#in the book i feel like they described that soup for pages and pages

[lirotation]

I Hail from Silverymoon: The First Kiss

Pov my little fanfic, Astarion X Amaara(my wizard Tav) Finally some fluff. All my frustration and dissatisfaction towards BG3 were alleviated by kissing him 10 times a day in game =)

_______________________

Astarion sat staring blankly at the book in his hands, thoughts far away. His mind kept circling back to that moment a couple of days ago when he had confessed his feelings to Amaara. It had taken all the courage he could muster, and the memory of her embrace afterward was etched into his heart.

However, since that night, she hadn't sought him out, and a sense of doubt had begun to gnaw at him. He couldn't help but wonder if he had misunderstood the gesture. Perhaps the hug was just a polite way of saying goodbye. The uncertainty ate at him, and he found himself yearning for her presence, for the warmth of her smile, and for the sound of her laughter.

Over the past few nights, he had watched as Amaara spent her evenings with Lae'zel, engrossed in reading a githyanki book. It frustrated him to no end; the book had already been translated, and Amaara could have easily read it herself. Good thing they finally finished it. He wasn’t sure how many more nights of that he could take.

This evening, as he lingered by the campfire, a scene unfolded that only deepened his ache of longing. Amaara stood preparing a piece of pork, her hands covered with salt and herbs. Next to her, Gale stirred a pot, scooping some soup to blow delicately before feeding Amaara a taste.

Her eyes lit up in delight, savoring the taste. Their laughter filled the air as they shared their enthusiasm for some seasoning they had found. Their easy camaraderie oozed a profound connection Astarion envied. He watched the intimate exchange like an outsider peering through a frosted window. So commonplace, yet beyond his grasp.

Astarion gazed down at the book clutched in his hands - a rare first edition novel he'd discovered in an abandoned house earlier that day. He had secretly tucked it away in his own pack.

He vividly remembered her eager reaction to the tome Gale had shared. He pictured her keen eyes lighting up, soft lips curving into an appreciative smile when he presented this book to her as a gift.

But on second thought, simply handing over the book was not enough. No, better to draw out her anticipation, sharing a chapter or two each night by the campfire's glow. Let the tale unfold slowly through his theatrical narration, giving him an excuse to linger by her side night after night.

The party was gathered around the campfire after dinner. Amaara sat slightly apart, nose buried in a heavy tome, oblivious to the friendly chatter around her.

Astarion sidled up beside her, peering over her shoulder. "My, that looks terribly dull. All those tiny cramped letters, and not a single illustration," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"It's a chronicle of arcane discoveries in Thay," Amaara explained enthusiastically. "This chapter describes the properties of residuum and its catalytic effects when combined with-"

Astarion held up a hand, chuckling. "Spare me the lecture, my dear. Must your nose be glued to these interminable pages every night?" he chided lightly. "Tonight, I wish to share something far more stimulating."

He held up the leatherbound book bearing ornate silver lettering.

"The first edition of 'The Ballad of Drizzt'!" Amaara's eyes lit up in delight as she traced the embossed title. "However did you get your hands on this rare treasure?"

"I happened upon it in the house we visited today.” He opened the book, turning to the first chapter. "Now this is true literature, with prose as sharp as any rapier," he declared. Clearing his throat, Astarion began reading aloud, his cultured voice expertly infusing the tale with drama and suspense.

Amaara found herself enraptured by his performance. The nuance Astarion brought to the dialogue and description had her hanging on every word.

When at last he closed the book, Amaara applauded enthusiastically.

"Now that was a masterful performance! You truly brought the story to life," she praised.

Astarion flashed a pleased grin at her reaction. "I'm delighted you enjoyed it, my dear. Aren’t these beautifully written stories more rewarding than those dry arcane pages? We can do this every night, bedtime stories."

Astarion's gaze traced along Amaara's features, noting the way her eyes lingered on his lips before lifting to meet his own. A lovely smile spread across her face, carrying a mixture of fondness and shy anticipation, "I would really like that." she said softly.

Amaara's smile, so familiar and bright, filled Astarion's heart with warmth and eased his uncertainty. How he had missed that smile! He couldn't help but be drawn to her soft lips, yearning to feel their warmth against his own.

he leaned in slowly, his intent clear—a kiss, a tender moment of connection. But as he moved closer, Amaara's eyes widened, and she leaned away, creating an abrupt gap between them that was filled only by awkward silence.

Astarion's surprise quickly gave way to hurt, and he couldn't hide the flicker of pain that crossed his features. He had misunderstood, and rejection stung deeply. But then, Amaara reached out, placing her hand gently on Astarion's.

"Forgive me," she began, her voice soft with empathy. "I believed that any act of intimacy might make you uncomfortable. Please, you don't have to do this for my sake."

Astarion's hurt subsided as he realized her intentions. He shook his head gently, his voice filled with sincerity, "I would never say no to a tender kiss from you."

Amaara's smile returned, her eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and affection. "All right," she said, her own bashfulness shining through. "...May I?"

Astarion's heart filled with anticipation. "I would like nothing more," he replied with a soft, genuine smile.

So, she leaned in, closing the distance between them, and placed a gentle, soft kiss on his lips. It was a simple peck filled with warmth and affection, a sweet moment that spoke volumes about the feelings they shared.

A sudden bashfulness washed over Astarion as they pulled away, and if he could, he would have been blushing fiercely. He lowered his gaze for a moment, his words coming out in a soft, almost shy tone. "I really rather liked that, you know?" 

He slowly reached out to caress her cheek, "I think… that counts as our first real kiss…and It was perfect.” Like a whisper of spring after endless winter. He silently added.

Seeing Amaara's rosy blush as she nested against him, he felt his unbeating heart swell. No further words were needed in that tender moment.

#I love a man who reads #fluff #bg3 fanart #astarion #astarion fanart #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanart #bg3 fanfiction #amaara ashvale #my oc stuff #astarion x mc #bg3 #astarion fluff #astarion fanfic #astarion headcanons #baldurs gate 3 #procreate

[mitsuki91]

Please let's talk about the infamous quote about Tigris. Enjoy ALL the quote, first of all (thanks to @burntblueberrywaffles for the screen):

Now. You can ignore the second half and take the phrase at its face value, as antis love to do, and think "omg what a horrible man, who thinks this things?! Monster!" and feel proud that you can read in the sense you can recognize the letters, put them together and see that you know how all the words and the word's meaning and applaude yourself. Congrats, you can read!

No, that's not how you read.

Welcome to "basic reading comprehension 1.0".

First of all, this phrase doesn't exist alone, it's not floating in a blank page. You have to read the several sentences before that to actually understand why this phrase was written in the first place. And this phrase is right at the start of the book so I promise it won't take long.

So, let's start. I don't have the english book so please bare with me when I explain you things without the actual quote, I promise it is what actuall happens in the book.

We first see Coriolanus Snow who force himself to eat cabbage soup. That he despises it but he knows he need it to prevent the rumble in his stomach. So, you see, right here in the first sentence you have one important details: Coriolanus is not worried about hunger per se, is worried about let other people know he is hungry. Just with this you can already understand one of his core value: the appearences.

And he tells us so in the next senteces. He has an important name and live in a fancy house (from outside) but he has nothing. He has so nothing that he is now worried about a shirt, because he has important stuff to do (later we discover that the Reaping is tied with the Plinth Prize he needs so desperately). The only hope for the shirt is his cousin, Tigris, who can sew and already save him more than once, but... Well, this time she has not a great start. The only shirt he owns is stained and burned and has only half of the buttons. It needs a miracle, he needs a miracle, and even the black market was no use...

They already tried, he tells us so. But no one wants to buy or exchange the shirt. Only... This morning, the morning of the Reaping, he can not find nor Tigris nor the shirt.

So he starts to worried. And he leads us to why he was thinking about a price for Tigris in the first place. Context, people. I will post the actual quote of the book (thanks to @xalonelydreamerx for the screen):

They already try to sell/exchange something for a better shirt, and they have nothing. What is left? Tigris herself. WHAT IS LEFT? TIGRIS HERSELF, PLEASE READ THIS AGAIN.

So, we have an actual reason, a valid reason, he has to think about Tigris selling herself and people putting price on her.

Now after this come the quote, I paste again for you:

And now we can read the FULL quote.

The first half: he uses this to describe to us his cousin, and he tries to mantain a "fair" and "external pov" for it, because he puts himself in the shoes of a man who can be interested in buying her. The "vulnerability that invited abuse" is a mere objective though and also serve the purpose to tell us reader that Tigris is sweet and innocent and maybe a little bit naive, or can be perceived like that from the world. And we know this is true. Tigris is sweet and caring, she takes care of Coryo, she always did. We will know better later, this is a mere introduction.

But the second half. The second half of the quote, you all. He feels disgusted with himself for the though and this is already a good start to understand that HE DIDN'T MEAN TO PUT A PRICE ON HER AND SELL HER, NEVER, but the actual most important word here is "helpless". HELPLESS. BECAUSE HE IS THE PROVIDER OF THE FAMILY.

He is the hope. We will learn about the Plinth Prize and what it means for the family. We will learn that everyone rely on him to win the prize and save them. We will learn that he was told, since the start, that he as 'the man of the house' has the duty of provide for his family.

He is happy in that role, mind you. Worried sick, of course, because it is difficult and he can count only on the Plinth Prize to achieve something, so he has to win and the pressure is huge. There are also complex feelings around the Snow names: the fact that he feels that it is his duty to protect the family image, masking the thruth... etc etc etc.

But the first information we have, the most important piece we have from the start to put together who is Coriolanus Snow at the core, is right here. In the first page. In a part of that sentence antis like to quote and simply forget to do it in full.

Coriolanus Snow has to face the realistic possibility, the realistic concern that his cousin might consider the idea to sell herself to help him provide for their family and he fells horrified and helpless.

Helpless.

Because 1) a Snow could never think such a thing, how humiliating, how a failure for their name; and most important 2) if Tigris will do it it means that he failed in the worst possible way and he is not longer able to provide for his family and so were is his own worth? When everything he learned since he was born was to take care of his family and his family's name, that it is his duty, because he is the heir (also little ps: we learn later that since he will graduate the little pension they have now for his father death will stop because he will be a man, so also Panem itself is telling him he has to be able to provide for his family because he will be 'grown up' and 'in the real world' now).

We learn that Coriolanus Snow never wants to sell Tigris, that he is sick at the mere though, and we learn just right here just in the first page what are the core value of him. What moves him and what he thinks of himself and his family.

We learn who Coriolanus Snow is, as if we never knew his name and he was just a boy at the start of his own story.

And antis always forget about this and take one sentence out of context and judge him with "president Snow tinted glasses" and just because this quote is at the start of the book they like to scream to everyone "See? This is it, he was always bad, from the start!". And they actually just tell us that they can not understand what they are reading instead.

Okay, I hope that this lesson was worth it. Reading comprehension 1.0. I hope some antis will come accross this post and take time to read it. It's not too late to learn how to understand what you read, after all.

And now I will go to sleep that I have a terrible headache 😂 bye!

#reading comprehension #coriolanus snow #tigris snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #anti antis #let's read together #and most important #let's understand together #please forgive my grammar I am so tired #but I needed to write this #if I read another time this quote as a reason to why Snow is the Pure Evil I swear-

[church-of-lilith]

Melissa & Jacob, “will you take a breath, kid?”

read it on ao3!

(CW: mention of a car accident and hospitalization, nothing described in detail)

“Will you take a breath, kid?” Melissa’s not particularly good at calming people down, but Jacob really does look like he’s gonna hyperventilate.

He’s only been at Abbott for a few months, she doesn’t know him well enough to know if he has any serious medical conditions or if he’s just prone to panic attacks from time to time. Whatever has him shaken, it can hardly be good.

Jacob stops pacing, attempting to take a deep breath as instructed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be doing this right now but I just… I don’t know what to do. I—I have to go.”

Melissa grabs him by the shoulders, trying to steady him. “Whatever’s wrong, there’s a way out of it. If you got yelled at by a parent, or embarrassed yourself in front of the kids or something, you can always try again tomorrow.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” He shakes his head, looking down at his phone again, hands shaking, “I just got a call from the hospital. And my… my boyfriend was in a really bad car accident. They don’t know if—they couldn’t give me any information really.”

The reality of the situation finally dawns on her then. The panic makes sense now. She knows that feeling, when your entire world drops out from underneath you and the only thing you can think of is the worst possible outcome.

“Oh Jacob,” she musters up finally, “You need to go there, go be with him.”

“How?” There are tears running down his face, “My class can’t be left unattended, I don’t even know how to begin that conversation with Ava.”

Melissa grabs his keys from his desk, putting them in his hands. “You go to the hospital, I’ll worry about talking to Ava and finding someone to watch your class.”

“Melissa I can’t ask that of you—”

“You’re not asking, I’m telling,” she insists, practically shoving him out the door. “Go, and drive safely, we don’t need you in the hospital too.”

Jacob doesn’t have the words to thank her, not that she can blame him. He simply nods and runs, leaving her standing in the middle of the hallway. Her kids will be back from lunch soon enough, and his from gym. So, she goes and finds Ava, and by the end of the period Mr. Johnson is teaching the sixth graders U.S. History.

They don’t see each other again till Monday. When Melissa files into the teachers lounge and into her usual seat at Barbara’s side, she sees him reading a book at the other end of the room.

She places her coffee mug down, walking over to him. This isn’t the kind of conversation to be had across the room, even if it is just Barbara there with them.

“Hey, Jacob, is everything alright after Friday?”

Jacob looks up, slightly startled at her approaching him willingly. He places his bookmark on the page, shutting it cautiously. “Yeah, thankfully. He had minor surgery that went well, we actually brought him home yesterday to finish recovering.”

Melissa sighs in relief, “I’m glad, I was worried all weekend.”

“I would’ve let you know but I didn’t have your number or any other way to contact you. And I wasn’t sure if you’d want to know, after everything.” He folds the page, playing with the edges of the paper nervously.

Bless this kid, she doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s practically a walking pride parade. She remembers what it was like to be young and so scandalously in love that it felt like the whole world was watching.

“What do I look like, Ronald Reagan?” She laughs, sliding her phone across the table. “Take my number, just in case there’s ever an emergency again.”

“Thanks,” he gives her a goofy grin, quickly adding her phone number to his contacts.

“That boyfriend of yours like minestrone? I’ll bring you some tomorrow that’ll knock his socks off.” Melissa offers.

“Oh he’d love that, soup is like, his favorite food.”

“Consider it done,” she takes her phone back with a small nod, retreating back to her usual spot at their table. She sits down next to Barbara, finally taking the first sip of her morning coffee.

“Everything alright over there with Mr. Hill?” Barbara asks as the rest of the teachers begin to file in before classes start.

Melissa nods, biting back a small smile, “Yeah, I think he’ll be just fine.”

#my writing #abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti #jacob hill #they’re besties actually

[saint-starflicker]

Nobody tagged me, I just thought this would be fun.

1. what was your writing-highlight this year? what made it special and how will you reflect on it next year?

I found out that I start whinging really loudly at 18,000 words that I hate doing this and I'm never going to write anything ever again—but I can push through that moment to a word count of 30,000.

2. what did not go so well this year? how do you feel about it and what is a positive thing you learnt from it?

Physical health. Got a new adjusted painkiller prescription.

3. did you achieve everything you wanted to this year? if not, how will you go about it?

No, but hope springs eternal.

4. what is your favourite line you wrote this year?

I'm more of a story arc person than a sentence person. Stephen King in On Writing said a complete sentence has a noun and a verb, and all my other more direct writing influences told me to choose as strong a verb as I can think up at the time of writing, so that became my autopilot mode and I don't really think about making showy, stylish, deft, clever yet unobtrusive sentences anymore (which is probably why I don't accomplish stylish, deft, clever yet unobtrusive sentences.) If a reader gets curious enough about the second sentence that they read it and then the next sentence, then I am grateful for my good fortune.

5. what is your favourite book/story/poem you read this year?

For all its problems, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. I think a lot of classics get a "summarized badly" stereotype around it until we think we don't have to read it because we got information against our will about what the story content is. "Moby Dick is about Captain Ahab going on an ordinary whale hunt for too many pages that describe the color white." "Everything Jane Austen wrote was about dresses and balls, rich people visiting other rich people's houses, and sassing a beau until he becomes a husband." I think for Jane Eyre it's "Mr. Rochester locked his wife up in an attic and then tried to marry Jane. She still married him because that's true love. These are disaster heteros, do not be these people." It really makes Jane sound like some wilting violet downtrodden by her employer's boot, but Jane has an almost decades-long extended family melodrama going on that Rochester doesn't have anything to do with—that I think is a more significant part of her characterization and those family dynamics are my favorite part of the book.

6. did you make any new writeblr friends? give a shout-out! if not, it's time to praise one of your old besties <3

I don't want to accidentally shade anybody by recommending that we maybe should actually be writing.

7. what are three songs you put on your WIP-playlist this year?

Fish in a Birdcage

Til I Hear It From You

I count the following two songs as one entry because they were on a playlist for the same story:

Nothing Without You

Between the Lines

8. what are three things you're looking forward to next year?

Writing original fiction.

9. create a meme or moodboard that captures your past writing-year!

naur

10. which character(s) turned out differently from what you had planned? how so?

I thought Claire Simmonds would be more evil in "Cross to Wear".

11. which scene was harder/easier to write than anticipated? why?

"Cross to Wear", I was clocking in the scene in which Peter tells his dad off, because Papa Simmonds was just...an empty husk of a person in my mind, and not even in an interesting way, as in if that cad and reckless child-abandoner was only just slightly more active in my mind then that would've gone more easily. As it stands, Papa Simmonds was a plot device, and nobody talks about how difficult those characters are to write because there's nothing in them to make any momentum happen. It's like kicking an empty soup tin can down the street in hopes that it will play fetch with you. There's no life in a plot device character.

Mikey versus the 1990's was strange because I got to the 18,000-word mark and I whined as usual that this was taking too long and was too much effort and I am so going to quit this hobby, and I didn't mean to retell the whole entire goddamn novel from the point of view of a background character who was very in the background like way, way in the background...and then I blinked and just under 26,000 words were written out to the end in what felt like less than 2 weeks. It took something like 2 months to get to 25,000 words in "Cross to Wear".

12. if your character(s) had their own new years resolutions, what would those be?

Get written. Bother their author.

13. how did you change as a writer? did you learn anything new? started to plan instead of pants? share your wisdom!

I got bitten by a Muse of writing nonfiction essays, actually, which was odd because I did not previously know that was a thing.

14. time for writing wrapped! what would be your top three used sentences?

(I hope I don't have that! Let alone 3 of that.)

15. time for shameless self-promotion! answer with a piece of writing you want others to see/read! (if you have nothing posted/published this year, any other year is fine too ^^)

I did finally get a short story (original fiction) accepted for publication by a new local magazine, so I'm happy. But this is my fandom blog for fanfictions.

#fanfiction #bare: a pop opera #fraternitybook #Youtube

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

The Moon Knights & Layla as ✨Vibes✨

A/N: Don’t ask me what this is, lol. Sometimes when I think of a character, I think of weird details like what they smell like, what color they make me think of, visuals or feelings, etc. I’ve been getting over a cold for the past over a week now and haven’t had a lot of energy to write, but these are things that just kind of appear when a character comes to mind, so I figured why not share them? Idk, sorry if this is boring, lmao. Uhh if you don’t find them boring and want to request a character’s ✨vibes✨ though, feel free to ig?

~~~

Layla Abdallah El-Faouly

Dark purple/indigo

Soft textures like really fluffy faux fur, dandelion fluff, soft fabrics

But also like

Storms

Big, scary storms with swirling clouds and lightening and thunder and tornado warnings

Watching heavy rain from under a canopy or through the window of a warm, cozy house

The shininess that leather has

Stepping through a muddy puddle of water

Sometimes knives but a very specific type of dagger-y knife that I don’t know how to explain

The steam coming from a hot bowl of soup or noodle dish

Marc Spector

Blood red

Fabrics like silk, velvet, and chiffon

Hair that is crunchy from a lot of product in it for some reason

Early mornings

But like really early mornings

Teddy bears for some reason

Unsurprisingly, bloodied knuckles

Radio/TV/walkie talkie static

The little lines at the corners of the lips on a tight-lipped expression; not the entire expression, just those little lines

Steven Grant

Sandalwood and tea tree oil

But also the smell of heat/sunshine when he wakes up after sleeping

Sundays

Having books with dog-eared pages and broken spines from owning them for so long, but also being horrified when you see someone else mistreating a book in literally any way

Being in the darkest, quietest part of a giant aquarium with only aquatic creatures and soft blue light around you

Flannel

Dust particles floating gently through the air, particularly in rays of sunlight

Yellow or gold but never both

Like a very specific shade of yellow, like canary yellow but paler

The creases in clothes that have been folded for a really long time but weren’t folded very well

Jake Lockley

Just a little too much cologne all of the time

Probably to cover the scent of blood, etc

The scents that you always see those weirdly sexual ads on TV for

With names “Crashing Waves” and “Tornado Dragon” and “Shipwreck” and shit

Late nights

Street lights

Falling asleep in a car while someone else is driving (probably because he’s a cab driver)

Car tire and horn sounds (Also probably because he’s a cab driver lol)

Really dark blue, like the sky during the middle of the night

I was gonna try to explain another color but I think I’m trying to describe a color that doesn’t exist

Addressing him by his full name literally every time you speak to him

Scratched records but not like the sound of scratched records, the physical objects

#marveldc-imagines-hub #imagines-hub #moon knight #moon knight headcanons #moon knight imagines #moon knight x reader #mr knight #steven grant #steven grant headcanons #steven grant imagines #jake lockley #jake lockley imagines #jake lockley headcanons #marc spector #marc spector imagines #marc spector headcanons #layla abdallah el-faouly #layla imagines #layla headcanons #vibes #mcu #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #mcu headcanons #mcu imagines #marvel imagines #marvel headcanons

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Omg pls tell me about 7, 8, and 11 of the character dynamics asks for the Insatiable trio?? 👀👀👀

Ahhhh Les I love these! Thanks bby 😘 Answers under the cut because I had a lot of thoughts.

7. Describe how they walk together (i.e., matching strides, holding hands, etc).

They’re often walking through places with a lot of crowds (city streets, busy marketplaces, airport terminals), so they’re not going to be able to walk all in a row holding hands. But honestly? It suits them better to shift places as they go. Frankie, the lookout, is the most observant so he’s the most likely to hang back, so you’re most likely to see Dandelion and Santi walking side by side. They’ll both look back over their shoulders to include Frankie in their conversation, though, and they’ll move ahead or drop back as they feel like it.

The men have been a unit for so long that that match their strides pretty much intuitively. Dandelion, our solo traveller, tends to go more slowly, taking in the scenery and occasionally drifting off the beaten path to examine something more closely, talk to a shop vendor, pet a dog (the boys immediately take notice), or what have you. Don’t worry though, our girl’s always tuned into her surroundings - though that doesn’t stop Frankie and Santi from keeping a careful eye on her.

They’re all very tactile, but in different ways. Santi might slip a possessive hand into Dandelion’s or Frankie’s back pocket, and he’ll absolutely steer them with a hand on their lower back (more as an excuse to touch them than fear they’ll step off a curb or walk when they shouldn’t). If Dandelion sees something she’s excited about she’ll grab them around the wrist and drag them along with her to go check it out (as if they wouldn’t go happily).

8. Do they ever share (or steal) each other’s food? How do they act/react to it?

I love that you included this one, and it made me stop to think more about them and their relationship to food.

I’ve touched on Santi being in provider mode: when Dandelion’s kitchen was practically empty, he went straight to the store to pick her up some supplies. He knows precisely what Frankie and Dandelion will and won’t eat (Dandelion is much pickier), and he gets a lot of satisfaction from making sure his mates are cared for in that way. You won’t have a chance to try to steal his food because he will be trying to shovel it onto your plate first.

Frankie will eat what you put in front of him (except pickles, those go straight to Santi), and he’ll eat it fast. Military life has taught him to eat first and ask questions later. Your next meal is never guaranteed and it’s easier to think and fight on a full stomach. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t appreciate a good meal, especially when his mate is the one cooking. He absolutely will steal food from Dandelion but it’s more to get a rise out of her than anything else (she gets very possessive over her junk food). Come to think of it, Santi will try to steal that if only to try to get her to him eat some “goddamn vegetables for a change, deseito, please, you’re killing me.”

Dandelion is a picky eater like I said, although she has found foods from all around the world that she loves (this woman is mad for street food). She’s a fast eater too, though in her case it’s a habit leftover from childhood. The faster she ate, the faster she could get back outside or to the room where she slept or safely between the pages of a book. She never learned to cook more than microwave meals or canned soup, though that’s beginning to change.

When the three of them are together, meals are long, drawn out affairs with lots of beer or wine. They’ll eat off each other’s plates, pause to lick sauce from the corner of someone’s mouth, and generally get back in sync after Dandelion’s been traveling or the guys have been on a mission. They rarely make it through dessert before heading for bed though. 😉

11. How do their arguments usually play out? Do they make up quickly?

Oof this is such a good question. Santi and Dandelion are most likely to clash openly, and heatedly. She’s been on her own for so long that she’s not used to functioning as part of a team, which can lead to lapses in communication and hurt feelings. Also not to get ahead of myself, but in later chapters I’m absolutely going to be delving into Santi and Frankie’s active military service, the nature of their elite (and secret) unit, and how it impacts the three of them, and that’s all going to be something they’ll have to work through.

Frankie, as we’ve seen, is pretty conflict-avoidant, though he also tends to have a shorter fuse than Santi and can certainly get heated in a tense moment. If he snaps at anyone, it’s most likely because he’s worried or stressed, likely for their safety, and that’s something Dandelion and Santi both understand pretty well, so they know how to navigate those situations.

I think it takes Dandelion some time to work out how to process her emotions without shutting the other two out. It also takes the boys some time to learn that if she comes to them with a problem, she’s usually looking to vent more than anything else. They know she’s smart and capable and independent, they just also want to go straight to fixer mode and find solutions for her, which is pretty much never what our girl wants. Bless.

Turns out I had a lot of thoughts about these haha. 🖤

#Les for President of My Heart 💖 #Ask games #Insatiable #Fic #My Fic #Insatiable shitposting #Long post

[tinydestinybear]

6. What kind of people are you attracted to?

22. Where would you like to travel?

33. Spell your name with your chin.

38. Describe your dream girl/guy?

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about?

70. Names of your best friends?

101. Do you type fast?

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? Not me going on and singing Chicken Noodle Soup Chicken noodle soup with a soda on the side

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

142. Favourite month?

146. Was today a good day?

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page? 

Love youuuuuu! Also send me your twitter acc in dmsss💜 Bells😭💓

thank you for sending these in love xx i loved answering these, if you want to i'd love to know your own answers to these?

6. i don't really have any specific things in mind, just someone who loves life as it is you know? someone with whom everyday will be calming yet chaotic in it's own way but just having them around should feel better

22. udaipur (chittor fort), kerala, north east india and kashmir!!! if you say internationally, then japan, santorini, paris - it's a long list i hope to cover someday!

33. is this something like a dare? i tried it though x

38. someone who loves to go out but also stay in, values love and finds time for their family and like i answered in (6)

49. oh yesss definitely

70. i unfortunately don't feel comfortable letting out the names of my best friends in real life but on here it would be all of you who support me and come talk to me!! 😚 (with a special mention to @marmixedwithabitofintellect)

101. i think so? i've tried a writing speed test but i don't recall the results that well

117. hahaha as soon as i saw the 'chicken noodle soup' trust me i began singing in my mind too 🙈 but yes it's something i enjoy having as a dish

131. interesting ... i don't really share any romantic feelings for any of my best friends right now, so i'd probably give them their own time to feel better and then talk to me x

142. december!!! my birthday month <33

146. i'm hoping it's a good day so far so good xx

150. i'm on laptop right now so can't really take a photo but it says 'From'

#inbox 💌 #ask game #love the 'bells' hehehe

[smirk47]

“You think that one can have one’s emotions for nothing. One cannot. Even the finest and most self-sacrificing emotions have to be paid for. Strangely enough, that is what makes them fine.” – Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

Shows up to the @pasitheapowder April Hiatus Book Club FULLY a month late and with zero Starbucks:

Soup of Feelings(TM) is CORRECT. Damn.

I had a frustratingly busy month and it has taken me until now to actually sit down and fully read De Profundis. I finally finished it today, and I just want to say that I am deeply thankful to Jackie and Molly for making me aware of its existence and giving me a good reason to read it now.

I honestly cannot remember if I ever learned about Wilde’s trial and imprisonment before. If so, it was only in the vaguest sense. Most of how I thought of Wilde before this was based on my love of Importance of Being Earnest and Dorian Gray - both of which I read about 20 years ago (and which I now VERY much need to re-read, both in light of what I now know about Wilde AND in light of the fact that I am a very different person now). I knew he was witty and hilarious and cutting and that he made me laugh and his work felt surprisingly modern when I read it in high school. I was far enough from realizing my own queerness that I’m not even sure his queerness truly registered with me. Learning about this part of his life - and death - and getting to read about it in his own words feels like finding a lost puzzle piece in queer history and literature that I didn’t even know I was missing.

Uh, I could ramble extensively about my thoughts and feelings about all this (and about the passages you guys quoted, which are essentially the same ones I had bookmarked while reading as well. Oscar Wilde was real fucking good at words, guys. Who knew!?) but in the interest of brevity (pfft. Yeah right. I suck at brevity.), here’s some random thoughts:

You absolutely covered this, but the moment that really shifted my whole understanding of the letter was when, after FIFTY FULL PAGES of describing every way Bosie was the WORST and had RUINED him, Wilde – in the midst of yet another rant, asks simply: “Why did you not write to me?” THIS. Holy shit. I literally had to stop and read that out loud to my friend when I first got to it. What a crystal clear moment of understanding. That really truly is what the entire ~120 pg letter boils down to in the end. In the face of suffering and public shaming BECAUSE of this relationship, and in the complete absence of any direct communication from Bosie, how easy it is to see why Wilde would change his tune so drastically from the way he wrote to Bosie before prison. How understandable that his thoughts would turn over and over again to all the worst parts of their relationship and hold them up in exhausting detail as a shield against missing this person who has caused such pain. And still, despite that literal, exhaustive laundry list of grievances, he can’t stop himself from essentially saying: I miss you. Where are you? Why are you not here for me. It is so simple and so deeply, heartbreakingly relatable.

Very much appreciated the background you guys gave about Robbie Ross and Bosie – I didn’t know most of what happened after Wilde’s death! Bosie especially was kind of a big question mark for me as I was reading, because this is such a one-sided account, and I knew so little about him otherwise. Reading between the lines, I do have a lot of sympathy for him, and I do believe he loved Wilde deeply. And like, I am SURE Wilde was not always picnic to date either. But uh … big ol’ YIKES about Bosie’s politics. Oof. Why dude. Why?

Holy shit, I’m not sure anyone could have possibly scripted a more fucking ironic or dramatic way for Bosie to finally learn what Oscar wrote. My. God. The Drama. The Messiness. BRUTAL is exactly right. Because yeah: as much as the letter seems to be an extremely accurate (and thorough!) accounting of Wilde’s feelings about Bosie and his memories of what really happened WHEN HE WROTE IT, it was also coming from such a place of pain and bitterness and shame and longing. And it is MEAN even though it is also ultimately somewhat forgiving. And I’m sure a lot of it is true, but I’m also sure a lot of it is unfair. And dear god, if any of that shit were directed at me from someone I cared about in a letter I was reading IN PRIVATE I would fucking crumble. Cannot even begin to conceive of how you would recover from hearing it for the first time in court of all places.

What a fucking ride. How amazing to have this window into the thoughts and actions and feelings of THIS person at THIS point in their life. How amazing to think of how much has changed since then, and how horrifying to think of how much has barely changed at all.

#the pasithea powder #hiatus book club #is fucking awesome #I can't wait to re-read Wilde's works now that I've read this #and I also can't wait to re-listen to Pasithea with all these references and all this context in mind #long post

[inspiteallthedanger]

What I meant is that fans and the media often act like deranged freaks about John and Paul's relationship. I'm not excluding myself, for the record.

John, Paul, George and Ringo couldn't even go for a cup of coffee with their families without being constantly pestered about the Beatles. I'd find it hard to move on if I was confronted with that on a daily basis too. People just felt oddly entitled to tell them how they should feel about each other or what to do with their lives. It was unique even on a celebrity level.

This is why George saying to a fan in India: "if your friends really love me, please tell them to leave me alone" struck me as really sad. I actually feel sorry for Paul to a certain extent too, because it's obvious he feels the need of saying the "right" things about his own life not to upset people he has never met. He's about to turn 80 years old.

I can understand that for boomers, The Beatles were symbols of their own fading youth but I find a little harder to understand extreme behavior from millennials and zoomers. You'll see those 400 page meta essays to prove the point that two total strangers loved or hated each other DECADES ago. You're like: ok, bestie, I get it, now just chill for a second.

I've done that myself in the past but at least I'm self aware enough to know this is *excessive* and part of the problem on a social perspective, to say the least. Besides, feelings evolve. I'm sure they both loved AND hated each other at different points.

I wasn't saying any of that to be antagonistic, I'm just curious to understand the motivations behind that. Since you're somebody who engages with parts of the fandom I don't, I thought maybe you'd have something to say about it. It's strange how people will sometimes complain about the fandom being too quiet or dead but won't actually make the effort of talking to each other off anon, you know.

P.S.: I quite enjoy how you write their relationship in fiction, by the way.

Hiya, I'm still not understanding that the problem is you're asking about. Is it that fame is hell? Hard agree, and it clearly messed them up a lot. But, I'm not sure what meta on Tumblr is doing to impact that now. I can see that it would form part of the overall soup of not letting them move on. But, that's just humans being human. We want more of the things we love. Or is it that you feel people are missing the wider story by fixating on the wrong thing? I guess that could be true, but I'm not sure if that's a huge problem, if that's what people are interested in.

The things you're describing seem to be very typical fannish behaviour. Fans often explore the themes they're interested in and look deeply at them. They want to pull things apart in detail and then see what it all means. It's for fun, it's enjoyable to look for patterns and to see if there's threads that can be found linking them all. This happens over and over because new people come into fandom and want to look at the thing again from new and the same angles.

I'm not sure that the aim is to convince Paul how he felt about John? I'm not sure that the aim is to tell anyone how they felt (at least I'm not sure that's it for many people). It's about trying to understand it. But, I suppose there might be elements of that in the tone of how they were treated and asked questions. And agreed, it must have been really annoying.

If you've done it yourself, what were you trying to achieve and how do you perceive that as different from the people you're talking about? What constitutes a 'deranged freak' from... a person that's interested in the Beatles histories. I mean, I would say that anyone who's written a book about the band could fall into the former category. So, we're back to 'fame is bad and not good for people' and I don't disagree with that. But again, fandom on Tumblr now isn't really the problem.

But, if you're asking why: it's fun, it's what has caught people's imaginations and humans generally like trying to solve things. We like picking apart the things other humans have done that don't seem to add up. The issue with John and Paul might well be that many people grew up thinking one thing about them but now find that isn't the whole story. I think it makes sense to then dive into that and want to look at it in more detail.

And I agree that people should definitely chat to each other and have discussions! That's all really good and should be part of a healthy fandom. I think there's a fear of getting called names or being judged for it, though. Which is probably why people stay on anon and why more popular blogs tend to fade.

p.s. thanks! Glad you liked it.

#beth rambles

[legendofzoodles]

From Shadows

Chapter 1 || Quietude

My eyelids feel heavy as they slowly flutter open. Propping myself up on my elbows, I sit up to better take in my surroundings and frown. I am no longer at the Ordon Spring, but instead in a small room inside of a treehouse, sheltering me from the pouring rain.

More specifically, in someone's bed.

Sighing, I drag myself out of the warm covers and examine my body, raising my eyebrows upon noticing the bandages. White sterile strips of fabric had been wrapped around my head in a haphazard and clumsy way. Perhaps my messy hair had made it difficult for whoever did it.

With a quick glance at the entryway, I carefully slip off the bandages and neatly roll them up. 

After setting the small pile on the old pillow, I quietly push myself off the bed and stalk towards the the lone window. Observing the dark melancholic sky, I trace the rain racing down the glass with my finger and press my forehead against the cool glass. 

Cautiously, I approach the open doorway to see a quaint wooden balcony overlooking the rest of the small living space. I’m alone here, I’m sure of it. It’s too quiet for there to be another person in here with me. Although it’s not like there’s silence, ambient noise from the rain and wind outside made that impossible.

A small smile graces my features as I explore the interior little more, carefully, for I am still in a stranger’s house. 

This homeowner's resourcefulness is most impressive; not only is the house built in a tree, but all of the furnishings- including picture frames are all made of the same wood as the tree. Chairs, tables and cupboards all have the same distinct style to them. Clearly they’d been created by the same craftsman. 

Once I’ve seen everything on the upper level, I walk back over to the balcony. Grasping the wooden bar, I peer over to see the lowest floor and gasp. It’s more spacious than I had anticipated: there’s a woven rug in the centre, a farmer's pitchfork on the wall, several crates and barrels for presumably storage purposes. Over the open fire stands a metal pot, full to the brim with a simple but hearty looking soup.

I probably should just leave through the front door. However...I’m not in any immediate rush right now and I’m curious. After descending the ladder, I walk further into the space and look around some more. 

Various pictures on the walls show people from the village. All either posing for the painting or captured doing their everyday work. Their smiles radiate a warmth I cannot describe. The aroma of homemade soup is comforting. This entire house oozes personality and cosiness. Which makes me wonder why this place is outside of the village. Whoever lives here is clearly an active member of the community and has people he cares about.  

While walking around I take a note of the horse saddle and wooden sword that are stationed readily by the front door. I was about to reach for the handle when something catches my eye. An old rustic-looking blanket strewn over something large and rectangular, sits unassumingly behind the ladder. My hand lingers on the door handle for a second, before I go over to the blanket and slowly peel it off, revealing a strange wooden bookshelf that comes up to my shoulders. I say strange, because it was completely filled with mostly books, along with a few scrolls and loose papers. Not regular ones though, these were ancient tomes and manuals, most of which were about magic. 

Specifically dark magic. 

Up until now, I had believed that whoever lived here was a normal, if a little lonely villager...however this discovery is concerning. This sort of forbidden craft is something a simple tradesman in a rural province has no business dabbling with. My suspicions about this person rose as I picked up one of the larger books from the collection and flicked through it’s pages. It’s beautiful dark grey hardback cover with intricate silver patterns felt cold to the touch. 

I frown. This book is the work of the Interlopers. A powerful tribe of sorcerers and magic users that existed hundreds of years ago. This group of people were knowledgeable, skilled, powerful...but too ambitious. I still mourn that potential. It was unfortunate that such a talented group of sorcerers were banished from Hyrule. Had they not tried to defy the Kingdom things could have turned out different... but going back to the book, this particular volume contains a few spells even I’ve never seen before. Interesting. 

The burning feeling of a presence from behind suddenly pulls me out of my emersion. I frown for the second time today. Whoever it is, owns this collection and therefore this entire house. Preparing to confront the individual, I subtly adjust my posture and turn around, slamming the book shut for extra effect. 

The person in front of me is young man. He was leaning a raised arm on the ladder, his narrowed eyes flicking between me and the book I had clutched to my chest. He perfectly fits in with the rest of the house. Yet he looks nothing like what I imagine a human who owns resources of dark magic would look like. Perhaps my assumption is outdated, but in my mind I had envisioned someone old, far removed from the world and for lack of a better term, depraved. Someone who purposefully lived this far from the village in order to practice forbidden spells and enchantments undisturbed. 

Yet, the man standing before me is neither old nor shifty looking. The only unusual things about his appearance are the the white patch on his cheek and bandages covering the back of his left hand. 

Instead of ancient fancy garbs, he wears simply pieced together Ordonian style clothing made for working in the fields, and tattered furry sandals. Instead of a tiny, frail and hunched figure, he is tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular figure probably built from regular hard farm labour. Meaning...he wouldn’t realistically have the time to dedicate himself to learning such a demanding craft.

Nothing about him makes sense. Perhaps, someone else owned the collection? But then how could one explain the single bed on the upper floor? No, the only logical deduction is that he surely lives alone.

We continue to stare at each other. I notice that he doesn’t seem all that surprised by my appearance. Which makes sense since he must have seen my face and hair while he was haphazardly putting on those bandages. But this is surely his first time seeing my eyes...doesn’t he find them unusual? Purple is not a natural eye colour for humans and coupled with my long silver hair, I must look very strange to him yet he’s completely unfazed. His lack of a reaction doesn't put me at ease though, I wish had a hooded cloak; at least then I could hide from his dark blue eyes. Which to my surprise, don't reflect hostility but rather a lively curiosity.

"You...can read the ones not written in Hylian," he observes, voice deep and just below normal speaking volume. 

"I-I can, yes." I say and look away slightly. 

He is still staring at me! His gaze is distant yet intense, like he’s trying to see through me. It's obvious he has questions, while his face is mostly unreadable his eyes are practically gleaming with intrigue. Is he really not going to say anything else? No matter, I’ll just take the initiative. "How and why did you acquire these artefacts? They're centuries old- lost to time along with the scholars who wrote them- yet here they are now in the possession...of a farmer..." my eyes narrow in suspicion and my voice lowers slightly as I finish the sentence.

"Found ‘em." He simply replies, eyebrows rising slightly at my slightly accusing tone. Wordlessly, he lifts his arm off the ladder and stretches outward as he moves towards me. I take a few hesitant steps back in response and unwittingly bump into the bookshelf. It takes me a second to realise that he wants me to hand it over. 

There’s no harm in giving it back, so I do. “Where? In the forest? Somewhere in Hyrule perhaps?”

He skims through its pages, stealing glances at me now and then, saying, "The first two shelf levels were hidden in a chest in what’s now my basement. I found the rest over time in Faron," he shuts the book with his left hand and puts it back in its slot. "I’ve, never been to Hyrule.” 

“Why do you keep them here?”

“The folk here here ain’t so keen on magic," he says, reaching around to fold up the old blanket. “I can’t have this stuff out in the open.” 

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant,” I say hurriedly, making him pause midway through shaking off the dust. “I was asking, why keep them at all? Wouldn’t it be easier to bury them in the forest or something like that?"

He slowly shakes his head and sets the heaped blanket on a nearby crate. “Shoulda, but I’m too curious.” 

There’s silence again after that. I can’t really think of anything to say in response. Curiosity is a feeling I know all too well. I can’t fault him for wanting to collect them and try to understand them, even though they’re dangerous. I have to admit, that response landed a chord with me. 

“You hungry?” he asks, walking over to fireplace and taking the boiling pot off the heat. “The soup’s done.”

He’s looking at me expectantly, pot lid open and ladle in hand, ready to start serving. “Um, sure thanks,” I say, and walk over to the small table next to the wood stove. A quaint dining set up. 

A ghost of a smile flashes across his face as he fills two bowls with the steaming broth and sets them on table along with a couple of wooden spoons. He ushers me to sit down on an ornate dining chair and places a bowl, spoon and cup of water in front of me. I thank him and he nods, before setting out his share of the meal.

As he’s slicing some hearty looking bread, I’m becoming aware that I’m sitting on the only available chair. “Excuse me? Would you like this seat?”

The farmer seems to have gone off speaking or something, because he only shook his head in response, before putting the slices of bread in a woven basket in the middle of the table and picking up a barrel to sit on.  

"Shall we switch places? That doesn’t seem very comfortable," I say, feeling my voice quiver as I stifle a laugh. His legs are comically close to the ground, making him appear shorter than me.

To this, he sits upright and adjusts his posture. "S’okay, thanks."

“Alright,” I respond, before picking up the spoon and digging into supper. The soup was delicious! It was pumpkin based, with chunks of the fruit swimming in hot liquid amidst other fresh ingredients, earthy and mildly spicy. The bread is good too, full of nuts and seeds with a soft and fluffy texture. They’re great separately, but as demonstrated by my quiet companion, it’s even better to dunk the bread in the soup. 

When’s the last time I had a meal like this? In fact this is my first time having pumpkin soup and I have to say, with each spoonful it’s climbing up and up my favourite food list. In fact, I haven’t eaten since I arrived in the kingdom. For some reason I can’t stop smiling; I’m glad I took him up on his offer.

After finishing off my second slice of bread, I go to pick up a third to help mop up the last splashes of soup left in the bowl when my fingers brush up against the farmer’s. Immediately, I draw my hand back and apologise, letting him grab a slice first. However, he gently pushes the bread basket towards me with a small yet knowing smile. Why is he looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face? 

As nonchalantly as I can, I touch the back of my right hand to my mouth and draw it back. Distressingly, I am greeted by tiny but noticeable bread crumbs stuck to my skin. He did not provide any napkins and the 3/4 sleeve of my dress isn’t long enough for me to wipe around my mouth without being obvious. If I were to use my hands it’ll look even worse. Partway through my mental crisis, I look up and almost snort. 

The man is drinking the last of his soup by having picked up the bowl and raising it to his lips, the rim of the ceramic bowl barely covering me from his line of sight. Taking this opportunity, I pull on the hem of my sleeve and quickly wipe away every stray crumb from my face. 

I am about to continue eating when a loud snort almost makes me drop my spoon. The sound came not from me, but from the farmer. He then takes a sharp intake of breath, putting the bowl down and covering his mouth and turning away slightly. Not a lot sound is coming out, but it’s clear from the sharp irregular way his chest rises and falls that he’s coughing. 

Oh dear, maybe the soup went down the wrong way?

To be honest, I’m not sure how to react to this. If I could just be myself, I would laugh away the tension and ask if he’s okay. But that wouldn’t feel right considering we haven’t said a thing to each other during the meal and I don’t want to embarrass this stranger. Yet, he’s being too obvious for me to believably pretend to not notice, and besides if I did that, it would just be awfully inconsiderate. 

“Is everything ok?” I ask tentatively, leaning forward to get a better look at him.

Without speaking, he gives a couple unconvincing nods and raises up a hand to stop me from leaning any closer. It’s not like there’s much I could do to help anyway. So, I resolve to go back to finishing my meal, while he downs the rest of his water, before collecting his bowl and bringing it over to the wash basin at the end of the room. 

With his back to me I quietly allow an exasperated sigh escape my lips as a sort of release from controlling my reactions. Ugh, I’m being so awkward. Turns out acting like a regular human is much harder than I remember it being. I used to be so good at this, so why am I so nervous? Wait, nervous? No, I’m not- why would I be-? 

I’m just rusty, that’s all. 

I polish off the last of my soup and the farmer comes over to collect my bowl and cutlery. He wouldn’t let me help out, so while he cleans up I remain at the table. He didn’t take away the bread basket, and I kind of wish he had because there was one large slice left and I really wanted it. Although, it would be polite to leave it as a courtesy, so I held off on snatching it up. 

At this point, other than to look at more of those books, I don’t see much of a reason to stay here; the storm may still be raging outside however the rain has lightened up somewhat and I do not mind spending the night in the woods. Of course, in time I’ll have to think of some way to reward this person for helping me and treating me to that wonderful meal. That’ll have to wait though, right now I have more pressing things to concern myself with.

“Hang on.” I hear him say, which surprises me, and not just because it’s the first thing he’s said in the last 20 minutes or so. Does he somehow sense that I’m ready to leave? Or am I just being too transparent about it?

“Ok, why?” I ask.

He doesn’t immediately answer, instead he finishes drying the last cup with a piece of cloth, sets it on a rack to dry with the other things and then goes over to a storage cupboard to fish out a smallish wooden box. I observe as he comes back over, puts the box on the table and brings his little barrel closer to where I’m sitting. 

"How’s your head?" he asks. His voice cracking and sounding a little horse from all the coughing earlier.

“Oh, don’t worry it’s fine. I’m not injured,” I say and subconsciously graze my fingers from my temple over to the middle of my forehead. Where my symbol/crescent marking should be. “I left the bandages you'd wrapped on the bed upstairs; that was a...nice gesture."

“Your hair was in the way,” says the farmer, lightly ruffling his own messy locks as he said this. I almost smiled.  

“Hm...it is a lot,” I agree, fiddling my fingers through the front pieces of my silver hair. If I were to undo my updo, my hair would fall to the ground in a heap. “Now, I appreciate your hospitality-”

"You can use magic."

My eyebrows furrow at his interruption. Is it that a of big deal to the people living here? Why is this of any interest to someone like him? Better yet, how in the world does he know that? He has the faintest smirk on his face and his eyes have that gleam of intrigue from before. That’s what makes me realise that the medical box is still unopened.

For the first time, he takes the initiative, continuing with, “I was coming back from the Faron woods early this morning when I saw a bright flash of light coming from the Ordon Spring. When I got there the light was long gone, and I found you lying unconscious in the shallow waters. I tried to wrap bandages around your head cuz I thought you’d knocked it.”

That explains how I inexplicably woke up here, as well as a couple other things. Again, I didn’t know how to react to this. That’s the most he’s ever said. It’s like the script has been flipped and now I’m the one being grilled for information. 

“What were you doing?” he asks.

What do I say to that? Should I just tell him? Nothing bad or good will happen if I tell him, it’s not like there’s anything he can do to stop what is coming. Plus it would be nice to talk to someone about all this. I sigh, “Have you heard of the Spirits of Light?”

He shakes his head so I continue, “Well you see, I was trying to contact the Spirit of Light that dwells in that spring: Ordona. Except, it didn’t work- it didn’t work for any of the others either- and it’s really starting to worry me.”

“What do you mean ‘it didn’t work’?” he asks, smirk fading into a serious expression as I talk. 

“They didn’t respond,” I say, leaning an elbow on the table and resting by cheek in my hand. “Or rather...they couldn’t.”

“Why?” he asks, leaning in a little closer, resting an elbow on the edge of the table.

“Um...” I clench the fist propping up my cheek and take a deep breath. “They most likely are either hiding like in Ordona’s case or...they’ve already been taken, like I suspect Eldin and Lanayru.”

“By what? Is something after them?”

I nod and look off to the side, uncomfortable that I now have to sort through all this. “Yes, the Twilight Invasion. The faux leader of a tribe called the Twili by the name of Zant took his people, corrupted them with a dark power and brought them with him to take over your world of light: Hyrule. And I’m afraid they’ve already conquered much of the kingdom already.”

“Will they come here?” 

“Yes, without question I’m afraid,” I say and study his face for a reaction. 

I had half expected him to dissolve into panic or fear, but to my surprise he only slightly raises his eyebrows. “That explains why the forest has gotten more dangerous lately; prolly this terrible weather too. And these Light Spirits can help?”

“Not just help, they’re the only beings that can drive back the Twilight,” I say, “But their presence is fading from this land...it’s only a matter of time until...” My speech trails off, ending with a slow exhale through gritted teeth. 

The farmer crosses his arms and looks down as if in thought and after a bit of silence he speaks, “If the Light Spirits can’t help is there anything else we can do?”

“Mm...well for now, not much. Nothing can be done until this storm dies down. Then my last resort will be to locate- I’m sorry, we?! I gawp at him. “This is something far beyond your limits. There are forces here more powerful than you could ever imagine. No, what you can do is evacuate the village, drop everything and get as many people out of here as possible. Even once you get out of the province, keep travelling every few days because there’s no guarantee that the Twilight will stop expanding, and you don’t want to be stuck in it.”

“What happens if we do?” 

“I don’t know specifically...sorry, but you won’t survive long,” I say, hating that I can’t be more useful. Not just the fact that I can’t seem to properly warn this innocent man but also how ineffective I’ve been at stopping the invasion. If I’d done my job better, if the princess had just listened to me, if I’d gotten to the Light Spirits sooner...none of this would have happened. 

“The protector of this village is Rusl, he can lead the evacuation,” he says, with a strange intensity in his eyes. Is it determination? Or something else? I can’t tell. “I’ll help you stop the invasion.”

“What? You don’t have to...” I wasn’t sure how to dissuade him from joining me, but one thing he said did stand out to me. Glancing at the sword and horse saddle by the door I say, “I was under the impression that you were the village protector.”

The farmer shakes his head somewhat sheepishly, “I’m not.” 

Without thinking, I blurt out, “Then why are you isolated like this?”

I regret asking that the second I opened my mouth. The effect that question has on the farmer is immediate. His expression hardens, but only for a split second before he returns to a neutral expression. “There ain’t a special reason; I just prefer living here...but going back to this Twilight problem; you said there was something you need to locate?”

Placing my hands together on my lap, I look off to the side, “Not something, someone. And it won't be a straightforward journey, I don't really know where he is, or who he is.” As I say this, the boy tilts his head slightly in confusion so I quickly add, "I know it doesn’t make much sense, but I only know that he should exist and he’s the only one who can end this now."  

“How will you know when you find him then?”

“I’ll just know,” I respond. “I’m sure of it.”

After a short pause, the farmer takes the medical box and goes across the room to put it back in the cupboard. “Where’d you even start looking?”

“Wherever the Twilight hasn’t gotten to yet I suppose,” I say.

He leans against the cupboards and says, “Like here?”

“Um, sure,” I say, fiddling with hands. He’s so strange, taking all of this information in without even batting an eye. His lack of reaction to the news of an incoming invasion, is just weird. “May I just say, you’re taking all this surprisingly well. I expected a little pushback, but you’re just accepting everything I’m telling you.”

“I trust you.” Is all he says, giving me a little shrug. 

It feels like my first time seeing him properly. He stands tall and assured, radiating a friendly aura extenuated by the gentle orange glow of the fire. Friendly. His eyes are kind- how could I have not noticed before? Considering he has brought me, an odd-looking stranger, into his home and has been very hospitable...

“I forgot- thank you! For everything,” I say suddenly.

He’s surprised by my outburst. His face subtly brightening into a mixture of delight and he goes to sheepishly rub the back of his head. “There’s no need for that.”

“No, there is,” I say, shaking my head and standing up, “You’ve given me food and shelter from this storm. I’m busy now, but someday soon I’ll be back to repay your kindness.”

His hand falls to his side, “You’re leaving?”

“Well...” I hesitate. There’s no reason for me to stay right? 

“You’re welcome to stay longer,” he says, taking a step forward. “At least until the storm clears.”

“Thank you but...I don’t like the idea of doing nothing while the Twilight continues to expand,” I say truthfully.

“Nothing can be done in this storm. You said so yourself,” he says, “Wait it out here.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

He nods, “We won’t be doing nothing. You’re welcome to the whole book collection, if you share what you know.”

This piqued my interest, and subconsciously I shift my eyes to the shelf, focusing on the spell book I didn’t get to finish earlier. “Could I also borrow couple?”

He immediately picks up on my excitement and nods with a smirk. He gestures to the lone slice of bread sitting in it’s basket on the table and walks behind the ladder. “It’s yours.”

Flustered, I quickly look at the bread slice before snatching it up and taking a huge bite, my face heating up when I catch him glancing at me from the corner of his eye. After a couple more bites I join him and together we raid the bookshelf for as many books, scrolls and journals we can in our arms (although funnily enough the farmer wouldn’t let me carry more than one). 

We end up sitting side by side on the large mat in the middle of the room, enclosed in a circle of open books. Quite the cosy scene. The roaring thunder had died down by now, with the sound of the heavy rain lightening up to create a sort of peaceful ambience. Not that it was silent, well, I was still doing most of the talking- translating texts and explaining foreign symbols to my companion. It’s quite enjoyable teaching him, for he’s an attentive listener and asks specific purposeful questions. 

Once it gets late, I start to get tired. Every other sentence is punctuated by a hefty yawn, in addition to me constantly pausing mid-sentence and forgetting to absorb the information, making me reread whole paragraphs. While I was finishing a page the farmer silently stands up and ascends the ladder for something. I wonder about waiting for him to get back before continuing, but the book is practically finished and he probably read ahead anyway. After he leaves, I close the book and stretch out my arms, in a manner somewhat akin to a drowsy kitten- probably looking really silly.

Before I have the chance to stand up myself, a warm quilt is draped over my body. Startled, I look over my shoulder to see him adjusting the quilt comfortably around my shoulders. "I'll bring more bedding. Or, use bed if you don’t wanna sleep here."

"Oh no, it’s ok, I'm not tired yet," I lie, not wanting to retire for the night just yet. Why I’m so tired, I have no idea. I must have slept hours after I passed out in the spring, that should have been enough to restore my energy. "Thank you for the blanket though, I was starting to get cold,” I snuggle into the blanket. “Also, I don't really mind where I sleep, it is your house."

He doesn’t answer but I assume that he heard me; as I’m turning the page of a new book he comes and sits next to me again. I don’t think anything of it until, he takes part of the blanket and wraps it around himself, shuffling closer until we’re practically touching. 

"Um, what are you doing, farmer?" I mumble. Not so much protesting the gesture (I don’t actually mind it) as supposed to just being curious to what prompted the act. 

"I’m cold," he replies quickly, only to pause and stare ahead, like he’s just thought of something monumental. “...my name’s Link.”

Link?! 

Wasn’t that also the name of...?

Tearing my eyes away from the book and I carefully study his face, but...no, the more I look the less I see a resemblance to…him. It must just be coincidence. His eyes hold a very similar spark I suppose, but other than that I don’t see anything connecting them. 

Speaking of Link, he’s now gazing intently at me. I feel my face heat up with embarrassment and I instantly break eye contact. Oh, of course, he’s wants my name. Going by the ears, it’s clear he’s Hylian (which raises some questions about why he’s never been Hyrule, but that’s not important), so I have to give him this name: "I'm Luna."

☆

Thanks for reading!

From Shadows: Link’s backstory

Masterlist

#legend of zelda #twilight princess #link #link tp #loz link #legend of zelda fanfiction #legend of zelda fanfic #loz fanfic #twilight princess fanfiction #idk if this panned out how i envisioned #writing is hard

[bugzbunnyy77]

books

I love reading! ...granted- I dont read the super cool classics like most people (i dont like classics. call me uneducated but i dont want to read ten pages of you describing a tree, and im also not interested in googling every second word i come across because they use such fancy, big words.)

Ykw though, sometimes i read such a horrendous book with the shittiest descriptions like "your eyes remind me of a bowl of my dead meemaws famous lentil soup" and i wish i was into classics. at least then i wouldn't have to read that bs 😒 ( i learned how to get the emojis, be proud).

In all seriousness, i hate when people shit on you because you don't read educational books. or books with deep meanings all the time. Let people enjoy their hobbies. Not everything has to be a competition or a way for you to prove that you're better than others. The world would be a better place if people weren't so insecure in themselves that they feel like they constantly have to prove themselves to others or be better than other people.

My favourite book genres are dark romances.. and no i dont condone some of the behaviours displayed, obviously i dont condone a random coffee shop owner dating a murderer.. but i suppose the appeal is in the fact that they love her so much that they're willing to kill for her.. obviously irl.. if you're deranged enough to be a serial killer you're probably going to lack in the love and empathy department,, but just let a girl read what she reads!

(CAS is playing from my playlist rn... the vibes are vibing!)

#books and reading #judgmental people #dark romance #cigarettes after sex #hobbies

[bunnyandbooks]

Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner

This was the pick for AANHPI heritage month at my work’s book club (still so excited that I can say “work’s book club” lol). It’s already gotten a lot of buzz from the press, and everyone already knows that it’s dealing with Zauner’s mother’s death from cancer, so I don’t think there’s anything to spoil, but putting my thoughts behind a cut anyway.

Like everyone said, it’s a very quick and accessible read. I wouldn’t call it “easy,” because it’s actually very devastating and Zauner doesn’t pull any punches in describing the worst parts of caring for her mother as she’s deteriorating from cancer and her grief, regrets, and desperate yearning for her deceased mother is raw and relatable. The prose is easily accessible, and she’ll spend pages just listing different types of foods like a souped up grocery list, so if you like reading about food, and Korean food especially, there will be a lot to bring you in.

One thing I was very struck by was how similar our experiences have been despite our different backgrounds. I am not mixed race and grew up in the suburbs of a big city in California (whereas she’s half Korean and grew up in the rural areas of Oregon. So with all these variables in the wild, the universe still somehow created enough commonalities that I could see my childhood in hers: I have a lot of the same experiences (especially with the food, which, again, she spends a lot of time touching on) both growing up with immigrant parents and spending extended periods in Korea during my youth. The silver delivery box for Chinese food must’ve been an indelible part of growing up in Korea, at least prior to the 2000s, and thanks to Zauner, I finally understand the rules of hwatu, which I remember watching the elders play as a quiet, confused kid watching by the sidelines, fascinated by the beautiful designs though no one bothered explaining the rules.

Obviously there’s differences in our respective stories. She seems desperate to connect to her “Koreanness” for a lot of the memoir as a way to connect to her mother. Perhaps it’s because she’s half, or perhaps it’s just a result of the natural divide from being born a generation after, of never having experienced her mother as a person who was separate and apart from being put on this earth as her mother. I think her fixation on food reads as this attempt to get her closer to the culture, but if the end was to understand her mother better, it’s directing her efforts in the wrong direction. It almost felt like she should’ve spent more time learning about her mother from her aunts, her grandparents, the few friends her mother had who came through the house while her mother was ailing. Through the cultural lens perspective, it was almost like looking at my culture, which makes up part of my identity for better or for worse, as a kind of commodity that I could absorb by eating enough kimchi.

That being said, this is a memoir, and it’s specifically a memoir about her grieving process, which is a personal journey, and an inherently selfish one. So it’s probably ungenerous to feel that way as I was reading it. It was ultimately a raw, emotional tribute to her mother that should nonetheless be celebrated for its evocative writing.

#memoir #michelle zauner #crying in h mart #penguin random house #asian american lit #identity politics #AANHPI heritage month #autobiography

[lovely-v]

4, 11 and 16 for the Tolkien ask thing :D -🌱

4. If you could have lunch with one character, who would it be and why?

I feel like the ONLY answer to this question is Sam because does he not canonically make the best food? cannot think of a character whose cooking goes off as much as his. remember when he made that soup? i do.

#did the other qs earlier <3 #thinking about the two towers soup.... #vee's asks #lotr #in the book i feel like they described that soup for pages and pages #like he put so many herbs in it #spice king

[robininthelabyrinth]

For your prompts: Mingjue is ace or demi, and somehow between taking over the sect at a very young age and never displaying interest in it, no one ever gave him The Sex Talk. All the aunts and uncles assumed someone else took care of it. Then Huaisang gets to that age. He seems to be very interested in sex. He needs The Sex Talk. Mingjue feels like that should come from him (he's taken care of all the rest pf raising him after all), but he doesn't have the info to do that.

How does Mingjue give him The Sex Talk? Or alternatively, does Huaisang end up already knowing and giving The Talk to his big brother instead?

ao3

“All right,” Nie Mingjue said, sitting down and gesturing for Nie Huaisang to sit down across from him. “I guess we’re going to have to talk about this.”

“I knew this day would come,” Nie Huaisang said, looking unbearably tragic. “I’m going to die of embarrassment before the day is through, da-ge. Won’t you have pity?”

Nie Mingjue knew him too well, though.

“Okay,” he said.

Nie Huaisang frowned at him.

“If it’s too embarrassing to talk about sex, you’re not ready to talk about sex,” Nie Mingjue said with a casual shrug. “We can postpone the conversation to –”

“No! I want to hear about it!” Nie Huaisang scowled at him. “Da-ge, everyone else got the sex talk! You wouldn’t want me to fall behind, would you?”

Nie Mingjue blinked innocently at him. “But Huaisang, you said…”

“Never mind what I said!”

Nie Mingjue tried to maintain his façade of innocent neutrality but quickly cracked in the face of Nie Huaisang’s exasperation; he started laughing.

Nie Huaisang grumbled.

“There’s not much to say,” Nie Mingjue said, wiping his eyes. “And it’s not as if you can’t get by without it, you know. I mean, no one ever gave me the talk.”

Nie Huaisang frowned. “No one? What about A-die? I mean, before…”

“He was busy, and kept postponing it,” Nie Mingjue said, shrugging. “And then he died, and everyone assumed he’d done it already. It’s fine. Everything I needed to learn, I learned from books, and you’re going to do the same.”

“…books.”

“Yep, books.”

Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh. “You’re going to make me learn this incredibly important subject from textbooks? Really, da-ge?”

“I am,” Nie Mingjue said.

“You’re robbing me of a valuable life experience here.”

“I’m so sad for you,” Nie Mingjue said dryly, pulling out a box and spreading out the books he’d obtained just for this purpose. “Now, I know you hate studying, I know you think it’s boring and a waste of time, but I really think in this instance –”

“It’s fine,” Nie Huaisang said quickly. His eyes were fixated on the books in front of him, and for some reason he’d flushed bright red, even though it wasn’t all that hot in the room. “I don’t mind. I’ll study hard, da-ge.”

“I feel like I’ve heard that before once or twice,” Nie Mingjue remarked, then shook his head. “Anyway, I think just one or two –”

“I need all of them.”

Nie Mingjue blinked, sincerely this time. “All of them?” he said, and looked down at the books. “Huaisang, I don’t think you understand. I got a selection so that you could have your pick, but they’re by and large very repetitive; each one more or less describes the same basic acts –”

“I need all of them. For reasons.”

“…all right,” Nie Mingjue said, bemused but generally pleased by Nie Huaisang’s highly unusual enthusiasm for study. “I thought I was robbing you of a valuable life experience?”

“That was before! I didn’t realize the books were going to be spring books,” Nie Huaisang said. He’d grabbed one and flipped it open, staring wide-eyed at one of the illustrations.

“What type of textbook would there be for this subject other than a spring book?” Nie Mingjue asked, wondering – as ever – if he’d missed something. Raising children was hard, and raising Nie Huaisang was harder; everyone agreed. “Anyway, I’m given to understand that the art is a bit exaggerated, especially in terms of proportion, and the accompanying text can use some rather strange metaphors, but fundamentally the acts described appear generally consistent throughout the various sources. For example, if you look at this one, you can see that the woman has –”

“Yes, da-ge, I can see.”

“I’m just pointing it out,” Nie Mingjue said defensively. Nie Huaisang was being especially impossible to understand today. “Anyway, it’s all a bit weird, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “Very weird. Incredibly weird. You know what, I think I need to think about this privately for a while.”

“I…are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

“If you insist.” Nie Mingjue stood up. “If you have any questions –”

“Yes I’ll be sure to ask you please leave now thank you good-bye.”

Nie Mingjue found himself outside the door to Nie Huaisang’s room, not entirely sure how his much smaller younger brother had managed to push him out so effectively. Maybe some of that saber training was actually having an impact, however spaced out and half-hearted Nie Huaisang’s efforts were.

Cheered by the thought, Nie Mingjue headed back to his office, feeling very good about himself: that wasn’t nearly as awkward as all the other people had made it sound. It’d been no problem at all!

Of course, a few months later, he found out that Nie Huaisang had started buying up spring books like he’d developed a mania for it.

“That seems fine,” he said to the disciple who’d reported it. “I mean, it’s a bit strange, yes, but he’s always been fond of hobbies that involve collecting things. Birds, weird rocks…that sort of thing.”

“I’m not sure it’s…exactly the same,” the disciple said carefully. “But if you’re not concerned, Sect Leader, we’ll just leave it be.”

“…I’ll talk with him,” Nie Mingjue decided, mostly because of the weird expression on the disciple’s face, and the disciple looked relieved.

Later that evening, he followed up on his word.

“Huaisang, I heard you’re buying spring books,” he said, and Nie Huaisang nearly choked on his soup.

“You can’t just bring that up over dinner!” he hissed.

“…why not?”

“You just – can’t!”

“I can, and did,” Nie Mingjue said. “Some of the disciples have expressed some concern about it.”

Nie Huaisang’s shoulders went up by his ears defensively. “Is it because I’m buying cutsleeve books as well as regular books?”

“They sell cutsleeve books? Really?” Nie Mingjue said blankly, temporarily distracted. “I wouldn’t have thought there’d be enough of a market to make the printing worthwhile. Aren't they supposed to be relatively uncommon? …anyway, no, it’s not about that.”

“…you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” Nie Mingjue said, puzzled. “I’m glad you’re expanding your horizons.”

“You…are?” Nie Huaisang was blinking rapidly.

“I mean, you’re reading? Reading is good. I’m always happy when you advance your scholarly pursuits,” Nie Mingjue said. “I mean, I’d still like it if you spent a bit more time on your saber…”

“Wait,” Nie Huaisang said hastily, clearly wanting to avoid the subject of his saber training. “If you don’t mind the fact that I’m buying them, or the content, what is the concern?”

“Mostly quantity, I think?” Nie Mingjue hadn’t been able to figure it out either. “You’ve exceeded your allowance twice already, and really, how many books recounting the same exact content can you really need?”

“It’s not quite the same content,” Nie Huaisang said. “There are different…scenarios.”

“Yes, but it all leads to the same place in the end, doesn’t it? Hand, mouth, front, back, inside or outside; you read one, you’ve read them all. Though I guess the cutsleeve ones are different?”

“Not really,” Nie Huaisang admitted. “But maybe take a look anyway? Maybe you’ll like those better…here, come up to my room.”

Nie Huaisang had, apparently, started in on making quite a collection, and from the way he puttered around trying to find the right ones to share, seemed to be in the process of becoming a little connoisseur. It was pretty adorable, actually; Nie Mingjue couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Nie Huaisang so enthusiastic.

“Having two spears involved does seem to make it a bit more awkward,” he concluded after paging through a few. “And obviously you can’t do it from the front in the same way, but other than that the mechanics generally seem the same. I suppose there’s really only so many ways you can twist the human body…”

“How about this one, then?” Nie Huaisang said, offering up a book about mirror grinders sharing a toy between them. “Twice the young ladies involved!”

“That seems even less efficient. If they wanted to be penetrated, why be a mirror grinder instead of finding a man?”

Nie Huaisang seemed somewhat taken aback by the question. “Maybe they just fell in love with another woman first?” he eventually suggested.

That seemed reasonable enough, so Nie Mingjue nodded agreeably. “Makes sense that they’d use a toy, then. Otherwise wouldn't they be stuck with using just mouths and hands? Though I suppose there’s always the eponymous grinding motion, too.”

Nie Huaisang reached over and put his hand in Nie Mingjue’s lap.

“Huaisang! What are you doing?”

“Just checking,” Nie Huaisang said, rubbing the back of his head. “You’re really not…Wait, let me find you some others. Maybe you’ll like these better – they have more scenario involved.”

Truly Nie Huaisang had a wide collection. There were solo stories, coupled stories, stories involved groups of three or more, stories involving people being tied up or doing the tying, one story involving whips and pinching nails that Nie Mingjue initially thought was a torture manual that had gotten mixed in by mistake except for how the receiving party seemed extremely enthusiastic about it. There was even one involving –

“Fish?”

“Tentacles.”

“People want to fuck fish?”

“It’s not – you know what, I don’t know, maybe they do,” Nie Huaisang said, throwing up his hands. “Octopi are a surprisingly popular subject along the coast, and some of the artwork from Dongying features it.”

“You have works from Dongying?” Nie Mingjue asked, impressed. It wasn’t every young man’s hobby that involved international commerce. “You’re really turning into a collector, Huaisang.”

“I’m not – it’s not –” Nie Huaisang grimaced. “You know what, maybe the disciples are right and I should cut down on purchasing so many.”

“Why? If you’re enjoying your new hobby –”

“There’s a difference between being known as the guy who has some good spring books and being known as the guy who collects spring books as a hobby. The latter just sounds pathetic.”

Nie Mingjue wasn’t entirely sure about that.

“Well, it’s up to you,” he said, and started to get up to leave, only to have Nie Huaisang tug on his hand.

“Da-ge, I have a question.”

Nie Mingjue sat back down.

“Have you ever…?” Nie Huaisang nodded at the books.

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, wrinkling his nose a bit at the thought. “It seems like more trouble than it’s worth, really.”

“What about…uh…” He gestured at one in particular. Nie Mingjue leaned over and checked; it was one of the ones featuring a single man touching himself. “Do you…?”

“Oh, sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “Every once in a while. Don't most people? But there’s rather a difference between doing that and having to get up close and personal with someone else’s genitals, isn’t there? We all wipe our own asses after we shit, but that doesn’t mean we do it for other people.” He gave Nie Huaisang a pointed look. “Present company excluded.”

“I was a baby, it doesn’t count,” Nie Huaisang hissed at him. “Never bring it up again.”

Nie Mingjue smirked at him.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes dramatically. “Da-ge, you’re hopeless. One day you’ll find someone you like enough to try it with!”

“Maybe,” Nie Mingjue said. “Maybe not. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Uh, yes it does! You’re going to have kids, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Nie Mingjue said, hesitating a little. “Huaisang, you’re my heir.”

“I know that! I’m in line until you have kids of your own to inherit…why are you shaking your head?”

“You’re going to inherit after me,” Nie Mingjue said, as gently as he could. “I’m probably not going to have kids, but even if I did, I’d arrange it so that they’d be part of the branch family, not the main line. I want you to inherit.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes were going wide.

No, it was too early to tell him about the saber spirits, Nie Mingjue thought to himself. About their family's horrible temper and his private suspicion that the temper and the qi deviations fed into each other; his conviction that Nie Huaisang would be a better sect leader than him, a better continuation for their line than him, and his determination to make sure that the next generation of Nie sect leaders didn't have to fear a shortened life the way he did. He’d tell him that later, sometime. Today was a good day, there was no point in spoiling it.

“Is that going to be a problem?” he asked instead. “I mean, you have such a wide variety here; don’t tell me you’re solely interested in cut-sleeves…?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang said. “No, I like – everything.”

“Well, then,” Nie Mingjue said. “There should be no problem, then. If you end up with a woman, have some kids; if you end up with a man, take a concubine. Either way, you’ll get an heir.” He frowned. “Assuming you don’t mind –”

“No, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, and he sounded incredibly long-suffering. “I think I’ll manage to have sex, somehow.”

“Well, I mean, if you’re thinking about actually going ahead and trying it out, that’s a whole different conversation we need to have, as opposed to the talk about what it is. You need to be careful about it –”

“Ugh, da-ge, please, no –”

“I’m not going to lecture! Just don’t overdo it or anything. You don’t want to end up with a thousand bastards like Sect Leader Jin –”

“Gross! No!”

“– or with all sorts of diseases –”

“Da-ge!”

“– or with a reputation for being a dissolute or a –”

“I will only have sex with someone I love,” Nie Huaisang announced. “Or at least mildly care for. A nice clean person who likes me back. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“More or less,” Nie Mingjue said, and glanced down at the books. “Say, Huaisang. You know so much about this. Have you ever…”

“Do you have a question?” Nie Huaisang scooted forward. “Ask away, da-ge!”

Nie Mingjue flicked his forehead. “Not a substantive one. But have you ever thought about making your own? You’re a perfectly good artist, and you’re very imaginative; I’m sure you could come up with some scenarios of your own that might be very interesting.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes were wide. “I could, couldn’t I?” he said, marveling, and then suddenly jumped up and dashed over to grab some paper. “Oh, I could! I could – and that – and – and..!”

Nie Mingjue decided to retreat, smiling proudly to himself.

Reading and writing, he thought happily. They’d probably never get a warrior out of Nie Huaisang, but there might be a scholar in him yet!

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #the talk

[mercy-burning]

Something Different

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer go on their first date. PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / EPILOGUE Category: Fluff, Smut 18+ (oral sex- female receiving, penetrative sex, unprotected sex- creampie) Warnings: Sex, language (As always, if there’s anything I missed, let me know what I should include in warnings! I want to be as mindful as I can about what I post. Thank you!) Word Count: 5.9k

NOTE: This was my favorite part to write so far! I hope you all love it as much as I do! I have a little epilogue planned next, and I’m not sure when it’ll be up, but I’ve really loved seeing how much you enjoyed this series! Thank you for reading! 🥰

***

Y/N had never felt as much like a teenage girl as she did that Friday night. She stood in front of her floor-length mirror, smoothing out her dress and contemplating whether or not she should change. For the seventh time. And she'd been on dates before, but this time was different. Usually she barely knew the guys she'd gone on first dates with, but she'd already slept with this guy. On more than one occasion. And every time she did, she felt herself fall deeper and deeper under his spell. She wasn't sure if he knew the full effect of what he was doing to her, always taking up space in every crack and crevice of her thoughts until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

And that was what made this date different from all the rest. She knew Spencer. She liked Spencer. And she was almost positive that after this date she would be, at the very least, a little bit in love with Spencer.

At that thought, Y/N felt her heart swell in her chest, suddenly invested in the act of making him feel the same way, if he wasn't already.

So she reverted back to her original outfit choice, something she at first thought was too sexy for a first date, but ultimately was the boldest and best option. It was satin and deep violet in color, the fabric clinging to her body in every best way possible. It landed mid-thigh and the neckline was low enough to show just the right amount of cleavage without it being too overwhelming. Her father would have told her it looked more like a dish towel than a dress, and that fact alone was enough to convince Y/N that it was just perfect. It did have thin straps though, and it was freezing as hell at night, so she added a black cardigan that added just the right amount of elegance and warmth to the look.

She paired the whole look together with black pumps and threw her hair up in a loose clip, made for easy taking-down if the night ended as well as she hoped.

Just as she was applying the last of her makeup—simple black eyeliner and mascara, complimented with tinted cherry lip balm rather than lipstick—there was a knock on the door.

"Just a second!" she called out, rushing to spritz on some vanilla perfume and give herself a final onceover in the mirror. With a final deep breath, she switched off the lights and made her way to the door, silently praying that she wouldn't fall on her face.

"Hey, pretty gi— oh..."

The second she saw Spencer in the doorway, Y/N felt her insides swarm with butterflies. The way he took her in, completely captured by her presence as his eyes couldn't decide where to linger longest utterly wrecked her.

And he looked... God, if he wasn't the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. And of course she'd seen him in some rather beautiful positions prior to right then, but his hungry eyes, practically claiming her as his own as they raked her figure accompanied by the outfit he wore and the way his hair perfectly framed his face in soft waves... It felt like she was bathing in sunlight.

He wore a white undershirt and navy suit jacket, the tie the same color only accented with red stripes, and black dress pants. If she had to describe it, she would have said he looked like he came right of the page of a magazine, and even that wasn't generous enough. She knew she should say something to break the silence that had fallen between them, but she couldn't even remember her own name.

Thankfully Spencer seemed to get a hold of himself before she did, saying, "You look... amazing. A-and that's not even the right word, I... Wow."

Y/N felt her cheeks grow hot, playing with the hem of her cardigan. "Thanks, you... You look great, too. Um, let me go grab my purse, I'll be right back."

"Wait, before you do..."

She hadn't even noticed his hand was behind his back until he brought it out, bringing with it a small gathering of flowers. Lavenders. "You brought me lavenders?" she inquired, taking them with a smile. "They're beautiful. Thank you."

Spencer seemed to rock on his feet nervously. "They're generally known for their relaxation properties, and, you know, I figured since we always seem to end up talking about de-stressing, they seemed fitting."

Y/N laughed, her face growing warmer. "That's perfect, I love them. I'm gonna go find a vase for these real quick."

As she rummaged through her cabinets for something even remotely resembling a vase, she settled on a tall mason jar she had in the back, filling it with water and placing the flowers inside, letting it perch on the kitchen counter. When she turned around she found that Spencer had made his way inside, the door closed behind him. "Unfortunately they won't last very long without soil, water, and sunlight, but if they dry up you could always use them for decorations. I noticed you have lots of dried plants in your apartment."

With a smile, she grabbed her purse off the coat rack in the living room. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I do. I've always loved pressing flowers and stuff. My mom and I used to do it all the time when I was younger, and I guess it stuck."

"That's really nice. It's definitely better than the clutter of my apartment," he says with a laugh as they both make their way to the door.

"Oh, I don't know. I like your clutter, it's rather charming."

He laughed as he opened the door and stepped aside so she could walk through. "You've only been to my apartment once, and we were a bit... occupied for you to notice, so how would you know?"

They paused in the hallway as she closed the door and looked up at him, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. She grabbed the end of his tie and tugged it a little, turning it over in her fingers as she stared at him. "Trust me, Spencer, it's hard to believe that anything about you isn't charming."

It was his turn to blush, his smirk transforming into a shy smile. She let go of his tie and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together before leading him down the hallway.

***

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were surprised," Y/N said once the waiter left to grab their drinks.

"Oh, I-I guess I just... I don't know why, it's just that I didn't... expect you to be a white wine person, that's all."

"You can tell what kind of wine I like?" she laughed.

Spencer returned it, brushing some of the hair from his face. "Well, I guess not, since I pegged you wrong..."

She shrugged. "You don't have to be embarrassed about that, I wouldn't expect you to have known."

"Oh, I'm not embarrassed, it's just that usually I'm better at reading people, that's all."

"Is that right?" Y/N mused, leaning forward a little. She smiled at him. "How come?"

Spencer swallowed before answering. "Well, my job... I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, so my team and I study human behavior to catch killers."

Holy shit, that's so hot, she thought, silently hoping she didn't say that out loud. "Wow, so... you're a total badass, then. I gotta say, G-man, that's impressive."

He blushed under the dim light of the restaurant lights. He'd picked out this nice Italian place not too far from their apartment. Y/N had always wanted to go because she loved Italian food, but it was always too expensive and she never really had the time. When Spencer had suggested it, she practically begged him not to, insisting that she didn't want to make him spend so much money on her. In turn he told her, "I don't mind, you're worth spending a little money on," and that was that. Still she felt a little guilty, but he didn't seem to mind one bit. Not to mention the place was absolutely beautiful, easily one of the nicest places she'd ever been to. So if he was willing to do all this just to spend some time with her, then Y/N figured it was a good sign.

"What about you, what exactly is it that you do?"

Y/N shrugged a little. "Oh, well it's no fancy badass government job, but I work at a music store downtown. I just got promoted, so I'm an associate manager."

"Oh, that's great! What kind of music do you like?"

The way he genuinely looked so interested in what she had to say made her heart swell. She cleared her throat before answering. "My parents raised me on Classic Rock, so my brain is pretty much just made up of Queen lyrics, but... I listen to a little of everything. There isn't much I don't like, really, save for maybe hardcore metal. Though, some of it I've heard is okay."

Spencer laughed a little. "That's nice. I don't really listen to a variety of things, mostly classical, but... I don't know, maybe you could... introduce me to some of your favorites? Broaden my horizons?"

He almost sounded shy asking, but that only made the sentiment more endearing. Y/N smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. "Anytime, G-man."

The waiter came back with the wine then, and they got to ordering. Y/N ordered a lemon chicken piccata while Spencer settled on pasta alla norma. Of course they had a side of breadsticks and they each got a small tomato soup to sip on while they waited.

They continued to chat about their favorite things, anywhere from as general as their favorite books and movies to as random as their favorite flowers and candle scents. It was nice getting to know these tiny details. And normally this type of small talk was awkwardly necessary and devastatingly tedious, but with Spencer it felt effortless. She liked telling him about her favorite things, no matter how small they were, and just the same she liked listening to him. The way he spoke, his eyes lighting up as he talked about what made him happy made Y/N warm, feeling once again that night like she was bathing in sunlight.

That's what he was. The human embodiment of pure sunlight.

As they ate they talked a little bit about their childhoods. Spencer mentioned how it was mostly just him and his mother, and he almost seemed a little sad when he talked about it. She wanted to let him keep going, but at some point she realized that he was getting a little emotional and uncomfortable, so she made a point to respectfully change the subject, in turn telling some embarrassing childhood stories of her own. For one thing, she loved telling anyone about how she angrily chucked a remote at her brother when they were kids and gave him a permanent scar on his forehead, but ultimately she loved seeing Spencer smile, and she knew that the story would do the trick. It always did.

"Why did you do it?" he laughed after swallowing a bite of his food.

Y/N shrugged with a smile. "He was bugging me about wanting to watch something else, and it just annoyed me so badly that I decided I had enough. I should have been sorry, too, especially after being yelled at, but I really thought he deserved it. And now when people ask why he has this big-ass scar on his forehead, he has to tell them that his big sister chucked a remote at his head. It embarrasses him and it amuses me, so..."

Spencer laughed a little harder, setting his fork down and folding his hands together. "Sounds... like an interesting childhood."

"Yeah, that's putting it mildly. My brother and I did a lot of roughhousing, which would make more sense if he was the older one, but what are you gonna do?"

"So... What, you put him in headlocks and pinned him to the ground like a wrestler all the time?" he asked with an amused laugh.

"Yeah, something like that," she laughed right back.

"Well, I hope he hasn't sustained too much injury permanently over the years... Maybe one day I can ask him about it."

The thought of Spencer meeting her family gave her more butterflies, and it became evident that he was feeling the same way, because he blushed almost immediately after he said it.

"You two would probably get along really well, actually. He loves true crime and stuff, so I'm sure he'd love to talk to you about your job if that's not too forward. Plus, he reads more than I do, so I'm sure you'd find something else in common there."

"Yeah, that sounds great. I like him already."

She smiled, her heart still beating exponentially fast. A small part of her wondered if maybe talk of meeting family members was going too far for a first date, and on any other first date it would've been. But Spencer seemed to be genuinely entertaining the idea of meeting and discussing some of his life with her brother, and that was what flipped the switch. She was starting to feel it. She was starting to fall in love with him.

***

When the two of them got in the car, Spencer turned on the radio before they started their journey home— a Classic Rock station. Y/N smiled, immediately recognizing the melody to, coincidentally enough, her favorite Queen song, Who Wants To Live Forever. She told him as much.

He turned the volume up and started driving, listening to her sing along softly. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed him turning his head every once in a while, obviously sneaking a glance at her enjoying her favorite music. The thought sent a bloom of warmth through her chest as the song faded out and started playing Photograph by Def Leppard. Spencer turned the radio down just a little and nodded, turning down the street.

"I like it. I can see why it would be your favorite."

"This is another one of my favorites, too," she replied with a gentle nod towards the radio, giving him a smile. "A lot of these songs probably will be, though, I've practically been spoon-fed Classic Rock radio since I was a baby."

Then she noticed where they were. A street she didn't recognize. "Where are we going?" she asked, looking around.

"Oh. I-I know I only really promised to take you out for dinner, but there's somewhere else I wanted to show you... If that's alright?"

"It's more than alright," she reassured, placing a hand on his arm and wondering where he planned to take her.

He took her hand in his and continued down the road, the radio shuffling through more songs that Y/N recognized and sang along to. At one point she made a point of dramatically serenading Spencer with Love Song by Tesla, air guitar-ing and everything.

Soon enough they were out where she couldn't see any buildings and only a few streetlights. Y/N hummed softly along to the radio, holding Spencer's hand once again as he pulled the car over down a random road and under this large tree. In front of them she could clearly see the sun setting over the skyline, illuminating everything around them in a soft orange glow.

"It's beautiful out here," she mused as Spencer turned off the car, the radio with it.

"Yeah, I, uh... I was in a particularly stressful point in my life a few years ago, and one day I just drove aimlessly. I don't normally drive at all, but I needed something new, something different to do that I could focus on, and I just ended up here. It's one of my favorite places."

She looked over at him and smiled, running her thumb over his hand. "I find that some of the best things in life happen when you try something different."

His eyes softened as she spoke, squeezing her hand and leaning his head against the seat. "You're right. That's... actually how I got you, know know."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Mhm... Yeah, I didn't even want to confront you about hearing what happened that night because I thought it would be too awkward, but... I don't know, I guess there was just something that felt right about the whole thing, like... like it was an opportunity to get to know someone new. And I couldn't stop thinking about knocking on your door and getting to know everything about this woman who likes to invade other people's privacy." He laughed as he said that last part, obviously teasing her about the whole thing, and she laughed with him.

"Well, then I guess that means I don't have to be embarrassed about that anymore," Y/N noted. "I felt absolutely awful about it, you know."

"Oh, I know. You were practically the color of a tomato when I gave you that Advil."

They laughed together as the sun sunk lower in the sky, and as the air between them grew silent, they just stared at each other, smiling. Even as the sun was leaving, Y/N could still feel its warmth radiating in the form of Spencer's presence.

***

They walked up to her door hand in hand, laughing about a joke she'd told him when Y/N realized the night was potentially over. The thought silenced her laughter, and suddenly she was nervous, like she hadn't already considered that the night would eventually have to end somewhere.

"I... I had a really great time tonight, Spencer, thank you. "

He smiled shyly in that way of his that made her just as shy. It was sickeningly cliché, she thought, feeling this way about a man she'd only just started to get to know, but she welcomed those feelings nonetheless. He was so obviously infatuated with her in a way she hadn't felt before, and it made her nervous because she didn't know how to react. All she could do was welcome and embrace his adoring glares and little touches and compliments, and hope that he knew in turn just how much she appreciated and adored him all the same.

His free hand reached out and cupped her cheek, to which she happily leaned into. "I did, too," he said softly, barely above a whisper. "We should do it again some time."

She smiled against his hand, and she didn't realize it then, but they were closer than they had been all night, toe to toe. "We should."

The world stopped for all of two seconds before he leaned down to kiss her. But something embarrassingly stopped her from letting it happen, pulling her face away just a little. "Wait. My breath probably smells like breadsticks."

Hardly the most romantic thing to say, and she regretted it the second it left her mouth.

Spencer only shrugged, smiling amusedly. "Who doesn't like breadsticks?"

That made her laugh. Hard. And she was still laughing as she pulled him closer and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

When he kissed her back, it was head-dizzyingly sweet, his hands softly brushing over her cheeks as she melted into him. Every time his lips parted, he came back stronger, pressing his lips and tongue to hers with slow, methodical precision.

She could have died right there.

But eventually they pulled apart, and she looked up at him with as much gratefulness as she could provide. "Look, I... I know it's not typically customary to sleep over on the first date, but... What about trying something different?"

Spencer grinned at her, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip. "Lead the way, pretty girl."

She couldn't hide her blush as she reached over and opened the door, pulling him into the apartment with her.

The door closed behind him, and Spencer kissed her again, this time using one of his hands to press her to him, resting promptly on her lower back. Their kisses were just as slow and sweet as they had been in the hall, though there was a slightest shift in the atmosphere, bringing forth a newfound passion behind each of their movements.

His tongue traced over her bottom lip before he took it between his teeth and tilted his head to the other side, pulling her even closer to him than she thought could be possible. They both stumbled around the living room as they kicked off their shoes. Y/N got significantly shorter after removing her heels, so Spencer bent down and lifted her off the ground, setting her on the back of the couch. Her dress had ridden up to the tops of her thighs so she could wrap her legs around his waist. She slid her cardigan off at the same time he slid off his jacket, their lips still adjoined. Once they were removed, Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck again, and he brought his arms under her ass as he lifted her off the couch

She expected the journey to her bedroom to be rocky, stumbling into furniture and walls and tripping, but was glad to be proven wrong when suddenly she was swiftly seated on her bed, Spencer standing between her legs.

He pulled away from her for all of two seconds before kneeling and pressing kisses to the insides of her right leg, starting at her ankle and trailing all the way up past her knee and eventually to her thigh. His hands reached up to grip the bed as he looked up at her and pressed kisses to her other thigh. Hoping to give him more access, she used her hands to pull her dress up even higher, scooting out from under her butt and bunching up at her hips as she spread her legs a little wider.

He smiled against her inner thigh, running one of his hands over the other. "Patience, pretty girl. I want to take my time with you tonight."

The way he said it made her shiver, and her head leaned back as she leaned back on her hands, feeling Spencer continue his exploration. His mouth travelled from thigh to thigh, doing just about everything he could think of—kissing, licking, biting... One of her hands found themselves in his hair as she sighed out, "Please, Spencer..."

For a moment she thought he wouldn't give it to her, if only because she wasn't specific enough and that had become part of their sexual routine, but this time he granted her what she wanted, one of his hands reaching up and ghosting along her clit through the fabric of her panties.

She instinctually rutted her hips forward at the contact, which made him laugh softly, and before too long, he hooked his finger in the waistband of her underwear, sliding up her dress just a little so he could reach. She lifted herself off the bed so he could bring them out from under her, and he slowly, very slowly, slid them down her legs. His lips travelled up her leg again, taking the same care and curiosity as he had before, each second burning impatiently through Y/N's body as she took it all in.

Right as his nose brushed over her clit, he pulled away, leaving her cold and desperate. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, running a hand through his hair and silently pleading to do something.

He smiled and stood up, pressing a kiss to her neck before whispering in her ear, "Will you ride my face for me, baby?"

"Oh, God, yes," she breathed before she could think, and he laughed, his breath sending goosebumps down the right side of her body.

Spencer got up on the bed and leaned back, his head resting on the pillows as Y/N straddled him, hiking her dress up over her hips and stroking the hair from his face before hovering over it. Before she could do anything, his hands wrapped up over her thighs and pulled her down to him, not wasting any time getting to work.

The initial contact jolted her awake, and she cried out, reaching forward and grabbing the top of the headboard as she ground down on him. His tongue plunged deep into her while his nose pressed against her clit, and the more she moved, the more his tongue drew patterns, wanting to taste every inch of her until she was shaking around him. And that's exactly what happened. His tongue came up to flick and swirl over her clit, and right when he wrapped his lips around it and started softly sucking, she cried out. "I'm gonna— ohh..."

He hummed into her, encouraging her to finish, and she did, clenching her thighs around his head as he shook it back and forth, lapping up every last drop of her arousal until her thighs lost their grip. She lifted up off of him, but he brought her back down to run his tongue through her pussy a few more long, meaningful times. He finally let go of her legs, and she kneeled beside him, catching her breath.

Looking down at him she noticed how wonderstruck he was, running his tongue along his lips to still taste her, his eyes searching hers hungrily before she leaned down and kissed him. The taste of herself on his mouth made her groan, and he reached up to pull the clip from her hair. It tumbled down in a curtain around them before he tossed the clip aside and ran his hands through it, gathering it all to one side and pulling her closer to him.

As he kissed her, she brought her hand to his chest, working at his tie and struggling to get it off. He laughed against her mouth and sat up to do it for her, breaking their kiss apart. Has he undid the tie and the first few buttons of his shirt, Y/N reached back to grab the zipper of her dress, but Spencer stopped her.

"Wait. Can I?"

She nodded, turning around.

"Stand up for me," he told her.

Y/N got off the bed and felt Spencer behind her, his hands brushing her hair out of the way and slowly zipping her dress down, pressing kisses down each inch of skin that exposed in its wake, all the way to her lower back. His hands slid up her back and pushed the straps off her shoulders, then tugged the dress down to watch it fall on the floor, leaving her completely bare.

He kissed her neck and ran his hands up and down her body, eventually reaching around to cup her breasts. She sighed at his touch, leaning back against him as he rolled her nipples in between his fingers. Her hands reached back to wrap around his back and pull him flush against her, the unmistakable feeling of his hardening dick through his pants pressing against her bare ass.

"I love how soft your skin is, pretty girl," he murmured into her neck, sliding his lips down to her shoulder and biting down. She sucked in a breath, her hands removing themselves from his back and placing themselves over his own, feeling the veins strain as they kneaded her breasts. His tongue traced over where he bit down before he kissed the same spot, then he worked his mouth back up her neck and reached her jawline. She turned her head, meeting his lips and pressing herself further into him, whining at every single sensation coursing through her veins.

Eventually she'd had enough and turned fully around, breaking apart from him just to come back. She faced him and wrapped her arms around his neck once more. He leaned in to kiss her again, but she stopped him, pulling her head back and using one of her hands to grip the hair at the nape of his neck. "Tonight's your lucky night, you know..."

At her teasing tone, Spencer laughed, his eyes searching hers before giving in. "Why's that?"

She used the hand that wasn't in his hair to slide over his shoulder and down his chest, drawing patterns across the bare skin he'd left exposed after undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. Then she smiled, bringing herself closer and gripping the collar. "Because I'm on birth control now..." She leaned forward and lightly brushed her lips against his, feeling them just barely as she whispered, recalling what he'd told her a few weeks ago. "You still wanna fill up this slutty little pussy? Make me yours?"

He didn't give a second thought. Before she was aware of what was happening, Spencer had his lips crashed against hers and his arms wrapped around her back, pulling her forward so that the tent in his pants pressed right up into her bare crotch. She gasped against his mouth and reached down to take the rest of his shirt all the way off, and he let her.

Her hands fumbled with the buttons, severely close to just giving up and ripping the shirt apart but she got there in the end, sliding the fabric off his shoulders and tossing it God-knows-where as his tongue slipped into her mouth. She trailed her hands softly down his chest and stomach, making him shiver, and she relished in the feeling of his lean figure tensing under her touch. She scratched her nails along the lower part of his stomach before touching his belt, and then he stopped her, grabbing her wrists.

"Sit on the edge of the bed," he commanded softly against her lips.

Y/N pulled away reluctantly, immediately missing his bodily warmth before doing as she was told and perching herself patiently at the edge of the bed.

Spencer got off his knees, climbed out of bed, and stood on the floor, coming over to her and placing himself between her legs once more. Only this time, he towered over her rather than kneeled. His hands unbuckled his belt while his eyes bore into hers, the anticipation of what was to come as high strung as it had ever been.

He pulled his pants and underwear down in one swift motion, and right a he kicked them to the side, Y/N reached out, grabbing his hips and pulling him closer. One of his hands gripped his hard cock while the other found purchase in her hair, brushing it behind her shoulders and resting at the base of her neck as he leaned down and pushed her back onto the bed. She scooted back just far enough for Spencer to kneel on the edge of the bed, her legs instinctually wrapping around his waist once more as he kissed her.

Her hands brushed the hair from his face and stayed weaved there, whimpering with anticipation as he ran the tip of his cock along her pussy, just as slowly as he'd done everything else so far. He broke their kiss apart and pushed the tip in, not going any farther than that. "I told you, pretty girl, I'm taking my time with you tonight. I want this to last."

As his forehead rested against hers, she barely caught a glimpse of his eyes before he pushed all the way in and squeezed his eyes shut. Y/N sighed and massaged his scalp, completely aware of every inch of him as he held himself inside her. He pressed just about the sweetest kiss to her lips before setting a slow pace that gradually became faster with every passing minute. She was still a little sensitive from when he'd eaten her out, but that only added to the feeling.

"Fuck, you're perfect," Spencer breathed, pulling his head just far enough away from her so he could look her in the eyes. "You're so goddamn perfect, Y/N..."

She slid her hands down his back as he picked up his pace inside her, gasping when he hit her g-spot. "Speak for yourself," she breathed.

When she started to feel herself getting closer, Spencer seemed to notice, because he slowed his pace again and ran sloppy, passionate kisses along her jaw and neck, and she reveled in the feeling. He was all around her, consuming every fiber of her being, and she could bask in it forever if he'd let her.

"Spencer," she breathed, her hands reaching down to grip his ass as he hit inside her deeper. "Fuck... You're so good to me..."

In turn he cradled her face and kissed her deeply, moving his tongue against hers in tandem with his hips' ministrations. Her fingernails bore deeper into his skin, and it wasn't long before she started to feel an orgasm surfacing. He rested his forehead against hers again, biting her bottom lip softly as he pulled away to speak. "Almost there, pretty girl. "

Y/N removed her hands from him and brought them up to bring her face to hers again, sighing into his mouth when they reconnected. And then he grabbed her wrists softly, pinning them above her head and sliding his hands up her forearms until his fingers laced together with hers, squeezing and pushing them both closer to the edge.

"Cum for me, baby," he mumbled against her lips, and within a matter of seconds, she did. Her legs tightened around him and her ankles hooked round his waist, just above the top of his ass to keep him tightly inside her while he found his own release. "Fuck," he sighed, giving three more hard thrusts forward. He held himself inside her while he came, the warmth spreading through her being just about the best thing she'd ever felt. It was the cherry on top, the last puzzle piece falling into place, and she kissed him once more while he finished, feeling him groan in her mouth.

The two of them stayed like that, their hands still laced together and legs still tangled, and even when their lips pulled apart, their foreheads rested together while their breathing slowed.

"Have I already told you how perfect you are?" Spencer breathed, nuzzling his nose against hers.

Y/N laughed a little, nuzzling him right back. "You may have mentioned it."

"Well, it's true. Everything about you is just so..."

"Perfect?" she offered.

He laughed, kissing her once more on the lips before slowly pulling out of her and unlacing their fingers. "Yes. Perfect... But as much as I love laying here with you, UTIs are not perfect, so I'm gonna get you cleaned up. Come on."

She sat up with a grunt, not wanting to get up so soon but she knew he was right. So she let him lead her to the bathroom as quickly as they can, his cum slowly sliding down her thighs when they got there. Spencer turned on the light and closed the bathroom door, a small smile on his face as he got on his knees to help.

"I can grab some toilet pa— holy shit..." Y/N was cut off when he dragged his tongue up the inside of her leg, scooping up his mess and making his way to her pussy where he cleaned out the rest of it. She was still sensitive, so he went as gently as he could, making soft, gentle swipes of his tongue until it was mostly gone, at least not dripping down her legs anymore.

When he stood up to meet her face, she felt stunned, absolutely enraptured by everything about the man in front of her. "So, does that mean I'm officially yours now?" she asked with small laugh.

He gave her that bashful smile again, and it made her feel even better, basking in the familiarity of his boldness of sexual acts followed by instant shy demeanor. "Only if you'll have me."

Y/N grabbed his face and kissed him before looking him dead in the eye and saying, "I hope I'll always have you, G-man."

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid

[barbenheimer-core]

AUDERE EST FACERE !

하나. chanel : part four — 3k words

Wangja crossed the street with a bag of two steaming bowls of ramyeon and red ginseng, speeding up his pace to prevent the noodles from getting too soggy while he walked the path over to his shop where he had left Ahyeong at, sighing as he thought about the new addition to the cast.

When he had walked into his store last night, he was not expecting a stage to commence immediately upon entering the lounge.

Thank the writer (this was the first and last time he was going to say that) that their conversation and actions had already been written out, or else the shop owner would've been gawking at the new girl for the entirety of the stage.

He had been immensely startled back then; it was unusual for him to not know the timing and plot of every stage because he always made sure to check the comic that permanently resided in a small, hidden corner of his shop every single day.

But when he had browsed the comic as soon as Ahyeong had left, he had been bewildered at the sudden shift in the book's contents.

The cast page had been altered to feature four main characters instead of the original trio, and as he had turned the pages, he had noticed the new stages being inked with interactions that had never been present as of before.

To think that an already complicated web of troubling relationships had not been enough for the writer, they had proceeded to add a love square to the mix.

Wangja grimaced at his creator's choices in life. They had definitely been influenced by someone to do so if it had been so last minute.

But one thing was for sure; out of all the stories that the writer had put him in, this was by far the most interesting.

"Ahyeong-ah! I'm back!" he yelled into the air as he stepped in, his voice echoing in the shop.

The silence was his only response.

Confused, he stepped through the streamers that decorated the lounge's archway, eyes searching for the girl while he set the food down on the coffee table next to the abandoned copy of Shiver.

"Ahyeong, are you here-"

He stopped abruptly, gaze finding the peach cover of True Beauty toppled upside down on the floor in front of a shelf he swore no one would notice.

With dread in his mind, he picked it up, turning it around, only to be faced by the drawn version of the person he was looking for.

Oh no. She'd seen it.

If Gilyeong had to describe his sister at that moment, he would've said she looked like she'd risen from a grave in a zombie apocalypse movie.

She looked dead. Alive, yes, but dead.

Like someone had told her whole life was a lie.

When Ahyeong had arrived back home from wherever she had dashed off to during the morning, she had looked like she'd gone through the five stages of grief, questioned the meaning of life, and ran a marathon through the streets of Seoul by how hard she was breathing.

He had almost asked her if she was okay, but that would've come off as him being "concerned for his dear sister," as Eunjung had so uselessly put it, and he hated proving people right. And besides, Ahyeong was clearly not okay.

"Oye, grinch," he called out across the table after seeing her actions.

She looked as if she hadn't even heard him. No annoyed flinch, no irritated twitching of her eyebrow; no reaction at all. Just her mindlessly trying to eat soup with chopsticks.

Eunjung looked at her with an extreme amount of concern.

Gilyeong almost puked at the feeling of worry in his gut.

Ahyeong was functioning on auto-pilot, her consciousness having taken a backseat as the only thing that moved her was sheer muscle memory.

She couldn't even remember how she had come back to her house, however, the stinging in her legs informed her of how she had deserted the shop and ran all the way back home, much to Driver Kwon's horror.

Her head felt empty.

Being in a comic? As a bully? That had to be the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard, or read, about herself.

It did not make sense. She was quite literally a model student, with a record as clean as glass. Being reduced to the likes of a bully? Impossible.

And then the derealisation came in.

This probably wasn't real after all. Maybe it was just one big practical joke blown out of proportion.

Yeah, that was it, she concluded as she finally became aware of her surroundings, dropping the chopsticks in her hands with a confused look and picking up a spoon to continue eating her soup, unaware of the small breath of relief from across the table.

That weird paralysis thing hadn't happened since the other day anyway, so she was probably going to be okay.

TURN.

What a fucking lie, you're kidding—

The doors to the house banged open, harshly knocking against the walls and startling the occupants of the dining room.

Song Hwayoung came inside the house, immediately making Eunjung receive her in a hurry and assist her with taking off her coat and setting her a pair of slippers.

Ahyeong was panicking. Why now? The universe was being unnecessarily cruel. Her body felt like a rock, cemented into the ground. The air got colder, the lights felt different, brighter somehow, as if someone was shining a spotlight down on her family, as if a grim situation was about to ensue.

Ahyeong almost got up to greet her mother, but sat back down after seeing the subtle shake of Gilyeong's head, who hastily looked down at his empty plate after Hwayoung came to sit at the head of the table.

Her mother looked like she had been trying to bottle up her anger the whole day, and the cap was finally about to burst.

Ahyeong felt unsettled at the sudden change in demeanor. Her mother had never gotten this furious before, ever. She attempted to stand, but she was glued to her seat and could only watch as Hwayoung glared daggers at Gilyeong.

She threw a stack of papers in front of Gilyeong, who shrunk into his seat when he saw its contents.

"What is this?" Hwayoung inquired, trying her best to appear calm.

The young boy mumbled a reply in a voice so small that it was barely audible.

Hwayoung flared her nostrils, "Say it louder!"

Both siblings flinched at the volume. "My report card," the youngest said shakily.

Why was her mum flipping over a simple report card? It's not like grades mattered—

"Even I know that it's a fucking report card. What I want to know is why your grades dropped to C's and D's and why the hell you're failing in math?"

Ahyeong's eyes widened, either involuntarily or of her own free will, she didn't know. Hwayoung cursing at her brother and raging over his academic report? That was quite literally the opposite of how her mother was. Hwayoung was supposed to be the sweetest person she'd ever known, understanding and supportive through every endeavor.

For a moment she considered if her mother had been replaced by a clone of a crueler version of her. With the bullshit that was happening to her right now, the theory did not even feel that far-fetched.

At Gilyeong's silence, Hwayoung scoffed, "All of this was happening and you didn't even bother telling me? I was in a phone call with your friend's mother who told me her son had scored first place but when she mentioned how you weren't even in the top ten do you know how humiliated I felt?"

She stood up abruptly, throwing her chair back, which was immediately caught by Eunjung, and scowled at the boy, not a single trace of warmth in her eyes that her daughter was familiar with, "What an embarrassment to the Song name. At least your sister fares better than you."

With that, she stalked away, heels clicking against the marble floors as she retreated to her room.

TURN .

Ahyeong got up as soon as she could control her movements, rushing over to Gilyeong whose eyes had become red and puffy as he sniffled.

She pulled him in between her arms, and he shook uncontrollably, Eunjung watching the ordeal with downtrodden eyes, wishing she could help.

This was far beyond what she thought would happen. No, that woman could not have been their mother.

As she put her brother to sleep that night, she came to a solution.

Stepping into the elevator to reach Cloud9 Officetel's terrace the next day, her resolve strengthened.

This nightmare was ending, one way or the other.

Jugyeong was quite possibly living the worst nightmare she'd ever had.

The world was too cruel. Beauty was only on the inside, they said. What a horrible lie.

She had been humiliated beyond measure. All she tried to do was convey her honest feelings to quite possibly the only person who had ever been genuinely kind to her. She would've been fine if Wang Hyunbin had simply rejected her and decided to stay as friends. But for him and Semi to destroy her pride and self-worth like that? Because of how she looked?

She felt her eyes burning with warm tears before they cascaded down her cheeks, the cold wind at the top of the building harshly biting at her skin and rattling her bones.

She shivered.

Cold, it was too cold. What a day to die.

Jugyeong's hands hovered over her phone's screen as she stared at her mother's contact. Would her family even mourn her? Good riddance, they would probably think.

But she had to tell someone, and even if her mother was harsh with her words, she still loved her. She had to tell her the reason why she was about to jump off of a building.

Just as her finger leaned down to press the call button, the door to the rooftop opened, and Jugyeong jumped in shock, turning around to see who had come in.

She did a double-take.

Was God personally consenting to her taking her own life? Because she was pretty sure he had sent down an angel to escort her soul into heaven.

Her glasses had been abandoned on the bench she'd been sitting on from when she had been trying to wipe her tears, so she couldn't really see the person properly, but even with bad eyesight, the stranger looked almost ethereal.

They were dressed in a black dress and heels, as if they had gone to a funeral, or were planning to go to one.

They stopped upon seeing Jugyeong's disheveled self.

Was God finally being kind to her in her final moments?

Mind in a haze and not thinking straight, Jugyeong broke down yet again.

Ahyeong was startled at the girl crying in front of her. She didn't think there was going to be someone else up there other than herself.

When she looked closer at the girl who was sobbing uncontrollably in front of her, she noticed who it was, immediately taking a few steps back on instinct.

Moon Gayoung? Why was she in a school uniform— oh.

You've got to be kidding me.

What luck she had, walking right into the girl this world literally revolved around.

She felt something pulling away at her in the back of her mind, sending warning bells down her spine, saying she wasn't supposed to be there. But why?

Ahyeong's heart almost burst out of her ribcage when Jugyeong threw herself at her, clutching almost painfully at her waist and sobbing into her dress.

She froze at the sudden contact, arms awkwardly hovering over the girl's shoulders.

Jugyeong had probably not recognized her yet, because there was no way she was hugging her future tormentor just like that.

"Th-thank y-y-you for c-coming," the girl said between choked breaths, "F-for being- for being here in my—" she struggled to say the words, "—my final moments."

Ahyeong stilled at that.

By the time her words had registered, she already knew what was happening.

This was the scene from the drama, she remembered, when Jugyeong had tried to kill herself because of the incident at school.

How ironic. Ahyeong almost laughed at her situation, they were here for the same fate for almost the same reason. Both didn't like the world that they lived in.

But for the Song girl, this was a test, really. A theory she came up with in the dead of the night.

The sensation of falling, that knee-jerk reaction, and the feeling of finally waking up from your dream. That was what she was hoping for. She wasn't here to die, she was here to go back to living her own life.

But the girl who clung to her was dead set on ending things, and frankly, that was a dreadful thought.

Ahyeong had no intention of leaving her as she was, be this a fictional world or not, Im Jugyeong was a human being who deserved a lot more than she got.

"Were you going to jump?"

Jugyeong's thoughts came to a halt as the Angel asked a question, the oddly familiar lilt of her voice bringing a strange mix of foreboding and warmth in her gut.

Still shaking, she only nodded against her shoulder.

"Why?"

"Because-" she sniffled, tightening her arms around them, "because everyone hates me," her voice faded at the end, and her wobbly knees gave in, making her sink into the hard floor and dragging the person along with her.

This time, the Angel wrapped her arms around her, rubbing soothing circles into her back.

"Jugyeong, things may seem horrible for you at the moment, and you have every right to be upset over what was said and done, but it is impossible to know answers to such questions when you're so overwhelmed."

The words cut through her haziness, her cries slowly stopping as what they said registered in Jugyeong's mind.

"You don't really want to die, do you?"

It felt weird, being told such things by a stranger.

Maybe deep down she had already known, but her despair had overtaken her senses and disregarded her common sense.

"Why were you really about to call your mother?"

Because she was hoping someone would stop her. To make sure someone really did care about her despite appearances.

The Angel patted her back, and slowly pulled away, only to firmly place their hands on Jugyeong's shoulders.

"Your family's waiting."

She didn't need to be told twice.

Maybe God was kinder than she thought.

It was getting dark now.

The cold evening air nipped at her skin as Ahyeong stood on the edge, heels digging into the concrete as she gazed down below.

What a hypocrite she was, telling all those things to Jugyeong.

She'd sent her home with a taxi after their ordeal, and Jugyeong had not even looked at her once through the whole thing.

She didn't know why.

The road was buzzing with activity, cars zooming past on asphalt, people walking home on the footpaths, vendors selling seasonal goods by the side.

It seemed to be a normal day.

She wondered how the rest of their day would go if her body suddenly flopped down there.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms. All of this was too real.

She slapped herself, the stinging spreading through her numb skin and making her wince in pain.

What was she doing? Was she really about to jump off a building just to test a theory out?

What if it failed? The pain in her cheek would pale in comparison to what would happen should she fall.

And the people waiting for her back home, thinking she was off paying her respects to an old friend. Gilyeong and Eunjung would be destroyed.

Ahyeong stepped back. No, she couldn't do this. She wasn't planning on dying today. Or anytime soon really.

She'd just have to get used to living here—

TURN.

Song Ahyeong stepped closer to the edge of the building, awaiting her doom.

What the fuck!? She didn't want to die, shit, shit, shit—

The LED screen behind her lit up in hues of pink and purple, colorful shadows falling on her dress that did nothing against the frigid wind.

Jung Seyeon's face graced the billboard in the distance, an ode from the people to celebrate the day he was born, and an apology for being the reason he died.

One more step and she would fall. No, no, one more step and she'd fall—

Ahyeong leaned forward closing her eyes for the last time.

NO!

And so, she fell backward.

Wait, backward?

TURN.

Ahyeong barely registered the iron grip on her wrist before it was tugged hard, her stiletto losing its balance and twisting her foot at an unnatural angle.

She widened her eyes as her vision blurred, surroundings moving too fast, and braced herself for the impact on the rough concrete.

It never came.

Instead, she fell on the person who had taken the liberty of pulling her back, and subsequently saving her. Groaning, she raised her head, squinting against the bright light of the advertisement.

"What a relief," Suho breathed out.

The ColorBeauty commercial cast the glow of its neon colors over their faces, and as the faint melody of Seyeon's voice filled the silence in the air, Song Ahyeong knew that somehow, she had fucked up.

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© 2021 Alfia Sheikh, All Rights Reserved

#true beauty #cha eunwoo #hwang inyeop #moon gayoung #lee suho #han seojun #im jugyeong #kang sujin #extraordinary you #lee suho x reader #lee suho x oc #korean drama #kdrama fanfic #kdrama imagine #kdrama scenarios #webtoon