#call me when you have an idea for better commentary than what i have in the drawing. and then dont tell me anything because im right

[erraticpulse]

most clumsiest dueler in space, everyone!

[probably-writing-x]

Better For You

Spencer White x Reader

Summary: You knew Spencer outside of his ‘Spider’ persona. You knew the boy he was outside of the school crowd. But when the two worlds collide, will you see him for who he actually is?

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Alcohol, mentions of spiking, cursing

———

“Spencer White?” You glance up from the diary in front of you, “Starting today?”

The tall boy in front of you clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck, “Yeah, yeah, that’s me. You can call me Spider.”

You scrunch your nose at his request, “Yeah I’m not gonna do that.”

He scoffs, “Alright, and what do I call you?”

“(Y/n),” You respond, “It’s just us two today so I can show you the ropes.”

“Can’t be that hard right? Sell people tickets, serve popcorn, pour a few drinks?”

You stare at him with a black expression, evidently unimpressed.

He looks down at his feet and then back up to you, “Okay, where do I start?”

Spencer was about the same age as you, you assumed. Your boss had said he came across as ‘confident and enthusiastic’ in his interview but both of those things seemed a little uncertain now.

You’d been working at the movie theater for nearly a year now, your uncle knew the manager so you’d been a shoo in from the moment you were old enough to work. It was long hours, late days, annoying customers, but it earned you money and that was all it needed to do.

“Let’s start with popcorn.”

———

That was two months ago now. You now spent nearly every shift with Spencer. He made the long nights feel like they ended earlier. He snuck you free food, dealt with the annoying customers for you, sped around the screens quicker than you so you didn’t have to do as much cleaning. He took extra hours so he could work when you worked.

You’d learnt in that two months that he was working here after an argument with his mum where she told him he’d never worked a day in his life. He’d taken this job to prove her wrong. That was on one of your late night shifts after a midnight screening. It was just the two of you and he was evidently down, evidently in need of someone to talk to. He’d opened up to you. You’d told him that you were sorry, though you weren’t exactly sure what for. He’d laughed and told you that if his Mum saw him like this she’d tell him this wasn’t work.

He drove you home that night, same as every night. And he thanked you before you got out of the car. He didn’t tell you what for, just said ‘thank you”. He needed it more than you did.

Now, he had your number and you had his. And you texted when you weren’t at work together. He sent you songs he thought you’d like, mainly from rock bands he’d heard at a concert that weekend. You sent him films he should watch and he forced himself to watch them, giving you a running commentary with text updates every few minutes.

You spoke to him more than you spoke to your other friends. You told him things before you told them nowadays too. But you two never saw each other outside of work. Separate schools, separate lives.

“Here,” You hand him over a stack of medium cups to add to the supplies at the counter.

Spencer takes them from you, loading them up onto the pyramid of cups you’d been making. It was a quiet day.

“You know if these fall you’re picking them up,” You comment, handing him another two cups.

Spencer adds them too and steps back with his hands raised as if he’s going to catch it, “Yeah, yeah, I figured.”

You grin, both of you admiring your handiwork.

“So,” He steps back to lean against the machine behind him, “I had a question.”

“A question,” You repeat, “Mysterious.”

“I know we’re not working on Saturday. My mates are having a party at the weekend, it’s stupid really, like this graveyard thing,” He shakes his head, “I was just… would you… would you want to come?”

You frown a little, as if taken aback but not wanting to admit it, “Are you…”

“You don’t have to, it’s a stupid idea really, I don’t know why we-“

“Yeah, I’ll come,” You nod, “I’m not here, so I’ve got nothing else to do.”

He smiles, “Alright, well then it’s a date.”

“Is it?” You cock a brow, folding your arms over your chest.

“I-“ His cheeks turn a dark shade of pink, “Shut up.”

Spencer rolls his eyes and steps forward, collapsing down the pyramid of cups into stacks in front of him.

———

Spencer texts you the location and you walk there as the sun’s going down - a little later than he’d suggested so you didn’t look awkward and eager.

It’s eerie when you think of it - a clearing in a graveyard converted into a party location. There’s already a crowd building, a mismatched stack of alcohol at one side and a littering of people you didn’t recognise mingling around.

Why had you agreed to come? You didn’t know a single soul here beyond Spencer. And surely he had other friends he’d want to see? The thoughts of turning around and pretending to have never arrived start coursing through your head. Your feet come to a stop, as if you’re preparing to disappear back into the surroundings.

“There you are!”

And there he is.

Through the crowd, you spot the familiar sight of that blonde floppy hair. The way his face curls up into that signature smile. He’s holding a red solo cup in each of his hands, extending them wide as if hugging you through the air.

“Was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“Yeah, I’m still not sure about the whole… graveyard thing.”

Spencer laughs, “Yeah you just need to drink enough so you don’t think about it.”

He hands one of the cups to you and you take a sip.

“Careful, they’re probably spiked,” A girl walks past the two of you, eying Spencer with evident disgust.

She’s got dark short hair and a brightly coloured jacket with a black dress and she looks at you as if shes worried about you.

“Fuck off Amerie,” Spencer snaps, rolling his eyes at her.

You glance up at him and back to her and she offers you a small smile like she’s trying to warn you of something. She walks off over to another group of people and Spencer turns back to you.

“What was tha-“

“Come on, I want to introduce you to some people,” He places a hand gently on the middle of your back as if guiding you through the crowd.

There’s a group of boys over the other side, shouting loudly at each other and making vulgar gestures to go alongside whatever conversation they were having.

“Oi dickheads,” Spencer calls over, “Be normal for a minute, ay?”

The boys stop and turn around, both of them looking at you and then back to their friend.

“This is (Y/n),” He looks down at you and then back to them.

“(Y/n)!” One of the boys grins widely, “We’ve heard a lot about you. You moved in by Spider right?”

“Wh-“

“This is Ant, and that’s Dusty,” Spencer gestures between the two of them before you can say anything else.

“Nice to meet you,” You smile softly, “You know Spencer from school?”

“Yeah, basically since we could walk,” Dusty smiles at you, “We can tell you all the gory details.”

“Alright, alright, I’m right here,” Spencer shakes his head, standing close enough to you that his side is against yours, his arm still placed on your back.

He’s got that way about him. The feeling that you could just melt into his connection. You couldn’t explain it, but in a crowd of people you didn’t know, you were glad he was still beside you.

———

“So how does the dunny situation work here?”

Spencer turns to you and laughs, the two of you now at the edge of the party as people had started dancing in the middle. It was dark now, and you were stood just inches closer to Spencer to make the most of his radiating warmth.

“You find a spot where nobody can see you, and you put in some squat training,” He smiles, the kind of smile that creases his eyes.

“Oh how glamorous,” You wiggle your brows, placing your cup into his hand, “I’ll be right back.”

His fingertips linger on yours as your hand pulls away from his, his eyes lingering on you for even longer as you walk away.

You trail out away from the crowd and down a small path away from any prying eyes until you bump into the sound of giggling girls just ahead of you.

“Oh shit, sorry, I was just looking for somewhere to piss,” You clear your throat.

“Hey, wait, wait, wait,” One of the girls looks over to you, “You’re the girl that Spider was with right?”

It was the girl from earlier. The one Spencer had told to fuck off.

“Yeah, I’m (Y/n),” You offer a smile.

The girl’s friend stands up and zips up her trousers, both of them walking closer to you.

“I don’t want to sound like a cunt, but just be careful with him,” The girl, Amerie says.

“Am,” The other girl hits her arm, “You’re going to scare the poor girl.”

You look at her and fold your arms around you as if shrinking away from them, evidently uncomfortable.

“He’s just…” The other girl begins, “Very outspoken. He’s not exactly the nicest guy at Hartley.”

“He’s a grade A cunt,” Amerie adds, “And you seem like way too good for him.”

“Alright, we’re gonna go before Amerie says anything worse,” The other girl confirms, “Have a good night yeah?”

They both walk past you and you stand stuck in your spot, repeating over everything they had said. Spencer had been the nicest boy ever since you’d known him. He was thoughtful and funny and he was who you looked forward to seeing every shift. But everyone here seemed to be talking about a different boy when it came to him. To the girls, he was like the worst guy they’d known. And why had he lied to the boys about how he knew you?

“(Y/n)?”

You turn in your spot to see him stood behind you, far enough away that you can only make out his silhouette in the dark.

“You’d been a while, I was just making sure you were okay,” He speaks so softly you feel your heart skip a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” You clear your throat, walking towards him.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Spencer offers, “I reckon the coppers will be here soon.”

“Yeah,” You smile at him lightly, “I’ll probably book an Uber-“

He holds his cup out towards you, “I’m not drinking. I’ll drive you home.”

Spencer tugs his jacket off from his shoulder and places it around yours his hand slipping down beside your arm until his hand is hovering beside yours. You interlock your hand with his and he smiles once more, like he’s relieved at the contact.

———

The drive back isn’t far, and the empty roads make it even quicker. Spencer still indicates every time he needs to, drives the limit rather than anything over, glances at you every so often to make sure you were okay in the passenger seat.

He pulls up in front of your house and shuts off the engine.

“So, will you be rushing back to a graveyard party any time soon?” He leans his head back against the headrest and turns it towards you.

“I think I’ll stick to the beach or a house party for now,” You nod, running your hands over the cold skin of your thighs.

Spencer laughs, “Yeah I-“

“Can I ask you something?” You interject, the thought practically spilling from your mind.

He frowns, nodding slightly.

“Why did the boys think I was your neighbour? Did you not tell them we worked together?”

Spencer swallows the lump in his throat, “I didn’t tell them about the job.”

You furrow your brows, “Is working at a movie theater really that bad?”

He lets out a deep breath, “It’s not that.”

There’s a stillness in the air between you. That sort of tension that he always managed to dissipate. He’s calm and yet the air seems to be full of all the nerves he could muster in your presence.

“I don’t really talk to them about anything with my Mum, or home, or anything. And I guess I figured if they knew about the job they’d start asking questions and it’s just… not something I tell people.”

“You told me.”

Spencer chuckles a little, “You’re easier to talk to.”

You smile at him and the tension in his shoulders seems to relax a little, “I guess I can pretend to be your neighbour next time.”

“Next time?” He raises his brows, “So you did like the graveyard.”

You laugh, your gaze averting to the darkness looming over your house, not a single light on.

“So, my parents are away,” You say quietly, like you’re now the one holding all of the nervous energy, “Do you want to… I mean you could…”

“Yeah.”

You laugh, unsure at what point in your time knowing him had it become so easy for Spencer to make you nervous.

———

He sits at the end of the bed whilst you get ready in the bathroom. You take off your makeup, wash your face, tie back your hair and change into your pyjamas. They were one of the cuter sets you owned - different to the normal baggy t-shirt you’d wear. But if there was ever a time to wear a nicer set, it was whilst Spencer would be the one you were sharing a bed with.

When you walk back in, he looks up from the book he had in his hands - one he’d taken from your nightstand.

“Didn’t think that would be your kind of thing,” You nod towards it, walking over to your side of the bed.

“Too many big words,” He smiles, setting it back down and shuffling backwards on the bed.

He was wearing only his t-shirt and boxers now - his other clothes folded in a pile on the chair in front of your vanity.

“Okay we’ve got a problem here,” You comment, looking down at him.

“What’s that?” He asks, swinging his legs around so that he’s sat at the side of the bed facing you, his knees bumping against your legs.

“This is my side of the bed,” You mention.

“Oh is it?” Spencer cocks a brow at you and you hum in response.

His hands reach out and gently brush the skin of your thigh, trailing upwards towards your waist as if drawing you towards him. You let him guide you, shifting until you are straddling his lap. Neither of you speak, Spencer’s hand moving around to hold your back, one remaining on your waist. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes focused on his like you’re seeking that comfort.

“Can I kiss you?” Spencer whispers, the words seeming to tumble from his lips.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, “Yes.”

The corners of his mouth upturn just slightly, his eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips. And then, he closes the gap just enough. His lips press against yours, soft and cautious but somehow so certain of themselves. His hand moves to cup your jaw, drawing more of you to him as his fingertips tangle into your hair. When he pulls away, his lips curl into a smile, forehead pressing against yours.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do that,” He whispers, as if not wanting anything else to ruin the moment.

You laugh, leaning into him, “This is still my side.”

Spencer chuckles, holding one arm tightly around his waist to shuffle you both back across the mattress. He shifts to lay you down on one side of the bed before settling down on the side beside you, his arm outstretched to pull you into his chest. You can feel his heart beating against your ear and you’re relieved for a second he is sharing in the same adrenaline that you are.

His fingertips trail up and down your arm, the most delicate touch he could muster.

“I’m sorry I lied to the boys about you,” He speaks the words quietly into the air of the room.

You tilt your head upwards just enough that you can see his face, “We already spoke about this, you don’t have to-“

“Yeah but I didn’t apologise properly and I should do,” He nods, “It shouldn’t be your problem to have to lie to them too.”

“Would it really be so bad if they knew you had a job?”

Spencer shakes his head, tucking his other arm beneath his head on the pillow, “No, it wouldn’t. I just don’t like the thought of them knowing everything that goes on at home. It’s easier to go into school and act like none of that exists.”

You lean up onto your elbows and turn to face him, reaching up a hand to run through the hair falling at the side of his forehead, “Would it not be easier if you could talk to them about it?”

He wraps an arm around your waist, his eyes flitting between each of yours, “I don’t think I’d even know what to say.”

Spencer leans up just enough to kiss you again, gentle and fleeting.

He pulls you back down to his chest and tugs the blanket up over both of you. The pair of you stay there, like that in each other’s arms, until his breath starts to even out and he falls asleep - though, even then, his arms don’t loosen from around you.

———

Spider is back at school on Monday morning. He’d spent all of Sunday with you - waking up at your house, driving you both to work, and then taking you to dinner afterwards. It was the first time he’d ever woken up and instantly wanted to text someone, sending you a quick ‘good morning’ along with his complaints for not wanting to go to school today. He felt like a child with his first crush. Though, when he thought about it, maybe this was the first proper crush he’d had. No other girl had made him feel like this. And he’d savour it for as long as he could.

“Oi dickhead, are you listening?” Dusty interrupts his thoughts, the two of them walking towards the locker room to get changed.

“No,” Spider shrugs, “Do I need to be?”

“You missed a killer end to the party man,” Dusty points out, pushing the door open to where the rest of the boys already were, “I can’t believe you left early.”

“Oh come on I think Spider had other things on his mind,” Ant points out as soon as he overhears the conversation.

“Yeah who the fuck was that chick?”

“Does it matter? Either way Spider was going to fu-“

“Cut it out,” Spider snaps, to nobody in particular, just hoping for anything that would stop the topic of conversation.

“Aww is Spider precious about his latest conquest?” Ant frowns, “You’ll be onto the next one by this weekend.”

“Have you ever just thought of shutting up Ant?” Spider questions, reaching down to tie the laces of his trainers, “I mean, seriously, is it so hard to think (Y/n) might just be a good person? Someone I actually like hanging out with?”

“I don’t think that’s what they’re doubting,” It’s Malakai that speaks this time.

Spider looks at him, uncertain.

“If she’s a decent person, the last guy she should be around is you.”

For a moment, he feels the silence around him. The same tightness in his chest that he got at every dinner with his Mum. The same voice in his head telling him it was impossible for him to be good.

“Well,” He clears his throat, standing up from the bench, “Good thing I don’t need to listen to you cunts.”

When he walks out onto the field, the girls are already crowded around in conversations with each other. Spider walks over, crossing towards the opposite side of the field.

“Oi Spider!”

It’s Amerie that yells after him. He turns around to see her and Harper making their way over.

“You know we told that girl from the party to stay away from you,” Amerie states strongly, offering him her most judgemental look.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You might be able to put on an act for her but she deserves to know how shitty you are.”

“Are you kidding?” Spider scoffs, “You don’t even know her, why’s it your place to say anything?”

“We don’t know her,” Amerie shrugs, “But we know you. And no girl deserves that.”

He glances around at the rest of the people on the field, across to where the boys have just started filtering outside too. Not a single person here thought well of him. Even the boys, his friends, they saw him as the boy that said what they wouldn’t say. He was funny to them before he was good. He was someone to laugh at before he’d ever be someone to talk to. He’d become a show piece at this school. The controversial one that said what nobody else would.

“Ever thought that I might want to be a decent guy? That if I actually liked someone it’s genuine?” Spider shrugs, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Oh fuck off Spider, are you even capable of that?”

“Maybe.”

———

You’d been on Spider’s mind for the whole day. And, as soon as the final bell rang, all he could think of was getting to you.

It’s not a far drive, just the other side of town. But he speeds as if it’s some sort of last ditch attempt to get to you. He hadn’t thought to text, or ask where you were, or ask if you were free. He just knew he needed to get to you. And when he pulls up in front of your house, he realises this is as far as his thoughts had taken him, he wasn’t sure what that meant now.

He knocks on the door, harshly as if he’s channeling his nerves into the sound.

It’s not you on the other side. Instead, an older woman, bearing some resemblance to you in the brightness of her eyes.

“Hi, can I help you?” Her brows furrow but she smiles at him welcomingly, warmly.

“Um-“ He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck, “I just-“

“Are you (Y/n)’s friend?”

Before he can respond, you come up behind the woman and grasp her shoulders, “I’ve got this one Mum.”

You glance to Spencer and smile, instantly relaxing the tension in his shoulders.

“It was nice to meet you,” Your Mum nods to him, turning to you and giving you some sort of knowing smile as if exchanging silent words.

You step out of the front door and pull it almost-closed behind you;

“What are you doing here Spencer?”

“You didn’t tell me what the girls said to you at the party.”

“I-“ You wrap your arms over your chest as a breeze courses past both of you, “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Didn’t matter?” He half laughs, his shoulders dropping, “They practically told you to get as far away from me as you could.”

“Yeah. And that doesn’t mean I believed them.”

Spencer smiles at you just a little, but it falters quickly.

“Why do they hate you so much Spencer?”

He pauses, taking a deep breath as he looks at you like even the sight of you is enough to calm down all of the worry coursing through him.

“My whole life it’s just been me and my Mum. I didn’t have siblings, my Dad was never in the picture. And so I had this one person left that was meant to love me. You know? That was her job, right? She’s my Mum, she just needs to love me and we’d figure the rest out. My Mum treats me every day like I’m the worst guy on the planet. I’m a guy and she thinks that’s enough for me to be someone she should hate. To her, I’m destructive and thoughtless and I have all this potential do a world of wrong. She reminds me of that every day, with everything I do. She’s reminded me of it so much that I started to believe it. That’s the guy I am to them at school. That’s the guy they know. And I’d hate me too if I was them.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat, wanting to reach out for him and tell him everything he needed to hear. To heal all those years of hurt that sat on those young shoulders.

“I don’t want to be that guy when I’m with you.”

You feel it then. The way your heart skips a beat once more.

“I want to be better.”

Your face breaks into a small smile, an instinctive response.

“I believe you,” You practically whisper the words, “Everyone else might have a lot to say about you but I know the person that you are with me.”

You step forward towards him.

“And I don’t think that guys so bad.”

You watch as he visibly relaxes, grasping out for you as soon as you are within reach, his hands snaking around to your waist. Your hands move up to his chest, linking around the back of his neck.

“You deserve a chance to be better Spider,” You smile, reaching up onto the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his lips.

He hums against the contact, pulling away to say, “I prefer Spencer.”

You chuckle and he wraps his arms tighter around you, burying his head into the crook of your neck. He breathes in the scent of you in his arms, feeling his heart slow in your hold. He’s sure he could stay there forever. And you’re sure that you would let him.

[xfancyuu]

~ now i draw a luxury nxde. [aemond targaryen] 18+ SMUT

because it's the beginning of spring i wanted to post for that so in universe it is also warm and flowers are blooming! reader is afab with she/her pronouns & my requests are open! this could be read as though it's in the same universe as my other bolton!reader works, though she's married to aemond and is referred to as lady targaryen. there are no appearance indicators in this fic, this is kinda canon divergence. also i didn't bold the dialogue for this one and i actually think i'm gonna go and reformat my other fics to match! this fic is also known as frolicking and fucking so yeah that's what you're in for. smut will be indicated with a different coloured line break if you do not wish to read it. [1,757 words]

this fic contains: wall sex, public sex, dressed sex, choking, spitting, voyeurism, name-calling, corruption kink, attempted dirty talk? y'all are just newly married and experimenting tbh, y'all degrade each other, slight orgasm denial, cumming inside. if i missed any please lmk!

You had never imagined life as a married woman to be so blissful. You had heard from the ladies in court that they simply did their marital duty and did not enjoy spending time with their husbands. They had told you that the bliss would wear off within the year once you had children, and they would steal your beauty.

You had all but rolled your eyes at their commentary. They were rude and bitter, seeking your own mood to be as equally unhappy as their own. They nitpicked at everything you did, from reading too much to what you ate and how you conducted yourself. Loneliness truly was more appealing than spending ceaseless amounts of time with women who were your mother's age and almost as bitter. Being surrounded with unmarried women was improper, they had told you — not that you paid them mind, as your ladies in waiting were all unmarried and far better company.

You found yourself in the gardens with your ladies-in-waiting more often than not, the weather was pleasant, and you'd much rather be outside than wallow inside without much joy. Flowers had brought you much more joy than you had anticipated, they livened your mood from the dreaded time spent with the married ladies in court. They wouldn't be seen outside without reason, whereas you did not care much for the opinions and thoughts of others in court, despite being a Princess.

The book within your lap had become much more interesting than whatever your ladies were gossiping about, you hadn't cared much for the people they were talking about, but the adventure of Lady Sunderland and her times in the Reach were too addictive to put down. Your ladies' had tried to gain your attention one too many times, but you were too engrossed in the book to care for the outside world.

The book was abruptly taken from your hands, making you both lose the page you were ready and had caused your brain to be hazy. You were both mad and irritated by the actions of someone clearly trying to ruin your day. "Do you mind?" You had asked, not expecting to see your husband as you looked up.

"Is it a crime for me to want to spend time with my wife?" Aemond had asked you, extending his hand as if expecting you to take it despite disturbing your peace.

"It's a crime when you snatch my book off of me and expect me to be happy about it." You retorted, deciding it was probably better to go along with him, and took his help to get off the grass. "Lucky for you, I like you enough not to lock you up."

"Oh how merciful." Aemond responded, not removing your hand from his grasp, "the flowers are blooming, you should be looking at the world instead of living in your books."

"I'll have you know I can do both equally," You retorted, leading Aemond away from the prying eyes and sharp ears of your ladies, "Now you're here you might as well keep me company if you won't let me read, perhaps a walk around the garden would do us both some good."

"I have a better idea than touring the gardens," Aemond had pulled you into a secluded pathway leading away from the hustle and bustle of everybody else.

"Your ideas always end up with us in trouble." You weren't entirely wrong, the disapproving look of Queen Alicent would be forever engrained in your brain.

"They may be troublesome, but you always have fun." You couldn't disagree, instead you simply followed Aemond to whichever location he wanted to show you.

Aemond had abruptly left you in the morning, leaving you needy and begging for him to finish the job he'd started yet he had left you without a thought for your own well-being. You could somewhat blame your crankiness and willingness to do such a deviant act in public with the possibility of anybody seeing and reporting such acts to the Queen.

The thought that you shouldn't be doing this had crossed your mind — the words would not leave your mouth though, you had wanted to do this, neediness had seeped in, with your skirts and underclothes raised above your waist, your modesty was damned and so were you.

The carnal need and desire you felt within yourself had put all your thoughts out the window, if you were in your usual mind frame you would have told Aemond no, that it was improper but words would not form in your throat. Instead, you kissed him back with almost as much longing.

The insatiability you had felt was consuming you, yet it felt more so annoying, Aemond hadn't truly done anything to you to make you feel this way, little touches and long stares did not warrant you feeling so flustered by the man so much you'd let him take you any which way he wanted.

You were expecting the current position you were in — being in public had never been a boundary you crossed with each other, yet he had so little patience when it had come to you, not even checking if the garden was secluded enough not to have prying eyes follow you, "Who knew my lady wife could be such a whore?" Aemond had whispered in your ear, though you could not form words of your own, "Wanting me to take her right now with not a care in the world who witnesses it."

"I think you can only get your cock up with the thought of an audience, you leave me so frustrated when we're alone in our chamber."

"You may come to regret that, wife." Aemond had always had to get the last word, "Your tongue may be sharp, but I will fuck you until you can't form another sentence." He'd begun unlacing his trousers, and you truly knew you were in for it — whatever it entailed, you weren't sure.

"You keep saying what you're going to do, but you haven't even stuck it in yet, tell me husband, are you struggling? Do you need me to help you stick it in? Can you not find the hole?" You couldn't finish your light-hearted taunting Aemond had entered you with little care, it was sloppy and lustful as though he felt as much need as you did.

You couldn't stay quiet, not with how intoxicating Aemond had felt inside, thrusting himself as far as he could inside of you, the slow pace was comfortable but irritating, you wanted it fast and hard, you wanted Aemond to show you the side of himself he hid away, the side which would make you blush if you so much as thought about it.

You were so used to being in control, Aemond had ensured you always felt comfortable and could stop at any moment but seeing him so dominant had made you tingle, then gasp as you felt a hand around your throat. "You've got to be quiet, you don't want the world to hear you, do you? Don't want the world to hear what a whore you become for cock."

The sight of your ladies seeing you in such a position had the opposite effect than what you thought it would, the idea of corrupting them as much as you had been corrupted had you clenching around Aemond's cock.

"Not so fast, princess," Aemond spoke, his pace slowing and causing the momentum and build-up to your own orgasm to be depleted. "Good girls get to cum, you've not been a good girl, have you?"

You couldn't respond, the hand wrapped around your throat had become tighter, "Going to cum inside you, princess, have you got a problem with that?" You had tried to shake your head, but with the grip Aemond had on your throat, your head hadn't moved an inch.

Aemond had increased his speed, and you knew he was close to his own peak despite ruining your own, the pettiness within you had decided if you didn't get your release neither was Aemond. As if sensing your plans, Aemond thrust into you harder, keeping you in place as though you were a doll he could do what he pleased. "You're going to take my seed, and you're going to thank me for it."

Your orgasm was too sudden for you to realise what was happening, from the words Aemond spoke to the way he was fucking you, it was far too much to process and your body reacted entirely by itself. You knew disobeying Aemond would have consequences but in the depth of your own pleasure and Aemond continuing to fuck you, you didn't care. You'd take any punishment to feel a moment of the pleasure you were currently feeling.

"Naughty girl." Aemond whispered in your ear as you came down from your high, "I thought you'd finally be a good girl, though I suppose I set my standards too high for you. Open your mouth."

You did as he commanded, not wanting to make him more upset with you. However, you weren't prepared for him to spit in your mouth — or to like it as much as you did. "You belong to me and you do as I say."

It hadn't taken long for Aemond to spill his seed within you, his grip on your throat loosening and his teeth biting into your skin. It wasn't often you had allowed him to cum inside you — the prospect of what would follow being in the forefront of your mind. "I'm yours." You reassured Aemond as he came down from his climax.

"Are you okay there?" You had asked, not used to such an intense reaction from Aemond, "I really enjoyed myself." You reassured him, you were so close and the euphoria of the situation had you cradling Aemond within your arms.

"It was just a bit... much, I didn't hurt you, did I?" He asked, pulling out of you. At that moment, you knew you'd need to bathe. The feeling of his seed coming out of you had you almost recoiling.

"Trust me, you'd know if you were hurting me." You didn't want to approach the subject of being witnessed in such an act. "Your mother may be expecting more grandchildren soon."

"Moontea exists, my dear." You hadn't been married a year yet, it wasn't entirely suspicious that you had not shown signs of being pregnant. "And for what it's worth, I enjoy our time just being the two of us."

as always, thank you for reading this! i really appreciate it. i really enjoy writing for aemond so if y'all have any requests send them my way. my next hotd fic will be for helaena so if that interests you just message me! crossposted on ao3 under the name hedonism!

[tangibletechnomancy]

The (Personal) Is (Political)

~7 hours, Dall-E 3 via Bing Image Creator, generated under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

Or, Dear Microsoft and OpenAI: Your Filters Can't Stop Me From Saying Things: An interactive exercise in why all art is political and game of Spot The Symbols

A rare piece I consider Fully Finished simply as a jpeg, though I may do something physical with it regardless. "Director commentary" below, but I strongly encourage you to go over this and analyze it yourself before clicking through, then see how much your reading aligns with my intent.

Elements I told the model to add and a brief (...or at least inexhaustive) overview of why:

Anime style and character figures - Frequently associated with commercial "low" art and consumer culture, in East Asia and the English-speaking world alike, albeit in different ways - justly or otherwise. There is frequently an element of racism to the denigration of anime styles in the west; nearly any American artist who has taken formal illustration classes can tell you a story of being told that anime style will only hinder them, that no one will hire them if they see anime, or even being graded more harshly and scrutinized for potential anime-esque elements if they like anime or imply that they may like anime - including just by being Asian and young. On the other hand, it is true that there is a commercial strategy of "slap an anime girl on it and it will sell". The passion fans feel for these characters is genuine - and it is very, very exploitable. In fact, this commercialization puts anime styles in particular in a very contentious position when it comes to AI discussions!

Dark-skinned boy with platinum and pink [and blue] hair - Racism and colorism! They're a thing, no matter how much the worst people in the world want you to think they're long over and "critical race theory" is the work of evil anti-American terrorists! I chose his appearance because I knew that unless I was incredibly lucky, I would have to fight with this model for multiple hours to get satisfactory results on this point in particular - and indeed I did. It was an interesting experience - what didn't surprise me was how much work it took me to get a skin color darker than medium-dark tan; what did surprise me was that the hair color was very difficult to get right. In anime art, for dark skin to be matched with light hair and eyes is common enough to be...pretty problematic. Bing Image Creator/Dall-E, on the other hand, swings completely in the opposite direction and struggles with the concept of giving dark-skinned characters any hair color OTHER than black, demanding pretty specific phrasing to get it right even 70% of the time. (I might cynically call this yet another illustration against the pervasive copy-paste myth...) There is also much to say about the hair texture and facial features - while I was pleased to see that more results than I expected gave me textured hair and/or box braids without me asking for it, those were still very much in the minority, and I never saw any deviation from the typical anime facial structures meant to illustrate Asian and white characters. Not even once!

Pink and blue color palette - Our subject is transgender. Bias self-check time: did you make that association as quickly as you would with a light-skinned character, or even Sylveon?

Long hair, cute clothes, lots of accessories - Styling while transmasc is a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't situation, doubly so if you're not white. In many locations, the medical establishment and mainstream attitude demands total conformity to the dominant culture's standard conventional masculinity, or else "revoking your man card" isn't just a joke meant to uphold the idea that men are "better" than women, but a very real threat. In many queer communities, especially online, transmascs are expected to always be cute femboys who love pink (while transfems are frequently degraded and seen as threats for being butch), and being Just Some Guy is viewed as inherently a sign of assimilationism at best and abusiveness at worst. It is an eternal tug-of-war where "cuteness" and ornamentation are both demanded and banned at the same time. Black and brown people are often hypermasculinized and denied the opportunity to even be "cute" in the first place, regardless of gender. Long hair and how gender is read into it is extremely culture-dependent; no matter what it means to you, if anything, the dominant culture wherever you are will read it as it likes.

Trophies and medals - For one, the trans sports Disk Horse has set feminism back by nearly 50 years; I'm barely a Real History-Remembering Adult and yet I clearly remember a time when the feminist claim about gender in sports was predominantly "hey, it's pretty fucked up that sports are segregated by sex rather than weight class or similar measures, especially when women's sports are usually paid much less and given weirdly oversexualized uniforms," but then a few loud living embodiments of turds in the punch bowl realized that might mean treating trans people fairly and now it's super common for self-proclaimed feminists - mostly white ones - to claim that the strongest woman will still never measure up to the weakest man and this is totally a feminist statement because they totally want to PROTECT women (with invasive medical screenings on girls as young as 12 to prove they're Really Women if they perform too well, of course). For two, Black and brown people are stereotyped as being innately more sporty, physically strong, and, again, Masculine(TM) than others, which frequently intersects with item 1...and if you think it only affects trans women, I am sorry my friend but it is so much worse and more extensive than you think.

Hearts - They mean many things. Love. Happiness. Cuteness. Social media engagement?

TikTok - A platform widely known and hated around these parts for its arcane and deeply regressive algorithm; I felt it deserved to be name/layout/logodropped for reasons that, if they're not clear already, should become so in the final paragraph.

Computers, cameras and cell phones - My initial specification was that one of the phones should be on Instagram and another on TikTok, which the model instead chose to interpret as putting a TikTok sticker on the laptop, but sure, okay. They're ubiquitous in the modern day, for better and for worse. For all the debate over whether phones and social media are Good For Us or Bad For Us, the fact of the matter is, they seem to be a net positive-to-neutral, whose impacts depend on the person - but they do still have major drawbacks. The internet is a platform for conspiracy theories and pseudoscience and dangerous hoaxes to spread farther than ever before. Social media culture leaves many people feeling like we're always being watched and every waking moment of our lives must be Perfect - and in some senses, we are always being watched these days. Digital privacy is eroding by the day, already being used to enforce all the most unjust laws on the books, which leads to-

Pigs - I wrote the prompt with the intention that it would just be a sticker on the laptop, but instead it chose to put them everywhere, and given that I wanted to make a somewhat stealthy statement about surveillance, especially of the marginalized...thanks for that, Dall-E! ;)

Alligators - A counter to the pigs; a short-lived antifascist symbol after...this.

Details I did not intend but love anyway:

The blue in the hair - I only prompted for platinum and pink in the hair, but the overall color palette description "bled" over here anyway, completing the trans flag, making it even more blatant, and thus even more effective as a bias self-check.

The Macbook - I only specified a laptop. Hilariously ironic, to me, that a service provided through Bing interpreted "laptop" as "Macbook" nearly every time. In my recent history, 22 out of 24 attempts show, specifically, a Macbook. Microsoft v. OpenAI divorce arc when? ;) But also, let us not forget Apple's role in the ever-worsening sanitization of the internet. A Macbook with a TikTok sticker (or, well, a Tiikok sticker - recognizable enough) - I can think of little more emblematic of one of the main things I was complaining about, and it was a happy accident. Or perhaps an unhappy one, considering what it may imply about Apple's grip on culture and communications.

Which brings me to my process:

Generated over ~7 hours with Dall-E 3 through Bing Image Creator - The most powerful free tool out there for txt2img these days, as well as a nightmare of filters and what may be the most disgustingly, cloyingly impersonal toxic positivity I've ever witnessed from a tool. It wants to be Art(TM), yet it wants to ban Politics(TM); two things which are very much incompatible - and so, I wanted to make A Controversial Statement using only the most unflaggable, innocuous elements imaginable, no matter how long it took.

All art is political. All life is political. All our "defaults" are cultural, and therefore political. Anything whatsoever can be a symbol.

If you want all art to be a substance-free "look at the pretty picture :)" - it doesn't matter how much you filter, buddy, you've got a big storm coming.

[menlove]

Honestly so confused of Paul's silly love songs. Apparently Paul was sending a message to John and telling him 'i love you' but he also says 'she gave me more she gave me all to me' and then again Linda says 'he gave me more he gave me all to me'. Like, wtf really??? Is he trying to tell John he loves him but Linda gave him more?

well my thing is I Don't think his message to john with "silly love songs" was telling him he loves him honestly! the song Is a message to john, and his other critics, as said by paul himself, but honestly it's a LOT bitchier to john than any of us give him credit for lol

here's what he said about it:

"There were accusations in the mid-1970s – including one from John – that I was just writing ‘silly love songs’. I suppose the idea was that I should be a bit tougher, a bit more worldly. But then I suddenly realised, that’s exactly what love is – it’s worldly. ‘Some people want to fill the world/With silly love songs’. I’d been given that reputation, and I had to stand up for it. Instead of abandoning songs about love, just get on with it, get into it and don’t be embarrassed, because even thought you might say this is a soppy subject, it’s actually the opposite: this thing people can feel for each other that makes life better. I think that’s the crux of it, and if you want to be cynical, it’s easy, you can. ‘Love doesn’t come in a minute/Sometimes it doesn’t come at all’. I think a lot of people who are cynical about love haven’t been lucky enough to feel it."

which 💀 so not only was john the one to call his music "silly love songs" which makes this veeeery directed to him, but paul is uh. also saying he hasn't been "lucky enough" to even feel love 😭

and his ire towards this comment from john can also be seen in his commentary on "I will", funnily enough, which is just one of the reasons I do think that song is about john:

"It’s a declaration of love, yes, but not always to someone specific. Unless it’s to a person out there who’s listening to the song. And they have to be ready for it. It’s almost definitely not going to be a person who’s said, ‘There he goes again, writing another of those silly love songs.’ So, this is me in my troubadour more."

but uuuh yeah essentially My Interpretation is that john mocked his music by calling it "silly love songs" (& paul has mentioned this being a comment from him more than once but since it's not recorded anywhere I'm pretty sure it must've been in a private convo which is 💀) which Especially struck a chord considering paul wrote plenty of love songs For john like "I will" (imo) and paul wrote a very tongue in cheek Overly Soppy Optimistic Song about it.

like he's just saying "so, john, you think all I do is write silly love songs? well first of all my wife loves me more than you ever could have and also love makes everything go round and we all need more love songs, something your bitter and lonely self wouldn't understand 🫶"

I think yk. paul himself has sort of curated this image that john was the main instigator of their shit flinging in the 70s, but the thing is john is NOT a subtle person. he was slagging paul off by name in interviews and writing "how do you sleep?" and not hiding how much he resented him for a bit. paul, on the other hand, is waaaay more vague and sneaky about it lmao. he's even Said him and john wrote way more songs to/about each other in the 70s than they've admitted to. so I think there were a Lot more jabs that he KNEW only john would get were about him. I mean, john knew him better than anyone and they had their own inside language so what better way to get back at him than making him look batshit insane when he would claim some song was about him 😭 and I do genuinely think "silly love songs" is another one of paul's Cunty John Songs

[tkwrites]

Before I Meet Your Parents... - Quinn Hughes x Sarah (ofc)

Photos from Pinterest

Title: Before I Meet Your Parents…

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah (OFC) 

Warnings: Crying, Grief, Smut (18+ only), oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving)

Summary: As Sarah prepares to meet Quinn’s parents, she’s bombarded with new feelings and situations, as well as trying to manage her own life. A very worried Quinn helps her get to the bottom of it and does everything he can to make it better. 

Word Count: 4,600

Comments: I began writing Sarah meeting Quinn’s parents and realized I was missing this crucial step. Stories like these help me process my own grief, and I hope they can be helpful for you, too, even if you’re not experiencing a big loss. Taking care of ourselves can be difficult sometimes. Please remember that self care isn’t selfish - nor is it selfish to ask for what you need. 

The holidays have been…an experience, and while I was writing, I wasn’t finding the solid chunks of time I’ve had in the past. With the busiest holidays done, I was able to finish this, and hope to write a lot more with the break from work between holidays.

Thank you for your patience and support and love for Quinn and Sarah and my writing. I hope you enjoy.

Before I Meet Your Parents…

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

The week Quinn’s parents were coming into town turned into a total clusterfuck. 

First, there were the Canucks standings. Quinn point blank refused to talk about their position, not wanting to jinx anything. “It’s bad enough that I have to talk to the media about it after every game. I'm not talking about it at home.”

Even without his commentary, Sarah knew enough from reading and following the league stats, to know the Canucks were headed to the finals, bringing playoff hockey to Vancouver for the first time in nine years. It was a huge deal, and if all went to plan, they were expected to clinch a spot in the bracket in the next two games. 

His parents wanted to be in the arena for the historic occasion when their son led his team to the Stanley Cup finals in his first year as captain.

In addition to the will-they-won't-they stress of the finals, Lexie Demko had called and left a message for her about getting WAG jackets. Sarah had to look up what they were, and the idea of showing up as an official “WAG” to any game, let alone a playoff game, was incredibly intimidating. 

She and Quinn weren’t even officially official yet. She’d been thinking of him as her boyfriend for a few weeks and had no interest in dating anyone else. Unless he was seeing someone while she was in school, she knew he wasn't seeing anyone else either, but they hadn’t formally defined anything about their relationship.

On top of all this, she was prepping for her own finals. Although they were more than three weeks away, the two tests and publication project were looming over her like an albatross. She had to get a B or better, or she would be out of her program, and back home with her education visa voided.

The prospect of the work it would take to finish her semester well, and the possibility of stepping into the world of a WAG and meeting Quinn’s parents had her discombobulated and spending long stretches of time at the aquarium with Walter, trying to wrap her mind around everything. 

As she left a couple of nights before his parents were set to arrive, Rick stopped her, “I think your man is at the front desk.” 

It felt like she had to suck her mind from a thick fog to even register his words. “Hu?”

“I’m pretty sure your man is up front,” he repeated, “they wouldn’t let him back. Are you okay?” 

She waved off his question and walked to the front of the building. Quinn was indeed there, looking distressed. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Can I give you a ride home?” 

“Sure, if you want.” Didn't he have plans with one of his teammates tonight? 

Anxious thoughts dripped into her mind. She knew she hadn't been very communicative lately. Was he breaking up with her? 

Quinn took her hand and led her to his car. 

Once tucked inside where people couldn’t overhear, he asked, “is something wrong? You haven’t come over to study the past three days, and you didn’t answer any of my texts today.” 

She looked at the bag at her feet, feeling far away. “I'm sorry. My phone’s been buried in my backpack all day,” she confessed.

“I just feel like you’re…” he stopped himself, not even wanting to voice that thought. “Is it because you’re nervous to meet my parents?” 

A heavy feeling took up residence in her stomach. “No,” she said slowly. 

It wasn’t quite the whole truth, but also wasn’t a total lie. Logically, she wasn’t that nervous to meet them, but her emotions ran themselves into dizzy, knotted up circles whenever she thought about it. Things weren’t making sense. God, she felt so… she felt so off. There was more to this mood she was in than nerves, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. 

His hand, warm and comforting, covered her knee. “Sarah, what’s going on?” 

All at once, she was choking back tears.

“Can we go to your place?” she asked, very much not wanting to lose it in his jeep in the middle of Stanley Park, or in her bedroom where Eunice would jump to conclusions and tell her she ought to break up with Quinn if he was making her cry. 

The way her voice shook made Quinn gulp. “Yeah, of course,” he said before starting the car and going home. 

When they got there, her steps to the elevator were heavy, as if she were dragging some heavy sledge he couldn’t see. 

“Sar, what’s going on?” he asked. 

Shaking her head, she pursed her lips and willed the tears not to fall until they were in his house. 

Just as she suspected, someone joined them once they reached the lobby level. They shared a tense, silent ride for 12 floors as Sarah mentally recited the anatomy of the stingray to keep her tears from falling in front of a stranger. 

“You’re kind of scaring me,” he said gently as the door swung shut behind them. 

On top of everything else, now she was letting Quinn down. Her hands fluttered up to cover her face as her tears finally broke free. 

“What’s wrong?” he repeated, taking her arms and gently trying to pull her hands away from her face. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You…don’t know?” he repeated, a little dumbfounded. 

Her hands dropped in defeat. “I don’t know,” she repeated, finding more tears falling. What was wrong with her? 

Heart beating faster with worry, he took her backpack off, leaving it in the entryway before guiding her to the couch. 

“Are you upset with me? Did I do something?” 

“No.” 

“I don’t…” he started, then stopped. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. He was really scared now. If he didn’t do anything, and she didn’t seem to be injured, he couldn’t understand what the problem would be. 

“Can you hold me?” 

He drew her into his arms. 

After a few comforting moments - focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat  - she was able to voice something. “I’m so overwhelmed.” 

“With what?” he asked, running a hand up and down her back. At least they had a clear direction. He could work with that.

“With everything. With school and WAG jackets and…” oh, fuck. Of course this was what this was about. She should know by now. “And your parents,” she finished, breaking into more tears. 

“Are you that scared of my parents?” he asked, pulling back trying to see her face. 

He knew meeting the parents was a big, intimidating step, but she’d handled meeting Brady, and that first uncomfortable call with Luke and a very guarded Jack with so much grace, he hadn’t expected her to be nervous, let alone so upset. “I think they’ll love you. I can’t guarantee how they’ll react, but they’ve always been nice to girls they’ve met in the past.” 

Her head shook slowly. 

“I don’t - Sarah I don’t understand.” 

To add insult to injury, she had to say it out loud. 

“I’m meeting your parents,” she said, looking into his eyes before her face crumpled and she stared down at her hands, knotted in her lap, “but you won’t get to meet mine.” Her voice was a desperate kind of wailed whisper. 

Shit. He should have known. Of course that would come up with something like this. His dad once told him every major occasion was tinged with grief, knowing someone was always missing from the celebration. The fact that this would be hard for her hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

Letting herself be pulled into Quinn, Sarah wept into his shoulder. His hands were heavy, warm and grounding on her back. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said into her hair. 

He’d never seen her so distressed. Even when she’d cried the first time he’d seen her tattoo, it hadn’t been like this. Then, it was no more than a minute of soft tears hitting his shoulder. This was so much more intense. He would probably be weeping too if he was in her position.  

She pulled back suddenly, her hands braced on his shoulders, “don’t you have stuff with Brock tonight?” 

“I canceled it when I hadn’t heard from you,” he admitted. “I was worried something had happened.” 

“Oh,” she said, body relaxing. 

The impact of what he said finally hit her. “Oh, Quinn, I'm sorry.” 

He shook his head, “don't be. I can have dinner with Brock any time.” 

“But, weren't you helping him pick out a ring or something?”

“Sarah,” he said, grasping her shoulders, “it's fine. We're doing it tomorrow after practice.” 

“I'm sorry,” she said again, shaking her head.

“You don't need to apologize. When it comes to being moral support for Brock or making sure you're okay, I'd rather be with you.”

She gave him a watery smile, hoping it conveyed how sweet she thought that was.

“I’m sorry I didn’t even think about how hard this would be for you,” he said.

Shaking her head, Sarah reached up to wipe her cheeks. Her fingers came away smudged in black. “Oh, God. Now I’m a mess.” 

He laughed a little, “do you want to go wash your face? I know you don’t have your stuff, but you can use mine.” 

A shaky breath rattled through her lungs. “Could I actually take a shower?” 

“Of course.” 

“I’ve kind of been putting things off.” 

She hadn’t washed her hair in four days, and couldn’t remember if she’d showered at all that morning. 

Even though she’d talked several times with her therapist about coping strategies and patterns to look for, when she couldn’t identify what she was feeling, her first instinct was still to shut down. It was so totally different to talk about it than it was to actually do it. The time it took to realize what was wrong was getting shorter, at least. That was a good thing. 

“Do you want some of my stuff to change into?” he asked. 

“That would be really nice.” 

Her stomach gave a sudden, loud grumble.

A surprised laugh flew out of Quinns mouth.

“I’m not sure I’ve eaten today,” she confessed. 

Another part of what had her feeling so terrible. It was all interconnected, no matter how much she tried to pretend it wasn’t. 

Quinn’s eyes widened. How did someone forget to eat?

“What do you want?” he asked, jumping onto the problem he could physically solve. 

Sarah closed her eyes and tried to think. 

“Pancakes,” she said, finally, thinking about how pleasant the fluffy breakfast food would feel in her mouth. 

“I can make pancakes. I don’t have any syrup though, I don’t think.” 

“That’s okay. Do you have peanut butter?”

He nodded.

“Thank you, Quinn,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

He patted her hip, “let's go then. I'll cook while you're in the shower.”

The fact that he was being so sweet and nice made tears well up in her eyes as she stood. 

Leading her into the bathroom, Quinn asked if she needed anything else. When she said she didn’t, he told her he would put some clothes for her on the counter. 

The prospect of washing the day off made her breathe a sigh of relief. 

The big, walk-in shower was so bright, and opulent. Creamy white and blue tiles made a Moroccan style mosaic on the floor, and white subway tile was in the rest of the…it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to call it a room, that wasn't occupied with the thick glass sliding doors. There was even a tall, thin window right in the shower with a view of the northern skyline and the soft evening light winking off the harbor. 

Pushing worries of wasting water or draining the heater out of her mind, Sarah allowed herself to enjoy the rare luxury of a hot shower with no roommates demanding the bathroom. 

The water here got so much warmer than it did in her house. Quinn probably had his own water heater, not just access to the building boiler. 

Standing under the water, she breathed the humid air and allowed the dam to break.

It was always strange, how giving something a name made it easier to feel and let run its course. Voicing what was wrong was always half the battle. 

It had been a long time since she’d felt grief like this. Since it had been so triggered. Things with Quinn were so, so good. Far better than anything she could have ever dreamed up for herself, but being in a relationship still brought up new experiences, and new ways she hadn't yet missed her parents. 

Thinking of Quinn made the big emotion in her chest ease. A soft swell of gratitude displacing some of the sadness. She’d never dated someone like him - someone so willing to try to understand. Someone who took her where she was and wasn’t put off by how much she missed her parents. 

When Kaleo, her boyfriend in Hawaii, had confessed he didn’t understand why she brought up her dad so much, it had been a slap in the face, and made her feel so alone with someone who was supposed to be her partner. He had basically run away when her mom died, not willing to make the trip to the funeral, despite their dating for more than a year. It had been the final crack in the foundation of their relationship, and a big part of why her return to the islands lasted less than a week before she moved back home. 

Quinn was so refreshingly different - kind and compassionate, and willing to listen. The universe had been keeping track of all the sad, frustrating things in her life and finally gave her the good things she was due all poured into one person. 

Though she never heard him come in, a pair of blue sweats and a yellow Michigan shirt were waiting on the bathroom counter for her.

When she walked into the kitchen, Quinn felt his eyes go wide. Now was not the time for him to get all lustful over Sarah in his clothes, but it was impossible not to. She was braiding her wet hair, and it made her breasts, so obviously out of a bra, jostle under the Michigan logo stretched over them.

Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he asked, “did you have a good shower?” 

She’d been in there a long time - nearly 45 minutes. When he dropped the clothes off, She’d been crying, so he supposed not all of that time was actually spent bathing. 

She tied off the end of the braid as she walked up to him. “I did, thank you,” she said before pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

His arm wound around her waist, and pulled her against him. “Good. I hope these are up to standard. The recipe had good reviews.” 

“I thought you said you could make pancakes?” 

“I can,” he said, gesturing to the stove where the last of them was cooking in the pan, “I just didn’t have a recipe. At home, we always make them from a mix.” 

“And you didn’t have any here?” 

A sheepish smile spread over his face, “pancakes are one of my guilty pleasure foods, so I try not to have it in the house.”

She giggled, and a sigh raced through his veins. 

A whiff of his own soap hit him, and he remembered what he’d been thinking when he first heard her walking down the stairs. 

“Hey, will you message me the kind of shampoo you like and whatever else you need? I’ll order it so you can have the stuff you like here.” 

Sarah took half a step back from him, eyes wide. 

Maybe he’d overstepped. “Not that you can’t use mine. You’ve just showered here a few times and it seems kind of silly to not have the things you like.” 

Also, he was tired of her smelling like his soap. He liked her smell so much, he’d do anything to keep it around. 

“Oh,” she said, feeling watched over and considered. “That would be really nice.”

They sat down at the bar counter with pancakes, peanut butter, butter, jam, and a tiny bottle of maple syrup Quinn remembered he had from a gift basket when he'd moved in.  

“Thank you for this,” she said, knocking her shoulder into his. 

“You're welcome.”

“It’s just been such a shit week, and you’re so…” she paused, thinking and put a peanut butter and syrup coated piece of pancake in her mouth. “You’re so good.” 

He blushed and tried to deflect the praise, “so what else are you overwhelmed with? School, and something about jackets?”

A flush flew into her cheeks. “Lexie called me about WAG jackets.” 

“Oh,” he said, not really sure what the big deal was. 

“I’m just,” she paused, setting down her fork. “Do you want me to wear one?” 

“There’s no one else I’d want to wear it.” 

“But, are you ready for that?” 

“Ready for what?” 

“For me to be so obviously… I mean, we’re not even official yet.” 

“Right.” 

“But you want me to wear a wives and girlfriends jacket?”

“We’re headed that way, aren’t we? I mean, I’m not seeing anyone else.” 

Even though she felt the same, a huge wave of relief swept through her. “I’m not either but, if I wear a Jacket to a playoff game -” 

He winced, not liking her to talk about it like it was a foregone conclusion. 

“Or any game,” she amended, “people are going to wonder. Do you know what comes up when you google NHL WAG jackets?” 

He shook his head. 

She went to dig her phone out of her backpack, finally seeing the ten texts from Quinn, along with a missed call from her brother.

She really needed a pair of airpods or a watch or something she could wear while her phone had to stay in her bag in the lab. 

Pulling up the search, she handed her phone to him before going back to her pancakes, now deliciously infused with syrup. 

“Go to the reddit listing,” she suggested. 

He scrolled down and clicked on the link, already turned gray from her previous visit. The whole page was speculation about which woman belonged to which player. 

“If I go with a jacket, and someone posts pictures, that’s going to throw our relationship into this, and I just want to make sure we’re…ready for that.” 

“Are you ready for that? Because it’s okay if you’re not.” 

She bit her lip, “I’m not sure. It makes me kind of uncomfortable. It makes it feel like I belong to you or something,” she admitted.

Quinn grimaced.  

“I can see how you got there,” he said, setting the phone face down. “You don’t have to get one and as far as I’m concerned, you never do, but I think you might want to talk to Lexie about it first.” 

“Why?” 

“The wives and girlfriends have a kind of support group. They hang out, and they help each other a lot. Lexie had a baby in October, and I know the other partners were really helping. Organizing meals and stuff like that. From what I know, the jackets are more about being part of that club than about -” he didn’t even want to say it, “belonging to someone on the team.” 

She hummed. Sarah had sat with some of the wives and girlfriends at games a few times. They were always nice and very welcoming, but she didn’t feel this kind of camaraderie. 

“Lexie asked me if you wanted one, and I didn’t know, so I gave her your number. I’m sorry, I should have warned you about it.” 

“I just didn’t know what it meant,” she confessed. “Or if you were, like, trying to say something through Lexie somehow.” 

He laughed, “no. I just didn’t want to make the decision for you. I’m sorry if it heaped more stress onto your plate.”

“It’s okay, it’s just new, you know?” 

“Yeah. It took me a while to transition. If I didn’t have Tanev, I don’t know what I would have done.” 

“Who’s Tanev?” 

“He was my defensive partner my first year. He was traded to Clagary, but he and his then fiance, Kendra, really helped me find my feet.” 

“Maybe I’ll ask Emma about it.”

“Yeah? You guys talk?” 

“Sometimes, we’re not besties or anything, but she checks in.” 

Quinn smiled, relief filling his bones. 

“Do you want me to take you home? Or would you rather stay here?” Usually, he wouldn’t have even asked but she looked so tired and comfortable, he wasn’t sure she’d want to make the trek. 

Relief swept through her. She didn’t want to overstep - but the last thing she wanted was to go home. The idea of leaving to sleep in her cold, empty bed seemed like a terrible one. 

“I’ll let Eunice know I won’t be home,” she said as an answer. The last time she’d slept over, Eunice had called three times in a row to break through Sarah’s do not disturb, worried she had been abducted in the middle of the night. 

As they settled in bed, and she scooted herself close to him, he tried to pull in some calming breaths. It didn’t really work. He’d been half hard all night seeing her in his clothes, and now that she was scooting up against him, he slid way beyond half.  

“Sorry,” he coughed. 

Sarah turned over, “for what?” 

Cheeks flaming, he wondered why he’d said anything at all. “I just…sorry,” he gestured down. “You in this shirt is a real turn on.” 

“Really?” 

She and Quinn were relatively similar sizes overall, but he was far more rectangular than she was. She felt like this shirt pulled over all of her soft bits in the most unflattering way possible, not to mention the yellow color made her look pale and washed out. 

“Yeah,” he said with an earnest nod. 

Sarah had been wondering all night how she could properly thank him. Now that the opportunity was here, she had to seize it. Capturing his mouth, she rolled on top of him. 

His hands went to her hips as a groan fell out of his mouth. 

Every time she went to pull away, he followed her, nipping her bottom lip, or stroking his tongue over the roof of her mouth; he didn’t want to let her go. 

She broke away all together and sat up, so she was straddling his hips. 

Quinn, who was already out of breath from the kissing, felt his chest hitch as she reached for the hem of her (his) shirt, and began pulling it up. She was even doing that arms crossed skin-the-cat kind of move. God, this was - she was a dream come true. 

Watching her ease the blue M over her chest, knowing his name was on her back made him dizzy and he felt his erection press more urgently against her. 

He wanted to save this vision of her stripping off his shirt into permanent, long-term memory. 

“Shit, Sarah,” he moaned into her mouth when she let the fabric fall next to her and leaned down to kiss him again. 

She smiled, happy to be getting the response she’d been going for. She didn’t want to have sex, but there were other ways she could thank him. 

“Do you want my hands or my mouth?” she asked. Even though he hadn’t come close to going down on her, she was willing to let that rule slide for now.

“God, Mouth, please,” he practically begged.

She really was a dream. She’d never gone down on him before. He figured it wasn’t something she really enjoyed. Maybe she was just saving it for a special occasion. He wasn’t entirely certain what made this evening so special, but he’d take it.

Her lips ghosted over his chin and onto his chest as her hands pushed his pajama pants down. He lifted his hips, eager to please. She didn’t push them down all the way - just enough to let his hard cock spring free. 

Taking a straight journey to where he wanted her, there was no preamble or teasing before she was wrapping her lips around him, and taking him deep. 

Her mouth was hot and soft, her tongue skilled as she traced the vein on the underside, ending with a flick at the base of the sensitive head. 

She pulled back and sucked on the tip like some kind of lollipop. A soft snick sounded through the room when she released the suction to start again. 

His left thigh began to tremble. A few more seconds and he'd be done for. 

“Oh, fuck,” he said as she took him deep again, making his eyes roll back. 

This was a dream save for one thing: her hair was braided back. He wanted nothing more than to sink his fingers into the soft tresses. He wound them in the sheets instead.

Hollowing her cheeks, she pulled back to the tip. His guttural groan had a deep sense of satisfaction curling in her belly. 

Stroking her tongue over the slit, licking up his salty precome, she smiled when he swore again. 

“I’m gonna come,” he warned. 

A small whine left his mouth when she pulled off him, but her hand kept moving, pulling his orgasm out all the same. 

When he came, she shielded herself with her other hand, managing to catch most of his release before it splattered all over her. She was too tired for another shower. 

Leaving him a panting mess, she went to wash up and wipe off the splatter that snuck past her hand. 

Once she was back in bed with his shirt back on, Quinn gathered her against him, “that was amazing, thank you.”

She hummed and scooted a little closer. 

“What do you want?”

“A good night's sleep,” she murmured. 

“You don’t want me to return the favor?” he asked, humor in his voice. One of his hands was making a slow expedition down her stomach.  

"No, you can do that," she hummed.

She felt his laugh against her skin, and his fingers snuck under the waistband of his sweats.

 The pleasure that swam into her veins was comforting. She felt so contented and supported, spooned up against him as he stroked her sensitive pearl. She reached back to grab his hip as the sparks became more intense.

He was an attentive student, learning the patterns and pressure she liked as if he needed to ace this test to pass the class. Even going so far as to work his knee between hers to give himself a little more room without making her uncomfortable.

“Quinn,” she whispered. 

God, the way she said his name made him feel like he could do anything - hike Mt. Everest, take on the whole Eastern conference, fly to the moon. He’d do anything to hear it again.

He began to kiss her neck, switching his fingers to circle clockwise. The sudden change in pattern made her clench down and a whine escaped her throat. 

“Are you close?” 

“Yes. Put your fingers inside me,” her breathy whisper made his fingers tingle with power and purpose. 

He obeyed.

After a few strokes, she adjusted his wrist so the heel of his hand pressed gently against her clit. 

Her hips moved with him, and she let out a little moan, “just like that, Quinn.” 

She began to pulse around his fingers and she felt him smile against her skin as he worked her though the orgasm. 

She slept soundly that night, curled up with Quinn, awed by the once improbable and yet very real prospect she might not have to face anything totally alone again. 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[lets-try-some-writing]

Unicron softening up because he wanted to have/had bond with Primus at one point and now the roommates he didn't want but now is stuck with? Found family trope at it again, he eventually starts telling stories from his travels..And they bond but Is he going to be dramatic about it? Absolutely (humans have their dramatics from someone after all)

Just the two weaponizing feelings to domesticate him

Unicron: You're killing me. Are you proud of that?

Earth,Moon: Love you too

Unicron: Urk! Stop!

"Father, will you tell me a story?"

Earth asked him for stories from the moment she came into being. Unicron denied her at first. He saw no need to waste his time with a parasite that was quickly spreading to wrap around him like a series of chains.

"Father, look at what I've made!"

And yet, as time passed, Earth still called out for him. She showed him her creations, some of which were more successful than others. He couldn't help but remark and accidentally find himself sharing memories of his journeys with her. She never asked about Primus. She was wise enough to refrain.

"I despise you with every fiber of my being, but you keep my dear Earth alive. For that, I will tolerate you."

Moon was an interesting addition to his prison cell. The Cybertronian Titan had a designation, but when Earth called out to him in her native tongue, he accepted the offered name without complaint. It reminded Unicron of the times he and his brother spent visiting budding civilizations, teaching them to speak and helping them in their struggle to survive.

"You haven't killed her yet. Why?"

Moon was always in his business, constantly prodding and questioning. Despite his hatred for Primus's creations, he understood Moon. The Titan was bored but too loyal to leave now that Earth had come to rely so heavily upon him. Unicron rarely answered his questions, often only making commentary. But Moon became a constant, one that Unicron came to cherish. He appreciated the chance to word spar with someone who wouldn't immediately roll over like Earth.

"It is none of your concern Primus spawn."

He didn't like to think about possibly tearing free of his prison after Moon settled. He told himself it was because Moon would kill him if he ever did, but deep in his spark, he knew it was due to another far more intimidating reason. He refused to match his brother. He couldn't allow himself to fall.

"Father, do you think my children will be as mighty as Uncle's one day?"

Earth asked him about her youngest children, the ones she called "humans". Unicron had long ago thrown the idea of killing Earth out the window. He couldn't end her, not when she basked him in adoration even as she took vitality from him to fuel her own growth. He never informed her that it was because of her feeding that he remained too weak to wake. He knew she would gladly starve herself if he asked. He didn't want to give his wrathful spark a reason to make the request.

"Perhaps. Primus's children are made of steel and starlight. They do not wither, they do not die, not as your children do. If these creatures you call your own are meant to thrive, they will have to overcome the weakness of their flesh."

The first time he offered her any true commentary, he found himself wrapped so tightly in her love that he almost found his spark constricting in its chamber. It was so similar and yet so different from the love he and his brother once shared. Primus and him were bound in spark. Their love was perfect and yet broken. They knew each other better than any other, and yet they could hardly comprehend the other. Earth's adoration was that of an awe filled child, a gleeful storm dancing upon the edge of the sea, so strong and yet so very innocent. He could not help but grow to adore her in turn.

"Father, would you tell us of the stars?"

Millions of years after the first time he denied Earth's request for a story, Unicron found himself sighing. He looked upon the world Earth had forged. He felt the organic growths that grew high into forests and mountain peaks. He sensed the creatures roaming along fertile soil and through clean water. He listened to the laughter of children, eager and hopeful like the daughter that now desired his attention. He looked upon it all and knew he no longer had the spark to deny her.

"Before our battle across the stars, Primus and I traversed all of creation as one. My memory is faint, but we saw many a civilization..."

Earth and her guardian listened closely, and as Unicron told his tale, he found his wrath ease into something akin to peace. One day there would come a time when he would need to act. But for now, for a few blessed moments, he would allow himself a moment to pretend that his brother did not yet live. He could pretend that all was well. There was no need to wake yet. He could wait. He could be patient. He would endure for as long as required. Primus wasn't going anywhere, and his children were nowhere to be seen. Unicron had time, and he intended to spend it wisely.

[ritunn]

Vile Beauty - A Look at the Elves of Lorwyn/Shadowmoor and Queerness

"Beauty determines values, and we determine beauty."

That's the flavor text that accompanies the card, Masked Admirers, a rare, now uncommon, elf that made its debut in Lorwyn. Flavor text that summarizes the views of the Lorwyn elves who we'll be revisiting next year.

Beauty Determines Value

I started playing MtG back in 2009 and I took a liking to the elf and kithkin tribes almost immediately. I was young enough that I didn't quite understand the social commentary being made by the writing behind the elves at the time, but it's something that's entranced me since then. In Lorwyn, the virtue often associated with elves, their unnatural beauty, has been twisted. The vain elves live in a hierarchical society where the most beautiful live on top and a single scar or blemish can ruin your life. While nature is nothing more but a tool to continue their harm of others or to be shaped to be as beautiful as them.

It's a strange society, but one that fits all too well with elves and the tropes we've come to associate with them. Though the twist of eyeblights, the name elves give to those too ugly to be anything else in elf society, but also what they call everyone else, adds an fun twist to the basic idea of "What if the beauty industry was a society?"

Eyeblights at best are treated as eye sores, creatures to be avoided if needed and an annoyance at worse. At worst, they are hunted for sport, blades slicing them in twain while the insidious moonglove poison kills them in seconds if that fails. This is often reserved for giants and boggards, the name for goblins, but they aren't above using these selfsame measure on other elves.

But for those elves who would reach so low as to become eyeblights, often due to disfigurement, purposeful or accidental, they are allowed to become nettelvine breeders. Nettlevine is a parasitic plant cultivated by the plane's elves that shortens the already short lifespan of elves, but also grants them great control over it, allowing them to make mockery of the plane's treefolk and devastate the enemies of the elves. But, what lays in the store for those elves who reach the pinnacle of beauty?

We Determine Beauty

Elvish society in Lorwyn is separated into four distinct classes, the faultless, immaculate, exquisite, and perfect.

Faultless: the lowest caste, the faultless meet a minimum threshold for beauty. They're without fault as the name suggests, but their beauty isn't anything better than what is expected for an elf and work the basic jobs required of society.

Immaculate: those who act as dignitaries for the elves. If you're cunning enough in addition to beautiful, you can reach the level of immaculate and attain some special privileges within elvish society.

Exquisite: second only to the perfect, elves who reach exquisite are masterful hunters and lead other elves in hunting excursions with packs of wolves to kill eyeblights. As dangerous as they are beautiful and the only caste below perfect with permission to speak to them.

Perfect: the most cunning of all elves and of transcendental beauty, perfects rule elf society in Lorwyn and have permission to kill anyone they'd like in a caste below them. Vicious and vain rulers of which only a few exist.

Eyeblights are not in the caste system. As mentioned before, these elves are either made into nettlevine breeders or killed. Even associating with creatures that aren't elves or using them to kill eyeblights such as one of the Lorwyn/Shadowmoor protagonists, Rhys, did can earn you the ire of other elves. Speaking of Rhys...

Rhys, the Exiled

Rhys was a student of Colfenor, an elder treefolk and the last yew treefolk. He taught him the secrets of yew poison magic and they'd maintain a psionic bond for life even when Rhys became an eyeblight hunter. His past of being associated with an eyeblight like Colfenor always earned him some contempt, especially from his superior, Nath. Nath was a more traditional elf, one who was quite annoyed when Rhys made use of a pair of giants to deal with goblin raiders after the hunting party's trap went wrong due to an inexperienced archer, an archer Nath cut down for his mistake. As such, Rhys and Nath had a tense relationship, one that broke when Rhys became one of the very eyeblights he hunted and his friend turned against him.

Nath had ordered Rhys to exterminate some peaceful goblins getting together for a story time festival. Despite Colfenor's pleas not to go through with it, he did and the attack went horribly wrong. The goblins turned feral and murderous due to the Great Aurora starting to begin, an event that inverts the traits of every race on the plane and brings eternal night. With little choice, Rhys unleashed the magic Colfenor taught him and killed everyone except for himself, his friend, and Nath. When he awoke, he found his horns destroyed. He had become an eyeblight and his friend and Nath had promised to slay him, but not before he was rescued by an elf named Maralen and a group of fey.

The rest of the story follows his adventures with Maralen of the Mournsong and the other adventurers on Colfenor's quest to continue to yew treefolk line and stop the Great Aurora, but this fall is what we care about. Rhys knew what was wrong but still went through with it anyway. Corrupted by the pressure of a society and willing to kill to maintain his position, only to lose it all. Though, when night comes the only true monsters on Lorwyn become its saviors.

Beauty is a Seed

The elves of Shadowmoor, the name the plane adopts when the Great Aurora brings eternal night, are an interesting contrast in the dark fairy tale feel the plane adopts during this phase. These elves are also obsessed with beauty, but the world itself has become as ugly as they were inside while phased to Lorwyn. Thus, there's the twist. They seek to preserve beauty, those little slivers left. Beauty is a seed, waiting to blossom under capable hands as the flavor text of Bloom Tender puts it. As everyone else becomes the monsters they believed them to be, they stopped hunting them. They hunted for beauty instead. No longer vain, they care for each other and see the seeds of light in the darkness. They see true beauty, of nature, of love, of life, and just want to protect it. There's something so kind about it, so heartwarming, a glimmer of hope in darkness, all ripped away when the morning tide washes away the darkness and things return to normal. We get a glimpse at what the elves could be, and in a way, it hurts.

Something I have yet to mention is the deer-like apperance of the elves. In Lorwyn, this soft apperance hides the truth: they are predators, hunters, to be feared, not prey. But on Shadowmoor, they are the prey, able to fight back, but prey nevertheless to hideous monsters like scarecrows, kelpie, deurgar, and the twistwed residents of Shadowmoor. They've become the ones they once hunted, the other, but for once, they're free of hierarchy and free to live life and dream for a better tomorrow and they revel in that. Rhys is able to find redemption in Shadowmoor, and embrace his true ideals. Night doesn't last forever though, and neither can this. But, I'm intrigued to see how it ends up being handled come 2025.

Toil to Renown

So, what do I love about the elves of Lorwyn/Shadowmoor? Well, they are quite pretty, I love the design, but these days, I think love that they're the very people that'd despise me. Being queer means to live outside the binary standards of beauty quite often. Some transphobes even go as far as to label others trans based off of very minute masculine or feminine traits that no one but them cares about. This leads to reinforcing gender stereotypes and leading to violence and/or vitriol against anyone who doesn't fit in. We become eyeblights, as does anyone who's cis and not quite the perfect model of their gender. All the while, people like Rhys, who don't totally agree, are browbeat into conforming and suffer for it when they too find out they will never live up to the standards of such wretched people. Whether they come out queer or simply have an accident.

But, I also love these elves, the ones on Shadowmoor, because I see myself in them too. I want to find the beauty in a cruel world that despises me and others I call friends and family and protect it with all my heart. Beauty isn't flawless skin and a sharp intellect, it's in a lonely flower blossoming, the laugh of someone you love, celebration of life. We fight every day to live and assure our continued existence in a world that despises us. Is that not reason to celebrate? Life may be grim, but there's beauty everywhere and we decide it ourselves. I hope WotC explores that duality again in 2025, because it's a beautiful message I've taken to heart for years. Thanks for reading.

[flowerbloom-arts]

I suppose you could say they're a... Match made in hell........ (Design from Treehouse of Horror XXV, s26 ep4)

(Over-analysis of ChalmSkinn under the cut.)

Disclaimer: I know I'm overanalyzing silly gags and concepts from a silly animated sitcom that in its current state has what one could only describe as a rough approximation of continuity (and that the spooky anthology episodes in it are non-canon). Just let me exercise some media literacy for a bit.

Okay so like... What is it with Skinner, Chalmers, and being a two-headed creature? What is that meant to represent?? Once is a gag made in humor and twice is a little eyebrow raising, I think.

And it's not like they're using this as a gag because they have a kind of antagonistic relationship and it'd make for easy bickering jokes, it's actually the opposite! These representations of them with a shared body happen as a representation of them getting along!

ChalmSkinn Productions is their own production company that they originally used to submit films to the Sundance festival, and that episode was one where they got along the most, by far, as the two had a shared goal in being successful in the film industry.

(please ignore the video play bar at the bottom, thank you)

Now, the logo for the company when it got introduced as a concept was very different, it was a globe where Skinner and Chalmers' heads would spin on its surface (though, one could argue it's still their two heads attached to one thing which is roughly a similar idea to the shared body thing), but the association still applies. The company is the result of their two heads joining in an amicable way.

Demon ChalmSkinn (that's what I'm gonna call them) on the other hand is extremely fascinating to try and deconstruct into something of thematic implication.

They are... Technically not Skinner and Chalmers themselves? But they are a parallel version of them in this hell school dimension that Bart and Lisa discover and it's full of other demons that parallel characters from Springfield Elementary, so Demon ChalmSkinn might as well be Chalmers and Skinner for the purposes of this Treehouse of Horror segment.

And, given the vague idea of what Seymour Skinner and Gary Chalmers' relationship is like, you would expect the writers, when sticking their heads on the same body, to make them bicker, right? Have the Chalmers head yell at the Skinner had for some reason?

... They don't do that! They don't bicker at all! In fact, they are very much in sync in a non-hivemind sort of way, they don't interrupt eachother and they seem like very pleasant dudes in general (well, except for the part with they skinned Bart, that was a little uncool).

It's like... What are the writers trying to say with this, specifically? It almost feels like the fact they get along well is the joke.

You expect them to not get along? Well, they do. Their relationship in the regular world is so bad that it's better in hell.

And that's weird, right? If that's the joke then it sure as hell (heh) doesn't feel like it gets acknowledged as a joke. Why avoid such an opportunity for easy jokes? It clearly has to be some deliberate representation of something about their relationship, right? Why do they get along more when they're conjoined than when they're apart?

Maybe, just maybe this is saying something about the inseparability of Gary and Seymour, that they are unable to truly break apart from eachother and are actually far more miserable for it. No matter how many times Chalmers fires Skinner or plans on firing him or just gets annoyed at him for being a spineless kiss-ass around Gary, there's just no severing them. Perhaps a commentary on the status quo nature of the show.

One of my mutuals also suggested that these two would actually be happier if they were together instead of apart, that being stuck together makes them more whole and pleasant than just the sum of their parts.

Their relationship has been characterized by this great, invisible divide of some sort, where a blurry amalgamation of admiration and desperateness clash with an apathetic no-nonsense attitude. If they could just somehow bridge that divide and come to a deeper understanding of eachother then... they'll be happier for it, and maybe they'll be... Together. And inseparable.

If the episode Road to Cincinnati is of any indication, their relationship seems to be heading for a dynamic shift, almost definitely a positive one. Now that Chalmers finally sees Skinner as more earnest than placating, maybe we'll see a Chalmers and Skinner that will evolve into something more. Something metaphorically resembling that two-headed demon they are in hell.

[hainethehero]

A JOSS WHEDON HATER FOREVER- a think piece on how Avengers 1 set up Steve Rogers to be the MCU's punching bag for the rest of the franchise

(We all know Joss Whedon is an absolute garbage person. He's done many horrible things including being a racist, sexist moron who should be behind literal bars.) This is a commentary on his absolute shit writing for Avengers 1.

This one particular scene and the one following it is purely poor writing & direction for the character of Steve Rogers.👇

After Coulson dies, Fury addresses Steve and Tony and tosses Coulson's bloodied Captain America cards at Steve. He says something like "guess you never found the time to sign them" which is just horribly cruel and though not OOC for Fury, is not something he'd say lightly. We later realize here👇

...that he's secretly trying to put together the team. This is where he makes his big "there was an idea" speech and mentions that "Stark knows this." Because yeah, Tony was made aware of this in Iron Man 1 when Coulson visited and told Pepper. In contrast, Steve had no idea about the Avengers Initiative.

In fact, the dude was just pulled from the Valkyrie in the ice!! In the beginning scene of Avengers 1, we see him at the gym with the punching bag having LITERAL WAR FLASHBACKS about Bucky and Peggy and the Howlies! He's not stable and yet Fury confronts him and ropes him into the mission to get the Tesseract. Steve says, "you should've left it where you found it." And I can't help but think that maybe Steve means himself as well because dude just lost EVERYONE & EVERYTHING he literally knew and cared about.

Anyway, back to the point, Steve knows nothing about the Initiative but is suddenly made to feel guilty about Coulson's death in some kind of roundabout way of "convincing him to join the team" in honor of Coulson.

And then, to make matters WORSE, in the next scene they make HIM comfort Tony 👇

They make him say, "im sorry" (like it was his fault???!) and "he was just doing his job" and "is this the first time you've lost a soldier?" LIKE WTAF???

*INSERTS JACOB ELORDI MEME FROM EUPHORIA SAYING WHAT THE FUCKKKKK?!*

First of all, Steve barely knows these people! Second, he was fond of Coulson and I'm sure they would've been close friends. But did they have to GUILT-TRIP Steve into joining the team? Like, that's just dumb and proves that they don't actually give a fuck about his character!

AND TALK ABOUT MEAN! Fury at least knew about Steve losing Bucky on that train. He KNOWS Steve's first words when he woke up from sleep was "I had a date" reflecting the tragedy of the man out of time. To just rip him out of sleep and thrust him into a mission and later making him feel guilty about Coulson was just pure cruelty, making SHIELD no better than HYDRA. They all saw Steve as a pawn, another mindless soldier to carry out their missions and I hate JW for that.

Steve's character was not accurately portrayed nor was his trauma properly dealt with and so this is why today, we see alot of MCU "fans" calling Steve the worst avenger, lame, boring and basically a crutch to Tony's genius. (I'm a huge Tony Stark fan, don't @ me). It just felt that the mcu wanted to make Tony the ultimate hero- which is fine, Nothing's wrong with that- but they did it at the expense of Steve's character and trauma.

Sadly, this narrative continues all the way down to Endgame and for that I will always hate JW & the mcu's portrayal of Steve Rogers.

[taurusdaylight]

seven days to say i love you

summary. you and jeno can't get enough of spending time together even when you are practically glued to each other's side at any given opportunity. but spending seven days a week for eternity with your favourite person doesn't sound like a bad idea, right?

pairing. college boyfriend! jeno x fem! reader

genre. hockey player! au, college! au, established relationship! au, friends to lovers! au, fluff

word count. 5,108

warnings/tags. none, this is 423% fluff <3 (but please let me know if i did miss out anything!)

a/n. (repost because there was an error... 😔) but hi!! i'm so sorry for the inactivity, i was so busy and couldn't put out my fics like i wanted to. but i'm back with a small something (my first non-jaehyun fic,,) i wrote this a while back and changed like 3/4 of it, and i hope it'll be a fun read!! i also came back to 2.8k notes on jaehyun bolton fic (is that what we're calling it now? yes.) i don’t reply to every comment/reblog/tag because by the time i see them it’s already so late, but i promise i read through and appreciate every single one of them,, thank you a million times!!!!!! i am working on more stuff now that i'm a little more free... so, as jaehyun likes to say, to be continued... :) hope everyone is well!

–

01 MONDAY.

The beginning of the week never failed to come to you in a dreadful manner, as if to make sure that you felt the full force of what most people like to call the Monday blues. Whoever was in charge of making sure that you would experience it, they certainly did not miss you out today as well.

Not that you enjoyed seeing other people suffer, but if there’s one thing that you’re grateful for, it’s the knowledge that you’re probably not the only one who feels this way. Though, the blaring sound of your alarm ringing at seven in the morning is too eerily similar to having someone have a personal vendetta against you, serving as a very unfriendly reminder that it is also the start of the school week. Perhaps, your disdain for Mondays could be attributed to this… but there’s always an exception, right?

Despite your reluctance to attend your morning lecture, you were somehow seated in the lecture theatre by nine, giving you more than enough time to lay out your laptop and the reading materials that you needed for the lesson before it started. 

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. Often only going to sleep when the sun is about to rise, Lee Jeno has an unhealthy habit of pulling all-nighters, which causes him to miss his alarm because he’d be so deep in his sleep that he would only be able to hear it after the seventh alarm has gone off, which by then, was most likely the time that he needed to leave his house if he wanted to reach on time. The worst part of this is that he was up all night for the sole reason of wanting to break his record in his mobile games; and he plays so many that even you find it difficult to keep up too. Even when you nagged at him and said that you would complain to his mum, Jeno often dismissed your words as empty threats, still not breaking his bad habit. Reading his text message to you about how he was going to be late again, you could only let out a helpless sigh as you left his message on read.

Jeno announces his appearance by quietly opening the backdoor of the lecture theatre thirty minutes later. He makes his way over to his seat next to you, genuinely appreciating how even though sitting in front is better for your eyesight, you still opted to sit around the last few rows so that it’s easier for him to join the lecture when he comes in late without causing a loud disruption to your peers. 

“Good morning, pretty,” Jeno bends down to whisper in your ear. Removing his crossbody bag, he leaves it in the empty space between you two. Once he settles down, Jeno slides a Venti-sized Hazelnut Latte from Starbucks over to your side of the desk. The rest of the lecture goes by quickly with you and Jeno making silly commentaries about anything and everything.

“Why did you still get me coffee?” you ask Jeno after the lecture had ended, a deep frown etched on your face. “You were already running late, Jeno. You really didn’t have to.” Being late was one thing, and making an additional stop at the café is another, especially because you knew that it was definitely not on the way. 

“Just because,” Jeno replies with a loving smile. The kind of smile where his eyes would curve into beautiful crescents, his pupils almost disappearing because of how wide he is smiling at you. The kind of smile that you’d never get tired of seeing, so much so that you wordlessly lean in to give him a quick peck on the lips to say thank you. 

Perhaps you like Mondays. Mondays with Jeno where you learnt that words left unspoken speak much more volume in expressing one’s heart.

02 TUESDAY.

It’s Tuesday, which means that you and Jeno have some spare time to meet up and study at the café near campus before his hockey practice starts. Study dates with Jeno are admittedly not as productive as you expect them to be, mainly because you often distract each other from getting any actual work done. Because of this, the both of you become public nuisances of some sort, so you had no choice but to study at a café instead of the quiet library. Imagine getting kicked out of the library… that would be an embarrassing sight.

“Jeno, how do you work out the answer to question five? I wasn’t paying attention when Prof taught this...” You look over at Jeno with a sheepish smile, earning a chuckle from him. He isn’t even surprised by your question, guessing that you probably spaced out or dozed off during the lesson.

Without saying a word, Jeno tucks a pencil behind his ear and grabs a piece of rough paper before getting up and shifting to the empty seat next to you, leaving you confused. As if he could read your mind, Jeno speaks again before you could question him. “So that it’ll be easier to explain it to you," he mumbles.

Ironically, the close proximity between the two of you only makes it harder for you to focus, but easier for you to admire his handsome features. Puckered lips, furrowed eyebrows and his gold rimmed glasses slipping down slightly to rest on his nose bridge–Jeno couldn’t look any cuter in this moment as you watch him diligently scribble on the piece of paper. He is seemingly deep in thought about how he should explain this concept to you. Watching how focused Jeno was, you took the chance to lean in, giving him a peck on the cheek before retreating back quickly, chin resting on your palm as your gaze lingers on him, slyly pretending that nothing happened.

“You broke my train of thought!” he grunted. Jeno puts his pencil down and turns to you with an annoyed expression on his face, but swiftly looks back down on the scribbled paper upon making eye contact with you. 

It only dawns on him now that you were staring at him the entire time.

“Don’t do that, you’re distracting me.” His voice is quiet, eyes basically glued to that piece of paper. 

“Sorry, I can’t help it. You’re so handsome and cute.” You pause, seeing a bashful smile appear on his face. “Did you know that a guy is the most attractive when he’s focused?”

“Do you still want my help or not?” Jeno asks with a grimace in his voice.

“Yes, yes, I do. I’m sorry,” you apologise with a small smile. It was difficult to resist the urge of calling him cute again, but you decide not to tease him any further for the sake of his sanity.

“Good. Now pay attention, I need to leave for training soon and if you still don’t get it by then... that’s on you.”

Jeno lied. Even after long hours of training, he still went on FaceTime that night to thoroughly explain the concepts that you were unfamiliar with, not minding that he was practically fighting for his life trying not to fall asleep on you. 

That Tuesday night, you went to sleep with the widest grin on your face. Heart carrying so much love for your boyfriend who coincidentally asked you out for the first time ever on a Tuesday too.

03 WEDNESDAY.

Wednesday's child is full of woe. If there was a sentence that could explain how you feel about this particular day, this would be it. Mid-week crisis should be an actual thing if it wasn’t already one. Not only did Wednesday feel like the longest day of the week, you’d also feel extremely restless, wishing nothing more than for the weekends to come quickly.

Back-to-back seminars for six hours with only a short forty-five minute break in between had to be the most unappealing thing known to mankind, and you’d most certainly file a complaint if it was possible. Then again, this is perhaps part of the university experience. 

However, this still isn’t the most devastating part. What truly makes this a tragedy for you is that Jeno isn't there to accompany you through it all due to conflicting timetables. He also had training again, this time outside of school, which meant that he’d only be free after that.

You’re so used to being around Jeno all the time that you can’t seem to spend even the littlest amount of time away from him even though you pretty much see him almost every day of the week. Talk about being clingy.

The feeling’s mutual for Jeno though. Just like you, he seems to hate the idea of not being by your side too, evident from the numerous messages he sends throughout the day despite knowing that your replies would take longer than usual to come in.

You’re not complaining. Because in one way or another, you feel like that’s his way of being by your side, albeit not physically. It is his text messages of checking up on you and ensuring that you didn’t skip your meals that make this unbearable day a little more bearable. Most of all, you look forward to being on FaceTime with him at night, having him all to yourself after such a long day.

Jeno usually ends training at seven-thirty in the evening, but sometimes it could overrun till eight. Thereafter, he still has to travel home for an hour or so, get dinner and wash up. He hides this from you, but very often he attempts to rush home because he doesn’t want you to stay up too late waiting for him, and because he wants to talk after an entire day of not seeing you.

Jeno makes sure to call before eleven, always starting the conversation by telling you how much he misses you, as if he didn’t already tell you that through text. He goes on to ramble about his day, how he saw the time match the digits of your birthdate and it made him think of you, not forgetting to also ask you how did your day go. Not long after, you’d notice his breaths becoming louder, his speech slightly slurred, and that’s when you know that he’s going to fall asleep soon. Even so, you don’t say anything, simply watching him slowly fall into a deep slumber.

“Good night Jeno,” you whisper softly, careful not to wake him up and taking one last look at how peaceful he looks before ending the call.

04 THURSDAY.

Due to how busy the both of you were, you are grateful for the small gap that Jeno has between classes and practices, just so that you’d still be able to see his face. Once it's about time for him to leave, you get ready to say goodbye to Jeno with a warm hug , when he suddenly stops you by placing his hand over yours.

“Do you want to watch me train?” he asks. “You can say no. But I just thought we could get dinner after so we can spend a little more time together,” Jeno adds, his thumb rubbing small circles against your knuckle. An air of expectancy fills the small booth that the both of you occupy in the reading room as he awaits your answer. 

“I’d love to, Jen.” Flipping his hand over so that you could intertwine your fingers together, you jokingly rush Jeno to pack up his things, telling him how excited you are to finally sit in and watch him train for the first time ever. You’ve only ever heard funny anecdotes of his teammates from him every once in a while, and you’re beyond elated to finally meet the people who bring so much joy into his life.

On the way to the hockey rink, you ask Jeno more about the sport and various positions. You weren’t a sports person but thought that it’d be a good time to know more about it, especially because of Jeno’s immense passion towards hockey.

“So what position do you play?” you glance over at him with curious eyes.

“Centre,” he says, a sense of pride in his voice. Before you could ask him what that position entails, Jeno beats you to it with a rather cheeky explanation. “You just need to know that it’s called centre because I’m supposed to be the centre of your attention.”

True to his words, Jeno remains as the centre of your attention for the entire duration. You’d never admit this to him, but he becomes even more charming than he already is when he’s on the rink. Especially during the friendly match that his team had with a neighbouring school towards the end of practice, his entire demeanour changed so much that you’d think that you were watching an entirely different person.

The way Jeno plays is extremely captivating to watch. You’re not sure how he does it, but you can see him mentally strategizing his next move as the clock ticks. Even down to the last minute of the match, Jeno had not let his guard down, the fire in his eyes so prominent that anyone could see that he was determined to end this with a bang. 

Skating across the rink, Jeno moves at the speed of light, making it hard for his opponents to catch him. He is the ace of the team after all, so it wouldn’t be that easy to mess with him. His eyes follow the puck, set on scoring yet another goal despite their favourable lead. The opponents are in full defence mode too, though it wouldn’t make much of a difference since there's too short of a duration left for them to catch up. Speedily, Jeno intercepts the puck from the opposing team, skating away at high speed, still vigilantly guarding the puck with his stick. With the help of his teammates who effectively block the opponent from getting to Jeno, he manages to catch both your eyes and heart in that moment, making you hold your breath in anticipation as he skilfully shoots the puck into the goal at the very last second.

In the matter of a few minutes, Jeno returns to his usual self, smiling widely and cheering loudly with his teammates to celebrate their victory. And of course, he turns to look at you, giving you a smile that holds some semblance of shyness. It’s fascinating to watch how different he is on and off the rink, but it also reminds you how in love you are with the many sides of him; those you have seen and those that you have yet to uncover.

As promised, Jeno takes you to the burger joint down the alley near your university afterwards. During dinner, he still reenacts the funny incidents that happened during training even though you were present when they occurred. Though, this sweet gesture admittedly warms your heart because it makes you feel even more included in his life, as though he is gradually inviting you to be a part of his world, just as you do the same when talking about your interests and hobbies with him.

Time seems to slow down whenever you’re with him but that’s okay because time is merely a social construct. What matters is that you get to spend time with Jeno, who is now walking you home. With his hand in yours, Jeno slows down his footsteps to match your pace. The atmosphere is filled with shared laughter, along with Sweet Nothing softly playing through Jeno’s airpods, both of you taking one side each. It would have been wired earphones, but a certain someone claims that it gets in the way… of what, he refuses to elaborate. 

It is also a homely moment like this that makes the both of you wish that time could slow down even more as you basked in each other’s comforting presence, sharing the same sentiment of hoping that the walk to your house will last a little longer. Anything to prolong the time that you spend with each other, right?

05 FRIDAY.

Friday may be your favourite day of the week because it is when Jeno is finally free after three consecutive days of training. It is also movie night, where you and Jeno would take turns to go over to each other’s place every Friday evening. 

It was a few weeks into freshman year, when the two of you made this pact after discovering that you were neighbours. How is it possible that you’ve never noticed Jeno before anyway?

Funny enough, it all began with you telling your mum that you made a new friend in college who goes by the name of Jeno. That name clearly rang a bell, prompting her to start narrating her grocery adventures with Jeno’s mother, excitedly telling you how close they were. In her words, “Jeno is a really sweet boy, I’ve been dying to introduce you to him but it slipped my mind so many times!” Gushing about the said boy, she hurried you to invite his family over for dinner, rushing into the kitchen herself to whip a meal up in no time.

The awkwardness of the dinner was enough to kill you from the inside, to say the least. Mothers being mothers, you had to admit that you were amazed at their ability to jump from topic to topic in the span of a few minutes. Together with Jeno’s and your father laughing, they also joined in the conversation from time to time. Meanwhile, you and Jeno sat in silence side by side, and spoke only when necessary.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but can we excuse ourselves? It’s my first time at your house and I was wondering if ____ could show me around.” Jeno asked, giving your mum a polite smile as he glanced sideways at you momentarily.

“Of course! The two of you should get to know each other better. Ah, young lo–”

You cleared your throat, preventing your mum from completing her sentence. “Friendship,” she corrected herself.

Believe it or not, you had no idea how dramatic of a person she was up until this moment, or maybe it’s because there was something about Jeno that reeled in her overflowing sense of, you’re guessing, motherly love? That would also explain why the old ladies at the school cafeteria were so nice to Jeno, constantly giving him extra servings. You didn’t know what to think of Jeno’s suggestion since you’ve only known him for a few weeks, and being alone with him couldn’t be any better after having such an awkward dinner. At that time, however, it seemed like it was the next best alternative that you had.

“Let’s go.” You stood up abruptly to disrupt the conversation so that the adults (specifically, your mum) would not have an opportunity to say anything else to make the atmosphere any weirder than it already was. Jeno trailed behind you like a lost puppy, quickly following you upstairs to your room.

“I’m so sorry, my mum doesn’t think before she speaks sometimes. I hope you don’t mind what she said.” You broke the silence, not knowing where this conversation was going exactly, suddenly regretting speaking at all. You took a quick look at Jeno, who was now leaning against the doorframe, standing quite a distance away from the edge of your bed where you were sitting.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a soft smile while shaking his head lightly.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” you asked, the smile on his face now replaced with a frown as he gave you a quizzical look.  

“You’re still leaning against the door?” you asked again, even though it was meant to be more of a statement rather than a question.

Jeno bursted out laughing, “I thought I was making you uncomfortable!” He raised his hand to rub the nape of his neck. He moved away from the door to sit next to you, still leaving a small space between you two.

“Want to watch The Lion King?” you suggested, mindlessly browsing through Disney Plus.

“Are you kidding me?” 

You creased your eyebrows in confusion. “No... why?”

“I love Lion King!” Jeno said a little too enthusiastically, his eyes widening at how there were so many movies in the world, yet you somehow suggested watching his favourite Disney movie.

With the awkward tension in the atmosphere finally gone, you and Jeno made yourselves comfortable on your bed. Unknowingly, the both of you scooted closer to each other’s side as the movie played. By the time the credits scene started to roll, the both of you were already fast asleep, your legs tangled with each other’s under the sheets. 

And as most people would like to say, the rest is history.

However, Fridays weren’t just reserved for movie nights. Soon enough, Friday nights also turned into sleepover nights, which meant that other than your usual movie marathons, you and Jeno end up doing other things too.

Like now, the two of you just ended a karaoke singing session that you would most probably never have again. It was far too loud in the night for your neighbour’s liking, causing them to lodge a complaint, making you and Jeno permanently cross that out of your sleepover activities. 

Jeno comes up with a better idea of setting up a cosy outdoor blanket fort in your backyard to lay on. The sense of tranquillity is like no other, you and Jeno having a heart-to-heart talk in hushed whispers with crickets chirping in the background.

In the end, you fall asleep first, feeling burnt out from the entire school week. Although Jeno knows that you’re already asleep, he still makes sure to pat your head lightly, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Good night angel,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around your waist before drifting to sleep.

06 SATURDAY.

Saturdays are without a doubt, the most exciting for you. As a matter of fact, dating Jeno is a thrill in itself; but what makes Saturdays exceptional is Jeno taking you out on proper dates.

You and Jeno have been together for slightly over three years now, yet every date always feels like the first. The butterflies in your stomach? They never go away. 

Initially, going on a date with Jeno seemed to be nerve-wracking to you because he’d always bring you somewhere new. Naturally, you thought it was the suspense of not knowing what he planned that made you feel this way.

Deep down, however, you knew that you simply felt this way because it was… Jeno. 

“Why don’t I have anything to wear?” you shout in exasperation to no one in particular as you rummage through the closet to find a perfect outfit for your date. It feels like Jeno has already seen you in everything that you own, and you’re this close to going on Pinterest for outfit ideas. 

That is, until you hear a text notification sound from your phone. It was a text message from Jeno informing you that he's coming over in five minutes. You give up searching, hastily picking out a white turtleneck, layering an autumn brown velvet overall over it. 

“You look pretty today.” This is the first thing that Jeno says to you when you open the door, once again leaning against the door frame with a mellow smile on his face. You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks because of his compliment.

And there it is again, the butterflies. Lee Jeno looking as flawless as he could be, a cosmic latte dress shirt tucked with a pair of black pants along with a brown leather jacket draped over his shoulders, coincidentally matching your outfit. To top it off, he’s wearing a beret today too, suddenly making him look cuter. It’s as if he travelled back in time, turning into your Victorian boyfriend. 

“But... why are you dressed like this?” Jeno asks, rudely interrupting your staring session.

“Why? Is there something wrong with my outfit?” you were perplexed by his sudden question. Did he not like it? Should you change out of it? He said you looked pretty though. Besides, what else were you going to wear? You stare intently at Jeno, anxious about what he's going to say next. You hope it isn’t something bad.

“I thought I told you we were going cycling...” He stops mid-sentence, brows raised as he purposefully gives you a once-over again.

The tension in your shoulders disappears upon hearing his words. You roll your eyes at him, pushing his right shoulder lightly. “You’re going to ride a bicycle in a leather jacket?”

“Nevermind, please pretend I never said that.” Jeno makes a sulky expression upon realising that he did not plan out his joke well. But he is also quick to shoot you an endearing smile. “I love your outfit, baby.”

“You’re so lucky you’re cute, Lee Jeno.” And that I love you.

Thank goodness though, you were definitely not prepared to make another mess out of your wardrobe to search for another outfit when you’ve painstakingly organised it ten minutes ago.

In many ways, dates with Jeno always feel like the first. A simple thing, like the slight brush of your shoulders against each other as you’re walking down a random shopping street was sufficient to send your heart racing. Jeno’s hesitation to hold your hand in a crowded amusement park even though he really wants to, but he doesn’t know when is the right time to grab it–you can feel it, he fumbles with his fingers, reaches out every now and then, but pulls back immediately when his fingers accidentally meet yours.

And the memory of today that you can’t seem to forget. It’s spring, so Jeno thought that it’s a perfect time to bring you to a flower field located at the outskirts of the city. He’d once seen you looking at pictures of it on Instagram, making a mental note about it before he went home to do more research that night.

It wasn’t an uncommon thing for Jeno to take pictures of you, but when the both of you arrived, he didn’t stop at all, you swear he probably has a thousand pictures of you just from today.

However, what surprised you more was that when you asked Jeno to pose in front of the daisy fields, he happily did, even though there was still a hint of shyness within him since he wasn’t exactly comfortable with being photographed at times. He even went as far as to ask the other visitors to help take pictures of the both of you together, which was something you usually did. It wasn’t something extravagant, but it sure was endearing, and you’re positive that discovering a new side of Jeno made you giddy. So giddy that you never knew how it was possible for your heart to be swelling with so much love for another person.

Just like how daisies symbolise new beginnings, you hope that it's the same for you and Jeno’s story too. To not have endings, but only new beginnings.

07 SUNDAY.

Being certified homebodies, you and Jeno wholeheartedly enjoy staying in. It is also perhaps an excuse for the both of you to cuddle and nap together. You’d think that by the end of the week, you’ll be tired of seeing Jeno’s face for the seventh time. You joke that you are, but in reality, you could never bring yourself to grow tired of being together with your favourite person.

You usually go over to Jeno’s house in the afternoon, which is the ideal time to take a nap. Sometimes, you prayed that it would rain, so that you’ll have an excuse to steal one of his hoodies. Even so, he lets you take them as and when you want to. What is he supposed to do, say no? Of course not. 

Napping wasn’t supposed to be your favourite hobby, but if it meant that you could enjoy the warmth and comfort of being in Jeno’s embrace, then clearly, any other hobby in the world couldn’t possibly compare to it. Like a baby, you snuggle close to rest your head on Jeno’s chest, putting your arms around his neck, taking in his soft cotton scent. The faint sound of his heartbeat and gentle breathing lulls you to sleep, it is very much like a lullaby on its own. 

The best feeling in the world is to wake up the same way you fell asleep–still in Jeno’s arms. Not wanting to awake him, you slowly loosen your arms from his neck. Carefully, you brush his hair to the side, getting a clearer view of his face as you tenderly caress the mole below his eye, and then his cheek. He has pretty eyelashes, you’ve come to notice.

“Jeno,” you call out softly, in hopes of waking him up, but not wanting to be too loud at the same time. You wanted to let him continue sleeping, but the sky is already dark.

“Jeno, it’s time to wake up,” you try again. The clock on his side table reads half past six in the evening, indicating that it is almost dinnertime. His eyes were still shut, but he let out a groggy sound to let you know that he was awake, mumbling something shortly after. You didn’t quite catch it, but you think that he asked you to let him sleep for another five minutes. Typical Jeno.

“But it’s time for dinner,” you try to sit up, only causing Jeno to hug your waist tighter. You could barely move an inch with the way he was holding you.

“Just five minutes.” You let out a sigh, giving in to him.

“Jeno?” 

He hums in response, which you take as a cue to ask your question. “Would you still love me if I were a worm?”

His eyelids finally flutter open, sleep still evident in his eyes. He appears to be in deep thought about your question before he answers. “Yeah. I’d still love you.”

“Hmm…” You narrow your eyes at him. “That took you a while to answer.”

“I just woke up,” he retorts.

“Fine.” You close your eyes and move closer to Jeno’s body, enjoying how he feels like your personal human pillow.

“Okay but what if there were other cuter worms? Like if I weren’t your ideal worm girlfriend, would you still date me?”

“Baby…”

[bengiyo]

I Became the Main Role of a BL Drama Ep 3 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Last time, Akafuji recognized that he has a crush on Aoyanagi for real, and Aoyanagi also recognized there may be something going on with him. The two lonely boys are trying to put on their best faces for the sake of the drama, but Akafuji is crushed by his own attraction, and Aoyanagi by his own doubts in himself as an actor. Aoyanagi rescued Kuromiya from an aggressive can, and we learned he's afraid of aggressive women. Kuromiya intervened, and Akafuji took Aoyanagi on a date. The two of them practiced kissing, but it was sad as fuck, and then the network cut the kiss from their show.

This curry looks pretty good.

Oh yes. Thank you voiceover for confirming they're both thinking about the kiss.

I'm glad Akafuji can still benefit from his stan knowledge, but now he's spiraling.

Welcome back, baby is a messy eater.

It definitely feels like they're having more fun separating themselves from the characters.

I will love Akafuji forever. He responded to being dumped for loving his hobby by loving it harder.

I would also stan Aoyanagi if he took me so seriously and then praised me for loving my stories.

I love when one confesses when they think the other is sleeping.

Aoyanagi has the best eyes of the year OMG.

I like the manager listening in to check on his charge.

Ope. Tendo-san called it falling in love.

I love the shot of the manager stepping over Hajime in the front as it's implied he's putting himself between Hajime and Akafuji.

Oh no. My boy is gonna be alone on his birthday again.

Oh, of course it was intended as a surprise party. I love Akafuji.

Aoyanagi is crying. I'm crying.

THE CARD IS EDIBLE.

Welcome back, The Heart Knows!

They cut a kiss from a friends to lovers BL with this much sexual tension?? Come on.

I'm glad the rest of the crew knows that Aoyanagi is a good actor who usually hits his marks.

They really had that boy spit on the 4th wall. Holy shit.

Fucking paparazzi holy shit.

Oh, I hate misunderstandings like this, but I get it.

Tendo-san, please fix this!

OH MY GOD. I'VE HAD TO GIVE FOR SO LONG AND I FINALLY GET TO RECEIVE. I had hoped the managers would be real and I was not expecting this!

Run, baby boy, RUN!!!

Holy shit, this indeed a stan's apartment.

He has the cutout!!

This is a completely acceptable stan reaction, and also a fantastic shot.

"I like you as myself" will never get old.

"I'm sorry for going on about myself. Anyway, what did you want to talk about?" Sorry to all other BL characters, but we have a new king.

I love this confession.

They planned to remove a kiss that was in the manga??? EVIL.

Aw, this was so close to perfect, but then they chickened out on a real kiss.

Final Verdict: 9.5, This Show Will Drown You in BL Goodness. If they had kissed properly, this would have a 10 and the new standard for all comedy BL follow. Instead, I will say that this show executes comedy with meta commentary about BL better than any other attempt before it (excepting A Man Who Defies the World of BL). Despite confirming the managers, the show chickened out on the mains and I will be docking it for that. Still, this show was excellently paced and will be my new default reaction image whenever someone insists that a Thai BL should be 12 episodes of meandering nonsense with no fucking idea where it's going or what story it's telling. This show executed a great arc in three movements. Everyone else, have several seats.

[pretty-weird-ideas]

Okay... so earlier I posted a few things without the proper tags because I felt like it wasn't necessary to say publicly, but right now antiblackness seems to keep escalating and people keep getting away with shit like this.

The next time you see antiblack posts especially vagues, check the comments and likes. I'm not being funny about this, I've been trying to be nice and quiet about antiblackness and blogs actively proposing alt-right talking points in this fandom by not saying things about it. But this is a pattern of larger blogs agreeing in secret with smaller racist ranters.

Whenever you see a virulently hateful response to a small black blog or what seems to be an antiblack rant, please I BEG of you all to check the comments and likes of said commentary. You will be surprised to see how many large blogs not only agree with the antiblack sentiment they're spreading but also are encouraging them to continue this sort of behavior.

We have blogs that are far larger than the blogs they're attacking, in the comments calling these black blogs "antiwhite" and "reverse racists", but nobody checks the comments. They know to hide their more controversial rhetoric in comments and likes. These smaller blogs who wanted approval from them then walk away from these large blogs and call these smaller blogs SLURS.

Post 499 of "The reason I don't follow black people, is because they block me" has blogs agreeing with them but never have been taken to task because they're hoping you genuinely don't check the comments or likes.

If you really truly care, I need you to start remembering names. It isn't even a difficult equation, no more than 1+1. It's blatant and clear once you start reading and using critical thought to find context and start questioning the motives behind vague posts against black blogs. These antiblack blogs aren't even smart enough to use alts, they're brazen with this sort of thing.

Antiblack users are begging and praying every night that you don't check for context or read comments when they drag smaller black blogs. They know better not to say this on their own blogs or reblog, they wait until they can comment and agree in silence, it's what they do.

They think you don't read, please prove them wrong.

These larger blogs that are creating hit lists of black blogs are literally testing your intelligence and ability to check their rhetoric, please.

[lizhly-writes]

hey guys do you wanna hear about my bad idea ahahaha i'm just joking i'm going to tell you whether you like it or not.

anyway! au where jiang fengmian brings back a starving orphan from the streets, and his name is yue qi.

(what happened to wei wuxian? don't worry about it it's fine) (idk maybe he doesn't exist? whatever)

yue qi is strong. yue qi is talented. yue qi tries harder than anyone. yue qi is perfect and you can't even really be irritated at him for it, because he's nice and polite and good-tempered and absolutely everything you could ask for in a da-shixiong.

jiang cheng feels so fucking bad about this. second best even in a whole new au, huh, a-cheng? but it's not your fault. even op protagonist bing-ge couldn't beat yue qi in a fair fight!

nobody knows this, though, so you're just going to have to suffer through the comparisons. it's your mom and your dad and all the little disciples thinking that yue qi is better than you. ooooh, that can't be good for that burgeoning inferiority complex your mom's instilled in you, huh?

but, you know. jiang cheng's going to be sect leader. he's going to need a strong sect. even if his mom fuckin bitches at him for not being as good as yue qi -- yue qingyuan -- then at least he's going to have a strong right hand, right?

HAHAHAHA.

so there are two routes we can go here. for the sake of my early morning ramblings, we're going to go for the more unrealistic one that requires me to jump through more hoops, because i think it's hilarious.

yue qingyuan starts getting more distant as he gets older. going on long nighthunts away from the lotus pier, you know. he stops leading the disciples in morning drills -- or, well, it's less that he stops, and more that he's not around to actually do that.

he's not around a lot.

snide, snide commentary about how yue qingyuan is going to run away to become a rogue cultivator, just like -- (but we don't talk about them). how yue qingyuan's not going to be da-shixiong for much longer. every time yue qingyuan returns to lotus pier, he seems to be more tired, more wound up, more stressed out --

and then everything stops. yue qingyuan comes back one day emotionally catatonic. he doesn't respond properly when people talk to him. unrelatedly (of course it's unrelated), there is some wailing and weeping in the night. some little shidi thinks that somehow a resentful ghost has made it into the pier and alerts da-shixiong about it in the morning.

thankfully, da-shixiong is back to normal in the morning. "i'll take a look," da-shixiong says, and then everybody forgets about it because da-shixiong is back and da-shixiong stops going on those long nighthunts away and everything is fiiiinnnne, don't worry. and if da-shixiong is a bit more brittle after that -- well, you're probably just imagining it.

jiang cheng worries about it. but yue qingyuan never says anything, because that's what yue qingyuan does. he never says annnnnnything to anyone.

of course, there's only so long you can argue with da-shixiong when the plot is coming up. gusu happens. the wens happen.

jiang cheng and yue qingyuan get sent to the wen evil summer camp, or whatever it's called. indoctrination, right?

lectures. drills. meaningless busy work for the sake of beating people down. obedience, and more obedience. there's a wen staring down every class, just waiting for them to slip up. there's one in particular that seems to have it out for yue qingyuan, sharp mouthed and pointy and HAHAHA OKAY, you've probably guessed who this is, haven't you? you're a genre-savvy audience, i bet!

ah, but i'll spell it out anyway, don't worry. for a-cheng, maybe, because jiang cheng can't guess, because yue qingyuan doesn't tell him anything. jiang cheng's out of the loop, on the outside, like he always is with yue qingyuan. don't worry, jiang cheng -- you're not special. he treats you like he treats everyone else.

but ah, that's the problem, isn't it?

jiang cheng stumbles over da-shixiong at night, past curfew, arguing with the wen. or, really, it's not arguing -- the wen is verbally eviscerating him, and yue qingyuan is just letting him. attacks on yue qingyuan's character and talent and everything, and about how yue qi's CLEARLY found a replacement (replacement? what does that mean?) and fine, you think you're so respectable now, of course only a high-bred sect heir is good for you (that jiang-gongzi, do you think he's a better version of me) (is this the version of me you've always wanted?) --

all yue qingyuan says is "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry--"

there's got to be one question on your mind, huh, a-cheng? yue qingyuan seems to know this wen. pretty well, it seems -- those insults aren't generic, this seems personal. why? how?

who the hell is wen qingqiu?

[alexa-fika]

Insubordination and Cynophobia ( Smoker x gn!Kitsune!reader)

Another one from the list 🫦 by @me-writes-prompts AND FIRST ONE THAT IS ACTUALLY IN AN OFFICE LMAO I want to work in more genshin impact pieces, some weak hero one’s but I’ve got so many ideas and suggestions for one piece, maybe I should throw some in between, yall I was so pissed cause I din’t have kitsune in my compendium??? Hello??? Like it has Mongolian death worm but not Kitsune? PLEASE GET UOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT, it’s okay I know about kitsune anyways 💅🏽.

Definitions and some context in the bottom

Prompt: “You should take notes,” “You need to take your chill pills.”

Dividers by @/saradika

“We need to raise security on this side of Loguetown; it will most likely be the pirate's escape route,” Smoker says, glancing at his assistant, raising an eyebrow at the lack of anything on their hands

“You should take notes,” he said, glancing back at the map in front of him

“You need to take your chill pills.” They mutter, taking a drag from their kiseru and blowing a thin line of smoke from their lips

“What did you say?” Smoker turning around to face the kitsune

“I said that I would get right to that, Sir,” they said, a sly smile on their face as they snapped their fingers, a notepad appearing next to them, suspended in the air

“That’s what I thought,” he says, turning back towards the map as he takes a puff from his cigars

They roll their eyes, the pipe placed gingerly between their fingers as their tails swish behind them

“I don’t want to hear any lip from you,” he says as he glances at them again

“I ‘ll see what I can do; got a busy schedule,” they said, snapping their fingers again, an itinerary appearing next to the forgotten notepad still lingering in the air. Reader made a flickering motion with their fingers, the pages on the itinerary following their commands as the pages passed themselves

“Hmm, don’t know if I'll have time to fit in your request, have tasks to do; you see, my boss wants me to make quite the move of troops, so I apologize, but I simply won’t have time to comply with your request.”

“Reader,” he growls

“Yes, Sir?” They replied with a saccharine tone

“Don’t talk back to your superiors,” he says with an icy stare

“Oh, my apologies, Sir, no talking back here, simply pointing out that even with my abilities, that type of troop movement and calling in more soldiers is quite the task, so forgive me if I allow myself the liberty of commentary” they drawl taking another drag from the kizeru a slight smirk on their face

“Reader, im not in the mood for your antics; just mobilized the groups before I start giving you consequences for your ‘commentary’

“Oh? Do tell,” they said, snapping their fingers, the items floating around them disappearing

His angry frown quickly lifts as he mirrors their sly grin

“Keep it up, and you’ll be on desk duty rather than fieldwork. I heard one of the officers brought their dogs today, too; desk duty needs to keep an eye on them.”

Their smile quickly drops at his words

His smile widens seeing their displeasure

“You wouldn’t put me with a bunch of mutts! None of your officers are competent enough to complete your field tasks!”

He laughs before taking a long drag from his cigars

“You’re right; none of the officers are as fast or efficient to complete my tasks. However, a few of them could complete it eventually.”

They growl, gripping their pipe tightly

He chuckles, glancing at their annoyed stare

“Get moving; you have an hour, no more snarky attitude from you, or you stay at the desk with the dogs.”

“Fine.” They snap

He smirks at her reluctance

“That's what I thought.”

“Ugh, you humans are infuriating!”

“And you are a pain to have underneath me; why do you think I keep sending you to the desk? Time is ticking, should I call the officer for you to meet the dogs?”

“No!” The exclaim

They clear their throat

“I ‘ll get it done before the hour is over; there better be no mutts in here when I come back.”

“Then you better get moving.” A small smirk was still stuck on his face

Who has to do a 4-6 page essay on phychology history but is doing this instead? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not you 🫢 and that leaves one of us. Also anon, I swear I was going to do yours but I just got an idea for Sabo so…. NEXT ONE FOR SURE, and then ive got a spot reserved for a certain darling rizzy Izzy Wiggy id they want a piece for their birthday

Kizeru is a Japanese smoking pipe, the really long one’s

there are many representations for Kitsune but the one I followed is as you can see the sly type, they are slightly unnerved by dogs as they can see into their disguises and tricks, they also value their freedom which is why Smoker knows being stuck in a desk with dogs is a double punishment for Reader.

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[lucky-clover-gazette]

captive prince book 1 highlights & annotations

chapter 7

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Seeing no reason whatsoever to cooperate with that order, Damen stood up.

very much a “damen is not a slave” moment. this is the opposite of what they’ve been trained to do.

‘You are really courting danger tonight,’ Laurent said. ‘Am I? I thought I was appealing to your better nature. Order whatever punishment you like, from the coward’s distance of a chain-length. You and Govart are two of a kind.’

yessss, question his integrity! i love that they both get really pissed off when they’re implied to be bad people, but only by each other. it’s like they’ve mutually identified each other as their own personal moral arbiters, and couldn’t stop caring even if they tried.

Laurent transferred his gaze back to Damen and said, pleasantly, ‘Does that bother you? I recall you being free with your own hands, not so very long ago.’ ‘That was—’ Damen flushed. He wanted to deny that he’d done anything of the kind, but he remembered rather unequivocally that he had.

called out for enjoying the bath scene a little too much

‘I promise you, Govart did a great deal more than simply enjoy the view.’

vine boom so you WERE enjoying the view

‘To a slave,’ Laurent said. ‘The Prince’s Guard doesn’t interfere with the Regency. Govart can stick his cock into anything of my uncle’s he likes.’ Damen made a sound of disgust. ‘With your blessing?’ ‘Why not?’ said Laurent. His voice was honeyed. ‘He certainly had my blessing to fuck you, but it turned out he’d rather take a blow to the head. Disappointing, but I can’t fault his taste. Then again, maybe if you’d spread in the ring, Govart wouldn’t have been so hot to get inside your friend.’

context of what laurent is implying here (not what’s actually true): this is not laurent’s command or responsibility, but the regent’s. and it’s somehow damen’s fault that this happened to erasmus, because he didn’t let govart take him instead, which is what laurent had intended to happen. massive laurent ethical L on both counts. do better.

Damen said, ‘This isn’t a scheme of your uncle’s. I don’t take orders from men like Govart. You’re wrong.’ ‘Wrong,’ said Laurent. ‘How lucky I am to have servants to point out my shortcomings. What makes you think I will tolerate any of this, even if I believed what you are saying to be true?’ ‘Because you can end this conversation any time you like.’

damen won this interaction! called out laurent for clearly giving a shit, because he’s still talking!

also, craft note: great back-and-forth throughout this entire exchange

With so much at stake, Damen was sick of certain kinds of exchanges; the kind Laurent favoured, and enjoyed, and was good at. Wordplay for its own sake; words that built traps. None of it meant anything.

i have several hundred annotations that suggest otherwise

‘When someone doesn’t like you very much, it isn’t a good idea to let them know that you care about something,’ said Laurent.

context: nicaise :( and horse :( and a lot of things :(

break the cycle of abuse laurent i know you can do it

‘Would it hurt worse than a lashing for me to cut down someone you care for?’ said Laurent.

context: laurent knows, from experience, that the answer is yes

‘I don’t think I need to bring in more men,’ said Laurent. ‘I think all I have to do is tell you to kneel, and you’ll do it. Without me lifting a finger to help anyone.’ ‘You’re right,’ said Damen. ‘I can end this any time I like?’ said Laurent. ‘I haven’t even begun.’

damen won the confrontation morally, and they both know it. laurent won in practice by being intentionally immoral, and instead reminding damen that he has been given power over him that he can abuse. this is exactly what the regent has done to laurent, over and over again. sad.

Laurent said, ‘There is no bargain between us. A prince does not make deals with slaves and insects. Your promises are worth less to me than dirt. Do you understand me?’ ‘Perfectly,’ said Damen.

translation: “you win.” “i know.”

Damen rethought that particular approach. He turned over the information he’d just been given. Re-examined it. Turned it over again. ‘What changed your mind?’ Damen said, carefully.

context: maybe i’m too optimistic, but i think it’s genuinely an ethical decision on laurent’s part. there’s a strategic purpose in here, too, but that’s more of a convenience. laurent knew he was wrong, and might have even connected himself to his uncle and disliked the similarity. he doesn’t act smug when he’s doing something he doesn’t want to do, but he knows he should do this. that’s why he’s pissed at damen, but not playful about it at all. so i do think this was ultimately a “laurent was called on his bullshit, and has too much integrity not to act based on that callout” thing.

‘I’m not sure that I believe anything that you’ve just told me,’ Damen said. ‘Do you have a choice?’ ‘No.’

silver lining for laurent: re-asserts his own power and moral high ground by helping damen, instead of threatening him in a way they both know is fucked up

He has experienced things many adults have not, and his mind is no longer that of a child.

laurent would know :(

‘Is there anyone at this court who isn’t my enemy?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Laurent said.

okay this is just him being mean. it’s his enrichment 

‘So he’s tame,’ said Estienne, and reached out tentatively, as though to pat a wild animal. It was a question of which part of the animal he was patting. Damen knocked his hand away. Estienne gave a yelp and snatched his hand back, nursing it against his chest. ‘Not that tame,’ said Laurent. He didn’t reprimand Damen. He didn’t seem particularly displeased with barbaric behaviour, as long as it was directed outward. Like a man who enjoys owning an animal who will rake others with its claws but eat peacefully from his own hand, he was giving his pet a great deal of license.

they’re insane

As a result, courtiers kept one eye on Damen, giving him a wide berth. Laurent used that to his advantage, using the propensity of courtiers to fall back in reaction to Damen’s presence as a means of extricating himself smoothly from conversation. The third time this happened Damen said, ‘Shall I make a face at the ones you don’t like, or is it enough to just look like a barbarian?’ ‘Shut up,’ said Laurent, calmly.

emotional collapse animal to keep people from annoying laurent. love the banter here. damen knows that’s exactly what’s happening, and laurent is annoyed that he knows, because it makes him seem like an antisocial loser, which he is

Torveld was a handsome man in his forties

ew. leave laurent alone. he’s like half your age and he has specific trauma that makes this particularly uncomfortable

He reconciled himself to an evening of listening to Laurent lying a great deal, about everything. Laurent was a nest of scorpions in the body of one person. To hear that Akielos was weakened was as painful as Laurent must have meant it to be.

context: not entirely sold on the idea that laurent is having this conversation about akielos specifically to upset damen, but i get why damen feels that way

‘I wish we had more time together,’ said Torveld, showing no inclination to rise.

GET A JOB. STAY AWAY FROM HER

‘Nephew. You were not invited to these discussions.’ ‘And yet, here I am. It’s very irritating, isn’t it?’ said Laurent. ‘You’ve never applied yourself seriously to anything in your life.’ ‘Haven’t I? Well, then it’s nothing serious, uncle. You have no cause to worry.’

laurent applies himself seriously to most, if not all, of the things he chooses to do. regent just dislikes that laurent has a choice and uses it.