#quasi-carefully

[saint--claire]

When I was a little child, there was a particular library book I checked out week after week, endlessly renewing it as much as I was able. The book, How to Raise and Keep a Dragon by John Topsell was a quasi-nonfiction guide to, as you guessed, rearing different species of dragons. I loved it. Tiny-me had plans.

As an adult, I tried to buy it a few times. No dice. The book was so old that no mainstream bookseller stocked it. Even when I tried niche websites recommended by various booksellers and librarians, I still couldn't find it. It was sadly lost to time, apparently not popular enough to make it into the archives.

But.

My best friend had a copy of that book. We're going to call her G, for several reasons not relevant at the moment. I was discussing my search with G one day, for some reason I can't remember now. She got a funny look on her face, asked me a few questions about the cover, listened to me do a very poor job of explaining with my hands how the hardcover copy had included a real gemstone in the dragon's forehead, and then went off to fish it out of her bookcase.

I was Gobsmacked.

I should not have been, given that the history of shared childhood books between us both would have made a circle with ragged edges, more so than a venn diagram, but I digress. The book came home to live in my house for a few months, and I was delighted by the chance to read it again.

Do people remember those type of books? Dragonology, Egyptology, The Stone Age - a way of introducing children to non fiction. They very earnestly spoke about the responsibilities needed to raise dragons, the practicalities involved. There was a record of registration you could fill out, if you had carefully considered the information to your self and felt you were responsible enough to to go through with adopting a dragon.

I vaguely remember filling out some of the riddle and puzzle questions in the Dragonology books. I would never have written in John Topsell's book, it was a library book.

But.

When I re-read G's copy at home, smiling over the familiar artwork, I was surprised to turn the page and find the painstaking, somewhat-wonky handwriting staring back at at me. Baby G, with her name spelled out in freshly-joined but still-not-quite-got-the-hang-of-this-yet cursive lettering. Baby G had filled the registration out in her best handwriting, in glittery green gel pen to denote the importance of the document. This was compared to the earlier, less important checklists done in plain black ink.

I read the registration certificate. Smiled. Smiled some more at the names listed for G's dragon, her dam, and her sire - Eragon was also a great book. Go off, Christopher Paolini.

Breed; standard Western Dragon. The box 'miniture' was ticked, to show that G's dragon was of the minature specic variety, rather than a full size dragon. This was, as she would later explain to me, chosen on the basis that baby-G felt it was the more financially responsible choice. Also so she could keep her dragon in her house with her, but we're not there yet.

I looked at that certificate. Looked at it again. Looked at the calendar, and then looked at the sewing machine I had just been given for Christmas.

G celebrates her birthday in January.

The template came first. I studied the different images of the standard western dragon through the book, picked my favourite, and re-drew it to a significantly larger scale.

Inking the design to the fabric, four times over probably took the longest.

I very subtly asked G the next time she was over (after hurling all dragon-related materials in a panic into the depths of my wardrobe) what type of colour dragon she would have, should it come up. As G later said, that type of question from me truly did not register as anything other than a question asked from theoretical interest. I transitioned the topic as discreetly as I could after she answered, and delightfully, my sneakiness went in one ear, out the other, and she forgot I had ever asked until several weeks later.

I enjoyed painting them.

Don't ask me how many mistakes I made through this process. So many. I do already know how to sew, but it's been a long time. I'd been meaning to get back into it for a while.

Given that various aunts and grandmothers and my mother had a knack for calling when I was up to my elbows in either paint or pins, it became a family affair. Each of them peered at the project through face time and offered their advice.

Some of the advice I took, some I didn't. No regrets about sewing it in pink thread. Considerable regrets about accidentally slicing one of the feet in half and having to fix that.

In the end though, she was finished.

I carefully pinned on her name tag, with the name baby-G had chosen with a little blue ribbon. A collar was unacceptable, this is a dragon, people, come on. Dragon's don't wear collars.

I put the book in the box, open to the registration certificate, and put the dragon on top. Wrapped the whole thing up with a bow and then refused to touch it before I sent myself mad trying to fix details that didn't really need to be fixed.

A bit late for her birthday, sure, but there we are. We'd gone for a trip off to nowhere for a weekend, to go try wine made out of blueberries and hike up a waterfall. (And climb on it. And swim in it. It was a very good waterfall).

I gave her the box, informed her she wasn't allowed to keep the box, just the contents (it was the only thing I had that was big enough for me to keep all of my A3 portfolios in, it had only been temporarily-repurposed as dragon housing), and then left the next bit up to the gods.

A surprise, sitting un-awaited for some 15 years in amber, to catch up to baby G and adult G together.

Happy Birthday, baby and adult G.

[daemon-in-my-head]

I'm going to be honest; I do believe at the beginning, Gortash was terrified of Durge. That man is intelligent. He probably knew who was behind the murders and knew what the implications of Durge being a Bhaalspawn were. And without knowing them well, it's perfectly understandable that he'd be horrified by the idea of Durge losing control because Bhaalspawn are inherently incredibly dangerous (see the whole taint and poisonous blood bit and all).

And I do think a part of that fear returns when he talks to tadpoled Durge. Because he knows, even if he refuses to acknowledge it, that this Durge is different, that it is not the weapon that wished to spare him anymore. Instead it is a very pissed off, very murderous quasi-deity standing before him with no recollection of their feelings.

And yes, while he's probably truthful to some degree when he says they'll get the world to see Durge as the god they are and that he always admired their control, I do also think there's a lot of terror packed into these words. He's buttering up to someone who can and will harm him as easily as they breathe. He's empathic and pleasant and so careful with Durge in his attempts to protect himself. He won't antagonise them outright because he knows that even if he somehow wins, that would be a fight with many losses. No matter how much he may have risen and bettered himself, the old Durge, as well as tadpole Durge, put him back into the HoH; they remind him of his failure and what happens if you somehow cross a being more viscous, more violent than himself.

His "charming and empathic" side is just part of his past, his old attempts at survival creeping back into him. He simply learned he'd have a better time if he treads carefully around these people. Abused children often learn to be emphatic, to read the room and to appease people. Because if they didn't, they'd get beat or worse for it.

[marimeeko]

Post Epilogue BKDK thought/quasi fic:

That suit probably comes with a manual and a bunch of specs, and blueprints, right?

I'm pretty sure it would come along with what All Might gave him. Alternatively maybe Katsuki has it but why would it be separate from the suit? Anyway;

But Izuku gets it and in-between grading papers, he starts studying it, wanting to take the utmost care of his suit.

He starts realizing that a lot of the direct notes about his Quirks and his techniques are in there, and furthermore...

They're all from Katsuki. Some are direct scans of notes he took and even diagrams and pictures he drew of elements of Izuku's former costume.

Each element of the suit has a section of the original concept, which would be a sketch and summary by Katsuki, along with ideas for how a suit should perform for Izuku. Sometimes a photo of Izukus old costume itself.

As Izuku pours over the manual, he becomes more and more enthralled with seeking out where technical jargon, diagrams, and hard-font gives way to Katsuki's hand writing and sketching; all of his original ideas that spurred the project on.

He starts to even notice, with some pieces, the handwriting is slightly shaky....he realizes that some of these concepts were written in the Era when Katsuki was forced to write with his left hand, his right in recovery.

Izuku covers a gasp with a scarred hand; some of these concepts of his had been written while they were still in UA together.

How had Kacchan been working on this for so long with him just never realizing? And not telling him?

He snaps the thick (hundreds of pages!) Manual shut at once and throws on some shoes and a jacket. Shortly after, he is hammering the door to Katsukis Apartment in the dark.

After a loud complaint can be heard from within about how late it is(its only 8pm), the door opens, and katsuki barely registers that it's Izuku before Izuku THROWS HIMSELF into Katsukis arms, tightly embracing him.

"Whoa, I-izuku??" All of Katsuki's former complaints choke off immediately.

"All Might said you were at the heart of the support suit project, but, it's more than that, isn't it, kacchan??" Izuku asks in a trembling voice. " All this time, Kacchan? Since we were in school, you've been working on this??"

Katsuki suddenly realizes what's happening, and he feels that heavy manual pressed in between their torsos where Izuku has it clutched. He connects the dots.

"...yeah, Izuku..." he carefully admits into green curls, dampened by the rain.

He feels Izuku shaking as he sobs into his chest, but as Izuku gently withdraws, he sees that underneath the onslaught of tears, Izuku is smiling.

"Kacchan, you...You're amazing" Izuku hiccups, tears pouring from his eyes. "I-I don't know how I can ever repay you--"

"You don't have to repay me," Katsuki quickly asserts. "Just give me your damn best out there. And don't you dare ever give up that dream of yours. And quit that crying," he grumbles as he pinches each of Izuku's cheeks as Izuku laughs.

Katsuki invites him in, saying it's too late and dark and rainy for Izuku to go back home at this hour. ( "why'd you have to run all the way across town tonight, I was going to come bug you at UA tomorrow anyway, you nerd!")

They end up looking through the book together over tea and end up passing out on the couch by 10pm, honestly kind of a late night for Katsuki, but not for Izuku who is used to staying up late grading and evaluating papers, along with getting small workouts in. He stays up just long enough to grab a blanket and cover both himself and Katsuki.

He goes to sleep thinking again about how blessed he is.

[pearl-blue-musings]

snow angel

This is purely self indulgent and healing in a way

Pairing: Alhaitham x fem!reader x Kaveh

Warnings: 18+, mental health issues, depression, slight blood, angst, comfort, feelings of worthlessness, thoughts of unalive, attempted unalive, can be seen as platonic or romantic, based on a song

Word count: ~2.3K

Reblogs and feedback appreciated!

Alhaitham never had to worry too much about you. And that worried him.

Kaveh never had to worry too much about you. And that worried him.

The two of them invited you, along with some other scholars and explorers on their investigation into Dragonspire. Never having traveled to Mondstadt but hearing of the wintery beauty that is the mountain top, you were excited to leave the contrasting humidity and arid-ness of Sumeru. You made sure that the bickering roommates had the appropriate outerwear for dealing with the frosty chill and thin air. You had happily helped them pack as you were packing your own things and getting your affairs in order before your expedition.

Hssss

The voice at the back of your head sends a chill down your spine and threatens to overflow. Your heart feels heavy from hiding and masking your feelings to push on further. Two pairs of eyes have now stopped on your visage as you seem to be frozen. You lick your lips in hopes of keeping the lump in your throat down. Their voices are barely legible as your shallow breaths fill your ears.

“Are you alright?”

You meet concerned red eyes as a hand on your shoulder shakes you from your stupor. You give Kaveh a knowing smile after a second of silence. The smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes and that doesn’t go unnoticed by both men. You say your rehearsed lines of “oh sorry, I’m fine! I didn’t mean to worry you,” with the added, “let’s get a move on” to keep them close but not too close.

Keeping your heart guarded, the expedition to the base campground went without a hitch. Despite the two arguing every now and then, it was an enjoyable adventure. You never understood why scholars thought Alhaitham as stoic and rude, he had the magic to make you laugh and feel competent. While Kaveh, that man made your aspirations seem attainable and your feelings validated. Well, the ones he knew about. You were thankful for having your own tent so they wouldn’t hear your soft crying or how your racing thoughts kept you awake. You thought they would never question why you would make the whole team breakfast before heading further in.

The weather started to change, alerting you and the team of your closeness to the base camp. Since you were a quasi leader, you venture ahead to find the adventurers to guide you through the snowy trail. Alhaitham watches you carefully and with a tight lipped breath he pulls Kaveh back. The blond immediately scoffs and is about to retort until he sees the expression in his friend's eyes. “What’s with the serious look?”

The man in question crosses his arms with a far off look. “I assume you’ve heard her crying? She thinks she’s hiding it but I hear it. And your tent has been closer.” Kaveh turns his head to see you looking through the map excitedly with the adventurer, your eyes widening over the mountainous terrain ahead of you. He didn’t want to admit it, but it broke him to hear you cry. What is going on in your precious brain? Why are you suffering alone? He doesn’t believe the lies you’ve been shoveling the two of them. “I’m just home sick,” you’d say. Or “I miss the warmth of Sumeru.” Kaveh knew that last one wasn’t true, considering you were in awe of Liyue’s weather and land. He knows he can’t ask you outright, but he’s worried more than ever. And so is Alhaitham.

To your group's surprise, one of the knights decided to help you out and guide you to his lab. Albedo, you learn, frequents the mountain and has his own base that is well kept and has enough provisions. With your parka and boots on, you begin the first leg of your excursion. Albedo speaks with all of you of the ruins and layout of the mountains, eager about what scholars from Sumeru will learn and take back. You get along easily with the knight, who you learned is a painter! There were a few run-ins with hillichurls but your guides and friends took care of them easily. After a grueling half day, you made it to Albedo’s corner. You were able to safely put your stuff down and set up camp. With the limited space, sharing tents and sleeping space was needed.

After you all settled in, Albedo shared a more intricate map that he created, pointing out areas of interest for your team. Strikingly, he suggested the team get acclimated to the snow and weather by walking around and playing in it. A small smile came to your face as you saw Alhaitham grimace at the idea, but you found yourself running out into the snow. You slowly trudge to a cliff side and take in a deep breath. You can see Mondstadt and parts of Liyue and the view steals all the air in your lungs. Your foot teeters on the edge, a few stray pebbles falling down the side. That voice pricks at your brain again to take a step; it’s gotten to be louder the closer you’ve gotten to the snowy terrain. A stray tear leaves your eye and you feel it almost freeze against your chilly skin. Something startled you inside and you stumble away from the edge. You felt something. How is it cold but your extremities are burning? You felt. You felt.

An almost cynical smile comes to your face as you fall back in the snow. The sky above a confusing mix of grays and blues with the sunsetting faraway. The wind blows harshly against your nose and eyelashes as you blink away snowflakes that dance across your features. You push yourself up when Kaveh calls out for you to come back to Albedo’s. When he sees the ghost of your smile his own heart leaps in hope that he’ll see you smile some more. He’s happy that you’re sitting next to him eating the goulash provided. Your head rests against his shoulder and Kaveh is secretly lucky you can’t hear his racing heart. He’s also unknowingly lucky he misses the intense glare from Alhaitham. When you finish your food, a yawn escapes your lips. You stretch out and announce to everyone you’re heading to your, now, shared tent with bicker and bickering. They wave at you and you head in for the night.

Alhaitham was intrigued by the knights knowledge and can’t wait to pick his brain about what they would find tomorrow. Kaveh on the other hand was more interested in the beauty Albedo is able to find in the icy wilderness. There’s a stillness mixed with the bustle of energy the mountains contain. The architect is excited to implement these ideas into his creations and beams at Albedo’s ability to answer all of his questions. After a couple of hours, they all breakaway for the night, noting the drop in temperature and increase in wind speed.

Kaveh rubs at his arms to warm them up, his heart sinking that you might be cold in their tent. Their tent, that mere thought has him blushing hard. He shakes his head as he brings his lantern to your tent and opens it. The two men do their best to not disturb you, and bicker, but stop when they see you’re not there. Fear quickly settles in as they notice your footprints in the snow. Alhaitham remembers what Albedo warned them about nights on the mountains, and now he’s at a loss for words.

The pair of men scramble to close the tent and follow your footsteps. The wind makes it harder to breathe so they keep their words to a minimum. With eye communication, they press on fearfully to where your footprints lead. Alhaitham is seldom scared, and when he is he hides it well. However, Kaveh can see the worry in his eyes with his eyebrows pressed together. Kaveh is about to continue on when Alhaitham stops him. The blond lifts his eyebrows until he sees Alhaitham point to the ground. There’s extra footprints. Alhaitham rushes forward as best he could in the weather as for once his feelings lead his actions. Why didn’t he speak to you about your crying? Why didn’t he speak to you about the lack of food you’ve been consuming? Why didn’t he make a comment about the bags and lines under your eyes, eyes that always sparkle for him?

******

You just wanted to feel something. Or nothing. Both? The effect of the goulash is starting to wane the farther you walk. The boars you ran into earlier calmly left you alone as you pressed further. You spotted on Albedo’s map a way to the top of the mountain without climbing onto the extremities. Maybe if you would reach the top, you’d find your reason for living. And maybe you’d feel the things you’re meant to feel. Or the cold would numb you completely and you wouldn’t feel anything at all. Both are good options. The former is happier, the latter more tempting.

You somehow managed to reach the entrance of some ruin with stone slabs. The wind is too intense for you to handle, but you’re running on pure adrenaline. You push and push until finally the wind pushes back. You gasp as you’re lifted up and thrown back into the snow, hitting your head on the way down.

There it is again, that numb feeling where you’re cold but it burns. It’s feeling but not feeling. You try to touch your head and your fingertips are coated in red. It doesn’t alert you, your heart rate doesn’t change. You lay back down, tears falling and freezing against your cold skin. “I tried,” you whisper before shutting your eyes.

******

The two men are shivering in their boots as they find where your footprints end. Kaveh is thankful Alhaitham put markers while they tracked you down, as he has no idea where they are. They see what looks to be remains of a city entombed in snow. In the distance they see enlightened stone slabs and a slightly open door with a cave to the right. He’s also finally able to see you. The man almost cried as he pushes himself to run toward you. He huffs haphazardly as his emotions start to get the better of him. You’re just laying there in the snow, with a crown of red circling your head like a halo. Kaveh starts to call your name and places his hand on your cheek. His own tears start to fall freely as he takes you in.

Alhaitham comes up behind you and puts his, well your bag down. He knew your bag had the first aid and he takes it out. He carefully lifts your head and your groan. “Thank the archons,” he whispers before starting to wrap your head. Kaveh holds your hand, trying to warm it up, his voice a soft whimper. Once you were carefully assessed for any other injuries, Alhaitham carries you to the cave where there happens to be a camp with firewood. He gently lays you down and wraps you in a blanket. Kaveh starts the fire to keep them warm and hugs you tightly. The air in the cave is more dense and less windy, giving them the chance to speak.

“How long,” Kaveh starts, “do you think she was up here?”

Alhaitham clenches his hands into fists at the thought of you being here alone. “I’m no doctor so I can’t say for certain. But I know her groaning is a good sign. She’s alive, hurt but alive.”

Kaveh sniffles from the cold and his rushing emotions. “Why did she do this?”

“…we can ask her when she wakes up.”

*****

The world seems blurry as voices mesh together. You feel warm and stuck, with a massive headache. You can’t totally move, but you feel secure. Your eyes slowly flutter open and you hiss. Your throat feels drier than the desert of Sumeru. As you take in your surroundings, you're slightly confused. And then you remember. To either side of you are your tent mates and you realize why you felt stuck.

Kaveh is holding you tightly as Alhaitham rests in your lap. Your cheeks muster some heat at the closeness. Did they come find you? Why would they do that?

“Can you stop moving? You’re making sleeping hard.”

Your eyes go wide when you hear Alhaitham’s low morning voice. You see him peer at you through a sleepy haze. You swallow a lump in your throat as you feel the dam break as you cry. Kaveh’s arms tighten around you as he nuzzles your neck.

“Don’t,” he softly breathes, “scare me like that.”

You nod against him and brokenly say, “I’m sorry.”

Alhaitham hums. “We know.”

Your tongue feels caught in a web but the need to unload your heart overcomes you. “…I try so hard to exist. And it hurts.” Kaveh squeezes you tighter. “I just wanted to feel something, anything. And the cold burned, I’ve never felt anything like that. I needed a reason to feel, to keep trying. I do so much and it all feels so meaningless. I thought if I made the top I’d find meaning…but if I died along the way, that would be fine too.”

Your heart starts to lift and feel lighter. It’s not everything you wanted to say or felt, but it captured most of it. Alhaitham tangles his fingers with yours, heart fluttering at the rush of blood under your skin. He won’t say it now as you are recovering, but he wants to be the person you lean on. He never wants you to battle and suffer on your own, and he’s sure Kaveh shares the same sentiment. He’s able to peek at the edge of the cave and sees the early rays of the morning. He hesitates moving you back to Albedo's base and starts hatching a plan of why the three of them left early. He sits up and sees the two of you with tear tracks on your cheeks and his heart swells. “Don’t worry me so much you two.”

[shorthaltsjester]

sometimes people will say “going dark” and then what they’re actually talking about is just people no longer presenting a carefully constructed version of their emotions and experiences.

like. emotional turmoil is not the same as darkness. laudna in this Fictional Universe that has tangibly different stakes wrt to death and killing than our own, is at best like . morally neutral for what she just did like. man has been secretly trying to kill you, and then just tried to do so again, killing him back is a fair choice. and even if i was someone who is excited by delilah’s inability to escape from the narrative, this shit isn’t about delilah. laudna made a choice. if delilah is back or whatever it’s a choice that laudna made because something in that grants her more control than her existing conditions did. this isn’t some Delilah Takes Over, it’s Laudna Expressly Makes The Choice To Call Forth Something within Herself to remedy the lack of control that’s been thrust upon her. if y’all want to Continue to limit Laudna’s agency (as the cr fandom is so, so want to do when a female character makes a choice that isn’t Good according to some weird system of virtue ethics) go ahead.

likewise with orym. little guy is not “going dark” because he has finally made direct action about his emotional turmoil in dealing with a situation which has similarly left him without control and has also placed him in a position where his stalwart conviction towards protecting and honouring those he loves and has lost alike is constantly met with other people he cares for going well.. what if they had a point/we are killing other peoples loved ones/etc. which like . yeah that might be frustrating and in fact might lead him to go, actually, i can’t afford to try and maintain some abject morality where I carry a locket that will literally only provide guilt. orym is completely committed to his beliefs, the locket and what it represents has never been a limit to what he will do, only a reminder of the consequences of what he might cause in those actions. but they Are at war and orym has a billion things on his plate. he can put down the locket. especially when bor’dor is the explicit manifestation of that locket’s symbolism. the subtext rapidly became the text and orym doesn’t need a reminder. it’s there in the fact that team issylra is walking away with two friends, not three.

these are character who have at every turn denied their own emotions in various forms while still being acutely aware of what they deny, whether that awareness was/is fully realized or not. many of laudna’s early convos with ashton show us that there is some awareness to the lighthearted spooky goth girl and how that persona fades when she thinks too much about what has led her and maintained that reality. likewise the entirety of orym’s story thus far is defined by his grief in a very literal sense, it Has extended from that grief to also the commitment he had to the purpose of figuring out the assassination attempt on keyleth but as we have seen, that purpose has fallen apart. paired with the quasi-reopening of his grief that was getting to see will again only to have to turn away, i don’t think there’s a lack of awareness in orym of how much he hurts. but between his actions and 4SD, that hurt tends to get buried under guilt or Responsibility.

and now, finally, both of them have admitted to that Not in the safety of small introspection or one-on-one conversations but with actions that they cannot shy away from or deny. laudna killed bor’dor and orym encouraged her to. and it Is a complex situation but truly I don’t really think it’s a “going dark” one. because they’re not giving into some overhanging Darkness of Morality™, they’re admitting that they are hurt and have long been hurting.

or, y’know, tldr for those who continue to deny laudna and orym agency or fully villainise them for whatever weird reasons . you could listen to laudna and ashton’s conversation that pretty much lays it out explicitly. laudna claims she’s weak for having chosen to kill bor’dor. ashton denies that and affirms instead that, no, she’s hurt.

[itshype]

Triple Threat (DC x DP)

So, this is based slightly on this prompt I wrote! Here is the link to my DC x DP masterpost, and one of my last notfics I posted here was Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss, Godhood where Danny and Vlad try to manipulate and mansplain their way out of trouble with the JLA. So, Danny and Billy are brothers. Maybe they're twins separated at birth, but I prefer that they bonded at some other point, maybe they adopted each other after meeting on the street. Danny's parents said they didn't care he was a halfa, but their behaviour changed so much because they were utterly incapable of hiding their fear of him. He ran away. Billy was at this time, already living on the streets.

They 'come out' to each other on the same day revealing their powers out of brotherly love and unconditional trust - not as an accident. And you know what? Trans Rights! They can come out that way too. At this point, Billy is working with the justice league and Danny is spending a lot of his time in the Zone. He is the king, but mostly his job is to be a key judicial figure as the 'only dude who can pretty much beat anyone up' and has a lot of friends there. Hey, the sovereign ruler of the ghost zone was locked up for thousands of years and nothing really seemed to happen so I can't imagine he'd have a lot to do day-to-day. Actually, instead of sleeping on the streets they both spend most nights in the Zone in Danny's Haunt (though I'd imagine Billy also sleeps frequently at the watchtower because the pair of them are quasi-immortal homeless children who also somehow have fulltime jobs that pay nothing. And the watchtower has a kitchen). When I think of Danny's personality displayed as a physical location, I think it looks like a little suburban street lined with weird ghostly trees growing sentient flowers. There's a nasty burger though it's empty of employees and food; they still use it as a dining room. His actual house (ghosts don't need one but I still think Danny would have one) is moderate in size and charming. But it has defences built in, to the same absurd level as home alone or that live action scooby doo film https://youtu.be/2x7W225iC88?t=62 where there's a trapdoor under the doormat. There's a park across the road (which is always empty of cars but has a pedestrian crossing anyways) with purple grass and some plants that are only vaguely carnivorous. Every now and then, Billy helps out Danny with some magic tomfoolery in the Zone (you cannot tell me Aragon's amulets or Desiree aren't magic over and above normal ghost shenanigans). In one of Billy's first ever team missions he calls Danny as backup. He barely knows these people and he knows he won't be able to do his best hero-ing when he can't fully trust them to watch his back. Phantom doesn't end up having to do much because the JLA members are nice and trustworthy, but he is physically and visibly there. At the conclusion of the mission, following a nice orderly debriefing, Wulf comes to pick up Danny to get Walker back in line. This is a point where there are only a few JLA members, but Batman carefully adds "Brother/Twin??: King of Ghosts - The Phantom" to Shazam's file and begins investigating ecto-activity. A few years pass. Enough that Billy’s and Danny’s lives get a lot busier. Billy is doing some non-traditional school shit (I refuse to google the laws around out-of-school younger-age education in a foreign country for a city that doesn’t exist) and Danny is now working in a space agency. He obviously can’t be an astronaut because of the required physical -which he would not be able to pass - and he is busy with king stuff often enough that going into space for half a year isn’t really do-able. I think his Jack Fenton genes might kick in and he bulks out just a tad. It took him a year to be able to look at his ghost self in the mirror because he looked like Dan’s scarier big brother.

The justice league stop some evil invasion but in the process disable a giant spaceship that is now floating, untethered through their solar system. The aliens had been prepared for superman so there is artificial kryptonite meaning he cannot just punt it into the sun. They contact some space scientists to help them figure out how much of a problem this floating object will be; if it will affect future space travel attempts, if it could crash into the moon or Earth itself, if benevolent alien visitors in the future could think Earth was full of deranged murderers if they came to visit and encountered it.

Every agency they contact recommends one guy.

So, Shazam has need of his cool older twin Danny to come and help out with this problem! He is visibly thrilled and eventually admits that Daniel Nightingale (he wasn’t going to add to the prestige of his parents name or risk dragging his career down with their shenanigans) is his brother.

Only a couple of the original members remember all those years ago that Marvel has a brother they’ve met and that’s who they’re expecting when Danny arrives with his team. Of course, the magic ghost is a good option for a dicey mission. But no, it’s Danny. He does a great job and there’s a lot of content here. But after Danny and Billy leave, Batman holds a meeting to update JLA members that have only been around a few years. Apparently, Captain “the champion of magic” Marvel, and Phantom – the king of ghosts are triplets with Danny “Just A Guy” Fenton.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 49 – Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh

Introduction

I forget who initially recommended me this book, but I owe them an incredible debt. Really the only disappointing thing is that I hadn’t heard of it even sooner, as this really is just perfectly tailored to appeal to me specifically. First science fiction/fantasy novel I can remember reading in a long time that I actively wished was longer. As a testament to how much I liked this book – this review is long enough to need subheadings.

So! Some Desperate Glory is a space opera, following Kyr (Valkyr, technically), a 17-year-old cadet and genetically enhanced ‘warbreed’ golden girl of Gaea Station – that being the quasi-fascist statelet of militant dead-enders who fled to a desolate planetoid in a dead system to continue the war after aliens destroyed the earth/most of humanity. After she gets assigned to Nursery (read: breeding the next generation of soldiers) instead of a combat wing and has a crisis of faith, she talks herself into running away to help her brother on the suicide mission terrorist attack he was deployed on. With the help of one of her brother’s friends and a captured alien, she manages it, discovers that her brother had absolutely no intention of actually following orders once he’d made it out, and take it upon herself to do her own, better, terrorism. From there the plot gets weird, and I’m going to spoil it shamelessly talking about it, but if you value surprises when reading at all just stop this review and go read it.

The Heroine

Kyr is, and I say this lovingly, the most insufferable bitch of a 17-year-old military brat I’ve ever spent time in the head of (at least at first). Even compared to the other indoctrinated child soldiers she’s the cop nobody likes. She then spends the first third to half of the book unlearning this indoctrination, by which I mean very arduously and painfully reaching a point of ‘the fascist cult was a corruption and black mark on the good name of the death cult vengeful crusade, I’ll do it better’ and ‘it’s probably okay to not, like, personally hate aliens who were too young to have been alive when the earth was destroyed. Torturing them for no reason is wrong, like abusing animals was, back when there were animals’. She spends the entire book expecting on a bone-deep level to get herself killed for the cause, and at the end of the book is only like 10% of the way better (one of the last beats in the entire story is, standing with one of her only friends and sure they’re both about to run out of life support, offering to snap their neck for them because ‘asphyxiation’s a nasty way to go’). Whenever she is confronted with the idea that some people aren’t constantly aware of the possibility of physical violence or get to live their lives as something other than a bullet in the gun seeking vengeance for a dead planet she wants to scream and smash things at the unfairness of it all. I adore her.

Honestly my only real complaint is how quickly she starts mellowing out in the second and third acts of the story. There’s extenuating circumstances (whole extra life of memories, time loop bullshit, forcibly confronted with what she said she wanted and what it looks like, etc), but past the one real big hump it did rather feel like her character development suddenly became a bit smooth and easy/. This is one of the things I’m talking about when I say I wish the book was longer – everything after the first big climax and the time travel/universe editing felt kind of rushed and abbreviated.

As far as being a #problematic fave goes, Kyr was also very carefully kept from being, like, directly personally culpable for anything really unforgivable. Which I do understand why from a wanting people to sympathize with the racist homophobic fascist child soldier, but like – you’ve already introduced time travel and retroactivity. C’mon, don’t get cold feet now. Let her and Avi really share the ‘killed trillions in a universe that retroactively never happened’ credit.

Also, and entirely tangentially – you know how in a lot of action shows, the hero has incredibly emotionally tense rivalries and/or camaraderie with other guys, and then also an extremely conventionally feminine girlfriend off to the side somewhere who does like two things in the entire story and mostly seems to exist to prove he’s straight? Kyr has that, except she is textually gay (if incredibly repressed about it and like 90% of the way to asexual in terms of libido). Sorry Lis, but you are literally barely a character. Cleo’s right there, and already has a personality that’s more than two bullet points and is actually involved in the plot in ways beyond ‘love interest’.

Gaea Station

The shitty fascist asteroid habitat that Kyr grew up on is (if barely) the primary setting of the story, and as far as portrayals of incredibly unbalanced and fundamentally broken society just full of cultlike and ultranationalist neuross. I kind of love it as a dystopian setting, though I feel like the author kind of over-egged the pudding on it by the end of the book.

Society is organized into what feels like an intentional parody of a lot of YA dystopia setups, where you live in a tightly integrated mess all through adolescence (each with their own heraldic animal to idenity with!) but then at 17 your exams determine the branch of society you will be assigned to for the rest of your life to do your duty for humanity. Of course, unlike most YA dystopias, the System isn’t the result of some leviathan-state ruling the fates of millions or a tradition that’s going back generations upon generations – it’s a ramshackle mess that can barely consistently feed its warrior elites enough protein slop to take advantage of their genetically engineered hormone levels for muscle growth. It’s all so clearly and intentionally artificial and fake that it loops around to feeling extremely realistic.

Also do love how the elder generation all have names like Joel or Ursa or Elena, while the younger generation are all Valkyr and Magnus and Avicenna and Zenobia. The only really surprising thing is that they don’t specifically call out how children are raised in common and without individual families as following Plato’s Republic – it’s exactly the sort of attempt to create a grand unifying mythology for all of Earth’s true and vengeful children.

I really do wish Tesh had trusted the reader a bit more about it, though. Like, we can tell that almost all the names of the younger generation are either historical figures form the Mediterranean/Greco-Roman world or Norse mythology (with a few exceptions like Avicenna who fit the general aesthetic if not those exact conditions), which puts a bit of a lie to the whole ‘pan-human’ bit. It’s a clever bit of characterization through worldbuilding! You don’t need to call it out twice in dialogue between characters and then again in an in-universe scholarly essay excerpt at the start of a chapter. I can’t complain too badly though, she’s really not even close to being the worst for that I’ve read recently.

One thing I did like especially because I don’t think it was ever called out and brought front and centre is just the sort of, like, perfect irony of both Kyr and her brother Magnus – ‘warbreed’ engineered supersoldiers with physical capabilities beyond any baseline human, blonde aryan ubermensch, the golden children and eugenic future of Gaea Station/true humanity – both being queer and totally unsuited to their assigned gender roles. If it was, like, specifically brought up in a big monologue as disproof of the Gaean ideology or something it’d feel much too on the nose, but as just a set of facts underlying the characterization of the protagonists I liked it quite a lot.

Trio Dynamics

They don’t actually have all that much pagecount spent together, now that I think about it, but as far as I’m concerned the absolute heart of the story is the dynamic between Kyr, Avi (Avicenna, genius-level hacker and cynical rat bastard discontented Gaea Station restaurant) and Yiso (young and rebellious Prince of the Wisdom, taken captive by Gaea when they’re personal ship came too close and then liberated/kidnapped by the other two in their escape attempt). It’s peak trauma-bonding in that the first time it involves a) Avi torturing Yiso to force the alien supercomputer to let him access it and b) Kyr shooting Avi in the head after he uses access to the supercomputer to wipe out 90% of galactic civilization as payback for the whole ‘destroyed Earth with an antimatter missile’ thing (she got a case of morals when confronted with what ‘winning’ would mean. Also her brother shooting himself.)

By all rights they should absolutely hate each other and after two temporal recursions and oceans of retroactively unspilled blood on all their hands they’re the only people who even slightly understand each other. At one point Kyr tells Yiso ‘just so you know, I don’t really care about you as a person,’ and then immideately thinks ‘that was a lie. Why did I say that?’ Avi and Kyr both deprogram themselves from the cult that raised them but only the ‘loyalty to the cult’ bits and not the ‘alien race war vengance death cult’ bits. Yiso meets Kyr in an atemporal training simulation and gets retroactive Stockholm syndrone even though the first time they actually meet she breaks their ribs for repressed teenager reasons. They all drive me absolutely insane and I absolutely adore them. Even if Avi’s redemption felt waaaaay too rushed and unjustified in the final recursion, willing to forgive it here.

Time Loops

The big twist of the story is that, having fucked up and enabled Avi taking vengeance for Earth by doing the same thing to every other alien species, Kyr jumps into the alien supercomputer time manipulation buisness wholesale and goes back to prevent the destruction of Earth. Which then fast forwards to her being a newly minted officer in the Terran Expeditionary Fleet that is the imperial power dominating the known galaxy in increasingly high-collateral damage ways as time goes on. Yiso, in this timeline the beating heart and soul of the main alien resistance group, seeks her out and restores her memories and they go back to try and hijack the alien supercomputer before the government office whose hijacked its crippled remnants (as helmed by the alternate-timeline version of Gaea Station’s great leader, now a fleet admiral of the ‘Providence’ division) manage to literally destroy the universe.

It is mostly down to all the fanfic I’ve read, but I really, really adore timeline divergences that ropagate out and leave all the major characters different but similar people in alien yet appropriate situations. I also adore time travel stories about someone turning the timeline into swiss cheese trying to brute force their way to the one and only golden ending. So I adore this whole conceit. Really my only complaint is that there were only two (one and a half, really) recursions. Not that I’m demanding a full groundhog day here. But, like, it’d have been nice. And Kyr/Avi/Yiso continuously bumping into each other in different configurations and usually ending up at gunpoint would have been ann absolutely amazing bit.

Space Orcs

I can’t be sure Tesh actually had any exposure to the whole online meme of ‘humans as space orcs’, but I do and it’s really impossible to read the book as anything but an examination of the idea. Compared to every alien species ever encountered, humans are tall, heavy, muscular, impulsive, and violent. In a one-on-one confrontation they’ll snap any other species’ neck. The very first pages of the book are an excerpt from an in-universe text writing for an aliens about how actually really humans are very intelligent, and then talking about how threat displays and ‘human culture’. In the original timeline they even fit into the usual social niche of orcs in a lot of fantasy these days – the scattered and diminished remnants of a brutal empire that was defeated and mostly-exterminated in their attempts to conquer the universe.

The book’s handling of this doesn’t really have a point, as far as I can tell – the worldbuilding’s sufficiently divorced from anything real that trying to call it a commentary on racism or genocide or conquering empires is a stretch. (It is after all a fundamental point of the book that the obliteration of earth and extermination of the vast majority of humanity really was the only way the Wisdom could prevent the Terran Federation from conquering the known galaxy. Which is I’m extremely sure not something the author intends to be a historical analogy.) I found it a fun bit of worldbuilding and interesting subversion of normal space opera tropes regarding humanity’s relative abilities, anyway.

Theodicy

Is an incredibly pretentious way to title this section, but also in a sense kind of the core of the book’s plot? In an interesting way, and I think it’s really the book’s greatest weakness that it doesn’t explore or grapple with it enough.

Which is to say – the Wisdom is at the heart of galactic civilization. It’s an alien AI with vague but vast (though limited) reality-warping and precognitive powers. It does not rule the civilizations that accept it, but guides them as a benevolent god towards best, happiest outcomes with whatever support they ask for or need. To determine what ‘best’ means, it creates its Princes, vat-grown heirs to the dead species that created it, with a lifespan of millenia spent going through simulations and interacting with the world to provide the data and decision-making it requires to make that sort of strategic decision.

The Terran Federation’s attempt to reverse-engineer or hijack the Wisdom put it in a situation where the only solution its princes could find was to destroy the better part of humanity and even more of their industry and culture. Through the plot of the first acts of the book, Kyr and her genius-level-hacker friend hijack a node of it and Kyr convinces/forces it to accept her decision-making instead of its prince (who they just killed). This results in an explicitly colonialist human empire ruling over aliens as oppressed subjects, and using the half-wrecked and poorly understood Wisdom to eliminate threats before they occur (shunting the reality backlash off to alien worlds they don’t care about). The next acts of the book mostly resolve around fixing or reverting this, and end with Kyr diving back into a node and having another conversation with it.

A conversation which is basically it giving up. It reverts things back to the human-genocide timeline, then shuts down its infrastructure and goes dark, leaving the entire mostly pacifistic and loosely governed galactic civilization it had protected suddenly on its own. Humanity were such assholes we found a loving god and then convinced it to kill itself.

Which, like, could 100% totally work. As far as high concept short story prompts go its incredible. But as far as actually driving the action goes the Wisdom is the one who makes the most important deciisons in the entire book, and determine the entire shape of the plot. For it to land, it really really needed more than two and a half short conversations on screen, at least to me.

TL:DR

Good book, lesbian doing space atrocities, should have been longer.

[anghraine]

I saw a post the other day about the absence of aristocrats in Austen's novels (in the sense of British peers of the realm, or at least people with titles, and not merely a social elite). I see this raised as a point pretty frequently, both in fandom and academia, and I find it intriguing that it comes up so much because the premise is ... wrong?

There are actually quite a few peers of the realm or immediate relatives of peers in Austen's novels. And that's even considering that knights and baronets are not included in this. Knights and baronets are technically not nobility, and knights especially could be quite low-status compared to the extended families of peers—e.g., look at the dynamic between Fitzwilliam Darcy, untitled grandson of an earl, and Sir William Lucas, a tradesman turned knight.

Some examples of canonical Austen characters who would generally be considered aristocracy in a fairly narrow sense:

Lord Courtland (unknown rank)

Lord Longtown (a marquis)

A viscount and his wife Eleanor (née Eleanor Tilney)

Lord — (Darcy's uncle, an earl, and one of the only peers in Austen's published novels with an openly redacted title, IMO as a reference with plausible deniability to the RL Earl Fitzwilliam)

Lord —'s son, Colonel (the Hon.) [?] Fitzwilliam, and his older brother, the heir

Lord —'s father, the previous earl

The previous earl's daughters, Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy

Lord Ravenshaw, the host of the aborted theatricals mourned by John Yates, and Lady Ravenshaw

(The Hon.) John Yates

A duke also at the theatricals

Lord Stornaway and his wife Flora, Lady Stornaway

Lord St. Ives, a newly-made peer scorned by Sir Walter Elliot

Lady Dalrymple, a relative of the Elliots and widow of a viscount, and her daughter, the Hon. [?] Carteret

Lady Susan Vernon, the spectacular villain of "Lady Susan" (her rank tells us she is the daughter of an earl or above)

Some of these figures (and others) are familiar to most readers. Quite a few aren't. I don't think this is on the readership. Many of the noble characters in Austen are entirely offstage figures, mentioned once or twice. So why is the question even worth bringing up?

Well, I think it's interesting that she does include them in the social world she depicts, but largely relegates them faaaar to the periphery of that world. And the noble or noble-adjacent characters who do appear in person are overwhelmingly the relatives of peers, not peers themselves.

Part of this, I think, is avoiding trouble. I mean, if the person who confronted Elizabeth at the end of P&P was not Lady Catherine, but Lady Catherine's brother the earl (complete with the allusion to Lord Fitzwilliam!), that might register to contemporaries as a lot more confrontational towards the nobility. Aiming the critique of snobbery at the earl's sister (and nephew) threads that needle carefully.

But apart from that, although the nobility of Austen's novels differ in character and background, from Lord St. Ives (son of a curate) to the performing duke, there is something that most have in common.

Most of them simply do not matter very much. They're generally over there, somewhere, doing something that the more major characters don't really care about. Or they simply exist. The ones we know something about either fail to impose their wills on the world around them, or aren't in a position to try. The gathered nobles' play in MP is disrupted by the course of nature, Lady Catherine and Lady Anne's plans for their children fail, Lady Susan has to scrape quasi-victory out of the wreckage of her schemes, etc.

And that's the minority that we know much about at all. Most are just part of the wallpaper of Austen's world. And I feel like that's the point. The nobility are integrated into the background of Austen's novels for verisimilitude. Their existence is part of that social world, as it would be in life. But it's hard not to come away feeling that she neither likes nor cares much about them. And if you exclude just one of her novels, Pride and Prejudice, the impression of the aristocracy's presence in her world goes way down.

I think this is partly why there's a sense that fandom is way more into the nobility than Austen herself was. Partly this is the influence of Regency romance/Heyer tropes. But partly it's because ... like, 90% of Austen fanfic is P&P fic and a bunch of it essentially has to deal with the Fitzwilliams. In Austen's larger oeuvre, though, the shadow they cast is largely an exception to the rule.

Normally, she includes them only to shove them off the stage. And that's kind of fun.

[jebewonmorelike]

Whatever You Say, President-nim

Part Two of "So You Can Do Yours"

⋆ ✮ ⋆

part one: "so you can do yours" wc: 2.6k pronouns: none used; n/a warnings: mentions of food-- specifically gunwook saying he skips lunch to get to work quicker (he's fine, he's just in love), lots of fluff, reader is a bit angsty bc they are missing out on being a kid/young adult/student summary: younganddumbCEO!reader offers to pick up assistant!gunwook at his university one afternoon to "help get him to work on time" ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ so after you read this... you will notice its still open-ended. i really liked this little story i'm crafting for wookie so i think i'll have one more part to it! i really wanted to write this; i definitely got a lot of intrinsic joy out of it and that is what i've been missing from my writing recently. it was super fun to write-- i hope the couple of friends who have asked about a part 2 enjoy this too!! thanks for supporting me on this quasi-break, it means a lot. please give me any feedback you have no matter how small; i just love hearing that you liked it. :)

“It’s almost there, but...” You whisper to yourself, carefully dotting your paint brush to the canvas to touch up the mossy bank in the bottom right corner. Creating a deeper shadow in the greenery, you smile as you imagine what your assistant will say when he sees your progress.

Gunwook typically requests that you save your painting for when he’s working so that he can adequately cover all your job-related duties for you. You know you should be responding to your emails or reviewing the paperwork he finished for you yesterday to better familiarize yourself with it, but you just couldn’t help yourself. The idea of adding deeper shadow to the green areas of the painting had come to you last night in a dream and you’d been bursting at the seams to follow through on it since you woke up this morning.

What time is it? You wonder, glancing up at the clock above your doorframe to find that it’s almost 1 P.M. On Thursdays, Gunwook clocked in at 1:30 P.M. after finishing his classes at his university for the day. Just a little bit longer...

“President-nim?” The voice of Secretary Lee over the intercom breaks your focus from your painting. The small brush you're holding tumbles from your hand, a dot of dark green landing onto the perfect pale blue sky. You close your eyes, inhaling for four seconds and exhaling for six-- the breathing exercise that your assistant had introduced to you last month to cope with your frustration and anxiety at work.

With the amount of times you’d had to use it to keep yourself from impulsively firing his own mother, you’re sure Gunwook was glad he’d found the right one for you.

You pick up your paintbrush calmly and place it into the mason jar of water on your desk before leaning over to the intercom and pressing the microphone button. “Yes?”

“Could I come have a word with you, President-nim?” She asks politely, but hurriedly. “It’s a bit urgent.”

“Come in, Secretary,” you agree, shutting the top of your desk quickly to conceal your artspace. You throw some papers that Gunwook had completed yesterday for you across your desk in an attempt to make yourself look busy. 

With a soft knock at the door, Secretary Lee enters as you pretend to study some of the papers-- tapping the base of a ballpoint pen to your chin in faux concentration.

“President-nim,” Secretary Lee greets with a bow as she makes her way up to your desk. She glances down at the papers you’re pretending to fill out, eyes lingering a bit too long. “Are you very busy with paperwork?”

“Oh, um,” you start, nodding a bit too hastily. “Yes, but please share with me what you need to.”

After a moment of continued suspicion, Secretary Lee finally moves on, responding, “I have to leave now to get the plans you approved from the Engineering Sector this morning to Board Executive Han in Incheon. He requested they be delivered immediately to his office.”

“That sounds great,” you reply with a nod. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get back to work now.”

“Well, there’s--,” Secretary Lee says quickly, bowing slightly in apology for the continued interruption. “There’s a slight problem that I have to make you aware of.”

You frown, an eyebrow raising expectantly. 

“The drive isn’t too long and I don’t mind making it,” she prefaces, clasping her hands together. “But it will interfere with my lunch break and... That's when I pick up my son from his university and bring him to work. He can take the bus, but there've been long delays recently so I’ve been driving him to and from school so he isn’t late.”

“Ah,” you reply, placing your pen down on the table. 

“So I wanted to apologize and warn you that Gunwook could be very late today,” Secretary Lee says, fidgeting with a button on her coat. “I’m sorry about this, President-nim.”

To your embarrassment, a flood of disappointment hits you. You’d been really looking forward to showing your assistant the new additions to your painting.

And drinking his expertly-made coffee. And being both offended and impressed by at least one unavoidable and perfectly crafted new insult. And seeing that genuine, absolutely magnetic smile...

“I can pick him up.”

The offer slips out impulsively. Looking up at Secretary Lee, you notice that she’s somehow much less surprised by it than you are.

“Are you sure, President-nim?” She asks with a small smile. “That’s a lot of trouble to ask of you. You’re so busy right now with all of this paperwork!”

“I am so busy with paperwork, yes," you nod, putting on your most convincing performance. "But I... I actually was going to run something over to my mother’s office, so...”

“Ah,” Secretary Lee affirms with a nod. “Then if it’s no trouble, I’m sure Gunwook would love that, President-nim.”

Your face flushes slightly at her words. You wish she hadn’t told you that her son had finally agreed to be your assistant after he’d seen a picture of you. It was wildly unprofessional.

But even worse, it sometimes made you... think things.

Like maybe when Gunwook smiled at you, he wasn’t just trying to please his boss. Like maybe he actually liked you. Even just as a friend. Maybe he really meant all of his niceties. That wasn't something you often experienced in your life.

“Right,” you reply finally, shaking your head a bit to stop the thought spiral. “Well, have a safe drive, Secretary Lee.”

“You as well, President-nim,” she says, glancing at your paperwork one more time. “Do you need new pens to be ordered for you?”

You tilt your head to the side confusedly. “Why do you say that?”

“Your writing isn’t as neat as it usually is, President-nim,” Secretary Lee says; the hint of a smirk appearing on her lips. “You’re starting to write chicken scratch... just like my son!"

“Very funny,” you deadpan, shooing her towards the door with your hand. “I do my own paperwork, Secretary Lee.”

“Of course, President-nim,” she allows with a laugh as she opens the door to your office and steps outside. “Whatever you say, President-nim!”

Like mother, like son.

__________________________________________

Pulling into a parking spot in front of Yonsei University’s Yonhee Hall, you quickly notice a small group of students in front of you ogling your car. In your high hopes to feel nostalgic and comfortable on a university campus again, you’d completely forgotten about the spectacle that is your baby blue 2024 Porsche 911.

Grabbing your phone and keys and stuffing them into your back pockets, you open the car door and climb out-- a chorus of excited whispers when the three students in front of you see your face.

“Whoah,” one boy says in disbelief. “Expensive car AND good-looking? That's just not fair."

“A student could never afford that car,” the girl next to him whispers back as you start to walk over to where they’re standing in front of the steps to the building. 

“I’m not a student,” you reply, which visibly shocks the girl and her friends. “Did you guys just get out of class?”

“At 1:15, yeah. Public Policy Analysis,” a shorter boy next to her replies. With a timid smile, he continues, “We’re heading to eat. Do you wanna join us?”

The girl hits his arm. “Don’t be so desperate.”

“Sorry,” the boy says quickly.

“Let’s just go,” the taller boy says. “Gunwook never comes to eat with us anyway-- I don’t know why you continue to insist that we invite him.”

You notice how the girl looks away in what appears to be embarrassment. Had this girl fallen for Gunwook, too?

You did not just think ‘too’.

You clear your throat, quickly repeating, “Gunwook?”

“Yeah, he’s our friend, sort of, who--...” The shorter boy starts to explain for you (which is very kind of him, considering you’re a total stranger), but his attention suddenly shifts to the top of the building steps behind you. “Oh there he is. Gunwook-ah!”

You turn around slowly to find Gunwook staring back at you wide-eyed. Noticing his black university hoodie and his Adidas joggers, his backpack slung over one shoulder, and his un-styled hair falling into his eyes... you have to physically swallow down the lump of anxiety that’s formed in your throat.

“(Y/N)?” Gunwook asks, running down the building steps to you. “What are you doing here?”

“Y-your mom had to deliver something in Incheon,” you reply nonchalantly as your downright adorable assistant flops his way down to you; towering over you from the step above and smiling.

"So you came to rescue me?" He asks with a smirk.

“Gunwook-ah,” the girl beside you calls, the slightest air of annoyance in her voice. “Is this your friend?”

“Yeah-- or... Um,” Gunwook stumbles as he grins at you. “My boss, actually.”

“You’re Gunwook's boss? I thought you worked for the President of KCTech Company,” the taller boy replies, eyeing you up and down suspiciously.

Gunwook nods-- not once taking his eyes off of you. “I do.”

“The President of KCTech Company is a teenager?” The girl scoffs, folding her arms in front of her chest.

“I turned 20 last month,” you correct with a grimace.

“Whoah,” the shorter boy whispers in awe. “So are you part of a chaebol family?”

Both of his friends issue a punch to his arms. “Sorry,” he says quickly.

“It’s okay. I am,” you say, shaking your head dismissively. “But I anxiously await you political science majors striking my family down with new policies in the future.”

“Okay, and we’re leaving,” Gunwook says, taking your arm and dragging you the rest of the way down the stairs with him.

“But I meant it,” you protest, trying to keep yourself from fully processing that Gunwook has now engulfed your hand in his gigantic one and seems to have no plans to let it go.

“I know you meant it, but we don’t need three university students selling a story to a tabloid about how the President of KCTech challenged them to economic warfare after class,” Gunwook explains with a sigh. As he pulls you towards your car, you hear the group of friends still mumbling about the interaction they just witnessed.

“Am I going crazy or is Gunwook... holding his boss’s hand?” The taller boy asks, wiping his eyes with his fists to make sure he’s seeing clearly.

The shorter boy laughs. “I'm pretty sure he also used informal speech.”

“Whatever,” you hear the girl huff sadly as Gunwook opens your car door for you and gestures for you to get in.

Once you’re inside your car, Gunwook shuts the door for you and makes his way to the other side. That’s when you realize... you’re sitting in the passenger’s seat.

Gunwook opens the driver’s side door and hops inside; watching as his classmates talk amongst each other-- debating whether or not to start to head to lunch. Your assistant waves to them happily through the front window.

“What are you doing?” You ask, shocked at your assistant’s actions.

“Waving to my friends,” he answers dumbly.

“Why are you acting like you’re about to drive my car!?” You exclaim, hand flying to his shoulder to shake him a bit.

Gunwook smirks at you. “Because I am.”

“No, no, no, no,” you squeeze his shoulder harder. “No, you are not.”

“You wouldn’t embarrass me in front of my classmates,” Gunwook challenges, batting his eyelashes cutely. “Would you, President-nim?”

Every time you think your assistant’s gone as far as he can go, he always pushes you a bit further. And you’d be bold-faced lying if you said you didn’t love it.

“Gunwookie,” you whine rather unprofessionally. “Ugh, fine. But if you crash this car, I swear I’m gonna--.”

Gunwook presses the start button on the car excitedly, fastening his seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space without looking both ways.

“Please, Gunwookie,” you beg, fastening your seatbelt frantically. “I really like this car. It’s the only present my father’s ever gotten me that I actually liked.”

The boy tenses a bit, meeting your gaze and nodding quietly in agreement before pressing the gas pedal with his foot at a responsible velocity. Gunwook drives through the campus and out onto the main road diligently, stopping for 3 seconds at stop signs, minding crosswalks, and breaking gradually. He’s a good driver-- which shouldn’t come as much of a shock to you, considering he’s good at pretty much everything he does.

He’d even painted some pretty convincing trees last week when you’d shown him the brush technique before you left work. 

“How come you don’t drive more often?” You ask, reaching to your back pocket and pulling out your phone. “Your mom has to drive you to work every day.”

“I don’t have a car,” Gunwook answers, signaling a turn. “Or a license.”

Your phone drops from your hands into your lap. “WHAT!?”

“Relax! I have a permit,” he says with a laugh as your hands fly to cover your face in despair. “You’re supervising me, President-nim. I know you won’t let anything bad happen to your favorite assistant.”

“The ice is so thin, Wookie.”

The nickname leaves your lips before you can consider its implications. Gunwook clears his throat awkwardly, focusing back on the road. You continue in silence for a bit, looking out the window as Gwanghwamun approaches. But there’s something you still want to say before you reach the office building.

“Gunwook-ah?”

The boy glances at you expectantly. “Yes, President-nim?”

“Those kids,” you start, watching as his grip on the steering wheel slips gradually to a more comfortable position. “They said they keep asking you to go to lunch after class with them.”

“Oh,” he replies, nodding as he sucks his teeth. “One, they're not kids-- they're literally a year younger than you and so am I. And, two, I don’t really have time. I have to get to the office by 1:30 to--”

“One, you're two years younger than me. And two, come at 2:30 from now on,” you interject. Gunwook’s eyebrows knit with confusion, but you continue, “Eat lunch with your classmates while you can.”

Your assistant’s expression softens as he meets your gaze, but you think you would prefer that he didn’t look at you with this much pity again any time soon.

“You’ll regret not spending more time doing fun things like that when you can’t anymore,” you explain, tugging at the skin around your nails. “You should be doing things you enjoy, is what I mean.”

“Thank you, (Y/N),” Gunwook says with a smile. “I’ll eat lunch with my classmates more often. But...”

You raise an eyebrow as Gunwook pulls into a parking spot on the street-- one that luckily doesn’t require him to parallel. He’s a good driver, but you’re not ready to test his skills that much. Pushing the engine button to turn the car off, Gunwook leans back in his seat and turns to look at you.

“I hope you know I also enjoy working, too,” he says; a cheeky grin lighting up his face as he adds, “With you.”

You pout at him to combat the smile that’s desperately trying to creep onto your face. “Who wouldn’t enjoy working with me?”

“Literally every person you’ve ever hired,” he throws back at you.

There’s not much you can say. He’s right. Which begs the question...

“Why do you like working with me?”

Gunwook hums contentedly. “There’s a lot of reasons.”

“Huh,” you reply, still admiring him in his street clothes. Unfortunately picking up Gunwook after class had only made your desire to be normal grow stronger. If things were different, maybe you would’ve met Gunwook in the dining hall on campus-- stared at him in his round glasses until one day you finally worked up the courage to speak to him. You’d have friends instead of employees. Art classes instead of meetings. Parties instead of paperwork. “They must be pretty good reasons to ditch lunch with your friends.”

“I actually usually skip lunch altogether so I can see you quicker,” he rebuts; eyes widening in panic as soon as he realizes what he’s just said. “I--... I mean, get to you quicker. You know... For work. And stuff.”

Gunwook was not known to throw an “and stuff” around very often-- he’s usually more eloquent and thoughtful when he speaks. The way his cheeks start to flush as he blinks at you; lips pouted like a baby chick... It's enough to make you wonder if his words might not have been a simple misspeaking, but rather a truth that slipped out accidentally.

“Come on,” you call, unfastening your seatbelt and opening the car door-- stepping out onto the sidewalk and waiting for your assistant to follow. Gunwook hops out of the car before sheepishly joining you on the sidewalk. You head towards the doors of your office building, but then, much to Gunwook’s surprise, continue to walk past them.

“President-nim?” He calls after you. “Where are you going?”

“To lunch,” you answer over your shoulder. “My assistant’s been going hungry in order to report to his boss on time! We don’t want a headline about that, do we?”

Hearing footsteps pounding against the pavement to catch up with you, your arm brushes against Gunwook’s as he falls into step beside you. “He does it willingly, though, (Y/N).”

“Not anymore, he doesn’t,” you reply, eyes focused on the road ahead of you in an effort to ignore his use of your name. “From now on, my favorite assistant will eat well and he’ll like it.”

Gunwook laughs next to you and you make the deadly mistake of looking up at him. He smiles at you fondly through the fringe that’s falling in his eyes and says softly:

“Whatever you say, President-nim.”

[izvmimi]

cw: fantasy!au shoto x princess!reader, implied quasi-arranged marriage, some place names i made up for my au <3

Court ladies, particularly the ones that are of your age, marriage-eligible and plagued by thoughts of wedded bliss, are notorious for embellishing stories. Especially those that concern men, especially those that concern those rich and powerful men, and most of all those who are thought to be blessed with powerful magic.

The prince who hails from the Terras Magi far away, whose personal history already sounds like the stuff of fairytales, is one of these bountiful sources of mystery and fantasy. Third in line to the throne after the original crown prince of their hidden kingdom went mad and after the second prince disappeared into the night, the mage prince is thought to have strategically kept himself hidden away from the remainder of the continent, declining to partake in the many royal conferences held over the year. Few have seen him in the flesh, aside from the reported occasional meetings with prince Bakugou of the highlands, who somewhat begrudgingly claims to be his friend. 

However, that changes tonight. You will meet him, and you are expected to charm him, as princess of Phulblume, to consider forge a stronger alliance with that part of the world that has remained closed off and uninterested in the much more mortal remainder - 

and there is no greater alliance than matrimony.

Yet,  the thought of courtship tires you immensely. You’ve been in love before, and lost it, accepting that a relationship between a future Queen and her Knight would cause more harm than good; your previously furtive glances, held too long across the court of flowers, have now been reduced to averse, split second looks. You cannot bear to lay eyes on him and neither can he on you. 

Love is laid to rest, and you expect not to be impressed by another man ever again.

And yet, the mage prince is everything you’d heard and more.

The prince arrives with his older sister in tow, who watches him carefully, not to protect him but as though to mind his manners for him. He bows before the throne where your father and mother sit, where you stand in polite wait and then curtsy.

As he introduces himself to the court, you find yourself waiting for him to look at you. He doesn’t immediately, and you notice the red and white of his hair, starker in contrast to his sister’s gently swept locks. She is radiant despite the gentle frost that follows her, and it is reminiscent of the first snow of the season, the kind that is too gentle to accumulate but warns you that storms may approach soon. She turns to you and smiles, and you curtsy politely, your cheeks warming. 

Then he turns, as though instinctively following his sister’s lead, and he sees you. There is a split second of hesitation as your eyes meet. He forgets to bow and you forget to curtsy, perhaps because you are both feeling out each other with your souls. 

You are earth and he is both water and flame. 

You catch yourself first, starting your curtsy, and he takes your hand and bows deeply, his eyes falling to the ground at your feet. 

“I am pleased to meet you, your Highness.”

The pleasure is all mine, you think and forget to say. His voice reminds you of the gentle crackle of firewood on cold nights as a child, sat comfortably in the lap of your mother as she reads your favorite book. 

His sister watches carefully, and you think of morning dew. 

“I am glad you have arrived safely,” you can hear your father, the King, announce. Prince Shoto has not stopped looking at you, although your gloved fingers no longer touch. Princess Fuyumi nudges him gently, then speaks first.

“We are thankful to have been invited to your kingdom on behalf of our country,” she cuts in when Shoto remains mute. He seems to snap back into attention at the sound of her voice. He nods. 

“We look forward to tonight’s gala and to what you have to show us in Phulblume,” he adds.

He glances at you again, and you look away, your face warming, and wonder if it’s his magic, or something else.

[sunshines-child]

emerging from my quasi hiatus bc i need to yell something rq and have no idea where to go, sunny allow me to seek refuge here pls n thank u forgive me i love you :D

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

aight so greek mythology premise; a siren spots a small boat and an even smaller figure in the distance. first catch of the day she thinks, grinning to herself.

she circles the vessel, listening carefully to their gentle humming, considering disguises. head peaking out of the water she sings her best melody in hopes of averting the strangers attentions to her so she can adequately capture their deepest desires.

PLOT TWIST bc i dont feel like being eloquent this early in the morning lol: theyre deaf! and sirens iirc are part of apollos domain or sum and as the god of knowledge in my eyes hes a polygot and this is shared with the sirens to appeal to the biggest demographic of people lol.

anyway she sings and to no affect, sailor feels the water shift underneath them and turns to see the siren (in their real from bc why not) and puts 2 and 2 together and starts to sign. boat person is shook and signs back :D probably unaware of the sirens motives.

ALTERNATIVELY: tis a child! and ig sirens arent particularly picky with those who trespass into their waters, but perhaps she either takes pity, or intends to go about with business as usal but kiddo unknowingly outsmarts her and she amused decides to leave them be, or even better take them in (bc what parents let their kid venture that far) or a secret fourth option.

EVEN MORE ALTERNATIVELY: (and this one can be seperate from deaf boat person) AROACE!!!!!!!!!!!! >:D ive yet to see anything written about sirens luring victims with anything other than the usual ways of persuasion, modes of control, means of deceit and other roads to the soul (ayyy) lemme see someone being lured into a qpr or something lol

TRAGICOMEDY: sailor is suicidal and knows exactly what theyre getting themselves into, and the only thing holding up their backflip from the boat is them getting stuck in the nets. shenanigans ensue where siren helps them to get to her lunch faster. and idk they bond, maybe she talks them out of it bc meals dont taste good when they willingly walk into their traps or maybe its some code of ethics thing.

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

dont u love it when u try to write 2.7 sentences to get the wiggles out but it turns into 7 paragraphs, several arts and a spinoff? my hs english assignments weep in the corner & unwritten wips plot my downfall as i type lmao.

to anyone interested please feel free to run wild with any of these! if you do please tag me @kindred-spirit-93 >:D

sunsprite wreath for the flower of my life x

You may seeks refuge here :)

[rebelspykatie]

that green light, i want it

Part 6

They pull up outside of a nondescript home, a brown, simple thing with faint light peeking through the curtains. For once in his life, Eddie doesn’t say anything as he follows Steve up the driveway. The tension from before bubbling over, fear seeping into the night, putting them both on edge. 

Eddie watches Steve carefully, more worried now about the toll this is taking on Steve. The green magic practically dancing at his fingertips, begging for a reason to be set free, one moment away from disaster. He can’t possibly be older than Eddie, but his youth is waning under the pressure, worry lines creasing his forehead and turning his mouth down at the edges, permanent frown unchanged outside of the brief moment Eddie made him laugh earlier. 

Despite Eddie’s fear of what they could be stepping into, there’s a determination sinking in. It’s been a long time since he has felt that all encompassing desire to protect someone. Most people don’t give Eddie the time of day. High school flunky with a dead end job, living with his uncle for the rest of his life, it doesn’t really spell out a promising future. He’s had the same friends since high school and unless he wants to befriend the corpses Steve’s bringing to life, he’s not meeting anyone at work.

This is all terrifying and exhilarating in equal parts. His curiosity pulled him into some kind of quasi friendship with Steve that they speed ran their way into in a matter of hours. But something about Steve calls to Eddie. Perhaps it’s magic and he’s just an idiot that’s been spelled, but Eddie’s a pretty good judge of character and deep down, he knows that Steve is a good person.

It’s all become abundantly clear that Steve’s alone in this. He has Nancy, sure, but she’s his ex and she’s desperately trying to get answers for something that plagues them and this whole town. The weight of that is dragging them down, but Steve doesn’t seem to have a lot of people he can trust, given everything he told Eddie. His house was empty, no signs of life outside of Steve’s room. No pictures anywhere amongst the horrendous plaid, just one photo of him and Nancy, young and carefree. Who’s been taking care of him? Who’s been here to make sure he doesn’t lose control like Nancy?

Before Steve can use the key he’s pulled out, the door swings open with a flash of blinding red light. Eddie startles, reflexively gripping Steve’s jacket and pulling them backwards. Steve’s already moved in front of him, blocking Eddie from danger in a way that would probably have his heart racing if he wasn’t already scared shitless. But it also blocks Eddie from being able to see the threat, and Eddie’s sure it’s a threat given the unnatural light. It has to be the coven. 

He peeks around Steve’s shoulder and sees a fairly ordinary looking man. Pale, with blond hair. Cheekbones that are all angles and a vicious, wide eyed glare that’s about the only unsettling thing about him besides the red magic swirling around. Otherwise, he looks normal, like he could own one of the houses on Steve’s street. He’s even wearing a crisp button down and slacks like a businessman. Or maybe a milkman. It’s disappointing. 

It takes him longer to notice that Steve’s magic has kicked on. Hands flicking about, doing intricate dances that make the green flames flicker around them before a puff of magic swirls up in an arch over them and a glimmering forcefield comes down, faintly glowing green. 

“Smart boy.” The man nods once in their direction. “I’ve taught you well.” 

“I’ve learned a lot more than what you’ve taught me, Henry.” 

Henry tilts his head to the side, his gaze calculating enough to give Eddie the creeps. “Seems you have. Our little protege thinks he can outsmart the master.” He pauses for a moment, eyes boring into Steve. “Did you think I wouldn’t know? That I wouldn’t notice the book missing from our library? That I wouldn’t catch wind of your naive little plan to save your friend and find out the truth?”

“If you know so much, why haven’t you killed me yet?” Steve throws back. 

“All of you have walked right into my trap.” Henry smiles, head snapping back to upright, and that’s even more unsettling than the cold stare from before.

Steve hesitates, Eddie’s close enough to see the way his shoulders tense. Tentatively, he reaches out and places his hands there, silently letting Steve know he’s with him. Steve doesn’t take his eyes off of Henry, but he doesn’t shrug him off, either. Eddie feels him take a deep breath. 

“You know, I wrote you off, Steven.” Steve bristles at that, shoulders tensing again under Eddie’s hands. He rubs a light circle onto his back, hopefully reassuring Steve. “Pretty little rich boy, come to save the day when his stupid girlfriend gets herself in too deep. I thought you’d run at the first sign of trouble, but no. You stuck around. Became a nuisance. I thought you were messing up my carefully laid plans. But you proved me wrong.”

“How?” Steve asks, voice wavering. Eddie squeezes his shoulder. 

“You’re all just mindless rats in my maze, following the cheese I laid out.” That sickening grin now etched onto his face. “Your power is far more valuable to me than Barbara Holland and Nancy Wheeler. You don’t even know what kind of raw energy you possess. You’re not a witch.”

If Eddie were in Henry’s place, he’d probably see a crease forming between Steve’s brow, confusion setting in. “What? Yes I am.” He gestures to the forcefield around them, clearly conjured from Steve’s magic. 

Henry shakes his head. “You’re a foolish child with no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” He starts pacing the porch, crawling along its edge like a lioness hunting their prey, eyes never leaving Steve. “Witches call upon spirits and study spells and incantations. But haven’t you noticed where your power comes from? Haven’t you noticed how different your power is from the rest of us?”

Eddie’s a bit lost in all this, but Steve is listening intently, barely breathing. 

“All of the elders can see it. Anyone with half a brain and access to our library could’ve figured it out by now, you stupid boy.” He stops, right back where he started, perched on the edge of the porch. “You’re a druid. More powerful than you know. You can channel your power through nature. Didn’t you wonder why your control came so much quicker than hers? It’s because you’re of the earth.”

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Epilogue | AO3

[eirenical]

...ok that was 2700 words of ambiguously ending LLH & SGD quasi-reconciliation fic that I wasn't planning on writing tonight.

OOPS.

Have a snippet?

XD

*

Prairies gave way to forests, and then finally to dune grasses.  The roar of the ocean was deafening, disorienting after the quiet solitude of the woods.  He cursed, tromping back into the woods towards a stream he'd passed not long ago.  Ocean beaches weren't known for their potable water sources, after all.  But travel on the beach for a ways could neatly hide any trace of his passing.  He'd yet to be followed, yet to even hear rumors that he still lived, but one could never be too careful.

Water skins well filled, he returned to the beach, picking his way carefully along the shoreline, on the lookout for any scuttling creature that could serve as food as he walked.

What he found instead…

No.

Impossible.

To have come so far, to have walked so long, to have fought so hard, just to end up right back where he'd started?

He knelt down by the man crumpled into the sand at his feet, lifted the outstretched hand that had already been soaked by the incoming tide, and pressed his fingers deeply into the pulse point of his wrist.

But whether he hoped to find a pulse or its absence, he couldn't have said.

…there.

A tiny flutter against his fingers.

No neili to speak of, barely enough blood to be felt as it flowed beneath the skin.  But flow, it did.

Wide eyes stared up at him from beneath a tangled fall of dark hair, frightened, pleading, begging for help—

He pressed a hand to his head, forcing the image back into a past he had long forgotten, a past a childhood fever had taken from him, leaving him prey to being made a fool, a laughingstock, a—

He put the hand back down, slid his arms under the man's back and legs, gently lifting him from the sand.  If they were to have one last chance of sharing words, then he would have it happen somewhere safer than this.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 🎃💦 ∘₊✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟙𝟜 ✧₊∘

|| ︶꒦꒷𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥꒷꒦︶ | main masterlist ||

@absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 Prompts

day 14: Uniform, Suspension Bondage, Abduction/Kidnapping

ty to @jupiter-soups for putting eyes on this 💜

𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 a continuation of the pairing from Day 3

| PAIRING(s): Maxwell Lord x fem!OC/reader x m!OC Shawn | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 3.6k (don't look at me like that) | CONTENT: disaster bisexual navigates internalized homophobia and toxic masculinity, exhibitionism, awkward MMF dynamics bc Max is a disaster bisexual, misunderstandings from most parties about gender and sexual expression but they're learning okay? | SYNOPSIS: It's your birthday, and you know just what you're going to ask Max for.

He knew it had only been a lie - a half truth - even then. That you wanted someone to watch the two of you having sex. Being viewed and admired in the throes of passion. Voyeurism. Exhibitionism. Group play. Max wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to call it anymore. You were always sure to never make him put a name to something until he felt safe enough to claim it. A soft understanding to not push him past what he could understand – or accept. But helping him get there, nonetheless.

So when you’d brought Shawn into the equation, he forced himself to have a detached coolness about the entire thing. At first he was relieved it was a man because performing for two women at the same time felt daunting. He was relieved it was a man so that he could wield his command over the situation and another masculine figure. Assert his dominance. 

Then, the dread. The dread of knowing he’d have to regulate himself, make sure he was paying enough attention to you so as to not incriminate himself with where his desires drifted and settled oftentimes - to another masculine figure. 

You being the one orchestrating this and choosing the other man afforded Max the plausible deniability he needed. For himself. For others, if they ever came to know what happened in the four walls of his home. Reasonable doubt could be sown and cultivated if he needed it. The fact that there was a man involved in his private, sexual dealings. A quasi participant to his sexual gratification. 

Shawn was shorter but held himself taller. His dense facial hair and strong jaw screamed male! and a fine specimen of one, at that. He had light green, easy eyes and a friendly smile. His dark brown black hair was a loose mess of naturally wavy strands that begged for fingers to caress and smooth over. His hands weren’t very large, but the twist and flex of his muscle in them as he fidgeted with them gave an impression of strength. He was handsome. He was kind. He was devastating.

You slyly insisted Shawn was the “perfect pick” because he wouldn’t try anything with you – he “didn’t really swing that way.” Max’s cock thickened at the thought of a man’s eye on him in the bedroom, and only him. The first time, he’d overdelivered as Shawn sat and gorged on the display. After the second time, you’d carefully asked if Shawn could “indulge himself” from where he sat and watched. Max agreed to it and subsequently did a poor job hiding his ogling of Shawn tugging on his own dick. 

This past time they’d come at the same time, a few moments after you had, and he couldn’t break eye contact as it happened. There was something in his face begging for Max to let him have this, let him have a moment of shared intimacy even if they were several feet apart and hadn’t touched.

So now, tonight, when you’d hinted at “something special” for your birthday, Max attempted to remain the safest amount of disinterested while still engaged as the three of you sat around finishing up dinner. He was on his second glass of white when he offered another pour to Shawn, who smiled shyly and accepted. They hadn’t spoken much, which was a direct result of Max avoiding conversation as much as possible, afraid to slip up and say something that would reveal his inner workings.

“Alright, I’m just going to remind everyone that it’s my birthday,” you say with a giddy lilt as you stand from the table a few minutes later. “So if the birthday girl asks for something, make sure you’re really, really dedicated to finding an alternative, comparable gift if you plan to tell me no.” 

You wink and grin, and it lights up your entire face. God, Max really did love you. You were something else entirely. He had no choice but to trust you as you instructed him to stay put while you and Shawn slinked quietly into the bedroom, whispering excitedly to one another. He remained as you’d left him, patiently impatient for you to return. It was a painful ten minutes before he heard the soft padding of feet heading his direction. Then, the low sound of you clearing your throat.

“Your cleaning service is here, Master Lord,” you announce in a put-on, pouty voice.

Max opens his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath as he takes in the two of you dressed up in some shiny, cheap looking French maid costumes. Your breasts spill from the poorly fitted bodice. The slope of your ass and hips lift the skirt of the mock uniform in all the right places. The delicate lace trim of the thigh high stockings looked feather light against your soft, smooth skin.

His eyes flit to the hyper feminized version of Shawn. He lacks the chest and teasing curves of a woman’s body, but the stretch and pull of the fabric around his muscles and broader form bring about a different sort of desire. A hulking, strong thing made into something small, demure. Supplicant. Obedient. Max’s chest heaves up and down at the crushing and exhilarating realization that seeing Shawn this way aroused him more than he’d ever known was possible.

You’re both made up with bright red lipstick. Shawn’s lips protrude with the bright wash of color. His beard that had been scruffy at dinner was nowhere to be seen. You must’ve shown him where Max keeps his grooming items. His smooth face gave an air of youth and innocence that had Max adjusting his crotch awkwardly in his dining chair.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He tries to manage a calculated, careful pull and release of air, but he can tell it’s coming sort of panicky and excited.

“Master Lord,” Shawn greets meekly with a small curtsy. The band of the stockings strain under the swell of his thigh muscles from the minute movement. Max rests a hand over his hardening cock.

You saunter over to him and wink again, a soft and playful thing that has him calming slightly. “Birthday girl wants to get things tidied up and tended to around here,” you purr as you slowly lean across the table to clear the dishes. Shawn follows suit until you’ve both taken everything to the kitchen. Max sits in shocked silence, afraid to move. Unsure of what he should do despite knowing what he wants to do.

You lead him quietly to the couch and give him a gentle shove backward. Shawn follows closely and plants himself on his knees to the floor beside Max’s feet. You slink your body down until you’re in the same position, flanking his other side.

“Master Lord, do our uniforms meet your standards? We know care should be put into occupational dress – an important component in putting forth an acceptable workplace presence,” you say so slick it’s a wonder the words didn’t drip off your tongue like honey.

He swallows and nods, not trusting himself quite yet to speak.

“Perhaps he’d like to see all of the uniform,” Shawn suggests in a small voice.

You cock your head in his direction and grin. “I think you’re right, Shawn. Let’s have Master Lord see all of what we’ve got on.” You turn back to Max. “Do you want that, Master Lord? Can we show you?” you ask in a breathy hum.

He licks his lips and nods. You tap Shawn’s leg and nod your head towards the living room table behind you. You both sit at the very edge of it with your legs spread, the curl of fabric dipping between your thighs working to conceal the hidden treasures you’re teasing. You gently tug the hem of your skirt above your hips to expose the lacey white undergarments barely covering your sex. Max groans at the small damp spot he sees. Your hand delicately traces across the fabric of Shawn’s skirt before lifting it and revealing the misshapen bulge of his hard cock against the lace panties.

You breathe a little laugh at his hardening erection. “I don’t think that’s for me, is it?” you tease, giving him a nudge of your elbow. 

He shakes his head, never taking his eyes off Max. “No, it’s for Master Lord,” he asserts, almost sounding short of air. Max gasps soft and low at the press of Shawn’s cock against the delicate fabric of women’s undergarments.

“What do you think, Master Lord? He’s hard for you. I bet shoving his hard cock into those small women’s panties is so uncomfortable for him,” you purr.

“Is it?” Max demands in a hush. His eyes flit up to Shawn’s. “Does it hurt your– does it hurt your cock with it pressed into women’s things?”

Shawn’s eyes flutter shut as he smiles to himself. “Yes, Master Lord. I can feel the seams pressing into it.”

“Do you want to show him what else, Shawn?” you whisper loudly. His cheeks flush as he sits unmoving, eyes locked with Max. “Only if Master Lord wants to see it.”

There it was. The direct positing of want. The onus of lust. The demand for the unspoken desires to be claimed.

“Show me,” Max grunts before he can talk himself out of it.

Shawn nods and sinks onto the floor once more. He turns and lays his belly and chest across the table. The rounded tip of his lace clad bulge is all that can be seen without lifting his skirt. 

You won’t make Max admit it twice. You flip the skirt over Shawn’s muscular backside and smooth a hand over the hairy skin. The thin string of thong is swallowed in between his flesh, and the glint of something sparkles underneath the fabric. You pull it aside to reveal the sparkling tip of a buttplug.

Max chokes and lets his head fall against the back of the couch. “Fuck!” he hisses. His own erection tents his pants. No hiding it now.

“I think Shawn has been keeping this inside him, wishing it was you, baby,” you coo in a soft, coy voice. “Maybe you should ask this little sissy boy slut how long he’s had this thing stuffed inside him just wishing it could be you instead.”

Max’s head snaps to attention. Sissy boy. That was a new one. Was that the name for men who wore these sorts of women’s things? Wasn’t that crossdressing? 

As if you could sense the direction of his thoughts, you supply a simple answer. “Turns out me and Shawn both want and need the same thing: a man with a nice big cock to boss us around and fill us up.”

You thumb at the glistening end of the toy, and Shawn whines a little. Max’s cock kicks at the wanton, plaintive sound. You eye his attentiveness in your periphery and bite back a smirk. “Here, let’s see what’s behind the curtain,” you giggle as you pull the toy slowly from Shawn. He sucks in a gulp of air as you slide it all the way out. It glistens in the dim light of the living room.

“Come on up, honey,” you say softly to him as you help him down from the table and onto the floor. His eyes are heavy and wanting. Max feels something within him kick into gear. “Little sissy boy, huh?” he hedges with feigned bravado. 

Shawn pretends not to notice and nods meekly. “Yes, Master Lord.”

“Take it out,” Max commands, lifting his hips a little to signal his order.

Shawn crawls forward quickly and unfastens Max’s pants before pulling his cock free. You scramble up beside him and look on. Your eyes light up when Max instructs Shawn to hold it by the base for you to suck. You take him as far as you can, only stopping when your lips graze Shawn’s knuckles. You glide the wet of your mouth up and down and watch as your slobber slowly starts accumulating and dripping down his hand. You pop off from sucking and licking at the tip and take a moment to catch your breath. 

Shawn makes a few exploratory passes of his fist on Max’s length and starts stroking harder when he gets a chest grumbling moan from Max. You bend down and feather kisses on his scrotum. He watches you with hopeful eyes. You won’t make him ask for it. You lean further and graze the tip of your tongue against his asshole. You smile and nod, an encouraging push for him to let go and feel good. His hand cups the back of Shawn’s head before slowly inching his mouth against his weeping cock.

Shawn all but swallows him down, finally getting closer to what he wants. Max lets out several pained whines as you flick your tongue into his ring of muscle while he pushes Shawn’s head down until he’s gagging. It’s a slobbery mess with red lipstick smearing across everyone’s skin and you all begin to drop off into pleasuring each other. Eventually Max pushes both of your heads away from him. “Fuck, I gotta– I need a minute or I’m not gonna last,” he pants.

He tilts his head back for a moment as though he’s concentrating on something and then focuses his attention on Shawn. He stands from the couch and gestures to the now vacant seats. “She’s gonna lay here, and I want you to make her come on your fingers,” he says matter-of-factly. Shawn’s brow pinches in surprise and confusion, a furtive glance your way at the unexpected turn.

“I’m comfortable with it if you are, Shawn. No pressure, though. We can still have fun doing something else if you’re not comfortable. Right, Master Lord?” you pointedly ask as you look up through thick lashes.

“Yes, of course,” he affirms. He looks nervous for a moment, like the bubble has popped, but relaxes when he sees Shawn’s fingertips skirting your thigh.

“Not exactly my area of expertise, but I’ll give it a shot,” he laughs low.

Max leaves just as you get situated on your back and the wet of Shawn’s fingers prods your entrance. He returns quickly with a bottle of clear, thick lube and squirts a generous amount into his palm before slathering it over his angry, red cock. He awkwardly jostles his pants and briefs off before yanking his shirt off. He watches with abandon, allowing himself to be greedy and lecherous.

Your face goes through a myriad of expressions, none of them pleasured, as Shawn tries to figure out an angle that works. Max feels a rush of superiority. He would’ve already made you come by now, especially when you were already so worked up. He scoffs at Shawn’s attempts, drawing his attention up.

“Not a real man at all, are you?” he sneers.

Shawn shakes his head in agreement. “No, Master Lord. Not like you.”

Max huffs and leans over you. He works his fingers inside you and draws an orgasm in less than a minute. You let your head loll, a satisfied giggle rushing past your lips. “Show off,” you laugh. Max grins and stands upright again. He eyes Shawn with a curious hesitation.

“Will you take care of me, too, Master Lord?” he asks in a hush. Afraid of the answer. Afraid of the rejection.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he snips, but there’s a hint of a tremor in his voice.

Shawn obliges and crawls onto all fours. Max reaches out for your hand and guides you onto the floor next to him where he squares his hips to Shawn’s. “Pull his skirt up,” he requests with a tremble. His breath catches when you lift the hem to just above the curve of Shawn’s ass and palm both of his cheeks apart.

“You must feel so empty without that toy filling you up,” you tease. Shawn moans and makes a gasping plea to be filled up.You hook a thumb on the string of fabric barely concealing his tight, aching ring of muscle.

You tilt your head to look at Max. His cheeks are delightfully flushed, his mouth hanging loose. There’s a flash of reluctance there, an internal dialogue about something. “What is it?”

Max looks to you and flushes a deeper shade of crimson at having been caught mid-thought. “I, uh… shouldn’t we… a condom.. because of….” he trails off.

“I’m clean,” Shawn supplies gently, instantly understanding the tone and reticence. “I brought my results from the clinic in case you wanted to–”

“No, no, that’s fine, that’s fine. I didn’t mean–” But Max falls silent. He did mean it. He did have the assumption that a man who indulges in the company of other men would have something inherently unclean about them, something diseased. It wasn’t lost on Max that he was nothing more than a hypocrite. The fact that he himself was in the very same dynamic he moments ago examined through the lens of bigotry and puritanical pigheadedness. On the precipice of a freefall into self-loathing and shame, Max is pulled from his thoughts.

“I wanna feel you - just you,” Shawn solicits in a demure appeal.

“You gonna show him what a real man can do?” you ask in a throaty hum.

Max grasps his length hard and teases it against Shawn’s asshole and swallows hard when he sees the soft puckering movement as if it’s insistent on being stuffed with him. “You take a lot of cocks in here? You let real men fill you up since you’re only useful as a little sissy boy cum dumpster?”

Your eyes widen slightly. You’ve never heard Max speak so crudely, even in the bedroom. It sends a renewed ache between your thighs. Shawn seems to approve of this new side to Max as well, if his needy moan is anything to go by.

“Yes, Master Lord. I need a real man to–”

Max slowly starts inserting himself into Shawn and whimpers at the clutch of muscle around the tip of his cock. You rush to reposition yourself to face Max without leaving your hold on Shawn. His teeth are bared beneath his curled lip as he pushes himself all the way to the base. Shawn chokes back whimpers at the stretch and fill.

“You like fucking his boy pussy?” You lick your lips as you watch Max speed up his thrusts.

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Yeah, fucking his boy pussy.” He vocalizes like he’s taking your commentary and internalizing it before spitting it back out, like a narration and decoding in real time. 

Shawn gasps as Max’s balls start slapping against the back of his thighs. His arms begin to fail as the drives become more forceful.

“Lay back and put your legs up,” Max pants, unceremoniously unsheathing himself fully.

Shawn slumps against the floor and settles onto his back, pushing his legs up from the heels of his feet planted next to his hips. He grimaces as the fabric pulls and presses against his intimate areas, much too small to accommodate his painfully stiff erection. He goes to take his panties off, but Max’s hand stops him.

“You’re gonna keep those on,” Max instructs him firmly.

Shawn pouts and drops his head back. You move his skirt and panties out of the way and make a clear path for Max to push himself back inside. He wipes the residual lube from his hand and wrist onto Shawn’s asshole before plunging himself to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re taking him so good, Shawn,” you praise as Max grips onto his hips for leverage. He thumbs at the lacy fabric around his cock and groans.

“Gonna take what I give him. He wants a man, he’ll get a real man,” Max says in a heavy exhale. He stares at the red smear of lipstick transferred from the base of his cock where Shawn had taken him into his throat. Each time he bottoms out it smudges and presses the color between them.

“I-I’m gonna come,” Shawn gasps.

“Fuck–yeah– yeah, gonna come in those fucking panties. Dick stuffed in those little panties,” Max rambles with labored breaths.

Shawn’s legs tense up as his pleasure crests. Max grabs onto Shawn’s thighs where the band of his stockings cut into his flexed muscles. Shawn lets out a strained moan as his cock jumps against the lacy fabric. A dark patch forms where his cum spurts out. A few pulses send some dribbling onto his scrotum and the crease of his thigh. 

Max unloads with a choked yelp, taken by surprise at the intensity of his orgasm. He fucks into Shawn and is spurred on by his cock pushing his cum out of another man’s hole with each stroke. Max gives a few more sloppy thrusts before slumping on top of Shawn. 

“Fuck that was so hot,” you breathe.

Max stiffens when Shawn wraps his arms across his back and skirts his fingertips at the nape of his neck. You smooth a hand through his hair next to Shawn’s, and Max relaxes. You all eventually untangle and get cleaned up. The conversation is a bit clumsy as the night comes to an end and Shawn says his goodbyes at the door. He gives you a quick, chaste peck on each cheek but stops himself before offering Max the same farewell. Instead, he opts for a quick rub on his arm and a thank you.

You both watch on as he makes his exit. You shut the door gently and breathe a smile at Max. He shoots back a happy, shy grin. “Happy birthday,” he says with a tender kiss. “Best birthday ever,” you agree before kissing him back.

If anybody is interested, I do have a face claim for Shawn. Idk how people feel about those, though.

tagging anybody who reblogged the last one or anybody who seems interested in dismantling homophobia

@survivingandenduring @bonezone44 @wannab-urs @heareball @boliv-jenta @morallyinept @perotovar

[olderthannetfic]

audience question: what books/movies would you give (or have given) your kids to become their formative media? i'm interested to see what makes the cut 👀

--

I'd let them have access to my library. If it's a book, I'll let them figure out when they're ready to handle it.

(Works fine as long as you're a decent parent and answer questions that come up without being a weirdo about it and freaking them out so they never ask you anything again.)

For films and other things... hmm... it's tricky because all of the formative tings for me were the genre I'd call Weird Art Films About Weird Sex.

If my kid were shaping up to be that kind of weirdo at 14, maybe I'd leave some of these around, but I think it would be pretty intrusive to thrust them upon anybody outside of a film school seminar. Maybe Harold & Maude. My parents rented that when I was a tween. It made An Impression. It's rare for me to see something even two or three times, but Harold and Maude I've seen dozens.

I still think the opening to Harold and Maude is one of the best of any film:

You immediately know what kind of people both of these characters are and that this isn't going to be a simple comedy, dark or otherwise.

The first time I watched it, I knew nothing about the film and was surprised at both this and all of Harold's other antics. It's hilarious until it isn't. It's a movie about zest for life vs. wanting to die, and it walks an interesting line tonally. I remember rewatching it to show it to friends in college... and for the first time understanding that look Harold gets when he sees Maude's arm.

--

There was definitely media I loved pre-puberty, but the things I remember are all like Nancy Drew.

I consumed vast quantities of mystery, and it's probably why I'm a mystery novelist today, but I don't remember anything specific that feels formative in other ways. I wouldn't try to stop a kid from reading trash. I remember how infuriating it was to have adults constantly trying to make me read something "better" than Nancy Drew. But I wouldn't specifically hand my kid those or any of the other formulaic junk series (Sweet Valley High et al.). They'll find whichever ones are popular at the time just fine.

--

There's a very particular feeling of my brain lighting up that I remember mostly from my teen years. Those media made me quiver and have to pause the movie. I felt seen or maybe I felt too much to handle. That's the feeling I associate with formative media for me.

Here are the ones that instantly spring to mind even after all this time:

Velvet Goldmine - Music fan investigates the glam rockers of his youth, meditating on his sexual awakening and trying to solve the mystery of where one of them went. Ewan McGregor's tweet is the sequel. I will accept no other outcome.

Crash - James Spader at the peak of his beauty falls into the world of car crash fetishists who are dealing with the ennui of modern life and the alienation of the big city and technology by becoming perverts. Contains people going down on scars and tattoos, fetishy leg braces, and what teen me assumed was homoerotic subtext. (Spoiler: it was not subtext.)

Matador - A serial killer murders her victims like a bullfighter would; she stalks her favorite retired bullfighter who is also a serial killer. Antonio Banderas plays a dweeb like always in Spain. (The rest of Almodóvar's 80s and 90s movies were also favorites.)

Kissed - The fluffy necrophilia movie

The City of Lost Children - Less horny, but what is up with Miette and One's vibe? Visually a feast. Ten times the movie Amélie is. Sorry, not sorry.

Cemetery Man - Rupert Everett kills zombies in this bizarre Italian horror movie based on a comic book character drawn to look like Rupert Everett. My stepfather thought it looked like something I'd like and rented it for one of my birthday parties in high school. Around the time of the quasi necrophilia sex scene I realized 1. he'd chosen well and 2. he had clearly not read the back too carefully.

The Pillow Book - Japanese-Chinese novelist named after Sei Shonagon has a battle of literary wits with the publisher who blackmailed her father into sex with him. Involves a lot of calligraphy on naked men, including Ewan McGregor.

Sex, Lies & Videotape - Unfulfilled housewife has her world turned upside down when her shitty husband's college best friend comes to visit. This dude has become unable to be with women after a bad breakup and interviews and videotapes women discussing their masturbation habits for his own private use. Contains a famous and stupid quote about men falling in love with the people they sleep with and women becoming more and more attracted to the people they love, but the movie is far less gender normative than the character saying that.

Tesis - Uptight film student who pretends not to like violence decides to do a thesis on violence in Spanish media. Her advisor dies while watching a mysterious tape he got from somewhere. She steals it, finds out it's a snuff film, and investigates with the help of a creepy horror film nerd.

The best scene is when they're watching some violent shit she asked him for ("for her thesis") and she says "What kind of people watch this stuff?"

He answers: "You, for example."

That one I discovered when my roommate in Japan was watching it a couple of years after college. Many of these I saw in high school. That's the range where I remember things being particularly formative. Or maybe it's about what I'm open to at different points in my life: I think weird art films can still make me feel too much, but I don't always like that feeling, and I don't seek them out as much now.

Knife+Heart made me flash back to that era though. It's a neon-drenched period piece about a lesbian director of artsy gay male pornos investigating a serial killer targeting her actors. The sheer levels of meta insanity and horny murder scenes, my god!!!

Running through all of these are themes of ambiguous sexuality, often queer but also non-genitally-focused, massive quantities of voyeurism, meditations on what it means to be a fan, and a boatload of death=sex=death vibes.

--

That's not quite what you asked, but basically, my own formative media isn't something I'd share with just anyone. If people want to watch necrophilia-filled art films of the 90s, I think they need to choose that for themselves.

I guess all that access to Beatrix Potter and watching basically no TV other than Mystery! or Masterpiece Theater (i.e. UK costume dramas catering to a teaboo market and co-funded by the US) during my early childhood had an effect. So did going to schools where we studied Asian American history and read Dragonwings.

None of those media stand out. I'd share them with my kid, but one example is as good as another. Knives Out delivers substantially the same experience as most of them. Watching whatever anime is hot now will be as good as watching the anime I liked when I was young.

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #111

Being Spider-Man often leaves Peter with several cuts and bruises. Moreover, if you look carefully, you’ll notice several scars on his body

When Mr. Stark asks Peter to pick up Morgan from preschool, the teen agrees to do so. When he arrives many of the parents who are also picking up their kids observe the little Stark and what follows, noticing every single thing suggesting Peter gets into some kinds of fights all over his body

Despite the fact that Peter is listed as a person authorized to sign Morgan out and take the kid with him, and despite Peter doing his best to look as polite as possible, people are reserved toward the teen and constantly give him the look

This situation happens a few more times, and rumors about Morgan’s apparent babysitter being a teenage dirtbag who allegedly attends fight clubs, smokes weed, and gets drunk on a daily basis appear.

Peter is well aware of the rumors because of his enhanced hearing, but he doesn't do much about this. He is concerned Mr. Stark won't want him to go through the trouble of picking up Morgan if he finds out, and he really doesn’t mind the rumors if it eases his quasi-parent’s schedule even a little bit.

Okay, Peter might have a little bit of a problem with his self-image because of the rumors. He could try to hide the marks under hoodies, maybe start hiding his bruises under some poorly matched makeup he stole from his aunt?

One day Morgan overhears other kids telling each other what their parents said about her and her babysitter. Morgan is confused a little bit because she doesn’t have a babysitter. She just has a big brother she adores. She doesn't want to confront her playmates about this, but she does tell her mom what happened

Pepper of course goes to Tony with what she hears from Morgan, and the billionaire is pissed. While he doesn't blame anyone for having concerns, the following worst-possible-conclusion rumors are a whole other thing. The fact that people had concerns about Little Miss's safety and didn't notify him about any of this is just a cherry on top

What happens next?

This fic idea was submitted by @mori-tashie!