#i know that you sent this to me as a way to write about something i love and i have been stressed about it the entire time. i don’t know.

[bansurii]

Pen Pals

pair: sukuna x afab!reader

content: smut, stalking, threats, slight violence, dubious consent i think ?, profanity, choking, an impossible angle, sukuna is a serial killer but we never touch fully on that, reader is scared a lot, and idk what more is needed but just be careful proceeding MDNI thank you!

line dividers @cafekitsune

“So, what if your charming pen pal turns out to look like Quasimodo?”

“I have his picture! Besides, it’s not like we’ll ever actually meet. He’s serving life.”

Your friend gaped at you, her eyes widening in disbelief. 

The conversation had begun with your usual letter-writing ritual. What had once been a simple hobby had evolved into an infatuation with a man labeled as one of the world's most dangerous criminals. Despite his reputation, his letters had been nothing but kind, making your heart flutter with each new page. His picture revealed a ruggedly handsome man, his body adorned with tattoos that hinted at a dangerous past.

You had told your friend about him almost a year ago. Predictably, she responded with trepidation, urging you to choose a less notorious correspondent. 

“He’s still a person,” you’d argue. “Even the most hated need love too. And what harm could he do if he never knows where I live, let alone what I look like?”

However, his latest request had unsettled you both. He wanted a picture of you, something to remember you by during lonely times. Your friend was livid when you mentioned it.

“You cannot send him a picture! What if he has friends on the outside? I refuse to become a target because of your bad decisions!”

You laughed it off, continuing to write a diplomatic yet affectionate refusal. Your friend, exasperated, finally sighed in defeat.

“Well, enjoy writing to the serial killer. I’m staying at my boyfriend’s place for a while. If he gets out and comes after you, call the police first, then me.”

You reassured her with a laugh, promising to be cautious. She hugged you tightly before leaving. Neither of you noticed the grey car parked across the street, its presence having become so familiar it was easily ignored.

The following evening, a knock at your door startled you. Expecting your friend, you were puzzled to find no one there. Just a box. 

With a mix of excitement and dread, you approached the door. The box bore a note in handwriting you recognized instantly:

*Such a beautiful home. I thought you would enjoy a little gift from the other side…*

Your anxiety surged. You scanned the empty, unnaturally quiet street before retreating inside. The flickering streetlight across from your home seemed dimmer than usual, casting eerie shadows. A rustle in the bushes sent you scurrying back inside, locking the doors and setting the alarm with trembling hands.

The box sat ominously on your coffee table. Despite your curiosity, fear kept you from opening it. Instead, you holed up in your room, hoping sleep would come despite the dread gnawing at you.

In the dead of night, you jolted awake to the sound of metal scraping against metal. Someone was inside your home. 

Determined not to fall into the typical horror trope of investigating, you stayed put. But then you heard it—footsteps, slow and deliberate, ascending the carpeted stairs.

Panic gripped you. Clutching the bat you kept in your closet, you listened as the intruder approached. The door across the hall creaked open, and you steeled yourself for the worst. But then you recognized the sounds—muffled giggles and a familiar voice.

Relief washed over you. Your friend had returned, and apparently brought her boyfriend. You set the bat down, heart still racing, and fell back into bed, the adrenaline finally giving way to exhaustion.

In the morning, you would face the box and the mysteries it held. For now, you allowed yourself to sink into the comfort of your bed, hoping that sleep would bring a respite from the turmoil of the past few days.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on your bedroom. Despite the terror of the previous night, you felt a strange sense of calm as you padded downstairs. The box still sat on the coffee table, its presence a reminder of the eerie note and the mystery it held.

Taking a deep breath, you sat on the couch and gingerly lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of luxurious velvet, was an object that took your breath away. It was a stunningly crafted necklace, the centerpiece a large, gleaming sapphire surrounded by intricate filigree work in white gold. The piece was elegant, expensive, and utterly out of place for something sent from a prison.

You lifted it gently, the gem catching the light and casting tiny rainbows across the room. For a moment, the sheer beauty of the necklace overshadowed your fear. How could something so exquisite come from a man behind bars?

Elated but wary, you turned the necklace over in your hands, inspecting every detail. It was flawless, and the craftsmanship was impeccable. This was no ordinary gift. 

Your mind raced. How did he manage to send something so extravagant? More importantly, how did he know your address? You felt a shiver run down your spine as you recalled your friend's words: *“What if he has friends on the outside?”*

The realization hit you hard. He must have outside help. Someone capable of acquiring such a piece and delivering it to your doorstep. Your elation was quickly replaced by a deep sense of unease. 

How long had he known where you lived? You thought back to the grey car that had been parked across the street. Was it connected? Had you been watched?

You set the necklace back in the box, hands trembling. The beauty of the gift now seemed tainted by the sinister implications. Your friend's warnings echoed in your mind: *“I am not going to die because of your bad decisions!”* You couldn’t ignore the danger any longer.

Reaching for your phone, you dialed your friend’s number. She answered on the third ring, her voice groggy with sleep.

“Hey, it’s me. You were right. We need to talk.”

Later that day, your friend arrived, her face a mix of concern and frustration. You showed her the necklace, and she gasped.

“This is... gorgeous. But it’s also terrifying. How did he send this?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “And I don’t know how he found my address.”

She paced the room, glancing nervously out the window. “We need to call the police. This is beyond creepy.”

You nodded, knowing she was right. The thrill of your pen pal had turned into something dangerous, something that required more than just caution. As you picked up the phone to dial the authorities, you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you, the sense of being watched. The beautiful necklace now felt like a heavy weight, a symbol of the peril you had unwittingly invited into your life.

As you waited for the police to arrive, you couldn’t help but wonder about the man who had written such kind letters. Was he truly as dangerous as they said, or was there more to the story? Either way, you knew you couldn’t continue the correspondence. The price of your curiosity had become too high, and your safety was worth far more than any thrill or beautiful gift.

A few weeks had passed, and your friend continued to stay with her boyfriend, feeling guilty for leaving you alone but too scared to return. She called you every day, ensuring you were unharmed and feeling as well as could be expected. The police had stationed an officer outside your house during those weeks, but with no further incidents, they eventually recalled the officer. They advised you to call if anything came up, assuring you they would do their best to keep you safe. You had downplayed the threat, omitting any mention of your pen pal. Had they known the full extent, they might have placed you under witness protection.

Unfortunately, the eerie calm was shattered today.

The grey car had returned, and this time, you could make out the driver. He bore a stark resemblance to the picture you had seen of your pen pal, the world’s most dangerous criminal, now sitting outside your home, watching and waiting. But for what? What did he plan to do once you were alone?

You couldn't call out from work again, needing to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Steeling yourself, you put on your best intimidating face and walked to your car, though you felt more like a deer caught in headlights. Ignoring the piercing, watchful eyes of the man was harder than you imagined, but you managed to get into your car and drive away.

You knew it was foolish to drive to work, thinking he might follow you, but if he knew your address, he likely knew where you worked. At least at work, you'd be surrounded by people and security personnel. If he tried anything—which you doubted he would in such a public setting—there would be help nearby.

The day dragged on, dread gnawing at you. Your focus was shattered, and your supervisor almost reprimanded you until they realized how shaken you were. They backed off, giving you space to regain your composure. HR knew something was seriously wrong but couldn’t disclose details to anyone else, offering you a temporary reprieve.

But this day was particularly harrowing, and you barely made it through. As the workday ended, you practically sprinted to your car, seeking the relative safety it offered while there were still people around.

Home was a different story.

You entered, not realizing the door had been unlocked until you were already in the living room. Shock, dread, and fear flooded you as you saw him there, seated on your sofa.

He was casually examining a picture of you with your friend, family, and your old pet. He looked content, as if he belonged there, as if he were truly at home.

Panic surged. You wondered what he could do to you in such close quarters. Thick walls muted sounds from neighboring homes; no one would hear you in time. You felt paralyzed, unsure of what to do if he made a move.

He shifted his position, dropping one leg and crossing the other, all the while holding your gaze. He took in your presence, the real you, not just the image he had studied. You were no longer a picture, but flesh and blood, standing before him.

“Nice to meet you, [Your Name].”

You had never told him your real name, only an alias. Somehow, he had discovered your true identity, just as he had found your address.

“I hope you don’t mind my intrusion. I couldn’t resist, especially after a month of silence from you. I noticed you called the police. I'm quite impressed that you managed to keep my presence in your life a secret.”

You trembled, tears starting to well in your eyes and trickle down your face.

“Ah, don’t cry. I’m not here to harm you. What I have in mind will be much more pleasurable. For both of us.”

His words chilled you to the core. The beauty of the necklace, the allure of his letters, all seemed like a distant dream compared to the present reality. You stood frozen, unable to move or speak, as he smiled at you, his intentions shrouded in menace and mystery.

“I-I…” 

The tears began to slow, your breath evening out as a semblance of calm started to return. He watched you closely, giving you a moment to dry your face and find the words that had eluded you. 

But silence persisted. Your thoughts were in disarray, still grappling with the reality of his sudden presence. He seemed to sense your inner turmoil, knowing you needed time to process the situation. As he approached, his imposing figure loomed over you, each step bringing him closer.

Realizing his intent, you instinctively retreated, but his long strides easily closed the distance. Your back met the cold, unyielding wall, trapping you. You wished you could tear it down, burrow into an indestructible sanctuary, and escape the nightmare your life had become. 

His proximity was overwhelming, a blend of menace and fascination, as you stood frozen, unable to tear your gaze from his. The intensity of the moment hung heavy in the air, a storm of emotions threatening to consume you both.

He continued to close the distance, his presence suffocating yet electrifying. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he drew nearer, until he was mere inches away. He raised his arms, placing his hands on the wall on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. The scent of him, a mix of cologne and something distinctly male, enveloped you.

"Is this what you like?" he asked, his voice a low, tantalizing murmur. His eyes bored into yours, searching for a reaction.

Your breath hitched, the proximity overwhelming your senses. The thrill of fear and an unexpected surge of excitement coursed through you, leaving you dizzy and unable to respond.

"Tell me," he continued, leaning in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Is this what you've been waiting for?"

The intensity of his gaze, the warmth of his breath, and the sheer force of his presence made it hard to think, let alone speak. You were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, your mind a chaotic mix of fear, confusion, and a strange, unwelcome attraction. His dominance was intoxicating, leaving you both terrified and inexplicably drawn to him.

His hands remained on the wall, trapping you, as his eyes continued to hold yours captive. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with unspoken tension. In that moment, you realized you were at his mercy, and the realization sent a shiver down your spine.

The intensity in his gaze didn't waver as he spoke again, his voice a silken whisper. "Why don't you show me around? I'd like to see more of your home."

Your heart pounded as you nodded, feeling compelled to comply. Slowly, he dropped his hands from the wall, giving you a semblance of freedom, though his presence still dominated the space. He gestured for you to lead the way.

With trembling steps, you walked towards the staircase, feeling his eyes on you, a constant reminder of the danger and allure he embodied. The transition from the living room to the upper floor was surreal, the normalcy of your home tainted by his dark presence. Each step up the stairs felt like a journey deeper into an inescapable labyrinth.

You reached the top of the stairs and paused, glancing back at him. His expression was unreadable, but a faint, almost predatory smile played at his lips. You hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door to your bedroom.

"This is my room," you said softly, stepping inside.

He followed, his tall frame filling the doorway before he moved to the center of the room. He looked around, taking in every detail. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt exposed and vulnerable.

"Show me more," he instructed, his voice firm yet oddly gentle.

You led him to the adjoining bathroom, your hands trembling as you opened the door. The bathroom was small but neat, the shower glistening under the overhead light. He inspected it briefly, then turned back to you, his eyes locking onto yours.

"This will do nicely," he said, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something more.

Your mind raced, the reality of the situation pressing down on you. "What do you want from me?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "For now, just your cooperation. Tonight is just the beginning. After the night's activities, I might need a place to clean up."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. The ambiguity of "activities" left your mind reeling with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. You found yourself nodding, unable to do anything else.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hand lingering on your cheek. "Now, let's make the most of our evening together."

His touch was both reassuring and sinister, a stark reminder of the control he wielded over you. “Take this off…”

You were shocked, appalled even, at such a request from a man you barely knew, despite the intimacy of his letters, the truths he shared, his truth. 

You hesitated, glancing up at him with a mix of trepidation and a spark of rebellion. 

He smirked slightly, as if he had anticipated your resistance. His hand reached out, but you scurried backward, clutching onto what felt like the last vestiges of your dignity. 

He wasn’t taking no for an answer, not from someone who had shown him such genuine kindness, such unguarded affection for the first time in decades.

It dawned on you just how monumental a mistake that kindness had been.

As you stood there, frozen in your shock, he moved swiftly. In an instant, he had closed the distance between you, his strong hands seizing your blouse. The fabric bunched under his grip, the force of his hold sending a jolt through you.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. “You and I both know this was inevitable.”

His words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the palpable tension that seemed to throb between you. His touch, firm and unyielding, ignited a tumult of emotions within you—fear, defiance, and a disturbing undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite name.

“You think you can just come into my life and—” your voice faltered, the defiance wavering under the weight of his gaze.

“I don’t think, I know,” he interrupted, his tone commanding and confident. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours. “You invited me in with every letter, every secret you shared. This connection we have—it’s real. And now, it’s time to face it.”

Your breath hitched as he pulled you closer, the proximity making your heart race. The air between you crackled with an undeniable energy, a mix of danger and an inexplicable pull that left you both terrified and entranced.

“You’ve got me all wrong,” you whispered, desperation creeping into your voice.

“No,” he replied, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the reality of your situation crashing over you. The walls of your sanctuary seemed to close in, the room shrinking as his presence dominated. You were caught in his web, and the more you struggled, the more entangled you became.

With a final, firm tug, he brought you even closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Let’s see how this night unfolds,” he murmured, a promise and a threat woven into his words.

In that moment, you realized there was no escape. You were his, for better or worse, and the night was just beginning.

His deft hands worked quickly, yet with a surprising gentleness, as he pulled at your blouse. He was careful, mindful of not tearing buttons or threads, his touch respectful in its slow haste to undress you. Each movement seemed deliberate, as if he were savoring the unveiling of your skin, as if he knew the value of each delicate inch.

Once your clothing lay discarded, you stood before him in just your bralette and panties, exposed yet somehow still veiled in mystery. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the sight of a woman—a vision of beauty that left him breathless. He drank in every curve, every line, every delicate feature, his gaze lingering on each detail as if committing them to memory.

He had seen countless women in his lifetime, but none had captivated him quite like you. There was something about you, something ineffable and intoxicating, that drew him in, leaving him hungry for more.

In that moment, as you stood there before him, vulnerable yet unyielding, he realized just how much he craved you. And he knew, with a certainty that bordered on obsession, that he would stop at nothing to possess you completely.

You knew that begging would likely be futile, so you chose silence instead, allowing your gaze to wander anywhere but at him and what he was doing. But he seemed to revel in being watched, his ego swelling as he unveiled each layer of your clothing.

His touch was insistent as his index finger and thumb grasped your chin, forcing your gaze to remain solely on him. You felt a surge of defiance rise within you, but it was quickly quelled by the intensity of his gaze.

With practiced ease, he removed your bra, followed by your panties. The air between you crackled with tension as he exposed you completely, and you couldn't help but feel exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny.

A low groan escaped him, barely audible but unmistakable. It was a sound of longing, of desire unleashed after years of confinement. You realized then just how long it had been since he had seen a living, breathing woman, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

You stood there, naked and exposed, feeling his eyes on you like a physical touch. There was something primal in the way he looked at you, as though he were seeing you for the first time, drinking in every curve and contour of your body.

You tried to maintain some semblance of composure, but it was difficult under his relentless gaze. You felt stripped bare, not just of your clothing but of your defenses, your vulnerabilities laid bare before him.

As he stepped closer, the heat of his body enveloping you, you knew that there was no turning back. The night stretched out before you, a vast unknown filled with equal parts fear and fascination. And as he reached out to pull you closer, you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises lay in store.

Your cheek pressed into the cold, quartz floor of your bathroom, every nerve ending alive with sensation. You could feel the weight of him behind you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your rear pressing against his hips. His blazer, shirt, and pants had been discarded, leaving him in just his boxers. Despite the fabric that still separated your bodies, you felt everything from him—his warmth, his strength, his desire.

He had positioned you in a neat arch, your body stretched taut, every muscle straining against the confines of your own submission. His command was clear: remain still, hold that position until he was ready to take you further.

You obeyed, every fiber of your being thrumming with anticipation and fear. The cold floor beneath you was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from him, and the sensation only heightened your awareness of every touch, every breath that brushed against your skin.

Time seemed to stand still as you waited, your body poised on the precipice of something unknown. You could hear the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat, a counterpoint to the electric tension that hung heavy in the air.

And then, without warning, his hands were on you, tracing the contours of your body with a touch that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers were skilled, mapping every curve and dip with a precision that left you breathless.

You felt him shift behind you, his body moving with a fluid grace that belied the strength coiled beneath his skin. You were afraid of the movement, wanting to look behind you to see what exactly he was doing. And when you felt the tip of him nearing your heat, you redacted the beautiful arch he helped you to create for him and tried to squirm away.

Before you knew it, he had your hair twisted in his hand, pressing your head painfully further against the floor, his breath fanning over your ear. “Move again… and I will crack your skull over this floor and with this treasure I’ll summon something worse than death for you.”

And then, with a suddenness that stole your breath away, he entered you, filling you completely with a single, powerful thrust.

The sensation was overwhelming, a flood of pleasure and pain that threatened to consume you. You bit back a gasp, your body trembling with the effort to remain still as he took you further, deeper into the abyss of his desire. He was much too large to enjoy, your stretched muscles struggling to comprehend the intrusion.

And as he moved within you, each thrust driving you closer to the edge of oblivion, you realized that there was no turning back. You were his, body and soul, caught in the grip of a passion that threatened to consume you both. And in that moment, as he claimed you as his own, you surrendered to the darkness that beckoned, knowing that there was no escape from the depths of his desire.

By the time he was finished, you had orgasmed nearly six times. The final was barely an orgasm, he had edged you and slapped your ass. Breathy laughs finding your ears and somehow you felt yourself able to share his laughter. Your cunt clenched against his twitching length, a feeling he relished in.

Just when you thought he was finished, he pushed your legs apart as far as they would go, nearly into a split, pressing himself further into you, impossibly deeper. Your eyes bulged, hips tightened and your cunt contracted against his deep-seated length once more, your cervix contracting and relaxing in slow bouts against his tip. He lifted your hips, allowing him a new arch, fresh angle, and an even deeper reach. 

You wanted to sob, to beg him to stop, but you also wanted to see what he would do in this position. 

He reached one hand in front, taking your neck into his possession and he pulled back just enough to keep you stationary and choke you slightly at the same time, the angle would do the rest. 

And slowly, he pulled back, allowing just the tip to remain before he thrusts intensely inside of you, pressing against the spot he knew would drive you insane. 

And you cursed him, screaming out all sorts of obscenities and lewd things as he continued to abuse the same spot. His girth squeezed in and out of you with much effort, the tightened feel of your cunt in this position was the one thing that kept him grounded, eyes drawn into a focus on your connected bodies. 

He had cum so many times and this position had him dangerously close to blowing his load again, but he held back just enough. He wanted to cum with you again.

Increasing his speed, he pushed and pulled inside your pussy, watching as it sucked him and pushed him out simultaneously. 

“S’kunaaaa… Fuuuccckkk! Pl-please!”

He knew what you were begging for, screaming out his name for. And he was so close to giving it to you. He had to give you what you wanted since you had been so obedient for him all night. He was nearing his end, bringing his free hand down to your clit and rubbing dangerous circles and odd shapes into it, nearly ritualistic in his methods and just he groaned his approval, you squirted. Full-body quakes erupting, your eyes rolling back into your head. Anyone watching the scene would have thought you were having a seizure. 

But Sukuna knew. And you knew.

It was simply nirvana.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #mdni #sukuna #dead dove do not eat #pen pals #inmates #inmate #inmate pen pals #sukuna is humane and ooc a bit here #i loved it #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader smut #afab!reader #sukuna x afab!reader #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk ryomen #jjk ryomen sukuna

[uranometrias]

my love mine all mine , aaron hotchner

this is incredibly self indulgent. i wrote this for myself, because my cat passed away today && i have no idea how to grieve correctly. but i've always been able to express myself the best through writing, so here i am trying to do so.

basically reader loses her kitten && hotch is there to comfort her while she grieves. reader is a doctor && gets her nails painted. mentions of sleeping in a scarf and braids (but this can apply to any race <3) hotch is pretty flirty. he also had a dog that died when he was younger (idk) ... i'm still getting used to writing him (but he's been rotting my brain) so hotch girlies please be sweet to me, i'm trying.

"Have you decided what you want me to grab on the way?" You feel giddy, eyes beaming vibrantly as you unlock your front door. Aaron was on the other line, he'd been looking forward to spending the evening with you for the past two weeks. Your jobs often sent you in separate directions, with him following cases cross country, and you spending nearly twenty hours a day working at Inova Fairfax Medical Campus. The commute was nearly an hour from Quantico, which made it difficult for your schedules to coincide the way you hoped.

Today though was an exception. He'd just gotten back from a case, a successful one, and you'd been lucky enough to finally get two days off. You couldn't contain your excitement when you'd finally managed to get Aaron on the phone, and with Jack staying at Jessica's for another night, it seemed everything was working out in your favor. You still had no idea what you were in the mood to eat, despite having ample time to figure it out. "I dunno." you mutter, and you drop your keys into the basket just to the left of the front door.

"Well honey, you've gotta give me something." Aaron chuckles, and his voices makes you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. "I'm sure you haven't anything at all today." and it doesn't take a rocket science to know he's absolutely correct. Your stomach grumbles audibly, and you cringe, the sound a dead giveaway of your poor eating habits. "Do you need a bit more time to think about it?" he asks, and you're nodding your head, despite the fact that he can't see you. Your focus is split, eyes darting around your place in search of Piper.

Piper was your five year old tabby, the most special companion that you'd cared for since she was a newborn. Usually she'd be making her way to your front door, nudging her head against your shins, meowing her head off as some form of reprimand for being gone too long. Her absence was unusual, but you'd noticed she'd been sleeping a touch longer in the recent months. You'd taken her to the vet and they'd written off any life threatening illnesses. Perhaps she was jus becoming a lazy cat they had said.

"What'd you eat yesterday?" you ask, and you shrug off your coat next, hanging it in the closet as you slip off your cork-leather clogs. You admire your pedicure, French-tips gleaming back at you as your feet hit the cherry laminate flooring. You imagined that he'd hardly been able to eat well while out on a case, Aaron (and his team) had a horrible habit of neglecting their own health and wellness for the sake of cracking the case. You'd call him out on it, but it'd feel to hypocritical with the way you gave most of your life to the hospital.

"Four cups of coffee." and he sounds sheepish as he replies, he'd been running himself ragged with this last particular case. He couldn't leave the precinct until he was convinced he'd made a dent in the investigation. He could imagine your disappointed pout, but he was doing his best, or at least trying his best. "But, Dave made sure that I got something this morning before we got on the jet." and it's not like he has to explain himself to you, you'd never berate him. He believed it was just a side effect of falling for you.

"Four cups?" you gasp, head already shaking. "You're going to turn into a cup of coffee if you keep up with habits like those." you scold. "You'll have to double your water intake, you could seriously dehydrate yourself that way." you say with a quiet huff. You round the corner of the foyer, heading for the kitchen. "Are you feeling alright?" your tone grows a bit softer, "Four cups means you were really absorbed in the case. Everything okay?" you tread lightly. You weren't quite sure how he felt about you asking about his job.

"As far as endings go, I'd say it was better than most." he replies thoughtfully, clearly unfazed by your desire to probe. That makes you smile a bit, the obviousness of his trust for you. "We minimized the amount of deaths, the unsub was taken into custody... the team worked really hard." he proceeds, and you find yourself grinning. "But, I will do a better job of taking care of myself. You'd be a good nurse, but I can imagine a few better scenarios for you to take care of me."

You smile despite the fact it makes your heart stutter step. You were still getting used to him growing more confident in this way, but you weren't complaining in the slightest. "I'd be a great nurse." you correct him delicately, "I'd enjoy taking care of you in any way though." and you bet he can hear your shyness through the phone. Your relationship with Aaron still felt fairly new, you'd been seeing one another for going on seven months, but you knew you loved him.

Even if you hadn't managed to say it just yet.

"Look at that, another thing we have in common." he exhales, and you want him to hurry up and get to you. You hadn't seen him in so long, and despite the fact you were willing to mount him on sight, you just wanted to enjoy being in the same place for once. "How are you? Did you have a good day?" and you like the way he's so attentive, how he seems to genuinely care about what you had to say.

"It was great." you insist, and you've poured yourself a glass of water, ice tinkling as you scanned the dining room for any sign of Piper. Still nothing, weird. "I went to the bookstore a bit earlier, got a few novels for my book shelf." you list. "I got my nails done, and I got a facial. It was so relaxing I wound up falling asleep on the table." and you chuckle a bit at the memory. "Piper and I went on a drive before lunch, she's so spoiled." you add, but you're still scouring the space.

"Drafted up my budget for the month, my new schedule came in," you exhale tiredly at the thought. "Picked up my scrubs from the dry cleaners, I did a grocery run, and went to see the flower exhibit near the Farmer's Market. I got this really incredible soft-pretzel croissant." you sigh dreamily at the memory. "And now I'm home, and waiting for you." you complete, and you lean forward, arms resting against the countertop. "It was a really nice day. I thought I wouldn't know what to do without work, but I'd nearly forgotten what it feels like to be off."

Aaron's silent, but not because he's disinterested in your ramblings. He finds them endearing, and oftentimes had to remind himself that you, much like Jack, needed verbal response in order to feel heard. "I missed you." and it's not quite what he was aiming to say, but it's what comes out. It's true, it had been a while since he'd seen you in person, and with the way your schedules overlapped, he'd hardly been able to get much conversation out of you apart from quick check-ins in between patients and breaks in BAU cases.

You let out a quiet puff of air, it's not quite a sigh nor an exhale. Your lips curve upwards, and you wonder if there's a record out there for most smiles achieved in a single phone call. "You've got no idea how happy that makes me." you reply, and you inhale deep. "I missed you too, hurry up and get over here." you press, and you replay the sound of his responding laugh over in your mind. You don't think you could be more lovesick, but it's a more than welcomed feeling. "As far as dinner, why don't I just cook something?" you offer with a shrug.

"Do you want to?" and Aaron's got this weird thing about him where he's still getting used to the fact that you want to do certain things for him. You go over it a lot, reminding him that you'd love nothing more than to spoil him as much as he spoils you. He's still a bit hesitant, but you don't mind fighting the good fight until he relented. His hands tighten just slightly on the steering wheel, and his leg jumps as he awaits your response. He knows, or better put, he has an idea of what you'll say. He still wants to hear it either way.

"We take care of each other, mon amour." You coo, and he feels that familiar rush of affection towards you. "It'll be fun." you add, and then you're sighing audibly. "I just really can't wait to see you. I don't want to wait any longer than I need to." you express, and Aaron understands. He'd been restless on the jet, Dave and Emily seemed to zero in on his jitters, he was thankful they had enough couth to keep it to themselves. All he received was a knowing smirk from Rossi as he made a beeline for the tarmac the second the jet landed.

"I'll be there soon." he promises, and you grow giddier. "I-" and he wants to cross the line, mutter three worded phrase that would change everything. He'd been learning to be more bold, to focus on the things he could control, and appreciate those things. "I love you." he doesn't have time to think about the repercussions, because it's out, and there's a strong sense of relief that washes over him. You are surprised, but elated. The excitement his words bring you is hard to diminish.

"I love you too." and it comes out as easy as breathing. Probably because you mean it with all of your heart. "I'll see you soon, Mr. Hotchner." you promise, and he's chuckling at your sudden formality, likely a side effect of your newfound nerves at the huge step you'd both taken in your relationship.

"See you soon." you don't bring the phone from your ear until you hear the faint click of the call ending. You exhale shakily, mind running at a mile a minute as your heart seems to double in size. Still, you find this moment is short lived- mind once again on the eerie silence in your apartment. You place your glass down on the counter, coaster be damned as you make your way past the dining room and towards the living room. Sometimes you'd find Piper curled up on the couch, quiet purrs escaping her as she slept contently.

"Piper!" you coo, surprised when you note that she's nowhere to be found. You know that she wasn't outside, you'd made sure before leaving back out that she was comfortable in the house. You follow the layout of your place, the archway that led from the living room back to the foyer is the route you take, heading towards your bedroom as you continuously call for the cat. "Piper, where are you, pretty girl?" you enter your room, hopeful that you'll find her there.

You spot her little paw peeking out of her hideaway and instantly relax. "Oh Piper, you scared me." you let out a shaky sort of giggle as you fully enter your bedroom, feet brushing over the comforting carpet. You kneel just in front of the hideaway, reaching out to pet her. It takes you a few moments to make peace with the fact that she's not rousing. You swallow thickly, a lump growing in your throat as you wiggle her paw. She doesn't move, just as limp as before.

"Piper?" you feel the way your throat constricts, eyes immediately wanting to brim with tears, as you grow frantic. "Oh, please no-" you exclaim, head shaking as you feel a shudder rack through you. You're gentle as you maneuver around the hideaway, hands looping around her small body as you move to pull her out. She's limp, not even the act of you lifting her up enough to make her move. Your glow feels like it's diminished almost instantly, a dark cloud setting in over your head. It seemed a bit silly, panicked over the loss of a cat.

But she was yours, like a daughter to you in the way you cared for her, and made her apart of your routine. She was special, and despite the reputation cats gained for being standoffish and unable to understand human love, you knew that to be wrong. Piper was sweet, a loving cat that curled up beside you every night and followed you like a second shadow. She'd play games of tag with you, chasing you around your apartment as you squealed and screamed for your life.

"Please, please, no-" you're shedding real tears now, they're slipping down your cheeks in a constant succession. "Piper, please wake up!" it's silly, probably. Rocking back and forth with a dead cat in your hand hoping that sheer adoration will be enough to turn back the hands of time. It's certainly not, and the reality crushes you. The first sob is choked, almost like you're holding yourself back, not letting your feelings take full affect. You hadn't prepared yourself at all.

You didn't know what to do.

You think that's when the first swell of sobs begins. They're more ugly wails than anything else, the loud sound echoing through the space in front of you as your arms lower, Piper's body leaning against you as you continued to let your tears flow freely. Your chest tightens, constricting every couple of seconds like you'd suddenly developed chronic heartburn. The pain is a violent assassin, the air around you feeling tight. You think you may be choking on all that you're feeling.

You hate the part of your brain that was constantly in 'Doctor Mode', the side that reminded you that despite your grief, handling a deceased animal like this was a surefire way to get sick. Her body wouldn't start to decompose for at least another day, but you had no real way of knowing just how long she'd actually been dead. You don't move though, until at least your sobs have waned, you know it's not the end of them, but it's a reprieve just for a moment.

You slowly climb to your feet, still clutching Piper as your eyes whip around your bedroom. Your eyes land on her carrier, and the image makes you want to cry all over again. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to take in a deep breath. It doesn't help. Still, your feet lead you over to the carrier, where you're gently placing Piper. Her vet was only eight minutes up the street, and maybe your ability to dispose of her so quickly was precisely why this was happening to you.

Guilt was loud, too loud. It almost knocked you to your knees as you imagined Piper's fear whilst you were gone. Was she sick? How long had she been? Why hadn't you noticed? Why did you leave her alone? Why weren't you there? You let her down. You had let her down.

You want to curl into a ball, hide under the blankets and cry until you passed out. But, she deserved better. She deserved to not be lugged around like she was some prop, she needed a proper place to rest. Once her carrier is zipped up, you're picking it up by the handles, using your other hand to swipe at the tears still trying to fall. You take the route you'd walked not ten minutes prior, slipping your shoes back on, and grabbing hold of your keys. Aaron still had another forty minutes or so in his drive, you hoped it went by quickly.

You don't think you ever needed him more than now.

────────────────────────

The sobs returned the second you'd walked past the threshold of your house. You sluggishly made your way back to your bedroom. It felt much lonelier now, the house feeling much too big for just you. You think that makes you cry even harder. You're covering your mouth with your hand, hoping that it would be enough to mask the sound of your bawling. You doubt that it does, but you can't do much else. You don't want to go to sleep, you don't want to do anything.

You begin berating your behavior once more in your head, replaying all the ways you'd been a shitty caretaker even though you know it's a bad idea. Your leg shakes under your comforter, the blanket squished underneath your body as you hid your face beneath the blazing heat of your huge blanket. You don't even realize how long you've spent in this space of self-loathing and bitter tears, until you hear the front door's lock shifting out of place. Aaron was here.

"Y/N, sweetheart?" and you want to run to him more than anything. You can't though, because you don't want him to think you're a failure. So you stay put, and you cry a bit more, sniffles growing more audible as you're forced to choke back angry sobs. It doesn't take long for him to make his way towards where you are, and you don't know what he'll say when he finds you looking a mess. You know your mascara has given you racoon eyes, and in your grief, you'd failed to tie a scarf around your head. Your braids would look messy soon.

"Y/N?" and his voice is so soft, soothing, everything you don't deserve now. Your hand clutches a fistful of your shirt, right where your heart rests. "Are you in here, honey?" and you sniffle, an answer all on its own. You barely hear his footsteps, but you feel it when the bed dips just slightly, and you feel it when he gently pulls at your blanket. When he's pulled it back, he's met with the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks. Your nose was runny and raw, and your lip was quivering. It didn't take a profiler to know that you'd been crying, and he frowns.

"Are you alright?" he questions, and his hand reaches out to brush against your cheek and neck, almost like he was checking your temperature. "You've been crying?" and he examines you subtly for any signs of assault or struggle. "Did something happen?" and he knows he keeps asking questions, but he's getting worried.

"P-" and a sob racks through you, your entire body curling in on itself. Your hand is pressing against your mouth again, and your shoulders shake as you began to cry once more. "Piper she-" and your head shakes, hand clenching and unclenching against your shirt. Aaron's eyes dance around your room, and his eyebrows push inwards. He was worried, but determined to be extremely delicate with you, namely by being patient as you got out what you needed to tell him. "Piper's dead." you finally say, shoulders sagging as you weep.

Aaron's examining your face, which gives you a front row seat of the way his face is eclipsed with compassion. "Oh, honey..." his lips pull downwards into a frown, and you know, of course you know it's awkward. What do you realistically say to a person that loses their cat? It's not like any amount of conversation would bring her back. "I'm so sorry...." and usually it sounds empty when anyone offers condolences, but like with most things, Aaron is an exception. "Are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?" he pleads.

And you know that he knows that you're not okay. It's meant to be a stupid question, the obvious one. But you also know that he's giving you the chance to vent, to articulate everything you feel with no judgement. It makes you want to curl into him, and stay wrapped up in his arms until neither of you had any idea where one ended and the other began. "I just-" you have to take a moment to gather yourself, hiccupping blubbers escaping you. "I came home, and I-" your voice cracks harshly. "She was just gone. I don't-" you shake your head.

"I don't know what happened." you express, and Aaron's sympathetic, and he hates seeing you like this. Every time you cry it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright. He supposed that came with loving you, an innate desire to protect you, and keep the bad things out. He'd only ever seen you in this state a handful of times, mostly when things went wrong at the hospital and you lost a patient. He had to get to you before you started blaming yourself for something that completely out of your control.

He didn't know much, but he did know your love for Piper, and how deep it ran. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that you'd never do something to put her in harm's way, you'd never do anything to hurt her. And he wants to pull you into his arms and tell you everything will be alright, he wants to be there to anchor you down. To ground you in the midst of all these swimming and overwhelming emotions trying to fight for the upper hand. He wanted to be there for you.

"Is there anything that you need from me?" he asks gently, grief was harsh, it came in ripples and waves. It was gut-punching, it could be loud and then silent. Sneaky and then outright. It was a process, and whether anyone else thought so, if you needed to grieve the life of your pet, you should. Who was he to ever get in the way? He's gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek, your tears splattering as you kept the duvet pulled up to your chin, as you stared him down. He figured you must have been deep in thought.

It takes a moment for you to reply, and he's fine with the silence. You're tears haven't stopped, but they've grown more quiet. Silent tears that pool and trickle down his wrist and onto the blanket. You soon take in a shaky puff of air as you sit up. Aaron's patient as ever, watching as you pull your legs from underneath the blanket, crawling until you were sitting on his lap. There's no sexual undertone to your movements, you don't want to fool around, you just want to be close.

Your head rests against him, eyes closing as his arms envelop you. "Can you just stay with me?" you ask, and he's already nodding his head. You both knew it was an impossible request. At any moment you could get paged, or he could get a call about a new case. The world didn't stop all because you were grieving, but for one second you both could pretend. He could stay right here with you, and you could love him, and not feel so overwhelmed by all your sadness.

"I'm not going anywhere." he mutters, and he's reaching for your hand. His easily dwarfs your own, but it's still just as comfortable, letting your palms press against his own. "I have never lost a cat before-" and he's treading lightly, wanting more than anything to help you and not harm you. "But I did lose a pet when I was younger." he expresses, and your interest is peaked, just slightly.

"What type of pet?" you ask faintly, and you're squeezing his hand in your own. He knows that it's comforting you so he says nothing about the tight pinch of his fingers pressing together.

"He was a golden retriever actually." Aaron replies, "Nothing was particularly wrong with him. He was fed well, taken care of, treated like one of the family..." he proceeds, and you involuntarily hold your breath as you listen. "But one day he just... he just went." Hotch proceeds, "And when you're a little kid that's not in the best environment, a staple like a pet dog is important. Losing him was like losing the only bit of sanity I could cling to. Does that make sense?"

Your head nods, and you squeeze his hand again to show him you care. "And surprisingly enough, I found myself crying over it. Mourning this dog, an animal that was part of the family, but of course, was not my family member." he continues, and his chin rests on the top of your head. "The point is, him being a dog didn't make it hurt any less when he left. It's okay to be upset about Piper, she was important to you, special even." he whispers. "And you did a great job giving her all the love you possibly could." his eyes close then.

"I need you to know that it wasn't your fault. And keeping yourself up with thoughts of 'what ifs'." it's his turn to squeeze your hand this time. "And those moments where you... didn't want to play, or wanted to be left alone are not what she remembered when she passed on." he insists, and he won't take any arguments on the matter. "You gave her five amazing years, and whether science backs it up or not, she knew how much you loved her." he insists. "You might not believe it today, but I hope that you do in time." and he kisses your forehead.

It's butterfly inducing, and makes you cling all the more to him. "You're not by yourself." he adds, and you're glad to know it. You peel back, eyes locking with his, and they're glassy. You hate seeing such a grief-stricken look on his face, at your sake no less. It makes you lean forward and kiss him, in the hopes you'd manage to kiss it away. He kisses back instantly, and you're still sad, you probably will be for a long while, but you don't feel as lonely as you did an hour ago.

"I love you." you mumble the second you've pulled back, and this time there's no phone. His eyes are swirling with so many thoughts and feelings of his own, but you need him to know you mean it, and likely always will. You couldn't imagine anyone else being here with you like this now, nobody else that would care enough to grieve with you. He gives you a half smile, and kisses you once more, a much deeper kiss that makes you lightheaded and dizzy. Of course he had that effect.

"I love you too." and you're happy that he hasn't left you hanging. Your fingers trace his collarbones and cheeks, moving to cup his face with your right hand. You kiss him again, this time just long enough to get the message across. When you pull back, your head is finding it's place back on his chest, and his arms move up and down, rubbing gentle circles against your back, as he cranes his neck to kiss your head. It makes your stomach flutter, but it makes you want to cry too.

He leaves three gentle pecks on the top of your head, moving to kiss your cheek, before he's looping his arms around your waist with a palpable amount of admiration. He plants a sweet kiss on your shoulder, and mimic this action by offering him a kiss of your own. "Thank you." you exhale, and you mean it so wholeheartedly.

"You don't need to thank me, Y/N. We take care of each other, mon amour, remember?" and he recites your earlier words back to you. It makes you cling to him much tighter, tears returning to your lashline as Aaron pulls you even closer to him. "If you need to cry a little bit more, go right ahead. I'm right here." so you do.

Grief was a lot, it could be paralyzing, debilitating, and outright traumatic, but you knew even if it didn't feel that way now, in time you'd be okay. Part of you felt like you had Aaron to thank for that.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotcher fluff #aaron hotchner angst #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #hotch x reader

[nor-4]

Hey pretty do you still take requests? If you do please write something about Lewis Hamilton x Fem Reader and their relationship is like that one video of rihanna and asap where rhi is looking lusty at asap. Lmao I'm bad at explaining I'm sorry, anything will do tbh i trust you. 🥰

Those sinful eyes - Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader

ᝰ.ᐟ A/N: Oh i just know what you mean lol. All the requests in my account got deleted and this is recent so if you are one of those peeps who sent me a requests back then you are free to send it again, I'm very sorry for the long take. 💋

ᯓ★ One of the things you can use against lewis is your eyes. They have a big impact on him it can be staring up at him or staring down at him.

"Don't move so much babe, I'm trying to do your hair." You giggled as you place your feet behind your ass resting it on his knees to comfortably sit on his lap while he wiggled like a child, "I'm sorry missus." as his eyes traveled from your lips to your eyes.

"fuck.." he muttered looking at you breathlessly, "What you have a staring problem now?" you joked as your fingers made their way into his curls before carefully tugging a piece as you continued your work with braiding his hair since the fronts are the only thing that was left untouched.

"You are so beautiful and beautiful and beautiful." Lewis blabbed looking back at your left to right eyes as if he is watching a tug rope competition fighting over which side is he gonna look at with how close you are.

The biggest hate love he has on the way he folds quickly just by the eye contact. The intimate eye contact and smile does something to him that will make him want to go on convulsion.

George once pointed it out on him which became a whole joke on the grid.

"The family guy is here again." Max said as lewis approach the drivers who just sat down and talk after the practice race, "What do you mean, we don't have a kid yet?" lewis cluelessly said as he sat down between all of them.

"With how whipped you look at her oh you will be soon" George marked spreading his arms on the back of the chair to welcome lewis more to share a detail about both of yours relationship. "Have you seen how his girl look at her? If she looked at me that way i would even faint, lewis is just a humble guy." Lando pointed out to side lewis and to give him a concrete reason on why lewis acted like that when you look at him.

"I mean have you seen lewis? I would look at him that way too" max stated before sipping his redbull.

ᯓ★ Get dressed, get your nails done, buy all your make up, own him up.

Another weakness of his is seeing you all ready and pretty for somewhere you guys are going for a date or whenever you go to the paddock.

"Hey guys i wasn't informed we are all meeting in here." Lewis entered as the laughter and talking went down to silence, "What's that on your face?" Lando was the first one to speak up which broke the silence.

"What what??" Lewis asked as he rose his phone up using it as a mirror to look at himself

"That kiss mark.."

"Oh it's from my missus." Lewis answered confidently before sitting down as a big smile still plastered on his face like a kid who's proud of his medal, "Yeah of course.." George bitterly said rolling his eyes and smacking his lips.

"Wow the missus really wifed you up."

That's one of his title that he is very proud of, hell have you guys checked on lewis when both of you first talked? He is very proud of it bragging it to everyone as if he won the most luckiest man alive. What worse when you said yes to his proposal of being your boyfriend who will definitely be your husband soon.

One of his dream is making a family with you, finally hearing his surname beside your name.

"Hello Mrs. Hamilton you look beautiful in that dress." Lewis addressed walking at your back feeling his palms on your back like he is sculpturing like those statues in museum, "Thank you Mr. Hamilton, you look handsome as ever.." You complimented back placing your hand on his face caressing his jaw and cheeks, holding up an eye contact on him with pure admiration.

"Of course i do, you are the one who picked my outfit" he commented and yes he lets you pick on what he wears. There are times where both of you wear a matchy outfit or just a same color shirt just so people can't tell you both apart. "Did you like it?"

"Oh i love it Mrs. Hamilton, look how good we look besides each other" He kept the nickname before looking at both of you in the mirror holding your waist like the mirror will take a picture any time moment. "I think something is missing hmm.." he said looking at you.

"What do you mean, you look really good." You muttered looking back at him, "My kiss.." he pouted as you smack his chest feeling a sigh of relief. "Darling you scared me" you giggled before grabbing his face with one hand and placing a kiss on his cheek.

Looking at the pigment that rests on his face is like looking at the painting of work from the history. The memories and moments of how many times you have did this, it's like reminding everyone that you own him, The seventh time world champion who makes everyone know that he can't function without feeling the affection you give to him by the daily basis.

"How i love looking at that on my face everyday, God knows you will walk down the aisle as a scene and confirmation to everyone that i am gifted with a gorgeous wife like you."

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x fem!reader #formula one #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 20

Part 19

There was no other way to describe it, Eddie thought as he literally watched Steve sitting under a tree with Robin, laughing at something she said. Spring had not only come to this land, but to the prince as well. Like a flower in bloom, he was open and inviting. And everyone longed to be like the sun, having that flower turn to face them. At least, that was the thought that crossed Eddie’s mind and surely everyone else felt the same way.

He teased the kids more, ruffling their hair, and even allowing himself to be the but of the joke at times. He and Robin turned out to be thick as thieves, which Eddie could have never predicted. All this because he had been allowed to roam the town.

Yesterday, Eddie happened to spy a hickey peeking from the top of Steve’s collar and could deny it no longer. He had found a lover. Steve had found a lover. Perhaps even more than one. After all, there was no reason to limit himself to just one. The fact remained though that someone was making him glow with their affections. 

Someone out there was kissing him, whispering sweet things in his ear, telling him how lovely he was-SNAP

Eddie looked down to the broken quill in his hand. 

“Something on your mind?”, Gareth asked, returning a book on one of his shelves.

Eddie wriggled his fingers and brushed the broken quill away, careful not to smudge what he had just been writing. “No. Nothing at all”, he lied. 

Gareth waited patiently for him to continue, knowing he would. In the meantime, he grabbed another book and sat on the other side of Eddie’s desk.

“Steve has been going out often, hasn’t he?”

“About every other night, yes. Are you regretting giving him that freedom?”

“Well…”, Eddie struggled for only a second to think of a reason. “What if Nancy’s right?” He pushed off from his desk and stood, going to the window behind him. Thankfully Nancy was in a neighboring town, otherwise he’d fear she would actually materialize out of thin air.

“About the prince conspiring with townsfolk?”

“Or a spy. Anyone really. We just don’t know.”

Gareth sighed. “Time to put on my ‘Nancy hat’. Why don’t you send someone to follow him and see?”

The last thing Eddie wanted to see was Steve actually in the middle of the deed. But going along just far enough to make sure no other liaisons were happening was just his duty as a king, wasn’t it? He had to protect his people. And if Steve was only just meeting lovers, well he should feel confident enough to bring them back to the castle to introduce to everyone, shouldn’t he? If they weren’t conspirators anyway.

Eddie found the resolution to do so just a few nights later. He and Robin were relaxing in a sitting room, sipping together after having sent the kids to bed a couple hours ago. That was when Steve came in and draped himself on the couch Robin was sitting on with a dreamy sigh.

“Let me guess”, she said. “The woodcarver’s son?”

“You know me a little too well for how short we’ve known each other”, Steve said, bringing his head to her lap.

Eddie was sitting on the couch opposite them, leg propped up on the armrest. He didn’t like the way Steve didn’t even seem to notice he was there.

“You’re late”, he said, sitting up.

Steve turned just his head to look at him. “I know, I’m sorry. But it’s not always easy to get away.”

Robin snorted. “You mean clean up takes forever?”

“Don’t be crass”, Steve scolded lightly. “And I’ll have you know, Jason is the perfect gentleman. He always helps me clean up afterward.”

Eddie knew of Jason, the son of a woodcarver. Diligent in his work, a leader among the youth in town. His face was…fine, Eddie had to admit. He certainly wasn’t plotting to take Eddie’s kingdom down, that was for sure. Born and raised here, Jason only stirred up trouble a couple of times the way kids typically did. He had no reason to mistrust him.

And yet…

As the night went on, Steve and Robin continued to talk about him. Apparently Jason first saw him at the festival when he competed in the games. They talked a lot about athletic pursuits. Wood carving wasn’t for the soft of hands after all. Robin asked about others Steve had met with. Faith, Gabriella, Harris, but it always came back to Jason. 

He must be Steve’s favorite. Which meant that Eddie had to see what the big deal was about. On top of all the other reasons he’d come up with before too, of course. Steve didn’t go out the next night or the one after. But the third night, he did and Eddie followed. He traveled in the shadows until they got to town, then shifted to a bird. His usual form would have been instantly recognizable at this point, so he went with a starling appearance tonight.

Steve tied his horse to a post and went into a tavern. Eddie perched on a window just long enough to see Steve immediately sit down with a young woman. So not Jason. He waited by the door for someone to go through and flew in, staying aloft in the rafters and close to the edges of the ceiling. He got right above their table to listen in. She seemed a sweet lady, but looks could be deceiving.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight”, Steve said. “I thought your family needed help at home this week?”

“I was able to get away”, she said. “Are you…disappointed?”

Steve reached out and touched her cheek. “How could I be when I am gifted with your presence?”

She melted in his touch and Eddie had seen enough. There was nothing shady going on, so he had no reason to stay. He went back home, but spent about an hour, pacing about in his room, trying to find explanation for why he was so agitated. Steve hadn’t lied. Hadn’t gone against them. Which meant he got to say ‘I told you so’ to Nancy when she got back. The night after that, Eddie sat down in his chair, ready for story time but was off most of the evening. El was the one to point it out.

“Why do you keep looking at the door? Are you expecting someone?”

“This late?”, Lucas asked.

“Yeah, you’ve been kind of twitchy all night”, Dustin added.

“No I haven’t, and it’s fine”, Eddie brushed them off. He knew it was because of Steve. If these kids knew, they wouldn’t stop until they got to the bottom of why. And Eddie wasn’t ready to face the why. 

It wasn’t until Robin spoke up later, once the children were sent off that he got the kick in the pants to find out the truth.

“They’re right you know. You were twitchy.”

“You know I can’t stand still for more than a minute”, Eddie said in his defense.

“Yeah, but this is different. It’s like…”, then she snapped her fingers. “How Mike gets when Will would rather spend time with Lucas.”

Eddie’s stomach dropped. They had been teasing Mike about his not so secret crush for a while now. To be compared to that…

The only way to prove he wasn’t jealous was to see Steve actually be with someone and have no problem with it, right? He had walked in on more than one of his servants entangled with each other. It was a big castle, places for secret rendezvous were numerous. He’d even happened on Dustin stealing a kiss from a girl in town once. He felt nothing when watching others share their affections. So Steve shouldn’t be any different. 

Eddie hadn’t disciplined Steve when he came back late, so he got more bold with his curfew. He always returned to lay his head in the castle, Eddie noticed, but he didn’t rush back as the sun set either. One day he left as the sun was dipping low, giving the last bits of light as he traveled on the path from here to town. 

Eddie followed, in his raven form this time as pitch black wings were better for camouflage in the night. And Steve may recognize this form, but even if he saw him, surely he wouldn’t put two and two together. There was more than one raven in the world, they couldn’t all be Eddie. When Steve dismounted, the tavern was just a quick stop. He tied the horse to a post and then went across the street. 

He watched the prince chat up a candlemaker, seemingly having just a nice conversation before leaving to go somewhere else. Eddie was about to follow when his bird’s eye view allowed him to see a child sitting in an alley, legs hugged to their chest. He flew down and pecked at their shoe to get their attention.

A nice shoe, not an orphan, probably just lost. The kid seemed down on themselves and after Eddie played around to get their spirits up (making funny bird noises, puffing his feathers up, tugging at their hair) he was able to lead them out of the alley. Feeling less hopeless, the child called out for their parents and Eddie helped to get attention by squawking from their shoulder.

A man ran up and scooped up the kid, grateful for having found him. Eddie took his leave then, but had unfortunately lost Steve. He knew he wasn’t at the pub, so his only lead was the woodcarver’s. That was where he flew and sure enough, when he perched on the roof, he heard something from behind it.

A soft sound, just a low ‘mmf’ that anyone else still on the street or in their homes wouldn’t be able to pick up. He walked across the roof and the posterior of the shop was lit by just a single lantern hung from a rung. He peered down, almost hanging upside down to see Steve, legs wrapped around Jason while he was sat upon some crates. Steve let out another quiet moan and Jason gave him a gentle shush.

“It’s the evening hour, you’ll wake everyone up if you’re too loud”, Jason smiled while continuing to thrust into him.

Steve pressed his lips together to keep from making too much noise. His eyes were unfocused as they looked up, suddenly gaining focus and gasping when he noticed the bird watching them. Eddie remained frozen. If he left now that he’d been spotted it would practically confirm his identity. Steve tightened his hold on Jason. His panting picked up as he got closer and Jason stuck two fingers into his mouth.

The prince groaned and for just a moment, Eddie imagined what wonders Steve was doing with his mouth. Was he simply sucking or did his tongue lick between the digits? Eddie knew he should leave, it was only decent. But Steve’s gaze kept him tethered to where he was. His eyes only closed when he started to cum, Jason pushing and pulling a few more times before he did as well. 

Steve was floating. Jason pulled his fingers out and wiped them on his shirt. He was saying something as Steve came back into himself but he wasn’t sure what. The bird had flown away.

Part 21 coming soon

Taglist

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent  @snakeorsquid  @ignoremyworld  @theclichefortunecookie 

@goodolefashionedloverboi  @just-a-tiny-void  @0body0disphoria0  @cinnamon-mushroomabomination  @samsoble 

@jamieweasley13  @y4r3luv  @xtkxkrzrizir  @un-knownperson  @greekgeek24 

@justdrugsformethanks  @potato-of-the-lord  @notaqueenakhaleesi  @swimmingbirdrunningrock  @queenie-ofthe-void 

@nebulainajar  @lil-gremlin-things  @nicememerino  @robininblue  @hornedqueenofhell 

@anne-bennett-cosplayer  @moomkin77  @here4thetrama  @bookworm0690  @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-steve

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie

[petermorwood]

@nimblermortal sent me this last week:

A second blade weapon became increasingly common in the later Viking Age. It does not have a formal name, being often referred to as a fighting-knife or battle-knife, and it was essentially a development of the one-handed, long seax knife of the Migration Period. A single-edged blade with a thick back that added weight to a short, stabbing blow, it seems to have been intended as a back-up weapon. By the tenth century, battle-knives had elaborate scabbards that were worn horizontally along the belt, allowing them to be drawn across the body from behind a shield if the sword was gone; a variant hung down at an angle from an elaborate harness. It seems they may also have been worn on the back - again for a swift, over-the-shoulder draw. Children of Ash and Elm by Neil Price @petermorwood (Mr Morwood! Mr Morwood!) I found an archaeologist claiming people were doing over-the-shoulder draws! Would you care to weigh in?

*****

Would I ever! That's a button well pushed. But things got odd when I tried, because as soon as I'd written even the smallest reply and saved to Draft, this happened:

Letting it stand would have seemed like I was trying to avoid comments, corrections or criticism, but despite poking around in Settings there was no way to turn things on. It was only by cut-and-pasting @nimblermortal's entire original as a Quote starting a new post that the problem was resolved.

Anyone else encountered this?

Anyway, on with the lecture response. :->

*****

As regards Back-Carry / Back-Draw of "battle-knives", I'm not convinced.

("Battle-knife" is a term I've never seen in connection with any Viking Age weapon. What's the Old Norse for it? German "Kriegsmesser" (war-knife) refers to something much bigger from 500 years later, also not back-carried or back-drawn - which from here on will be BD / BC.)

To get where he is now, a full professor, Neil Price will have defended his PhD, and should know such a statement as "It seems they may..." will need evidence to support it.

That phrase is easy to write, as is "According to legend..." and "It is said..." However these are IMO default History Channel phrases, with all the authenticity that implies. None of them actually PROVE what they're speculating.

"Experiments conducted by museum staff wearing authentic armour reveal that IT SEEMS medieval knights could use smartphones."

But does it prove medieval knights USED smartphones? See what I mean?

*****

I first asked if anyone had actual proof of BC / BD on Netsword almost 30 years ago, and to date there's been nothing. I've also posted about it quite a lot on Tumblr, so being poked with this particular stick is no surprise. :->

The quotation from "Children of Ash and Elm" is the first time I've heard of a trained archaeologist making a claim for BC / BD, and the odd part is that Prof. Price also states the weapon was intended for "...a short, stabbing blow" - which means wearing it horizontally in front makes far more sense. From that position it can be drawn far faster and with less telegraphed intent than "...on the back - again for a swift, over-the-shoulder draw."

Reaching up for any weapon carried across the back, whether long or short, is a bigger movement - and thus less "swift" - than snatching out the same weapon worn at the hip or across the front at waist level, especially if - as he suggests - that move is masked behind a shield (or for that matter a cloak, a door, or a half-turned torso...)

Try both moves in front of a mirror with a ruler or even a length of dowel, and you'll understand.

With a weapon-hilt visible behind one shoulder or just a cross-belt suggesting something slung out of sight, what's a Norse warrior going to think when his potential opponent reaches up there? At a moment of hot words and high tension, will he wait while an itchy back gets scratched or until an attack happens?

The explosive violence described in sagas suggests not.

If Prof. Price has solid proof for his BC / BD notion in the form of artefacts or art - and it'll need more than a one-off example - I'll be very pleased to finally see some "show me" evidence.

(It won't do anything for longswords of 500 years later, of course, though I bet the uncritical back-carry brigade would leap on it regardless.)

But without that evidence, I'm taking "it seems" with a wary pinch of salt.

*****

There's a weird internet fixation about BC / BD (which are NOT the same thing) and an equally weird need to show that back-draw "works", whether with hooks under the guard and a leather condom at the point...

... or by being open most of the way down one side.

Neither are real-world historical, so let's see how they work in fantasy.

IMO they're not appropriate there either, because the designers are so eager to provide working BC / BD that they ignore the main function of a scabbard, which is to carry the weapon in something which protects people from the weapon's edges, and the weapon from the elements.

Real scabbards for real swords went to some trouble over that. They protected people, including the wearer, with a completely enclosed wooden, leather and / or metal case, and protected the blades by having them fit into their case well enough that inclement weather stayed out.

This fitting could involve metal collars (Japanese habaki), or tight-gripping lanolin-rich fleece linings, or leather flaps, caps and rain-guards mounted on hilt or scabbard-throat. Real scabbards didn't have exposed metal and weren't open-sided rainfall buckets, because the priorities of actual sword users were very different to those of back-carry fans.

Given the number of posts I've seen about the technical side of fantasy world-building - history, geography, even geology and meteorology - I think this difference is worth noting.

*****

The first time I recall seeing back-carry mentioned in a historical-not-fantasy context was in "Growing Up in the Thirteenth Century", © Alfred Duggan 1962. Here's the extract in question:

Unfortunately Duggan - though according to his Wikipedia entry "His novels are known for meticulous historical research" - doesn't give any cited source for this; his introduction to the book says:

I know the feeling! :->

I'd still trust him more than some modern historical writers who seem over-willing to add a touch of fantasy speculation / interpretation if it rounds out something inconclusive, makes the history more interesting or chimes with a personal agenda.

"Accurate" is better than "interesting", and "I don't know" is better than making stuff up.

*****

To repeat: I've yet to see any museum-exhibit or manuscript-illumination examples of BC / BD ever done For Historically Real with Western European swords, especially the hand-and-a-half longswords on which modern back-draw fans seem fixated.

A seax, scramasax or just plan sax is shorter, but yet again, this is the first time I've read anything even remotely scholarly about them or their later Viking-age version (saxes were associated more with Saxons than Vikings, guess why?) being BC / BD.

By contrast, there are at least three art instances of saxes worn horizontally, on 10th century crosses at Middleton Church, Yorkshire:

The art is backed up by surviving examples with scabbard-fittings still in place, indicating how they were worn. Here's one example, from the Metropolitan Museum, New York which makes that very obvious.

The little decorative masks (originally part of the top of the scabbard, now corroded onto the blade) are clearly meant to be This Side Up, and also show that this scabbard was This Side Out for a right-handed draw, since there's no detail on the back.

There's a similar fancy-front / plain-back / right-hand-use leather sax scabbard at the Jorvik Centre in York.

There's only a single photograph of this bigger one - 54cm (21.5 in) overall - from the Cleveland Museum of Art, with no way to see if the L-shaped scabbard mount is decorated on just one or both sides. However it does indicate the weapon was meant for horizontal wear.

I've also flipped the website photo to show right-hand use, because "It seems..." (hah!) more probable. Here's why I did it:

For most of history being left-handed was unusual, a disapproved-of aberration and the origin of the word sinister.

Left-handers were useless in any formation from Ancient Greece through Ancient Rome to the Saxon and Viking period where the shields of a phalanx, testudo or shield-wall had to overlap for mutual support.

In the Middle Ages, both the specialised armour and the layout of jousting courses were almost 100% right-hand only.

Most surviving swords with asymmetrical hilts, such as swept-hilt rapiers, are made to for right hands not left.

Even nowadays many weapons - including the current British Army rifle (SA-80 / L85/A2) - are set for right-handers only.

*****

The longest saxes are called Langseax (surprise) though this may be a modern-ish term. Here's one from the British Museum, the so-called "Seax of Beagnoth"...

...which is 72 cm (28.5 in) total / 55cm (22 in) blade.

That's about the same as a Roman gladius (another sword never back-worn despite its convenient size) and is a good 25-30cm (10-12 in) shorter than the average "proper" sword of the same period, which means it could be drawn over-shoulder...

However the layout of its runic engraving shows it was almost certainly meant to be worn horizontally As Per Usual.

*****

And now we've come all the way back around to Prof. Price's claim that Vikings did BC / BD with their battle-knives.

Such a claim needs proof.

Please, show me some.

#arms and armour #back-carry #seax #scramasax #long knife #short sword #left-handed weapons #research #evidence

[tenkobitch]

𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

Neuvillette x Immortal! G/N Reader

Genre: Fluff, immortals/long living characters, eternal lovers, married couple, established relationship

A/N: I was scrolling through Tumblr and got inspired to write this from ONLY seeing Neuvillette's name. Anyways, I wrote this while listening to Malice Mizer (Gardenia, Au Revoir, and Baroque are my current favorites), so I hope y'all enjoy <3

You and Neuvillette have always loved each other, but you both often had doubts on if you'd be together forever. Especially given the fact that your husband is a dragon and you were cursed with immortality. And these doubts weren't because you didn't love each other or because you both didn't think the other person didn't love you. No, the doubts were because you both thought you'd get bored of each other.

You practically knew Neuvillette from inside and out, and you assumed that your husband knew the same about you. If you knew someone that well, you'd probably get tired of them after a while. Especially after being with them for 300 years.

You were cursed with immortality 100 years before you met your equally immortal lover, at the lovely age of 20. It wasn't because you did something wrong like break a contract, or even sell your soul to a witch and they gave you immortality. You were cursed because your homegrown garden had grown over to your neighbor's side of the fence.

Your neighbor happened to be a mage, or wizard, or whatever, and had a tendency to hold grudges. So, they sent you a letter that passed on the curse of immortality to anyone who read it. As soon as you were told this by said mage, wizard, or whatever they were, you burned the note to completion, and you never looked back.

You met Neuvillette when you first moved to Fontaine. You would hear all sorts of rumors about the man at court, and you often found everyone's words to be true. The rumors couldn't be more wrong, because you were confronted by a man that was nothing like what the whispered words said.

Neuvillette treated you as his equal, and when you became closer, a confidant. He never spoke badly about anyone, even the criminals he would sentence to a life in prison. He was always curious about how humans acted, and he couldn't be further from the image that you conjured in your head.

He was kind to anyone or anything he passed by, and even when he was faced with the public in court, he would make the trials as fair as he could. He never wanted to declare someone guilty unless he really believed they deserved it, and he was always consistent with his judgments. It did not matter how much he loved you, because if you ever did something that was against the law, he would make his conclusions based on facts. Never on emotions.

And as you saw the way he grew before your eyes, you couldn't help but feel entranced. Every time he spoke to you, you always wondered if he felt the exact same. He never alluded to his feelings for anyone unless he said how he felt, which wasn't often. You didn't notice your love for him until he finally spoke to you about his feelings.

"Dear, I do not know how to confess this to you, but I was told by the Melusines that my feelings for you were known as 'love'. Do you, perhaps, 'love' me as well?"

To say that you were shocked was an understatement. Regardless, you both explored the meaning of "love" with one another, and you both fell hard. Neuvillette couldn't be away from you for even a second, and he always whispered his desires to protect and love you forever in his sleep. You couldn't help but share the sentiment with him.

Now, the only things that had changed were Neuvillette's clinginess, and he seemed more sure and determined to make Fontaine a better place. For you, you finally stopped getting distracted at the thought of coming home to your husband and spending every waking second with him, and you decided that finding new hobbies to try wouldn't hurt you. Despite the changes, you both were still in love with each other. It was just more subtle, and not as needy.

Neuvillette was busy studying cases from the last couple of years, so you took it upon yourself to make a list of things you needed to buy from the market. You made a list of what to get, and you were on your merry way to the center of Fontaine.

When you finally arrived, you noticed all of the things that they had exclusively had at the markets. They had mini sculptures of the Hydro Archon, Furina, who you knew well. There were other knick knacks across the tables as well, but you only bought the things you intended to.

That was until you came across the cutest thing: a mini dragon sculpture. It was a beautiful sea blue, and it looked very similar to your husband's dragon form. You immediately picked it up and bought it. You quickly made your way back home and swiftly found the appropriate materials to wrap the tiny dragon in. You intended to gift it to Neuvillette as soon as he got home, and knowing him, he'd probably love anything you gave him.

You patiently waited for him to get home, and he did not disappoint you. As he walked through the door, undressing himself from his court robes, you stood in front of him with your gift waiting in your hands. He turned to give you a small smile as he leaned down to softly kiss you. As he pulled away, be noticed your hands moving the object in your hands impatiently, and he continued to smile at your antics.

You practically shoved the gift into his chest when he finally gestured for the item. He looked to you for guidance, and you only nodded, gesturing that he unwrapped your gift. He did so, and his smile turned into confusion. You laughed before giving him an explanation.

"I saw this at the market today... It reminded me of you." Neuvillette's eyes softened as he pulled you into his chest. You inhaled his scent and pulled him into you for a while longer. You both gladly stood there with one another, and you only broke apart when your husband had to continue getting changed.

And as you retired for the night, you felt a sense of calm wash over you both. When it didn't seem to go away, you spoke up.

"Neuvi, do you ever wonder if we'll drift apart?" You asked out of curiosity, but you regretted it when you heard his response.

"Well, of course I wonder. It is hard not to think about things like that." Even though you've always felt the same, you felt your heart crack the tiniest bit. It was one thing to assume that your partner felt that way, but it was another to actually hear them say it. But what happened next didn't surprise you in the least.

"But, if we've been with each other for this long, it seems that fate has destined us to be together for as long as possible." This eased your heart and it pulled you back into reality. Every couple, no matter how long they've been together, has thought about the possibility of breaking off, and it shouldn't be different for you both. You leaned back against the headboard as your husband leaned his head on top of yours. You stayed like that for a while, and without any warning, you kissed Neuvillette on the lips gently. He smiled.

"Well, I guess you are right. Even when we should be bored of each other, we're always together. You are the love of my life, and I'm glad I had a chance to meet you." You smiled up at the man in front of you, trying not to completely fall apart in tears. The long haired man nudged his forehead against yours, causing you to look into his eyes with the same intensity as his.

"I am glad that I make you as happy as you make me. Let us always be here. Let us continue to be here in this moment, in this decade, in this century, and hopefully for eternity. I love you so." You couldn't hold back anymore tears as you hid yourself in Neuvillette's chest. He stroked your hair as you continued to cry your eyes out in his (now) soiled night shirt.

When you finally managed to lift your eyes from your husband's chest, you heard the calmest noise ever. The one thing that could lull you to sleep if you weren't with Neuvillette:

Rain.

It was raining outside, and despite how calming it was, you knew what it really meant. You gazed up at your lover's face, but his eyes never looked sad or upset. He looked calm, and you could see a flicker of happiness beneath the sea of his dark blue eyes. You concluded that these were his happy tears, showing you every part of his love for you.

And you would get to experience every ounce of his love for the rest of your days.

*Bonus*

Neuvillette arrives at the Palais Mermonia with a small smile on his face, and the Melusines take notice.

Sedene (Melusine): "What are you smiling about~"

Neuvillette: "I don't know if I should tell you."

Sedene: "Come on! It's rare for anyone other than the Melusines to see you smile!"

Neuvillette lets out a relaxing sigh, turning to the Melusine.

Neuvillette: "I didn't think that I would feel this happy since I confessed my love to my partner, but I have been proven wrong."

He sighs once more before giving into Sedene's demands.

Neuvillette: "I am smiling because my lover for eternity has told me that they loved me, and that they are glad to have met me."

Before the curious Melusine could question Neuvillette more, he walked into his office, feeling the weight of the world fall off his shoulders. He would continue to fall in love with you over and over again, until fate had decided to take you both away.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

#neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #neuvillete x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact x reader #fanfic #fluff #lovers #eternal lovers #immortals #genshin neuvillette #fontaine #married life #established relationship

[scenetocause]

This isn't a kiss prompt but I didn't know who else to send it to. Given you're into fisting would you ever write urethral play? Rule 63 pretty please and ignore this if it's not your thing!!!! Thank you for your service 💋

anon i need you to know this is the most horrifically targeted ask in history and i am found out. called out. seen. it's taken me days to respond because i'm having conniptions. let's all never meet at the satanic ritual again if you sent this no you didn't if you read this no you didn't i absolutely definitely didn't write it.

this seemed to fit very perfectly to pussy exploring champion genders maxy. warnings for what this is and inevitably a bit of piss.

Luisa says no straight away, tells Lando to watch more normal porn. He looks suitably ashamed of himself but also directly at Max, who hasn't replied yet.

"Err," she's not. Well she's seen it, obviously, back in the Formula Renault days when everyone was trying to one-up each other about what they'd whacked one out to. But she doesn't think about that type of thing too often, now. Doesn't exactly need to.

"You are not," Luisa looks scandalised. "No way."

"I dunno," Max argues. "It's - well. It's interesting, maybe?"

Luisa makes a very disgusted sound, like she's about to call them both idiot boys but doesn't want to offend Max. "Not when I'm here. Could you get back to-" she gestures between her own legs - "now, please?"

It's something Max is beyond happy to do, especially when Lando slides up behind where she's bent over, sticks his dick in Max's pussy while her tongue's up Luisa's, fitting perfectly between them.

It's a few weeks later when the opportunity presents itself. Luisa's away, Lando's received a few suspiciously plain parcels, Max is feeling restless and horny but doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of riding his dick for a second time in a day. Bloke wins one race and thinks he's got free use or something.

Max might let him. One day. For a weekend or something. If he wins a championship. For now, though, she's curious about this.

When Lando pushes her back into the duvet, one of his hands behind her waist to maneuver her so she's settled nicely against the pillows, it feels like the right time to ask. To shimmy her legs around his, so she can hook her ankles behind his thighs and hold him there, just in case actually saying it makes either of them nervous.

In the end she can't quite get it out, anyway. "Do you want to try - putting something up. You know?"

"Fuck." Lando clearly wasn't expecting her to ask that, has to collapse on her a bit. "Fuck, really? Yeah - yeah, if you want to."

"If it's shit we can do something else, yeah?" Everything on PornHub was a bit rancid, Max is pretty sure she's not going to be doing any of that. But it's nice when Lando tongues her there, sometimes. Weirdly soothing, if her cunt's a bit achey from fucking.

Lando moans into her collarbone, kisses her under the ear before a breathy confession. "I'm glad it's you - I knew she wouldn't really be, y'know."

There's a thing, with them. That they do stuff together, sometimes and it's different from with Luisa. When they're all fucking it's great, so good but sometimes Max and Lando almost try stuff on, before they take it to her. Just to get the knack first, really.

"Better get, y'know. And a towel." Kicking him off the bed to go and find everything feels a bit mean but also fuck is Max going to do it herself. It gives her time to kick off her own shorts, leave her in a soft, comfy crop top Lando can see her nipples through, anyway.

When he gets back he drops some stuff on the bed, kneels back to take his own shirt off. It's a nice view, lot of abs and shoulders and Lando's tight, dark nipples. He's so built now and Max can't really bring herself to get jealous about it, with her own body to explore, these days.

Lando wastes no time in pushing her thighs apart, big hands spanning them. His thumbs are massaging the crease, spreading the outer lips of her pussy immediately and she can feel where she's wet with anticipation, the slide easy.

"Towel." She can't be bothered to do laundry after this, is pretty sure she'll want Lando to hold her.

He shakes his head like he's trying to snap himself out of something. "Right, yeah."

Lando picks one of her thighs up, props it on his own hip while he's dipping his fingers beneath her hips, rubbing them over Max's arsehole. "I'm gonna start here."

"Well it's not there." Surely he knows that?

"Nope." Lando looks smug and ashamed at the same time. "I wanna fuck you here."

It punches the air out of her, sometimes. The way Lando wants her, wants Max. He's got a bit of a thing for anal anyway but because they did this before, when Max was a boy, it always feels natural with them.

"Ok, yeah."

It's so nice, wet fingers playing over her and dipping inside, she almost forgets they're not just doing that this afternoon. Feeling stretched around Lando's fingers isn't as good as his cock but it gets her in a relaxing kind of mood, concentrating on making the tension leave her body, letting the anticipation build.

"Your arse is so good." It's a bit embarrassing how basic compliments still get her - of course her arse is great, Lando's lucky he gets to do it but appreciation is always nice.

"C'mon," she wants her clit touched, feeling wet and swollen.

Lando doesn't do that, although he takes his fingers out of her arse, carefully wipes them on the towel underneath her, then frowns and gets up to go and wash them in the sink.

For a minute, she thinks maybe it was messy and wants to die a bit, making a questioning noise when he gets back.

"No - just. Should be sterile, innit?" Oh, yeah. Max doesn't really want to be pissing blood any time soon. It's nice, that Lando cares this much about her. Makes it easy to part her legs, wide and prop them a bit like an uncomfortable doctors appointment, much easier with Lando's thumb rubbing over her clit.

He wriggles down on his belly, disappearing from her view and Max closes her eyes, tries not to think too much about the view he's got. Her arse, glistening with lube and still twitching a bit from the intrusion. Her pussy, puffed up with how turned on she is and sopping wet where he's spreading her open, looking inside.

It makes her gasp, when she feels that he can see it, from the sudden air. It almost makes her want to pee but then Lando's mouth is there, wet and as soothing as she remembered it.

The catch of the tip of his tongue over it makes Max blush. It feels very possible, suddenly, that something could go up there. When Lando sucks on it a bit, gentle and warm, she wants to relax it, pee in his mouth just a tiny bit and it's a weird, mortifying thought that drags a harsh noise out of her, shocked at herself.

The exhale makes her let go, just a tiny bit and then nearly try to scramble off the bed, if Lando hadn't been there to hold her down with his hands round her hips.

He looks at her, aggrieved and with a wet face. "You know I am trying to make you do that?"

"Oh." She'd sort of known - you can't get round piss being a bit involved, can you? But not in his mouth, maybe. Should've know Lando's a fucking freak.

"Relax, Maxy." She settles back and he dives back in, licking her all over for a few minutes before getting back to sucking over her peehole, soft and warm.

This time it's more deliberate, when she relaxes. It's not a lot, not even a dribble, really, just a few drops from her opening up for him.

Lando grunts in satisfaction, stops sucking to lick over her, dipping his tongue further into her pussy. It feels a bit urgent, suddenly, to get attention there or to piss properly.

"C'mon, do the thing."

"Yeah?" Lando sounds a bit gargly, like he is on team radio sometimes. "Can I put it in you?"

He sounds so hopeful Max forces herself to stay relaxed, not tense up with anticipation. "You can try. Y'know, with lube."

The sound Lando's got in his hand isn't big - probably the smallest he could order, with a safely rounded tip. Max is pretty sure that's her limit, isn't interested in anything that would stretch her out there, just something that will fit.

Lando sloshes so much lube it feels like her pussy is squelching and it takes him a moment to get a good enough grip to open her back up, with the forefinger and thumb of his left hand, while he's aiming.

Trying to relax, feeling the round tip of the sound against her, she feels the hot splash of some piss escape her and Lando uses all those F1 reaction times to push it forward, just inside.

It's. So weird. Nothing like her arse or her pussy, almost feels like she can feel it in her clit. Makes her wriggle down, get her legs further apart and-

"More." She sounds hoarse, embarrassed and Lando just hums like he's mesmerised, fucks the sound a little deeper.

She feels the moment when it's in, partly as relief that the ball part is past and only the smooth, silicone stick is being squeezed and partly as a rush of heat between her legs, leaking.

It must make her make a noise, although Max isn't sure she could've heard herself over the blood rushing through her ears. Still, Lando responds. "It's so hot. Fuck, Max, does it hurt?"

Sort of, would be her honest answer. It's not comfortable, at the same time as it feels incredible. Filthy, special, like she's going to come insanely hard as soon as Lando does anything else to her.

"Not really. Not, like, bad. I like it." It feels shocking admitting that, almost the same gut-punch as when she'd had to say the opposite about racing.

Lando tuts. "I'm going to-" he tugs on the sound, gentle. "Take it out. Want to get you off."

She doesn't have the words to say that'll probably do it. That she might come when he's pulling it slowly out. By some miracle, she doesn't because Lando's mouth is back there, suddenly. His right thumb, freed from holding the sound, is on her clit and she's definitely wetting, a little bit, when her thighs clamp around his head while she's shaking through it.

When she lets him go Lando drags himself up like he's just done a brutal workout. His face is red with heat or horny or both and his mouth is dripping, goatee soaked.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna be able to-" he's shoving his joggers off, cock springing free with a spider-web trail of precome to the fabric. "I'm - fuck, Max."

He's coming over her pussy, splattering her pubes, before he's even really got a hand on himself, fingertips loosely rubbing himself through it.

Lando moans, collapsing on the bed next to her. "I know we've got to - give me a minute."

She rolls over, pulls his face against her tits. "Thank you, buddy."

Lando makes a sort of affectionate noise, burrowing into her chest. "Can't believe - yeah, good. So good, actually."

He runs her a bath, when she gets up to pee. Sits behind her in it until they're both pruning and the water's getting cool, their bodies warmer than what's around them, pressed together.

#emptyhalf fic #sorry everyone who is waiting for kiss prompts i was distracted by being read for filth

[viking-raider]

The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare (review)

9.5/10 would recommend!

I loved this movie, it was great! It has Guy Richie all over it and such a brilliant way. I'm not giving it the full ten, cause you know the historian in me, there are a couple points that were "that didn't happen" but let's forget that!

Alan as Lassen, oh my GoSH! As a Swede, I have the straight giggles with his accent (and Henry's attempted at the start of the film) But Lassen is such an adorable little Nazi stabber xD I got halfway through the movie when I was like, why aren't they not nicknaming him Legolas! Lassen and Gus's relationship is humorous, school boys. How Lassen just flirts with the boys. I just got the feels for Lassen, and Alan.

Hero Fiennes Tiffin and Henry Golding are great together. Fredrick's fire pyro ways really get the boys out of trouble, when they get themselves neck deep in it. He's really quite good with an explosive with such a calm, unless he can't blow something up xD Hayes's an excellent sailor, but give him a Gatling gun and he will rip through Nazis like Freddy can blow them up.

Appleyard is amazing at plans, especially when the first four have gone to shite.

Now, Gus. Mmm, man is missing a screw or two, but with what screws he has left, he's great at using them. With a lively laugh, sense of humor and a wagging tongue. If he can't have something or sees something he likes, he'll just take it. But he, like the rest of his crew, has a heart of gold.

What I find interesting about this film is, despite being a film of stopping Nazis, and killing dozens of them, you see little of their actual agenda and infection. You just see the boys having fun, creative ways of killing them and them trying to execute the mission they were sent on by M and Churchill.

It was a wild ride that I rather enjoyed. I suppose that's why, as I write this, I'm (yet again) fifteen minutes deep into a re-watch. xD

#henry cavill #henrycavill #gus march phillips #the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare #guy ritchie #alan ritchson #anders lassen #Hero Fiennes Tiffin #Henry Hayes #Henry Golding #Fredrick Alverez #alex pettyfer #geoffrey appleyard #eiza gonzalez #Majorie Stewart #Babs Olusanmokun

[kouyou-arc-when]

hi! just finished reading your 10k dazai character analysis and it got me thinking...i'm not sure how recent it is and i've never sent an ask on here before so sorry if this is isn't something you care about anymore! i want to start off by saying i really love your interpretation of dazai, i feel like there's a lot of people who "analyze" him and conclude that he's emotionless and evil, or center his entire personality around his suicidal tendencies. i also really liked reading about his thinking and emotional process and how it translates into his actions, instead of treating all of his behaviors like they are controllable and intentional all the time. i'm currently writing an assignment where i have to discuss a character portraying mental illness, which is why i read your post (dissertation?) and it got me thinking way more than just looking up the symptoms. but now i'm wondering if you have any more thoughts or new interperetations of him based on the chapters that came out recently! I also wanted to ask if you think his symptoms fit other types of personality disorders, and why? personally i've seen a lot of evidence from people that he has BPD, but i disagree because the most commonly referenced traits of his that exhibit BPD are the traits that are used as evidence for most other mental health headcanons for him, and I think that he has more defining characteristics for other disorders. but idk. depression is obviously a given, and i am interested in doing more research into antisocial personality disorder to see how much dazai portrays it after reading your paper. i recently did a research paper on CPTSD and thought of him, but i come up blank thinking of other possibilities! If you have more thoughts or ideas on this topic i would absolutely love to know, i really enjoyed reading your analysis and will probably go back and read it again! sorry this is so long...dazai gets me thinking.......you know how it is

I wrote such a large ass reply that I had to make a post -_- I am so sorry. You can find it here:

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai

[getvalentined]

Hey, long time lurker with a brand new account here! i was just reading an earlier ask you answered about why Vincent didn’t stop Hojo and Lucrecia and (of course) Sephiroth, but there’s also something that bugs me that I’m not sure has been addressed in canon or fanon. I like Vin and Veld as work besties in the 1970s and they’re also a ship of mine. Yet I’m not quite sure how to factor in how Vincent gets shot during his time at the Nibelheim Manor, is presumed dead, and Veld doesn’t even go to investigate until Before Crisis, when he finds Vincent in the coffin and tells him he’ll come back another time. I guess an answer I could come up with for myself was that someone higher up than Veld forbade him from looking into Nibelheim for all those years but I’m curious what your thoughts would be? :)

My take on this is actually very specific and headcanon heavy, since there isn't a lot of information on that whole time period—much less information specific to Veld—but I'll give as comprehensive a breakdown as I can!

Things we know specific to Vincent and Veld's situation:

Veld was Vincent's partner in the Turks

Veld did not know Vincent was dead

Detailed explanations on the certainty of both of these are under the cut, but they go into linguistics and translation disputes and context cues that will absolutely get us both lost in the weeds if I go into them here.

Other things that are moderately relevant to this explanation:

All victims of the Kalm fire were taken to Nibelheim for processing by R&D, including both Veld and Felicia (source: BC chapter 13)

In spite of being processed in the same location and even being utilized in the same experiment as Felicia, Veld didn't know that she survived, so it's very possible to hide people in there (source: BC chapter 13)

Veld did not know that Hojo had anything to do with Vincent's disappearance (source: BC chapter 19)

At the time that Vincent disappeared, Gast was still in control of R&D (source: OG FF7)

The Turks know absolutely nothing about the contents of the room in which Vincent is sealed (source: BC chapter 19)

Veld has multiple lines in BC that make it clear he's intimately familiar with the Manor, talking about how it still has a dark atmosphere and how unpleasant the place is. He also seems genuinely concerned when the Player Turk reveals that they were in there getting rid of old research materials on Tseng's order, although I think that's more because he didn't want his newer Turks finding out about what had happened to him if at all avoidable. (It was not avoidable.)

That familiarity with the facility, on its face, makes it really weird that Veld didn't know anything about what happened to Vincent. The only obvious way to reconcile this with him never finding Vincent (aside from the cop-out of "it's just bad writing") is that Veld chose not to look for him, he chose not to question his disappearance, he chose to forget him and let him fade into obscurity. This sounds really bad!

My take actually plays into this concept, and it while it could still be slightly damning for Veld, it's really just as much of a tragedy as anything else in that whole situation: Veld did look, but he started looking way too late.

In my headcanon universe, Vincent and Veld were together prior to the mission in Nibelheim. They broke up not long before Vincent left (the assignment itself is partially to blame for this, but that's long headcanon rambling I will save for another time), and the assignment was long-term enough that Vincent's reports were expected weekly for the first month, then monthly for the proceeding three months, and then quarterly after that. The assignment was slated to last roughly a year and a half, but could have gone up to three years according to Gast's estimations based on his previous efforts and the term of Project G.

But Veld had literally broken up with Vincent right before he left for this assignment, so he wasn't surprised when Vincent only sent two weekly reports, one monthly report, and then dropped into quarterlies from there. The reports themselves were still comprehensive, although Veld got the distinct feeling that Vincent was getting a little emotionally involved in the assignment—not that Veld could blame him, Vincent was requested for this assignment because Gast knew Grimoire, so Vincent was probably having a rough time being in close quarters with people who were so fond of his dead father. Still, the distance would be good for him. Let him get his head on straight.

In mid-1977, Vincent's report schedule faltered again. Veld had received one in April, a bit late—because Lucrecia was pregnant and she broke up with Vincent and married Hojo and he didn't know what to do, he didn't have anyone to talk to, but he didn't want Veld to know. One in September, at the very end of the month—because things were getting so bad, Lucrecia was so sick, Hojo was so aggressive, Gast literally didn't care—and in this report, Vincent said that there may be complications with the project that would require company attention, but he would let Veld know in his next report.

That report never arrived, because Hojo shot Vincent on October 24th, 1977.

Veld waited, because there was a schedule, and Vincent had been a bit lax anyway. No big deal.

At the end of December he received a missive from Gast stating that he would require escorted transport back to Midgar for himself and an infant, by no later than the end of January. Nothing from Vincent, but Gast didn't mention anything, so Veld thought nothing of it.

In mid-January, two Turks arrived in Nibelheim to help transport Gast and his team back to Midgar, and Vincent wasn't there. To hear anyone tell it, he hadn't been there for months. While phone lines were shaky so far out, they eventually made it through to Veld, notifying him that Vincent was missing.

They questioned the rest of the team, but their search of the facility was limited without clearance from higher-ups with that kind of sway. Veld could do a full search, he had the security clearance for it, but two lower-ranking Turks could not.

Lucrecia said that she didn't want to talk about it—she felt bad enough already. Hojo said the last time he'd seen Vincent was mid-October, and he'd just thought the boy finally ran off back to his kennel.

Veld questioned Gast when he arrived back in Midgar, finding that he was the most forthcoming and the least useful. Gast stated that he was under the impression that Vincent had returned to Midgar in early November; he'd been out of town for the last two weeks of October for a board meeting back in Midgar, discussing assignments for Project 0, and Vincent was gone when he returned.

All of them were lying.

By the time Veld made it out to Nibelheim to search himself, it was mid-February, and Hojo had moved Vincent into cold storage for the time being. Things were being shuffled around with the onset of Project 0 anyway, samples and subjects and materials being moved in and out, Lucrecia finally being sent back to Midgar for a much-needed postpartum recovery period, Hojo being given temporary control over the facility.

At this point in time, the Turks only had so much power. R&D was swiftly making itself the most indispensable department in the company, and Veld's search of the premises was always one step behind Hojo's relocation of materials. There was almost certainly one point where Vincent was held in a steel containment tank being relocated from the lower lab to the upper or vice-versa, and wheeled right past Veld without him knowing.

Veld, who knew how emotional Vincent could be and had now gotten the whole story of the regrettable whirlwind love affair from Hojo and Lucrecia, came to the conclusion that Vincent had gone AWOL. Could Veld blame him? He had been treating Vincent like crap since their own breakup—he hadn't been communicating, and even though he'd been able to tell that something was wrong, he never even tried to call and ask him about it. He'd been pissed off too, and left Vincent to his own devices...for over a year. On a separate continent. Of course he tried it with Lucrecia. Of course he left when that relationship fell through.

And Vincent was a good Turk, the best in the entire department, so he'd definitely know how to disappear. How to cover his tracks. Specifically how to hide from the current head of the department, who just happened to be his partner.

If Vincent chose to disappear, Veld would never be able to find him; since he never found any evidence of what transpired to lead to his disappearance, Veld could only assume that was what happened.

Almost thirty years later, he was horrified to finally get into that sealed room—the one Hojo said they used to store old furniture and facility staffers' more valuable personal belongings, way back in 1978—and discover that he'd been completely, utterly, devastatingly wrong.

But, once again, Veld had just waited too long to do anything about it.

—

Game content and dialogue sources:

Grimoire Valentine's BC playthrough

Flash PINK's BC script

Evidence that Veld and Vincent were partners:

The Grimoire Valentine BC playthrough translates Veld's line when explaining Vincent's identity as "We were partners a long time ago." I've seen this translation disputed, because the actual word Veld uses is 同僚 (dōryō), which is best translated as "colleague."

To my knowledge (based on obsessive linguistics research because I have a problem, I do not speak Japanese but I will spend hours researching exactly what specific terms mean within the context of a given culture), this implies equal standing within the company in question. Of course, this is in real-world situations, so we can't assume it applies 100% to FF7 canon—luckily, this word is used at one other point in the game, giving us important context on its usage within the department: in chapter 14, when Tseng thinks the Player Turk has been killed in Wutai, Yuffie asks how they know each other and Tseng replies "They're a [colleague]."

Tseng is vice director, meaning they're definitely not equals, so this could imply that this word is used more loosely among the Turks, thereby disproving the partnership between Vincent and Veld. However, since Veld uses the word 部下 (buka, "subordinate") to describe the other Turks in this same chapter, I personally feel that Tseng uses this term very intentionally at this point, and it's meant as an indication of his character. When Tseng thinks the Player Turk is dead, he refers to them as an equal. This is further implied by the fact that in the proceeding scene, when the Player Turk is proven to have survived, they continue to refer to him as Tseng-san, using the standard honorific, while Tseng doesn't use one in return to refer to them. Veld likewise doesn't use an honorific when referring to Tseng, but the other Turks do.

Back to Vincent and Veld's little reunion, though, I feel like Vincent's dialogue completely clarifies the intent: Vincent doesn't use an honorific or a title when referring to Veld. Every other Turk in the game refers to Veld as 主任 (shunin), with or without his name, which translates to "director." Meanwhile, Vincent refers to Veld by his name and his name only, and Veld doesn't refer to Vincent with an honorific either.

In their department, it's clear this isn't something you would do with someone who wasn't on your level. Subordinates get no honorific, sure, but anyone even remotely superior gets one—a practice that holds true well after Veld is gone, as Elena refers to Reno and Rude as "senpai" from her recruitment in 0007 all the way up to her appearance in Advent Children.

If either Vincent or Veld were ranked differently to the other, the lower-ranking one would use an honorific—but they don't. Names only. Add in the fact that they instantly recognized each other after almost thirty years, and the level of familiarity is undeniable.

Those men were partners, a long time ago.

Evidence that Veld didn't know Vincent was dead:

Upon finding Vincent in 2006, he isn't shocked to find him alive—instead, he refers to Vincent having "disappeared," specifically using the phrase 姿を消し (sugata o keshi), to describe what he knows to have happened. To my knowledge, this is an entirely neutral phrase with no implication of death or malfeasance, particularly within the context of Veld's dialogue, which makes it explicitly clear that whatever happened to Vincent, Veld did not believe it killed him.

His next line is something along the lines of "Did Hojo do this to you?" which I find equally important; he very quickly adjusts his assumptions based on the situation and what Vincent looks like, moving immediately away from the concept of a mysterious disappearance to something much more sinister, but he doesn't seem to have thought of that possibility prior to this point.

#long post #headcanon warning #fandom ramble #vincent valentine #veld of the turks #vinveld #professor gast #professor hojo #lucrecia crescent #the nibelheim doom triangle #before crisis #ff7bc #bcff7

[pokimoko]

Alright, I don't want to be a dick (and that's half the reason why I'm not answering this ask properly and censoring the user's name; I don't want to throw them to the wolves over poor wording), but I just have to say this: if you're going to send in an art request to me, please at least do me the basic decency of being polite about it. I am doing them for free and out of my own spare time, so I am under no obligation to make them if I don't want to.

The way this particular request is written feels like the equivalent of a 'please update' on a fic or like I'm some sort of AI art generator you're putting a prompt into, and it absolutely turns me off wanting to make art for you, which I won't be doing for this one. I'm sorry to be pedantic over phrasing, but I have to set some boundaries when it comes to requests, and this is one of them.

#ask #art requests #personal #vent post #sorry to be rude but this ask just kinda annoyed me with how it was written and i needed to say something #i have fun making the critters but I'm not just here to churn them out for people either #thank you to everyone else who's sent in a request and been very lovely about them #knowing you enjoy my art and will enjoy what i make for you is why i like doing them at all #so yes to anyone else in future: i am but a humble artist who likes a kind word or two to inspire my creation #even if it's a few hearts or just a quick little thank you. i don't mind. so long as it's not written like this #and to the person who did write this: you're new to tumblr so i can understand not being great at asks yet. but please be kind to artists #simple kindness can go a long way #anyway that's all. :)

[gardenofnoah]

hello bea i am bereft of ideas but think you should write the most self indulgent thing you can because moving and new job is hard and you deserve it. what if you had a nice time at a lake???

you move easily through the water to get to Hitoshi. you think you’d wade through concrete if it meant you could be in his orbit.

and in it you are, because he’s adept at drawing you near. he’s in up to his chest, and when you get close enough he reaches for you.

“hi,” he murmurs, bending to kiss your forehead. the water laps at both of you and he holds you steady. tethered to him and weightless.

he walks backwards until the water is shallow enough that he can sit on the rocky lakebed without his head going under, and then he does just that. he keeps you held to him and it makes you giggle.

“i feel like a baby otter.”

hitoshi laughs, smoothing a hand over your hair. “you kind of look like one too.”

“hey!”

“what?” he grins, catching your hands before they can swat at him, “you do. cute and fuzzy.”

you grumble but relent, laying your head back down. his heartbeat, with the gentle lapping of the water against your back and the fading heat of the sun, is enough to lull you to sleep. you’d let it, but something about the feeling that wraps itself around your bones makes you want to sit in it a little longer.

“you hungry, baby?”

“mm. maybe,” you sigh, nestling into the hair that litters his chest. “if you make something.”

he snorts, dipping his head to kiss the crown of yours. he lingers there, and you know he wants to be in this moment a little longer, too.

“as you wish, my liege.”

neither one of you move—you won’t, until the growling of your stomach becomes so offensively loud that hitoshi tows you out of the water and back up to the cabin over his shoulder. the urge to care for you will win out, as it always does—and you can’t really say you mind.

#kaelan do you like how i finished this months after you sent it to me #i know that you sent this to me as a way to write about something i love and i have been stressed about it the entire time. i don’t know. #but here you go friend lol #shinso hitoshi x reader #shinso x you #shinsou hitoshi drabble #shinsou hitoshi fluff #shinsou it's the little things #bea writes ♡

[wayward-wren]

Going to be thinking about "I put you on a train" "I got off" for the next 2-5 working days ughguhg

#wren rambles #endeavour #endeavour rewatch #endeavour morse #fred thursday #i remember the important parts #(read: whump) #but i forgot all the bits inbetween #endeavour 1x04 #thursday being like 'i sent you safely out of the way so i could face the badguys without fear of losing you' #vs morse being like 'i care more about stopping you doing something stupid and bringing justice than visiting my dying father' #the LAYERS in those two short sentences ughugh #i appreciate that they don't Talk #i also DONT APPRECIATE IT #because UGH #repressed twentieth century stiff upper lip british men #but i appreciate that nto everything needs to be spelled out and sometimes you understand what is meant without being told #good writing that #new entry on my ongoing 'revisting every single hyperfixation i have ever had' era of being in my 20s apparently #part of me is tempted to see what inspector morse is like #if only to know what to expect in the latter seasons #cos i did NOT on my first watch and as a result Didnt Finish cos it made me SAD #but idk if i actually WANT to watch inspector morse #i feel like it will make me More Sad

[tytrack]

it actually makes me so angry that people are not there for you the way you need them but in a way that wants to make them feel good

#i'm pissed my friend just came to visit me at midnight on her way home bc she's leaving for california when i told her not to come #*she's leaving for california tomorrow #my uncle had to be taken to the hospital over the weekend and has been on the ventilator and she didn't call me at all to check in on how i #was doing and sent a text super late with a general how are you text because i've also been working on my qualifying exams #and i told her that was i was surprised she hadn't called me then and she said she was trying to give me my space (???????????) #meanwhile i've been dealing with stupid roommate drama and she knows that it wouldn't be ok for her to come and told her multiple times not #to and she thought i was being polite or something? when i said 'i literally do not want you to come' #there's actually been so much shit going on in my life and instead of coming when i needed you you're coming now that you have no other #time to come. i needed her this whole time and she's just been unavailable and socializing with other people and otherwise preoccupied #i do not need you to come at midnight to show me that you care it feels so disengenous #meanwhile while she was doing her phd apps i was literally glued to her side read her drafts was there for her emotionally was there #IN THE MOMENT as she was submitting them and even when she was finding out from programs and i was upset with her i was following up with #her and calling her every day. i really hate everything #i'm writing all this because i'm angry and i'm angry that i feel guilty for being upset with her when she just came over even though #i literally told her i didn't want her to come and suddenly it feels like it's my fault even though i know it's not #even today while she was on the phone she was just talking about shit going on in her life maybe to fill in the space that i wasn't filling #but like are you serious? #god i'm so upset i already can't concentrate on my work

[paterday]

👁👁

You uh getting some ideas for Aura and Omen?

Don’t look at me with those big ol eyes I’m SHY

Here’s an image of. The silly for your troubles

that being said.

#I’m writing this all In the tags #cuz I hate being looked at #so I think I’m going with the idea that omen steals aura and then goes awol(??? is that how you spell that) #ANYWAYS some time before that her brain gets a little bit fucked up #so like the part of her brain that processes information from the eyes is a leetle bit messed up #so she can’t. really see very well even tho her eyes look fine #which causes her to become kinda well known for occasional friendly fire #cuz she just shoots what moves and looks unfriendly shaped #THEN. she is sent with a group to go to this planet and retrieve the aura ai #and she’s the first one to find it #idk what I want to happen here but in some way she gets Aura inside her head #and Auras like hey man ur brain is kinda fuckedup. want me to like. do something about that #so she’s able to give omen back her full vision via managing the signals #nd Omens brain is the only thing keeping her from going full on rampant and exploding (how does this work. fuck if I know I’ll figure it out #later. problem for future me :o) ) #ANYWAYS they have this very symbiotic relationship but also it’s like very. codependent #so two fucked up ladies :) #and aura really doesn’t want to die so she’s fine with this whole thing. #her main purpose was to just keep people alive #and she failed that. so she’s gonna try her damn hardest to keep her new human alive #(insert the mind meld fuckery here) #is this deeply embarassing for the me? yes. but I am trying to be so brave about it

[mollyrealized]

How Michael Met Neil

original direct link [MP3]

(Neil, if you see this, please feel free to grab the transcript and store on your site; I had no easy way of contacting you.)

DAVID TENNANT: Tell me about @neil-gaiman then, because he's in that category [previously: “such a profound effect on my life”] as well.

MICHAEL SHEEN: So this is what has brought us together.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: To the new love story for the 21st century.

DAVID: Exactly.

MICHAEL: So when I went to drama school, there was a guy called Gary Turner in my year. And within the first few weeks, we were doing something, having a drink or whatever. And he said to me, “Do you read comic books?”

And I said, “No.”  I mean, this is … what … '88?  '88, '89.  So it was … now I know that it was a period of time that was a big change, transformation going through comic books.  Rather than it being thought of as just superheroes and Batman and Superman, there was this whole new era of a generation of writers like Grant Morrison.

DAVID: The kids who'd grown up reading comic books were now making comic books

MICHAEL: Yeah, yeah, and starting to address different kinds of subjects through the comic book medium. So it wasn't about just superheroes, it was all kinds of stuff going on – really fascinating stuff. And I was totally unaware of this.

And so this guy Gary said to me, "Do you read them?" And I said, "No."  And he went, "Right, okay, here's The Watchman [sic] by Alan Moore. Here's Swamp Thing. Here's Hellblazer. And here's Sandman.”

And Sandman was Neil Gaiman's big series that put his name on the map. And I read all those, and, just – I was blown away by all of them, but particularly the Sandman stories, because he was drawing on mythology, which was something I was really interested in, and fairy tales, folklore, and philosophy, and Shakespeare, and all kinds of stuff were being mixed up in this story.  And I absolutely loved it.

So I became a big fan of Neil's, and started reading everything by him. And then fairly shortly after that, within six months to a year, Good Omens the book came out, which Neil wrote with Terry Pratchett. And so I got the book – because I was obviously a big fan of Neil's by this point – read it, loved it, then started reading Terry Pratchett’s stuff as well, because I didn't know his stuff before then – and then spent years and years and years just being a huge fan of both of them.

And then eventually when – I'd done films like the Underworld films and doing Twilight films. And I think it was one of the Twilight films, there was a lot of very snooty interviews that happened where people who considered themselves well above talking about things like Twilight were having to interview me … and, weirdly, coming at it from the attitude of 'clearly this is below you as well' … weirdly thinking I'm gonna go, 'Yeah, fucking Twilight.”

And I just used to go, "You know what? Some of the greatest writing of the last 50-100 years has happened in science fiction or fantasy."  Philip K Dick is one of my favorite writers of all time. In fact, the production of Hamlet I did was mainly influenced by Philip K Dick.  Ursula K. Le Guin and Asimov, and all these amazing people. And I talked about Neil as well. And so I went off on a bit of a rant in this interview.

Anyway, the interview came out about six months later, maybe.  Knock on the door, open the door, delivery of a big box. That’s interesting. Open the box, there's a card at the top of the box. I open the card.

It says, From one fan to another, Neil Gaiman.  And inside the box are first editions of Neil's stuff, and all kinds of interesting things by Neil. And he just sent this stuff.

DAVID: You'd never met him?

MICHAEL: Never met him. He'd read the interview, or someone had let him know about this interview where I'd sung his praises and stood up for him and the people who work within that sort of genre as being like …

And he just got in touch. We met up for the first time when he came to – I was in Los Angeles at the time, and he came to LA.  And he said, "I'll take you for a meal."

I said, “All right.”

He said, "Do you want to go somewhere posh, or somewhere interesting?”

I said, "Let's go somewhere interesting."

He said, "Right, I'm going to take you to this restaurant called The Hump." And it's at Santa Monica Airport. And it's a sushi restaurant.

I was like, “Right, okay.” So I had a Mini at the time. And we get in my Mini and we drive off to Santa Monica Airport. And this restaurant was right on the tarmac, like, you could sit in the restaurant (there's nobody else there when we got there, we got there quite early) and you're watching the planes landing on Santa Monica Airport. It's extraordinary. 

And the chef comes out and Neil says, "Just bring us whatever you want. Chef's choice."

So, I'd never really eaten sushi before. So we sit there; we had this incredible meal where they keep bringing these dishes out and they say, “This is [blah, blah, blah]. Just use a little bit of soy sauce or whatever.”  You know, “This is eel.  This is [blah].”

And then there was this one dish where they brought out and they didn't say what it was. It was like “mystery dish”, we had it ... delicious. Anyway, a few more people started coming into the restaurant as time went on.

And we're sort of getting near the end, and I said, "Neil, I can't eat anymore. I'm gonna have to stop now. This is great, but I can't eat–"

"Right, okay. We'll ask for the bill in a minute."

And then the door opens and some very official people come in. And it was the Feds. And the Feds came in, and we knew they were because they had jackets on that said they were part of the Federal Bureau of Whatever. And about six of them come in. Two of them go … one goes behind the counter, two go into the kitchen, one goes to the back. They've all got like guns on and stuff.

And me and Neil are like, "What on Earth is going on?"

And then eventually one guy goes, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you haven't ordered already, please leave. If you're still eating your meal, please finish up, pay your bill, leave."*

[* - delivered in a perfect American ‘serious law agent’ accent/impression]

And we were like, "Oh my God, are we poisoned? Is there some terrible thing that's happened?"  

We'd finished, so we pay our bill.  And then all the kitchen staff are brought out. And the head chef is there. The guy who's been bringing us this food. And he's in tears. And he says to Neil, "I'm so sorry." He apologizes to Neil.  And we leave. We have no idea what happened.

DAVID: But you're assuming it's the mystery dish.

MICHAEL: Well, we're assuming that we can't be going to – we can't be –  it can't be poisonous. You know what I mean? It can't be that there's terrible, terrible things.

So the next day was the Oscars, which is why Neil was in town. Because Coraline had been nominated for an Oscar. Best documentary that year was won by The Cove, which was by a team of people who had come across dolphins being killed, I think.

Turns out, what was happening at this restaurant was that they were having illegal endangered species flown in to the airport, and then being brought around the back of the restaurant into the kitchen.

We had eaten whale – endangered species whale. That was the mystery dish that they didn't say what it was.

And the team behind The Cove were behind this sting, and they took them down that night whilst we were there.

DAVID: That’s extraordinary.

MICHAEL: And we didn't find this out for months.  So for months, me and Neil were like, "Have you worked anything out yet? Have you heard anything?"

"No, I haven't heard anything."

And then we heard that it was something to do with The Cove, and then we eventually found out that that restaurant, they were all arrested. The restaurant was shut down. And it was because of that. And we'd eaten whale that night.

DAVID: And that was your first meeting with Neil Gaiman.

MICHAEL: That was my first meeting. And also in the drive home that night from that restaurant, he said, and we were in my Mini, he said, "Have you found the secret compartment?"

I said, "What are you talking about?" It's such a Neil Gaiman thing to say.

DAVID: Isn't it?

MICHAEL: The secret compartment? Yeah. Each Mini has got a secret compartment. I said, "I had no idea." It's secret. And he pressed a little button and a thing opened up. And it was a secret compartment in my own car that Neil Gaiman showed me.

DAVID: Was there anything inside it?

MICHAEL: Yeah, there was a little man. And he jumped out and went, "Hello!" No, there was nothing in there. There was afterwards because I started putting...

DAVID: Sure. That's a very Neil Gaiman story. All of that is such a Neil Gaiman story.

MICHAEL: That's how it began. Yeah.

DAVID: And then he came to offer you the part in Good Omens.

MICHAEL: Yeah. Well, we became friends and we would whenever he was in town, we would meet up and yeah, and then eventually he started, he said, "You know, I'm working on an adaptation of Good Omens." And I can remember at one point Terry Gilliam was going to maybe make a film of it. And I remember being there with Neil and Terry when they were talking about it. And...

DAVID: Were you involved at that point?

MICHAEL: No, no, I wasn't involved. I just happened to have met up with Neil that day.

DAVID: Right.

MICHAEL: And then Terry Gilliam came along and they were chatting, that was the day they were talking about that or whatever.

And then eventually he sent me one of the scripts for an early draft of like the first episode of Good Omens. And he said – and we started talking about me being involved in it, doing it – he said, “Would you be interested?” I was like, "Yeah, of course."  I went, "Oh my God." And he said, "Well, I'll send you the scripts when they come," and I would read them, and we'd talk about them a little bit. And so I was involved.

But it was always at that point with the idea, because he'd always said about playing Crowley in it. And so, as time went on, as I was reading the scripts, I was thinking, "I don't think I can play Crowley. I don't think I'm going to be able to do it." And I started to get a bit nervous because I thought, “I don't want to tell Neil that I don't think I can do this.”  But I just felt like I don't think I can play Crowley.

DAVID: Of course you can [play Crowley?].

MICHAEL: Well, I just on a sort of, on a gut level, sometimes you have it on a gut level.

DAVID: Sure, sure.

MICHAEL: I can do this.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: Or I can't do this. And I just thought, “You know what, this is not the part for me. The other part is better for me, I think. I think I can do that, I don't think I could do that.”

But I was scared to tell Neil because I thought, "Well, he wants me to play Crowley" – and then it turned out he had been feeling the same way as well.  And he hadn't wanted to mention it to me, but he was like, "I think Michael should really play Aziraphale."

And neither of us would bring it up.  And then eventually we did. And it was one of those things where you go, "Oh, thank God you said that. I feel exactly the same way." And then I think within a fairly short space of time, he said, “I think we've got … David Tennant … for Crowley.” And we both got very excited about that.

And then all these extraordinary people started to join in. And then, and then off we went.

DAVID: That's the other thing about Neil, he collects people, doesn't he? So he'll just go, “Oh, yeah, I've phoned up Frances McDormand, she's up for it.” Yeah. You're, what?

MICHAEL: “I emailed Jon Hamm.”

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And yeah, and you realize how beloved he is and how beloved his work is. And I think we would both recognise that Good Omens is one of the most beloved of all of Neil's stuff.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: And had never been turned into anything.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And so the kind of responsibility of that, I mean, for me, for someone who has been a fan of him and a fan of the book for so long, I can empathize with all the fans out there who are like, “Oh, they better not fuck this up.”

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: “And this had better be good.” And I have that part of me. But then, of course, the other part of me is like, “But I'm the one who might be fucking it up.”

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: So I feel that responsibility as well.

DAVID: But we have Neil on site.

MICHAEL: Yes. Well, Neil being the showrunner …

DAVID: Yeah. I think it takes the curse off.

MICHAEL: … I think it made a massive difference, didn't it? Yeah. You feel like you're in safe hands.

DAVID: Well, we think. Not that the world has seen it yet.

MICHAEL (grimly): No, I know.

DAVID: But it was a -- it's been a -- it's been a joy to work with you on it. I can't wait for the world to see it.

MICHAEL: Oh my God.  Oh, well, I mean, it's the only, I've done a few things where there are two people, it's a bit of a double act, like Frost-Nixon and The Queen, I suppose, in some ways. But, and I've done it, Amadeus or whatever.

This is the only thing I've done where I really don't think of it as “my character” or “my performance as that character”.  I think of it totally as us.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: The two of us.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: Like they, what I do is defined by what you do.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And that was such a joy to have that experience. And it made it so much easier in a way as well, I found, because you don't feel like you're on your own in it. Like it's totally us together doing this and the two characters totally complement each other. And the experience of doing it was just a real joy.

DAVID: Yeah.  Well, I hope the world is as excited to see it as we are to talk about it, frankly.

MICHAEL: You know, there's, having talked about T.S. Eliot earlier, there's another bit from The Wasteland where there's a line which goes, These fragments I have shored against my ruin.

And this is how I think about life now. There is so much in life, no matter what your circumstances, no matter what, where you've got, what you've done, how much money you got, all that. Life's hard.  I mean, you can, it can take you down at any point.

You have to find this stuff. You have to like find things that will, these fragments that you hold to yourself, they become like a liferaft, and especially as time goes on, I think, as I've got older, I've realized it is a thin line between surviving this life and going under.

And the things that keep you afloat are these fragments, these things that are meaningful to you and what's meaningful to you will be not-meaningful to someone else, you know. But whatever it is that matters to you, it doesn't matter what it was you were into when you were a teenager, a kid, it doesn't matter what it is. Go and find them, and find some way to hold them close to you. 

Make it, go and get it. Because those are the things that keep you afloat. They really are. Like doing that with him or whatever it is, these are the fragments that have shored against my ruin. Absolutely.

DAVID: That's lovely. Michael, thank you so much.

MICHAEL: Thank you.

DAVID: For talking today and for being here.

MICHAEL: Oh, it's a pleasure. Thank you.

#neil gaiman #michael sheen #david tennant does a podcast with... #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #sushi #whale #the cove #oscars 2010 #coraline #mini secret compartments #howneilmetmichael #howmichaelmetneil