#i would be so good at being a cycle shade and i would get the best grade in it. im like the juno of getting recycled again

[transgothicgenre]

a conversation about identity - tea / who are you? - ajj / parting of the sensory - modest mouse / two - the antlers / a drummer's arm - hop along / beach life in death - glass beach / in memory of satan - the mountain goats / bro, i told you i contain multitudes - average joey

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THE THINGS YOU DO FOR LOVE... ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru begs you to wear the frilly maid dress he bought. against your better judgement, you indulge him.

word count; 7.0k (this was supposed to be short but i miss him terribly)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly sweet, literally just satoru being down horrendous, lots and lots of petnames (he is embarrassing), he’s ur biggest hypeman, entirely sfw!! (i feel like i have to specify that…), reader is a lil grumpy, satoru gojo is the most insufferable man on earth <3

a/n; this is just a silly lil wip i found in my drafts…. i dont remember what possessed me to write this i just think satoru would cry and fall to his knees and throw up blood if he saw u in a frilly dress

”— no.”

the word rolls off your tongue, instantaneous, with a decisive kind of sterness. leaving no room for hesitation, doubt or indecision; not a single gap for his argument to fit through, no loophole he could take advantage of to persuade you into giving in.

but despite all that, satoru just won’t back down.

”come on, baby, please?” he pleads, voice coaxing and sugary sweet. you can almost see those puppy dog eyes of his from behind the black glass of his shades. ”i already bought it and everything!”

”i don’t care,” you spit. a halfhearted attempt at appearing annoyed, in hopes it’ll distract him from the strawberry flush of your cheeks. ”i’m not wearing it. you shouldn’t have bought it, in the first place.”

”but sweetheart,” he drawls, tinged with a sadness he knows tugs at your heartstrings. ”it’s so cute. you’ll look so adorable.”

”not happening.”

”but —”

”— no. i’m seriously not wearing it, satoru.”

it’s harsh, the flow of your words, sharp and firm; but that’s your only option when he gets like this. your only slim chance at survival, being almost painfully direct. that doesn’t stop your resolve from weakening pitifully when satoru’s posture wilts, though, obviously exaggerated but still somehow effective. you debase yourself for being so weak for him. 

but giving in just isn’t an option, this time. 

under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t take too long for him to persuade you. satoru can be annoying, extremely so — but when he’s being so stubborn about something, there’s usually a good reason for it, even if it’s just that whatever he wants you to do will make him happy. to you, it’ll do.

(his happiness is your priority, after all.)

but in this case, there’s just no way. absolutely no way in hell.

he’s still holding that thing up, like he genuinely thinks it’ll support his argument, swaying it lightly side to side. it really, really doesn’t. it does the complete opposite, in fact.

”but angel,” he tries, again. you wonder if he’s eventually going to run out of petnames, or if he’ll just keep cycling through them until he runs out of air to breathe. ”don’t you wanna see how it’ll look on you?”

a sharp scoff flows from your lips. 

he can’t be serious. 

you really, really, really don’t. if anything, you want everything in the world except for that. you’d rather smash a glass bottle into little pieces and eat them one by one. you’d rather sit on satoru’s lap in a room full of other people. you’d rather jump in front of a moving train with explosives tied to your back.

— it’s so frilly. 

you almost couldn’t believe it, yourself. when he barged into the room, cardboard box in hand, fresh from the mail; all while wearing an excited grin, foreboding, but you were too mesmerized by it to even notice. 

it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, so you didn’t think much of it. satoru buying you gifts is not in any way unusual, even and especially if you tell him not to — and usually, it’d be a sweet occasion. the kind of moment you can soak in, drink up, and then recall fondly for the rest of the week. 

every single detail is worth cherishing. how excitedly he always opens it up, eager for your reaction, and how you always thank him, no matter what it is. sincerely, because satoru can be awkward with his affection, but his love bleeds through in moments like these.

from expensive, well-kept bouquets to little flowers on the side of the road; from thought-out gifts to little trinkets; no matter what it is, the sentiment remains the same.

(this made me think of you. i want you to have it. 

i remembered you mentioning this brand. i love you.)

a way for satoru to show his love, without overwhelming himself or you. a way of easing him into it, when everything is still just so new to him. 

buying you whatever catches his eye is the perfect solution, according to satoru. and it exasperates you, sometimes, when you come home to five amazon packages right outside your doorstep — but deep down you know it’s more for him than you. because it makes him happy, to be able to, allowed to show his love for you in ways like this. in normal ways, easy ways, that say more than his words ever could. 

(being granted the luxury of making you happy. of loving you, even if satoru doesn’t think he’s very good at that, just yet. but he is good at impulse buying things he knows you’d like; so that’ll have to do, for now.)

which is why you couldn’t help but let his infectious joy seep into your bloodstream, trickling its way through your veins with a sweet kind of fervour. couldn’t help but smile, a tender curl of your lips, in tandem with his cute little grin. couldn’t help but grow a little bit excited, as he opened the package — 

to reveal a cutesy, frilly, maid outfit.

— and then your mind screeched to a halt. 

the look on your face must have been something special, horrified and flustered in equal measure. almost in disbelief, as he immediately began to gush about the outfit in his hands. look at the bows, isn’t it cute? god, you’re going to look so pretty. i mean, you always do, obviously, but —

you weren’t really listening. all your mind could do was spin in circles, trying to get some read on the situation, but it was just no good. he genuinely, thoroughly, truly and sincerely expected you to put on a goddamn maid outfit. 

if he had bought it for himself, then maybe you would've been at least a little bit excited. you’re sure he'd look good in it; with those big blue eyes of his, that cute, happy grin. so good that your heart would probably combust, a little. melt through the floorboards. 

but no — he wanted you to wear it. 

and despite your instant, firm protests, he just will not give it up. your boyfriend is a stubborn man, so it’s no surprise, but it’s still enough to irk you.

”satoru, for real. no! i’m not wearing it!”

”but you’d look so good,” he whines, loud and grating as he inches closer to you. still holding the dress up like a prize; you back away, instinctively, like it’ll burn if you touch it.

”i don’t care! it’s a maid outfit! why the hell would i ever wear it?” 

sunglasses seated at the bridge of his nose, satoru allows you to catch a glimmer of his eyes — an effective method of persuasion. he definitely knows their power, and he’s definitely flaunting them for the sole purpose of making you falter. that manipulative scumbag.

the fact that it actually works makes you even angrier, though.

a sharp turn of your head, and your gaze falls on the windowpane, lingering there as you grumble under your breath. he’s so annoying. you’re growing more and more flustered by the minute, too. 

”— because you love me?” 

satoru tilts his head, white locks of hair following the movement. soft and silky, nice to run your fingers through, but you chase the thought away as soon as it enters your subconscious. he looks almost hypnotizing under the sunlight, with the golden rays illuminating his features, smoothing over the contours of his face — as if the sun was made solely to shine on his skin.

and ah, you think, there we go. satoru’s classic tactic; using your love for him as a bargaining chip, pouting down at you like a kicked puppy. you like to picture his eyes all watery and glassy, everytime he tries it, as if he’s some rejected cartoon-mascot. so silly. 

valiantly, you fight off the temptation to smile, gracing him with another little scoff instead. shooting him an unimpressed look, a tiny raise of your eyebrow. ”that won’t work on me.”

”aww, come on,” he almost coos, inching closer still. ”don’t you love me? my sweetiepie? my cute lil’ mochi?” 

(he’s getting bolder with the petnames, you note. as if that’d change anything. they’re so cheesy it makes you recoil.)

”obviously.” you deadpan, trying your best not to let affection seep into the words. but you see satoru’s lips curl up, anyway. ”i’m still not wearing it, though. sorry.”

satoru sighs. heavy, exasperated — dare you say defeated? for a second, you delude yourself into thinking he might actually give in, for once, spare you both the trouble — 

until he falls to the floor, knees hitting the soft flooring with a loud thud. awfully dramatic. he clasps his hands together as if to beg and plead, a starved dog at your feet, and gazes up at you with newfound determination.

”please, baby — i’m begging you,” he groans, voice sad and pained, agonized, like you just threatened to break up with him. silly, silly man.

”don’t grovel.” a sigh drops from your lips as the pads of your fingers go to massage your temples. soothing what you’re almost sure is an incoming headache.

and he makes a certain noise, almost a whimper, like you just kicked him in the gut. you glance down at him as if to signal really? with your eyes, lips parting to speak — 

but your breath only hitches in your throat, and no sound comes out.

satoru’s eyes are almost teary. peeking out from behind his shades, big and glassy, eyelashes dewy with what you know are just crocodile tears. he’s far too skilled at it for his own good, though — maybe you should be supporting his acting career, instead of the weird teacher-slash-sorcerer thing he’s got going on.

and you’re weak, you realize, terribly so. because something deep within your chest constricts, at those sad eyes, heart squeezed painfully, and when you speak you note that your voice sounds a lot softer. 

”satoru,” you sigh, again; more resigned this time, a little fatigued. missing the way his eyes glint at the sound, as if sensing an opportunity. ”really. i’m sorry i wasted your money, but it’s just… not happening. okay?” 

attempting to sound delicate, your voice settles on a soothing tilt, like an adult speaking to a tantrum-throwing child. hoping it’ll be enough to make him falter even slightly. 

it isn’t, of course; if anything, his determination only grows. 

”even just for a short while?” he tries, voice sweet and pliant. all daisies and sunbeams, tailormade to tug at your heartstrings. ”just an hour or so! then i’ll be satisfied.”

”an hour? no way!” you scoff.

and this time, you don’t miss it. from behind those shades, a certain glimmer of something flickers through his irises — something keen and observant. a certain dread crawls its way down your spine.

”so it’s fine if it’s less?” he grins, changing tactics, smooth and decisive. ”half an hour. that’s as low as i’ll go.”

”oh my god.” an exhale, drawn out and exhausted, from the very depths of your chest. ”satoru. toru. no. i’m not wearing it at all. this isn’t an auction.”

”but it could be,” he purrs, still on his knees. it makes him look a little bit disturbed. ”c’mon. why are you getting so shy? guess what — i’ll even settle for twenty minutes. just for you.”

oh, he’s just awful. you want so badly to be mad at him, and that teasing, smug, shit-eating little smirk of his — but you can’t. 

not when he looks so effortlessly pretty, bathed in the light of the sun, surrounded by a mellow glow so tender it makes him look something like an angel. not when he’s acting so characteristically himself, so stubborn and infuriating and entirely impossible not to love. 

another sigh. you’re a little surprised you have enough air left in your lungs to breathe it out, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re beginning to grow just a bit tired of the back and forth. ”i’m not shy,” you huff. ”i just don’t want to. it won’t look good on me, anyway.”

satoru blinks. genuine surprise shines in his eyes, for a second, like you caught him off guard. ”huh? of course it will. why wouldn’t it?”

a pause. gnawing at your bottom lip, you avert your gaze, trying to find the words. ”it’s just… tacky,” you settle on. ”it’ll look weird.”

”it won’t! you’ll look so cute!”

another huff, as your dispassionate, bored gaze meets his. ”and how do you know that?”

satoru's answer is instantaneous. ”you always look cute. just wanna see how you look in this,” he chirps, brandishing the outfit with barely contained excitement. thoroughly giddy. ”when i saw it, i knew it’d look adorable on you. and i’m never wrong!”

a soft pout plays at your lips, in the wake of his eager sincerity. barely noticeable, just a little embarrassed, but it’s there. and satoru’s seen it, finally — the road to victory. he knows he can win this, if he’s smart about it.

”i just wanna see you in it. just for a second. please? pretty please?” he tilts his head, tantalizing, showing off the blue of his eyes and the curl of his lips. ”then i’ll never ask you for anything again. promise!”

”okay, that’s a lie and we both know it.”

the grin that blooms on your lips is a mistake, you quickly realize, because satoru interprets any sign of joy on your face as positive approval. his determination grows.

”yeah, yeah… but i mean it! i won’t bother you if you just wear it once. just once!” he puts a single finger up, to emphasize the point. ”just wanna see my precious baby all frilly and cute. won’t you indulge me, oh my dearest?”

he’s grinning, now, all soft and teasing. it’s more breathtaking than he’ll ever understand. he’ll never even come close to understanding how gorgeous he is, like this — when there’s no one around to perform for, when he can just be himself. when it’s just you, and satoru, and the feeling of having all the time in the world.

(even if you don’t.)

and you know your face must be flushed, a soft cherry red, as your gaze falls to the floor. the heat on your cheeks and neck, the pitter patter of your heartbeat; you feel it all. 

and it’s embarrassing, to find yourself so fervently twisted around someone’s finger — to find that you don’t even really mind. being wrapped around satoru’s finger isn’t so awful, all things considered. it’s a scary thought, for sure, but he’d never abuse the privilege. probably.

— a sigh. 

you still don’t want to wear it. you really don’t. it’s just awful. tacky, and embarrassing, and overall unpleasant. 

… but if it’ll get him to stop nagging you like this… 

and if it’s just for a short while…

silence, only silence, spilling into the sunkissed air. outside your apartment, the sky melts into a buttery orange hue. an intense contemplation is etched into your eyes, and satoru takes note of it; opting to put the final nail in the coffin. his very last bid.

”fifteen minutes. then you’re —”

”ten minutes,” you cut him off. sounding just a tad exhausted — resigned to your fate. 

and satoru doesn’t even bother trying to hide his excitement. suddenly beaming, he shoots up to his feet, and it causes you to jolt. ”perfect,” he grins, holding the dress out toward you. a little too eager for your liking.

”— but seriously. i’m only wearing it once. never again,” you tilt your head. ”got it?” satoru just nods, happily, so excited he’s practically jumping up and down — and despite everything, you still can’t find it in you to be angry. 

he looks so earnestly giddy.

eyes brimming with suspicion and weariness, your hands reach out to take it into your arms; the puffy dress, the frilly headwear, and the black thigh highs. you’re surprised he didn’t invest in a pair of shoes, while he was at it. just to complete the set.

(you decide not to comment on it, knowing he’d have some poor, overworked shoemaker on the phone within seconds.)

”need my help putting it on?” he purrs, face suddenly very close to yours — and the sudden stutter of your heartbeat sparks a hitch of your throat. desperate to cover it up, you shoot him a hefty glare.

”oh, shut up,” you hiss, but satoru only grins wider. soft little giggles flowing from his lips, like a schoolgirl teasing her upperclassman. silly.

a heavy hesitance rests on your features, as you give the outfit another chance. judgemental eyes trailing over the bows and frills, giving it a thorough look, until your lips curl down into a soft frown. it’s not that bad, but…

”it’s kinda ugly,” you lie, decisively.

”really? i think it’s cute, though.” 

”yeah, ’cause you have no taste.” a click of your tongue. ”what’s so great about maid outfits, anyway? i don’t see the appeal.”

satoru smiles. carefree, amused — still very much teasing. ”well, we’re about to find out,” he chirps.

you give him a look, eventually giving way to a soft exhale. ”fine — but only ten minutes. at most.” a pause, as you stop to think. what else? ”oh, and no taking pictures.”

”— i’m taking pictures.”

…

the exasperated look you send his way doesn’t seem to phase satoru even in the slightest. he continues to smile at you, unbothered, soft around the edges, and you know you’re not winning this one either.

”… fine,” you sigh. ”but — not too many, okay? and you aren’t allowed to show anyone, either.”

”of course not,” he scoffs, almost offended. ”as if i’d let anyone else see you like that.”

stuck between feeling relieved and put off, you settle on simply letting it go. and satoru continues to speak, reassuringly, glossy lips shining in the sunlight as they part.

”rest assured, baby,” he hums, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. ”this stays between us. i swear on my honour.”

you snort. ”like you’ve got any of that.”

”mean. anyway — c’mon. i can’t wait any longer.” before you can think to protest, he’s ushering you away in the direction of the bathroom, big hands heavy on your shoulders as they push you. still hesitant, you make no move to resist.

(what have you gotten yourself into?)

with one final sigh, your fingers curl around the doorknob, outfit hanging off your arm. not before sending one final glance back at satoru, reinstating your conditions. ”just this once. then you’re selling it. or burning it.”

”yes, yes — you have my word,” he promises. before you can narrow your eyes, he pushes you forward, gently; bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. ”go on, i’m waiting!”

”yeah, yeah…”

the door closes behind you with a soft thud, and the reality of the situation begins to finally dawn on you. the maid outfit weighs heavy on your heart, but light in your arms — you gaze down at it with pure contempt. it’s not like you have a choice, though. satoru won’t let you wriggle away from this one. and maybe, just maybe, a part of you wants to indulge him, after all.

(his smile shone so brightly, in the light of the sun.)

and it’s almost cautious, the way you begin to dress yourself; first the thigh highs, black and silky, then the outfit itself. pulling it over your head, your arms sneaking through the openings. 

it’s a perfect fit. 

a second passes. you stop to think, brows furrowing in suspicion — did the little bastard measure you? just to make sure he got it exactly right? he has been rummaging through your closet more than usual, recently, but you didn’t think much of it. over the years, you’ve conditioned yourself not to question the things that he does. that sneaky, sneaky man.

after putting on the headwear, you finally lift your gaze, tentative and slow — to take a peek at your own reflection. the flush on your face stands out, a contrast to the black and white colour scheme of the outfit. 

and you can’t help but exhale, a little exasperated.

it’s so… frilly. there are frills on the sleeves, on the shoulderpads, on the skirt, on the hems… everywhere. little bows litter the surface of the smooth fabric, a big one attached to the collar, and several smaller ones across the sleeves. 

and as much as you loath to admit it — it is kind of cute. 

still, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re only embarrassing yourself. it’s hard not to think, when a maid outfit is staring into your soul through the mirror — and you just so happen to be wearing it.

(what the hell are you even doing?)

a low groan slips from your lips, and you crouch down, to bury your face in your knees. the flush of your cheeks is beginning to spread towards the tips of your ears, growing hotter by the minute. satoru’s about to see you like this, of all people. how on earth will he react?

(what if he thinks it looks weird, too?) 

”i’m still waiting!” a voice suddenly exclaims, sing-songy and sweet, and closer than you realized. has he just been standing there and waiting in silence, this whole time? of course he has.

”just —” you croak out, words a little strangled. ”just… give me a minute.”

satoru lets out a high-pitched whine, cheek pressed against the cold wood of the door. ”but i’ve been waiting so long already!” he complains, pouting, the urge to see you growing unbearable. impatience tugging at his heart, so excited he can barely pull himself together.

(all he can think of is you, you, you.)

curling up into a little ball, you attempt to swallow the bundle of nerves in the back of your throat — but that jittery, feather-light feeling of your heartbeat just won’t go away. it makes you feel a little paralyzed.

you're actually, genuinely, sincerely about to go show off a goddamn maid outfit. what the hell.

when you finally grasp control over your vocal cords and part your lips to speak, the voice that spills out into the air sounds more than a little meek. but you can’t quite bring yourself to care, overcome by a heart-tingling nervosity and the heat of your skin.

 ”… i don’t want to.”

satoru pauses. 

he can picture you, in his mind’s eye; the way you must look, right now. clad in frills and a cute little skirt, face flushed red and embarrassed, as you shift from foot to foot. and it takes concentrated effort, to bite back the coo that threatens to crawl up his throat — but he knows it’s still not too late for you to change your mind. if he wants to see you, he needs to be careful. so he tactfully opts not to tease you.

”come on, angel,” he soothes, instead. voice smooth like honey, like coffee with cream and too much sweetener. ”don’t be embarrassed.”

you stay silent, still attempting to suffocate the tinge of humiliation in the depths of your chest. so satoru continues. ”just come on out, hm? might as well get it over with. then you won’t have to think of it again.”

a moment passes.

”… do i have to?”

the corners of his lips curl up.

ah, you’re so cute. all embarrassed, almost childish, in the way you’re still trying to be difficult; and satoru just indulges you, all too eager to get you to show yourself to him. ”yes, you do,” he coos. ”be good f' me and come on out, okay?”

a couple moments pass. eerily silent, growing second by second. the only sound that fills the air is that of satoru’s soft breathing, the distant whirring of the ceiling fan.

until finally, he hears the squeak of the bathroom floor. you stand up, turning to glance at your reflection in the mirror one last time, before hesitantly reaching for the doorknob.

it’s slow, the way you open the door, agonizingly so — pushing at it slightly and dragging the movement out. and you can feel satoru’s presence, right behind it, as he takes a step back to give you space. when you finally step over the threshold, you adamantly refuse to meet his gaze.

(satoru’s breath hitches in his throat.)

there you stand, gaze stubbornly averted, expression flustered and mildly annoyed. cheeks dusted a dark cherry-red, that crawls towards the tips of your ears as you fidget with your frilly, oversized sleeves. they’re dressed in little bows, awfully cute, and so is the skirt — short, but not enough to expose the skin of your thighs above the thigh highs. you still squirm a little, thighs pressed together. 

and then, of course, the big bow on your collar to complete the look. pink in colour, a stark contrast to the whites and blacks of the remaining outfit.

after a moment passes with nothing but pure silence, your lips part to speak. doing anything you can to stop yourself from looking over at the man in front of you, afraid of what you’ll see. ”i don’t think it suits me,” is muttered, a tiny huff. ”… and i still don’t see the appeal, by the way.”

— but satoru doesn’t answer. 

he just stares. uncharacteristically silent, in a way you’re wholly unaccustomed to. enough so that you find yourself gnawing at your bottom lip, fidgeting with the hem of the skirt, hoping the smooth texture will soothe your nerves a little. the beating of your heart resounds in your ears, sending blood flowing through your veins with excited pumps.

the silence festers, and all you can do is let it grow, your nervosity thickening with it — until it’s just too much to bear. 

(ahh, you knew it. it really does look weird, doesn’t it? that’s to be expected. 

still, you can’t help but feel just slightly dejected.) 

”… why aren’t you saying anything?” 

the little mumble comes out sounding embarrassed, and maybe just a little defeated, too. but satoru doesn’t hear it. as your gaze falls on the man in question, slowly, you take in his expression with a frown on your face — and realize that he isn’t just keeping quiet. 

he’s completely stunned. 

no matter how hard you stare, you can’t seem to get a good read on his expression. he’s just standing there, face completely blank, eyes entirely obscured by the black of his shades. the light streaming in through the glass of the windows has shifted its course, falling away from the two of you — but you still see the vague, red tinge crawling up his neck. 

and as soon as you spot it, satoru begins his descent.

crouching down to the floor, silently, he brings his hands up to cover his face. feet against the ground with his knees folded, pressed against his chest, stilling as he inhales sharply. shades seated on top of his head, pushed up by his hands when he buried his face in them. a groan drops from his lips, muffled by the skin of his palms — but you can hear it clear as day.

”hold on, just… give me a minute…” he finally croaks out, words somehow tiny. almost shy. 

upon closer inspection, you realize your eyes weren’t deceiving you — there really is a red hue to his neck, one you aren’t used to seeing on him. strawberry-tinged dust, staining his smooth skin, the tips of his burning ears. satoru actually looks flustered, for once. and your heart can’t help but flutter.

— he thinks he might actually, genuinely die.

it’s a wonder, he thinks, that he managed not to fall to his knees the very moment he laid eyes on you. all dolled up; frilly and cute, in his own words, though they don’t come even close to properly describing how adorable you look right now. with your flushed face, shy eyes, and all those little frills and bows adorning your dress. rendering him speechless, clogging up his throat with pure unbridled love. a mouthful of honey, too sweet for even him to swallow.

god. god. he really, really needs to pull himself together.

crouched down like this, face hidden behind his hands, he can physically feel himself grow more and more flustered. senses invaded by the sound of his heartbeat, deep and visceral, until it’s all he can hear — he knew you were going to look cute, obviously, but he was seriously underestimating you. your cuteness is lethal. 

even just the sight makes him weak in the knees. even just the thought of you makes him feel a little like his heart is attempting to break out of his chest. hurling itself at his ribcage with ferocious resolve, like he could keel over and die of heart failure at any given moment. he’s pleasantly surprised that he’s managed to suppress the loud squeal his body keeps trying to let out, honestly.

and while satoru struggles with his deep, internal turmoil, all you can do is watch. looking down at him with wide eyes, as his skin flushes a bright pink, like little chrysanthemums blooming from his neck up to his ears. 

yeah, you think, there’s no doubt about it. satoru is flustered. it’s not a side of him you get to see very often, so you can’t help but be just slightly caught off guard. staring at him silently, until you snap out of it, eyes simmering with something soft and delighted.

he’s so cute.

(and maybe, just maybe — it makes you want to tease him, a little bit.)

so you crouch down, facing him with your knees against your chest, jaw resting on your crossed forearms as you gaze at him. he’s still not looking at you, face hidden behind his palms, shying away from your view.

and then you sigh. the sound catches his attention, soft — and just a little bit dejected.

”… you’re the one who wanted me to wear it,” your lips curl down into a pout, ”and now you won’t even look at me?”

satoru stiffens. 

(you sound sad. you sound disappointed.)

slowly, he parts his fingers, desperate to soothe you — blue eyes peeking out through the gaps, as if the sight of you could blind him. he then proceeds to move his hands, tentative, laboured, like he’s dragging heavy weights off his body. like it’s a struggle. 

with his face finally exposed, all flushed and pretty, bright azure eyes stare at you; brimming with pure adoration. 

satoru exhales, almost shaky. he has to take another moment to simply look at you, as if drinking in every inch of your expression. memorizing every corner of the face he’s grown to love so much.

a moment passes. then two.

then, he practically pounces on you — engulfing you like a tidal wave, trapping you in his big arms as they go to curl around your waist. shades falling off at the impact, hitting the floor with a soft thunk.

”you’re killing me,” he whines, loud and right by your ear. nuzzling into you, squeezing you like he’s a puppy with a chew toy. ”you’re so, so, so cute. d’you want me to have a heart attack?”

a hitch of your breath. that’s all you can manage, utterly failing to keep up with him as he presses you up against his chest. rocking you back and forth in his embrace, smearing open mouthed kisses across your skin; whining and murmuring about how adorable you look. 

a flurry of warmth, of love, of something a little too precious for words. something distinctly satoru, that makes you forget about everything else — as if the world stops spinning somewhere outside of his arms. as if that’s where you belong.

all you can do is indulge him. maybe you’re spoiling him a little too much, but it feels nice; letting him drown you in his overwhelming affection. the thought of creasing the dress doesn’t even seem to cross his mind, as he squeezes the life out of you.

evidently, satoru suffers from an acute case of cuteness aggression. 

”so adorable,” he murmurs, leaving wet kisses on your cheeks. his exaggerated mwahs make you feel just a tad shy. ”my little sweetheart. all dressed up for me.” 

squirming in his hold, he only brings you closer, smothering you in his warm embrace. the slightly erratic beating of his heart is all you can hear, with your cheek squished against his chest. arms keeping you nice and still, lips lingering over that one ticklish spot behind your ear. 

a little giggle slips from your lips, and satoru feels himself smile; wide and giddy, boyish and adoring. nuzzling into the comfort of your chest, soft fabric brushing against his skin, a low whine escapes his throat. ”can't take it. wanna put you in my pocket.”

”your pocket?” a grin blooms on your lips, words dripping with honeyed amusement. satoru grins right back.

”my pocket,” he hums, approvingly. ”you’re just so cute and small. gotta keep you close, so i don’t lose you.”

a huff, lighthearted. 

suddenly, the grip around your midriff tightens — and you’re hoisted up, stumbling a little as satoru lets go of you. still holding onto you by your wrists, softly, delicately, as if you’re made of glass. when you lift your head, all you can see is his satisfied little grin, and the twinkle of his eyes.

your heart flutters. 

satoru gazes at you, silently, still drinking you in. every second spent staring into the brightness of your eyes fills his heart up just a little more; colourful, heart-shaped candies, scooped up and poured into the hole in his chest. patching it right back up, so effortlessly sweet that it makes him want to pluck every star from the sky and offer them at your feet. 

”alright,” he breathes, taking a step back. breaking the delicate silence, a little dance between him and time. fingers still curled around your wrist. ”do a twirl for me.”

a humoured scoff. ”hell no.”

”aw, come on! you gotta pose for the photo, baby.”

before you know it, satoru’s got his phone out — and it’s aimed right at you. by the time you notice it, you’re fairly certain he’s already managed to snap a couple pictures. so all you can do is sigh, in faux exasperation.

”c’mon, c’mon,” he coos. ”give me a smile, pretty.”

a roll of your eyes, as you bite your lip to muffle a soft bout of laughter. it doesn’t really work. ”i’m good.”

satoru seems unaffected by your words, pulling back from your touch reluctantly; just so he can make a show out of playing the cameraman, switching between elaborate positions and taking pictures from angle after angle. somehow, you get the feeling he’s forgotten your request to keep the pictures to a minimum.

(he looks like he’s having fun, though. so you let it slide. just this once.)

”god. you’re way too cute for your own good, you know that?” he murmurs, leaning down to take another picture. and it flusters you, how smoothly the words slip from his lips, how it seems like he barely even has to think about them at all. 

it’s a little embarrassing, in a heart-fluttering kind of way. but you do your best to hide it.

”you’re a sap,” is all you say, soft smile playing at your lips. 

”and you’re adorable,” satoru grins. 

then he slips his phone into his back pocket, satisfied with the collection, and grabs your hand.

his fingers curl around yours, softly — and then he lifts it up. bringing it to his lips. they’re warm, as he kisses across your knuckles, the tips of your fingers. soft as a feather, tickling your skin. 

(as if he’s whispering psalms under his breath. as if he’s worshipping you.)

then he tilts his head, eyes gazing at you sweetly. sweeter than fresh mandarin slices, splotches of marmalade, his favorite caramel fudge. and his eyes crinkle, crow’s feet and dimples peeking out as he smiles, an easygoing kind of joy blooming on that pretty face of his — youthful, boyish. it suits him more than anything.

his voice comes out smooth, awfully coaxing. so very easy to give in to, paired with that breathtaking grin. 

”one tiny twirl?” he asks, politely.

he’s so annoying. 

(but you’re far too in love to say no.)

so with a single roll of your eyes, and a soft little scoff, you relent. indulging him once more, just one more time. just one little twirl.

satoru feels his heart squeeze painfully, deep within his chest, as he watches you spin around. skirt and frills ruffled by the movement. just once, a soft little twirl with your fingers intertwined. far too precious for his heart to take.

when you stop, just a tiny bit dizzy, he leans in, and the kiss he leaves on your forehead is soft. chaste, but it still pulls a blissful sigh from the back of your throat. satoru’s lips curl up against your skin, before he pulls back — eyes almost overflowing with affection.

”cutie.”

you blink. 

averting your gaze, flustering a little under the weight of his love-filled eyes, all you can do is emit a soft little huff. embarrassed, as it flows from your lips. but it only makes satoru’s smile grow further.

”okay, okay. you’ve had your fun.” you clear your throat. ”time’s up.”

suddenly, satoru’s eyes fill with something akin to dread — nose crinkling, just barely, a sign of his displeasure. ”noooo,” he whines, draping his arms around you. tugging you close. ”just a little more? please? pretty please?”

”nope! we said ten minutes. no take backs.”

”can’t i have an extension? since i’m your favorite?” satoru pouts, puppy dog eyes in full force. only this time, they don’t work as well as he’d hoped.

”nope,” you repeat, popping the p. ”sorry.” another whine buzzes right by your ear, and you smile. 

”and then we’re burning it.”

”noooo!” 

”sorry, but it’s gotta go.” you bite back a soft grin. satoru sounds agonized, voice dripping with grief, and it makes your heart dance with barely contained laughter.

”but then you can’t wear it anymore, baby…”

”that’s kinda the point, toru.”

”but you’re so cute in it,” he pouts, bringing you closer still. squeezing at your waist and rubbing his cheek against the top of your head. ”it’d be such a waste if you never wore it again, don’tcha think?”

he’s trying his best, you can tell — attempting to make you falter, coax you into wearing it just a little longer. but for today, you’re done indulging him.

”well, too bad.” nuzzling into his neck, your tone settles on a firm tilt; decisive, as you nip at his skin. just a little teasing. ”i said i’d never wear it again, and i meant it.”

a moment passes. maybe it’s the warmth of your lips on his skin, or maybe he can tell you aren’t budging — whatever the case, satoru finally seems to relent. an exhale tumbles from his tongue, deep and drawn out. ”fineee,” he drawls. ”i’ll just buy you a new one.”

”i won’t wear it. i’ll just get angry.”

”at lil’ old me? really?”

”really really,” you click your tongue. ”if you love maid outfits so much, why don’t you wear one yourself?” a beat. ”it’d look good on you.”

satoru perks up, suddenly. pulling away so his eyes can meet yours, bright and teasing, glazed over with something excited. ”oh?” he purrs. ”you wanna see me in one, huh? so bold, baby.”

a scoff slips from your lips, sharp but tinged with laughter. ”well, it’s only fair, right?” grinning up at him, your hand reaches out to smooth away his bangs. fingertips trailing across the expanse of skin, touch so very tender that his eyes flutter shut. ”i think you’d pull it off better than i ever could, anyway.”

a hum buzzes in his throat, seconds ticking by slowly; a dance with him and time. an attempt to prolong the softness of the moment.

”hmm… well, i’ll consider it.” just barely holding back a smile, he leans into your touch. ”you gotta wear it with me, though. we can buy a matching set!”

”that makes no sense,” you huff, with a raise of your brow. ”i’ve already worn it once, so next time, it’s gotta be all you.”

”sorry, baby, but you need to do it too.” he cradles you close, smoothing a palm down your spine, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. chest rumbling with the smooth timbre of his voice, words rich with teasing fondness. ”i’m too shy to do it by myself.”

and you really, really wish you could be angry with him — but it’s just impossible. 

satoru is just way too lovable, smile far too sunny and warm for you not to melt under. and his caress says more than words ever could, light and doting, careful and loving; like how a believer cups a handful of holy water. as if you could slip from his grasp at any moment, so he has to keep you extra close.

in the end, all protests and complaints die on your tongue. you only laugh, soft and breathy, filling the air with a fondness so palpable you can almost taste it. bordering on something close to a scoff, but never quite getting there. 

eventually, satoru does — begrudgingly — let you change out of the outfit. whining a little, sulking a tad, before brightening right back up again. like clockwork, the sun peeking out after a rain shower, the calm after the storm. always that same happy smile, wrapping you around his little finger.

satoru, in all his glory; your very own pocket of sunshine. annoying, stubborn, thoughtful — 

and yours, wholly and thoroughly.

(while you’re busy gazing at him adoringly, satoru grumbles under his breath. contemplation painted on his features, as his mind spins in circles. frills, bows, lace…

what kind of design would make him look the prettiest for you?)

[erika-xero]

Thoughts on ai and Art

What has Ai really changed for me is the perception of my own art. Years back, I was extremely concerned of my work being imperfect: everything had to look "right", the anatomy had to be flawless, the lines - clean and refined. The pipe-line had to be flawless too: minimal amount of layers, one - for lines, one - for colors, and a few for lighting/shading.

Meanwhile I was yearning for chaos and the standard pipe-line felt too strict, too limiting. I finished the drawing and cried over the imperfections, but I could not let myself create a new layer and just paint it all over as I wanted to - that would "mess up my perfect psd". This was even harder because I started as a traditional artist and traditional art is basically the same as drawing on one layer or stacking the layers on top of each other whenever you wish to change anything. I was so obsessed with the anatomy/perspective looking right that my works started looking boring and stiff. If I was not sure that I would be able to draw a certain body part at a certain angle ANATOMICALLY PERFECT - I just refused to draw it at all. Drawing back then was HARD. I forced too much limitations upon myself, I was so scared of making any mistakes and thus did everything I could to avoid the risk to fail. It felts like an entire world would see me failing and everyone - literally everyone - will disapprove. And don't get me wrong - the art community in my country has always been astonishingly toxic. We had, like, a group of 20 THOUSANDS individuals hunting down children online and bullying them into oblivion for drawing anime and furry characters in their school textbooks. And pretty much everyone except a small group of people (which I was a part of) thought that it's absolutely fine and this is how the things should be. Even the industry professionals were absolutely sure that young artists have to suffer and be ashamed of everything they do unless it is absolutely flawless at an any aspect. I was ashamed of everything I did back then. I was ashamed of drawing and posting sketches because I felt like they are not good enough to be shown to anyone. And then the Ai-boom started. And I had mixed feelings because I was not THAT scared, but I was somewhat disappointed of people? General public praised the generated slop ignoring the mistakes far worse than what real artists got bullied for for DECADES. The synthetic artworks are shiny. They are overrendered. They are liveless, boring, they lack fundamentals and yet somehow people viewed them as some kind of a miracle. I decided to learn how does those little machines generated their slop out of morbid curiosity, just to make sure that I got it right and it is spitting out cadavers created from mutilated, dismembered works of real artists. Used by people who did not care enough to pick up a bloody pencils. And I thought: why would I care enough to look at something that no one bothered to create? And then I started seeing everything I do completely different. I suddenly stopped caring of being perfect. Every piece I have ever done, every work I was crying over for it being ugly, every messy sketch and unfinished doodle suddenly started to matter a lot. Not that I stopped caring of doing my best, no. I stopped wishing to disown my own mistakes. They are my own. I cared enough to try and fail and to try again, and fail so badly that I wanted to cry, scream and throw up. And I repeated the cycle for long enough that I started to enjoy my silly doodles and started loving every tiny imperfection because this is what made my art so human. I still suck at drawing hands and feet. My line-art is messy and I started doing it right on top of my colored sketch. My pipe-line is in chaos and my PSDs look like a total mess of three hundreds of layers. I draw sketches with huge-ass round brush only adding the details that really matters. My works are better than they could ever be because they feel alive and chaotic as we human had always been. This is a love letter to my art and write it while flipping off my middle finger to the cadavers generated by the machine. I will not be stopped by glorified autocomplete and I refuse to be outdone by people who confuse googling an image with the act of creation.

My worst drawing is better than any of the generative imagery out there, because I cared drawing it.

[clairdelunelove]

I just know that itadori yuuji would be the guy on the beach that you get a glimpse of and never forget. 

what started out as a summer trip planned by friends turned into more of a self-care day that you all could share. to take a break from the usual, mundane cycle of school and work. just a pause to relax due to the rare occasion you all can clear your schedules to enjoy your youth. to have a little fun. to breathe in some fresh air and soak up some sun. you weren’t expecting a flawless trip; in fact, you kept your expectations pretty low and didn’t stress too much about the logistics. nothing too hectic. thus, when it was a blazingly hot day with not a single cloud scattered across the cerulean sky and the wind was perfect– traveling to the beach was a no-brainer. so after packing a few essentials you all hit the road. the car ride was a jumble of upbeat, carefree music and all the radio’s top tracks. with the car’s windows rolled down, your group of friends zealously croon all the wrong lyrics with pride and erupt in laughter when people from other cars stare a bit too intently. bright, mirthful smiles on all your faces in hopes of making new memories with this trip. just a good time, overall. 

so imagine your surprise when your friends assign you to unpack the beach chairs from the car and drag them over to the designated spot. in their defense, it’s a beautiful spot. the ideal blend of shade and dazzling sunlight since it’s right underneath the beach’s main cove. it overlooks golden sand that’s bordered by the water’s white foam due to the spilling waves that caress the shoreline. not to mention that the water is superbly tepid, the right temperature that has your friends sighing in content. it’s the hangout spot that anyone would treasure for the day. extraordinarily so, that your friends immediately grab a handful of items (towels, bags, etc.) from the car’s trunk and quickly dash to claim it. leaving you to haul the heavier pieces by yourself.

“guys! seriously?” you rhetorically ask, aware that your voice wasn’t going to reach them from how far they were. 

a heavy exhale leaves your lips as you continue to heave the obnoxiously colored chairs across the sand. you suppose that this was probably the best option, though. the beach already had a handful of people scattered along the stretch of land and it was bound to get busier by the second. but the heft of the chairs, coupled with your need to briskly catch up to your friends, proved to be more responsibility than you can manage. it happens abruptly. before your grip on the aluminum handles slip, a heavy hand descends to alleviate the extra weight and you’re face-to-face with the most attractive stranger you’ve ever laid your eyes on. 

“need a hand?” 

and a part of you wishes to blurt that you might need more than just his hand. because he’s stunning– in the way that causes your face to warm as your eyes drag along his physique. his skin is glowy like he’s grazed by sunlight itself and brushed with freckles that you yearn to trace your fingers over. his hair is a blushy, vibrant shade that creates a halo behind him and emphasizes his boyish charm. and his smile, the one that good-naturedly curves along his lips, is blinding as he regards you. he’s clad in a white tank top and swim trunks, although, you’ve never quite seen such prominent dips of muscle despite him being completely covered up.

you stutter out your gratitude, too occupied with furiously bowing your head to notice how his gaze shifts to do an inquisitive once-over. and he already knows he’s in trouble. you’re oh so pretty; big, sparkly eyes and glossy lips. a voice that sounds like someone slowly plucking the strings of a violin. soft skin that gleams. his dream girl. knocks the wind out of his chest and he discreetly clears his throat in order to speak. 

“don’t worry ‘bout it,” he mentions while drawing a finger to bashfully swipe at his nose, “just didn’t wanna see such a pretty girl in distress.” 

and you can already tell he’s sickeningly sweet. not like the type that you usually run into when you’re strolling through the city streets. no, you were certain that he wasn’t from around here. probably stored away in a faraway town that you’d never have the chance to visit. after all, the boys that pursued you were accustomed to low effort and unkept promises. not him, however.

hands raised in alarm, he hastily tries to correct his overly blunt compliment and you’re left giggling at his dismay. 

“the ball, dude!” 

a group of athletic males, you assume they’re the stranger’s friends, holler at him as they point to the volleyball that rolled beside you. must’ve been launched over when you were focused on the attractive stranger. you awkwardly shift your feet. of course, all good things must come to an end. too much heaven is bound to make a person selfish. but this was almost too quick for you to thoroughly enjoy. he remains unmoving despite his friends’ chiding for him to come back so they can resume their game. almost reluctant. his gaze deviates to the ball and then goes back to you. a glimmer in his disheartened eyes. 

you glance over, shyly smiling at his unwillingness to hurry back to them, “I think they’re waiting for you.” 

and that breaks him out of stupor. he bites his lower lip, seemingly debating, and promptly utters another apology. quips about how impatient they are over a silly game of beach volleyball. muttering about how they had all day to play. the words spill out of his mouth. reasoning to explain the short-lived encounter. and you can’t help but swoon because he has such a boyish charm to him. 

yet, before you can take your leave, the blushy-haired male blurts, “can you give me a second?” 

“please.” 

recognizes that he’s got you hook, line, and sinker when you press your lips together with an appeased nod. you’re fighting off the beginnings of a smile as he visibly perks up at your response. like a dog finally rewarded with a treat after a session of training. he scoops up the volleyball, eagerly tosses it back to his friends, and mentions for them to not wait up for him. doesn’t bat an eye to how the ball whizzes past them and into the sea. never thought twice about his appalling strength.

and he’s giddy now. all dizzying grins and flighty movements. it's almost too adorable. accidentally brushes against your hand as he’s walking and hastily pulls away like he’d been burned. visibly gulps when you teasingly smooth your hand over his shoulder. and his eyes flutter in desperation when your fingers gently card along his soft hair. though, his eyes never leave yours. they're the perfect shade of liquid honey. makes you reminisce of apricot trees and apple pies. set in determination to etch you into his mind. you'll be in his memory forever. and it’s mushy and gentle. you never want this day to end. 

yuuji ends up carrying all your beach chairs in one strong hand. wasn’t too inclined to accept your compliments for his strength but he does notice how your gaze often drifts to the apparent veins on his forearms. he never comments on it, however. just causes him to puff up in pride when he offers you his other arm and you hold onto it for stability (or so he believes). such a pretty sight as you waltz in the sand and throw him an overjoyed smile when you pick up sparkling seashells. you’re completely satiated. an unexpected surprise during the lax, summery trip. a drop of saccharine that sent his dull world plummeting into the deepest depths of the very sea that you pranced along. and if your friends notice the rather recent and charming addition to their group, one that hangs upon your every word– they don’t mention it.

at least now they have someone to carry all their heavy stuff for them. 

[late-draft]

Hello, Dema here!

First off—I have fallen desperately in love with your artworks. You have a very particular style, strong and fluid all the same, and I can't help but admire the way you draw and how you approach character design.

And talking about character design...

I saw your post about Zuko's bold design in S1 when compared to what we got in S3 and—as much as I love S3-Zuko—I completely agree with you. Something I've always loved about Zuko in S1 is just how striking he was, how much of a presence he had, even when he was being tossed around by a twelve-year-old. That being said, I love Zuko, I love him in armor and pointy shoes and with a ponytail, and I loved your alternative design for him.

What do you think about his S2 character design? How does it flow with the story beats and his overall character arc? Much has been said about the Hair-Growth-Means-Character-Growth (and I find it interesting, also, that he cut his hair again before joining the Gaang), but I'd like to know your opinion on how that translates to character design and how the decisions made in the show could be either good or bad in that regard.

Sorry about the long ask! I've just been thinking about this a lot, lately, and would like to know what you think. Hope you have a good day ❤️

AAAA Dema hii!!! I'm so happy I got a message from you, I didn't expect it!!

I'm super glad to hear, I'll wear it as a badge of honour and I must tell you that I also love your art, you wonderfully do volume and the shading done through a contrast of sharp and soft areas! Super solid anatomy too and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look up to your art!

Yess the character designs in the show actually are rather strong, I like a good balance between memorable and functional. Zuko is just *chef kiss* but, considering just how many appearance changes he goes through, some are bound to be weaker than the starting one. That said, I'm gonna go through a few of his S2 looks and make this reply long, ha!

The starting one when he ends up huddling with uncle Iroh with other poor refugees, fits extremely well for the narrative at the moment. It's actually one of my least liked looks for him, and that's great!! It's precisely how it should be, because he's also arguably at one of his two lowest moral points in the story - he basically lost almost all hope, no clear goal, nothing to fight for, he's desperate precisely because of the lack of orientation and thus his morals degrade and sink veeery low. He gets on my nerves so goddamn much in this period LMAO I want to beat him up, he looks like a recovering drug addict... annoying, entitled whiny jerk stealing food and anything shiny for his uncle, but even then he just does not cross the moral event horizon. Excellent characterization. He just looks atrocious and it's great because it fits this low point.

Next he gets the standard boyish square of a hair, no notes here...

But theeeen, he arrives at one of my favourite looks of his, and it's not just because the clothes fit him very nicely (I've seen fandom say they look too big for him which, maybe?? But it doesn't look like he's swimming in them to me) And a thing I've noticed which, maybe it was just an accident on design part but I'm not sure considering they colour coded the entire cave scene; in this part his clothes match the shape of Katara's, first one in bottom then the one in top. The collar is the same haf-circle design but I don't know, maybe there was a limited pool of clothes designs guide which they cycled through. Or, he really is meant to come close but miss Katara by a beat, like sine and cosine chasing each other.

But besides this outfit fitting the inconspicuous Earth Kingdom customer service persona, it also (perhaps inadvertently) does this VERY cool thing:

It makes his shape look closed off and guarded, supposedly non-threatening. It's most visible in his fight against Jet, whose shape is open and goes in many directions like an aggressive star. But then look at what Zuko's shape does:

When he attacks, it opens up to reveal the hidden aspect, again the aggressive star shape shows up! The same thing happens in "Zuko alone" episode but I think it's most clearly visible in this fight against Jet because here he has a direct contrast and comparing with Jet. I think this is an example where the outfit, whose similar design exists irl, overlaps with a great visual metaphor and enhances the narrative at that moment in story. He's still that combative firebender but he has to keep that aspect concealed most of the time. Plus it just looks badass as hell!!

Animators really knocked it out of the park with many frames. I think Jun was too early and missed his better hairstyle, but Katara was just in time.

I agree it's super funny how his hair in the Beach is awfully long, covers his face to an uncomfortable degree and then he apparently shortens it before joining the Gaang, insane behaviour Truly an "I'm so angry and depressed I won't show my face nor be capable of seeing anything because there's nothing nice to see in my life" look...

I guess all his appearances in S2 cover his mental states, but only one of them is extremely Extra (the tea server, doesn't even take the apron off and goes to fight) and I don't see any spot where a similar tier design could be shoved in, narratively speaking. So all in all, S2 did as much as S2 could have. More tea server arc please though, the Guru episode really feels like it skipped 800 km of plot and everything that happened in it is so crammed and pretty sus in terms of character behaviour.

[befabeebee]

I can just imagine Bob Floyd having a motorcycle that nobody knows about until you walk into the hard deck with the gloves/helmet w him. 😝😝

Bob (Robert) Floyd x Gn Reader!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ +*:ꔫ:*﹤ ·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. ﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It was a normal Friday night, you and bob had both gotten off a work and decided to meet the rest of the dagger squad at the Hard Deck like you did most Fridays. Bob had helped you pick an outfit because you didn’t know what would be appropriate and safe for the ride over. He had gotten you your own helmet a couple months ago and helped you decorate it to your liking. He loved how excited you were to be able to ride along with him to and from places. In the end you decided a simple hoodie and jeans would suffice and maybe a slight hair curl for spice. He gave you his favorite hoodie, the one that smelled like him and the cologne you got him for your anniversary. As you arrive at the Hard Deck, you have no place to put the gloves he makes you wear so you end up putting them in your back pocket and forgetting about them for the rest of the night, until…

“What are these for?” Hangman asks confused as he pulls one of the gloves out of your pocket.

“What do you mean?..” You asks more confused than he was.

“The gloves. What are they for? Since when did you need gloves to drive a car?” You would think he’d use more common sense because he’s a pilot but I guess not.

“It’s for the motorcycle. Duh.” You say sarcastically as you truly think he is joking about being a brain dead moron right in front of your eyes.

“Since when did you have a motorcycle?”

“It’s not for me, it’s for Bob”

“SINCE WHEN DID BOB HAVE A CYCLE???” He exclaims as a shocked look paints his features.

“Baby on Board!! When did you get a cycle?!?” He yells across the bar at Bob who is winning pool against FanBoy and Coyote.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I got it like 3 years ago, nothing special” Bob casually says as he returns his focus back on the pool table.

You look at hangman and smirk, “He looks good riding it too..~” You softly giggle and walk towards your lovely boyfriend.

You look up at him as he rests his arm around your waist softly, “Love, I think i’m ready to go..”

He looks down at you as his eyes turn to concern, “Why? What’s wrong? What happened?” He asks worried ready to set someone straight.

“No nothing happened, i’m just.. ready to take a ride..” You say to him widening your eyes innocently

He shoots you a confused look and takes a minute to fully in what you mean.

“A ride? We can do laps in a bit love..” He tells you trying to ease your rushing nerves

“No love.. the other kind of ride..~” You smirk and softly kiss his cheek. His face starts to burn and his skin turns the sweetest shade of pink you’ve seen many times before. You strut out of the bar and go to lean on his bike.

“Uhm.. Guys I gotta go.. Something came up.. “ He places down the pool cue and nods to Fanboy and Coyote. “We can rematch another time!..” He runs after you and both of you leave swiftly.

The Dagger Squad is shocked and Phoenix smirks and sips her beer giggling.

A/N: Hi guys.. This is my first writing with Bob so if it is bad i’m sorry, i tried to be creative but i don’t know how to write good blurbs 😭🙏 I would love tips and or requests to write and get better, thanks!!! 🩷🩷

[answer2jeff]

fixer-upper. // lip gallagher

lip x biker-girl!OC

warnings : public sex, oral (m!receiving), praise kink, light to rough hair-pulling, unestablished relationship, intense and obvious flirting, porn with plot and detail, mentions of smoking (tobacco), cursing, OC is just as full of herself as Lip, knows she's a bitch, kinda has a weird sense of possessiveness over him?? clunky and overly detailed writing with a journaling/diary style.

authors note : trying something a little different! using the first person POV with an original character. first time writing this way—still getting the hang of it <3 this is REALLY long...sorry.

song : beauty school.

disclaimer : you can picture the OC however you like! her name is really just used for aesthetic purposes. there isn't much description on her appearance other than the fact that her hair is long enough to put it in a ponytail. enjoy!

Great. Fucking great.

One of my tires is punctured. The visor in my helmet is cracked. My elbows are etched with surface level scratches and dried blood. And the engine cover of my bike has finally snapped off. I had it coming. It was an old piece of rusty junk from my cousins garage sale from 2012, anyway. But it had charm. I knew I was gonna miss that bike for the good couple of hours, possibly days, I would reluctantly end up leaving it in a repair shop down the street from my apartment.

I can hear the squelch of skin, the seal between my hot breath and sweaty skin breaking as lift my helmet from my head. I hope to feel a rush of cool air, but the humidity tells me to go fuck myself. I'm pulled over onto the curb. I can't totally remember how I got there; being in the middle of the street on a scorching summer day wearing denim shorts that chafe up my inner thighs and rub my skin until it is raw and red and unbearably itchy, was not my vision for today. My handlebars are loose. That would explain it.

If I just take it to Born Free Cycles, leave it overnight, and come back in the morning, I can act like this whole thing never happened, and I'm not horribly irresponsible.

40th West View Ave.

Oh. I'm close actually. Barely a block away. I should go there now. I can call Mikey and have him drop me and the bike off at the garage. I'll see that kid with the grown out buzz-cut and black motor grease on his knuckles that somehow always transfers and blots on his face. Specifically on his strong jaw and right before the peak of his hairline. I wonder if he notices. Maybe he doesn't clean it off because it gives him edge that he doesn't need. Like the nickname on his name tag on a black uniform hadn't given his thirst for trouble away already. And the circles under his eyes are almost the same shade of smudged charcoal grey.

I wonder if he notices.

—

"So the engine cover popped? Just—" he shrugs, looking up at me as if I can't understand him "clean off?"

The sunlight bleeds in through the open garage door. It shines behind Lip, casting a shadow that makes his face hard to see perfectly. But I know the look he's conveying. His eyebrows are raised but drawn slightly closer together, his teeth are gnawing at the inside of his cheek so he can stifle a smile and the laugh that will follow soon after, and his blinks remain slow. I try not to smile too. But I fail.

I've only been here about 3 times, really. The first time was to get handlebar grips from Eddie. That was when I saw Lip. I chose not to make any kind of move, but it ate at my insides until the second time. That time was with Mikey. I was preoccupied with the blue-eyed kid, propped up on a workbench and throwing mindless flirty implications at him while he took long drags from a cigarette, to remember why Mikey was even doing there and why he dragged me along with him. His laugh, the playful eye-roll after I complimented his sweat-laden blonde curls weighed down by heat humidity, told me he was on board.

But I wasn't done.

I knew this time I'd pounce for what was mine.

"Yeah," I breathe out, crossing my arms and peering down at him, "And I mighta' been redlining the RPM a little too much. Probably fried the fucking thing."

Lip nods, the corner of his mouth curling up just a bit. He beckons his hand toward himself, telling me to kneel down beside him to inspect the bike. "This things kinda old, huh?" He teases, turning his head to me and finally letting a real smile break. It warms something in me. I shrug. He glances at my white tank-top, covered in black stains of dirt and oil.

"It's not great, no. It's a piece of shit. But it's cute!" I play along with him, taking the hairband on my wrist and twisting my hair into a high ponytail. Lip huffs though his nose, shaking his head and laughing again.

The next couple of minutes are filled with him telling me things I already know. Things I was too exhausted to manage on my own, defeating the whole purpose of why I was here. Fuck the bike. I know what's wrong with the bike. I know it's an old piece of junk and it's barely salvageable. You should know why I'm here. And maybe you do. But you should do something about it.

Lip has this way of speaking to me that feels ridiculously sweet and overly 'cool.' I know it's just his cadence and his cockiness, but I like it. I like that he thinks it makes me swoon. Partially because he's right, but mostly because I've mastered hiding it. He doesn't see my heart pound or the rising heat in my abdomen when he cracks his knuckles or puts a hand on my shoulder and let's it travel down to the small of my back when I crouch down beside him to look at another motorcycle he's trying to save. I'm almost certain he convinces himself that my gestures are nothing more than a meaningless flirt. I simply find him attractive, as does everyone. Nothing more.

But he's got it all wrong.

He knows my intentions somewhat well enough to the point where he can't not flirt back, though. He knows I haven't stopped him from letting his eyes travel from mine to my lips whenever I speak. He likes that I let him light my cigarettes for me. But he doesn't know this isn't just for fun. I'm so hyper-aware that it isn't out of the kindness of his heart. And neither are his compliments and lame jokes he makes to impress me. He treats my attraction to him as fact, but my genuine interest as a possibility.

Again, he's wrong.

I can't wrap my head around how he could reciprocate my efforts without ever pushing the envelope and asking to exchange numbers, or if I had a boyfriend, or maybe he had one of his own. No, no. He'd tell me if he had a girlfriend. He is, above all else, loyal.

Lip's what I want. I meant when I said his hair looked nice. I meant when I gave him a 20-dollar gratuity and a peck on his cheek just for giving me a repair cost estimate on my shattered headlight. I smile any time he says my name: Maeve.

Hey Maeve, back so soon, huh?

Hand me that box, Maeve.

Y'alright, Maeve?

Yo, Maeve, wanna bum one?

Maeve, Maeve, Maeve.

—

"Think you'll be back tomorrow to pick it up? No rush, though. I can keep it 'till you're ready," Lip asks me, leaning against the wooden workbench littered with microfiber towels and tools. His swell arms are crossed to his chest. I nod, coating my fingertips with a thin film of spin while I fish out some cash from my beat up faux leather wallet.

"A-huh. Thanks," I hand him 6 twenties before glancing at the opening of his button-down uniform.

The corner of my mouth lifts itself into a knowing smirk, my hand on my hip as I shift my weight to it, making my chest stick out and my spine bend correspondingly. My lips hang open a measly centimeter apart before I draw the bottom one between my teeth. I watch him sort through the cash, biting down harder on the flesh of my lip when he freezes.

"Looks like you're a good 15 short," he barely mumbles, looking up at me through his eyelashes. His brows narrow down to me again. I click my tongue coyly. I step closer to him, my hand, with fingernails painted black, pushing the cash in his palms down and his arms down with it.

"About that..." I pause, tilting my head with a look of naivety and not bothering to push away the strand of hair that has fallen from my ponytail and over my eye. Instead, I wait and let Lip set the pile of cash down and draw the curtain of my hair open to reveal my face. My stomach twists on itself, and I can practically feel his chest rising and falling with every anxious breath in my own lungs.

I beg to whatever higher power lies above us in this garage that a kiss will work. Not that it usually doesn't, but my form isn't as confident as it typically would be. The guys I wrap around my finger aren't as driven as Lip is. And God, none of them are part of my tantalizing daydreams nearly as often as he is. I picture his rough hands exploring me, squeezing and rubbing over the valleys of my skin. I imagine his breath is hot with the taste of mint and cigarettes. Every part of me wants to know if my predictions are accurate. If he's the type to sink his teeth into my neck and shoulder blades just to apologize to the reddening skin with open-mouthed kisses. The anticipation kills me. It's enough to swallow me whole.

"...Maybe I can pay you back a different way?"

I barely whisper and Lip scoffs, glancing away from my gaze, scanning the area just for it to be completely empty. He comes back to me. His eyes go a little wider than before. Almost to say, 'oh shit, you're serious?' I stick my tongue between my teeth and tug on his uniform, feeling the fabric rub between my sweaty fingertips. My eyes watch Lip's adam's apple bob as he swallows a breath.

"Yeah?" He thumbs my bottom lip and pulls it down, his free hand traveling down to my hip and pulling me closer to him, "what were y'thinking, Maeve?"

"Mmmm," I hum while pressing my hand against his chest while the other cups his cheek, and I let the pad of my thumb graze over the grove of his defined cheekbones. "Dunno yet."

My teasing is much to Lip's dismay, but he handles it quite well. It's sobering to see a guy as seemingly self-involved and easily impressed play into my mind games. It only pushes me further, and he knows it. I crash my lips into his, my hands anchoring themselves on his shoulders for support. He sighs into me, a hand reaching down to hook a finger through the belt loop of my shorts and drag me closer to him. His hand cups my cheek and pulls me into his mouth to let his tongue slip past my own. And he tastes just as I expected. Minty, smoky, and mine. I practically grind my self onto him in complete desperation, feeling him harden under me. Every roll of his hips threatens to send me over the edge. And fuck, his muffled groans of pleasure against my mouth that ring in my ears are hypnotic. But even with his sturdy, growing buldge forcing the fabric of my shorts to press roughly on my clit, I need this to last.

Blissfully and ever so slowly.

I finally pull away to catch my breath, the buck of our waists slowing down. My head feels fuzzy and heat rises in my cheeks when I open my eyes to see how flushed Lip's face is. Even the tips of his ears have turned a little red. I smile, giggling like a teenager who just kissed her crush in a closet at a house party as a dare. He laughs back in a way that asks 'what are we even doing?'

"Thought you had a boyfriend."

I pause, my eyebrows knitted. I try to think of who he could possibly be referring to.

Ah.

"Who? Mikey?" I try not to laugh, looking around to the imaginary audience to check if they're really hearing this nonsense too, "ew, no. He's like my brother."

Lip lets out a breath of relief he almost didn't realize he'd been holding. It surprises me. Probably a lot more than it should. But hey, for the other 3 times I've been here, I kept asking myself why his flirting was just as intense as mine, but he never asked for my number or made a true move on me. To think that my friend had been unintentionally cockblocking me with his ridiculous height and horrid American traditional tattoos all over his arms, and it wasn't because the guy had a girlfriend...it's almost funny.

"Oh," he replies, his eyebrows raising. Now both of his hands rest at my hips.

"What? Is that why you left me hangin' when I did this?" I press a kiss against his cheek, my palm rubbing over his shoulder to pull a chuckle out of him.

"I guess so, yeah. Just didn't want him to kill me for getting to close t'you," he kisses my cheek, smiling again.

"Geez. Mikey wouldn't hurt a fucking fly. He just...looks scary. Plus, nobody tells me what to do."

"Noted. Glad to hear that, actually."

"Mikey is—" I pause, biting the inside of my cheek "a sweet guy."

"Uh-huh."

"Too sweet. And I hate the aftershave he uses. He's—he's entirely too much."

"Mm."

"Whatever. Shut up."

"Didn't say anything," he shrugs, trying and failing to act clueless.

Fuck. He's fucking glad. He's glad I don't have a stupid-waste-of-my-time-cockblocking-boyfriend on my hip who's constantly watching my every move and stopping me from giving all of myself to Lip. Hell, I'm glad too. Very glad. With one swift movement, I take matters into my own hands again. I undo every last plastic button on his uniform, snaking down his chest and abdomen. I latch onto his neck, biting the skin and sucking a bruising hickey. He shivers beneath me and wraps his hand around my ponytail, huffing breathless chuckles and slowly getting more and more frustrated with my agonizingly slow, torturing pace for foreplay.

I bend my knees to begin my descend to the ground, kissing down his torso. My hands travel down his sides. Lip gently lets go of my hair to lean back into the workbench, never letting his head reel back so he can carefully watch me tenderly adhere to his needs while anchoring his hands behind him for support. I giggle to myself, relishing in the affect I have on him.

Shit. This is risky. Screw it. Pretty girl without a boyfriend who tips in 20 dollar bills and blowjobs? How could I say no? No part of me wants to back out, Lip's mind races, his grip tightening on the wooden slab as he clenches his jaw.

I wonder if he's nervous. Or maybe he's done this time and time again: fucking a girl right in this garage. Possibly bent over this very work bench. Those girls must've been so easy. I can bet on my life that they were never as fun, never as wet, never as needy as me. This would be different. I wouldn't give him everything he wanted and more that quickly. A girl deserves to have her fun. She deserves to watch the overly confident guy she's fancied for weeks, who continues to play hard to get, squirm and writhe with every slight of hand she gives him.

And that's exactly what I'm doing.

"Y'having fun down there?" Lip chastises me, chuckling lightly to himself as he tilts his head down to get a better look at my face.

My kisses stop right above the waistband of his jogger pants. I look up at him pleadingly through my lashes, my eyes big with lust and cunning seduction. I pull the middle of the waistband down just so I can drag my tongue across the exposed skin just centimeters away from his cock. The curls of his happy trail tickle my chin, but the full body shiver and the shaky exhale of "fuck," as he tries to keep his composure, makes it so worth it. He finally shuts his eyes, head reeling back. I lick my lips and smile, cupping his groin before he can even think about looking back down and feeling the blood rush to his cock again. His twitching dick underneath my palm sends me sitting on my heel, ready to slowly rock my hips down into it to fill my desperate need for friction. My cotton panties are definitely soaked.

I can't waste any more time.

I remove my hand from his crotch and quickly pull his pants and his boxers down with them. They pool at his ankles, and his cock strains hard and leaking sticky, crystal clear pre-cum from the thick and aching tip. My mouth nearly drops. I admire every vein, letting my hand wrap around the base of his cock once I've spit into it as makeshift lubricant. I'm so lost that I don't even register Lip peering down at me, swallowing impatiently.

"My, you're so worked up, Lip. And I haven't even started." I don't bother to look up at him as I rub my hand up and down his shaft, worried his pretty face will distract me. But I can picture him perfectly.

"Fuck you," he huffs through a struggled laugh, covering his mouth as he groans in pleasure at the feeling of my hand squeezing his cock every once and a while as I slowly pump him up and down.

"Later," I retort. I bite down on my bottom lip, looking up at him again for permission. He nods, almost as if he's able to read my mind. My eyes shut and my stomach flutters. Soft lips cover the head, swirling my tongue over the slit. His tip leaves my mouth with a loud pop, and I lick a bold stripe along the thickets vein I can find.

"Jesus, fuck, Maeve!" He writhes, his breath hitched in his throat by me hollowing out my cheeks and taking nearly 3/4 of his total length into my mouth. Moans of pure bliss at the feeling of his cock enveloped by the wet warmth of my mouth echo through the garage. I fear he's too loud, but I decide not to care. Not now.

My hand pumps the rest of his cock that I don't fit into my mouth at the moment, while my free hand reaches for his. My eyes remain closed and my sucking maintains a steady pace as I bob my head up and down his cock. I grab his hand and set it on the top of my head, but he hesitates.

"W—you sure, Maeve? I don't wanna hurt you," he swallows, accidentally bucking his hips into my mouth and running his unoccupied hand through his sweaty curls. I detach myself from him, wiping the mixture of pre and spit from the corner of my mouth and finally looking up at him.

"You won't," I take a deep breath, "I won't let you. I'll tell you if 's too much, kay?"

"Okay. Maybe just—" he clears his throat "tap my leg 3 times? And I'll...uh—I'll let go? Yeah?" He looks beautiful. Flushed, bare, and oh so needy for my touch. I wish I could keep him like this forever. He's so compliant, so understanding. But part of me knows that once I let him do this, it'll show me the side of him I've really been praying to see.

I nod, smiling contently and feeling myself blush when he twirls his fingers around my ponytail again. He bends over just the smallest bit to cup my chin and smile back. The pad of his thumb grazes over my skin before he lets go. I take it as my sign to go back, pressing my hands against either of his thighs and feeling clit jump with excitement when Lip tugs at my hair the moment I take his cock into my mouth again. I bob my head up and down, my eyes rolling back when his tip hits the back of my throat. Tears prick at my waterline as I struggle not to cough.

I grow even more desperate. My hand dives into my shorts and I slide two of my fingers inside of me, unfortunately never living up to the potential size and feeling of Lip's. The continuous ram into my gummy and tender spot causes me to fall apart, whining with his dick occupying the space in my mouth.

"Oh my God," Lip nearly whines, his grip tightening as he guides my head up and down his dick, but it's so gentle it never startles me, "so fuckin' good, baby. Jesus, fu—ah..keep doin' that. Yes, fuck.."

My tongue swishes over and under his cock in mind-numbing patterns, and I can't help but let little muffled moans escape my throat and vibrate against him. He almost can't contain himself: bucking his hips and practically fucking my throat. I do my best to cancel out the occasional gag so quickly he won't feel guilty and possibly stop.

Use me, I think.

Usually, I'd take the lead, never letting a head pusher take the role. But not this time. Lip's so pent up, so stressed with the complexities of his life. This is a kind gesture. One that involves tears of struggle spilling out of my eyes and streaming down ky cheeks. But fuck, I love it. It's filthy. It's nasty the way I nearly suck him dry. I can't remember the last time a blowjob was this fun.

"Such a good girl. Y'know that?" He looks down at me, biting his lip as his eyebrows knit in pleasure and desperate need to cum down my pretty little throat, "how'd you get so fuckin...so fuckin' good at this, baby? Shit—feels so good."

He babbles over and over again, and I'm taking strategic breaths through my nose and speeding the pace of my fingers as they thrust in and out of me so I don't stop him from releasing the way he absolutely deserves. Finally, he pulls my ponytail tighter than he ever has, warning me that he's about to cum, but by the time he tells me, it sends down my throat. He groans out, releasing my hair and going limp. I swallow the salty substance, blinking out the last few tears in my eyes and sliding my fingers out of me.

—

Lip: 1 message.

Hey. 11:47pm

Hey. Miss me already? 11:52pm

Something like that, yeah. 11:56pm

What's up 11:58pm

I get off early tomorrow. Just wondering if you wanted to come by the shop and hang out for a bit? 11:59pm

Sure. See you then. xoxo 12:03am.

—

current taglist : @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria

[nunalastor]

Lucifer's noticed a certain pest in the halls of the hotel. It's silent and immaterial; not the sort of critter that Nifty has any interest in hunting. Unbothersome to most, yet so very maddening to him.

It's distracting, impeding, and generally a nuisance.

And it follows Alastor everywhere.

He's long wondered what exactly it is; a familiar, an offshoot of Alastor's soul, a shade- But it doesn't really matter. The problem is that it keeps getting in the way.

Every time they're talking, every time they're remotely near each other, it's always there. Watching, pointing, nudging, and tearing Alastor's focus away. It whispers things that only its owner can hear, pulls laughs and reactions from him that Lucifer's only had minimal success in accomplishing himself. It knows him.

It's infuriating. To be so helplessly aware that some other being, so much closer to Alastor than he could ever be, shares so much history that Lucifer could only hope would one day be shared with him as well. It's a revolting feeling that makes him want to tear his hair out, it burns something inside him that screams to just get rid of it.

Lucifer wants it gone.

He can't take it. He can't stand the bile at the back of his throat when he sees them together. He can't handle the feeling of his muscles tightening in on themselves as he wonders why he isn't good enough to be in its place. He can't handle the burning hatred of this lesser than being that's managed to put itself in between what he so desperately wants.

He learned very quickly that it was rather communicative with Alastor. The first and only attempt to 'accidentally' blast it with holy light ended with a very, very angry Radio Demon.

Every other more discreet attempt has ended in failure. Deals and negotiations didn't work; it seemed to not understand him- or at least pretended not to. Even when he cycled through every ancient language in his knowledge, it would simply tilt its head in the same cute manner as Alastor.

A sickening reminder of what he was doing this for.

He tries and tries to distract it, keep it occupied, keep Alastor's attention on him-

And he finally realizes the obvious solution.

He doesn't know what language this thing speaks, or if it's even open to communication with him. But a smaller facet of him might be more amiable. And, more importantly, more able to interact with it.

Regardless of where this creature comes from, it takes the form of a shadow. As a being of light, he's perfectly capable of creating the absence of it. Imbuing just a small part of his consciousness into his own shadow is easy, and after that, it's free to roam without him.

When he first walks into the parlor with his new companion, Alastor seems... confused. And then irritated. Which is fine, because this is just a means to an end. Most importantly, Alastor's shadow is very intrigued. It doesn't take long for it to venture over and meet its soon-to-be friend, circling around cautiously before beginning to prod at it. His own shadow prods back, and it practically jumps.

Lucifer can feel the connection, though very distantly. Easily ignorable; and so he does, in favor of moving closer to Alastor, temporarily free of the shadowy nuisance getting in his way.

"What is that?" Alastor asks the moment he reaches him.

"Hm? Oh! I thought your friend could use a buddy. Doesn't seem like he has any good company to talk to."

Alastor simply sneers at that, though any follow up questions on Lucifer's intentions are easily brushed off or eluded. The pest's attention is successfully enraptured by its new playmate, and Lucifer finally gets a moment of peace, and Alastor's full, undivided attention.

👀

[moraxsthrone]

okay so y'all seemed to like the whole 'zhongli tracking your cycle by scent' idea...

and if i'm going into more detail, i'm doing it RIGHT okay? 💅🏼

.ೃ࿔･ PAIRING → zhongli x f!reader

.ೃ࿔･ NOTES → this is the first of a 3-part...thing? mostly hcs, but there will definitely be (at the very least) a drabble or two in subsequent installments. if you're not familiar with the 4 phases of the human female cycle, google it. i'm not here to give biology lessons.

.ೃ࿔･ WARNINGS → mostly sfw (some nsfw at the end, clearly indicated so you can stop reading if you only want the sfw material). period sex (mention).

.ೃ࿔･ PHASE 2 →

♡ (end of) PHASE 4 - PHASE 1 ↴ (or, right before you start and during your period)

♡ zhongli knows when you’re about to start your period bc your scent changes

♡ your scent takes on a more earthy tone

♡ this is one of the times zhongli is the most sensitive to your needs

♡ makes sure you’re taking good care of yourself and/or takes care of you for you

♡ only if you let him though; he’ll never force anything on you, even his love

♡ he’s the most attentive boyfriend/husband, honey please

♡ he does various things to ease your discomfort - be it physical or emotional

♡ he’s extremely observant and he can read you like a book so he can usually anticipate your needs and does these things without you having to ask

♡ fetches your heating pad and turns it on for you before laying it across your lower belly when you’re cramping

♡ makes sure you’re drinking plenty of water and getting lots of rest

♡ knows when you need him close to you, but also knows when to give you space

♡ but if you reach for him, understand that he’ll be by your side without question

♡ requested a custom herbal tea blend just for you from bubu pharmacy; he picks it up from there after it’s been ground and mixed and keeps it on hand, so if you get headaches or cramps, he’ll brew some for you

♡ yes, he does his research

♡ encourages you to go to bed early/take naps

♡ pulls the shades, closes the curtains, and turns the lights off; lights a scented candle, turns the bed down or makes sure the couch is super comfy with blankets and lots of pillows

♡ or he draws you a hot bath to soak in to ease your aching back and hips

♡ will either join you or not, whichever you prefer

♡ won’t be offended in the least if you would rather be alone; he’ll just go catch up on the book he’s reading or write some poetry; might go for a stroll but he’ll generally stay home with you as much as possible; he wants to stay close by in case you need him for anything

♡ because sometimes you do want your space, but knowing he’s not too far away fills your heart with so much love and sets your mind at ease

♡ the times he does take a bath with you, he carefully, sensually lathers you up with body wash from neck to toe

♡ he takes his time; doesn’t get in a hurry

♡ there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than with his goddess, nothing else he’d rather be doing than taking care of you and making sure you know that you’re loved and cherished

♡ he gently massages your scalp as he works shampoo into your hair and rinses it thoroughly when he’s done

♡ nothing sexual about it

♡ just an attentive male looking after and caring for his mate when she’s most vulnerable and sensitive

♡ you’re so well cared for it almost makes you cry bc of how good he is to you

♡ he just chalks it up to you being more emotionally sensitive than usual (which might have something to do with it, but you make sure he knows how much you appreciate him nonetheless)

♡ but he thinks nothing of it; as far as he’s concerned it’s just common sense and part of what it means to be a good mate; this is how a man/dragon should treat his lady, how a god should regard and care for his goddess

♡ there’s something so soothing about the whisper of turning pages as he reads in bed next to you, or the subtle sounds coming from the kitchen as he makes your favorite tea or food (although I kinda hc he can’t cook for shit //js)

♡ falling asleep with your head on his bare chest; his tender, golden fingers smoothing your hair away from your face as he tells you one of his stories in his silken baritone voice

♡ the timbre and measured cadence of his tone lulls you to sleep as he holds your naked body next to his, skin to skin

.ೃ࿔･ NSFW .ೃ࿔･

♡ okay let’s talk about PERIOD SEX

♡ it’s relatively common knowledge that a lot of females get horny while they’re on their cycle

♡ zhongli knows this

♡ he also knows that giving you an orgasm can help ease the pain of cramps

♡ will 65461% make sure you know the offer to put his dick in your pussy and your legs in the air is on the table and he’s more than happy to help you in that regard should you choose to take him up on it

♡ his sex drive is returning to baseline (which is still pretty high ngl, but he’s not feral and borderline foaming at the mouth like he was during the week or 2 prior (we’ll get to that in the next part))

♡ but you still smell so, so good to him

♡ and if you want it?

♡ mans will not bat an eye at the sight of your menses on his dick

♡ doesn’t bother him one bit; he doesn’t think it’s ‘gross’ or ‘dirty’ (hello? he fought in the archon war…he’s seen much worse, bb, trust) 

♡ he regards it as perfectly natural, inherently feminine

♡ allow me to reiterate: zhongli LOOOOVES the way you smell, especially the couple of days prior and the first couple of days after you start

♡ so just give him the word and he’ll go fetch a towel and either make slow, sensual love to you or put you on your shoulders and fuck the daylights out of you, whichever you prefer

♡ however you need him, he’ll be there for you, to take care of you bc you are his goddess

.ೃ࿔･ zhongli m.list

.ೃ࿔･ reblogs and interactions are always appreciated, my loves !!

[themaidenofwords]

An Essay on Why Canon Batman sucks

I was reminded today of the many reasons why I say I'm part of the batfamily fandom and not actually into canon Batman stories.

To put it simply, I love all of Bruce's children, but the man himself (especially in his canon characterization) can fuck all of the way off.

"But TheMaiden, you can't just ignore canon! You can't really be a fan if you do." I can and I am so sit still a min and let me talk.

My main issue with Batman comics is the fact that they try to make him a morally grey character who's sole rule is basically that he doesn't literally murder people.

Everyone clap and cheer for the guy who isn't actively a murderer! He's so good for that!

Anyway, the problem with focusing on what would make Bruce "snap" or the fact that he's a dark traumatized little boy ok? is the fact that the city of Gotham and all of its Rogues is already so dark. You can't put black paint on a black canvas and expect me to notice the difference. When the "heroic" character is painted in just a slightly different shade of "charcoal #7" I will be hard pressed to see why I should be rooting for him over the villains he fights.

My biggest problem with Bruce is the fact that he is canonically an abusive piece of shit towards his kids. I will readily admit that this part is deeply seated in my own personal traumas, but that's a hard line in the sand that I won't allow to be crossed. I can't support a "hero" who doesn't have the bare fucking decency to not hit/ emotionally abuse his children.

"Oh, but you are ignoring the fact that Bruce adopted those kids in order to train them as vigilantes! He never intended to be a father figure!"

Well too fucking bad. If you adopt a child, that's your kid. period. There's no take-backsies just because you like dressing up in a fursuit and leaping off buildings as a hobby. the moment Bruce adopted those kids he established himself as their father, and that should take precedence to whatever his feelings may be as Batman.

"TheMaiden, you're being too harsh. Bruce saw his parents die! He was manipulated by Ra's when he was training with the Al Ghuls! He's traumatized and he can't help how he is!"

Again, I will readily admit that this part is rooted in my own life and beliefs, but I will not stand for the idea that people can't grow past their trauma and that you're destined to continue the cycle of pain. Yes, the trauma and pain you go through can make it extremely difficult to move on and can (and will) leave an impact on your life forever, But you still have a choice. Bruce chose to become Batman. He chose to be trained by Ra's Al Ghul. He chose to adopt six children, and he fucking chose to abuse those children for the sake of his crusade.

He doesn't get a free pass because of his past. He doesn't get a free pass because "overall he's doing good." He is to be held in contempt not even because of the bad things he's done in the past, but because he refuses to grow. He refuses to change and to be better.

"But he loves his children! He's just bad at showing it."

Intent does not redeem you. Bruce has had eighteen years to learn and grow. He has been through a lot of shit, but it is his responsibility to make certain that he doesn't put his own children through that pain. It is his responsibility to show his children that he loves them and to work to grow despite his flaws because of the love he has for them.

Call me harsh, but I refuse to support a "hero" who would nearly murder his own child and call it love.

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

hello, i hope everyones having a good wednesday!! my brain, for some unknown reason, believes it to be late fall right now. maybe i'm just craving that chill in the air AHAH

thank you to the fantastic @skyrim-forever and @umbracirrus for tagging me this week!! <33333

tagging the amazing @thequeenofthewinter @oblivions-dawn @orfeoarte @changelingsandothernonsense

@viss-and-pinegar @saltymaplesyrup @archangelsunited @dirty-bosmer @totally-not-deacon !! as always, there's no pressure, but i'd love to see what you're working on. <3333

this is a section from the very rough draft of chapter 39 of Cycle of the Serpent. the trio are becoming intrigued about varnius junius' plea, and have decided to do something about it.

Falk Firebeard, the steward to Jarl Elisif, had been here a great many years. He said so as he talked to the trio, his voice inviting, with the faintest hint of surprise that they were back. At first he must have assumed they were here to petition for the Burning of King Olaf, a sigh heaving down his lungs and his hands rubbing at his face. When Emeros explained the real reason they were here today, he visibly appeared to relax, and made a comment about the man that the Bosmer had mentioned being jumpy at the best of times. "I'll be honest with you, I was planning to let that go," he admitted in a half-hush, apparently unneeded, as the court made it clear the prior day that they did share his opinion. "If it were anything, I'm certain that Sybille's scrying would have picked up on it." The court wizard, seated near the Jarl, gave Wyndrelis a curious look, her eyes practically luminous under her dark hood. He swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He didn't enjoy the way she scrutinized him, or his friends. Her eyes, a particular shade of citrine which looked to be peering right into him and down to the veins beneath his skin, set the mild panic to rise, sensation a slow crawl up his back of something very off about the woman. "Yes, but what if there's something the scrying hasn't picked up on? I'm no stranger to magic," Wyndrelis managed out, "if there is something going on, wouldn't it be better to investigate?"

The man rubbed his face, hands fidgeting with one another idly. His glances to Elisif, her housecarl, and other figures in the court landed him with approving nods, and Falk again spoke up. "There have been reports of... weird happenings near Wolfskull Cave. Travelers disappearing, odd lights. I suspect wild animals or perhaps bandits." "Travelers disappearing?" Emeros repeated, his eyes wide as the words left him half-breathless. "And you didn't think that this was worth an investigation?" "Again, I thought it might be wild animals and bandits," Falk justified, enunciating the statement. "We all did. They've taken advantage with the war going on, all this uncertainty, no one is truly safe. But I digress, if you really think it's worth looking into, then I will make sure that you three are repaid for your work." A housecarl nearest Falk scoffed into a drink, prompting the court wizard to scowl. "Is there something funny, Erikur?" "No, no, not at all." The man rolled his eyes as he sipped from his goblet, a sort of wine from the smell of it. "I just find it a bit interesting that we're sending three strangers to investigate Haafingar's matters. This should be the work of someone from our own Hold, not these elves who had to get a military pardon when they first arrived here." Phoebe, over at her desk, winced. She looked to Erikur, a sharp, probably dangerous gaze on anyone else that merely served to make her appear like a mouse scolding a wolf. "Besides, our coffers are emptier by the day. What can we even reward three would-be bandit-slayers when they inevitably return without having spilt so much as skeever blood?"

"Erikur," the hulking figure on the other side of the throne snapped, "that's enough." Erikur shrugged, and took another long drink from his goblet. Elisif looked over the trio, her face worn into a dreary resignation. "Then what do you propose? We've already sent a detachment to Dragon Bridge, and Sybille's scrying has shown nothing, yet, I must admit that the idea of leaving this uninvestigated makes me uneasy." Erikur's focus darted around the room. "We should send a handful of our own soldiers. Perhaps discuss it with General Tullius? See if he will offer some help." The room descended into murmurs of agreement, the idea clearly tantalizing to the court. Wyndrelis frowned. He looked to Emeros and Athenath, both equally unsatisfied with this resolution. "I will send word to Captain Aldis, and ask if he's any new recruits he might test by sending them that way. Phoebe, draft a letter to the Captain, and deliver it as soon as possible," Elisif commanded, tension leaving her as she watched the pale-haired girl scratch something down into a new roll of paper. Athenath spluttered, "but what if it's something- I don't know, important?" "Then our soldiers will have it taken care of, instead of recent strangers dirtying their hands." Erikurs cavalier reply left the Altmer again struggling for words, Emeros placing a gentle palm on his shoulder. Wyndrelis shrunk back, his steps taking him to the stairs. A few mutters from the Bosmer, and Athenath was moving to the stairwell, face scrunched in a look of intense frustration with the dismissal. As the trio left the Blue Palace, the sneer never quite fell from Athenath's face, and Wyndrelis swallowed down the urge to ask of it, or to pry into why Erikurs words prodded so harshly into them as to leave their features twisted, until the Altmer ran a hand down their face and features relaxed, like he'd wiped it all away and resigned to the outcome. This wasn't ideal, but when was anything the trio had been through in the past few weeks?

[turtlesandfrogs]

One of the things I think about a lot is productivity comparisons between conventional and unconventional agriculture. Mostly because that's the first question you get asked when you talk about anything that's outside the norm*, but, on what metric are we measuring? Per acre? Per hour worked? Per cost of input? Are we measuring yields of product or dollars earned?

This question also, to me, rings of fear. Fear of food shortages, which are really a problem of greed & distribution, not the world's capacity to grow food. If we were really worried about calories though, I think we'd at least switch to pastured animals instead of sending so much corn and soy to livestock (for any non-farmers out there, you do not get nearly the calories out of a chicken or pig that you put in- you get much less**). Or we would put more effort into making cities great places to live so we stopped turning farmland into suburbia. Or we would be much more concerned with how to prevent erosion & loss of arable land. But we don't, and we're not.

I also think of the complexity of non- conventional farming, and how instead of it being a return to the past, it actually relies on new information and methods***.

Take the plot of land that I'm working to make into a market garden. It's soil is, from a farmer's perspective, crap. It's gravely, sandy, very little organic matter. If I were to farm it conventionally, I'd basically have till to open the soil and kill weeds, and then provide all of the plant nutrients through fertilizers, which would cause the plants to kick out their symbiotic fungi, leaving them vulnerable to pathogenic fungi, and more dependant on me for water. There would also be bare soil everywhere, increasing evaporation & providing plenty of opportunities for new weeds. My costs would be very high, paying for fertilizers, pesticides, & herbicides, and I would have to water, a lot. It probably wouldn't be at all economically feasible to grow food on this plot using conventional methods.

Now, I look at it and say, I'm going to do no-till. I look at the hard, weedy, depleted soil and there's no way a seed is going to be able to come up through that. But, I'm not just doing no-till, because I'm not looking at it from a conventional mindset and just trading out one practice. I'm doing basically everything different from above.

Instead of tilling, I'm laying down a thick layer of mulch, to shade out the weeds, increase soil organic matter (increasing the amount of water and nutrients the soil can absorb & good on to), and feed the soil ecosystem. By the time spring rolls around, the soil underneath will be much better, but I'll still add more compost in most cases.

Instead of fertilizers I've had to pay for, I'm using mulches that I got for free from my gardening work & composts made for free from restaurant kitchen wastes****. I'm going to use over crops, plants that fix nitrogen and also serve as perennial hosts to beneficial soil fungi, which will also form symbiosis with most of my crops, increasing their resistance to pathogenic fungi while also providing them with increased access to water and soil minerals.

Instead of bare soil, there will be mulches and cover crops every where. Instead of monocrops & pesticides, I'll be intercropping which will help by hosting beneficial native insects that will chow down on aphids and other crop pests.

From this framework, there's an upfront investment of effort and planning, but farming this land now seems feasible.

And the thing is, each of those choices is backed up by research. We know so much more now about soil and nutrient cycling and how it actually works than when conventional ag really got started. We know so much more, and so many practices are new, so growing non-conventionally isn't a step back into the past of how things were grown.

But at the same time, it's not exactly completely information either- other cultures have different ways of growing food crops, and if you broaden your concept of what cultivating plants looks like, there's examples everywhere. We're just studying it now and providing it scientifically.

*and I honestly think that it's a result of the extractive mindframe that comes from being the decendants of colonizers. Just look at the different perspectives between many western foragers ideas and Indigenous peoples' relationship with the land.

** chickens are one of the most efficient, with a feed conversion ratio of 1.6, which means for every 1.6 pounds of food you give them, you can expect the chicken to gain 1 pound (cows are over 4 pounds of feed to pound of live weight, and pigs are 3 to 4ish). That's the whole bird though, counting all the parts we don't eat- guts, feathers, bones, etc. Even so, a pound of chicken food has over 1300 calories, and is about 20% protein for starter/grower, where as a pound of chicken has about 500 calories and about 30% protein (for dark meat, you get fewer calories from white meat). I'm not saying everyone should give up meat, but I am saying that the amount of meat in mainstream diets has increased dramatically, much of it comes from cafos where animals are fed on grains & legumes, and if we're measuring productivity and yield per acre because we're worried about feeding the world, this is a huge factor. Look up how much of the corn & soy crop goes to actually directly feeding people.

*** from a western, colonizing prospective

**** is this a particular boon from my particular circumstances? Yes. But everyone has their own challenges and resources, there is no cookie-cutter solution to all agriculture, everywhere. You have to find the solutions that work for you.

[outmakingmoonshine]

I wrote this reply a few weeks ago about the 773 tattoo on Carmy's arm that really looks like 223. You'll have to read that first because I'm not gonna explain it all again here and you'll need context to understand this post.

SPOILERS below if you haven't watched to the end of S3 yet

Right before this in Marcus's mum's funeral scene he's talking about having someone who really listen to you and pays attention to you and the camera does a not so subtle zoom in on SydCarmy's faces. Then the next scene is this one where Syd says she made the margins wider on the menus because Carmy always writes in them. We already know Carmy pays close attention to Syd and he does really listen to her even though it's like he gets amnesia right after and does the opposite of what she wanted, he does really try to listen and understand her in his own way. This an example of Syd really paying attention to Carmy immediately after being told how significant it is and how good it makes you feel. Carmy looked shocked that she paid attention to him and went out of her way to do something thoughtful for him and said "That's really nice. Thank you." Then Carmy goes on to do a checklist of the things they both need which also showed he knows her too.

Keeping the number meta above in mind, I'm not sure who first mentioned this (pls link the post if anyone knows so I can credit them) but sydcarmy both represent the number 2. In the post above I spoke about when the two 2's (sydcarmy) face each other and finally turn to take notice of each other. I'm pretty certain this scene was a small glipse of what their future together would be like if sydcarmy did face each other without anything or anyone coming between them. They become a cohesive unit, working together as one just like they were in this scene. Sydcarmy are mirrors of each other in many ways, just like the twos are mirroring each other on the clock behind them. I know one is technically a 5 but visually it's a 2 backwards and how else would they symbolize two 2's facing each other on a digital clock? Imo these numbers in this scene represent this moment being a good thing and a glimpse of what they could be, plus the whole scene gave me strong married couple vibes.

In numerology 9 represents completion/the end. The next number, 10, begins the cycle from 1 again or you could say it evolves, moves forward and keeps growing. 9 has other asociations but the core foundational meaning of it is completion. It's telling us in the end they will face each other and balance each other out, mirror each other. "Mirroring is an act of love." If that number sequence in the background of this specific scene isn't positive SydCarmy foreshadowing idk what is. This scene, the context, subtext and symbolism in it alone lets me know the sydcarmy love story and endgame is still very much on track. We're just taking a detour for now, like 99% of will-they-wont-they ships do right before the end of the story.

This shot showed directly after a Carmy/Claire opening scene in 3x05 and Carmy was laying in bed staring at it in some of the darkest blue lighting I think we've seen in the show.

I think this may even be a few shades darker than the sex scene with Claire. Imo it's because Carmy's in his darkest place now, he knows how he feels and who he wants but he can't have it. Carmy metaphorically turned to face Syd in the panic attack scene then fully turned, paid attention and listened to her in the table scene. Now he's somewhat aware of his feelings for her, tbh I think he does know but he's avoiding it because he's in a really dificult situation with Claire and he already let Syd down again after promising to be there for her. He doesn't love Claire romantically but he doesn't wanna hurt her either He's just stuck which is what I think this season was about, Carmy's still mentally and emotionally stuck in the freezer. Carmy said saying sorry to Claire was too hard and I think that's because he knows he has to tell her he doesn't feel the same way and it's gonna hurt her. We keep seeing cute flashbacks with Claire but I don't think it's because he misses her, I think it's because he feels really guilty that he lead her on so much because that's what the scenes were showing. He was acting all loved up with her and it's interesting that we the audience/Carmy never saw that last season and we're only seeing now it in hindsight. Remember the show is telling us the story through Carmy's eyes.

I said in the post above I initially thought the number 3 represented Claire and/or Marcus, but in 2x08 Carmy (2) asked Richie (3) to be the "go-between" and give Syd (2) an I love you note, literally putting the three in the middle of the two 2's so it made sense it probably represented him at the time.

And maybe it does, idk, he's been getting between them since S1 in one way or another, directly or indirectly. But it more likely represents anyone that comes between them. The third wheel so to speak.

Notice how the 2's aren't facing each other here in 2x08 because this was before Carmy faced what Syd means to him in 2x09.

And you may be wondering if the mirroring numbers represent how sydcarmy end up why isn't Carmy's tattoo 753? Well 753 isn't the chicago area code so it would raise questions why Carmy had a random tattoo of 753 so I think it was a choice to keep the symbolism but keep it subtle.

I didn't expect s3 to feel this bad (I should've tbh, this show always makes you feel the most) but I didn't expect it to go well for sydcarmy. That's why I posted this post the day before the episodes aired reminding everyone what the show told us to expect. They did warn us this wasn't gonna be a mushy gooey love story. It's not gonna be cute and sweet, it's gonna be ballbreaker and that's what Carmy's doing to Syd. He's doing to her what the NY Chef did to him. He's already making her sick, making her have panic attacks and he knows he's a "bad boss". He glanced her way when they were talking about it at the table in 3x10. When I saw Carmy confront NY Chef, for a moment I thought they were gonna have Carmy say the same to Syd one day in the future (this is how bad the whole situation felt while watching the show, it was truly horrible to watch) but I really don't think so. Carmy doesn't want to be anything like that arrogant guy so I can only imagine he'd be the complete opposite with Syd (someone he genuinely cares about) when he finally pulls his head out of his ass, metaphorically gets out of the freezer and faces the situation he's in like Cicero told him you have to run straight into it, you can't avoid it.

Even though this season was very hard to watch I think the same amount of subtext, symbolism and metaphors that pointed to sydcarmy in the last seasons is still all there. It's just more difficult to see, especially after 1 watch because there were barely any scenes that seem good for them on a surface level, they all went to Carmy/Claire. But underneath the surface a lot of the scenes imply good things are still to come for sydcarmy imo.

[heliza24]

Armand and Unbreakable Cycles, again

I actually do think that Armand’s decision to let Louis die as part of the trial is perfectly in character for him.

In episode 3, Armand tries to present himself as someone who falls in love with outsiders, someone who will devotedly follow his savior lovers out of the status quo of his old broken life into something better. (I wrote in depth about that here). But remember, this is Armand’s retelling of his story, and he has an objective here— convince Daniel that he loved Louis blindly, and defied the coven in order to be with him. So when he tells Daniel that he allowed Lestat to break up the Children of Darkness, because the changes Lestat brought in were things Armand had begun to believe himself, how true was that? Obviously we’ll see Lestat’s rendition next season, and I suspect Lestat will be destroying in the coven in a way that’s totally beyond Armand’s ability to permit anything.

So when it comes down to Louis vs the coven, maybe Armand is just making the same choice again. Choosing the status quo despite the little piece of his heart that longs for freedom and a reciprocated love. If anything he’s more primed to choose the coven this time, because Lestat never reciprocated his love, and part of Louis still belongs to Lestat, so Armand believes that Louis will never fully reciprocate his love either (and I think he’s correct!).

The scene in Magnus’s old lair is about this, I think. Although this isn’t fully spelled out in the text, I suspect that Armand’s decision to kill Louis along with Claudia was motivated by Lestat. To get revenge on him, and also to leave Louis before he could leave Armand like Lestat did. Armand has never known how to love Louis outside of Lestat- even in Dubai, he’s comparing how long he and Louis have been together to Louis and Lestat. And Louis has never picked Armand without Lestat being figuratively or literally in the room. In that scene in Magnus’s tower, he explicitly picks Armand to get revenge on Lestat. So they are a kind of match made in hell, with the ghost of Lestat constantly stuck in between them.

I think the decision to make Lestat save Louis is a good one from a dramatic writing perspective. It gives Lestat a moment of agency in the trial he would not have otherwise. And it also makes Armand’s decision, to fully acquiesce to the coven, to sacrifice Louis and Claudia, much more concrete. It gives both of them a strong character choice, and it allows Louis to embrace his agency later on, when he learns the truth. It facilitates Louis’s catharsis and forgiveness of Lestat, and completes Louis’s arc. Hes the protagonist, and the show had to nail his emotional arc, and it did. So I think it was wise writing for this season, even if we see more shades and subtleties in it further down the road. It’s also a good writing decision just in terms of planting and payoff. Daniel was able to clock the possibility that Lestat saved Louis because of the hugely impactful scene we all saw in season 1, of Lestat sending the soldiers out of the house. Even the fact that this was possible for Lestat, but likely would have taken all of his strength, is teed up by that season 1 scene. (We can debate about how culpable Lestat is for choosing Louis over Claudia, or not at least attempting to save them both, but it gives them a possible way to explain this decision in future seasons). Daniel asked the Talamasca for evidence to help him prove his point to Louis, but he was able to put the clues together himself. If there had been some other reveal, that involved mind control or Armand imprisoning Lestat, Daniel wouldn’t have been able to crack the case himself. So in that way the writing also respected Daniel’s agency as well.

The irony of Armand telling Daniel that he “allowed” Lestat to break up his first coven, is that Daniel is here to break up Armand’s status quo, his coven of one with Louis. Daniel knows this by the finale, knows that he’s picking apart cycles of passivity and hypocrisy in Armand: “where does the bullshit start, Armand, Amadeo, Arun?” And Armand fights Daniel trying to prevent this destruction to the bitter end. His invitation to Daniel to join them for dinner was ominous as hell. I do not think there was any way that Armand was going to let Daniel publish information about the trial, even the edited version that Armand was able to feed Louis and Daniel. I would not be surprised if he had convinced Louis to allow him to kill Daniel, much in the same way he was once prepared to kill Louis in the trial. Daniel’s quick thinking and Louis’s rage is the only thing that saves Daniel. And when Louis storms out of the library, there’s a pause where Armand holds Daniel’s gaze before going after Louis. There are a lot of ways you could read that gaze, but I think it’s clear in that moment that he’s debating who to prioritize. For what exactly is unclear. Maybe Armand is just be deciding whether it’s more important for him to kill Daniel or go to Louis in that moment. Maybe there was more to Armand’s relationship with Daniel in the 70s, and Armand is seeing himself once again choosing between two flames that represent the past and future to him. But regardless of the thought process he chooses Louis. He chooses the old ways, the old coven. He really is consistent.

Now how the show chooses to deal with Armand and Daniel alone in the apartment… with Daniel having just blown up Armand’s life, and having clocked the exact degree of his cowardice and bullshit in a way that no one else ever has, in a way that ends with Armand abandoning Daniel AFTER turning him Will be fascinating indeed. Because this seems to be an extension of Armand only knowing how to love, or be loved, through a filter of revenge and spite, of only being able to connect through a third party he’s missing. With him and Louis it was Lestat, with him and Daniel it’s Louis, or at least that’s what the cliffhanger is leaving us with. I suspect there are a few things about his and Daniel’s connection that are going to play out differently, and that might push Armand towards character growth for the first time in his very long life. I can’t wait to see them in season 3!

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

Hey, I've tried searching your blog for this but I could only bring up posts advocating against rack systems (rightly so obviously)

I recently got an adult ex breeder BP, she's massive (5'7") and was kept in a 12 gallon bare bones rack tub for her whole life. I got her because a pet shop near me that bred snakes is shutting down, I did pay for her which I feel bad about but they aren't breeding anymore so I guess I'm not funding unethical breeding? Anyway that isn't really relevant I just am rambling

I've heard that taking a BP from a rack system and putting them in their forever enclosure can be really really stressful for them so right now she's still in her tub on my desk but I feel really bad keeping her there.

I have a 6x2x2 set up, I wanted to get a 6x2x3 or 6x3x3 even but couldn't afford it so I'm hoping that's good enough for her.

But how would you transition her to that enclosure? I recently gave my house snake a bioactive enclosure and I love it so the 6x2x2 for the BP has been cycling as bioactive for about 3 weeks (Ive had her 5 days) and seems stable but I'm worried that it's too much and she'll hate it and go off food and stuff (she's quite skinny too:()

But yeah I would really appreciate, if you have the time, any advice on this front. Thank you very much and keep up the good work 👍💟

I just went through this with my new Borneo python, Hobie. Just like your girl, he's spent his entire life in little tubs in racks.

You're right that transitioning a snake like them into their full enclosures is something that should be done delicately! I'll tell you my process and what I do to make it easier for them.

One challenge that you might have is with your enclosure already being set up as bioactive. That's probably going to be quite a bit more overwhelming, and my main concern there is with the lighting. If she doesn't respond well, it's going to be hard to tell if that's because she's just adjusting or because she just doesn't like the lighting (some ball pythons just don't, but unless she's albino or another melanin-reducing morph it's not a bad idea to give it a try).

If it's possible, my idea for you would be try to try transitioning her to a less overwhelming enclosure first. I set my Hobie up in a 40 gallon for now, even though he's going to be moving to a 6x2 later down the line. If you do that, you'd be able to slowly get her used to the lighting once she's adjusted to a larger enclosure itself. If you can't do that, consider adding as much shade as possible for her and even keep the lights off for as much as you can.

Alright, so my process for transitioning former breeder snakes to more appropriate enclosures prioritizes going at the snake's pace and ensuring their comfort.

The first thing I do is put their tub directly into their new enclosure. Just right on top of everything, don't even worry about it. Your goal is keep your snake in a familiar environment while also exposing them to new stuff. Check out Hobie's setup - literally just the tub, substrate, and a water bowl plopped inside the bigger enclosure. You're going to feel tempted to give them lots of new clutter and enrichment - don't. Keep it simple and easy for them, you don't want to overwhelm them!

Then, be patient and let them explore at their own pace. Some snakes will leave their take-home tub almost right away, some will take weeks. Hobie took three weeks before he started feeling comfortable and confident enough to explore outside of it. During this time, offer food and feel free to handle a bit, but keep it short and sweet.

Your snake will likely retreat back to the tub a couple times, but eventually they'll find their new hides and check them out! Wait until they're comfortable - calm, resting, and relaxed inside their new hiding places - and then you can take the tub out.

Once they're comfortable in their full enclosure, it's time to introduce them to enrichment! They'll probably need you to show them their climbing branches and other enrichment items - snakes like them just aren't used to being able to do natural behaviors. Hobie had a great time when he learned he had a swimming pool all to himself!

Take it very slow when you add new things, and don't be afraid to backtrack if your snake gets spooked. Hobie got a little stressed when we tried adding more tunnels for him to check out, but it's fine to take things out and re-add them if your snake isn't ready just yet.

Your snake probably won't know quite how to interact with their environment at first, so just be patient with them! Right now, Hobie's going through a phase where he just hasn't realized he needs to avoid burrowing in substrate that is wet, but short-tails love to soak anyway so it's not a big deal. There will be so many opportunities to find joy in watching them learn and explore!

All the best to you and your girl! It can be a little heartbreaking to get snakes like her adjusted to their new setups, but with time and lots of patience, it doesn't need to be stressful for either of you! Remember to go at her pace and lean into what makes her feel most comfortable.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

arsonist Neil, if you're up for it. Happy Wednesday!!

WIP Wednesday (9/4) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 224)

Andrew should have never agreed to this bullshit dinner.

That's more obvious now than it was four days ago when Aaron was here, trying to convince Andrew it would be fine. Andrew isn't sure how it could possibly be 'fine' knowing the history between the three of them, but he said he’d be there. And, unlike his brother, he does not go back on his word. No matter how badly he wants to. (He and 10 are both taping tonight's episode of Supernatural.)

But yes. It is now 6:17 and Andrew is only half dressed. Half because he's been trying for an hour to decide what one should wear to a function they don't want to attend and that is being hosted by someone they do not like. His first thought was to wear some of his older clothes. Something edgy and all black, like he did in college. Hell, he thought about wearing the exact outfit he'd worn that day he met Katelyn in the library. But her memory probably isn't that good. It would be a wasted attempt. Besides, that shirt has a hole in it now. (He dropped a cigarette on it.)

For some reason, Andrew's had 10 on speaker throughout this entire fiasco. He's sent a few photos of options and 10 says he looks good in them all. It's not helpful though. Andrew's not any closer to deciding, but his ego is a bit overinflated. He picks up a pair of dark wash jeans and realizes they're the ones he wore to the cafe the time 10 didn't show. He sets them off to the side, as if they're bad luck, and continues rifling through his closet like something new will appear to him.

"Hey, send me a photo of your closet. I want to see what you’re working with." 10 says when Andrew growls at his stupid clothes for the third time. Andrew has to hold in a laugh.

"No offense 10, but you're not exactly an authority on fashion."

"I could be."

"But you're not. I should be helping you pick out clothes, not the other way around." Andrew says, making 10 huff out a sigh.

"Fine. Maybe I'll let you take me shopping one day," 10 says, making Andrew bite his lip. In theory, it's an amazing idea. Andrew would dress 10 up to his own tastes and ogle him the entire time. But then again, they probably wouldn't get that far. Knowing 10, he'd find a way to sneak out of the dressing room and text Andrew some stupid excuse.

Andrew hums in acknowledgement.

“I know, I know. You think I look like a homeless loser. Well, guess what. I am!” 10 says, making Andrew laugh. “And I know I dress for comfort and practicality over aesthetics, but that's not a bad thing."

"Mm, you're right.”

"So send me a picture of your closet,” 10 demands. Andrew nods to himself and starts to open the camera, but then 10 startles him. “This is fun. I like seeing you dressed up.”

Andrew nearly chokes. “You do? Why?”

"It’s just interesting, I guess. You know, I usually just see you in uniform. Or those old, angry-looking T-shirts you cycle through when you're at home." 10 says, citing Andrew’s hoard of old band shirts from his emo phase. (Not a phase.) Since they first started exchanging selfies, 10 has seen Andrew in half a dozen black shirts with barely legible fonts and always asks what they’re supposed to say. 

Then Andrew reminds him of their deal and 10 sends a photo back. Usually, they’re taken in his hotel room. Sometimes they’re taken outside. Andrew likes those best. The sunlight brings out all the shades of 10’s hair and makes his eyes so pretty. 10’s phone is sort of shit for selfie-taking, since it has no front camera. But 10 does his best and Andrew saves every picture he receives, even when they’re blurry. Even when they’re completely random and stupid, like the display of cookies Walmart had out the other day with the caption, ‘should I get you some? ;)’