this is the photographer for the shoot tomorrow,” Keeley tells a man with a head of dark curls and a deep frown etched into his stubble.

You can’t help but give him the once over. It’s part of the artistic nature of your work, you’re always scanning people for their best angles, natural beauty, etcetera, that you might want to work with when you’re shooting.

And he’s pretty. In that gruff, grumpy mountain man kind of way.

“Nice to meet you,” You greet him with a smile as you hold out your hand to him. “Are you a player?”

“Do I look like I’m a fucking player?” He grumbles at you before he pushed between you and Keeley and walks into the locker room. 

“Excuse me?!” You shout after him, completely taken aback by the rudeness you’d just been faced with.

“You’ll have to excuse Roy,” Keeley tells you with an apologetic smile.  “He wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, well, every morning.” 

“Right,” You reply with a glance over your shoulder in the direction he stalked off to. 

“Since he’s not a player at least I don’t have to work with him,” You add with a halfhearted smile. Trying to play the optimist for the sake of your professionality.

Keeley’s eyes widen slightly when you say that and what smile you had managed drops off your face completely.

“Um…” She mutters.

“What?” You groan.

“He’s one of the other coaches,” Keeley tells you apologetically as she purses her lips at you.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” You grumble. 

“Fucking dick,” You mutter under your breath as Keeley leads you down the hallway, explaining what the team owner, Rebecca Welton, is looking for brand-wise from these promotional photos.

Shutterbug: Why are men such assholes?

SirSwears-a-Lot: I feel like you’re expecting me to defend my gender but I honestly can’t.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Men are pricks.

Shutterbug: Agreed. This guy I met for part of my new job was a complete and total dick to me today for absolutely no reason. If I didn’t like getting paid I would have gone full psycho bitch on his ass. See how he liked that.

SirSwears-a-Lot: I would pay good money to see that.

Shutterbug: I did meet another guy at this job today who was actually a really nice guy, like unnaturally nice.

Shutterbug: And you’re nice. 

Shutterbug: So I guess #NotAllMen.

SirSwears-a-Lot: I’m not nice.

Shutterbug: Yeah, you are. 

Shutterbug: You let your niece help you come up with your dating app profile.

Shutterbug: And if you weren’t a nice guy you wouldn’t let me complain to you all the time.

SirSwears-a-Lot: I complain back to you so it’s really an even exchange. Plus most of your stories are hilarious.

Shutterbug: Well, I do usually like my work.

Shutterbug: But my pro tip of the day: don’t work with athletes. 

SirSwears-a-Lot: Noted.

“Hiya,” Ted greets you as you stand in the middle of the locker room on your phone.

You’re so engrossed in your text argument with Bantr boy about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza that you jump slightly at the sudden noise.

“Ope, sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya,” Ted apologizes. 

“Oh, it’s fine, I just got wrapped up in a text conversation,” You tell him with a shrug as you tuck your phone back into your pocket and smile back at Ted. 

“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Ted asks curiously.

“Just a guy,” You tell him.

Ted nods for you to continue. Something you’ve almost never had someone, especially not a guy do to you in a professional context.

“Well, I’m on Keeley’s app. I figure at least one of us deserves to have success. Even if it’s professional and not personal.”

“You’re a good friend,” Ted interjects.

“And I have been flirting with one guy who’s actually funny. And intelligent. It probably won’t go anywhere but it’s fun to have someone to chat with who doesn’t know who I am.”

“I can’t say I understand the appeal of that sort of anonymity, what if you’re chatting with a serial killer? Or a homophobe? Or someone who hates pizza?” Ted replies. “But then again, I’m not young and hip.”

“It’s a valid perspective,” You reply with a nod. “I’m honestly not even sure if he would like me. If we ever met, I mean, I don’t know if I’m his type.”

“Well, you’re an absolute delight, I can’t imagine a single guy who wouldn’t like you, unless he hates, I don’t know, happiness and joy,” Ted tells you.

“Thanks, Ted,” You reply.

“Anything else I can help ya with?” Ted asks as he slaps his hands down on his thighs. “Got any of those big heavy lights you need moved around?”

“The lights actually aren’t that heavy,” You tell him with a burst of laughter. “I think I’m just about set up here. Just waiting on your team and then we can get started.”

Shutterbug: What’s your type?

SirSwears-a-Lot: Why do you ask?

Shutterbug: Maybe I’m getting plastic surgery so that I can look like it.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Whatever you look like, you’re my type.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Unless you’re actually my boss catfishing me.

SirSwears-a-Lot: In which case, fuck you.

Shutterbug:  Damn. You’ve caught me!

You couldn’t wait for this job to be over.

The team was actually easy. Other than a few players who tried to tell you about their best angles (Jamie Tartt had insisted that you needed to only shoot him from the left and seemed unable to not smolder during the shoot which was… an interesting choice), the solo shots of the players had been a breeze.

But these coaches were a whole different beast. 

Ted was happy, almost eager to take your direction. 

But the other three?

Coach Beard hardly spoke during the entire interaction and refused to smile but his pictures came out fairly decent. 

Nathan Shelley was so nervous and fidgety it took you ages to take the photos because he kept breaking the poses to ask you if he was doing alright.

Roy Kent was impossible.

“You have to stay in the pose,” You grumbled as you pushed past your lighting rig to re-adjust Roy for what felt like the hundredth time this afternoon to. 

“I feel fucking stupid in the pose,” Roy grumbled in response.

“Well, you look stupid when you don’t do it,” You shot back.

“Just listen to the nice lady, Roy,” Ted called out, causing a few of the others to chuckle. 

Something of a crowd had formed to watch the entire process. Some of the players who were done with training and the rest of the coaches were standing around watching now that their photos were over and you could tell that Roy hated having an audience.

“Shut up!” Roy shouted at them.

You groaned as he broke the angle again.

“Alright, everyone out!” You shout once you’ve finally lost your patience. You shoo at the men. “Everyone!”

Once it was just you and Roy in the room you turned back to him.

“The sooner you do what I tell you to do. The sooner this is all over,” You tell him. “You’re handsome, I don’t understand why you hate getting your photo taken so much.”

Roy didn’t reply with words, he simply grunted at you as you stepped towards him and lifted your hand to gently tilt his face back to the direction you wanted him to face before stepping away.

“There,” You said a minute later once you’d gotten all the shots you would need. “That wasn’t so painful, now was it?”

“Yeah,” Roy grunted again as he pushed through your set-up and disappeared back into the coaches' office. 

You watched him leave with a puff of mild annoyance before you realized that meant that today’s shoot was over and hurried to back up your things.

Shutterbug: Would you ever want to meet up?

You’d gotten to the restaurant too early. After you’d sent that message you’d thrown your phone across the room and tried not to panic. 

When you’d finally built up the courage to retrieve your phone you saw that he’d already messaged you back,

SirSwears-a-Lot: Yes.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Friday night? Bacco’s, 7 pm?

You grinned at your phone for a moment before typing your response.

Shutterbug: See you then :)

And you’d been riding on cloud nine for the last few days. You hadn’t told anyone about the date. Not even Keeley. No matter how hopeful you were about this working out, you hated the thought of getting someone else's hopes up so you decided to keep it a secret. 

Just until after the date.

But it also meant that you’d finished up the day’s shoot, gone home to get ready, and somehow ended up at the restaurant thirty minutes before your reservation. So you were standing in the waiting area, trying not to look too pathetic while you scrolled through Instagram.

Every time you heard the door open your eyes would flicker up only to be met with the view of a sweet elderly couple or a group of business partners making their way through the door. 

Until you heard to door open and looked up to lock eyes with Roy Kent. 

Your eyes widened before you offered him a sarcastic smile. 

“I’m waiting for someone,” You tell him in lieu of a greeting.

“Me too,” He replies gruffly.

“Good for you,” You reply with a furrow of your brows.

“Yeah.” 

You roll your eyes and look back down at your phone, tapping out a quick message to let him know you’re here. You hit send just as your phone pings with a similar text from him. 

You look up to scan the room again just as Roy’s phone buzzes and your eyes lock as you realize that you’re the only two people in the waiting area. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” You groan.

“Fuck,” Roy mutters.

[pinkanonwrites]

“ASK ME ABOUT BUMBLEBEE IN MY ASK BOX I LITERALLY NEVER GET SICK OF HIM” hi sorry. ive had a crush on that guy for like 18 years now he makes me fucking crazy. talk about him as much as you want pretty please

YAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYY! Thank you so much anon, I'll gladly indulge.

I don't think there's been a single iteration of Bumblebee I didn't at least kind of like. There's definitely a few iterations of him that stand out to me though! I really, really like the direction they took Bumblebee in Earthspark, an unprepared mentor who's still a little immature, but has it WAY more put-together than the Terrans he's always surrounded with. He thinks he's in over his head and there's no way he could be a teacher, but by the end of Season 1 he's proven himself to be an incredible leader, teacher, and fun uncle figure.

Also, potentially controversial opinion, I really enjoy RID 2015 Bumblebee. It's definitely not the best Transformers series, and personally I think it would have been a lot more well-received if it wasn't pitched as a sequel to Transformers Prime and instead got to stand alone as its own thing. But seeing Bumblebee trying to be a serious leader with his goofball team only makes it more adorable when the geeky moments slip through, like his love of cowboys or the Bumblebee babysitting episode. Prime Bee and RID 2015 Bee definitely don't feel like the same character to me, but I'm able to separate them enough that I enjoy each of their merits.

But my humble opinions on various Bumblebees aren't the main reason we're here, is it? No, the main reason is for me to write all my personal little valveplug headcanons for y'all to enjoy and peruse!

NSFW BELOW THE CUT!

I think just about every version of Bee would be incredibly possessive over his partner. Though he's usually a fun, plucky, charming bot, he's got a lot of inferiority complexes and that manifests in him absolutely NOT wanting to share. Some Bees are more flexible than other Bees, but all versions of Bee love it best when your attention is on him. The only one that I can see being willing to share his partner on a 'more than once' basis would be Cyberverse Bee, and even then only with someone he felt equally comfortable with like Cheetor or Hot Rod.

Bee is also incredibly tactile, he loves skin-to-metal contact. If he had no shame and no scruples he'd carry you around in his servos or on his shoulder wherever he went. Bayverse, Knightverse, Cyberverse, and Animated Bumblebee are all very grabby and affectionate in public, while Prime, RID 2015, and Earthspark Bee save their touching and fondling for more private places. Really, the first group just get too excited when they see you, while the second group is worried about embarrassing you AND themselves.

He usually prefers to be the one doing the spiking, but that's partially because of the aforementioned inferiority complex. Get your hands and mouth on his sensitive little valve and you'll have a puddle of mech all for you to play with.

Very messy and very enthusiastic kisser. Even when he's trying to hold back and take it slow his processor is just a fog of pleasure and he can't help but practically devour you. Same thing if he's eating you out, he gets completely and utterly drunk on you.

LOT of transfluid for a minibot, and despite his better efforts the two of you usually end up pretty messy. If it's an accident he'll be very sheepish and apologetic, but if you asked for it he'll fully revel in seeing you covered and slick with his fluids. Actually, probably a lot of fluids in general if we cycle back on that kissing one. He's just a messy bot.~

And I talked about this a little in my tickling posts, but I'll indulge myself a little more. Like Optimus, I think Bumblebee enjoys being tickled but struggles to voice that or ask for it because he's worried it'll reflect poorly on him, like he won't be taken seriously if he lets himself indulge. The inner lining of his door wings is super sensitive, even just trailing your fingers up and down the length of the rubber window seal will have him squirming. As for the inverse, Bumblebee absolutely loves to tickle you, and would gladly do it whenever you ask. You're so, so much smaller than he is: softer, squishier, more vulnerable. It both turns him on and tugs at his heartstrings that you trust him enough to let him manhandle you like that, pin you down and push you to your absolute limits until you're wriggling and gasping and squealing with laughter. Cyberverse and Knightverse Bees are the biggest ticklers, while Animated and Earthspark Bees are the biggest ticklees.

(If you have any more questions about my particular headcanons on specific iterations of Bumblebee, please please please send an ask! I can answer well and enthusiastically for just about every Bee, save for IDW and Prime.)

[couldawouldashoulda50]

From Completely Different Worlds - William Nylander

The Sweden Chapter - Part Two Link to Part One is here

A/N - So, I know I've mentioned a baker's dozen times that my tendency is to write longer fics, even than what I initially intend to. So I'm introducing Part Two now...with the understanding that a third part is required to hopefully tie up all the loose ends between William and Loren. Nevertheless, @misshoneyimhome, we're getting there! Again, thank you for always being so open AND encouraging to talk it out whenever a Loren/Willy thought comes up that I need to work through. Notes and Warnings - goes without saying - profanity, smut (basic p in v, oral - m receiving). Any references to past "goings on" between players and an ex, or current girlfriends, friends etc. in this piece is strictly fiction.

Word count - 5.9k 18+ only please.

Recap - Round One for the Leafs seemed to be plagued with a string of unfortunate events right from the very beginning. After the “Where’s Willy” fiasco began to dissipate, more unusual circumstances took hold which further casted a shadow over the Maple Leafs. As the games in the round progressed, the Leafs lost their grip in Games 3 and 4, finding themselves in a precarious position by Game 5. To add to matters, star player Auston Matthews fell ill, and even more speculation swirled about the almost 70 goal scorer’s dedication to winning. The situation reached a boiling point when cameras caught the 3 star forwards arguing on the bench which quickly went viral. As some headlines alluded to, it really seemed like the team was a total dumpster fire. The team had reached new heights of pressure and scrutiny within Leafs Land.

However, just when all seemed lost, the Leafs mounted a remarkable comeback. After Game 5, William, with an extraordinary performance, single-handedly scored all goals in both Games 6 and 7. Given the tight defense known in playoff hockey, scoring those goals, 3 in total, was an impressive feat. As if the Leafs got a shock from a defibrillator, the team and the city suddenly had renewed hope in mounting a surge to take Game 7.

Joe Woll stood tall, delivering an almost flawless performance in Game 6. He came excruciatingly close to securing a shutout, showcasing his outstanding ability under pressure.

Unfortunately, Woll's sustained an injury late in Game 6, leaving the team without their hot starter for the crucial Game 7.

With Woll sidelined, the responsibility fell to Ilya Samsonov, affectionately known as "Sammy" by his teammates and fans. Samsonov fought hard in the crease in Game 7, making several crucial saves to keep the Leafs' hopes alive. Despite his best efforts and the team's perseverance, fate had other plans. In a heartbreaking turn of events, the Bruins managed to clinch the series victory in overtime, sending the Leafs to yet another first-round exit. The tortured fans, players, and franchise were once again dejected—while others were spurned and filled with outrage.

In the aftermath of the disappointing playoff run, Loren and William maintained sporadic communication. Their interactions were affectionate but brief. Loren was back working several overnight shifts at the group home while scheduling and making lesson plans for her French students. She also wanted to give William the time and space that she felt he needed in the days after Game 7.

William had taken the loss hard, and as much as he wanted to feel Loren's presence, he also wanted to steer clear of feeling the void once she left him again. Instead, he navigated through exit meetings, locker clean-out day, and catching up with friends. He began to feel a sense of excitement as offseason travel plans were confirmed, as well as family get-togethers at their lake house in Sweden.

The day William was scheduled to leave for Stockholm hit Loren harder than she anticipated. She wasn't sure of the time of his flight, but it didn't matter anyway. She already had a pit in her stomach just with the knowledge. She told herself that perhaps by the time William returned for the 2024 season, something between them would be solidified, whether it would break her heart or not. A lot could change for both of them in the coming months.

Outside his building, William loaded his SUV with some additional hockey gear when a message from Loren appeared on his cell. It was a heartfelt note—humorous, nostalgic, and positive. He'd planned to make last-minute stops for Toronto souvenirs for the younger kids in his family, but suddenly, seeing Loren seemed far more important.

Truth be told, he was only planning on video-calling her once he was at the airport. He had a lot of emotions swirling around, especially for Loren. He didn’t want do that Hollywood scene of him driving away, leaving the woman he cared for behind.

However thoughts lingered in his head that it was a shitty thing to do given all the support she gave him, and well - just her being her.

William, who rarely made impulsive decisions, changed his mind. He decided to surprise her and to say goodbye in person before his departure.

The 40-minute drive north felt oddly therapeutic, trading the shadows of the city's high-rises with the shade of mature trees. William thought to himself how much he enjoyed escaping to Loren's here and there after they met. Pablo and Banksy had a yard to run around in, while William and Loren snuggled in a lounge chair on the deck, mouths red from making out.

William had checked that Loren was home before he departed, thanks to her location settings still enabled on her phone. It was weeks ago that William asked her to turn the share location settings on, just to see who would arrive at his condo first - him from the airport and her from the suburbs. He won the race - but she got the reward of him, impatiently waiting and hungry for her to get there.

He pulled along the curb to her house, finding her outside, engrossed in yard work with her earbuds in. She had her long mane pulled through the back of a baseball cap, and the rest of her exposed skin was streaked with dirt and covered in sweat.

William couldn't help but be impressed by the sight of Loren working in her yard. Not to mention that he found her absolutely stunning this way. He surveyed her house, she had accomplished a lot since he was there last. Her porch was adorned with flower containers that had started to blossom with vibrant colors, and had large hanging ferns which added an almost tropical flair. This house represented more than just a roof over Loren's head, and the way she cared for it spoke volumes about how much she effort she put in her surroundings. For a moment, William found himself imagining what it would be like to come home to her, knowing how calm and peaceful she made his space feel too.

Loren turned and spotted William walking up the path. Her eyes lit up and she flashed him a bright smile as as he approached her.

He started to pull her in for a hug her when she stopped him, shaking her head. “I’m filthy, sweaty and probably smell like…hmm….well, never mind - just not good…” she laughed.

William brought her into him and hugged her tightly anyway.

He told her she looked like she could use a break and commented that her yard looked phenomenal. The two walked into the house together, making the typical small talk - Loren asking questions, William answering and then a little bit of teasing each other.

Loren offered William a drink, which he accepted. They sat under the pergola of the back deck, which also boasted lush green plants that provided additional privacy.

Although the conversation remained easy, there was a weight to the overall mood and tone. Loren mentioned how strange it was not to see the dogs trotting through the house after him. Once she said it, her throat tightened with emotions that she had been fighting to subdue. Knowing Pablo and Banksy were already in Stockholm underscored the finality of William's departure.

William could see Loren's efforts to remain composed and positive, knowing that there was a cyclone of feelings that churned inside each of them. She continued to show interest in how the first weeks back in Stockholm would look for him. He wanted to ask her more, but she'd always turn the subject back onto him, almost as though she assumed her plans wouldn't interest him.

It's not how he felt. Not by a mile, but he had a flight to catch, so his questions were left unanswered.

Loren glanced at her watch and knew that William needed to leave. She reached for his empty glass as he stood, following her back into the house.

She set the glasses down on the counter and they began to walk to the front door. Loren was beginning to say her goodbyes, her voice not yet breaking but on its way.

He took a chance and pulled her tightly against him, telling her how deeply he appreciated everything she did for him. He had thought of a million ways to thank her but, knowing how stubborn she'd be in accepting any gratitude, he set his thoughts aside. Yet, he wanted to make sure she heard him now.

Loren's throat tightened as she fought to maintain composure. She endured the firm embrace, yearning for it to never end. William’s kiss followed, a moment so intense it seemed to lift her off her feet. And once again, he was gone.

As William drove away, he grappled with conflicting emotions. He felt he shouldn't be leaving her—she should be coming with him. He understood Loren's past necessity to "live to work," but he admired her tireless efforts to shift towards "working to live."

All the same, it frustrated him that she'd probably never accept anything from him costlier than a meal in an expensive restaurant. Even if he offered to take her on a trip, she'd likely decline, unable to afford "her half” of the cost. Shaking his head at the thought of her stubbornness, he continued his drive back to the city.

Meanwhile, Loren began to undress and have a long, hot shower. The tears that had welled up in her eyes after William had left had fallen, been swiped away, and now had vanished. As she stood in the steady stream of warm water, she contemplated that she had the same thought as the last time he left. She would miss him. She felt he was inherently good and kind, and would always cherish her moments with him.

At the same time, Loren knew the months ahead for each of them would be totally different.

William's days would be filled with seeing friends and family, attending get-togethers, celebrations, and just catching up with loved ones.

He would travel, eat, and drink, while meeting the most beautiful women, whom one, or even a few, might be blessed by his touch throughout the night.

Loren's imminent future, albeit not nearly as glamorous as William's, still excited her. From her staunchly frugal ways in the past, she had learned to save money, which she squirreled away for something unusual—special. She was considering a much-needed break. Two weeks in the Caribbean sounded heavenly, and she almost had the funds to make the trip happen, plus cover whatever time away from work that her vacation pay wouldn't cover.

The additional funds she had begun to make with her tutoring were making other dreams she had more of a reality as well. Loren felt like she was getting control of her life, and it felt good.

—

The remainder of May, and throughout June was spent in William’s traditional manner, a much-deserved period of decompression after a rollercoaster of a season. The 2023/2024 season was one to remember for William. He began the season breaking personal and franchise records, dominated the headlines on and off the ice at the Global Series in Stockholm, and was a fan-voted addition to the All-Stars. He broke his season point total, and scored 40 goals for the second season in a row.

He earned every bit of rest, relaxation and time spent doing whatever he wanted.

William's calendar quickly filled up with an array of engagements. His phone buzzed constantly with invitations from friends eager to catch up. There were tennis matches to watch, exotic vacations to take, golf games to win, and family to visit. With a constant jammed-packed itinerary, moments when he was alone were rare. Nevertheless, William happily immersed himself in the vibrant social life that accompanied his stardom.

However, in those moments he found himself alone, he would occasionally scroll through pictures during his times with Loren. Some were posed shots but some were candid moments. Either way, her beauty and her sweetness was captured in each one. He thought about messaging her, but with hundreds of message notifications every time he accessed his phone, he continually put it off. He considered for a brief moment to call, but he was stuck in a suspended state in his mind - wanting to talk to her but inevitably talking himself out of it.

In late June, William was out to dinner with friends before he departed for the annual Nylander family vacation. It was a fun and casual dinner with one of his closest friends and former teammate, Rasmus Sandin (aka Sandy), as well as few hockey players from Modo, his former hockey club in Sweden.

William’s phone buzzed as it did continuously throughout the day, but this time, the sender caught his attention. It was Max Domi, William’s teammate. Max and William were friends, but at that moment, William found it odd that Max would message him outside of their customary group chat.

Sandy saw the perplexed look on William’s face and leaned in to glance at his phone. The two shared no secrets so William angled his phone for Sandy to see.

Max’s note to go with the accompanying picture was fairly simple.

M - Look who came to visit Estelle today…

A picture of Loren appeared. Estelle, Max’s girlfriend who is a professional make-up artist, took a candid shot of her new model, as Loren touched up her lipstick.

Loren’s image jolted William. He felt an ache deep within him as he absorbed every detail of the photo. Her hair was loosely pinned on either side, her long, sandy blonde curls fell across her back. The little simple satin little black dress that adorned her curves perfectly.

Sandy’s brows lifted on his face as he turned to his long-time buddy. “Who’s that? Wait…that’s - is that Loren?”

“Yeah, that’s her. Fucking Max, man - I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

“What- so he sent you the picture? What is she doing with him?” Sandy shook his head. “Does he know you two were sort of dating or whatever it was?” Sandy’s expression was a mix of confusion and wariness on William’s behalf.

William exited the picture and re-read Max’s tex. “Hold on - he said she was visiting Max’s girlfriend. Ok, yeah….they’ve met, I knew they had been talking here and there, but I don’t get why she’s all dressed up, like hair and make-up sort of thing.”

Sandy rolled his eyes a little, feeling the answer was pretty obvious. “Probably club-hopping…”

It was William’s turn to roll his eyes. “At 2 in the afternoon? C’mon man.” William chuckled.

Sandy shrugged his shoulders. “Couldn’t been taken at a different time….fuck’d if I know….just guessing.”

William’s stomach was turning, which turned him off the rest of his burger. He texted Max back, and the two quickly caught up with their whereabouts and other goings on.

He was glad the boys just wanted to head home after dinner - William was in no mood for going out to a bar. All he could think about is going home and calling Loren. And that’s exactly what he did.

William messaged Loren first to find out if she was busy. It didn’t take her long to respond, first with a buoyant greeting, followed by she’s at work but she can talk for awhile.

Loren was outside at the group home taking a break on the patio when William video called her. She still had whatever make-up hadn’t evaporated or rubbed off from her visit with Estelle. William was completely mesmerized for a moment when he saw her on the screen.

The pair chatted enthusiastically as Loren asked a million questions, while William willingly answered them all.

In reality though, he was the one with the burning questions and he patiently waited for the right moment.

It came when Loren apologized for bombarding him, and asked if everything was ok.

“Oh, yeah - everything’s good….I just - Max sent me a pic of you today and —”

Loren interrupted with an apologetic groan. “Fuck, I’m so sorry - I told him not to bug you with that.” Loren continued with a slight laugh. “I don’t know if you have to use reverse psychology to get Max to listen - I just didn’t want him to bother you on vacation.”

“Loren - it’s no bother - it’s a beautiful picture…I’m glad he sent it but I didn’t really understand…I mean, are you and his girlfriend hanging out or….like three of you or….?” William’s voice trailed off.

“No, I - not really. Estelle and I sort of kept in touch after we met that first time you brought me out at that lounge. I needed some advice from her and I reached out. Ended up taking some pictures at her little studio.”

William's nerves began to settle. He realized that he had a certain possessiveness towards Loren, especially a) when he was thousands of kilometers away from where she was and b) she was in close proximity to Max, his current teammate. Max had a "shared" experience with a girl that later dated William, which added to his overall unease.

Loren explained that an unsolicited and unexpected opportunity arose which just happened to be right up her alley. The catch, however, was that it involved Loren teaching French dialogue to mature students, which would be recorded and posted across a number of social media platforms. Loren was never one to post much online, and William saw the humor in Loren landing a job that would shove her completely out of her comfort zone.

Loren heard William laughing as she rhymed off every self-deprecating thought she had about being in front of a camera. She jokingly scoffed at William not to make fun of her as she laughed along with him.

Despite her own misgivings, the company that hired her was thrilled with what they saw, but they wanted Loren a little more "glammed up," so she reached out to Estelle to help balance her makeup with the ring lights used for recording content.

William asked how the company discovered her in the first place.

Loren sighed. "Oh god—it was Chelsea, my friend's daughter, who roped me into doing this thing for her new position at her work. She's the one who lent me all of those clothes—you know, that red dress and—"

William fucking loved that dress on her. "I remember it well—you surprised me in it one night… that was a fucking good night…"

"Mmmm… it was," Loren said affectionately. She remembered it well. too. William had invited her to stay after returning from a road trip to Buffalo back in late March. The minute William walked in and saw her in that dress, he bent her over the arm of his couch. It was the first time he had been more dominant with her, and she couldn't get enough of him that night.

Loren had to veer off the memory lane of past sex-capades with William and get back on the subject.

"I just—I have never really gotten into the whole influencer, content creation stuff… I didn't really realize how it all worked. I've known Chelsea for a long time—she's always asking to style me. When I agreed, she kind of interviewed me about the tutoring thing after I was all dolled up. She presented it to her company, they loved it and she got the green light to post it. One thing led to another and all of a sudden, I get hired doing this. It's unreal how quickly it's all happened."

William had a sinking feeling. Loren truly was a rare diamond, and he knew how lucky he was to know her. But with her beauty, both inside and out, she was going to garner a lot of attention online. William knew how unfair it was to feel this way, but he didn't want others to know how amazing and special she is—like she was this exquisite secret that only he knew about.

"So would I be considered a mature student? Could you give me a French lesson for free? Heading to Saint-Tropez in a few days so I could use some help," William smiled as he spoke.

"Mature might be a stretch—," Loren laughed.

"Hey now—be nice…," William teasingly warned.

"Hmmmm….knowing the things you’ll get up to, one phrase should suffice. I’m surprised it's not in your normal Saint Tropez repertoire. Ready? Okay - here it is. 'Voulez-vous… coucher…"

"Oh my fucking —come on…," William laughed.

Loren drew out every single syllable. "Avec moi… ce soir."

William could feel the heat rising in his face. She assumed he would be on some sort of fuck fest while on vacation. Maybe that was accurate once upon a time but not as much nowadays, and certainly not while he was with family.

"That hurts that you think that… I'm not with a different girl every day…," William played it off as a joke but it did hurt his feelings a little.

Loren thought about uttering one more jab, but he did sound a little miffed. "Sorry, just jealous I suppose… I admit it." William could hear her smiling as she conceded.

After ending the call with Loren, William felt the same unsettling sensation growing in his core. once again. He threw a few more items in his suitcase, closed it up and wheeled it aside while he tried to calm how aggravated he felt.

He sent a text to female friend from his Stockholm roster. A beneficial friend that he felt might help take the edge off.

He received a quick response. She’d be over in an hour.

—

The pairing between the Nylanders and Saint-Tropez is like discovering the perfect wine to pair with a gorgeous meal. Life is so good when they're together.

This year's trip to the south of France expanded beyond the immediate family and significant others. William and Alex invited friends to join them at various points during their stay at the villa. Alex had rekindled his relationship with his former flame, Isla, whose closest friends also arrived as part of the group.

Their place of sunny refuge was usually buzzing with people, either staying back to enjoy some peace by the pool or venturing into town for some shopping.

When "the boys" were there, they worked out together on the pool deck, every muscle group being worked—their darkening skin glistened with sweat in the sun.

When "the girls" were there, they lay in the sun by the pool, their perfectly formed ass cheeks tanned golden brown.

William generally kept his distance while harmlessly admiring Isla's friends from afar. Margot, one of Isla's closest friends, admired William too, but she made her intentions far more obvious than he did on a few occasions.

Isla was thrilled with the thought of Margot getting with William. One of her best friends with Alex's brother who was also his closest friend—it would be a dream. As they got older, they'd get married, children may come, their summers spent together.

Isla could picture it all.

Alex, on the other hand, tried to temper Isla's expectations. He was aware that William, who remained stoically single, might not have any long-term interests in Margot. After hearing how Loren stayed with William during his episodes, and noticing the way William looked when he talked about her, it was clear to Alex that his brother's interests remained tied to Loren.

Meanwhile, William was thoroughly enjoying his time with family and friends, but the inkling he had back in Stockholm—a feeling he couldn't pinpoint or define—would materialize every now and again.

When it was there, it nagged him… like the feeling of walking into a room and forgetting why he was there. There was no pattern or explanation that William could think of for why he sometimes felt a yearning for something that seemed to elude him.

Other times, he knew he was envious while watching Alex and Isla kiss and hold hands as they walked in town.

These unresolved feelings were what motivated him to put his guard down with Margot, allowing her to make a move late one evening in the pool.

Her advances were initially playful as she toyed with him under the water's surface. Soon, her hands moved more explicitly over William's swim shorts, charming his cock with the palm of her hand.

Mouths were soon attached to skin, breasts were exposed, and one need pressed firmly against another.

William followed Margot as they quietly made their way to William's bedroom. She had a towel wrapped around her lean, naked body while William had her string bikini wadded up in his hand.

Margot was young, pretty and slender—a description which seemed totally interchangeable with the females in Isla's friend group.

William lay on his back, naked—his erection levitated his cock slightly. Margot slid her body between his legs as she ran her fingers up his chest.

"I saw the pictures from your first vacation," Margot purred. "Loved your bare chest."

Given that William's chest hair was starting to grow back, he was confused if she was complimenting him or not.

Margot soon had William's cock in her mouth. She felt good, but the sound of her slurping seemed to increase and echoed throughout the room. William really didn't want anyone to overhear, so he gently asked Margot if she could go more slowly, to which she obliged.

William tried all of his usual moves to get the mood going within him. He smoothed back her hair as her eyes fixed on his while she sucked his cock. As he watched her, suddenly a flash of Loren's face exploded in his mind. William laid back, remembering how Loren's gaze was so hypnotic, it always rendered William defenseless as she took her time feasting on him.

William's mind snapped back to Margot as she rapidly stroked his shaft. He thought he heard her call him "Daddy," but he wasn't sure. He had nothing against being called that as a rule, but he was not in the mood for it right then.

Enthusiastically, she climbed on top of him, lowered herself down onto his cock in a slow squat using his outstretched arms for leverage. William's body bounced against the mattress as Margot whimpered, gliding up and down his cock. William cupped under her ass cheeks to help alleviate the muscle strain in her legs of each squat as her pussy slid up and down his shaft. Margot's long blonde hair looked like hand-spun gold silk as she threw her head back and continued to bounce on top of him.

Much like the slurping, the sound of skin slapping against skin seemed to reverberate rather loudly.

William propped himself up, allowing Margot to hold onto his shoulders and slide down his shaft while he began driving himself upward. The sex was quieter until Margot began to slap her own ass and moan.

William politely told her they had to be a little quieter. His parents and sisters were just down the hall.

Margot nodded as she switched from squatting to straddling his cock.

As she laid him back, another image of Loren appeared in William's mind. The memory of their last time together where Loren took complete care of him in every way. How she took her time, wanting him to feel the very heights of pleasure. And he did, with the two orgasms she skillfully coaxed out of him.

William's fingers tweaked Margot's nipples as she rode him rhythmically.

Margot began grinding furiously on his cock. She gripped William's wrist with one hand while stroking her clit with the other. She tried to stifle her cries as she clenched and quivered with the intensity of her release.

There was nothing William could do about the loud creaks from the bed or the panting from Margot after she climaxed.

If anyone does hear, maybe they'll assume it was Alex and Isla, William hoped.

After Margot's orgasm, she focused on William. She sucked, licked, and stroked his cock but frustratingly, his orgasm was just out of reach.

Taking a breather, she lay on her back stroking herself as William took the reins and began lightly and rapidly stroking near his tip. As he kneeled beside her, Margot smiled up at William, biting her lip as she played with her pussy.

The room was quiet, minus the sound of wetness from between Margot's legs and the distinct jerking motion of William's hand. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth as the pressure of arousal began to build.

He heard Loren's soft voice playing inside of his head. He would hear her say that she wanted so badly to taste him. She would moan his name, telling him how incredible he felt. She would breathlessly say how amazing he was to her.

He felt his orgasm taking hold. "Can you touch my balls—just touch them gently," William quietly instructed Margot.

That's what Loren would do. She had a natural sense of what would provide William the most intense pleasure, despite her limited sexual experience.

Margot began to fondle his balls and lick the tip of his cock as he continued to pump himself faster.

William's muscles around his torso began to clench as his orgasm hit and spurts of cum landed on Margot's cheek and lips.

She promptly wiped herself off with the bunched-up sheets that felt moist to the touch from their bodies' bliss. She stood up on the mattress, kissed William, and sauntered into the washroom to freshen up.

William sat at the edge of the bed, his cock softening as he focused on the light from the washroom.

This was the second time he had trouble finishing. He had faced the same frustration with the tryst he had in Stockholm before he left for Saint-Tropez.

He felt a deep-seated frustration now. This was not a Margot issue or his friend-with-benefits issue.

This was a William issue.

He pulled on his shorts and waited for Margot to exit the bathroom. He wasn't keen on having her sleep there—it would be awkward enough if they had been heard through the thick walls of their villa. Seeing them exit his bedroom together would add to the quiet and questioning looks he might receive from his parents.

Margot meandered back towards the bed with a fresh towel wrapped around her. "I probably should go back to my room. I don't know what everyone will think if they find me in bed with you tomorrow morning."

"Oh, yeah?" William made it sound like the same thought hadn't occurred to him. "Maybe, yeah… don't need to take the risk right now. Good idea." He smiled as she approached him, giving him a light kiss on the mouth.

"Thanks, Willy—that was fun… maybe we can figure out another time when no one's around before I leave?" Margot was hopeful she'd have another chance with him, but she wasn't going to hold her breath.

William nodded. "For sure we can." It was somewhere between a fib and the truth.

After Margot closed the door, William grabbed his phone.

Loren was all he had on his mind now.

He opened up YouTube and searched "Chelsea" plus "Loren Girard". He immediately got a hit.

William's eyes were glued to the screen watching as Chelsea, whose personality was as spicy as her wardrobe choices, interviewed Loren while her hair and makeup were done, adding an intimate behind-the-scenes feel to the segment. Loren was simply charming with her humble yet vibrant disposition, while articulating genuine and thoughtful responses.

William had expected to see Loren nervous about being in front of a camera, based on her own admissions. If she was nervous, it never showed—only her grace and poise were apparent.

At the end of the interview, they showed Loren in five outfit ensembles, all from budget-friendly sources. Loren made her little plug, encouraging everyone to keep the art of verbal communication alive in any language, and mentioned her tutoring venture as her last point.

The segment was exactly as it should be: informative, entertaining, and uplifting.

William rested against the headboard of his bed and looked back down at his phone.

It dawned on him what the feeling was that had been plaguing his mind—his insides.

He had to try and fix it and do something about it.

He swiped open his message app, found Loren's name and their last text exchange.

William typed in a simple statement.

W - I miss you so much.

—

Loren sat at her new-to-her desk that she had salvaged, repaired, and repainted with relative ease. Part of her new third job, which took up a minimal number of hours per week, was learning to edit the videos that she records.

While she replayed, layered, and snipped each recording, she snacked on her dinner, which was a small meal of avocado toast. It was far too hot to cook.

Her phone chimed right at the point where she was about to add animations to the reel. Whoever texted her would have to wait.

Loren sighed deeply as she turned her focus back to the screen. Replaying her segment, she tested some filters and made other enhancements until she was satisfied with the end result.

Once she clicked save on the final edit, she rubbed her eyes under the reading glasses she finally accepted that she needed. She stretched while padding to the kitchen and grabbed herself a vodka cooler from the fridge. She headed outside with her phone to enjoy the waning hours of the day with a cold drink.

She sat on the front step of her porch in the balmy evening air and took a long swig from the can. The carbonation made her hiccup loudly — she hoped her neighbors weren't outside to hear it.

Loren tapped the screen, and upon seeing William's name, her pulse jumped and her face flushed.

"I miss you so much." Such a simple statement, but the weight it carried was enormous. The words felt laden with sadness and regret. Words that Loren never anticipated William would ever feel for her, much less say.

Loren missed him too, but she had kept this knowledge as a safely guarded secret.

Letting him in on that secret made her vulnerable to more heartache in the future — she was almost certain of it.

Opposing thoughts clashed in Loren's mind, and she could not decipher if her worries were fear-based or just simple logic.

But this is William. William, who gave her a spark. Made her laugh until her sides hurt. Made her want to remain forever in his kiss.

Loren exhaled deeply and decided that when in doubt, stick with the facts.

Apprehensively, she responded.

L - I miss you too, William.

[arlathen]

i've been thinking lately about. The Things They Set Up In Origins. i know they didn't make origins planning for it to be a series but there are surely things they had decided about the world at that point that wouldn't come into play until far down the line.

anyway specifically i'm thinking about the term "archdemon". which we could write off as being a facet of origins' 2edgy4u naming -- this is the same creative team that named the enemies. darkspawn. but like. a demon is a specific thing in dragon age. it is not just "evil thing catch-all" -- it's specifically a corrupted spirit. the implication is "very powerful spirit corrupted [by the blight]"

and. i keep thinking about how solas often depicts the big black wolf as a separate entity from himself -- it looms over him, it runs along side him, it heels to his command. i like reading it as symbolic but i like reading it as quite literal too. i wonder if the "dread wolf" isn't solas' archdemon.

the way that the black wolf imagery is used most often is also in a... like, they're solas' worst impulses. the black wolf represents his worst self. it's the weight of duty and the violence he must commit. it's the open jaws that devour the world. and. with what solas says about corypheus' archdemon being bonded to him.

one thing i find really interesting about the way dragon age writes spirits and demons is that they're often traits that can be twisted benevolently or malevolently. justice, in the wrong circumstances, can become vengeance. wisdom, in the wrong circumstances, can become pride.

do the evanuris have archdemons because they are powerful or are they powerful because they have archdemons? corypheus had to invest some of his power in his "archdemon" to bond with it -- i wonder if the evanuris' -- and solas' -- archdemons are invested with parts of their spirits. maybe even some sort of effort to separate the sides of the coin. mythal can embody justice and her archdemon embodies vengeance. solas can embody wisdom and his archdemon embodies pride. the god is the spirit and the archdemon is, well, the demon.