#(and i wonder if it was a more novel thing back then? and now its a lot more content based and performative? idk.)

[zharaely]

The Birth of a Hero was weird...

Putting aside the fact that it was actually written to be a guidebook for Kim Rok Soo, it was so obvious how weird The Birth of a Hero was as a 'novel' looking back, especially when you re-read the early chapters of TCF. It was weirdly detailed and descriptive about what should've been minor or unnecessary information if it was actually a novel.

For example, The Indestructible Shield, which was an ancient power that wasn't owned or found by anyone in the novel but just so happens to be in the Henituse Territory. It wasn't related at all to the main characters, but TBOAH went into detail about the ancient power's history, its original owner, its location, how to obtain it, and the response to expect once you feed the man-eating tree. I wonder whether Kim Rok Soo ever questioned why Nelan Barrow would write so much about something 'not important' while reading TBOAH, if whether or not the author just decided to ramble about world lore he made up but couldn't tie into the main story. Kim Rok Soo is better than me because I would've gotten really bored.

Also, TBOAH didn't just get into detail about the Ancient Powers either, since it also had a LOT to say about the Original Cale Henituse, his family, and the territory in general. From the very beginning, when Kim Rok Soo wakes up in the body of Cale Henituse, he goes to the bathroom to find the full body mirror the Original Cale Henituse had that was mentioned in the novel. That is INCREDIBLY random information to mention about a minor villain whose sole purpose was to get beaten up by the protagonist. But it doesn't happen just once. When Cale asks Deruth for an allowance, he recalls that the Original Cale also received a large allowance but the exact amount was never mentioned in the novel. Later on, when Ron serves Cale lemonade instead of cold water, he recalls again how the Original Cale hated sour things just like himself.

If he really was inside of the novel, he knew that there should be a large mirror inside.

As expected, the full body mirror was inside the bathroom. Cale Henituse, who had a lot of interest in his appearance and physique, had this mirror set up in here. Nobody else in the household had such a mirror.

The novel did mention that Cale received a large allowance, but it did not mention the exact amount. However, he could realistically understand how large it was based on the amount listed on the cheque.

He really is an insidious man. He knows that, just like Kim Rok Soo, the original Cale hates sour things. But he still chose to bring lemonade, which would take more work to prepare than cold water. [...]

It's pretty obvious by now that TBOAH went deeper into the Original Cale Henituse's character than a normal novel should have in just the first volume, like how he despised gangsters and scammers or how he had horrible aim when drunk, and his relationships with Ron and his family. Kim Rok Soo would recall reading about flashbacks to Cale being woken up by a servant that wasn't Ron which led to a ton of swearing, Cale breaking everything at his spot in the bar once, and Cale getting a scar on his side while drinking the night before meeting Choi Han. The novel also mentioned things that no one else but the Original Cale Henituse knew about, such as how he had high alcohol tolerance but just flushed easily which made people assume he was lightweight. if I were the one reading TBOAH, I would've started to wonder whether the author was planning to make Cale Henituse an important character later on (and maybe he was, but there were only 5 volumes).

The Henituse Family wasn't mentioned as much as Cale was, except for how people pushed the 15-year-old Basen to be the head of the family and how Basen started acting as the family's successor since 2 years ago, but it's odd enough that Nelan Barrow decided to describe characters that Choi Han never even meets (if we assume he only encounters Cale and Deruth and no one else in the family). There were even descriptions of the slums in the Henituse Territory and the Henituse Family business, like???

All of it further cements the fact that The Birth of a Hero was very much a guidebook written for Kim Rok Soo, who was going to swap bodies with Cale Henituse, and to help him adjust to his new life and plan for the future. The novel was fucking suspicious from the start!!!

#trash of the count's family #lout of the counts family #cale henituse #kim rok soo #original cale henituse #thebirthofahero #choi jung gun #nelan barrow #tboah #it felt off since my first read but it made a bit more sense on my re-read #50% of TBOAH was about Choi Han's adventures #the other 50% was CJG rambling about random side character facts and world lore

[skitskatdacat63]

2011 British gp Fernando is such a mood...

#okay now obviously i could make a super accurate actual version of this using a wider variety of pics #but i found it so funny that all of these are literally from one day #and hes exhibiting every stage of grief and expression known to mankind #there was literally almost 50 pics just from this one day at this specific time #thank you to whichever ferrari photographer this was 🙏 #(i feel like we dont really get pictures like this so much nowadays?) #(or at least not the sheer amount?) #(but i feel like i dont really have any pics of him from recently just chilling in the garage) #(i loveeeee the candids!! so cute to see the drivers just in their 'natural habitat' and also great for ref) #(but yeah idk i think i like photography from this era better) #(i remember reading an interview w a photographer who talked about how fernando was willing to let him take more candid pics) #(and i wonder if it was a more novel thing back then? and now its a lot more content based and performative? idk.) #anyways!! sooooooo obsessed w the amnt of pics of fernando chilling in his garage from the ferrari era #literally thousands of them and im so endeared!!!! #i wonder what was going on in this practice session for there to be so many pics of him incredulous 😭😭 #i wish I could just post all the pics from this compilation bcs hes soooooo adorable but also very memey #f1 #formula 1 #fernando alonso #fa14 #2011 british gp #we do a little bit of f1

[junipers-archive]

Music Moods

Word Count: 604

Includes: FLUFF, Spencer explaining how he can tell readers mood off what music she's listening to (Prompt from this challenge from @imagining-in-the-margins)

You were on the jet with the rest of the team, reading one of the many novels you packed in your go-bag while listening to the Smiths with your headphones.

Or at least thats what they saw, what you were actually contemplating was giving up on your book and staring out the window for the rest of the flight. Usually you'd use Spencer as your personal pillow but he looked busy so you tried your best not to interrupt him.

In fact, you dutifully turned your head towards him, just to enjoy how he talked, which was always using hand gestures.

He however was talking about you, though you'd never be the wiser with your music blasting so loud everyone could hear it slightly.

It wasn't anything bad of course he was only discussing what he found helped to determine your moods.

It had been Derek that asked initially, "Spence why aren't you sitting with Y/n? Trouble in paradise?"

To which spencer responded, "Actually, I find that by paying attention to what artist y/n listens to I can easily determine in what radius to her she'd like me."

"That can't be real." Emily was suspicious.

Rossi however...was familiar with how relationships went about.

"I believe it may have been...my first wife, she had this thing about how she wore here hair, up meant she was going to be more extroverted and down meant not to talk to her too much...or was it the other way around?"

"Gee I wonder what went wrong there." Derek grinned,

You tried your best to follow who was talking, but it was all reading lips and you were too lazy to reach your phone across the table to pause your music.

Spencer continued to explain and your gaze landed on him, "No, he's right, whether or not we realize it, many of us do things out habit, its our subconcious essentially communicating with the rest of the world, for instance, Y/n will listen to more 80's groups or artists like The Smiths, David Bowie and Queen when she's feeling more introverted and independent. As when we go out together she's more likely to put on more recent artists like Lana Del Rey and Lizzo because she's feeling extroverted."

Even Hotch was invested now, "But how do you know she just doesn't want to hear a specific song, written by one or the other?"

"Well I also like to take into account the beat and message of the songs, one of her favorite songs is 'Losing My Religion' by R.E.M and though the group was founded in the late 80's this specific song is more up-beat and has, like most 80's songs more of an 'all or nothing' message."

JJ spoke up now, "But what if its her favorite song? I mean like you said it is, so how do you know she doesn't just want to hear it, bad or good mood?"

Your eyes followed back to him as He smiled at the challenge, "People will gravitate more to songs that express their emotions, and often will shy away from playing a favorite of theirs as to not ruin the euphoric feeling they get when hearing the song with that of a gloomy memory."

The last question you did hear though, as you finally paused your music and could hear Emily try one last time, raising an eyebrow at what you could only assume was Spencer's consistent rants.

"And when you can't hear her music, how do you determine her mood?"

He looked to you then, catching your gaze and wiggling his fingers like a magician.

"Boyfriend instincts."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid Criminal Minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fancfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #fluff #Smut #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #cm fandom #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fanfiction #dr reid #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #please please let these tags work tumblr im begging #junipers-archive #mentioningmargins

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Note: The fic gets a bit saucy, so A18+ ONLY just to be safe!

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out

CW: MDNI!, kissing, making out, boobs, fondling, romance, sexual tension, semi-spicy scenes, lemon

Its mid-afternoon in the UA library. The early Spring sunlight is streaming through the tall windows and across the sci-fi novel you're flipping through. You sigh; content to finally have a Saturday off after a grueling few weeks of classes, training and internship activities.

You think back to a particularly tough training session that had taken place the day before - you had finally kicked Shoto Todoroki's ass in front of the whole class. You smile as you remember the shocked look on his face as you reached down to help him back to his feet.

"You had it coming, hot stuff." You winked as he grabbed your hand and let you pull him back to standing position. His face had flushed red in humiliation at the loss.

You're suddenly jerked out of your reverie when a figure looms over you, casting a long shadow on the desk before you. You turn, startled. As if pulled from your daydream, Shoto Todoroki has materialized before you – tall and handsome. You look up at him in surprise, mouth half open.

"I think we should kiss." Shoto's deep voice says above you, his tone neutral.

"Huh?" Your mouth drops fully open. Shoto is looking down at you with eyes alight with determination. That cute blush is back - splashed across his pale cheeks and across his aristocratic nose.

"I was thinking back to our fight yesterday, and the reason why I lost. It was because I was thinking about kissing you the whole time. I let myself get distracted. I think that if we kissed, I could get over it and refocus on training." So matter-of-fact! That was one thing you liked about Shoto - he was straightforward.

"Um...okay." With an effort, you close your gaping mouth. You’re absolutely dumbfounded. Shoto has never shown any romantic interest in you before. You’ve never caught wandering eyes on you in class, he’s never stashed a love note in your locker. None of the typical school love tropes have been leveraged here. If anything, the two of you are loose acquaintances on the cusp of being friends. Maybe a few more months of class and group activities together would have helped you bridge the gap and fully form a decent friendship.

You wonder if he’s been into you all this time, or if this is just a whim he’s exploring. Either way - who are you to let an opportunity to kiss a hot guy go by the wayside? You snap your book shut and stand. "You want to do this right now?"

Shoto nods, and turns to walk away with the expectation that you’ll follow. You get up and sweep your things into your bag, heart beating double time. You quickly jog to catch up with Shoto – he’s already out the door. The two of you walk across the UA grounds in silence, your footsteps falling into a soft rhythm.  Your mind is going at a million miles per minute – could this all be an elaborate prank? Shoto has never struck you as the type to play a cruel joke on a classmate. Quite the opposite – when he’s not training he seems so soft and sweet. He strikes you as more of an introvert than anything else. He keeps people at a safe distance. You’ve always been under the impression that when it comes to Shoto, trust is earned, not freely given.

You wonder if this kissing business means that you’ve earned a bit of that trust? Who’s to say.

“So…” you say, attempting to break the tension. “Where are we going?” 

Shoto looks back at you, confused. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to my dorm room.”

“Oh.” You pause. “Wouldn’t that be a bit inappropriate? Like, what if someone catches us kissing in your dorm room? Won’t we get in trouble?”

“I’ll lock the door.” He says sensibly. “It’s no one’s business but ours.”

“Huh.”

“Oh – I think I understand what you’re getting at.” He runs a hand through his hair reflexively. “It’s no wonder you’re one of the top members of the class. A good hero always has a strategy. So we should come up with an alibi.” He brings his thumb to his chin as he stares into space, pondering.

“If someone catches us, I can say that I experimentally froze my lips with my power and that I asked you to help me warm them up. Naturally, the best way to do so was with your lips.” He turns to you expectantly to gauge your reaction.

What the actual hell, Shoto.                                                          

“You’re um…you’re fucking with me, right?” You look at him uncertainly. Shoto’s unusually harsh upbringing has caused him to be shockingly literal at times. Your eyes scan his face until the corner of his mouth quirks upwards into a small smile.

“Yes, I am.”

You burst out laughing at the unexpected joke, and his tiny smile grows into a full grin. He likes making you laugh.

“Listen…” He says reassuringly, “No one is going to bother us – it’s such a nice day. I overheard some of the girls saying they were going to take pictures near the campus cherry blossom trees. They roped Midoriya, Ida and a few other classmates into the activity as well. Bakugo, Kirishima and Sero are all training across campus in the gym. We should have at least an hour or two before anyone comes seriously looking for us.”

Wow. That must be the longest group of sentences he’s ever said to you directly.

“You’ve really thought this through.” You say, following him across the threshold of Class 1A’s dorm complex.

He smirks. “I’m strategic.”

You look at him appraisingly. He looks clean and trim in his tailored UA uniform. Aside from the scar surrounding his eye, he has the most perfect skin of anyone in your class. While the rest of your classmates have been stressing about moisturizer and SPF and acne treatments, you’ve watched Shoto sail through his hormonal teens without a skincare care in the world. The skin of his cheeks is the color of porcelain and looks so, so soft and deliciously kissable. His face holds a mixture of determination and apprehension.

You enter the kitchen and common room area of your dorm and see that it’s completely, blessedly empty - odd for a Saturday. Shoto is right - it is one of the first nice spring days on campus. You assume everyone is out enjoying the nice weather as he said. This is a good thing – it means your clandestine meeting with Shoto can stay secret. Everyone in Class 1A can be so nosy sometimes. You’re determined to keep this juicy little secret between the two of you.

He leads you up towards one of the hallways that encompasses the boy’s dorms, pausing in front of his door to fiddle with his key. His usually steady hands are shaking a bit as he turns the lock and pushes open the door to reveal his immaculately clean bedroom with it’s traditional Japanese décor.

You step inside and slide off your shoes, letting your bag drop to the floor.

“I forgot how traditional your space is, Shoto.”

He closes the door behind you and clicks the lock into place before discarding his keys on his desktop. He looks around the dorm room thoughtfully.

“It’s how I grew up. I never really had the chance to develop my own taste or style.”

“Maybe now that you have your own space, you finally can!” You say enthusiastically. “If you’d ever like to go shopping or want help putting together a Pinterest board, Mina and I can definitely help you find some inspiration.”

His flat line of a mouth quirks up into another small smile. “I haven’t really had the time to think about anything other than school work and the L.o.V. since we moved into the dorms. Maybe you’re right – this could be an opportunity to broaden my horizons. See what I like.”

“Yeah! There are so many fun ways you can bring more of yourself into this space. We can start with a throw pillow.” You say knowledgably, pulling up the Pinterest app on your phone. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

You type the color into the search bar, and immediately the screen is flooded with hundreds of different shades of blue throw pillows – all kinds of patterns and sayings and beading and embroidery. You hand him your phone and encourage him to scroll through the options.

“I’m sure we can find something that makes you feel like you.”

His eyes soften a bit as he takes the phone from you, intrigued. He scrolls through the colorful images, overwhelmed by the options. After a few minutes of careful deliberation, he finally stops and double taps a picture, hyperlinking to a website.

“This. This feels like it could be me.” He sends himself the link so he can purchase the pillow later. He hands back your phone and you take a curious look – the image he’s drawn to is a long rectangle of fabric shaped like a whale. It has navy blue stripes along with a small curved tale and button eyes sewn on. You look up and see that the tips of Shoto’s ears are bright red.

“This isn’t what I was expecting – but I see now that it suits you perfectly.” You say, picturing the whale pillow in his room – a dash of whimsy against the otherwise stuffy outdated décor.  He practically glows at the compliment. You realize that this is likely one of the first times someone is validating a choice he has made for himself. You cough and toss your phone into your discarded bag – the moment feels oddly intimate.

Shoto’s eyes scan across your face and he speaks his next words slowly, almost deliberately. “This is what I’ve always liked about you, y/n. You always seem to know what to say to get someone to smile or to open up. Admirable traits in a future hero.” You feel your own face heating up at the sweet compliment. Shoto has never given you so much direct attention outside of class, and it’s exciting and almost unnerving to have those two intense eyes focused in entirely on you.

“Thank you Shoto, that’s a very kind thing to say.” You suddenly realize how very close Shoto’s face is to your own. He’s only a few breaths away. Shoto is a few inches taller than you, so you need to crane your neck in order to get the full picture of his beautiful face. You wonder nervously if he expects you to initiate – should you reach out and grab his face? Your heart starts beating much too fast and you see his intense eyes dart down to your lips, wanting. You take a step closer to him, leaning up to meet his face, and…

“Let’s get started.” He says abruptly, breaking the moment. He walks over to his closet and pulls out his bedroll, hastily moving to set up his sleeping space so that you’ll have a comfortable place to sit. Once he sets up the space, he takes a seat on the soft mattress and motions for you to join him. This wasn’t really what you were expecting, but you remember that Shoto is pretty sheltered. He clearly has a plan in mind here, so you decide to let him take the lead.

“Alright, before we start – I just want you to know that we can stop at any point you’d like. I want you to be comfortable here, so please let me know if at any time you feel like you don’t want to continue. Ok?”

You nod, appreciating the dialogue and Shoto’s forethought surrounding consent.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Leaning his head back, he exhales slowly through his nostrils. After a moment of deep breathing, his eyes flutter open. “It’s an exercise my father taught me for clearing my nerves before a battle.” He explains as he runs a nervous hand through his two-toned hair.

“Are you anticipating a battle here?” You tease, reaching over to place your hand on his thigh. Shoto eyes the hand curiously before matching your gaze.

“Of course not. But surprisingly – I have the same feeling of anxiety now that I usually have right before a sparring match.” His expression is stone cold serious, not even the hint of a joke this time.

“I understand that. It’s nerve wracking to kiss a person for the first time.” You quickly double back on your words. “N-not that I’m implying that this is your first kiss or anything, I-”

Shoto blinks. “Oh – this is my first kiss. I thought it was fairly obvious.”

“Oh! Oh, Todoroki – I didn’t realize!” You trip over your words a bit and it brings out a soft smile in Shoto.

“I think that’s why I’ve been so distracted lately. Once I know how it feels, maybe then I can move on and focus back on my training and studies. Is this not your first kiss?” He tilts his head to the side, questioning. You see no hint of jealousy in his eyes – he’s legitimately curious.

“N-no. I’ve kissed a few people before. Never anything serious! Just here and there at summer camp.” You smile weakly, face burning. Shoto nods appreciatively at your candid answer.

“That makes sense – you’re very competent at everything you do. And very attractive.” This last part brings a blush across Shoto’s pale cheeks. “I had assumed there were plenty of people who have wanted to be kissed by you.” The compliment is unexpected and it makes a laugh bubble up your throat. You start giggling and Shoto seems taken by surprise.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No – no! You’re just so sincere and sweet and I am so nervous right now. Shoto you’re competent and attractive, too. I hope that you know that!” This brings his smile back out again, like the sunshine after a long rainstorm.

“Why don’t we just get it over with, then? I’ve read a few articles and studied some movies and…well, I think I’m as prepared as I can be.” Shoto’s face is so open and earnest your heart squeezes in your chest. He studied for this??

Slowly, carefully, Shoto reaches out a delicate hand to cradle the side of your face. He scoots somewhat awkwardly closer to you, but the rest of his movements hold his typical grace. He leans forward, eyes half closed, and brings his lips to your own.

You dip your head to receive the kiss, and you feel his soft lips melt against yours. You close your eyes and revel in the feeling of his mouth. Everything about him is soft and electric at the same time – the points where your bodies are connected feel charged with some kind of buzzing energy that leaves your breathless. And just as soon as it’s begun – it’s over. A brief peck, a stolen moment in time. Shoto pulls away from you, eyes wide, as he catches his breath.

“So?” You ask, trying for nonchalance but failing when you realize your voice is just a hoarse whisper. “What did you think?”

“It’s…” Shoto looks at you thoughtfully, touching his fingers to his tingling lips. “It wasn’t what I was expecting. I just feel like I want to do it more – like I need to keep going.”

You laugh – “Did you really think you’d want to stop after your first kiss?” Shoto shrugs, unwilling to answer the question.

“Can we kiss again? Please. If you’d like to, that is?” He asks, and you note the want in his voice. You’ve never heard Shoto Todoroki sound desperate for anything in his life before this moment. You’re surprised at how he sounds fairly desperate for you.

You smile at him and lean in close, bringing your foreheads together. You can feel different temperatures playing across his skin as he works to keep his quirk in check as excitement roars across his body.

“Follow my lead, lover-boy.” You whisper, before crashing your lips together. You move at a faster pace this time, showing him how to slide his mouth against yours to have a proper make out. He picks it up quickly and absolutely relishes in it. His eyes are closed and his hands find either side of your face again. You let him hold you like that for a few minutes before you decide to take the reigns a bit more. You reach out to place a hand on his chest and softly push him away from you.

“Here – this will make things a lot easier.” You stand up and move to straddle him, slowly sliding into his lap and wrapping your legs around his back. You place his hands on your waist and wind your arms around his neck. “Comfortable?” He nods, his eyes blown wide and almost glassy with lust.

“This is okay?” He asks, looking down at the way his hands grip your hips.

“Absolutely. You’re going to want them there for leverage.”

“Leverage?” He asks weakly, his eyes trained on your lips.

“You’ll see.” You smile deviously as you take in how absolutely undone Shoto looks. “Okay, next step – have you done any research on French kissing?”

Shoto nods again, looking a bit uncertain. “I watched a romantic comedy online and at the end the main couple kissed that way.”

“Well it’s super easy – I’ll walk you through it.” You tilt your head towards his and melt your lips back together, starting out with a slow and soft kiss. As he begins to get comfortable with the pace of your kissing, you move to deepen it – running the tip of your tongue across his lips. He naturally opens his mouth to you, and you move so that your tongues meet. You guide him into a light dance, your kisses becoming more frantic as your mouths and tongues collide. This brings out a ferocity in Shoto that you hadn’t expected, and you feel his hands grip your hips with almost bruising force. You groan, turned on by the contact. You automatically rock your hips into his and he stills at the motion. You blush as you realize that you can feel Shoto’s dick becoming hard beneath you. Shit.

His hands fly off of your hips and he sits back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry-” you start to say as he runs his hand anxiously through his hair again. Shoto takes a deep breath and looks at you, eyes still fuzzy.

“Don’t be sorry! That was amazing, I just…didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He looks down between you pointedly. He doesn’t want you to get freaked out by the fact that he’s got a boner.

“Oh I’m not uncomfortable at all! Actually, quite the opposite.” This answer makes Shoto’s sculpted eyebrows fly up into his hair.

“Really?” He whispers.

“Yeah. It’s actually really hot.” You reach down and take his hands in yours, moving them back to your hips. You make piercing eye contact with Shoto as you roll your hips experimentally again – feeling his hardness even through your clothes. He groans at the contact this time, a soft sound that is just: So. Goddamn. Hot.

You grind against him again, picking up a steady rhythm as Shoto enthusiastically moves your hips. Struck by sudden inspiration, you lean forward to kiss a sloppy line up his neck. This draws a moan from Shoto that you weren’t expecting – low and sweet. You smile as you continue to kiss his neck, using your tongue when you find a particularly sensitive spot beneath his ear.

Shoto grabs your face with one hand and tilts your head up before crashing his lips back into yours. His kisses are heated and passionate as he bounces you on his lap, making you both see stars. You’re so wet you can feel yourself soaking through your panties. You pray that your school uniform pants won’t get damp beneath you – how embarrassing would that be?! At the same time - you don’t give a damn; Shoto’s mouth and his hands and his dick feel far too good. At the moment kissing Shoto Todoroki feels like the only thing you were put on this goddamn earth to do.

Tentatively, you feel Shoto’s hands wander up from your hips. You moan into his mouth as his hands find your breasts. “How is this?” He whispers hoarsely, running delicate fingertips across the peaks of your breasts. “Is this okay? I can stop if you want me to.” You moan your consent enthusiastically, and when he begins to softly knead your boobs over your shirt, your hormones fully take the wheel.

You hop off your classmate so you can quickly unbutton your shirt – your tie flying off as you work. Shoto remains sitting on the floor and does the same with his own uniform. In a moment he is sitting shirtless and beautiful before you, chest heaving as he works to catch his breath. He stares at you with bright eyes as you stand above him in nothing but a bra and UA’s uniform slacks. He has never seen a woman with so little clothing on before, and he is in awe.

You kneel down beside him on the bedroll and reach out to touch his perfect body. Your hand hovers above his perfectly sculpted abs and you look up at him, eyes asking permission. He nods, giving you his blessing to touch. You smooth your fingertips lightly across the defined planes of his chest and abs, marveling in all that he is. Your palm comes to rest against his chest and you feel his heartbeat – a quick staccato beneath your delicate hand. You push him lightly so that he moves to lie on the ground before you.

“You alright with all this?” You whisper, moving slowly to straddle him on the ground.

“If I get to have you on top of me again – absolutely.” And he grins – a genuine smile that radiates comfort. You’ve never seen a look like that before on Shoto’s face and it stops you in your tracks. You just want to bask in the glow of the rare gift of his beaming face.

After a moment, you collect yourself and move so that you’re on all fours and hovering over him. You shiver – you’ve never been so close to someone in this way before. He seems to notice your hesitation.

“You look cold – do you want to grab a blanket?” He reaches up and runs his hands up and down your arms, giving you more goose bumps. You nod, and he reaches to grab a thick grey knit blanket that’s folded neatly to your left. He pulls you down to lay on top of him and easily casts the blanked across your intertwined bodies. The knit feels luxurious and expensive – and it smells deliciously like Shoto. A scent that’s a mixture of sandalwood and fresh sheets wafts around you. It���s comfortable and warm and you feel so, so happy to be sharing this moment with Shoto.

He wraps his arms around you and feels himself get hard again at the delicate feeling of your bare skin against his own. He pulls you in for a kiss – and this time the passion is slow, sensual. You’ve never kissed someone like this before – like you have all the time in the world. He moves his hands up and down your bare back beneath the blanket – warming you up. He’s keeping his ice quirk at bay – both of his hands are the perfect temperature as they run across your soft, supple skin. His hands come to rest on your lower back as he moves to experimentally kiss down your collarbone.

“Oh! Oh, Shoto, yes.” Is all you can say. The use of his given name seems to turn him on even more, because his kisses become sloppier and he runs the edge of his teeth against your skin. He continues to kiss down your shoulder, pausing for only a moment in order to roll you both over so that he can have a turn on top. You gasp at the sudden movement – the dynamics have unexpectedly shifted and Shoto is in total control.

He gazes down at you, shifting the blanket so that it doesn’t get tangled between your bodies.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, a note of wonder in his voice. “Your skin is so soft…I never realized how great it would be to touch you.” He runs a light fingertip across the delicate skin of your neck and across the expanse of your collarbone. He watches as he runs his finger down the slope of one of your breasts, stopping when he meets the soft cotton of your bra.

“Can we take this off?” He whispers, moving to palm your breast over the delicate white material. You nod, and prop yourself up so you can reach behind yourself to unclip the clothing. With a light “pop!” the bra clip comes undone and Shoto helps you discard the item. He takes in your breasts with a look of absolute amazement and cautiously reaches out to touch them. He gently runs the palm of his hand across your right breast experimentally. You gasp at the contact, and he nervously glances at your face to make sure you’re not in any discomfort. You smile at him, encouraging him to keep going. He kneads the breast in his strong hand a few times before experimentally rolling his thumb over your nipple. You gasp at the contact as pleasure surges through you – you had no idea you were so sensitive. Shoto repeats the motion, earning a soft moan. He smiles at the praise – unexpectedly mischievous as he moves so that he’s kneeling over you, able to tackle a breast with each hand. He goes to work pinching and massaging and rolling your breasts between deft fingers, drawing the sweetest sounds from your mouth.

“Shoto!” You cry out as he moves to spread more kisses across your neck as his left hand plays with one of your breasts. You reach down and squeeze the muscular plane of his ass, begging him to grind into you. He gets the message loud and clear – moving against you gently so that you can feel his hardness graze against you.

He’s causing so many delicious sensations across your body with his lips, hands, hips, groin – it’s almost too much. You feel like you might drown in him when suddenly –

A knock on the door causes you both to still.

“Todoroki?” Mr. Aizawa’s voice is muffled behind the door. You’re both rigid with fear. Shoto’s lips are at your neck and his breath tickles your bare skin. Your fist is tightly squeezed around his left ass cheek. You stare at the ceiling as you start to panic, wondering wildly what you’re supposed to do in this situation. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Mr. Aizawa knocks on the door again. “Todoroki – your father is here to see you.”

“My father?!” Shoto blurts out before he can stop himself. He scrambles off of you and looks around in a panic. “Why’s my father here?”

The walls seem to be thinner than you thought, because Mr. Aizawa supplies an answer from the other side of the locked door.

“Endeavor had a press conference at a hotel down the road this morning. He wanted to check in and discuss internships. I left him waiting in the common area. I’ll be in my office if you want to grab any internship paperwork while he’s here. I wouldn’t keep him waiting, kid.”

“Of course – thank you Mr. Aizawa!” Todoroki calls through the door awkwardly, listening as your teacher’s footsteps recede into the distance.

You and Shoto stare at each other in absolute horror.

“Do you think he heard us? Do you think h-he knows?” You whisper, panic lacing your voice.

Shoto shakes his head no as he gathers up his shirt and shakily tries to re-button it. “No – I don’t think he was out there long enough to hear anything incriminating.”

You let out a breath of anxious air, reaching for your discarded bra. “Thank goodness.” You re-clip your bra and shrug on your shirt.

“Endeavor is here?” You eye Shoto with concern as he dawns his tie and straightens his hair in a wall mirror on the back of his door.

“My old man likes to pop up at inconvenient times.” Content with his hair, he looks down at you. You’ve started to fold up his blanked and bedroll, patting down your own hair along the way.

“We should probably talk about what just happened…” He starts to say, but you shush him as you hear heavy footsteps coming from down the hall.

“Shoto!” A booming voice rings through the hallway, sending shivers up your spine. The heavy footsteps come to a stop right outside Shoto’s dorm door. The doorknob rattles as someone tries the lock. “How dare you keep me waiting!”

“I’ll be out in a minute, old man!” Shoto calls back bitingly. He glares at the door, thankful for the meager lock. He turns to look at you, and his eyes fill with panic. You scan the room for a place to hide – there is absolutely nowhere to conceal yourself in Shoto’s sparse, plain room.

Suddenly, you’re struck with inspiration – you point to the window. Shoto nods in agreement, dashing to grab your things from where they lay abandoned at the threshold of the door.

Quietly, you pad over to the window and pull back the curtains by a foot. You unlatch the window and slide it softly open before hoisting yourself into the wide window frame. It’s lucky you’re not afraid of heights – because Todoroki’s room is on the fifth floor. There is a small escape ladder for fire emergencies (you smile at the irony of Endeavor being the fire emergency in this case). You move to settle your feet on the top rung of the ladder, with plans to climb your way back to the ground so you can re-enter the dorm building from the back.

Shoto leans out the window and hangs your messenger bag around your shoulder.

“Find me later so we can discuss this.” He says, looking apprehensively over his shoulder as his father continues to bang on the door and callout his name. “I’m sorry this ended with you having to sneak out the window like some sort of criminal.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal! Makes it more exciting.” You grin and he smiles back. He leans forward and presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth before moving back to close the window.

As he slides the glass closed, he says to you “I don’t think this is going to help me refocus. If anything, I’m more distracted than ever.” You give him a wink as he shuts the window soundly, drawing the curtains to cover your escape.

Hastily, you climb down 5 stories worth of thin metal ladder, landing gracefully in the soft spring grass. You walk to the dorm’s back entrance and let yourself in, walking past the laundry room and up towards the common area. Mina waves at you as she tosses some clothes into the washing machine, and you say a silent prayer thanking the powers that be that none of your friends had come looking for you while you spent your blissful hour hidden away, half-naked and moaning, in Shoto Todoroki’s room.

You climb the stairs two at a time until you hear the voice of the Number 2 Hero grumbling in the common area. Curious, you peak around the corner to see Shoto and his father seated on one of the couches, sorting through paperwork. Shoto has a dead look behind his eyes as his father lectured him about the importance of networking. He nods blankly a few times before his eyes catch sight of your small frame hiding around the corner. His entire face softens at the sight of you. Endeavor notices and turns to see what’s captured his son’s attention.

“You there! Are you a member of Class 1A?” He booms out, almost polite in his delivery. You walk out into the room, drawing yourself up to your full height.

“Dad – this is my classmate Y/N. She lives on the girl’s side of the dorm. Her quirk is extremely powerful.”

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Endeavor.” You say, trying not to blush at Shoto’s compliment. Endeavor waves you off with a fiery hand.

“Ah, that’s right. I recognize you from the Sport’s Festival. Your quirk and fighting style were both quite impressive.” He looks at you appraisingly. “Are you a close friend of Shoto’s?” 

“She is.” Shoto answers smoothly. “Actually, she’s been tutoring me a bit lately on some techniques I’m not familiar with. She’s a greatteacher.” The subtext is not lost on you.

“Surely you don’t need help in your studies, Shoto. You’re at the top of your class.” Endeavor says gruffly, looking to his son for further explanation.

“Just showing him a few moves I picked up in one of my martial arts classes, sir! Shoto picks up new techniques like a Pro.”

Endeavor seems mollified by this answer. “Of course he does. He’s on track to become the best of the best.” The hero claps his hand on Shoto’s shoulder proudly, and you smile weakly at the discomfort that flashes across Shoto’s eyes.

“Well – I’ll let you both get back to your work! Shoto – if you want to practice those techniques again later, I’ll be in the library until 8 tonight.”

You see Shoto ever so slightly lick his bottom lip. His face is tinged with the lightest of blushes.

“Got it. I’ll see you there, Y/N.”

You have a feeling that Shoto isn’t going to be able to focus on his studies for quite some time.

#shoto fluff #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha manga #bnha #mha #boku no academia #boku no hero #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto #todoroki #shouto todoroki #todoroki lemon #BNHA lemon #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x reader #shoto x you #shoto lemon #shoto x y/n #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x you #todoroki fluff #light smut #shoto first kiss #first kiss mha #first kiss bnha

[leclerced]

Heyyy hope you have a good day, i come bearing new thots

Credit where credit’s due, the idea is an old and deleted roger Taylor fic and not from me.

HOWEVER. Im now obsessed with this scenario with either lando or oscar (ill let you choose <3)

Roommate!AU !!!

Imagine you’re friends and roommates with lando or oscar and he has to study for his upcoming biology exam at uni. The topic? Female reproductive organs🤭

He just genuinely struggles with understanding the anatomy of a vagina and that picture in his damn book is absolutely not recognisable.

And since him and reader are friends and she doesn’t think thoughts all the way through she offers him to look at hers. I mean hes seen her shirtless a million times its nbd.

And staring at her beautiful pussy really does help him - to an extend. Hes so into his studies he doesn’t really process that he asked her „can i touch it??“ and she just goes along with it bc it’s already lowkey awkward and theres no turning back now.

She tries to not make it more awkward by suppressing her moans when his finger brush over her clit all while hes just identifying parts with his thoughts oblivious to what he does to her.

And she cant keep in the moan when he pushes his fingern in and suddenly he realises what hes doing. But he sneakily keeps going until she cums and hes trying his best to keep up the ignorant act bc shes js too hot like that😩

Got damn it i need a full length version of this fic again 😭

-🫀

i want to write a full length version omfg this is incredible!!! pictured oscar immediately. kinda set in like the early 2000s in my head bc i wanted to mention dvd rentals One Time and that's not a thing anymore but that's the world i grew up in LMAO

sorry i like got too into this at first and forgot i made plans to game with my friend and rushed the ending im sorry. added read more bc it's just over 1k <3 i think i like this a lot other than the ending idk . lmk what u think i hope it meets the expectations set by the original

reader thinks oscar's an innocent idiot but he just probably shouldn't be in medical school because while he can find the clit, he certainly doesn't know the name of it.

Her roommate has been staring at the same page for half an hour, they're seated on opposite ends of the couch, leaning against the arms and facing each other. She has a Stephen King novel leaned on her propped up knees and Oscar has an open textbook balanced on one thigh and a notebook open to a blank page on the other. After another frustrated sigh leaves him, she drops her book on the coffee table and leans over to see what he's looking at. She almost laughs when she sees the miniature sketch of a vagina, "You know, the DVD rental place down the street has rated X movies."

Oscar snorts, "I'm trying to work, leave me alone. I'm supposed to learn all the anatomical names of a vagina, but the only drawing I have is in this stupid book."

She leans in further to the diagram and hums, "That's a horrible diagram, no wonder you're getting nothing done. How old is that that textbook?" He shrugs and stretches back over the arm of the couch, "Probably like thirty, the professor wrote it himself and he's ancient."

Her eyes get pulled to his hips as he reaches behind his head and groans, his shirt lifting the slightest to reveal soft skin before he drops his arms back down. She licks her lips as she directs her gaze up to his face, "I could show you mine, if you want." The swift inhale Oscar makes is audible, he keeps his gaze locked on the books in his lap as he says, "Really?" Instead of verbally agreeing, she just scoots back to where she was leaning moments before on the arm of the couch and shimmies her shorts down before she can think twice. She giggles at the look on Oscar's face as she kicks the shorts off her ankles and he takes in the sight of her panties, lacy and red. "Are you sure?"

She shrugs and teases, "Well it's not like they have 3D models. I'm sure, I wouldn't have offered otherwise. Are you sure?" He nods slowly and she tugs her panties down her thighs and smirks at the blush that creeps up his cheeks as she drops them on his lap. She doesn't know where the sudden confidence has come from, but she feels no shame as she opens her legs to him. She drops one foot to the floor and the other lifts to rest on the back of the couch. Oscar holds her eye for a moment before she watches his gaze drift down her body and he starts to lean in before pausing, "Can I get closer?" She nods at his question and answers, "As close as you want." Oscar lurches forwards, knocking the forgotten textbook to the floor as he fumbles to grab his pen and notebook to take notes.

She can't read his chicken scratch handwriting, so whatever he's scrawling about her pussy is undecipherable to her as she watches him analyze her. She's trying not to think about how this could be weird, how it is weird to offer to let your roommate use you as an anatomy dummy. It's not really the first time. He's done other things, like when he needed to practice IVs so she let him give her a banana bag the next time she was hungover. She liked teasing him about it, calling him Doctor Piastri when she let him listen to her heart with his stethoscope. Or when she comes down with a cold and she calls him into her room to diagnose and treat her, and he brings her cold medicine and soup from the deli down the street.

She's pulled out of her thoughts when he clears his throat and she meets his eyes before she hums quizzically. The pink tint that had spattered his cheeks turns into a bright red as he asks, "Can I touch you?"

She almost thinks she didn't hear him correctly, but there's no way he could have said anything else, so she tries to joke, "So you're a hands on learner, then?"

Oscar quickly counters, "Yeah, do you mind?"

It's her turn to lose her breath as she stupidly nods and blushes as she takes in the realization that he's about to touch her pussy. In the name of science, she agrees, "No, go ahead." Then, his hand is on her pussy and his focus is entirely on the space between her legs as he spreads her lips apart and she has to close her eyes and force her mind to other places as he tilts his had interestedly. She wishes she could stop her body from reacting to his touch, but she can't. Not when he pulls back the hood of her clit, she hears him writing something, then there's a soft pressure on her clit and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to not react. She tells herself not to make any sounds so it won't be weird, he's just trying to study, he's not doing anything to her really.

She can feel the wetness build under his fingers as he slips them down to her entrance and back up. She hears Oscar mutter something but she can't make it out over the blood rushing through her head as he presses his fingers back against her clit. "Is this... The labia?" The laugh she lets out is half a moan, "That's the- clit. Labia are the lips." He dips his fingers down and pinches one lightly, "This?"

She's somehow endeared by the curiosity, and sighs, "Yeah. That. Minora. The outer one is majora."

Oscar lets out a little huff, "How do you know the names? You're not even taking anatomy." His fingers find her clit again, this time lightly pinching it, and her thighs tense as he mumbles, "Clit." She hears his pen scratching across his paper and then dips his finger down to her entrance and presses inside. She wonders what he's thinking as he slowly thrusts his finger in and out of her, his other hand still writing on the paper. It's not until he slips a second finger inside of her and curls them as he suddenly presses his thumb to her clit that she breaks her silence, a whimper falling from her lips as the unexpected pleasure hits her. She somehow doesn't realize then that this isn't his first time like she thought when she saw the surprised look on her face. Then she flutters her eyes open and immediately realizes it because he's already looking up at her, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. She gasps, "You- you didn't really need help, did you?"

He shrugs innocently, "I still don't know the names, could you remind me?" She can't tell if he's being serious or not as he quickens his thumb on her clit and she's saved from responding as he pushes up her body and presses his lips to hers hungrily.

#ask #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri #op81 #op81 smut #🫀anon

[1d1195]

Love and Dryer Sheets I

I haven't figured out how long this will be just yet but I anticipate at least three parts. This is where I'll keep the rest of it: Love and Dryer Sheets

~3.6k words (I know it's shorter. I just want to post and get some more ideas flowing)

Warnings: Harry is VERY grumpy/angry, right person, wrong place.

“I never miss the opportunity to say I told you so,” she giggled.

Harry snorted as he chuckled. “Your boyfriend mus’ love that,” he mumbled.

“Very smooth, Harry.”

The door slapped open and hit against the wall loudly so that she had no choice but to look up. The sound was followed by a tall man entering the room with a scowl on his face. He looked like he was having an internal argument with someone that wasn’t even privy to the conversation. She glanced away from the page she was reading briefly at the noise but turned right back to the book to give the grumpy person their own space. But it didn’t stop her from discreetly peeking up from the novel to catch sight of how pretty the man was. The first thing she noticed was his height and his scowl. But his hair was the color of chocolate twisting around his head in the softest, gentlest curls she had ever seen on a man. His skin was tanned, and he looked like he should be a model for sweatpants. Below the scowl, she could just make out that his eyes were green, but she was too far away to make out much more.

Except that he was very beautiful.

So beautiful that not even his crankiness could take her mind away from the idea of him. It seemed wrong that he was so angry. Someone as attractive as he was shouldn’t have been that upset. Especially about laundry. The anger had to be misplaced.

Stop analyzing a stranger just because he’s hot. Her brain yelled at her.

“Can’t even...” he grumbled. “Fucking laundry,” he slammed the washer lid shut and continued his angry mumbles.

She pretended not to hear and stopped stealing glances. It seemed he only just realized he was doing laundry because he muttered something unintelligible about detergent as he made his way over to the little dispensary machine containing fabric softener and the like. He dropped five quarters in it, grumbling the entire time, and twisted the knob. But unfortunately, there was nothing. No detergent fell from the space the way it was supposed to. She had only watched this man for all of a minute, but she already knew the inconvenience was going to be bad for his already crummy mood.

He slammed the side of his fist into the machine causing a loud metallic clang to echo through the room. Loud enough to be heard over the sound of the washers and dryers running throughout the room. “Jesus fucking Christ!” He ran a hand over his face. She wondered what his next move was going to be but without her really realizing, she started to speak.

“Hey, I have detergent if you need some,” she offered kindly. Smooth. Her internal voice rolled its eyes. Interact with the maybe psychopath yelling at laundry. Honestly, she did it more as a favor to herself than to the stranger. Conflict was one of her least favorite things. Even if he was having conflict with an inanimate object. Growing up in a household where her parents displayed argument after argument as if it were normal for two people who “loved” each other to constantly talk in terms of passive aggressive remarks and angry tones for hours of her childhood did a number on her. As it was with the laundry debacle here, it felt like it was her responsibility to mediate the argument. Reduce the tension. Find a solution.

He only just seemed to realize he wasn’t alone in the communal laundry room. It was a bit naïve on his part to forget it, even. The laundry room was often one of the busiest spaces in the apartment building. Moreover, there were about five or six washers and dryers going at any one time—like right now. Usually, people just left their stuff but here was this girl sitting on top of the washer, one leg propped up so she could lean her book against it while the other dangled over the front of the machine and rested on the top of her overturned tall basket.

The angry air left him in a heavy sigh. He turned more directly toward her. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he sounded a bit shy. Embarrassed by his outburst it seemed. She slid off the washer and lifted her basket right side up to reveal the jug of detergent and a bag with folders and papers in it. Briefly he wondered what they were, but it was none of his business and it was weird he wanted to know. He hadn’t even learned her name yet.

“S’okay. Laundry can be intense, I get it,” she joked.

He smirked, feeling the annoyance leave him the longer he looked at her. She was so pretty. He shouldn’t have thought that way. Not at all. But it was impossible not to notice. Her hair was in a ponytail and pieces were falling around her face like she meant for it to frame her features. It was like the little strands were pointing directly at her with the intention of drawing his eyes across her kind face. The slope of her lips, the way her cheeks bloomed as she smiled gently at him, how the corners of her eyes crinkled and her lashes brushed against her cheeks when she blinked.

Stop. It. His brain hissed at him.

“Thanks,” he said taking the jug from her and moved over to his washer. He felt all the anger that was rattling his body disappear as he undid the cap, poured the liquid into it, and started the washer. He returned the detergent back to her. “Sorry, ‘bout m’slamming around,” he said sheepishly. “S’jus’...been a day,” he rubbed a hand on the back of his head awkwardly, feeling bad that he looked like an idiot. She shrugged.

“S’okay, doesn’t bother me,” she reached out and grabbed his hand effortlessly. She turned it over as if she randomly grabbed strangers’ hands all the time. “Thought you might have hurt yourself,” she murmured and then dropped his hand. He wished she didn’t, though. Her gentle touch felt like heaven.

He cleared his throat because he absolutely could not find himself losing his mind over a girl he had met for thirty seconds. “M’Harry,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” she smiled introducing herself. “I just moved in... third floor, just a little under a week ago.”

Harry nodded. “Welcome,” it sounded a little sarcastic, but not in a mean way. “M’on the fifth floor,” he said. Tell her. Tell her right now. His conscience shouted at him. She hopped back into her position on top of the washer and resumed her reading position. “You don’t have t’stay with your clothes,” he told her as he checked the dials on the machine he was using.

“Hold over from college. My last apartment building was also not very good about it,” she shrugged. “I don’t trust it, but I don’t mind. I have a good book.”

Harry glanced at the title, committing it to memory so he could go purchase his own. No. Don’t. Stop it. You can’t do that. His conscience was screaming but he simply ignored it. It was the first time he didn’t feel angry in hours. She was just this bright little spot in the basement of the apartment building. It was a rainy Saturday and the only light coming in was from the egress windows. It wasn’t very light at all; merely the sun trying to force it’s way through the clouds above but getting trapped among the rain drops. Harry was feeling angry and the weather wasn’t helping.

But there was this...kind and lovely angel just sitting on a washing machine. Inspecting his hand for injury. Pure, gentle, perfect sunlight.

“Gotcha,” he murmured. “Well...m’doing other chores and things...I’ll be back down later.”

“Okay, nice meeting you, Harry,” she smiled. “I hope your day gets better,” her words were warm with kindness. It made him feel off kilter. He had been so angry all day that he nearly forgot what it was like to feel...happy.

He managed to smile at her, give a little wave, and left without another word.

Shortly after he left, she found herself a little flustered by the interaction. She was surprised she inspected his hand like that. It was totally out of character to be so forward—offering detergent and help, checking for injury. But really, taking his hand allowed her to admire the tattoos that lined his wrist and forearm and how the veins in his hand looked like the prettiest spiderweb she’d ever seen. Part of her hoped she would run into Harry again while doing laundry. Smiling, she returned her attention to her book and thought she really wouldn’t mind being around Harry for a longer time period.

*

Harry’s anger was renewed as he headed back to the laundry room. His chest was achy with the feeling of anxiety and a pressure forming from the annoyance he felt in his life. Part of him thought he should have just stayed in the laundry room with the girl that reminded him of sunshine.

That’s a stupid idea, and you know it.

He was really beginning to hate his conscience.

But his anger skyrocketed further as he entered the laundry room to see piles of laundry on top of washers. First, he was irritated because he was going to be livid if someone touched his clothing. This hadn’t happened in the year and a half he had lived there. But of course, it was going to happen on a day that he was simmering in anger over everything. Maybe more importantly, he thought he had given poor advice to Sunshine, and he was not happy that he did that.

Did you seriously just call her SUNSHINE? His brain was having independent thoughts, but Harry ignored it.

He was practically shaking with anger as he marched over to the washer that he had used earlier in the day. Other washers had piles of wet, crumpled clothing items on top of them waiting for the person to find them and be just as bitter and annoyed as Harry was. But instead, Harry found the washer he was using and none of his clothes had been moved. He felt his face pinch in confusion. That didn’t seem right.

But in place of a lump of wet clothes, was a piece of paper. He felt the confusion deepen. At the very least it made him forget how angry he was. At least for a few minutes. Scrawled across the paper read:

Out of Order. Do NOT use. -Management

Harry felt a new wave of anger wash over him almost instantly. If his clothes were damaged or stuck or something he might lose his mind. But he opened the washer and found his clothes were perfectly spun out. Smelled like the air after it had just rained. The confusion he felt continued as he pulled the items out of the washer and dropped them into the basket so he could throw them in a dryer next. He reread the note on the lid trying to figure out why the apartment management would say the washer was broken when it very obviously wasn’t.

He pulled the paper off the washer allowing someone else to use it now. As he did, he caught sight of writing on the back.

Told you so :) -304

Harry felt the urge to run out of the laundry room, wet basket of clothes and all, and knock on the door labeled 304 until she answered. He wanted to read beside her. Ask to use one of her dryer sheets or whatever it was that made her laundry smell so good. Her little knowing “told you so” didn’t even bother his already fragile, grumpy state. In fact, it only made him like her more.

STOP IT. His brain shouted. Shaking his head, Harry rid himself of his thoughts of Sunshine. What else am I supposed to call her? He asked rhetorically to his conscience. Instead, he tried not to think about her. He had only chatted with her for all of four minutes and that couldn’t have been nearly enough time to think he was already falling for her...right?

*

Today she was laying across two washers, a book above her head. She didn’t notice when people filtered in or out and no one paid any mind to her either.

Until Harry showed up.

“More laundry?” He asked.

She smiled, folding the corner of her page down and sitting up so she looked less crazy. Harry had a basket at his hip, and she noted there was a jug of detergent on top of the pile of laundry inside. “I love laundry,” she shrugged.

He wrinkled his nose at her in distaste. “M’least favorite,” he murmured.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” she frowned.

“Thanks for saving m’washer the other day,” he said dumping the items into the washer along the back wall—opposite of where she was seated.

She smiled down at the book in her lap and then looked up at the back of his head. “I never miss the opportunity to say I told you so,” she giggled.

Harry snorted as he chuckled. “Your boyfriend mus’ love that,” he mumbled.

“Very smooth, Harry. Unlike my ex-boyfriend, my imaginary one thinks that my perfectionism and tendency to be right is admirable. He clings to my every thought and word,” she fluttered her eyelashes cutely. If she were magic, she would have made a halo appear above her head.

He rolled his eyes at her and nodded. Tell her! His conscience yelled. RIGHT now. He ignored it as he had been since the last time he saw her. “A new book?” He asked instead.

She nodded, flipping the book over in her hands inspecting the front and back cover carefully. “Yeah...I try to read three books a month. The last one was a little dense but this one is a quick read. Entertaining, ya know?” She smirked. “It’s a little cheesy but it’s cute. It makes me happy,” she shrugged.

Harry thought that was sweet. He wanted her to be happy.

Stop. It.

She watched Harry throw everything in the washer in one load. “You should separate the light and dark stuff.”

“I’ve never had a problem with it before,” he shrugged. “S’this you trying t’be right again?”

She laughed and looked at her lap. The heat rose to her cheeks. “No, actually. Told you, just really like laundry. I notice a difference in my own stuff. But if you don’t obviously it’ll be fine,” she shrugged back. “I just really like laundry,” she repeated.

Part of him wanted to do exactly as she said. But even Harry, not just his conscience, thought it would be too much. She watched as he poured in the detergent, closed the lid, and then he hopped on top of his washer just like her. They were facing one another. She could see how green his eyes were now, a little bloodshot around the iris, she wondered if he had a late night and what from. His smile was sweet, a deep dimple dented the middle of his cheek depending on which side of his lips lifted when he smirked. But right now, he was smiling completely, making him look so innocent and boyish. It made her stomach flutter.

“So...are you in school still? Or do you have a job?” She asked.

“M’gainfully employed. Work in the financial district.”

“A corporate sellout,” she remarked neutrally.

Harry smiled again shaking his head at her banter. “Oh? And you, Sunshine? Y’work for the Lollipop League?”

“It’s the Lollipop Guild, and Lullaby League, actually. But no,” she snorted. “I work in the hospital as a counselor,” she said. “I can see how you would think it’s like being on the set of The Wizard of Oz.”

Harry tapped his fingers against the washing machine and pursed his lips at her. “Mus’ be a tough job,” he murmured.

She nodded. “It’s rewarding though. Gives me a cathartic cry about once a week,” she opened her book back up to where she stopped. She felt Harry watching her though and she realized she probably shouldn’t have admitted to an almost stranger that she cried so often.

Harry hated the idea of her sadness. She was the embodiment of sunshine. Tears shouldn’t have been allowed in her eyes nor on her face. His conscience was angry and loud. Harry Styles stop it.

She let the silence wash over them and Harry didn’t seem to mind. They both went to their books and read silently for a while. She giggled cutely every so often and Harry thought it was an adorable sound. He wished he could ask what she had read. He wanted to recite things to her that made him think of her.

Harry was properly and crazily losing his mind.

The words on the pages of her book blended together. She thought Harry was meant to just be looked at for hours upon hours. He was so insanely beautiful it made her mind turn to mush.

He had to be her soulmate, surely. He mentioned her favorite movie and book completely unprompted. She wanted to ask if he had ever read the book or if he liked the movie. If he would ever want to watch it with her in her apartment cozied up on the couch with apple cider. Growing up, her dad read the twenty-four chapters in a loop over the course of months and years. She found Oz completely magical. It was unbelievable that a total stranger would bring it up.

It had to be fate, right?

She could probably recite the book from memory. When she found out about the movie, she watched it on VHS and then DVD and now streamed it at least once a month or played it in the background when she did chores. It was something she had little ones watch at the hospital and she dressed up as a different character every Halloween to pass out candy to the little ones when trapped in their hospital rooms.

Fortunately, her washer buzzed, alerting her she was done, and Harry glanced up briefly and gave another cute little smirk that she was beginning to think was simply meant to keep her up at night—and maybe looking for things to wash.

“So...s’jus’ you in apartment 304?” He asked.

She smiled to herself. If this was his way of flirting it was lame. “Yeah, just me.”

“Awful lot of laundry you’re doing,” he muttered.

She threw her stuff into a dryer, tossing in the scented beads that made her clothes smell good along with a dryer sheet. “I told you I do laundry the right way.”

He chuckled and she thought that his laugh might have been her new favorite sound. “S’fair, I suppose,” he remarked. Slipping off his washer, he inspected her new book and the back cover. He mentally wrote the title down once more. “Do y’have a favorite book?” He asked.

She nodded. “S’kind of silly. It’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. My dad used to read it to me before bed. And I like history and there’s theories on the symbolism for the populist movement—I don’t know. It just makes me think of my childhood and of course the movie was just—” She stopped suddenly, and Harry was completely riveted by the beginning of her explanation.

“What, Sunshine?” He asked so gently. It felt like he was wrapping her in his arms and whispering in her ear. It was like he was trying to reach into her chest and hold her heart in his hands himself. It was sweet and she hated how nice it felt after they had spoken in total for maybe seven minutes since meeting.

She didn’t turn around to look at him. But she could feel his gaze warming her as he watched her fiddle with the dryer. “Just...don’t want to bore you about The Wizard of Oz.”

He ignored what his conscience was shouting at him once more. “I don’t think y’could bore me,” he murmured.

She turned then, looked at him with these beautiful round eyes that he swore were little suns and brightened the whole room as she met his gaze. “Guess the only way we’ll find out is if we keep chatting. Tell me about your book,” she suggested gently. It was an invitation and Harry didn’t really know what to say because the book hardly made any sense over the last few minutes. He was intently focused on her when he was supposed to be reading. He managed to make up something about how it wasn’t much of a page-turner yet but liked it well enough and thought it would get better.

Eventually, Harry’s washer signaled it was time to switch to the dryer and he worried their time was truly limited because before he knew it, her dryer was done. She stayed to fold her stuff, and they continued reading and chatting casually.

She was falling hard for Harry. It seemed it was inevitable. Between the gentleness he showed her in such a short time, the mention of her favorite story, and simply being there during her favorite chore, it was like Harry was meant to meet her. Meant to find her in the laundry room and befriend her so quickly.

There was no use denying she hoped it would escalate to something more.

Harry’s conscience continued to tell him what a terrible idea it was to keep up this...pretense with her. But his heart was saying that he needed warmth, needed the kindness she showed in just the little bit of time he had been around her.

Sunshine was his cure.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #love and dryer sheets

[roronoacherries]

Imagine one piece characters going through your room and finding one of those nsfw figures 🗣️🗣️

thank you for this request 🙏🏽

𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 | zoro, nami, & sanji

you keep it tucked away in a little box under your bed, taking it out to admire it from time to time — the craftsmanship is amazing! you reason. it’s not like you’re wondering whether they really look like this… wondering what it’d feel like to run your hands along their skin.

you keep it wrapped in a cloth for extra measure. that box is the same place you keep your toys, those magazines, and the filthy romance novels you don’t want anyone to see…

it’s a safe little storage place, that’s all. no one has stumbled upon it; not until you’re knuckles deep in your cunt and hear a knock on your door. you think you’re ok when you manage to get to the door and act like you weren’t just on the edge of a beautiful orgasm. you’d stuffed the magazine you’d had beside you in the box, too.

they wouldn’t notice, would they? but when you turned to find what they’d come to ask you for, the hastily closed box caught their attention. and you could only hold your breath and think at least that was still under wraps.

𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐚 𝐳𝐨𝐫𝐨

“what’s this?”

you stood frozen. “it’s nothing.”

you hadn’t closed the magazine properly and zoro’s gaze was studying the image of the man, muscular with golden skin, shimmering with sweat, a katana in one hand and his length in the other.

the only thing keeping you from dying of embarrassment is the relief that he hasn’t found that figure. you have every right to pleasure yourself, after all.

but it’s not enough for the swordsman, apparently, to find that you’ve been fucking yourself to the picture of a man who appears eerily similar to him, he has to rummage through the box, hands grazing the toys you’ve buried in your cunt before, painting a picture in his mind of you whimpering helplessly (and he thinks to himself that he could make you feel so much more pleasure with his hands alone).

no, he has to take that figure, wrapped carefully in a black cloth he could swear is the bandana he lost months ago, and uncover its contents.

you take it from his hands before he can get a good look at it, holding it behind your back. “you shouldn’t go through people’s things.”

but the damage has been done and the smirk on his lips is enough indication of that. “i’m bigger than that.”

and your face turns red, out of shame, anger, or lust you’re not sure.

“wanna see?”

𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

“my boobs look better than this,” is all she says before a smirk turns her lips. “don’t you think?”

you look down at her chest, covered only by a lacy top you could swear is a size too small, before averting your eyes. “of course,” you say, your voice almost a whisper.

nami laughs and your cheeks burn red. the navigator has a way of making you feel small that makes your pussy throb. “you can look. it’s okay,” she coos. “free of charge.”

“i only got it because i didn’t think you’d want some pervert to…” but your eyes steal another look at her pretty, perfect breasts anyway.

“you can touch them, too.” nami says, her voice beckoning you closer, ignoring your excuses. when you don’t move, she takes it upon herself to step closer to you, reaching for your hand and guiding it to her chest.

and you can’t help but stare now, feeling her soft hand over yours, wondering what it’d be like to press your lips there.

you don’t notice her hand sneaking under your oversized shirt — you hadn’t bothered to put your panties back on, thinking you’d be back in your bed soon enough — until her finger touches the slick, rubbing lightly back and forth until your eyes flutter and a moan escapes your lips, your hand giving her chest an involuntary squeeze.

“sorry if i interrupted you…” she pulls her finger away, giving it a slow lick. “don’t worry. i’ll pay you back.”

her hand disappears behind her back, smoothly untying the straps of her top, letting it fall to the ground, gently pushing you back with her other hand until you’re lying back on the bed. “i have to thank you for keeping me out of those dirty perverts’ minds, after all.”

𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐞𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢

he doesn’t mean to look, but the box was open and he thought he’d recognized some of the covers of those filthy magazines. he thought his eyes had played tricks on him; a sweet angel like you couldn’t be looking at something like that. and it had to be a coincidence that those specific issues were the ones that had gone missing from his own collection.

he couldn’t blame you; there were some beautiful images in those pages… of men and women alike. and he wondered which ones you’d bunny-eared.

he thought about reaching for it to check — your back was still turned to him, you wouldn’t know — but something else had caught his eye.

“is this… me?”

when you’d noticed it’d been too late. you’d been a fool and hadn’t wrapped it well enough, of course he’d see it.

“sanji, i swear it’s not what it looks like-”

you panic trying to think of a lie. trying to convince him that you don’t drool at the thought of sucking him off, helping him destress on those days when he can’t seem to get out of the kitchen.

“fuck, angel,” he tuts, his voice deep and breathy. “haven’t i told you that if you want anything from me, all you have to do is ask?”

you nod, your thighs squeezing together at the change in his demeanor. you notice his hand already gently kneading himself through his pants.

“so tell me what you need, princess.”

─────────────────────────────

tags: @idiotlittleme @zoros-4th-sword @i8hyuka @gaby-chwan @dimimyth @zoronnoa @tinkywinky27 @lyriczhou @maaarshieee @zorobraun @trafalgardvivi

masterlist | taglist

#zoro x reader #sanji x reader #nami x reader #one piece x reader #one piece smut #zoro smut #sanji smut #nami smut #୨⎯ sol escribe ☼ #୨⎯ sol’s requests ☼

[gazorninplat]

As much as I love Disco Elysium, I think I was not prepared for Sacred and Terrible Air. Of course, I was expecting to know more about the world of Elysium as a whole, and Robert Kurvitz is a very good writer, but the thesis of the novel (and how it makes its points) flash-banged me.

Disco Elysium this is not, and it wasn’t supposed to be, but I think I can understand better now what the team at ZA/UM was getting at with this specific setting, and these specific narrative angles. Kinda messy, because it’s been a week since I finished it, but here are some things I’d like to highlight: 

1. The pedophilia. I surely wasn’t expecting this to be such a central theme of the novel, but a lot of its main points revolve around it. The most interesting use of this, as a narrative device, is how the girlfriend of Jesper basically accuses him of being a pedophile because he cannot relate to the adults around him. He’s still obsessed with a girl he met when he was 13 years old, and fetishizes a scrunchie he stole from her bag two decades ago. Yeah, I guess Jesper, well into his thirties, is still in love with a 13 year old girl. His girlfriend is almost half his age, and they started dating when she was 15 years old and a lingerie model (!). Zigi mentions how pedophilia was a bougie disease, and well… That idea went right into my thought cabinet (I call it “Bougie Babies for Sale).

Still processing it.

Now, let’s go back to the rest of the main characters. With all this in mind, a pedophilic overtone covers their interest in these four missing girls, but Jasper is the only one who acts on it, sort of. Khan remains in a sort of arrested development (he still uses a shirt he had when he was 13), foregoing normal adult relationships, and Tereesz joins the police as an investigator with the idea of still finding them some day (essentially letting these eternally prepubescent girls define his entire existence), leading him to a very dark path. I wonder if the brutality they afford to the “actual” pedophiles in the story (Vidkun Hird and the Linoleum Salesman) comes from the realization that they are not that different?

2. Obviously, though, this fetishization of the Lund sisters is also a fetishization of the past. The novel states it in the first few pages; they disappeared twenty years ago, in a time that most conservative people remember as the “good old days”. Basically their version of the American Fifties. Now, being obsessed with the past is a running theme in both SaTA and DE, but the angle here is different.

I already said it: the past is not remembered, is fetishized with an almost sexual yearning by a lot of the male characters of the book. They want to be consumed by it (and lucky them! It will) and do nothing more than serve it. It reminds me of a poem by Yamil Nardil Sadek, which, translated to the best of my ability, goes like: 

She awaits me

sitting on the bed,

wearing leather,

and armed to the teeth,

the Memory.

Yeah, that sums up Sacred and Terrible Air pretty well. Everyone is being consumed by the past, bite by bite, and enjoying it. Vidkun Hird, by the mythologized version of his tribe’s history; Sarjan Ambartsumjan, by a miniature ship model that requires constant, devoted thought or else it will disappear, the three main characters by the memory of that summer with the Lund girls. Even the Linoleum Salesman is being haunted and consumed, of sorts, by his sickness and dementia that only sometimes let him take a peek of the past. Beyond that, there are very few characters that do not spend time being followed by relentless ghosts. Literally, in the case of Zigi. Which brings me to…

3. The Pale. It was a really cool concept in Disco Elysium, and it’s an existential nightmare in Sacred and Terrible Air. It always was, really. But here it lets you take a look into it in a way that’s applicable in real life. The Pale is a metaphor for many things, but actually for a single one: A world where our current Capitalist reality facilitates both apathy and yearning for better days, often idealized in our collective pasts.

My favorite scene, one that was incredibly puzzling but so obvious in retrospect, is a beautiful speech by the ghost (?) of Ignus Nilsen to Zigi. I will just paste it here:

“I said terrible things, yes! I stood on a white horse, in a blizzard, and gave speeches. In the mountains, on the construction site… I swung my sword, with silver sunbeams on the hilt. And all around me fluttered white flags, crests of crowned horns made with silver thread, a pentagon between the prongs of the horns, the branches raised to heaven. Everyone who came here with me became happy, Zigi! Communism is powerful! Believe in Communism, it’s a burst of enthusiasm! I promise! It’s beautiful when you believe in a person, but without it…!”

“Without it, there is nothing.”

“Nothing. It was a blizzard, but it was bright, it was morning. Communism is white, it sparkles! Communism is the morning, it is a jubilation!” 

The Pale begins to recede dangerously around the entroponaut.

The fucking Pale recedes with talk of Communism! At first it might appear a little heavy handed (yeah, Communism, by itself, could save the world). But then I got into how Communism could be a solution to the antipathy and chronic nostalgia that sustain Capitalism, and then it hit me. Nilsen, a literal ghost from the past, is talking about a future that could have been. That he wanted to accomplish. That people, probably, can still achieve. The Pale is not eternal, it can be pushed back. Because the Pale seems to subsist on the past, it abhors any talk of the future. A better future. That’s how we solve things, and for a central thesis, is not bad at all.

With that being said, and because I’m just rambling here while pretending I’m working, there are also some things that I just didn’t understand, but maybe it was because of the translation. The original novel is written in a very poetic style, and some of that is still here, but I still need to untangle…

1. The Man. It is said that the day the Lund girls disappeared, they were joined by a mysterious Man that nobody seemed to remember correctly. A character even suspects that she was remembering wrong. Now, the Pale erases people and memories retroactively, so maybe it had something to do with it, but… Who was that? Is there any theory about that Man, or I just missed something? Some scenes and narrations were tough to parse for me (my primary language is not English).

2. Was Malin Lund pregnant? That flash with the fetus was sudden and weird.

3. What was the significance of the three meat piroshkis? They mention that it was unusual that the girls bought them (and if you do the math, you can realize early on that they were not planning to get back home. That purchase didn’t leave them enough money for the bus fare back), but that’s it. Were they for the Man? Also, the narration mentions that Lund girls’ picnic basket contained “the kind of things girls like to eat”, so maybe they were planning to see the boys and bring them the kind of things boys eat? I’m overthinking that? The chapter actually titled “Three Meat Piroshkis” just left me even more confused.

4. I don’t understand how Khan’s pen works at all. The one he brought to the school reunion. That was the part I re-read the most. Anyway, even with that, I loved Sacred and Terrible Air. Definitely one of the most enthralling reads I had, with or without the background of Disco Elysium. I’d still like an official translation that could potentially solve the issues I had, but for now, a Top 10 Book for me.

Go for it now.

#disco elysium #sacred and terrible air #robert kurvitz #literary analysis #random thoughts #book quotes

[yuurei20]

Short translation from the second Twisted Wonderland novel: Yuuya and the rumors

“'What's the matter? You look a bit down,’ says the ghost.

‘No…mm. It's nothing, but...' Yuuya’s reluctant response trails off in a sigh. ‘I just remembered that tomorrow is the start of another week.’ 

‘Ah, I get it.’ Ace nods in understanding. ‘You're all gloomy cause you don’t want to go to school.’

‘…yeah.’

‘I get that,’ Grim says with a knowing nod. ‘I hate all those boring classes.’

‘Nah, it’s cause he doesn’t want a bunch of guys he doesn’t even know giving him trouble again.’

Yuuya gives a weak nod.

Yuuya and Grim have been students at Night Raven College for a month. He’d assumed that everything would settle down in time, but after a certain incident things are more shaken up than ever.

It is as though there is no one at the school who has not heard the rumors surrounding Yuuya. Everyone is talking about the incident.

Riddle Rosehearts, the housewarden who reigned over Heartslabyul Dorm, and his excessively strict rules. His authoritarian regime may have continued until his graduation but then, disoriented, he had unleashed a torrent of magical power that resulted in his overblot. 

Blot is a byproduct of using magic. While a phenomenon that can pose a deadly threat to mages who allow it to accumulate, it is very rare for it to ever reach that point. For an overblot to occur within such a prestigious, traditional school for mages was unprecedented.

It was a major incident that involved both the students of Heartslabyul, and those of another dorm entirely.

A dorm that was most recently dubbed ‘Ramshackle.’ Its two members are Kuroki Yuuya, a human from another world incapable of using magic, and Grim, a magical beast.

They are special first-years, having received permission from the headmage to enroll due to unusual circumstances.

‘Well, it’s not like the rumors are wrong, but they leave out a lot of important parts.’

Listening to Ace explain, Yuuya starts to feel dizzy.

‘I wasn’t really that caught up in everything with Riddle-senpai, I just happened to be there with you two…I don’t really think ‘special first year’ is the right way to put it.’

‘I guess the main point is that they’re not just rumors.’ Deuce seems to be thinking hard, and Ace laughs aloud.

‘I get asked about you all the time, too, but it’s not like I can say they're wrong or refute them, right?’

‘It’s okay to refute them! People are even coming to our classroom, now, to look in. I thought I was just imagining it at first, but…it’s probably the rumors.’

‘Well, you hear something like that and of course you’re gonna think, ‘I wonder how amazing that first-year really is,’ right?’

‘Speaking of which, on Friday, when I saw you talking to someone from another class,’ Deuce blinks as if having just remembered something. ‘I thought it was someone you knew―they were just hassling you?’

‘Yeah...I might have fainted if you hadn't walked up.’

‘That's a bit dramatic...but then again, not for Yuu, I guess.’

While he is an ordinary human, there is one thing that sets Yuuya apart from others: he detests fighting. 

Even witnessing a conflict sets him on edge, and hearing the slightest argument makes him anxious. There is nothing that Yuuya would not do to avoid a fight.

And yet, it seems that a considerable number of students now view him as a rival. Night Raven College students have a lot of pride. Rumors about a special first-year student must have sparked their competitive spirit.

There is no end to the openly hostile students. Whenever he hears, ‘Hey, are you Yuu?,’ he gives an evasive answer and runs away.

‘What? Someone pickin’ a fight? We can’t just let ‘em mock Ramshackle Dorm.’ Grim growls, wrinkling his small, black nose. ‘Tell me who it is an’ where they are. I’ll knock ‘em right out!’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Well, don’t let it get to you.’ Ace pats Yuuya on the back. He hasn’t stopped chuckling. ‘People will forget about the rumors sooner or later. Hang in there!’

‘That’s easy for you to say…’

If any of them were significantly involved in the situation with Riddle, it was Ace. But with the gossip about Yuuya spreading like wildfire Ace has been able to avoid any negative attention, skillfully keeping himself out of the trouble.

Perhaps he feels guilty about it. ‘You actually seem to be fitting in with the class more,’ he offers in assurance.

‘You think so? Nothing feels different.’

‘Yeah, I think you’re starting to fit in, too.’ 

Yuuya remains glum, even despite Deuce's encouragement. Ace and Deuce exchange glances and shrug."

#twstnovel2 #twisted wonderland #twst translations

[undreaming-fanfiction]

My Blessing

Back when Eddie was still human, he used to think it would be incredibly cool to be a vampire. Child of the night, Nosferatu, all that stuff from his beloved books. He would be untouchable and the people who wanted to hurt him just for being different would wither away and die of old age while he'd still be the same. Maybe he'd visit them in their dying hour and sneer at them, taunt them as they were about to see what awaits beyond. All of that used to sound so good.

As he's learned during last 80-ish years, being a vampire sucks (no pun intended).

He sees it all. World wars. AIDS epidemic. Satanic panic. More and more pain, people wasting away before his eyes. The music is cool, but he wonders if he'll grow tired of it all. Eddie is still young, he doesn't want to believe that this is all there is. But each year, each decade makes him more and more hopeless.

And he's so, so lonely. He still has Wayne, his vampire uncle (he categorically denies the term "father" or "maker"), but he sometimes too resigned, too used to all the pain and violence. He doesn't know many other vampires and making any sort of a connection with a human is painful to think about. People are so fragile.

He's always loved turning into a bat and just flying around the city, avoiding the curious eyes of humans and finding lone vantage points, observing the night life on the streets. One of his favorite spots is on top of the Harrington bank, a building from the 1920s with old bronze statues and old, tall windows. He started visiting the ledge in late 1980s, sometimes spending the entire night there. He'd land on the ledge and turn back to his real form, plopping down next to a statue of a young man. It's so human-like, Eddie forgets it's just an object, a piece of art, and talks to it. He tells it about the stuff that has been happening in the world, all that's fucked up but also the good things, how he saw a group of girls chasing away a stalker of a random lady, a homeless guy giving his last few bites to a stray dog. How a kid he used to know in the 80s is now all grown up and has children of his own. He sometimes wonders who made the statue, but there is no signature, no mark, just that pretty face looking down at the street, lost in thought.

It's on a stormy night in 2022 that it happens. Eddie lands in his favorite spot, lights up a cigarette (immortal lungs are a great thing to have) and talks to the statue, as always. Tells it how he actually wrote a novel and got it published, summers are long and the daylight doesn't kill him but it sure hurts, rambles about how he got Wayne his first flannel shirt and it was love at the first sight. The rain is thick, heavy, but Eddie likes it, it makes him feel a bit more alive. He hears thunder, closer and closer, but the lightning is probably somewhere behind him, he doesn't see it.

That is, until it hits the statue, and Eddie panics because sure, it was just an object, but it was like his friend, it was a constant in his life, what is he going to do-

And then the statue straightens its spine and groans.

Eddie's cigarette falls somewhere into the streets and burns a hole in the umbrella of a lady bitching about the undeserved help provided to the poor. Not that he notices. His eyes are glued to the statue that stretches its arms and runs its fingers through the thick hair that suddenly has color, a sun-kissed brown, and then it turns to Eddie and smiles.

"Oh finally, I was waiting for ages to introduce myself. Hi. Thanks for keeping me company all those years. I'm Steve. Steve Harrington."

Eddie shakes the offered hand in daze and mutters "Eddie, Eddie Munson" before promptly turning into a bat and...what? Does he want to run away? Does he want to shriek his little heart out and never come back? Probably not. Not with Steve smiling at him like he's the best thing in the whole world. So he just lands on Steve's outstretched hand and squeaks "Still Eddie Munson, only pocket size."

And Steve, bless his heart - does he have one? Do statues have hearts? - just laughs and tucks Eddie under his old-fashioned jacket to protect him from the rain. "Oh, I know. The first time you landed here and turned back, I thought I'd finally gone crazy."

He opens a window behind them and climbs inside with Eddie, a window that's always been dark, the only dark room in the whole building. And then they talk. Well, Steve does.

That's when Eddie learns the room is Steve's, preserved, stocked and cleaned throughout the decades. That he's the only son of the founder of the bank, Richard Harrington, now fortunately long dead and burning in hell. That even before the Great Depression hit, the bank was facing difficulties and Richard Harrington decided to make a deal with...something. Something ancient and lurking in New York, something feeding off the misery of people living there.

That's when Eddie learns that Richard Harrington offered his only son to preserve his fortune.

He just stares as Steve shrugs, retelling his story as if it was no big deal, finding a change of clothes for both of them in a huge closet full of things both old and new, a strange blend of fashion spanning last century. "It was a deal for one hundred years. One hundred years of prosperity for one hundred years of...that. I guess my father felt a little bit guilty afterwards because he included in his will that I'd always have a place to come back to. This room. And some financial security too, that's what he'd said before he passed away. He used to talk to me through that window sometimes, after my mother drank herself to death."

"Uhhh." Edward Munson, ever the eloquent fantasy book author, has nothing better to say.

He turns back to Eddie, smiling at him and offering a black t-shirt. "I don't think he knew I could hear him, that I heard and saw everything. Still, nice to know he cared...as much as he was humanly able to." The smile doesn't falter as he adds: "I don't want to sound pushy, but maybe you should turn back to change clothes? You're still wet."

And oh, Eddie is still a bat. Yep. With a sound that sounds like a plop, he transforms back and takes the t-shirt. "Thank you. Steve. Uh. That's  fucked up, man," he offers lamely.

"Oh yeah, it sucked. Well, used to," he nudges Eddie, tossing him a towel when he sees his hair dripping on the floor. "But then you started showing up. Talking to me." Now his smile is slightly smaller, sad, and Eddie wants to visit Richard Harrington's grave and punch his remains, build them into a bird feeder, revive the asshole and kill him again. "It was just...so lonely. I had no way of telling you, but when you started visiting and just, kept showing up, almost every day, it felt like a blessing."

Eddie swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "A blessing?"

"Yeah." Steve turns to him and the sincerity in his eyes is so intense Eddie feels like turning into a bat again and flying in circles, shrieking into the night. "You were my blessing, Eddie," he says as he squeezes his hand.

And Eddie just stares, his undead heart breaking for this boy, cursed just as horribly if not worse than he is. "You know I'm not...not human, right?" he whispers but his hand doesn't leave Steve's. "I guess you can probably tell from the bat thing, or that I'm literally the room temperature-"

"-or the fact that you once told me that it's a shame I'm not alive because I look delicious and you're sure my blood would be too," add Steve with a mischievous smirk.

"Uh. Shit, yeah. That too," Eddie stutters, trying to recall all the embarrassing stuff he told Steve during the last thirty or so years. "That...doesn't bother you?"

Steve snorts in laughter and shakes his head. "You literally thought I was a piece of bronze an hour ago, man. Does that bother you? Did you prefer me when I didn't talk?"

Eddie scoffs at that, offended. "Hell no. You were just a pretty face, but now you're a pretty face with a ton of personality. I...you know, you were my blessing too, I think. Even if you couldn't answer, I didn't feel as much alone next to you. Is that weird to say?" 

The squeeze of Steve's fingers gives him the answer he needs, but he still melts inside when he hears "not at all. I just hope you won't get bored of me now that I'm...different," he whispers, staring at their joined fingers. "You'll probably find me boring. I don't know much about what's going on outside. I could watch and you told me a lot, but...uh. The world seems so hectic and fast-paced, it will probably take me a while to catch up."

And Eddie has to laugh because that worry is so strange to hear voiced out loud, as if Steve being alive, breathing and next to him, as if that made him something less. "Oh just you wait, Steve. You spent over thirty years listening to me ramble, now I'm expecting at least thirty years of your monologues so we can be even. You know my dirtiest secrets now and I'm a man with a thirst for knowledge. Really," he adds because the young man next to him is still silent, "you have nothing to worry about. I've kept you company and you have done the same for me...and it works for us. So what's a little confusion about these modern days? Come on pretty boy. I will be your guide."

Steve gives him a smile that is so radiant Eddie thinks it should hurt, it should burn him like a torch, but it's just warm. Kind. "I can work with that."

Steve is the only human Eddie ever turns. He expects to agonize over it for much longer, to feel guilty, but Steve has already lived longer than he has and he still has thirst for life that is infectious, something that drives Eddie to join him, try new things, not mourn what is lost to time but be thankful that he has the chance to see it all. He finally wants to participate, to join the world again, not just observe it.

The first time Steve turns to a bat, he ends up flying in circles in absolute ecstasy, laughing and making the weirdest somersaults and loops. Eddie could watch him forever and the best part is - he can. And he does.

But before all that, Eddie brings Steve to see Wayne, to introduce him to his only family. Wayne shakes his hand and gruffly laughs: "Well, look at that. My boy has finally moved on from that statue."

Without missing a beat, Steve smiles at him and announces "oh not at all, sir. I'm the statue."

Eddie has some explaining to do, but for now, he just laughs.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #vampire AU #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things ficlet

[contentloadinggg]

January Blues - Hozier

Author’s Note: Y’all I finally did it. We’re going to pretend it’s still January so this fits. But it’s finally here 🙏. Thanks to my bestie lunaritessane Who’s input made this fic a whole lot better. I love you💚. (Literally, like their beta reading was just delicious.)

Summary: Andrew is feeling down, you make him feel better. Gender neutral!reader. (3k words)

⚠️Warnings⚠️: Smut! Smut turned weirdly poetic sometimes?. Kinda Switch!Andrew, sub vibes at the beginning, soft dom vibes later. Descriptive descriptions of Andrew’s long dick. (I have a problem)

This is a work fiction and is not a reflection of who Hozier is.

Inspired by:

“Well you cured my January Blues, yeah, you made it all alright.”

Fic under the cut💙, 18+ only, you’ve been warned.

The further Ireland dipped into the depths of winter, the more Andrew’s mood dropped. Reflecting the rainy, washed-out climate outside the frosty windows of his house. It hardly even snowed this winter, just a cold rain that somehow made his mood worse. Logically, he knew it was likely that the lack of sun on his already pale skin was what had him wallowing. But alas, no amount of tea and books seemed to make him feel any better. So that’s why he’d given up by this point. Gaze zoned out past the pages of his novel and tea now cold on the coffee table. His mind clouded like the gathering storm outside.

“Andy?”

A gentle call of his name had Andrew startled. Usually he would’ve noticed your presence by the sound of your footsteps, but he’d been too far into his head to notice.

“Yes, darling?”

He asked, the tone of his voice reflecting yours in its quiet manner.

“I’m just wondering if you’re alright? I’ve called your name a few times and you haven’t answered.”

You replied. Despite keeping your voice light, he can tell by the slight frown and the furrow of your eyebrows you’re more concerned than you're letting on. Sighing deeply with resignation, he closes the book with a soft snap and sets it aside. 

“I’m just feeling… I’m not sure. Down, I suppose.”

He answers, voice tainted with melancholy. You look even more concerned. A part of him wishes he didn’t worry you over trivial things. But how could he ever resist your questioning of his well-being?

You walk over to him and sit down on the arm of the chair. Running a hand into the long curls of his hair to scratch at his scalp. He hums and closes his eyes, leaning back into your soothing touch.

“Anything I can do to help?’

You ask and he breathes out through his nose with a shake of his head.

“Not sure there’s much you can do, but… stay?”

Andrew replies, aware his tone sounds dangerously close to needy. But you only smile and nod. Sating any insecurities he has as you continue to massage his scalp. 

He hums contently once more, letting his head rest against your hand. The warm light of the room throws shadows over his face and the pale lines of his neck. Shrouding the valleys in darkness and the highlights with warmth. Turning the sharpness of his cheekbones all the more prominent if that's possible. 

Leaning down, you leave a few kisses over his cheekbones. The feeling of warm breath against his face forces a smile to his lips. He turns his head, capturing your lips against his. Your kiss is like a balm on his apathy, replacing it with passion. Your free hand cups the side of his face. Feeling the gentle scratch of facial hair against your palm that’s also felt on your chin. The feeling lures you closer. Pressing into the space between his and your bodies until you’re straddling one of his legs. Lost in the velvety sensation of lips and tongues against each other. You break it off first. Ignited with one simple idea. 

“Let me make you feel better, yeah?”

You prompt, in a lowered, raspier voice. He looks up at you with blown pupils, green irises dark. Shining hot in the orange light from the lamp. He breathes out. Like he can’t believe you’re real. And nods eagerly.

“Please… do what you’d like.”

His breathless agreement makes you smile and melt a bit, moving his head to get access to his throat. A soft sound leaves his mouth as you kiss over the thin skin. Breath hitching when your tongue follows along the groves of his veins. He’s so goddamn sensitive. He has to hold back a few noises, the heat of your breathing brushing over his neck. Goosebumps appear over his arms. He’s becoming more and more aware of your every move.

Andrew lets out a loud groan that he quickly cuts off in embarrassment. A response to the dragging of your teeth over the base of his neck where it meets his shoulder. The skin beneath your lips flushes a pink color. You snicker in response to the noise, and he huffs in irritation.

“It’s okay, I wanna hear you. I wanna know you’re enjoying it. You sound absolutely gorgeous, but that’s no surprise.”

You murmur to him, rubbing his side to subdue his unease. You know he’s listening because the muscles relax beneath your hand. He lets out another moan as you nibble, turning the skin a pale red.

It’s not long before you’ve scattered similar-looking bites over his neck. By the time you’re getting his sweater off Andrew is breathing a little heavier, sweat building on the back of his flushed neck. 

His chest stutters watching you sink to your knees in front of the armchair. Eyes hooded and darkened.

“Just lie back, baby, and I’ll cure all those blues.”

You direct, and he does as you say. His mouth is too dry to try and come up with a sassy reply to your somewhat cheesy line. Not like that would matter anyway. All thought disappears from his head when your mouth lands on his chest. Kissing, licking, sucking down his sternum. Your lips wrapping around one of his nipples has him debating whether or not to beg for mercy. Airless moans slip from his lips without time nor thought to stop them. 

“Fuckin’ Hell, darling. That’s so good.”

Andrew hisses, voice rough, Irish accent thickened, words a little slurred. His hands running into your hair. Using whatever is there to try and get a grip. Large palms grasping at the back of your skull. He can’t help but pull when you tug on his nipple, forcing a quiet moan from your lips.

“Shit, sorry.”

He apologizes in a way that would sound regretful if it wasn’t husky with arousal. You laugh in response to him jerking under your mouth when you suck softly. Your way of telling him it’s okay. 

After giving Andrew’s nipple a bit more attention, just to hear him whine a few more times. And then start slowly kissing down his stomach. Feeling every little twitch and breath beneath your mouth. 

“Darling, please, please, stop teasing.”

There it is, the pleads for mercy. He’s practically whimpering. His voice becomes tight. A struggle for control. You grant his wish, hands moving to his belt. There’s a large bulge beneath his jeans, straining against the fabric. God, that must be uncomfortable, you can feel the heat from here. 

Eventually, with a bit of moving around, you manage to pull his jeans and boxers off. Freeing his cock from the confines of his clothes. It arches up towards his stomach with a surprising stiffness, considering you haven’t even been touching him for that long. He’s decently above average in length. To the point it burns a little to take, but not ridiculously so. The tip is a deep red, swelled with a desperation to be touched. 

Andrew shoots a hand from your hair to the arm of the chair. Gripping it with a hiss when he feels the brush of your breath over the sensitive skin. His cock twitches, the two prominent veins along the bottom throbbing. You decide not to make him wait any longer. Wrapping a hand around the shaft. Andrew looks down at you with hungry eyes alight with reverence, studying your every move. 

“God- fucking, yes.”

Andrew gasps in pleasured relief, a moan quickly following when you start stroking the length of his shaft, giving every inch an equal amount of attention. Just barely touching the tip to tease him. To watch his cravings become unbearable. At first, he accepts the simple touch, relishing in finally having friction on his cock. However, it soon becomes too little and he starts rocking his hips into your hand, eager for more. Slender thighs flexing with the movement. Light shining over his jutting hip bones. He’s absolutely stunning from this angle, chest heaving as he squirms. A thin sheen of sweat glistening over the bridge of his nose and high cheekbones. A stark contrast to the darkness of his neatly trimmed beard. 

“Babe-”

Andrew starts, his words sounding more like a gasp of breath. 

“Fine, I’ll be nice.” 

You relent, not wanting to torture him too much. Dragging your hand over the weeping head, Andrew moans and sinks his fingernails into the arm of the chair. His other hand cupping the back of your neck, trying his best not to grip or pull. You circle your thumb around the very tip of his cock, over the most sensitive glands. Andrew practically whimpers because of it. Legs jerking, he throws his head back. Eyes squeezed shut. Showing off all those pink love bites you left over his throat.

“Yes, just like that. Keep going.”

Andrew manages in that sweet, unsteady voice. It’s like he can’t get enough air into his lungs, caught between moaning and whining. He thrusts his hips into your hand which moves up and down the entire length of his dick. A focused attention with a twist of your wrist over the head. Andrew isn’t the only one getting impatient. You’re interested in doing much more than just a handjob. 

So, when your impatience gets to be too much, you duck your head and take the tip of his cock into your mouth. Causing a high-pitched noise of surprise from the man above. There’s an even sharper noise as you press your tongue against the bottom and suck. Pulling precum from his eagerness. The tangy and sharp taste coating your tastebuds, sticking to your tongue. It fills your senses, nearly overwhelming the musky scent of Andrew’s arousal. 

“Let me see your eyes, please. Look at me.”

Andrew urges, his voice higher than normal. Looking up at him, his eyes meet yours. And he responds like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. His lips parted, looking down at you with warmth in his eyes. His entire dick throbbing with your gaze on his. 

“God, you’re so gorgeous, sweetheart.”

He gasps out. His hand letting go of the armchair and brushing the hair away from your face. So he can see all of you properly. 

“So, so pretty down there.”

Andrew continues in a murmur, the pleasure of seeing you drives his ecstasy even higher. He gently moves slightly further into your mouth, hungry for more of the warm pleasure, more than what your hand is giving him. You welcome him, slowly working his cock deeper into your mouth. Jaw stretching to accommodate until it nearly aches. Your tongue cradles the underside. 

He moans lowly, running fingers over your scalp. The warm and wet feeling of your mouth wrapping around his cock causes his entire body to shiver. Pleasure bolting up his spine. He nearly becomes lightheaded with the rush of blood, cheeks flushing a bright red against the paleness of the rest of his skin. 

The more you take, the more difficult it is to breathe. Andrew stops you for a moment,  letting you take a breath. He caresses your jaw with the backs of his fingers, helping it relax out. 

“Just go slow, breathe through your nose.”

He speaks in a calmly commanding voice. Forcing you to stay in your moment of pause for a few seconds longer before letting you continue. You follow his introductions and breathe through your nose, taking measured breaths as you sink further. Until tears gather in your eyes when the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat. Pushing at your gag reflex. 

A pleasured rumble sounds in Andrew’s chest. Vibrating back through your bones. He continues stroking your jaw, making sure you can take every inch.  

“That’s good. You’re doing so well, baby. Start moving if you want.”

Andrew says, trying his best to keep his composure so his desire doesn’t get the better of him. It nearly does when you start moving achingly slow up and down the length of his dick. Your mouth is so consumingly tempting, hot and wet and just perfect. Both a gift and a curse. Luring Andrew to near madness with how good it feels. He’s speechless, wordless. Stuck in this version of heaven. You’ve got him absolutely hooked. Even more so when you start to move faster. Suck harder. Letting saliva drip down your chin and glisten on your skin the way it does on his cock.  

“Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this. Your so skilled, so absolutely, fucking wonderful.”

He groans behind his clenched teeth. Resisting the urge to bury himself even deeper into your mouth. You struggle to move faster. Gagging on his cock when it hits your reflex. Andrew looks down at you, noticing your struggle. He gently pulls on your hair. Guiding you off his cock.

“It’s alright, let me help you, okay?”

He asks, but it’s less of a suggestion and more of a command if you want to keep going. You nod in agreement. 

“Yeah, okay.”

Andrew takes a careful hold of your hair, holding your head in place as he brings his hips closer to your mouth. The tip of his cock brushes your lips, it’s so red it’s almost purple. Eager and more than ready to slip back into your mouth.

“Ready?”

He asks one more time and you answer affirmatively again. He accepts this and nudges his dick slowly past your parted lips. Guiding himself back into the heat of your mouth. It’s wet, soft and very, very hot. He waits a moment for you to get used to it once more. Before starting to move. Using your hair to move you up and down. His hips rocking forwards into your mouth. His breath hitching as he feels your teeth gaze him. His thighs clasp either side of your head, knees almost on top of your shoulders.

“That’s it, let me help you. Just like this.”

Andrew praises in a tone that does nothing to conceal how good it feels. Carefully thrusting his cock in and out of your already sore throat. You’re so sweet, letting him do this. Willing to take apart every piece of him and put it back together. It’s something only you can do for him. Yet he’s sure you could do it for anyone. 

“God, that’s just right. You’re doing such a good job. You’re an angel.”

He manages, voice trembling. He rocks his hips faster. Guiding you to suck harder. Feeling every ridge moving back and forth across your tongue. The head is just barely nudging the back of your throat. Andrew is gasping, moaning above you like he’s never experienced something quite so amazing in his life. Something beyond any man’s wildest dreams.

His cock twitches in your mouth. His ecstasy reaching higher and higher. To the point his thighs are trembling, skin highlighted pink with exertion (is that how you spell it? idk). You look up at him. Admiring the way his features are painted with pleasure. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut. His long hair is messy and falling into his flushed face. There’s strands sticking to the sides of his face and neck with the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. Droplets slide down his collarbones and disappear into his sweater. 

He jerks his cock a little deeper on accident. Coming closer and closer to his finish. Causing you to gag. He opens his eyes with an apology on his lip. But you grasp his hips, pulling him closer. You shove down your gag reflex so you can take him all the way. Tears gathering on your waterline. He takes the hint with widened eyes of surprise and adoration. Carefully thrusting his cock into the depths of your throat, he groans loudly with pleasure. Both hands sinking into and grabbing on your hair. 

Your nose brushes his pelvis. The smell of musk filling your nose. An almost sweet, earthy scent coming from him. You make eye contact through blurry eyes. Andrew’s breath stutters, his legs tensing by the sides of your head. 

“Fuck- darling, so good. I’m gonna- shit. I’m gonna cum in your mouth. Do you want that? Do you want me to cum into your mouth?”

He asks, his words broken and stuttering. Almost failing at forming a sentence entirely. You nod the best you can. Tears and spit running down your face. He moans at your agreement. Somehow feeling hotter and even more aroused by it. 

Andrew thrusts his hips into your mouth. Pushing how much you can take as he chases his high. It’s not more than a minute of nearly reckless movements before he’s cumming into your mouth just as he said he would. His back arching into it as his legs shudder. He moans loudly from the bottom of his chest. His mouth hanging open. Head thrown back with his eyes rolled back into his skull. Shooting warm, thick cum into your mouth. The salty and bitter taste overwhelming your senses, but one you could taste over and over again. You groan around his cock. Causing his legs to jump as he feels the vibrations. 

He pants, remaining motionless in his recovery. His brain needed a moment to recover before piecing itself back together and pulling out of your mouth. There’s a lopsided, still half-gone smile on his face as he looks down at you. Humming happily as you swallow his cum. 

“You’re so amazing, baby.”

Andrew compliments breathlessly. Moving his hands to cup your cheeks and brush the tears away.

“I’m so, so proud of you. Come on, get off your knees.”

The tenderness of his voice is so beautiful. His actions even more so, helping you up off the floor. And positioning you on one of his thighs. 

“Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough with you?” 

He questions, his worries calming when you shake your head. Still recovering yourself.

“Good… can I return the favor?”

Thank you so much for reading my first fic 🫶, any constructive criticism is appreciated. I’m going to go do the school work I’ve been procrastinating over to do this instead now. Hopefully, the next fic won’t take over a month to write and I’ll be more active.

-Thad 💚

#fanfiction #andrew hozier byrne #Andrew Hozier Byrne x reader #Hozier x reader #smut #fluff #rpf #I wrote this with one hand #if you know what I mean #Andrew is a sexy little shit #Spotify #Hozier smut

[nkjemisin]

Hi! I just finished the Deamblood duology, and I am in love with the ending! I was wondering if you ever plan on revisiting the world? I feel like there's so much left to explore about the lore and magic, and I would personally love to see how Gujareeh changes after everything that transpires in in the last book.

Probably... not. I've talked about this in interviews and such, but for folks here, I wrote the Dreamblood books -- which were actually my first pro-quality novels* -- in the early Oughties, when publishing was very different. It's still racist af now, of course, but the racism took a different form back then. Let's call it the racism of low expectations. Basically I got a bunch of rejection letters that said things like, "I'd love to publish this but I don't know how to market it," or "I'm not sure who its audience would be," which seemed to be code for "Black people don't read and white people don't want to read about Black people, and we know all fantasy readers are white, so..."

That round of rejections took about a year to come in. During that time, I wrote the second book of the series, and outlined a third. But I got angrier with each "this is great, but (too Black)" letter I got... and that killed the third book in my head and heart. Instead, I (re)wrote The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, and gave all my rage to Yeine. On the strength of 100kk's sales, the Dreamblood then sold (and lots of white people bought it!), but by that point I was too bitter and the story had been dead too long, so there was no resurrecting it, sadly.

I'm delighted to hear you love it! But there won't be anything more from me... so hopefully there's some good fanfic for it out there somewhere.

*I'd written a version of the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms in the late Nineties, mostly for stress relief while I was in grad school, but it was wholly different (male protag, third person, etc) and I trunked it. When I rewrote it, I started over from scratch, so I don't consider that the same novel.

#answered asks

[dxstopiaa]

Distasteful Scriptures..

Synopsis: It seemed like indulging in sorts of scandalous novels wasn’t as much of a secret as you initially thought. How does your lover react to this discovery? <3

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao, Al Haitham and Ayato x Reader! (>ᴗ•)

Warnings: Usage of ‘Wife’ twice, Suggestive in all parts, otherwise just romance! Thank you for 100 followers, enjoy!

Zhongli

• Zhongli would be oblivious if he hadn’t noticed how you would walk around your shared house whilst reading, usually he would reprimand you like..

• “Dear, you may get injured like that, please take a seat.” He softly reminded you again for the fourth time that week, his mind wondering how much of an enticing book it may be to have you act so unobservant.

• But seeing you so tranquil whenever he retold his own stories, it made more sense to him. Perhaps you were fond of literature just as he was. Though he only grew more suspicious whenever he questioned you on it, earning a uncertain hum and the tilt of the scripture away from your husband.

• So Zhongli couldn’t help but search for the book in your bedroom. Yes, this was an invasion of privacy, was he remorseful? Quite so. He knew this wasn’t the right thing to do, prodding around your possessions but he was just too curious. He continued to seek for it until he triumphed.

• Flicking through the pages, his loss of his calm demeanour only worsened, cheeks glowing with a crimson hue. This is why you were so secretive? To think his innocent wife read such erotic novels contributed to his flush. He promptly hid the book in its place and shut the door behind him.

• Later that evening, you returned to the estate, planning to rest your laboured muscles from the workload prior. With an exhausted sigh, you slumped next to Zhongli on the settee, hugging him gently whilst he trailed kisses on your face.

• “Evening to you too darling.” He chuckled, relishing in how relaxed you were, eyes drooping more and more as time progressed, the warm invitation of sleep slowly engulfing you. Soon enough, you decided to head to bed, feeling way too tired to even process the faint presence of a smirk on your husband’s lips.

• “Love, that won’t do, come here.” Zhongli urged, latching onto your arm as he pulled you towards him to straddle his lap. That seemed to wake you up, gasping rather loudly from his sudden dominance.

•How his half-lidded auric eyes continued to admire you and left a swirling sensation in your abdomen, attempting to avert your own from his critical gaze shamefully.

• “Don’t shy away now, if you love these stories so much, why don’t i retell and reenact them for you, dear?” He teased, unusual for his nature but who were you to lie and say you didn’t like it?

Xiao

• The young adeptus was quite right in mentioning he did not make much sense of mortal emotions, but for you, he did try his best. You were delighted to see his enthusiasm, however it was understandable some aspects weren’t his strong suit.

• So seeing you absorbed in a book to this extent, face slightly rosé in hue, only intensified his interest. It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d seen this either. Xiao carefully watched you from across the room, knees tucked in as he rested his head on them, chewing on the tofu you prepared for him.

• You remained completely unmoved, like you could fall into a slumber in seconds. You were too interested in the events depicted in your mind, while you were aware your boyfriend was in the room too, you assumed he was immersed in his own thoughts to even notice. How wrong you were, oblivious to his intense gawking.

• Xiao sighed, massaging his temples, before getting up and placing the cutlery in the kitchen, suppose helping around wouldn’t hurt. He turned the tap on and began washing his dishes, albeit not concentrating on it until two delicate arms embraced his waist, a light weight present on his back.

• “Xiao, what’s the matter? You’re usually alert but the water on the floor begs to differ.” You questioned, was he really more obvious than he thought? He turned around, glancing down at you who had already began cleaning it up.

• The position you were in certainly did not help clear his confusion, so close to him. That was intentional beyond doubt with the cheeky smirk you wore, how audacious.

• He hissed in disapproval, abruptly lifting you onto the countertop and retracting his arms to fold them. Xiao disappeared momentarily, to turn materialise infront of you seconds later, with the very same novel you were reading earlier.

• “It seems this book has a varying influence on you, why don’t you inform me of the other stunts you plan to pull before me?” He partially ordered, observing your timid lack of response. Well he would stay in this very position till he got the answers he wanted.

Ayato

• As much as you loved your husband, there was no denying the overload of paperwork he was constantly drowned in attracted his attention more than you. But it wasn’t his fault, more so of the other commissions’ selfish requests and ignorance to the personal life of the Kamisato heir.

• Whenever you two tried to indulge in each other’s company, Ayato was called to authorise one agreement, or to analyse a document. Eventually, the deprivation of touch left you needy for it, more than ever.

• So that’s how you decided that reading rather.. venereal books may aid you, intending not to distract the Yashiro Commissioner from his duties whilst fulfilling your own desires. Though was it ever comparable to him?

• Lying frontally upon the shared bed, legs crossed in the air whilst you flicked through the pages of the novel, the endless days of your lover stuck in an office with brief interactions left you frustrated. So much so you didn’t even hear the faint unlock of the door as it opened.

• Ayato glanced questionably at you, engrossed in the literature, a soft smile present as he removed his overcoat and laid it on an armchair. You still didn’t notice him? Weird. He inched closer to the foot of the bed, crouching down to your level.

• His sudden appearance made you yelp in surprise, slamming the book shut and tucking it under the blanket in hopes he wouldn’t question you. Ayato chucked lightly, finding it adorable how you tried to act so sneaky.

• “Darling, what’s with the covertness? Over a book too, hm?” Your husband instigated, retrieving the poorly hidden scripture as your hands flew over your face in sheer humiliation, shaking your head. His eyebrows raised amusedly at the scene written up before him, returning the bookmark to its rightful place as he laid it down beside you.

• He moved your hands from your complexion, admiring the deep flush which accompanied it, how cute, he thought. You only averted your gaze elsewhere, at least as long as you could prior to Ayato redirecting your chin with two fingers gently towards himself.

• “Don’t look away love, I should be the one at fault, you shouldn’t have to read lewd stories in compensation for my lack of attention…” He pleaded, watching you melt under his affection. His dear wife definitely deserved the righteous treatment he hadn’t had the chance to provide lately.

• “…Why don’t i make it up to you?” Ayato teased, capturing your lips with his own in a kiss. Oh, he certainly planned to recreate every single scenario you’d dreamt about, regardless of how long it would take, work fell short in priority to you.

Al Haitham

• One of the few perks of being a student at the prestigious Akademiya was the permission to browse all the vast genres of literature available within the library.

• You perused the columns and columns of books catered to you, running your fingers across the textured spines and tilting your head in pursuit of a specific light novel which had caught the eye of you and many others.

• Found it. The signature illustrations drawn onto the hardcover surface made it easy to locate, after all, this wasn’t the first time you had read it at least a quarter of the way through.

• You pondered wether you should even consider borrowing the book, quite aware of its explicit contents further along, and how degrading it would be for your fiancé to catch you reading such.

• It wouldn’t hurt to peek at the pages…right? He should still be in his office for another ten minutes. The curiosity overcame you as you began to flick through the pages quite shamelessly with a lost regard of time or even honour.

• Until you felt an arm pulling you closer towards the perpetrator, his face nestled into your neck, that is. Al Haitham’s steady breaths noticeable as he presumably rested in your company. You smiled softly to yourself, pressing your lips on his cheek, why so gentle all of a sudden?

• As you moved your hand to flip the penultimate page, a larger, coarse one envelopes it, seizing you from movement. Your lover could practically feel your accelerated heartbeat at being caught out.

• “I’m not finished reading yet, darling, wait a moment.” Al Haitham murmured, voice heavy with exertion. He was reading along with you for how long? And why wasn’t he saying anything despite the obscene scenes?

• “Haitham! I thought you were sleeping?” You partially gasped ashamedly, as he rid the book from your hands and quietened you by placing a slender finger over your lips, dismissively shaking his head in disapproval.

• “Love, you can’t expect me to ignore a common interest, no?” Your fiancé cooed, grasping your chin next as he pushed you against the bookshelf in a perfectly secluded area, whilst you traced irregular patterns with a finger over his chest. He won’t let you get away with such a shameless act.

#genshin impact #we’re zhongli and xiao lovers here #genshin #genshin impact xiao #xiao #zhongli #genshin impact zhongli #genshin ayato #genshin al haitham #al haitham #ayato x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #al haitham x reader #suggestive #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact ayato #genshin impact al haitham #genshin AU

[justheblueberry]

handbinding of A Study in Scarlette by kittebasu

There are people who want to live forever, and then there is Shinichi, who just wants to live a little longer than this.

this bind has been in my head since i first read the fic like, three years ago. i dreamed up so many ideas for it, for so long, and now it's finally done! the typeset was actually done in early 2022, back when i was still using google docs, but it went through a few iterations because i was just. so. fiddly. with every aspect of this book. it needed to be perfect (as close to perfect as i, an amateur bookbinder out of my depth, can get) and it had to be absolutely over the top, to reflect the insane amount of love and care that the author put into the fic itself.

the first time i read this fic, i barely knew what detective conan was, much less all of the intricate plot details; i was just along for the ride, but by the end i was completely invested. i went back and watched through the anime as well as a few movies (it took me six months) and then read the fic again. and then a few more times. kaishin and the world of dcmk has utterly gripped me. it's 100% this fic's fault and i love it so, so, much.

i went through a few iterations of visual designs and i'm really happy with the little details i managed to squeeze in.

the entire color scheme is based around red, because 1) it's a murder mystery, 2) for scarlette shinamoto (and the title of the fic as well as the original holmes novel it references), and 3) the irony of "lady red" actually being red. the secret fourth reason is that i think red/gold is a super sexy color combo.

i sewed the textblock with red thread to reference holmes' "scarlet thread of murder".

another detail i love is the five yen coin bookmark, it was one of my first ideas and it turned out even better than i thought.

i wanted the endpapers to evoke a sense of the white marbled floor of the ballroom, with the glow-in-the-dark kaitou kid caricature being the luminol on the floor, and the little pops of red looks like blood that's been mixed in. i lucked out in that the other side of the endpaper was like a lavender-purpley color, i like to think of it as a little wink wink nudge to the color of the actual Lady Red.

the chapter pages got a few reworkings, but i'm happy with the illustrations i ended up doing for each of them. the chapter titles are one of my favorite things about the fic, each one has so much meaning packed into it and flows so beautifully, and i wanted to put as much care into making them pop as possible.

the cover was a linocut carving i designed and carved, which i then printed onto the bookcloth, and ironed on htv on top.

i also threw in a couple of my drawings of my favorite scenes.

this is getting way too long, so i'll end it here. i'll have a separate post detailing the process every step of the way, if anyone wants to take a closer look. this fic is kind of directly responsible for getting me into fanbinding, so it's safe to say it altered the course of my life. i now spend way too much time (and money) looking at book stuff.

kittebasu, if, somehow, you see this and would like an author copy, i would be honored to make one and ship it to you; i would be overjoyed to gift you with any art i have the ability to make, because the fics you wrote have irreversibly altered my brain chemistry, and being able to give back in any capacity would be a dream. (thank you.)

a few postscripts:

i am not selling any copies of this fic. partially because i believe in the gift economy of fandom as well as firmly keeping fanbinding a hobby that will stay unmonetized, but also because it took me months (years, if we are counting when i first finished the typeset) to finish this and i do not have the strength.

however, if you are also a fan of this fic and would like a copy, i honestly, fervently, encourage you to give fanbinding a try! renegade publishing and its discord server are an absolutely wonderful and free resource. i knew nothing about bookbinding and had zero materials when i first started, but i've learned so much thanks to the lovely people there. if you're still apprehensive about getting started, i'd be willing to share my typeset of this fic as well as answer any questions about the making of this book if you DM me.

#detective conan #detco #magic kaito #dcmk #名探偵コナン #my books #kaishin #kaitou kid #kaito kid #kuroba kaito #kudou shinichi #edogawa conan #handbinding #fanbinding #ficbinding #fanfic #bookbinding #a study in scarlette #book binding #guys #its finally done #im tearing up #this has been my dream bind for so long and its FINISHED #and im really really happy with how it turned out #i seriously cannot put into words how much this fic rewired my brain #ash knows though he's seen my 2 am red string theory corkboard #about what the sequel might be about #まじっく快斗 #meitantei conan #case closed

[brewstersbru]

Got inspired so enjoy some bloodweave!!! <333

“What are you reading?”

Astarion jumps a little at the suddenness of the question, he’d been reading, alone, for hours now and had assumed all of his companions to be asleep. It seems he had erred in his assumption, as Gale peers at him, squinting in the dark. Astarion sighs, burdened.

“What could you possibly need from me, wizard? Shouldn’t you be cuddled up, all snug in your bedroll?” Gale laughs a little, strained and careful, but continues his approach. Astarion rolls his eyes, snaps his book shut with a decisive whack, and sets it aside. 

“Couldn’t sleep. And I see you reading every night, it’s only natural that I’ve wondered what genre of tome could possibly enrapture you so, a man normally much too aloof for anything to grasp onto.”

His voice carries a kind of smug tilt to it, like he’s trying to tease but is too sincere of a man for it to come out as anything other than a collection of awkward observations. Astarion returns a more practiced smirk. 

“Mmm. I see.” The words rumble and slur together into something almost animalistic, Astarion’s not quite sure what overtakes him, in this moment, but there’s a kind of vulnerability to Gale. A soft belly upturned to the world, a rabbit twitching its nose but refusing to run. 

As a predator- a hunter, at times- Astarion is well practiced in spotting and pouncing on these vulnerabilities. He smiles toothily. 

“So you’ve been watching me?”

And Gale? Well, Gale laughs. Quiet, but boisterous and chortling. He shakes his head. 

“Did that really work on people?” He continues to laugh. Astarion draws his brows, puzzled. He hadn’t intentionally been trying to draw him in, but in hindsight that’s probably what it looked like. After years of honeypotting, his purr and growl are often one and the same. Astarion allows himself a small smile, but stows it as soon as Gale draws close enough to bathe in the candlelight.

Silence hangs for a moment.

“It’s a romance novel. Drivel, really, but I’m not one to be picky.”

Gale hums and inclines his head towards the book. “May I take a look?” Astarion nods and shuffles to the side, “Please, be my guest. Fair warning, though, it will rot your brains.” 

A laugh then, as Gale settles next to- but notably far enough to not touch- Astarion on the rug he’d pilfered from some poor sap’s home. It’s quiet, again, as the wizard flips his way through the pages of the book. It’s clear from the quick dart of his gaze that he’s not really reading it, just scanning the most interesting parts. Astarion waits quietly, a state quite unnatural to him but that feels right in the muted intimacy of the moment. He watches the way Gale’s eyes change as he reads, bright, always, but with intermittent flashes of surprise, and mirth. It’s not a bad look on him. Astarion refrains from mentioning that. 

“Well,” Gale sighs heartily and gently places the book back where it had been sitting, “that was quite possibly the worst thing I’ve ever read. I mean really, her ‘evil’ orc boyfriend who ‘changes’ for her and shuns his entire family for the sake of their union? And don’t get me started on the more intimate scenes, if I ever read the word “member” again I think I’ll-“

Astarion can’t help himself, he bursts into a tight, brief set of giggles before hunching over himself. By refusing to look up, he misses the pure glee and adoration in Gale’s expression. Astarion shakes his head.

“Gods, you’re right. It’s horrid, isn’t it?”

Gale nods, somber, “Detestable. Truly, you have found no other books to occupy yourself with? I would argue this,” he points at the book with an accusing finger, “does more harm than good. You’d be better off simply not reading.” 

Astarion shakes his head; something about the low candlelight, the relative isolation of his tent and the illusion of privacy it offers- it makes him want to be open, honest. To show his soft belly to someone who’s just trusted him with theirs. 

“I- well- I would normally throw this wretched thing in the river.” He waves a dismissive hand in the book’s general direction. “It’s just, well, before I never had much time to read frivolous things like this. What with all of the screaming and agonizing and seducing I needed to do.” Astarion laughs a small, humorless giggle at himself, “It’s nice just to be able to sit in the warmth of the sun- when it’s actually daylight of course- and read. Even if it is mindless drivel like this.”

Gale hums, more to himself than anything, but eventually his eyes catch on Astarion’s, something warm and mischievous glinting within. “Do you trust me?”

Now it’s Astarion’s turn to laugh. “About as far as I can throw you, wizard. Which is to say I would pass out before I did.” He gestures to the thin wiry ropes of muscle that wrap around his bicep. Gale gives him another soft laugh.

“That’s fair, I suppose. Will you do me a favor then, and come with me for a moment? Leave the book.” As he speaks, Gale rises from the rug, knees giving twin creaks as he straightens. He winces at himself and smiles something small and self-deprecating. 

Astarion, equal parts dubious and curious stands with him. “Well now I have to know. Lead on, wizard.”

“It’s Gale, you know.” Gale comments, as they begin walking back towards the circling of tents a bit closer to the campfire. Astarion huffs. “I know.”

He lets the silence settle, and sit for a bit. 

Gale chuckles and shakes his head, “Yeah I suppose I should have guessed that’s what you’d say.” 

It’s not long before they come upon Gale’s own tent and the wizard opens the flap, disappearing inside. Astarion waits near the entrance for a couple of minutes before Gale’s head- hair adorably unkempt and still squinting into the darkness- pops out to usher him in. “Thought you didn’t need an invitation to enter anymore? Or is the tadpole’s magic so limited?” 

Astarion rolls his eyes and smacks lightheartedly at his head as he ducks inside. “You’re such a little shit!” Said shit only grins and returns to… whatever the hell he’d been doing. 

The inside of his tent is almost impossibly spacious but Astarion guesses that has something to do with being a wizard. There are scrolls and ink pots just kind of lying around but the chaos is rather cozy. The largest thing in the tent, however, is the absolute leviathan of a bookcase off to the right, which Gale is now rummaging through, muttering to himself.

“Romance… Romance… Wait, does he even- ASTARION- oh you’re right here, perfect, do you even like romances? What’s your preferred genre?” There’s an urgency to his words and movements but it’s not frantic. Rather quite the opposite actually, he looks more at home here and now than Astarion thinks he’s ever seen him. 

“Oh- uh- well, darling, I’m not quite sure. It’s been a while. I do think I’ve always enjoyed romance when it’s- well- good.” Gale nods decisively and returns to his task, a man on a mission. Astarion tries not to notice how sweet he is, how sweet the whole situation is, really. He’s just appreciative of the arts, can’t go around letting people besmirch its name with nonsense like this stupid book or anything. 

“Aha! Here-“ Gale lifts a rather thick tome from the shelf, it’s got quite an ornate cover- a mix of dark blue with gold embossing- and he shakes it like he’s just found a particularly useful scroll, “it’s an enemies to lovers epic surrounding two clerics- one of shar and the other of selune- and their struggles with their respective faiths and the adventure they embark upon.” His smile is almost blinding in its intensity and Astarion finds he has to look away. Has to squash this warmth fluttering in his gut.

“Did you just read that from the summary?” He’d tried for a snarky sneer, but all that came out was genuine curiosity. How many times would one have to read something to be able to recite its summary from memory like that? Although, Gale’s always been quite bright. 

“Not at all. I’ve read this enough times I could probably recite the first chapter from memory!” Gale’s still smiling but there’s something strained and uncomfortable to it that makes Astarion unreasonably unhappy. He thinks for a moment.

“Would you? Darling, my eyes were just starting to hurt from the prattling prose of that hack of an author, they could use a bit of rest… Would you mind terribly getting me started?” His face had just seemed so puppy-like, so eager to share his interest in this piece of fiction that even the thought of implying that that was bad or annoying or at all anything but hopelessly charming was… well… unthinkable. As a reward for his kindness, Gale absolutely beams at him. 

“I would be honored, my friend! But first-“ With a snap of his fingers all of the candles snuff out, leaving the two of them in complete and utter darkness.

“Uh, Gale, dear, as much as I do enjoy good mood lighting I don’t think you’ll be able to actually read in-“ Before Astarion can finish speaking, a bright, almost blinding orb of light materializes in the palm of Gale’s hand. He gestures to his right and the orb moves itself into the corner of the tent. 

Blinking, Astarion notices the comfortable warmth seeping into his skin from the rays of light the orb is emitting. He grins over at Gale, who had already been looking at him, furrow of trepidation between his brows. 

“You mentioned you liked to read in sunlight, and, well, it’s not like either of us is going to sleep tonight, right?” His smile is more sheepish, this time.

Part of Astarion wants to cry, part of him wants to kiss Gale on his pretty mouth, part of him wants to destroy this tent and all of the books in it.

He decides to sit. Gale joins him after a moment. He reclines himself on the pillows that line the other man’s bedroll and then rolls himself into his lap. Gale simply huffs, mutters something about “Tara” and situates the book in his hand in such a way that allows for his other hand to card through Astarion’s hair. 

Astarion really does cry, now, but the tears are silent and Gale graciously pretends not to see them. 

“The moon cannot shine on it’s own. Each night the sun caresses its cheek, granting its light and we are able to watch this act of love from a distance…” 

They fall asleep, or rather, Gale does. In the midst of a sentence his daylight spell blinks out of existence and he kind of slumps in on himself, hands going lax. Astarion is only able to catch him and the book because of his almost impossible dexterity. 

Astarion huffs a ghost of a giggle at him, but carefully bookmarks the page, sets the book aside, and tucks the wizard in. He sleeps like a rock, it seems, because even with all of the jostling he remains steadfastly unconscious. 

After a moment of gazing and contemplating at Gale’s relaxed face, Astarion uses one of the many available inkwells and quills and scribbles out a short note.

Had a great time tonight, darling. Let’s do it again sometime, I’m aching to know if Shenra and Kaye actually kill each other.

<3

He doesn’t kiss Gale’s forehead as he leaves but the thought crosses his mind, and he regrets not doing it when he reaches his own tent.

Damned wizard. Damned Gale. 

#bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #bloodweave #astarion x gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #cringefail bfs #i love them sm #both of their love langs are acts of service but also neither of them can receive aos well #no idea how long this is but oh well

[hypermania]

transcript of the full thread:

"A very long thread: To the League fans, We found out this news along with you on Friday. I see the pain and anger and worry out there, which for the LGBTQIA+ fans of the show is of course compounded by what’s happening across the country right now. #ALeagueOfTheirOwn

So the first and most important thing to say is: Before anything, before you fight for the show or each other, please take care of yourselves. Reach out to your community and ask for help if you need it. You aren’t alone. Please be kind to yourselves.

As I’ve been thinking about what’s happened, I come back to a quote from Penny Marshall’s film: “The hard is what makes it great.” Making this show is so hard and so great. There’s quite a bit to say about what’s been hard, but at this point that’s in the past.

Of course, if we have an avenue to do it well, we will continue the show, and I love seeing the noise you’re making in support of that. The noise matters!

And it’s hard for me to imagine there wouldn’t be a home for a show that thanks to you was in the Nielsen Top 10 for three weeks, was the top show on Amazon for a month and in the top five for six, that was recognized by critics as something special, that’s been recognized…

…with awards from GLAAD, HRC and a million other organizations, that was on a million year-end top ten lists, and that has a built in and deeply passionate audience.

Amazon is pursuing different kinds of programming, but to the rest of the world this show is a hit and has huge value and even greater potential. But first things first, we have to win this strike and get a fair deal before we can explore what comes next.

But for a moment, I want to talk about what happens if the world didn’t quite change quickly enough for you to have all the seasons of this show that we want to give you.

If we don’t find a good path forward, I will still know that League did what it came here to do and, in its own small way, changed the world.

And that’s because of all of you, and the light you continue to shine on the show — How you let it matter to you, how you let it become a mirror, how you let it change you.

I’ve never experienced a response to a show that’s as deep, personal, creative and meaningful as what the fans have done with League. When we were making the season 1, we all wondered and worried about whether people would accept it on its own terms next to the film.

They have, and you did that, and so much more. You lit up the internet on your first watch throughs of the show, when you realized where it was going (and made all of us laugh in the process).

You wrote enough fan fiction for 100 novels and created an outpouring of art and creativity that could fill its own museum — I’ve truly never seen anything like it.

You lifted up a 95 year old who had just come out of the closet and made her into a celebrity who gets recognized wherever she goes. Every time any member of the cast appears at anything, you turn it into a convention.

You stop Abbi wherever she goes, and though I’m a happily inconspicuous person, and you constantly find me and stop me and give me gifts that now have a shelf in my house.

When thousands of you appeared to see D’Arcy at the stage door of The Thanksgiving Play over its run, you turned it into the hottest queer bar in New York. You made Max’s suit and Chante’s beautiful performance into a movement.

A mob of you went to Pittsburgh and saw all of our locations. You dressed as the characters and made our characters into one of the biggest halloween costumes of last year.

You came out, you changed pronouns, you started living more openly, you gave sermons in church about the show, you opened bars, and you got a truly mind boggling number of tattoos that say “to the five” and “rob the bank.” What else am I forgetting? I'm sure you'll remind me.

But most importantly, you made a community, you found each other and found joy, which of course is what the show is about. In many more ways than I would ever have let myself imagine while we were making it, you literally bring the show to life every day.

Thank you for making our work mean something bigger. We’ve heard from so many different kinds of people around the world who are watching League.

But, in a time when all queer people are personally and politically under attack across the country and HRC has declared a “state of emergency,” my biggest fear is that the many queer fans of League will take this reversal as one more invalidation, one more blow, one more…

…effect of the general politicization of our identities. Most of us grew up feeling invisible, and as we gain strength, the predictable backlash forces are trying their hardest to get us to go back underground.

In case anyone needs to hear it: You are not small, niche, modest, off-putting or marginal, and neither are your stories. You are multitudes, you are building, and your stories are universal. You are the most rapidly growing audience and consumer group in this country.

You are powerful. You are the future, and the people who don’t recognize your importance now will feel be clamoring to catch up in a few years. As Chante said so beautifully when we received the Human Right Campaign Visionary award, you are the main characters. Be proud.

Be angry if you that’s how you feel, but know that we are going to win, and don’t ever let this moment or any other make you small. The biggest lesson of the characters in this show is that, in a world that had no space for them at all, they LIVED. (Continued)

They found love, they did the things they loved, they won. You’re doing the same thing, and just like them, you are heroes. We are still fighting for League. But whether we win or lose this one, I’m so proud.

From the time when we began working on the season, Abbi, Deta and I said to each other — Let’s not hold anything back, for as long as we get to be here, let’s do this the right way.

We got so many notes wondering if the exploration of the queer world of the 1940s or Max’s world would be better saved for season 2, if people needed to start somewhere a little more familiar. I’m so glad we didn’t listen, cause now I’m sitting here without any regrets.

And no matter what happens, the people behind League aren’t going anywhere. Give us a minute, we will be back with more for you to watch and read and feel. We’re going to win.

And you’re not going anywhere either, because what you’ve built and what you are is bigger than this show. It’s the story of our community, that comes to us through the hidden history that League shows just one small part of: The bars got raided and shut down.

But the people didn’t go anywhere, and they opened a new bar, and out of those spaces came music, cinema, dance, culture — What we now see as mainstream was birthed from the spaces our predecessors were forced to hide in. They made joy there."

#aloto #a league of their own #will graham #mp #long post