#a bespoke response for you also

[makiitoh]

happy birthday emma!!!! 🧡🥳🎉 i hope you're having the absolute best day mwah! 🫶🏼

thank youuuuu my angel ramasha it was a really lovely day ☺️💗

#a bespoke response for you also #answered #.

[rinseis]

PLAYING FAVOURITES — GOJO SATORU

❥ gojo satoru is one of the most popular names in japan. when he becomes a judge-slash-leader on a dance show, he takes an abnormal amount of interest in you, making everyone else effectively jealous of you. problem is, if either of you want anything to happen, you have to keep it hidden from public eye. you think it’s best to wait, at least until the show’s over, but unluckily for you—gojo has always been impatient with what he wants.

word count. 5.9k ♱ content warnings: female reader, modern au, celebrity!gojo, dancer!reader, scandals, gojo is kinda a lot unprofessional, nsfw - mdni, porn with plot, mentions of BL, alcohol, gojo eats you out, penetration, fingering, orgasm denial, no condom was used (you kids stay safe, use condoms), pet names (baby, pretty, princess), geto sees you naked, slight action on a motorbike, mentions of masturbation/vibrators. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune :)

Fame, wealth, prestige.

Over three million followers. Everyone either wants him or wants to be him. Always decked out in his sponsors’ clothes—this season it’s Chanel. One of the favourite faces for Vogue. Praised as an all-rounded genius; there’s rarely anything he can’t do, being a model, actor and dancer with hobbies ranging from skateboarding to professional motorcycle racing. There’s nothing that Gojo Satoru seemingly lacks.

Except maybe in the professionalism department. And that’s only because he met you.

Being the judge in a dance competition that’s being broadcasted internationally comes with a set of unspoken responsibilities, namely: you do not sleep with any of the contestants. It’s not his first time on this show, so he already has a reputation built as the strict but kind and professional judge (and also the hottest one to grace everyone’s tv screens). But since week two of knowing you, he’s already crossing boundaries—putting his work ethic to the test.

When the team he has to train celebrates their earlier victory against another, he treats everyone to drinks at one of the most bespoke places in Tokyo, holding it in a private room away from paparazzi eyes. Gojo makes sure you sit right next to him too, because like hell is he letting his favourite be at risk of some other guy’s touchiness.

Not him though. It’s fine if it’s him.

As everyone gets talkative and debating among themselves about who’s the better dancer, Gojo takes the chance to lean closer to you, his hair brushing your face. You stiffen up a little, in that adorable way he likes whenever he’s near (because you’re a fan of him before this, he knows—he can tell), before you ultimately loosen up as he puts a soothing arm around your shoulder.

“Not feeling so well today?” He asks, because you’re particularly quiet tonight, more so than usual, and he’s curious. He’s always curious about you.

You chuckle, taking a swig of your beer. “Just tired out from earlier,” you tell him, and he guesses it’s because of today’s recording. Gojo knows, of course, because he pays special attention to you.

He watches every move you make, every smooth curve, relishes in your movements, especially when you dance to an especially sexy song. Gojo isn’t so subtle either, always cheering after you end your set, always making comments that the editor would probably have to cut out most of the time, praising you with words like i could watch you… dance all day and every time you dance i fall in love all over again. (With dance… of course.)

So much so that every other contestant there is envious of the attention to detail you get when it’s Gojo’s eyes on you. They can only dream of it.

“How’s your legs? Heard they cramped up earlier,” he asks, daring to put a hand on your thigh, gently rubbing up and down, the hem of your skirt reacting to his movements.

You nearly choke on your drink, but you don’t reject him anyway—letting him rest his hand on your inner thigh. By the looks of it, you’re enjoying it too, aren’t you? That smile you’re suppressing isn’t very convincing if you aren’t.

But Gojo likes to be a little piece of shit, he likes to play games first—and he wants to play with you, because he thinks you’re oh so pretty and oh so talented, and you’re kind of fiesty too, during training, making him question all the boring models he’s ever dated just for their bodies.

Are you going to be the same? That’s what he wants to find out.

When the celebration ends, he makes sure he sends everyone on a cab back to the recording building, the residential apartments sponsored by the show being right next door to it. Except for you though. He holds you back from entering the last cab for the group, knocking on it to let the driver know to drive off.

Then, with a devilish grin on his face, he grabs a spare helmet and offers it to you.

“Wanna ride?”

Ten seconds later, you’re riding pillion, holding onto Gojo because you’ve never ridden on a back of a motorcycle that’s going this fast before. You should’ve known, really, because what other speed would an adrenaline-loving professional motorbike racer drive on? Judging by the look of his bike, it’s probably not actually allowed to be usable on the actual roads too—it should only be driven for races.

Not that Gojo cares, because he knows he’s the best and he wouldn’t let you get hurt. You thank god he chose not to drink tonight. You wonder if he drinks at all, now that you think of it. But Gojo accelerates and all your thoughts go out the, well, wind? You hold onto him tighter, and you swear you can almost see a smirk if not for the helmet in your face. He’s not even wearing a helmet, for fucks’ sake. Just how much of a daredevil is he?

To his credit though, he manages to get you to the destination safely, without a hair out of place for him because somehow, no matter what he does, he always looks drop-dead gorgeous. Talk about being born with good looks, good body, good everything. No wonder all the luxury brands are scrambling to be his sponsors. He could probably make trash bags look expensive.

When you get off, you realise that you’re not at the usual building, with grey walls and a shoddy exterior. This time, you’re face to face with a sleek black high-rise hotel, the kind that you think probably only the elites in society can afford. Just when you’re about to question Gojo on his intentions, he cuts you off.

“Do you mind? This place belongs to my friend, just gotta check in on him for a bit,” he tells you, looking at you expectantly, as though he’s daring you to say no. But you gesture for him to go ahead, and that shit-eating smile is back on his face.

Once you’re inside, you’re met with a floral aroma that’s not too pungent, the entire lobby enveloped in a bright warm light, filled with attendants who bow at the sight of Gojo Satoru strolling in, decked head to toe in Chanel (of course), who in turn ignores everyone else and pulls you by the wrist with him.

You sit by the bar as you wait for Gojo to finish conversing with his friend, who’s sat in the far corner of the hotel restaurant, table filled with paper and files that you’re not envious of. The life of the rich seems too complicated for you. You’re happy just being yourself and enjoying trying to make a living out of dancing.

From the corner of your eye, you can faintly make out his fox-like eyes, jet black hair—he’s a stark contrast to Gojo, who seems to be more rainbows and sunshine. You don’t know what his name is, but he gives you a smirk when he catches you staring, and you abruptly turn away, embarrassed from getting caught.

“You here with Gojo Satoru?”

The bartender appears in front of you, looming tall as he looks down at you. He has jet black hair too, but he’s more buff than Gojo and his friend—the type who looks like he can manhandle you if he wants to. That scar on his lip makes him look dangerous. A white rag is slung over his shoulder as he uses it to wipe the glass down.

You nod, trying not to appear too friendly. You never know what these men might be thinking. “Yep, but I’m just a nobody so don’t worry about me,” you tell him once you realise he’s pouring you a shot.

The man scoffs, his voice getting even lower. “Nobody that’s around someone like Gojo Satoru is really a nobody,” he tells you, sliding the shot glass over the counter.

You’ve already drank a lot earlier, but you can hold your own, so you accept it anyway, with the plan of asking to put it on Gojo’s tab if they ask you to pay. You think a single shot here can cost at least three hours of your wage.

“So you know Gojo well, then?”

Admittedly, a part of you is curious to learn more about Gojo. The one every tabloid uses to boost their viewers, and the one who seemingly dates a new girl every other month, and the one everyone somehow either wants to be, or wants to get with. You included, if you’re not being in denial.

“Only as much as I observe,” he tells you bluntly. The only reason he’s talking to you is probably because he’s bored out of his mind since you’re the only one there apart from the other two guys.

So you decide why not? You don’t think you’re about to ask Gojo about himself, so maybe the bartender is the next best thing. “Do you happen to know why he doesn’t drink, uh—”

“Toji.”

“Toji.”

“Simple, he’s a lightweight, that’s all,” Toji tells you, rolling his eyes. “Took him two shots to get tipsy and by the time he took the third shot he was all whiny and ended up throwing up in that pot over there,” he nudges his head toward the plant nestled at the corner of the bar, his irritation earning a snort out of you. Judging by his tone, he probably had to be the one to clean it up.

“Hey, are you shitting on me to my student?”

Gojo’s behind you before you know it, an arm slung around you as his friend takes to the other side of you, showing you an interested gaze.

Toji barely pays Gojo any mind, putting away the glasses. “Ah, Satoru, looks like you got a new favourite huh?”

The way he says new favourite implies there’s an old one, and going by the news you’ve seen of him circulating online, there’s not really anyone that qualifies, with every relationship being such a short fling. Is that what Toji means or is he hinting at something else?

It’s like Gojo can sense the gears turning in your head, so he gives you a quick flick on the forehead before turning his attention back to the bartender. A childish grin appears on his face, one that you’ve never seen him show on tv before, or throughout recording. “How about you give us each two shots?”

“No.” Toji’s refusal is quick and crisp clear.

Beside you, Gojo’s friend snickers, amused as he swirls his own liquor of choice in his glass. “Satoru, stop trying to bully my bartender into quitting.”

“Then try to hire a more competent one,” Satoru sneers, Toji’s deadpan expression and Satoru’s childish one on par with each other.

Ignoring them, Gojo’s friend reaches his hand out to you, a friendly smile on his face. “I take it you’re Y/N?” He asks, and you nod politely, shaking his hand. “Geto Suguru,” he introduces himself, and your ears perk up, somehow finding that name familiar.

“Heard of him?” Toji asks you, entirely ignoring Gojo now, who’s pouting as he reluctantly takes a seat beside you. When you struggle to place it, Toji helps you out. “He’s an actor too, played as Satoru’s lover in one of the dramas.”

Your eyes widen as Geto suddenly looks exactly like the character he was acting as, his face growing more familiar by the second. He groans, rolling his eyes, and Satoru’s on your other side faux gagging with his tongue sticking out.

“Don’t remind me,” Geto sighs just thinking about it, “we had that entire fanfiction saga after that ended, too.”

When you turn to Gojo, he only side eyes you and tells you, “don’t even ask.” So you make a mental reminder to google it yourself later.

As much as you like socialising with celebrities that are way above your status, you feel the sleep catching up to you, the exhaustion from earlier creeping its way back in.

“I think I’m just gonna head back first,” you tell Gojo, finishing up your drink and getting up, but Gojo’s big hands find you first, holding you in place. It’s kind of hard not to let your heart flutter when you’re in such close proximity with someone who’s too utterly gorgeous for his own good.

Gojo opens his mouth just briefly before holding himself back and then just offering a smile. “You tired?”

You want to say you’re not, because if you’re being honest, you don’t get opportunities like this often, this being the first time you’ve actually had proper alone time with Gojo outside of your training, and even that you were surrounded by cameras watching your every move.

“Kinda,” you settle for, and it’s like Gojo senses what you’re thinking of that he offers you a cheeky smile.

With his fingers around your wrist, he pulls you with him as he exits the bar, an amused Geto left behind, whispering something you can’t hear to Toji, who shakes his head as though he saw this coming.

“Where are we going?”

When Gojo turns around and winks at you, you can only hope he doesn’t actually feel your pulse racing from where your hands are linked. It’s honestly irritating just how charming he can be.

He’s quick on his feet, the light reflecting off of his studded jacket as he drags you with him across the lobby to the lift, swiping a card and then pressing for the rooftop, the glass elevator smoothly bringing the both of you up. You turn around to face the view of the city, and your eyes light up.

It’s not like you’ve never seen the Tokyo skyline before, but to see it like this; undisturbed and in the company of someone you admire—it feels kind of unmatched.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Gojo’s voice flows through your ears like honey, his eyes piercing even as you look at them through the reflection on the elevator window. You only nod, mesmerised by both the view and the person. “I convinced Suguru to buy this place and make something out of it, used to be just an abandoned building at one point.”

And now it’s one of the most prestigious hotels in all of Tokyo, with a view that’s hard to beat, and a rooftop that’s entirely too beautiful that you wonder how long they spent just on the design alone.

The scenery distracts you from the fact that Gojo’s fingers are intertwined with your own as he brings you onto the rooftop, walking you to a corner where a thick wooden table sits, a single wooden ashtray in the middle.

Gojo lets go of your hand to sit on the table, feet propped up and body leaned back on his palms as he smirks to himself, satisfied that you find the view just as nice as he does.

You’re completely absorbed by the scenery before you, leaning against the edge, wide starry eyes looking at every thing in sight. Gojo wonders if you know how pretty you are, if you know what you do to him. Every single time he sees you, he has to hold himself back from acting out of line thanks to all the cameras surrounding you. That, and the warning given by the producers to keep things professional.

But Gojo thinks fuck being professional, because neither of you are being watched right now, and he knows he’s not the only one out of the two of you that’s aware of the chemistry between you. Your lingering eyes, the way you always look out for him, the way you willingly let him cross the line sometimes.

Slowly, he comes up behind you, mirroring your pose, arms leaning against the edge too, enveloping you in between his body. It’s shameful really, that if you didn’t have restraint, Gojo won’t have it either, but it’s all up to you. His right hand comes up to brush against your cheek, and he can tell by the muscles on your shoulders that you’re stiffening up—he’s been paying attention to your body way too much. He can argue it’s his job, but never when it comes to you.

Even now, when he’s so unashamedly staring at how your top hugs your body so well, how your skirt is at a length tempting enough to hike over your ass. Just imagining what you look like underneath all that is enough to make him hard, his hips instinctively closing the gap between you.

Your head’s been muddled for a while now, and you gasp at the feeling of Gojo against you. You’ve thought of this situation before, of the physical attraction between you and Gojo coming to a head, but you’d always thought to leave these kinds of things until after the show’s over. Seems like Gojo has the opposite thoughts, those same views seeping into your own head, making you reconsider, and it looks like he’ll come out on top.

You can’t help but let out a whine as you feel his big hands on your inner thighs, beckoning you to spread them for him. It’s pitiful how easily you obey, and Gojo is just as desperate, your stomach being pushed further against the edge of the railing.

In spite of it all, Gojo’s trying his best to limit himself to this, his hands squeezing your thighs in frustration. “Fuuuck,” he groans as his fingers sneak up against your underwear, feeling how wet you are already. “If you don’t stop me I don’t know if I can control myself.”

It’s really unfair of him to say that, you think, when he’s the one who’s been coming on to you. Still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying this, if you said you didn’t want this too.

“You’re supposed to be the teacher, shouldn’t I be the one following your lead?” You ask back, breathless from how Gojo’s already rubbing circles against your clothed clit, his dick only getting harder as he continues to press himself against your ass.

If you were being completely honest, you’d been waiting for this for a while. An entire month feeling the tension between the two of you without acting on it. An entire month of dancing together, training under him, sometimes with his big hands on your waist and you having to pretend that this doesn’t affect you at all. Your patience is wafer thin by now, and Gojo’s is probably even thinner.

You hear Gojo suck a deep breath before he forcefully turns you around, his half-lidded eyes filled with lust. Your gaze falls to his pants, the outline of his dick way too obvious against the expensive fabric. You swallow the lump in your throat; he’s so big you wonder if you can actually take him.

With a smirk, Gojo sneaks his fingers back up under your skirt, pressing against your clit, “just wanted to see what you look like when you feel good.”

This scene is so surreal that you wonder if you’re dreaming. Renowned celebrity Gojo Satoru who’s famous enough to be a household name with a fairly decent reputation is actually here with you, right now, aching for you so badly that he can’t control himself?

“What are you thinking about, pretty?”

His nicknames are going to be the death of you. He’s been controlling himself until now, so you’re not surprised if he’s pulling out all the stops tonight.

Your own eyes mirror his expression, the desire no longer tolerable to control. Usually you’re fond of playing games but this time you’re way too impatient to wait any longer.

“I think… I want you,” you tell him honestly, and for a brief moment you think you see the pupils in his serene blue eyes dilate before his gestures turn feral, his hunger blatantly obvious in the way his hands grip your waist, firm and strong as he kisses you, hips grinding desperately against you, chasing the friction he so badly needs.

“Fuck this is gonna be so bad if we get caught,” he mumbles in between kisses, both of you entangled with each other, your fingers grasping at his hair, his own hands squeezing your ass as he groans at how perfect this feels.

In the moment, you think you couldn’t care less. “Guess we just have to make sure we don’t get caught,” you tell him, and you feel him smirking against you.

“Knew I liked you for a reason,” he chuckles, lifting you up to sit on the edge. He can tell from the way your body reacts that you’re nervous. “Promise I won’t let you fall. Trust me?”

Do you even have any other choice?

You nod, and his childish grin gives you a whiplash. “Ha, good girl,” he praises you before kissing you silly, his one hand holding you in place while the other slowly slips your underwear off, discarding it to the ground. Gojo looks up at you one last time as though making sure you’re sure about this, and the moment you nod, he’s on his knees, trailing kisses on your thighs.

The only thing you can do is watch as he gets dangerously close to your cunt, beautiful eyes watching your expression as he gets closer. He always likes to look at you. He wants to observe just how insane he can make you feel. He wants to know just how badly you want him too.

His strong hands push you forward slightly, his head completely between your thighs now as he gives your clit a small lick, enjoying the sound of you squealing when he does so. He doesn’t hide his mirth, chuckling as he dares himself to taste more of you, licking a fat stripe up your pussy, groaning from how good you taste. Better than he imagined. Better than when he jerked off to you that one time after rehearsal. Better than anyone.

Your fingers yank at his soft white locks as he loses himself in you, groaning in satisfaction as his tongue flicks in and out of your warm pussy, your thighs locking around his neck, your hips grinding against his lips and begging for more.

“You’re driving me fucking insane, you know that?” Gojo asks, his eyes failing to watch your expression now that he’s busy staring at how wet your pretty little pussy is.

From above, you relish in the way Gojo can’t seem to get enough of you, his lips filled with your slick, cheeks and ears red from whatever he may be feeling. It’s a side you’re sure that’s hidden from public, and call you silly but you think that kind of makes this special somehow.

He doesn’t spare a second in standing up and lifting you off the edge, letting you down gently on the table, flicking the ashtray away. Gojo’s hands slowly hike your skirt up over your stomach, unbuttoning your shirt, the moonlight illuminating you in all the right places. His lips move to your stomach, pressing light kisses on your body, trailing upwards to the valley between your breasts, his free hand unclasping your bra in one swift motion.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes against your skin, his lips grazing against the goosebumps that form. Your head tilts up, your back arching as you feel his fingers entering you, one first before the second one slowly joins, Gojo’s ever observant eyes watching as you moan from the pleasure, fingers picking up the pace because he decides he likes the way you sound. “Feels that good, huh?” He asks when he feels you clenching around him.

Your eyes fly open as you meet his own, the yearning from your gaze in full display, your whimpers are all you can let out because Gojo doesn’t let you breathe from his kisses now. He thinks you’re fucking addictive, thinks he was doomed from the moment he first saw how you moved, dancing with just the right force, eyes ogling at your body every single second, always looking for you in the crowd of contestants.

“Gojo—”

He immediately shuts you up with a forceful kiss, his fingers stilling inside you. Gojo’s eyes look into yours, a gentle dominance in his sneer. “Satoru,” he corrects you.

First name basis isn’t something you thought you’d ever get to do with him, but it’s not like you don’t like the thought of it.

“Satoru,” you breathe out, earning a peck on your lips as you say his name.

“What is it?” He asks, almost mockingly, because he knows exactly what you want. Gojo’s fingers move achingly slow inside of you, pushing against that spot you like—he’s already familiar with you just from this brief dalliance alone. “Hmm, can’t understand if you don’t use your big girl words.”

The way he sounds so condescending is downright humiliating, and yet your pussy clenches around his fingers that it takes everything in him not to concede so easily.

Thank god you do though.

“Satoru please fuck me,” you plead, tears in your eyes and looking just so absolutely delectable that he gets the flicker of a thought that he doesn’t want anyone else to get to see you in a state like this. Only him.

He plays right into your hands too, letting his pants and boxers pool to the floor, one of his hands pumping his cock, precum leaking from the tip, his mouth falling open as he slowly enters you, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you take him in.

“So fuck—fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, slowly pushing into you, your perfect tits earning a squeeze as you try to adjust to his size. Gojo looks at where you’re connected, praising you with a flurry of good girl and your pussy’s fucking made for me.

You knew he was big, but it’s so much more than you anticipated, even harder with his thumb pressing down on your clit, teasing you and waiting to see your limit. He’s smirking down at you, though your eyes are squeezed shut to see it.

“What? Wanna cum already? That fast, baby?” He mocks, starting to rub your clit. To think, he’s not even all the way in. God, you’re so fucking perfect. Gojo doesn’t think he’s ever felt so much satisfaction from teasing someone before that he wants to tease you even more. Pinching on your nipple with his other hand, he makes you squeal. “Baby baby, be a good girl, okay?” He whispers, pressing a kiss on your cheek, “better not cum until I tell you to.”

“I can’t-can’t hold it in—” You’re already struggling to think, let alone speak, and that’s exactly what Gojo likes. The way you’re so vulnerable for him, completely different from your demeanour when you’re dancing.

Tilting his head, he grins as he thinks of an idea. “If you can’t hold it in, ‘m afraid I’ll have to punish you,” he says, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw, loving how you’re completely at his mercy.

“Wha- how?” You’re quivering, your body so so close to your high, your willpower threatening to break any second now.

Gojo chuckles, low and deep, as his mouth moves to your ear. “If you can’t be a good girl for me tonight, I won’t touch you ever again,” he whispers, smug as he watches you pout, knowing he’s got you figured out. You want this as much as he does. He doesn’t think he can follow through with that at all, but you don’t have to know that.

All he knows is that you’re buying it as you nod, holding it in. He kisses your forehead as he resumes pushing inside you, watching as you struggle not to cum just from him entering.

“Oh god, you feel so f’kin good, baby,” he praises you again, watching as he’s fully inside of you now, tears falling from your eyes.

He starts moving slowly, getting your pussy to adjust to his girth, laughing at how you’re trying so hard not to let yourself go. You might possibly be one of the most amusing girls he’s ever met.

“Hmm, you’re so sensitive… want me that bad, pretty? Want me to fuck you again after tonight, is that it?” His tone has a lilt to it, and even though he’s mocking you for it, truth is, he’s throbbing inside of you, his own seed threatening to spill out at any moment.

Still, he supposes you’re being so obedient, nodding profusely like that, so worried that you won’t get his attention anymore that he guesses he can throw you (and himself) a bone.

“Mmm, maybe I should go easy on you, huh?” He acts as though he’s not completely a gone case, as though he’s not driven insane like you are. “Want that, baby?” Gojo’s fingers pinch on your clit, and god damn it your mewl is too cute to resist. You nod, not even knowing what for but knowing you need it.

“Want me to let you cum?”

You nod again, and Gojo’s chuckling.

“Still want me to fuck you after tonight?”

You nod again, much more, and Gojo’s ego has never been boosted higher. You’re holding it in so bad, clenching around him so tight that it nearly hurts.

“Fine, cum for me.”

Not even a second later, you’re screaming his name and cumming around his cock as he thrusts into you, riding you out, watching as you squirt all around him, using all his energy to keep himself from spilling inside you because that won’t do.

Gojo pulls out, spilling his load all over you—your chest, your stomach, your clit, watching him taint your body and watching as you let him, the sight of you an absolute hot mess as you pant under him.

It’s adorable, really, how you’re seemingly spent just from that. It’s even more adorable how you think he’s already done with you.

But before Gojo can say anything else, you hear a familiar voice cut in.

“Least you guys could do is lock the door, you know?”

Shooting your head to the side, you see Geto there, a mirthful smirk on his face as he waves hello. You’re mortified, already trying to cover yourself up, Satoru’s cum staining your clothes. Satoru himself, on the other hand, appears unfazed as he pulls his pants up, sighing.

“And maybe you shouldn’t be watching other people fuck, Suguru,” he says, completely unbothered still, and you’re wondering why until Geto speaks again.

“Aww, thought we could share this one too,” he sighs, and his disappointment sounds fake, like he knew all along Satoru wouldn’t go for it. But all you can think of is that he added too—so they’ve shared girls before? You can only imagine just how well they know each other.

In one swift motion, Geto is beside you, seemingly admiring all the places where he knows Satoru’s touched, his hand on your back while he kisses your cheek, before he’s pushed back by Satoru himself.

“Don’t touch her,” Satoru snaps, removing his shirt before you realise he’s offering it to you to wear, now that yours is dirty. He covers your body with his own while you change out of it, with Geto continuing his facade.

“Oh? This is a first, Satoru. You, not willing to share with me?”

Despite their words, the atmosphere isn’t tense at all, and you guess that’s just how close they are.

Satoru scoffs. “Told you, this one’s all mine,” he proclaims, a little hint of smugness in his voice. This time, without waiting for Geto to respond, Satoru grabs you by the arm and waves a hurried bye! to his friend before escaping his sight.

As you take the elevator back down, you’re still trying to process what happened, between fucking who’s supposed to be your teacher and judge in a competition to having Geto witness you nearly naked after getting fucked by his best friend.

Is this really your life right now? You’re really not just making this all up in your head?

In front of you, Gojo’s busy typing away on his phone until the elevator dings, snapping you both out of your reverie. He can tell you’re dazed, but to be really honest, he takes that as a good thing so he gleefully takes your hand and pulls you along with him, briefly giving you a once-over, loving how you look in his shirt. Maybe he should give you more shirts from his closet to wear for your performances. He’d definitely get a kick out of it.

When you reach his motorcycle again, you stop short before asking him again, “where are we going, Satoru?”

You’re still calling him Satoru. He grins. He likes that—likes the show of intimacy, even if it can only be in private.

Gojo revs his motorbike, gesturing for you to just get behind him, which you do—like the good girl he knows you are. He waits until he’s driving away before answering you.

“I was thinking my place,” he says, riding faster, his dick growing hard just thinking about fucking you again.

And it’s like the wind against your face knocks some sense into you again, realising that you and him aren’t just two people separated by your statuses in the world; that the Satoru you know is no longer just the Gojo Satoru you’ve read about in countless tabloids and videos. You came on the show, Satoru took an extreme interest in you, and you’re both now probably violating the rules by, well, fucking, and neither of you want to stop now either.

Just like he’s got you wrapped around his finger, he’s at your every command. Because he wants you. And you know that. And it’s fine if it’s just physical, because you doubt it will go anywhere either.

So maybe it’s okay to let loose.

Your fingers drop to the hem of his pants, palming his cock through the fabric, and Gojo grunts from how good it feels, the motorbike swerving a little when Gojo can’t keep control, distracted by your ministrations.

“Hah, you’re a little fucker, aren’t you?” He chuckles, going fast enough that no one can see what you’re doing, not that there’re a lot of people at this time of night anyway.

“Yeah, what can you do about it?” You tease, feeling a little more comfortable now, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Satoru clicks his tongue, smirking as he looks at your reflection through the mirror. “Careful, pretty, or I’ll make you wear a vibrator the next time we have group rehearsals.”

You fall for it, furrowing your brows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Satoru laughs out loud, going even faster now, your arms instinctively hugging him round the waist, not daring to tease him anymore—and you should’ve taken that he’s a professional racer before you started teasing him, really.

Daring to turn around to look at you, he smirks. “We’ll see,” he chuckles, “I’m supposed to be your mentor. Can’t let you off the hook that easy, princess.”

Of course, later that night, you’re caught in between Satoru and his inexplicably expensive silk sheets, situated in his all-too-big penthouse suite, moaning his name over and over, his teeth marking your breasts, cock dragging along your gummy walls and fucking you until you can’t think of anything else but him.

As Satoru watches you cum for the fourth time that night, he smirks, watching you writhe underneath him. Yeah, he definitely won’t let you off the hook. Who knows what’ll become of both of you once the show ends? But for now, as long as it’s still going on, he’s going to have his fun with you.

In secret.

#i need him so so so bad </3 #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #gojo satoru smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk gojo x reader #jjk gojo smut #༊ &.writing

[least-carpet]

What do you like about jc? Why he is your favorite?

Anon, this has been sitting in my inbox because I was afraid to open this can of worms. I've rotated this character nonstop for, like, the past three years. I got on Tumblr because of this character. I'm not even that wild about MDZS as a novel! I'm a SVSSS main! I don't know how I ended up here!

He loves his nephew so much. I love what we get about Jiang Cheng's relationship with Jin Ling, who had what was probably an indescribably weird childhood, but who has never once thought to himself that his uncle didn't love him. Jin Ling is evidently spoiled and rude but also so genuinely courageous, forgiving, and loving in his horrible teenage way. I love these two and they love each other!

He's dutiful. I think people sometimes think of duty as a burden, and obviously it can be, but I also think of it as an expression of care towards others. He sincerely cares about his responsibilities, which include all of the people who joined the Jiang sect to follow him.

He's supremely competent. We see the poor guy fail a lot, but he restored a massacred sect to Great Sect status in 13-15 years with what seems like no familial support and no apparent close external connections. He must be really, really good at his job.

He's such a bitch. He's here to make things hard and unpleasant on purpose! He's witty and will say the meanest possible thing he can think of in a fight! Just like his mother, he can sense your insecurities like a bloodhound and tear into them at will! I think this is a good and endearing quality (for a character, obviously).

He is profoundly screwed by the narrative. Dude is, as @winepresswrath puts it, "ontologically cursed." He exists to fail. His creator made him the most determined little toaster and then put him in 1000 unwinnable situations. He is trapped in, like, a bespoke torment matrix, that he only really escapes at the end of canon (dignity in tatters but nephew in hand).

Killer style in CQL and maybe also the donghua from what I've seen of the gifs? Fashionable king. Deeply uncool despite the drip, which endears him to me more.

Wang Zhuocheng's crying face. Yes, it's that gif set again. It haunts my dreams.

#anon asks #jiang cheng #jin ling #a-ling and his jiujiu #mdzs + #least-carpet thoughts

[gothhabiba]

A few months ago, an article by Just Like Us about a survey of young UK adults regarding LGBT topics (and other articles on The Pink News and Gay Times UK that reported on that article) did the rounds on here.

The headline of the Gay Times article, written by Amy Ashenden (a cisgender butch lesbian and the interim CEO of Just Like Us, who hired the consultancy that conducted the survey) was "Lesbians being anti-trans is a lesbophobic trope"; of the results of the survey, she writes "I’m so glad that we finally have the research to demonstrate what most lesbians already knew: this narrative is completely false."

A lot of this initial reporting focused on the claims that "most anti-trans adults don’t know a trans person in real life" and "lesbians are the most supportive of trans people of any identity group, and it's a lesbophobic trope that they are anti-trans." These articles were written before the full report of the survey's data had been released.

The full report that these claims are based on is now out, for anyone who wants to take a closer look at the results for themselves. The pdf appears to be OCR readable but not image-described. The survey deals with many topics including being "out" and "feeling supported" at school and at work, but I'll just try to break down the evidence for the above-mentioned two claims.

How respondents were selected:

Just Like Us's report says that "Participants were drawn in partnership between Just Like Us and from Cibyl’s independent database of UK students and young adults" (p. 69). Cibyl offers "bespoke studies and focus groups," and says that "Using our Cibyl-ings student panel, we can source specific students to look at themes and topics important to you and ask the unique questions you want the answers to." This is rather vague.

Sample group and size:

3,695 young adults aged between 18 and 25. 86% cisgender and 12% transgender; 47% LGBT and 53% non-LGBT (used as a control group to compare LGBT responses to); 72% white; 79% students; 54% "female" (self-declared), 36% "male", 8% non-binary (pp. 69-70).

Support for the articles' central claims:

There is no full breakdown of the data resulting from the survey that would allow anyone else to do their own statistical analysis. Here's (what Just Like Us gives of) the data that the "most anti-trans people don't know a trans person in real life" claim is based on:

[ID: Headline reading "Attitudes towards transgender people. Question reading "How supportive are you of transgender people? Of people who "know a transgender person," 64% said "very supportive"; "supportive" 23%; "slightly supportive" 10%; "not supportive" 3%. Of those who "don't know a transgender person," 33% said "very supportive"; "supportive" 28%; "slightly supportive" 20%; "not supportive" 18%. Second question "Do you know any transgender people?" Result: 28% "Yes, someone I'm close to"; 38% "Yes, someone I'm not close to"; 34% "I don't know any transgender people." Further breakdown of the question "Do you know a transgender person?": 49% of "non-LGBT+" people said "yes"; 84% of LGBT+ people; 94% of non-binary people; 93% of transgender people; 82% of asexual people; 85% of bi/pan people; 80% of gay men; 92% of lesbians; 75% of questioning people. End ID]

The "do you know any transgender people" question is worded slightly differently each time—plus, the Just Like Us article and the report (p. 8) adduce the phrase "in real life" to "know a trans person," but this page doesn't—so I don't think we're getting the exact wording for that question that the survey respondents saw. The data for "how supportive are you of transgender people" isn't broken down according to whether the respondent said they were "close" or "not close" to the transgender person or people they knew; it also doesn't seem to be broken down into trans or nonbinary versus cisgender respondents.

"How supportive are you of transgender people?" was the only question dealing with this issue, and the responses "very supportive," "supportive," "slightly supportive," and "not supportive" were the only options available; there's nothing breaking down what "support" means in terms of policy (e.g. support versus non-support for consent-based clinics, national funding for transition care, non-discrimination laws, bathroom laws, &c. &c.). There is also no distinction made between "support" for trans women and trans men.

The claim "UK adults between the ages of 18 and 25 who answer 'not supportive' to the question 'How supportive are you of transgender people?' are several times more likely to also answer 'no' to the question 'do you know a transgender person' (or maybe 'do you know a transgender person in real life')" is supported, in my opinion. The sample size is large enough for that 3% to not be random noise.

The analysis in the Just Like Us article groups together "very supportive" and "supportive" when providing percentages of respondents of given identities who support trans people:

Of all LGBT+ identities, other than trans and non-binary people themselves, lesbian young adults were most likely to say they know a trans person (92%), and most likely to say they are “supportive” or “very supportive” of trans people (96%). In comparison, 89% of LGBT+ people overall said they were  “supportive” or “very supportive” of trans people, and just 69% of non-LGBT+ people said the same.

There is no full breakdown of how many people are "very supportive," "supportive," "slightly supportive" or "not supportive" of trans people by identity label. The relevant data is on p. 63 of the report:

"Looking at who was the most supportive of transgender people:

non-binary respondents were 97% supportive or very supportive with 1% of respondents indicating they were not supportive;

lesbian respondents were 95% supportive or very supportive [everywhere else in the report and in the reporting says 96%, so perhaps this is a typo] (3% were not supportive);

bi/pansexual respondents were 92% supportive or very supportive (2% were not supportive).

Of respondents who were gay men, 82% were supportive or very supportive of transgender people, with 7% indicating they were not supportive.

Among non-LGBT+ respondents 69% were supportive of transgender people, with 12% indicating they were not supportive."

It's not clear to me how they dealt with e.g. lesbians who were also transgender. Pages 69-70 of the report go into the questions that people were asked to identify their identity label for the purposes of statistical analysis ("Is your gender identity the same as the one you were originally assigned at birth?"; and "What is your sexual orientation?"). The fact that these are separate questions (as they should be) tells me that there's overlap between groups throughout the study; any data that says e.g. "83% of lesbian respondents" is combining cis and trans lesbians, and any result that says "67% of trans people" is combining heterosexual and LGB trans people.

So, while narrowing the respondents down to just cisgender LGB people to compare their support for trans people would have been one way to analyse the data, I'm guessing they didn't do that (plus, there's the article's wording of "LGBT+ people overall"; it wouldn't make statistics-analytical sense to compare cis lesbians with all LGBT+ people, plus it would presumably make the higher support % of lesbians less stark, which seems like the opposite of what Ashenden wanted to do).

When the article says "other than trans and non-binary people themselves," they don't mean that they excluded trans and non-binary people from the percentages given; they mean "other than the number you get if you measure support for transgender people just from trans and non-binary people." We're not given the number that would result from doing this. The number we're given in the report for non-binary people is 97% supportive (this number is not included in the article); we are not given a number for just trans people, but we can probably assume it also approaches 100%.

This means that the 96% support presumably measures support from cis and trans lesbians; the 82% of "supportive" and "very supportive" gay men includes cis and trans men; &c.

There is a major statistics-analytical problem with acknowledging that trans and non-binary respondents have the highest rates of support for trans people, but then not controlling the results of this question for whether the respondent was cis or trans. If a higher percentage of lesbian respondents were trans than the percentage of gay men respondents that were trans, this would itself skew the numbers for lesbian support higher. There's no reason to suppose that this did happen, but there is not enough information given about the data that Just Like Us collected to rule it out. Again, at no point are we given information about overlap between LGB and trans groups or a breakdown of what that overlap looked like (how many trans respondents were heterosexual versus LGB, &c.).

As I mentioned above, some of the survey focused on whether respondents "felt supported" at home and at school. Some snippets on the results of these questions can be found on pages 45-49 of the report. "[M]ore than 1 in 4" LGBT+ respondents "felt unsupported" in school compared to "1 in 10" non-LGBT+ respondents; 37% of transgender respondents and 39% of nonbinary respondents said they felt unsupported in school. Despite the survey's focus on the outcomes of felt support, and despite all respondents being asked if they were "supportive" of transgender people, no question asked transgender respondents if they "felt supported" by cisgender LGB people.

Generalisability of claims:

The sampling of the data (which is drawn entirely from people in the UK aged 18-25, mostly students) also means that the claims are not generalisable to the entire UK population; you can't say the "majority of anti-trans adults don’t know a trans person in real life" (the headline of the Just Like Us article) or "Most anti-trans adults don’t actually know a trans person in real life" (the headline of the Pink News article), since the survey did not take a representative sample of all adults. You can't say "lesbians are not anti-trans" (the url of the Gay Times article), since the survey is not representative of all lesbians.

Funding sources:

The report was sponsored by Deloitte Touche Tohmatsu Limited, a firm offering professional services (accounting, auditing, consulting, financial advisory, litigation consulting, and other services offered to businesses).

Cibyl, an independent research firm in the UK, "led on research design and delivery, then worked in partnership with Just Like Us to produce the report." They include the report ("Positive Futures") as an example of their work on their website. Their summary of the study focuses on the claim that "support in LGBT+ young adults’ teenage years" is necessary to the future development of their careers, and on what "employers and careers professionals can do to help LGBT+ young people feel safe and supported." This is the same kind of thing that Deloitte talks about when it comes to LGBT+ issues (namely, inclusion versus exclusion and support versus non-support in the workplace).

A video that Asheden produced with Mags Scott (partner at Deloitte) also focuses on how "support" for LGBT+ people "at home, in school, and in the workplace" leads to confidence in "career prospects" and ability to be onself "at work," and is necessary for LGBT+ people's mental wellbeing.

Just Like Us has an interest in promoting research that suggests that support for LGBT+ people in school will benefit them in their careers, since they sell training resources on forming LGBT+ groups, and talks with LGBT+ speakers, to schools. Just Like Us is a non-profit organisation.

Declaration of conflicts of interest and peer review:

This is an industry-sponsored study and not an academic one. There is no declaration of conflicts of interest required, and the study was not peer-reviewed.

Tl;dr:

Some breakdown of data was revealed in the report. The exact questions that respondents saw were not given. The data is not given with enough granularity to allow for anyone else to conduct statistical analysis based on it.

There is not enough evidence to say whether the study supports the claim that (cis?) lesbians are more supportive of trans people than any other identity group, since the survey was not clear what "support" means (someone may claim to support trans people as individuals while not supporting transition care, for example, due to some kind of "love the sinner, hate the sin" logic).

There is also a statistical problem with the support for this claim, since overlap between "transgender" and "cisgender" respondents is not controlled for. There is not enough data given in the report to allow anyone else to control for this factor. The results would hold if we assumed that similar percentages of e.g. lesbian, bisexual, and gay male respondents were transgender.

The results apply only to people in the UK aged 18-25 and cannot be generalised to all adults in the UK.

Summaries of this report given by the firms that funded and conducted it centre on the idea that "support" of LGBT+ people at home, at school, and in the workplace is necessary to allow them to thrive in the workplace. Just Like Us, who put out the report, sell LGBT+ talks and training to schools.

#now THIS is an effortpost #long post / #lgbt #lgbt+ #transgender #lesbian #positive futures

[winter2468]

People characterise Ghastly as 'the sensible one', and yes, he is sensible generally, but I also think it's worth bearing in mind that sometimes, he only seems sensible because he's standing next to Skulduggery Pleasant. It's comparative.

This is the guy who is best friends with Skulduggery who is, you know, Skulduggery. This is the man who fell in love with Tanith Low.

This is the man who, during the middle of a centuries-long war, as a member of an elite squad, went missing for weeks (his friends thought he might be dead) and what was he doing? He was in a cabin with a French woman. Ghastly Bespoke was in the middle of a war, and decided to peace out to have a weeks-long hookup. If he'd had a phone, you know the notifications would have been turned off. Responsibilities, who? The man looked around at death and destruction and thought, you know what? There is a pretty woman with me and I will take some 'me time'. Love that for him.

#this is not a skulduggery pleasant quote #skulduggery pleasant #ghastly bespoke #sp #ghastly #death bringer

[geniusgingerprincess]

I’m exhausted and very annoyed that because I started interacting with these Watcher posts then now I’m seeing more of them and they are VILE. Like I just keep seeing the same variations of feeling betrayed, believing that their response is ‘not genuine,’ and ultimately that this company needs to acquiesce to the whims of babes.

I’ll lay it out for you quick kids, the same way y’all are bitching about the recession and not having money is the same way that that small business needs to ensure that their revenue streams are enough to pay their employees fair wages, be able to afford overhead costs, and be able to afford to produce content for you big ass babies. Some of y’all need to seriously think about the parasocial relationship you’ve built in your head with these people and realize that they don’t owe you shit. They made a perfectly normal business decision to pivot away from using a third party platform, that stays fucking shit up for creatives btw, to make a bespoke platform to hopefully increase their revenue and cut out the middle man. Like that decision was the most normal ass shit and y’all lost your goddamn minds.

Also to be clear for anyone who has read this far, I’m not even a fan of Watcher, just fucking tired of people dogpiling small companies for trying to increase their profit margin when there are whole mega corporations to be blaming for this late stage capitalist hellscape. Watcher isn’t the reason you can’t afford the 6 bucks a month for their content and you should really take a hard look at why you think they should cut their shows, lay off employees, or do anything that fucking drastic to ensure that you personally can afford to watch their content.

#watcher #watcher entertainment #I don’t even go here dude but this fandom is wildin’ #I’m cranky and frankly being a bit of a dick but like am I wrong??? #this small ass production company does not deserve this vitriol #go yell at Warner bros they deserve it lol

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Chapter XII

The Moan

“I want buns of steel. But also, buns of cinnamon,” Elain Archeron muttered, as she pulled out a pan of cinnamon buns from the oven. It was a strange choice, but this was Feyre’s favourite treat, and Elain felt that she owed it to her sister on her birthday.

Elain was running late. But there was a lot to do.

Feyre had changed her mind at the last minute, and they weren’t going to a Moroccan restaurant anymore. Instead, the restaurant was catering, the party was at Feyre’s loft, and Elain was tasked with making desserts. And there were thirty people invited, though with Feyre’s friends, it was quite possible that many more would drop by.

Now, Elain was running behind. She had to make a cake too, because Feyre requested her cake, and not one from a bakery. Elain was pretty proud of the cake, though she had no idea how she was going to transport it and carry it, but she wasn’t concerned about the logistics right now.

“Piglet, you are being very rude,” she told her pug. Predictably, she received no response.

As she mixed icing sugar, lemon juice and double cream for the icing, she continued, “That’s fine. It’s entirely up to you if you want to play introvert today. However, don’t expect treats then. You can’t be a glum introvert and still want treats.”

To that, Piglet expanded a mournful moan.

“No,” Elain said. “I don’t even know if you’ll get your Advent Calendar treat today. Unless daddy wants to give it to you, don’t count on me.”

Piglet looked sadly at his calendar, sniffling and barking weakly.

In about ten minutes, he raised his head, but didn’t get up. But Elain knew why–because in the next moment, the doorbell rang. 

God she was running really, really late!

Wiping her hands with a towel, Elain fluffed up her hair–she wasn’t even sure why she was doing that–and went to the door.

When she opened it she was faced with not one, not two, but three men.

Three giant men. They looked wild, and dangerous, and beautiful. Not the men of this age or this time. They seemed ancient and powerful, like the warriors of old.

Not to say that they were dressed in armour or anything. 

In fact, all three were wearing identical black suits, which probably cost as much as a downpayment for a house, and white shirts, open to various lengths on their brown, muscular chests.

Elain whooshed out a breath.

Her lady parts did a funny squeezie-squeeze, especially at the sight of Azriel Night, whose dark golden skin contrasted gorgeously with the white shirt and the black tattoos that snaked from under the collar of his shirt.

“Gentlemen,” she said at last. “Please, come in.”

“Ready for us, beautiful?” Azriel smiled and winked at her.

“Yeah, all three of you…”

Initially, Azriel self-invited himself to be Elain’s date to the birthday party. That was followed by him telling her that he’d be bringing Rhysand as well, since Rhysand needed to be introduced to Feyre. But, apparently, Cassian was also ready to party, since he was standing right here, smirking and looming over everything and everyone.

“Brothers, let me introduce you properly,” Azriel announced, once they were inside. “Lady Elain Archeron, my future wife and the future mother of my children.”

“Ohmygod,” was all Elain managed to breathe, her eyes wide and her cheeks red.

Cassian chuckled under his breath. 

“Az is mental. Don’t mind him,” Cassian waved his hand, as he shouldered his way in.

He was strikingly handsome in a rough, lumberjack-chic kind of a way. Big. At least 6”6. He was probably a Viking or something like that in the past life. A Fae General. A chieftain, who’d smear himself in paint and fight the enemies with all sorts of terrifying weapons. He looked mighty fine in his bespoke suit, but it seems like all these modern trappings were little more than a nuisance to him, and he’d be just as comfortable in some fighting leathers.

“Hi Elain!” he boomed, looking around and whistling softly. “Nice digs, Lady. I’ve seen castles that aren’t as fancy as this. Is it too late for me to become a matchmaker?”

Elain smiled and he pulled her in for a quick hug.

“You are my future sis-in-law apparently!”

“Oh god, Cassian, not you too!” she moaned. 

“Step aside, Lothario,” Azriel hissed at him and Cassian laughed.

“I’d be worried too. He knows I am irresistible to the ladies,” he announced proudly.

“I am positive that Lady Elain can resist you.”

With that, the third man, a lithe, tall, slender, muscular specimen, with an aristocratic bearing, a bit of a posh sneer, and an impressively beautiful face, pushed past Cassian and then gently took Elain’s hand and brought it to his lips.

“Lady Elain Archeron. Allow me to introduce myself. Rhysand Darling.”

“Just Elain,” she told him, but curtsied nevertheless, adding, “Lord Darling.”

He smiled. He reeked of elegance and good breeding. 

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting the woman who’s bewitched my surly brother.”

“I am not surly,” Azriel threw with a frown.

Elain reached for him and then took Azriel’s hand in hers. 

“He is alright,” she approved, smiling at him. “He’s grown on me.”

“I believe you know my mother and my sister,” Rhysand commented, as he clasped his hands behind his back and circled the formal living room and the parlour, admiring the art on the walls.

“Kandinsky,” he muttered to himself.

“I do,” Elain confirmed. “Lady Selene and the Duchess are members of the Women’s Institute, as are my sisters and I.”

“Wait, what?” Cassian gaped at the two of them. “You know each other? You know Selene?”

“We circulate in the same places,” Elain said vaguely.

Scowling, Azriel growled, “Yeah, with the Queen, right?”

“Her Majesty was a member of the Institute as well. The Sandringham Chapter to be precise,”

“You met the Queen?” Cassian gawked at her like she suddenly started juggling fire balls.

“Elain is a Lady,” Azriel said with a sigh, looking somehow depressed about it. 

Elain held his hand in hers and gently rubbed her thumb over his pulse. When Azriel looked at her, she was smiling at him and that smile managed to calm him down somehow. Like Elain didn’t care about the difference in their upbringing, and she liked him for…him.

So Azriel smiled back at her and then whispered, “you aren’t even ready yet.”

“I’ve been baking.”

Azriel smiled excitedly and said, “I can’t wait to eat it! You know, matchy….Ours, is a match baked in heaven.”

“You are so ridiculous, I love it!” Elain stared at him, but then couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I am not ridiculous! I am right,” he argued.

“Where is the little beastie with the bows?” Cassian looked around, seeking out Piglet.

Azriel frowned and also twisted his head this way and that way.

“Where is little matey?”

Elain pursed her lips and then pointed to the sofa in the family room. 

“There he is. Being dramatic.”

And after a pause, added, “and RUDE! We have guests, and you are being absolutely rude!”

Azriel rushed to the pug.

Piglet was still dressed in his onesie, laying on the sofa arm, unmoving. 

Depressed Piglet

“Pinky, my lovie, what’s wrong?” Azriel cooed, stroking the pug’s back. 

Piglet didn’t move and just lay there listlessly, his little short legs draped over the sofa arm. Azriel nosed into his back and whispered, “what’s wrong? Daddy is home. I’ll take care of my boy.” He then picked Piglet up and cradled him to his chest. 

“He is depressed,” Elain threw, while Rhysand watched Azriel fuss over the dog with amusement. 

“Depressed?!?!” Azriel gasped. “Why? What made him depressed?”

Elain crossed her arms on her chest, and said, her voice laced with disappointment.

“We went to the vet today: to get Piglet’s longevity shots. It was a substitute vet–not his usual one–so he gave him a check up too.”

“Is he okay?” Azriel exclaimed in fright. “Is he sick?!”

Rhysand snorted a laugh at Azriel’s reaction. Azriel didn’t even look at him, while flipping him the bird.

“Whoa, is the doggo okay?” Cassian also asked, worried. 

“He is fine. But the vet said that he is,” she took a piece of paper off the counter, and read out loud, “mildly anxious, highly spirited, overweight, overall well-adjusted, but with an extreme case of separation anxiety.”

As she repeated the diagnosis, Piglet released a tragic howl, before burrowing into Azriel’s neck.

“And he’s been like this ever since we came back.”

Azriel rocked Piglet back and forth in his embrace, kissing the top of his head. 

“Don’t listen to the stupid vet. You aren’t overweight. You are just plump. And that’s okay. You are built for feed, not speed.”

Rhys laughed again, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the scene. 

“And it’s okay to have separation anxiety. I am anxious every time I am separated from Ellie. And from you.”

“What exactly are longevity shots?” Rhys asked, cocking his head.

“They are illegal!” Elain announced proudly.

“Illegal?”

“Yes. They are stem cell shots. Not legal here. But I am not having my dog die–ever. So he gets his longevity shots every six months.”

“Must be a pricey enterprise?”

“It is. Three thousand a pop. And I don’t care. It’s worth it.”

“Worth it,” Azriel agreed, and then gently pulled Piglet away from his neck and looked into his big, sad eyes.

“Baby boy, do you want to go to a party?” he asked. “Do you want to be the star? You'll wear the nicest outfit and you’ll have so much fun there. Everyone will be loving on you. What do you say?”

Piglet sniffled, clearly needing more encouragement.

“There will be snacks,” Cassian added.

“Yes. And cake. And maybe chicken nuggies! They are your faves!”

“He likes chicken nuggets?” Rhys asked, chuckling.

“They are chicken meatballs, but we call them ‘chicken nuggies’,” Azriel explained. 

And then, he started signing. And dancing. With Piglet dangling in his hands, Azriel sang to the tune of Jose Feliciano’s ‘Feliz Navidad’:

Please feed the dog

Please feed the dog

Please feed the dog

I am so hungry

I don’t wanna starve!

I want a bucket of chicken nuggies!

I want a bucket of chicken nuggies!

I want a bucket of chicken nuggies!

And a slice of meatloaf

Everyone stared at him, slack-jawed. 

“Jesus Mary and Joseph,” Rhys whispered in horrified awe. “Do we need an intervention?”

“Don’t get in between a man and his dog,” Cassian warned.

The dog meanwhile, bobbed his head to the song, finally coming to, and returning to his normal self. 

“Did he get snacks today?” Azriel asked Elain. “He looks a little thin.”

“Yeah, he lost 5 kilos because he didn’t have snacks today,” she threw tartly, still displeased with Piglet’s attitude and behaviour.

“Okay, can we at least do the Advent Calendar?” Azriel pleaded, while Piglet slipped from his hands and then trotted happily to the huntboard and got on his hind leg, waiting for his daily treat.

“Oh, really? Now he is ready?” Elain asked dryly, staring Piglet down, who turned away from her and towards a much safer Azriel. And he even sweetened the deal with a smile, grinning at his dad, and showing a full row of his tiny little crooked teeth. 

“He is ready!” Azriel announced excitedly, and then there was a whole argument between him and Cassian over who is going to break the slat and take out the treat. Cassian won, because he declared that he ‘never gets to do it, but Azriel gets to do it all the time!’ With that, he broke the seal, took out a small chewable treat shaped like a bone and broke it in half, before Azriel could stop him.

“Oh no!”

“What?” Cassian asked, alarmed, while Piglet crunched on half the snack.

“You don’t understand…it’s dog maths,”

“What?”

With a deep sigh, Azriel explained, “If you break a treat into two, that actually means zero treats. Or, for example, when dinner is at 7 pm, but you serve dinner at 7:02 pm, that means that you are two hours late. Though if you serve dinner at 6 pm, you are also two hours late.

“Anything that is human food is also dog food, but dog food is only dog food. In addition, human food is not counted towards food or snacks, therefore, it could be consumed in unlimited amounts.”

Rhys was shaking with laughter, while Cassian was clearly doing some complex calculations in his head, as he listened to Azriel. He fed Piglet the second part of the treat, and then confirmed, “So this means he did not receive a treat at all?”

“Exactly. A broken treat does not count as a treat.”

“I am adopting dog maths for all my maths,” Rhys decided right then and there. 

Elain was watching the brouhaha with a shake of her head, before she asked, “May I count on you three, gentlemen, to undress him, put this tie on him, and then put his coat on.”

She handed Azriel a brown chequered tie and a Burberry jacket for the dog, but he in turn handed it to Cassian and said, “I am going to go help my girl out.”

It’s not that Elain needed help exactly, but she didn’t mind it either. Cassian looked at the dog attire uncertainly, gnawing on his lip, and then told Rhys ‘you are helping’.

“He likes to escape,” Azriel offered helpfully, as he ran after Elain up the stairs. 

The moment the other two men were out of sight, he lifted her in his arms and pressed his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. 

“I’ve missed my girl,” he murmured, dragging his nose over her jawline, up her cheek, kissing her softly and slowly.

“Azriel,” she moaned into his hair, grabbing the back of his neck.

“Let’s fuck off and not go to the party, send Cass, Rhys and pug, and stay in and fuck?” he proposed, hope shining in his eyes.

She laughed softly and said, “I think my sister might be a bit affronted if I didn’t attend her 25th birthday so I could stay home and fuck, as you put it.”

“Who, Fey? Fey wouldn’t care!” he blew his cheeks, “she is our shipper!”

“What?”

“She ships us hard. Wants us to be together!”

“Is this your dark romance lingo?”

“You should join the dark romance revolution,” he suggested. “You can join our Book Club,”

“Wait, you have a book club?”

“Yes, we do. But shit, you can’t! No girls allowed,” he shrugged apologetically.

“You have an all-men Book Club where you read dark romances?” she asked incredulously.

“Yeah. We are not sexist or anything. We read romances and smut.”

“You just said that no girls are allowed in your Book Club. That’s the definition of ‘sexist’.”

He frowned, thinking, while he deposited her on the floor in their bedroom, and plopped down on the bed himself. 

“Oh yeah. Oh, well, a little sexist. But not super sexist.”

“Oh, well, phew. As long as you aren’t super sexist!”

Rolling on his side, and propping his head, he gave her a heated, lascivious look and said,

“Come on, strip, baby. Show me what you are wearing!”

“Since when did our relationship include stripping?” she pondered, as she disappeared in the walk-in closet.

“Not yet, but it should include plenty of stripping,” he decided. “I am all stripping-ready and if you’d like me to, I can strip right now.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Elain didn’t seem surprised.

Downstairs, it seemed that the two humans lost control of the situation pretty quickly. There was banging, suspicious crashing, curses and little claws clacking frantically on the floor. Cries of ‘hold him!’ and ‘shit’ and ‘why is he so fast’ peppered the commotion.

Azriel was smiling, listening to the chaos. He did warn them.

“This? Or this?”

When he glanced at Elain, his jaw dropped. Everything was forgotten.

If the house was on fire, he wouldn't have cared. 

Because his naughty Elain came out, holding two hangers in her hands, and wearing nothing but a tiny, lacy, baby blue lingerie set. It hugged her generous form very deliciously and was basically see-through, which made Azriel swallow audibly. He asked for stripping and well, here they were. He could clearly see her full breasts and the pink nipples beneath the gossamer-thin material. And the way her knickers wrapped around the round hips just so…the firm, but ample thighs…

“Nu!” she pressed.

“What?” he asked, looking dazed.

At that point though, Piglet tore through the bedroom. He looked a proper state. Half of his onesie was hanging off his body, and he zoomed wildly around the bedroom, diving under the bed, before emerging and repeating his frantic circle.

From downstairs, they heard Rhys’s disgruntled holler, “What is this dog on?! What’s in the longevity shots? Cocaine?! I bet it’s coke!”

Elain stood there, almost naked, laughing, while Azriel devoured her with his eyes.

Piglet stopped his zooming and gave the situation an assessing gaze, looking whether any serial killers needed sorting out. Having not found any, he gave everyone a victorious bark and then bounded out the bedroom and down the stairs. 

“Hold him on the right!” Cassian shouted.

“He is too fast!” Rhys screamed back, “how’s he so fast when he only has three legs!”

“Bribe him with a strawberry or a piece of cheese!” Azriel yelled in turn, not taking his eyes off Elain.

She grumbled, “how many men over 6”5 does it take to dress a three-legged pug?”

Azriel sat up on the bed and whispered, “Come here, baby.”

“Why do I feel like if I do, then we might not be leaving here at all?”

“You might be correct, but maybe, just maybe, if I touch some of these fleshy soft bits,”

“WHAT? Fleshy soft bits??” she gasped incredulously, while Azriel’s very long arm wrapped around her hips and he pushed her closer. 

“Such,” he kissed her, in fact, soft belly, “fine,” another kiss right below her breast, “fleshy,” and his lips landed on the side of her waist, where it curved sensually and where he licked a path down to her hip, “soft,” and he lightly bit the spot just above the lacy band of her underwear, “bits,” and he inhaled so hard with his face against the mound of her sex that a satisfied, raw groan of pleasure reverberated deep within his chest. 

Elain almost fainted, when suddenly, he wrapped his mouth over the lips of her pussy, biting them gently through the material of the underwear. 

“My god,” she gasped, not knowing whether to push him away, or to pull his face closer and into her slit.

He dragged his tongue against the seam of her folds, and muttered hoarsely, his voice rough and harsher than usual, “do you know how much I’ve dreamt about eating your pussy? How much I want to watch you coming on my tongue?”

“My god, Azriel,” Elain managed to growl out, while he filled his huge palms with the flesh of her round ass cheeks. His thumbs stroked her skin, while he kissed her thighs, around her belly button, before gladly sinking his teeth into her breast and biting her nipple.

“I will be your god, my beautiful Elain,” he promised. “Once I make you come, you’ll understand the definition of ‘my god’.”

“So confident.”

“Oh I am.”

He pulled back a bit, and told her, “Gotta confess. A nice bare pink pussy is my kryptonite.”

“I suppose I fit the bill then?”

“You do. You always do.”

She picked up the two dresses that she had dropped on the floor and showed them to him again.

One was a wintry, knit dress, which no doubt, would look mighty fine wrapped over her form. The other, was a much more formal dress, in some ways sculptural, made of some type of heavy satin. It was cream, tailored and spectacular. 

“This is more practical,” Elain said, lifting the knit dress. “I can wear it with tall boots and I think it would look nice,”

“No,” he said flatly.

“No?”

“You aren’t going to look ‘nice’. You’ll look stunning. ‘Nice’ is not for Elain Archeron. It’s not for my girl.”

She bit her lip adorably, considering his words, while he was watching her like a hungry hound.

“I do have these shoes that I’ve been dying to wear, but they are open and it’s December.”

“Bring the shoes,” he ordered simply. “You’ll put them on there.”

“Okay,” she agreed, though it didn’t seem like she needed a lot of encouragement. 

…Downstairs, Cassian had Piglet in some kind of MMA headlock, while Rhysand was attempting to put the jacket on the pug. 

Small wins: they succeeded in taking the onesie off. And Piglet had a tie around his neck, even if it was all skewed. 

The jacket was proving to be a challenge.

“You two seriously cannot be trusted with a dog,” Azriel lamented, watching the pathetic display. 

“Fuck, Elain,” Cassian gasped. “You look…wow. You look really beautiful.”

Azriel immediately wrapped a possessive, proprietary arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. 

“Thank you, Cassian,” Elain smiled and then snapped her fingers.

With frightening ease, Piglet broke out of Cassian’s hold, showing that he was just indulging them and that they never stood a chance. He also grabbed the jacket out of Rhys’s hands and trotted to Elain, handing it to her. 

“Are you going to be a good boy tonight?” she asked, as she dressed him in about 47 seconds. “It’s Aunt Fey’s birthday and you have to be nice to her. She’ll want to give you hugs,” at that Piglet sighed, “and you have to give her hugs.”

Piglet led the charge, and when he saw Dev and Dev asked to ‘shake’, he shook with him. Azriel was carrying the birthday cake, internally freaking out. That was a heavy responsibility.  Rhysand was charged with carrying the cinnamon buns and the pastries. Somehow, Cassian ended up without a task, however, once they piled into the car, he was responsible for holding Piglet in his lap. Elain carried and touched nothing other than her purse. 

“Camden then?” Dev confirmed with Elain.

“Yes,” Elain nodded, sandwiched between Azriel and Rhysand, and feeling a bit overwhelmed by the amount of testosterone in the car. The most amorous sensations came from Azriel’s side, whose scent she wanted to drown in. The heat of body, the muscular arm that pressed into hers, the very sight of his gorgeous throat which she wanted to kiss and lick and bite had her squirming in her seat, pressing her thighs together. Azriel gave her a side glance and smirked. 

“You feeling okay, baby?” he asked lightly.

“Oh, just splendid!” she assured him tartly.

“You sure? You seem a bit squirmy there,”

“Oh, quite positive. Just setting in,” she offered him a fake smile.

“Anything I can do to help you? Settle in, that is?”

“Doing okay on my own,”

“It would seem so. Perhaps you’ve been doing it on your own for a bit too long…and might require a helping hand after all?”

Cassian squinted at them, stroking Piglet’s head, looking absolutely and hysterically ridiculous holding a dressed up pug. Elain kept averting her eyes from the two of them, because she knew that she was about to burst into laughter.

“Is this some kind of sex talk?” Cassian asked suspiciously.

Rhys smiled a brief smile, and it occurred to Elain that nothing much escaped this man. 

“Ellie doesn’t do sex talks,” Azriel told him.

“Hmmm…sounds like sex talk,” Cassian insisted. “Will there be girls at this party?”

“Quite a few,” Elain nodded. 

“Okay, maybe I’ll hook up with someone.”

“You are not going there to hook up!” Rhys warned him.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not an American frat party where you are going to be shagging someone in an empty bedroom. We are going to a birthday party. And we weren’t even invited!”

“I was invited,” Azriel argued.

“Technically, you weren’t,” Rhys argued. “You are going as Elain’s date.”

“Oh.”

“Then what am I?” Cassian wondered.

“Piglet’s date,” Elain joked. “Listen, it’s fine. You were all technically invited. Feyre wanted to meet everyone. She is quite taken with Azriel already. I am sure you’ll impress her as well. Now, impressing my older sister Nesta might be a little more difficult.”

“Oh yeah?” Cassian instantly leaned forward, as if the challenge of impressing Nesta intrigued him.

“Nesta is…complicated,” was all Elain said. 

“Is she as beautiful as you?” Cassian queried.

Elain got all adorably pink and flustered and Azriel gave his brother an unimpressed look.

“Nesta is very attractive,” Azriel growled, stroking the side of Elain’s neck with his thumb. “But no one is as beautiful as Elain.”

Elain lit up like a Christmas tree at his words, blushing and smiling and trying to hide, but he only kissed her temple and held her closer.

-

When Rhysand heard ‘Camden’ he did not expect this. He wasn’t exactly a Camden type of a person, so he wondered if he’d stick out like a sore thumb in the Camden crowd. He was an Old Etonian. But when they arrived, he breathed a sigh of relief and reminded himself that the Archerons weren’t exactly poor. They stopped next to a sprawling refurbished industrial building. It was old London brick–dark and dirtied with age, which gave it character. There were a couple of huge windows, now brightly lit up, and behind the house was a canal and a little dock. This was nice. 

Cassian got out first, and Piglet confidently trotted to the door and barked, announcing his arrival. Azriel was last, holding on that cake like his life depended on it. Rhysand smiled. Azriel was such a good boyfriend. Who would’ve thought? But he turned out to be the exemplary boyfriend, who was utterly obsessed with Elain. To an unhealthy degree, in Rhys’s opinion. Azriel already marked his body permanently with all things Elain. If this didn’t go well and ended in a way that Azriel wasn’t expecting, well…it would get messy. Hearts would be broken. Dreams would be shattered. Tattoos would have to be removed or covered up…

The door opened and a tall, very slim woman stood in front of them. That she was Elain’s sister was obvious. But her face was sharper, the eyes a steely grey-blue, long golden brown hair tied into a no-nonsense chignon at the nape of her neck. She wore a simple pearl-grey dress, well-tailored, but without frills, and a huge diamond and emerald brooch, a la the late Queen. 

For a moment, she just stood there, assessing them all with an unflinching gaze.

“Are you Nesta?” Cassian suddenly stepped forward, his attention wholly on the willowy, busty beauty in front of him.

“You are late,” she said instead, ignoring him.

“We aren’t!” Elain argued. “The party doesn’t start until six and we have plenty of time to prepare.”

Cassian wasn’t deterred and announced, “I am Cassian!”

“Congratulations,” Nesta said. Then, she asked Elain, “What is this? A reverse harem?” 

Before the confused Elain could answer, Cassian asked excitedly, 

“Oh, a fellow reverse harem lover?! Very nice. What’s your favourite book?”

Nesta gave him a puzzled, but intrigued look, while he continued, undeterred, 

“Mine is “The Kings’ Wife’! What’s yours?”

“‘Forget-Me-Not Bombshell’,” she answered flatly, surprising everyone. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Behind Nesta, they heard an excited voice, and an exclamation, “Elain, this cake!!! Oh my goddess! It’s crazy beautiful!! Piggy! Come…Come! Give me hugs! Come to me, my good boy.”

Piglet muscled his way between the sea of legs, and hopped towards the birthday girl, being a good boy, just like he promised. 

She sat on the floor and accepted him in her arms, taking off his coat. 

“Welcome everyone!” she said loudly. 

“Thank you for having us,” Rhys said ahead of everyone. He wasn’t sure why.

And then, her eyes landed on him. 

Feyre. What a name.

A gently lovely girl, with blue eyes and brown hair, and a scattering of visible freckles all over her nose and cheeks. Not a beauty like Elain. Not as striking as Nesta. And yet…

“I’ve heard your voice,” she suddenly said, her luminous eyes firmly planted on Rhys’s face.

“Pardon?” he stuttered.

“It was like you called me,” she continued, “and I heard you. Your voice. Across the hills, calling me. I think it was in a dream,” she laughed nervously. “But your voice was very distinctive.”

“Well, then I am glad that I am the man of your dreams. Literally.”

At that, Feyre laughed, but it was nervous, as if there was a grain of truth in his voice.

Rhys continued,

“Happy birthday, Feyre darling.”

She got up from the floor, still holding the pug. Piglet looked between the two of them with a smug look on his squished face. Like he knew something they didn’t.

“Are you Rhysand?” she asked shyly.

“I am Rhysand,” he confirmed. “You’ve heard of me?”

“I have. Apparently, I’ve also heard you. Welcome.”

Like her sisters, Feyre also wore a plain dress, of deep dark blue velvet. It was simple, but form-fitting, exposing her elegant neck. She didn’t wear any jewellery and at that, Rhys smirked and reached into his jacket pocket. He stepped closer to the birthday girl, ignoring all the curious stares from his brothers and her sisters, and then took out a flat black box and handed it to her.

“For you.”

Feyre blushed prettily and looked up at him from under her long lashes. 

“A gift? For me?” she repeated, taking the box from him.

“A pretty gift for a pretty girl,” he smiled, smoothly opening the lid and suddenly taking out a…crown. A diadem. 

Nesta stared at the gift, and so did Cassian, and even Azriel, with complete astonishment.

It was a delicate band of white gold, shaped like a branch, studded in places with tiny diamonds and lapis lazuli. 

“A crown for the lady.”

Rhys smiled at Feyre, whose eyes were as big as saucers and then gently placed the diadem upon her head, effectively crowning her.

“Well, now it’s perfect.”

“I…my…I can’t…” Feyre began to babble frantically, but Rhys only offered an indulgent smile and said, “of course you can. Now, did you know that Piglet loves me and allowed me to dress him?” he lied.

“Oh no way! Really?!” she exclaimed, totally falling for his bullshit. “He could be so standoffish. And if he wants to zoom…well, then you can’t even catch him!”

“No?! You don’t say?” Rhys pretended to be shocked, while offering her his arm.

She took it easily, still clutching Piglet to her, her eyes never leaving Rhys’s face.

“May I tell you something?” she requested.

“Well, of course! What is it?”

“I think that you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” she gushed. “And I thought that Azriel was handsome,”

“Well, he is another pretty face for sure. But not as pretty as mine,” Rhys winked at her, and they disappeared inside the huge loft, joking and laughing.

“Did he just give her a tiara?” Nesta questioned in disbelief.

“Yeah…who needs soup when you can just get a tiara,” Elain agreed. 

Turning abruptly to Cassian, Nesta said, “Help me please.”

“With pleasure,” he grinned. 

“I’ll let Elain take her coat off, but please bring the cake into the kitchen,” Nesta commanded, picking up the boxes with buns and pastries, while Cassian lifted the cake.

“Be careful with your bear paws,” she warned him sternly.

“Well, don’t stress me out!” he threw back, and they also disappeared inside the cavernous house, sniping and bickering playfully.

“Well, I don’t know what just happened there,” Azriel twirled his finger in the direction of his brothers, “but something did.”

-

Feyre’s place was wonderful, though very different from Elain’s. The floors were dark, old wide planks, the walls–exposed brick, shiplap, stucco, there were beams above, and soaring ceilings, impressive windows and all sorts of interesting industrial touches. 

“I like our house better,” Azriel decided easily, after he looked around.

Elain smiled at his bluntness, finally taking off her coat. She sat on the arm of the sofa, and unzipped her boots. They were in a small sitting room, where Feyre usually watched TV. Just behind the wall, they heard laughter, clinking of glasses, and the arrival of more guests. Excited compliments of ‘Feyre, look at your tiara!’ ‘Fey are you wearing a crown?!’ ‘Feyre, you are a proper high noble lady’, ‘Should we call you Lady Feyre?’ and so on. They also heard Piglet squealing and galloping around, yelling wawabawa akwakwaka which was his usual call for snacks. Since he was ‘depressed’ earlier today, his snack consumption was quite low compared to his daily snack load.

It was only when Elain turned her head that she gasped and recoiled.

Because Azriel…

He was…

Well…

He was on one knee in front of her. 

“Hi,” he smiled at her, seeing her shocked face.

“What…what are you…ohmygod…what are you doing?!” 

She was literally hyperventilating.

Clutching the front of her dress, she was gasping like a fish, her face flushed.

“Elain, will you,” he began asking solemnly,

“YES!” she cried out, eyes wild. “Yes,”

“Give me your pretty foot,” he continued nonchalantly, smirking to himself.

“Wait, what?” 

“Your foot, pretty girl,” he extended his hand out. 

“You don’t want to…” her voice faded into a whisper.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“I am sure,” she hissed.

“So, you don’t want me to ask you to marry you?” he confirmed, while he took her foot and then pulled out her fancy high-heeled open toe pumps from the bag, and slid one on. 

“No!” she shouted.

“No need to yell, beautiful,” he told her, working on the complex tie and clasp of the shoe. 

On his knees

“I am not yelling,” she pouted.

“So you didn’t get excited when you saw me on one knee?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think that maybe, just maybe I’ll pull a ring out?”

“No!” 

“Hmmm. You seem a bit upset, sweetheart.”

“I am not upset,” she folded her arms on her chest, as she bit her lip aggressively, trying to stifle the tears that threatened to fall. 

“So you don’t want to marry me?” he pressed.

“No!” she repeated yet again.

“Hmmm,” he gave another annoying hum, and then took her left hand and squeezed her ring finger, before bringing it to his lips and kissing it. “And you don’t want a big diamond ring on this pretty little finger of yours?”

“No!”

“Okay, I am a little sad, as I was planning to stop by Cartier, but if you aren’t interested,”

“You are not going to do it!” she argued petulantly.

He shrugged, “who knows…But seeing as you aren’t interested anyway,”

Quickly she amended, “I am not not interested…”

“Oh no? Because I did think that you looked a bit devastated when you didn’t find me proposing.”

“I am not devastated. I was just surprised,” Elain insisted stubbornly.

He tied her second shoe and then bent to kiss her ankle.

“And if I did, propose that is, what would my Cinderella say to her Prince?”

He wrapped his big, warm hands over her bare legs, rubbing the backs of her knees slowly, as he waited for her answer.

“I don’t know! Can I say ‘yes’ after knowing you for 2 months?”

“You can say ‘yes’ after knowing me for two hours,”

“You called me a cow, and a prissy bird or something like that in the first two hours of our meeting,” she glowered at him.

“You implied that I couldn’t get it up,” he reminded her quickly.

“Ergh, I didn’t mean it,”

“Because I can certainly demonstrate–me getting it up pretty well,” he offered. 

“So you keep saying.”

“And you keep denying me the opportunity,” he scolded, before kissing her hand again. “Look at me,” he ordered, and then lifted her chin, so their eyes met. “The truth is, at the end of the day, you are the one person I want to come home to. You are the only person who I want to tell about my day. You are the one who I want to share my happiness with, my sandnes, my frustrations. So, I’ll ask you, Elain Archeron. And you better say yes. Because there is no getting rid of me.”

Elain wiped her tears with her first. She didn’t even know why she was crying. Probably because she loved him. And the thought of him not asking her to be with him forever did in fact, devastate her. 

“Why are you crying?” he asked gently.

“I dunno,” she admitted, wiping her tears again.

“You don’t have to cry. I am yours. I am.”

“You don’t have anyone else?”

“Nah…” then he stopped and looked at her guiltily, adding,  “Well, I do…” he paused mysteriously and Elain gasped in silent horror.

“You do?!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah…”

“Who is she?”

“Oh, it’s a he,” he said immediately, grinning at her. “He is furry, likes snacks a lot, has three legs, snores and zooms,”

Through her tears, Elain smiled and then pushed him. 

“Are you just going to traumatise me for the rest of the night?” she demanded, finally getting up.

“Do you like me on my knees in front of you, Miss Archeron?”

“That’s the least you can do for putting me through all this nonsense,” she looked down at her legs, her sexy shoes, and sighed. 

“You are gorgeous. A girl of my dreams,”

“Apparently, that’s Rhys–he is in Feyre’s dreams,” Elain said dryly.

“Yeah, he is the girl of her dreams,” Azriel nodded and then rose up, while Elain laughed.

-

Cassian sat in an armchair, observing the revelry in front of him. He swirled his whiskey lazily around the tumbler, feeling mellow. He wasn’t exactly drunk, but he was under the influence for sure. It was a good feeling. The party-loving pug had arrived about fifteen minutes ago, definitely also under the influence of something, because he yawned widely and then raised his front paws, asking Cassian to pick him up. It looked like Piglet had decided that Cassian could join his secret and exclusive pug-pack and Cassian was only too happy to oblige. Now, Piglet was snoring blissfully, his head resting on Cassian’s thigh. Taking his pug-protector duties very seriously, Cassian scowled at anyone who attempted to disturb the sleeping pup, and considering his size and general appearance, no one dared to contradict him. 

“Hey Nes,” he called out. “Come sit with me.”

Nesta, who was walking by, gave him her typical icy look and snapped, “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Nes?” he smiled playfully. “Alright, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

He patted the seat next to him. It would be a snuggly fit for the two of them, since he took up so much space.

“What do you want?” she demanded, but he noticed that she didn’t exactly walk away.

“Come, sit with me. I’ll tell you a story.”

“I don’t want stories,”

“Sure you do, my prickly rose.”

“You are overly familiar, Mr. Night,” Nesta sipped her white wine, but Cassian reached out and held out his massive hand to her. And Nesta…Nesta…took it. He pulled her to him gently and she stepped closer, before he wrapped his arm around her waist and to her utter dismay, placed her next to him. Piglet moved onto his side, but didn’t wake up.

“The little beastie is tired,” Cassian murmured, his expression soft.

“What do you want, Mr. Night?” she tried again. 

“You remind me of Elain,” he noted simply. “She is mad formal as well.”

“I don’t know you at all!”

“You can find out more. Whatever you want.”

“What do you do?” Nesta asked, squirming next to his massive, muscular body. God he was handsome. Azriel was handsome, hands down maybe the most handsome one out of the three–and that was saying something. Rhysand–not her type, but undeniably beautiful. But this one–objectively, he was probably the least classically handsome, yet to Nesta, he was simply stunning. Everything she didn’t know she liked he possessed. This size of his, the muscles, the strong features, the jet black silky hair tied into a haphazard bun. 

“I am a sports agent,” he answered. “What about you?”

“A barrister.”

“I should’ve guessed. Here is what I think, Miss Archeron,”

“What?”

“You are a very successful, very beautiful, very lonely and very misunderstood woman,”

Nesta jolted in her place, her pale face colouring angrily, her brows knitting together at the audacity of his words. His expression remained calm, almost placid, though, unlike Azriel, this wasn’t a placid man. Undeterred he continued, “And I am guessing that you are knocking on 30 pretty soon, and you aren’t very happy with where you are in life. It should’ve been different, right?”

She attempted to get up, but he held her down, and tsked,

“Before you storm away, let me tell you something,”

“Leave me the hell alone!” she snarled. “You uncouth, rude bastard,”

He chuckled.

“Uncouth, huh? Cute. The Archeron girls are adorable. Now, look at them,” he jerked his head towards the crowd. Reluctantly, Nesta followed his gaze, and watched Elain and Azriel seated next to each other on top of the radiator cover, eating what looked like ice cream. Well, he was holding the bowl, but he was feeding Elain, who was licking the spoon, before he dunked it back into the ice cream, and took a swipe himself. She rested her head on his shoulder, both of her hands wrapped securely around his upper arm, holding onto him like she couldn’t let go. 

It struck Nesta then–how relaxed Elain looked. Elain was always a little bit tense, unless she was with Piglet. She was especially tense around Eris, always worrying about his opinion, always desperate to please him, always seeking his approval, or a rare compliment. Elain worried about her figure, having been told by their mother that she was chubby and that she’d never get married, because men wanted a slender wife. Elain was insecure, old-fashioned, but bold and entrepreneurial, which made for a confusing combination. But never did Nesta observe Elain looking so…content. Happy. At ease. She held on to that big, tattooed, striking man and only had her eyes for him. It didn’t look like the rest of the world existed for her, because he was the centre of it. 

“She is in love,” Nesta breathed, the realisation slamming into her like a hammer.

Azriel was in love, for a long time now, and of that she was sure. But Elain? Elain had fallen too.

Turning abruptly to Cassian, she found him with his hands clasped behind his head, looking mighty satisfied, with a proud smirk on his lips.

“What are you so happy about?” she demanded.

He tsked and said, “I set them up.”

“What are you on about?”

“Without me, they wouldn’t have met! I was the one who contacted her. I was the one who dragged him to meet with her. I was the matchmaker. And look how well I matched them. Now, obviously, this extends to Feyre and Rhys now. If it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have met either,”

“Hold your horses with them! They just met tonight,”

“And yet he crowned her like she was his lady,” Cassian reminded her.

“Which was weird,”

“Rhys likes big gestures,”

“Alright, fine, what do you want? To quit your job as a sports agent and work with Elain as a Junior Matchmaker?”

At that, Cassian laughed, and woke up Piglet. The dog stretched, yawned and then rolled over and quickly located his ma and dad in the crowd. With a happy yip, he jumped off the chair and ran over to them. 

Nesta turned away from Cassian, watching Azriel scoop some ice cream into a soup bowl and let Piglet slurp it all with messy gusto. Nesta knew how much Piglet loved a pup cup, and this was a pup cup on steroids. Elain and Azriel cooed and laughed over their dog, holding hands, watching him, commenting something to each other, and Nesta was struck by another revelation–they were a family. Somewhere along the road, somehow, the three of them formed a family of their own. And Elain was no longer just an Archeron. For almost thirty years, Nesta had her two sisters, and the three Archeron sisters were an unshakable, even somewhat notorious unit. They were regal and beautiful and available and wealthy. They were the Three Sisters. And now…She glanced at Elain again, who was back on the radiator cover, seated with her legs crossed and placed on Azriel’s lap, who held them tightly. Whatever he was saying, was making Elain laugh loudly, her head thrown back. The grouping of empty glasses near her probably played a role as well. But it stung Nesta somewhere deep in her chest. Her beloved sister was no longer hers. Her beloved sister was now beloved by someone else. Elain’s light and softness were well and truly melding with the untamed intensity of Azriel Night. 

“The only one I want to matchmake for, is you,” Cassian said firmly. His tone was steady, but he said it in such a manner that Nesta turned to him, looking into his lovely luminous hazel eyes. 

“And who are you setting me up with exactly?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Me.”

“You?”

“Me. You and I are going on a date.”

“Excuse me?” she almost choked on her wine.

“Why are you surprised, Nes?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you, sweetheart. What do you say? Walk on the wild side? Me and you?” he winked at her.

“You are mad,” he concluded simply.

“Perhaps. Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

She stood up from the chair, and he didn’t stop her this time. He just looked at her expectantly.

“Fine,” she said tersely.

Cassian smiled.

“I knew you were a smart girl.”

“I am already regretting it,” she warned.

“You won’t have any regrets. Once I am done with you, you’ll be asking for more and more dates.”

“Doubtful.”

“I’ll prove it.”

She threw him a withering glance, and added,

“The only reason I am saying yes to you is because,”

“My blinding handsomeness? All my bulging muscles? My mighty height? Wicked sense of humour? Winning personality?” he offered.

Nesta rolled her eyes and moaned, “Help me Lord. No, ridiculous man.”

“What then? What secret weapon do I possess that totally made you want to go out with me?”

“Piglet trusts you,” she shrugged, like it didn’t mean much. 

“Oh…”

“And he doesn’t trust many people. I’ve been watching him. He trusts no one like he trusts Azriel. He even trusts Azriel with Elain! Which is unheard of. He is actually capable of leaving her with Azriel and not hovering like he is surgically attached to her. And when I saw today that he actually sought you out and slept next to,”

“That was the turning point?” Cassian chuckled. “The beastie trusting me?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s good to know. He is my wingman. Now, where the fuck is cake?! Are we cutting or what?”

“It’s a birthday, not a wedding,” Nesta reminded him. Cassian took her by the hand, soliciting a small girlish gasp of surprise from her. 

“Yeah…not yet.”

-

Elain was standing, eating birthday cake, chatting with her old classmate Lucien, who was also one of Feyre’s closest friends. Lucien was also distantly related to Eris, which only confirmed yet again how incestuous their circle actually was. Azriel teased her about it, but he was actually correct in his observation. 

Lucien’s been throwing confused glances in Azriel’s direction most of the night, as if trying to figure out who he was to Elain, and what the nature of their relationship was.

But he was too polite to ask, so instead, he joked, “So, when am I going to be set up with someone sexy, smart and successful? What am I, a wet herring?”

Elain laughed.

“All herrings are wet by default,” she told him, “I thought you weren’t interested in matchmaking?”

“I wasn’t. But seeing how well you are doing, I am eager to have you change my mind.”

“Are you ready then?” Elain asked seriously.

A year ago, Lucien was in a very serious car accident, where he lost his eyes in the aftermath. His longtime girlfriend left him shortly afterwards. He’s been devastated ever since, and wouldn’t venture out in any social situations, let alone dates. This was the first time that he decided to attend anything that had more than three guests, and only because he and Feyre went way back.

“I might be. I want to have someone looking at me the way you are looking at him,” and he nodded towards Azriel who was talking in a group of men.

Elain squirmed a bit and blushed at his insinuation.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Eris. Not my business,” he told her quickly.

“Thank you. But Eris hasn’t been in touch for weeks now. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“His loss. Maybe mine as well,” and he looked at her with a longing that made her almost uncomfortable. “But I don’t think it was ever meant to be–you and I.”

“I don’t think so,” she agreed. “We look good on paper. But maybe we don’t work so well as anything but friends.”

“The friendship is good,” Lucien decided, sipping some of his champagne. “Let’s do that. Let’s be friends.”

“And there might be someone of interest who could be a good potential,” Elain murmured thoughtfully, clearly thinking about something.

“Oh yeah?”

“But you’d have to be a client. Formally.”

“At least tell me her name!” he laughed. “What if she has a horrible name!”

“Nuala. How’s that? Can you live with that?”

“Oh. Nuala. I like it!”

“So, if you are serious, then ring me up after New Year’s and we’ll create your profile and will get to work.”

“And you think that this wouldn’t be an impediment?” he asked awkwardly, pointing to his face. 

Elain looked at him and said seriously,

“For some, yes. For others, no. If they can’t see beyond the surface and not understand what you bring then it’s probably not a good match. Or a good person.”

Suddenly a familiar, very muscular, very big hand smacked Elain on the ass. 

She whipped and hissed at the grinning Azriel. Piglet was at his feet, looking up, also grinning smugly.

Before she could unleash, Azriel quickly explained, “It’s my burden, beautiful. Every man’s burden–the need to smack his lady’s juicy rump whenever we are near it.”

“Oh, is that so!!” she exclaimed, while Lucien hid his smile in his champagne flute.

“Listen,” Azriel said somberly, like he was being serious. “It’s not easy. It’s not easy to have these…urges. You think I want to walk around, see your gorgeous arse, and be overcome by an intolerable need to slap it? And then I have to trudge and actually, you know, do it! Slap your yummy buns.”

“Yummy buns?!?!?” 

“Oh goodness…” Lucien laughed. “I think I shall leave you two alone to discuss!”

“Not until you tell her that it’s an uncontrollable urge that all men suffer from?” Azriel insisted, wrapping his arm around Elain’s waist.

“Most of us do,” Lucien confirmed. “Not everyone acts on it though,”

“See, not everyone acts on it!” Elain elbowed Azriel and he bowed dramatically.

“I think it depends on the arse. Yours is too tempting not to smack.”

Once Lucien moved on to another group of guests, Azriel grabbed Elain by the hand and dragged her after him, with Piglet hot on their heels.

“You are not having messy sex with me in the closet!” she warned.

He didn’t answer, but threw her her coat and her boots, while lunging at Piglet and taking him by surprise before he could escape.

“Are we leaving?” Elain asked, looking around and at her coat in confusion.

“No. But put it on. We are gonna go out for a sec.”

She frowned at his abruptness, but took off her heels and pulled on her socks and then her boots, before tying her coat with a belt. Piglet was wearing his jacket too, though he looked unamused and put off by the fact that he wasn’t chased around. Azriel even pulled on Piglet’s knit hat, while he dressed himself, and then taking Elain’s hand, he had the three of them sneak out quietly. 

The moment they were outside, Elain gasped softly and threw her head back. 

The world had turned white.

Snow.

Thick, fluffy piles of snow had fallen in the past few hours and now covered everything in pristine brilliant whiteness. It swirled in the lemony light of street lights, falling silently all around them.

Piglet looked up, awed. 

This was a new and beautiful thing that he didn’t remember from before. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he caught snowflakes on his nose, licking his lips loudly. Then, with a happy howl, Piglet burst forth and galloped through the snow, rolling in it and screeching joyfully.

Elain bounced on her heels, clapping her hands excitedly, laughing and also trying to catch some snowflakes on her tongue.

“This is better than sex in the closet!” she giggled, spreading her arms wide.

Azriel came behind her and wrapped his arm across her chest.

“Fuck sex,” he whispered into her ear, his lips warm and tender on her cold skin. She shivered at the proximity, because of how good he smelled, and because he enveloped her in his warmth and his bigness. He continued, his cheek scraping against her own.

“I am trying to be your home, you know. Your safe place. Your go-to person for happy and for sad. I am looking to be the reason you smile, and laugh and clap your hands.”

“Az,” she breathed and turned in his arms, looking up at him. Her chocolate-brown eyes were filled with tears. Tears of love. They rolled silently over her cheeks, while Azriel smiled down at her and whispered, 

“We're still gonna have rough sex though.”

Before she could answer, he gently took her jaw in his fingers and tilted her face so it lined up with his. 

“I want to kiss you, Elain,” he said seriously, his breath fanning over her lips.

“Kiss me then,” she permitted. Thick, white clumps of snow fell on Azriel’s black hair, his eyelashes, her hands that clutched at his shoulders. Her tears dried up and she breathed heavily, disoriented and aroused at once.

And then, Azriel kissed her.

His lips were heavenly. 

Soft and light at first, tentative and gentle. 

She tensed against him, the bulk of his body shielding her from the world. And in this world, in her world, there was only him.

His kiss was tender, but firm, luxuriant and dominant at once. He gripped her face in his massive hands, squeezing tightly and holding her in place, but his lips were soft and loving on her mouth. He didn’t hurry, but tasted her thoroughly, enjoyed the scent of her sugar- and wine-tinted mouth. She tasted delicious–like he always thought she would. Butter and honey and pastry and everything nice. Everything that was Elain. She was sweet and homey and familiar, and he felt like he’d kissed her a million times before. 

His tongue parted her lips at last, and he continued his exploration, but it grew hungrier and more urgent as the kiss progressed. A groan of primal, animalistic pleasure escaped his throat, reverberating against her lips and Elain trembled in his arms, growing hot and needy, despite the falling snow and the sharp wind. 

She felt consumed by him, and yet, worshipped at the same time. Just like always. He ignited feelings in her which she’d never experienced before–didn’t even think that she was capable of them. It was raw and hot, and left her feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed. Elain didn’t care about anything at that moment, nothing but Azriel Night, the man she came to love so desperately and completely. 

She arched into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding the back of his head, while he cupped her head and delved deeper into her mouth, licking and sucking on her tongue. His other hand fell away from her face and slipped down her back, before pressing into her hip and pushing her closer to him. 

Elain was well aware of his general size and how he was big everywhere. But feeling him now, thick and hard against her belly, definitely aroused–finally made her feel like a woman. She felt desired. Needed. Wanted. Big, strong, powerful, towering Azriel, and she was his undoing right now. Little Elain, whom no one took seriously. Azriel Night was kissing her. Panting for her. Growling in his chest like a beast because of how she made him feel.

She didn’t know that she needed this kiss until his mouth took possession of hers. To say that she’d never been kissed like this before was an understatement of the century. Azriel licked and sucked on her mouth, nipping on her lips, biting them until they were swollen beneath his. It was then that she released a ragged, pitiful moan of pleasure, because he ground himself between her legs and her breasts rubbed into his solid chest, intensifying her pleasure, making her feel everything. 

“This is the sound I want to hear when I am inside of you,” he murmured into her mouth, kissing her lightly, before clamping his teeth over her jaw. 

Elain felt his heart pounding against her own, and she howled into the night when he bit her neck, sucking in on the delicate skin and marking her as his anew. He sucked and bit her and she staggered back, almost falling out of his arms. He didn’t let go of her, but only growled like a beast, panting into her skin, his lips and teeth working themselves deep into her flesh, while his arms banded around her. Elain gasped from the pain and the sublime pleasure, because hearing him grunt and growl like that might have been the sexiest sound she’d ever heard. 

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he whispered, returning to her lips and kissing her hard and sloppily. She loved this untamed, wild side of him, where he lost his control and revealed the true nature of him and his utter obsession with her. “To me. You belong to me,” he chanted. “Mine.”

“Yours,” she nodded, kissing his lips, kissing his eyes, then his tongue, then his lips again. She was the one to lose control of the situation just as well. If he wanted to fuck her against the wall of her sister’s house, she’d let him. She was achy everywhere, tense and wet between her legs, and when he boldly thrust his hand under her dress, and between her damp thighs, he smiled.

His thumb brushed against her slit, and between kisses he asked, “all for me?”

“All for you,” she nodded, biting his neck hard and leaving teeth marks on his skin.

“I guess you want me to be yours as well?” he joked, and then pulled his hand away from her pussy and licked his thumb. Before she could answer, he kissed her again, his tongue sliding against hers and allowing her to taste her own essence. It felt forbidden and scandalous and not something that Elain’s done before, but she liked it. She liked everything. And this kiss…it was unreal. It was unreal in its intensity and its pure eroticism. Who could even kiss like that? Apparently Azriel Night could. She was buzzing. Head to toe she was shivering, her fingers and toes were tingling, her tongue couldn’t get enough of him, of his taste, of how he felt against her own tongue. 

Once they pulled apart to get some air into their lungs, Azriel smiled at her and rubbed his cold nose against hers. 

“Can I kiss you now any time I want to?” he asked.

“Yes!!” she just about yelled. “And I will be kissing you!”

He clasped his hands on the small of her back and kissed her again, “well, that’s brilliant, because I really, really like kissing you.”

He then reached between their bodies and said, “Now, look what I have!”

“What?”

From his pocket, he took out a…carrot. 

“Stole it from Fey,” he said conspiratorially, as if it explained something to the very perplexed Elain.

He grabbed her hand and said, “come on! We are building a snowman!”

“Now?”

“Well, of course now!” he said, looking at her like she was silly. “Next year we might be building one with our baby. This year, we gotta build it with our fur son.”

“What baby?!” she gasped, as he tugged her along, to the clearing where Piglet was burrowing through the snow, rolling in it and howling with excitement.

“You know–son, daughter. Baby.”

“We are having a baby now?”

“Starts with kissing, ends with a baby. That’s how it is.”

“I wasn’t planning on having any babies,” Elain argued feebly, but he only said, “plans change’.

The snow was thick and wet, but there wasn’t heaps of it, since it was London, after all. 

“You do the head, I’ll do the base,” Azriel instructed, assessing the situation and figuring that they’d have enough snow for a small, modest snowman.

Turned out that Elain sucked at making a snowman. She wasn’t wearing gloves and her hands kept getting cold, so Azriel needed to continuously interrupt his own work, so he could blow into and kiss her freezing palms, which only descended into more kissing…mouth kissing. Meanwhile, their stupid pug kept destroying the round snow mounds that they managed to construct by jumping into them and rolling around happily. Elain’s boots were soaked through as well, so by the time Azriel finally managed to roll a decent base, he had to give his girl a piggyback ride, because she was freezing and shaking, while laughing uproariously. She was also filming his work on her phone, while Piglet hopped around them, trying to understand what was happening. Hanging precariously off Azriel’s back, Elain finally managed to roll a decent-enough ball, which they hefted together and carefully placed on top of the other ball. 

“Pink, we need a stick,” Azriel instructed, and Piglet took off before Azriel even finished talking.

“Whoa,” he breathed, as Elain laughed, her arms wrapped around his neck, and her lips constantly making contact with his face. “I guess he really wanted that stick.”

Piglet returned with a stick, tossed it to Azriel, who fashioned one arm out of it, before sending the pug to fetch another. Soon their snowman had two arms, a couple of coins for eyes, and then, with great fanfare, Elain pushed the carrot into the head. 

She barely managed to take a few photos and a short video for Piglet’s Insta account, before he began to circle the snowman curiously, barking and growling at it, and then attacking it viciously.

“Why are you so mean?!” Elain cried. “You are supposed to be gentle with it! Don’t eat it!”

Oh yeah, he was gonna eat it. 

Piglet savagely munched on pieces of the snowman, licking and pulling clumps of snow, smacking his lips. 

“Fucking animal,” Azriel laughed, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around Elain. “Are you cold?”

“I am,” she nodded. “But I don’t want to go back inside. This is so much fun!”

“Yeah? What else is fun?” he teased.

She drew her knuckles over his cheek, his now-wet hair and then stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cold mouth. He didn’t have to be asked twice and quickly took over, capturing her sweet mouth with his and eagerly coaxing her plump, buttery-scented lips apart. She whimpered against him, especially when his hands boldly slid to cup the curve of her behind, slipping beneath the coat and making her shiver from the cold. She didn’t care. She sighed warmly and deliciously into his mouth and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, her cold, wet fingers tangling in his hair. Caressing his tongue with her own she opened up eagerly to the kiss, and Azriel responded in kind, deepening the caress of his tongue, kissing her filthy and hot, his lips both teasing, and dominating at once. It was dirty and open-mouthed, her kisses loud and maddeningly sticky, rendering his brain to almost naught–all he saw and felt was his gorgeous girl, finally, nearly all his.

Elain moaned against him and Azriel…pulled away abruptly and yelled, “Piglet! The fuck, you weirdo?!”

Elain turned around and gasped in shock, not knowing whether to scream, cry or laugh. So she did all three–laughing so hard, that tears sprung in her eyes.

Because Piglet burrowed into the snowman and successfully pulled out the carrot, which he was now crunching on, though it looked like he was making out with the snowman.

“Dr. Hannibal Piglet Lecter,” Azriel muttered. “Fucking savage pug.” 

Azriel grabbed her phone and filmed the carnage.

From Piglet's Instagram: The carrot is no more

“This should pay for his upkeep for a month,” he said, knowing that the video will garner a million likes and comments. 

Gripping the half-eaten carrot in his mouth Piglet rushed to them and demanded that Azriel pick him up. 

“That’s it? You just give up?” Azriel laughed, as he grabbed the dog and pulled Elain closer to him.

When they returned to the house, the first thing they were greeted by was Nesta and Cassian, glaring at them and arms crossed on their chests.

“We saw you making out!” Cassian declared like he was Mother Superior at a convent.

“Guess the two of you failed as chaperones!” Azriel shrugged indifferently, while he helped Elain out of her coat.

“We didn’t fail!” Nesta bristled. “You two are out of control!”

Little did she know.

-

The next day

Dev arrived around 11:30 am. He hadn’t asked Azriel this yet, but he had wondered where Azriel planned to live once he and Elain got married. Elain’s house made much more sense for a family, not to mention that her office was here as well. But if Azriel was going to move here, Dev needed to consider where he was going to move as well. Russell Square, Holborn, Fitzrovia were really out of his budget. Azriel paid well, but these were some prime locations, and he’d have to rob a bank to afford something nice. Shame that he wasn’t a footballer who grew up with a billionaire duke, or a little heiress who inherited a damn mansion just because. Considering her sister’s place last night, Dev definitely thought that it was better to be born wealthy and healthy, than poor and ill. 

The pug came out first, dressed in a full on morning suit, with a pale blue silk tie no less. He barked his greeting and headed for the car.

“Shake?” Dev asked, extending his hand. Piglet gave him his paw. Then Elain and Azriel came out of the house, holding hands like teenagers. No doubt about it, his old mate Azriel Night, the quiet, scarred boy whom Dev met in a group home when they were around eleven was in love. Azriel, who didn’t say much, leaving the talking to his rambunctious brother Cassian, but who possessed incredible speed, the ability to appear and disappear like a ghost, and a mean left hook that could fall even a grown man in a few seconds–that Azriel was now all grown up. And Dev was proud of him. Azriel deserved something good in his life. Something nice. Something pure and genuine. And this sweet little matchmaker of his, this fancy noble Lady and her posh pug somehow, amazingly, fit the bill.

Azriel opened the car door for Elain, and just as she climbed inside, he slapped her arse.

“I am a gentleman, baby,” he announced. “Always a man, not always gentle.”

“You can’t be like this in front of my father!” she warned.

“Oh, meeting the family?” Dev chuckled. “You ready for that, big man?”

“I’d have to meet him one day,” Azriel shrugged. “Guess today is the day.”

“So, where to? Kensington Palace? Buckingham?” Dev joked. Would he be terribly surprised of Elain said ‘yes’? not really. 

“Mayfair,” she said. “Mount St.”

Of course. Dev wasn’t even surprised. An ultra posh street with Balenciaga, Rubinacci and exclusive jewellery stores, a caviar and champagne restaurant Scott’s, as well as the luxury Connaught hotel where basic rooms went for 1,000 quid a night. 

“We usually go to Annabel’s for all of our birthdays,” Elain explained, and both Azriel and Dev shook their heads. 

“Let me guess. Dad is a member?” Azriel chuckled. Annabel’s was an elegant private club with a dance floor for the famous, the dressed-up and the well-heeled.

Elain pursed her lips, indicating that he was. 

“So why not today?”

“Feyre texted and said that we should go to dad’s,” Elain said. “Said to bring you,”

“Oh boy. I am getting somewhat nervous,” he joked, but Dev, who knew Azriel for a long, long time, noticed a note of worry in his friend’s voice. Azriel was all jokes and nonchalance and elegant swagger, but he was going to meet the father of the girl he loved. And that meant something. It was important.

It wasn’t a long drive and Dev soon parked next to a massive, three story Edwardian mansion. It was red brick with white trim and actual columns. Piglet barked excitedly, recognising the place. 

“You’re going to go see grandpa?” Elain asked, stroking his head. Piglet barked again, raring to go.

“Whenever I have to leave him with my father–especially if I go on a holiday–I come back, and it’s basically ‘I shall require organic vegetables three times a day with freshly churned butter. A pup cup of the finest double cream delivered daily and milked from a prized cow in Oxfordshire. For dinner, I shall dine on a lightly seared steak, a bit of duck confit and a brioche toast. Oh, and a couple of mini cannoli straight from Naples’.”

“Somehow, I am not even a little bit surprised,” Azriel admitted and Dev nodded in agreement. 

“The level of spoiling that he receives from my father is criminal.”

Azriel told himself that he was not nervous, when Elain took his arm, and they walked under the portico, the doors opening as if by magic.

There was a butler, who greeted them and called Elain ‘Lady Elain’. They walked through wide marble hallways and sitting rooms, Azriel feeling decidedly out of place even if he wouldn’t show it. Piglet tore through the house, howling happily, unconcerned about anything, and by the time they saw him next, it was in the dining room where a middle-aged gentleman was cooing and hugging the pug, rocking him like he was a baby. 

To Azriel’s surprise, Nesta was here too, but also Cassian–which was unexpected, to say the least. Cassian raised his shoulders, indicating that he had no idea why he was here, though it didn’t look like he was greatly burdened by the company. 

“Daddy!” Elain went to her father and he smiled at her. 

“Good morning, pumpkin,”

Pumpkin? That made Azriel smile. But the nickname fit. She was his little pumpkin.

“Please meet Mr. Azriel Night,” Elain introduced them. “My father, Sir Charles Archeron.”

“Arsenal captain,” the older man nodded knowingly. “My girls are Tottenham fans. I am an Arsenal man myself. Though I do enjoy rugby a lot as well.”

“I am slowly pulling Elain and Piglet to my side,” Azriel teased. 

“Oh, I saw all the photos on that Instagram that Elain has for the pup. He looked like a Gunner born and bred.”

Azriel laughed, “You follow him too?”

“How can I not,” he squeezed Piglet lovingly. “Barring my girls giving me actual grandchildren, this is so far, my only grand-pup,” he said dramatically.

Nesta rolled her eyes. Elain rolled her eyes.

And both groaned.

“This is what happens every time I mention grandchildren,” Mr. Archeron complained.

Just as he said the words, Rhys entered the room, holding a champagne flute, with Feyre on his arm. 

“Oh, you’ve arrived!” Feyre exclaimed with a wide smile. “I was just showing Rhys around.”

“Why are we all here, by the way?” Nesta asked impatiently. “I was looking forward to Annabel’s.”

“Forgive the change of plans,” Rhysand said breezily. “We’ll be sure to go to Annabel’s soon.”

“Well then, what is it?” Nesta sipped her mimosa, while silent servants circulated around the room with trays of champagne. “We are all here now.”

“I am curious myself,” Mr. Archeron agreed, while he gave Piglet a piece of cheese. “And I am pleasantly surprised to see my three daughters with such fine gentlemen. All here together, today.”

Nesta was about to protest the implication that she was here with Cassian, but Cassian put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, effectively quieting her down.

Rhysand and Feyre exchanged a glance, and then he said,

“Feyre and I got married earlier today. She is now Marchioness Feyre Archeron-Darling, Lady Darling. My wife.”

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #pro elriel #elain #elain x azriel #A Match Baked In Heaven #elriel fanfic #Elriel Fanfiction #my writing #acotar fanfiction #Three Brothers and three sisters #THe Bat Boys and the Archeron sisters #my fanfic #new chapter

[kentoberry]

WRECK MY IMAGE — KAMISATO AYATO.

⭒— SUMMARY · your new landlord changed the date that your rent was due, and you can't pay ! it's time to consider other methods of payment. . . [ full tags utc. ]

⭒— CONTENT · landlord ayato / modern au, slight subspace, degradation, begging, bondage, toy use, teasing, fingering, clit slapping, cream pie.

three sophisticated raps on your door told you exactly who was on the other side: it was the conceited landlord that had recently bought your building, undoubtedly a rich asshole who’d spent his life having everything handed to him by mommy and daddy.

instead of waiting for your answer, he invited himself in, simply pushing past you to enter your quaint studio apartment. you couldn’t help but notice just how out of place he looked, bespoke designer clothing giving him a rather elevated and sleek look, whereas your apartment was a little bit more untidy and cluttered with an ever-growing collection of your belongings.

“i like what you’ve done with the place,” sarcasm dripped from his elegant voice, making you roll your eyes at his condescending tone - something gave you the idea that he’d never be satisfied with your own interior design choices. you pictured what you thought his apartment looked like, the penthouse nearest the top of the building. a white, sleek interior, as clean as a staged home and with zero evidence of his own personality, but rather shelves filled with sophisticated world literature that he had no plans to ever read himself and some bespoke, untouched, and what would likely be forever unused marble countertops in the kitchen.

“to what do i owe this honor, mister kamisato?” you asked, sarcasm lacing your voice as you couldn’t help but be already irked by his sheer presence.

“no warm welcome? tsk, you could at least offer me a drink, sweetheart.” he sighed at your subsequent silence, not bothering to continue his antics if you were not going to jab back at him. you’d asked him a question and wanted as little interaction with the man as possible, thus you remain stoic and awaiting his response.

“your rent is late.”

eyes grew wide, as though he’d made the most incredulous of claims. “it’s not due until next week. i don’t have the time for you to mess with me,”

“playing so hard to get,” he looked you up and down, piercing gaze feeling invasive as he clicked his tongue. “you should lighten up a little. check your mail next time, you were notified that the date would be changing whilst under the new and, dare i say, impeccable management of yours truly.”

you scoffed, heading over to the pile of unopened letters littering the counter. upon sifting through the envelopes, you found not one, not two, but three letters from the yashiro corporation, i.e. the people who owned the building. . . aka the blue-haired, slender figure stood before you.

with an exasperated huff, you collapsed back onto the couch. opening one of the letters, you found out that the date you should have paid was indeed last week, but also that your rent had increased a little. combined with prior stresses and your unexpected visitor, this was enough to tip you over the edge.

“why the fuck are you charging me almost double what this place is worth? i’m not paying this, ayato, fuck off. you can’t just expect me to pull dollar bills out of my ass!”

it was true, you were working yourself to the bone to make a living. you had taken on two jobs since moving to the city, accepted overtime wherever possible, as well as doing the odd things here and there just to make an extra dime. and at this rate, you’d be adding finding a new place to live to your already overfilled plate.

ayato was simply admiring the trinkets you had displayed on your shelves, his back to you whilst you raged at him. he let you finish your outburst, seemingly amused by your spunk.

“this area’s developing - new developments, new jobs, a new demand for the place. it’s just how the world works, sweetheart. if you don’t like it, i’m sure your lease is up soon enough. unless you’d like to pay the early termination fees, that is.”

his suave facade got under your skin. you wanted to call him a good for nothing leech who only thrived because of blood money, sucking dry the pockets of everyone who had actually worked for their living. tell him everything that he got was handed to him on a silver platter, whereas you had to try for what you wanted and that you earnt what you got. to demolish his ivory tower and enlighten him that no, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows down here.

although, would arguing with your landlord really help you out here? you wanted to use him as a punching bag, to spit out your anger on this prick who milked your bank account dry once a month. realistically, it would be impossible to find an apartment close to your workplaces, especially at the rates nowadays. in all honesty, the previous landlord had given you a pretty sweet deal with the place when you first moved in, so the current price gauges were roughly on par with the other apartments in the surrounding neighborhood.

“look,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. ayato turned to face you, his in depth inspections of your displays seemingly halted. “could you give me a week? i can ask my boss for my paycheck a week early, that should be enough to cover half at least. i’m sure someone will be willing to lend me the rest, just to tie me over this once-”

“or,” ayato cut you off, staring you down as though evaluating his food. “we can come up with another arrangement.”

curiosity got the better of you, listening intently to each word that passed the man’s lips. he was the one that had provided the initial amendments to your arrangement, and the fact that he was so willing to compromise rendered you dumbfounded, especially when he could kick you out oh so easily and find a better tenant who would willingly fall victim to his extortionate prices.

“i’ve seen how you look at me, sweetheart. all that anger is simply a ruse to hide your true feelings, hmm? there’s something about you that i can’t quite put my finger on. . .” ayato paused, taking few paces until he was standing in front of you. his index finger lifting your chin to force your gaze to meet his sharper one sent a chill down your spine.

“. . . you’re rather alluring, aren’t you? surely if you’re okay with it, i’m sure we can come up with another method of payment, princess.”

surely he wasn’t implying what you thought he was. . . no way would you sleep with your landlord just to waive rent for the month! it was utterly demeaning to whore yourself out in such way.

ayato’s eyes remained trained on you, indigo irises boring into you with such an intent focus that you worried that he was tuned in to hear your every thought. he leaned a little closer to you, enough that you could feel his faint breath ghost over the shell of your ear.

“you’re considering it, aren’t you, darling? why don’t we take this to your room, hmm?”

the man was attractive, that much was undeniable. you debated if you’d accept his proposition without the promise of free rent, to which you settled on a yes. hell, he was offering a quick fuck and you wouldn’t have to pay one bill this month? you’d be an idiot to deny it.

“down the hall, second door-” you began.

“to the left. you forget, i own this building, sweetheart.” he smirked, before adding under his breath, barely audible: “and everything in it, so it seems.”

tongues and teeth clashed against one another; you could feel his smug expression, mocking you for your neediness. ayato’s large hands reached around to fondle the fat of your ass, pressing you closer to him.

the move to your room was filled with a volatile concoction of haste and lust, as though a switch had been flipped and the only thing that each of you could think of was devouring the other.

ayato guided you to your mattress, barely giving you room to breathe. you began to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt, impetuously working to remove the unnecessary clothing. that shit-eating grin remained ghosting his defined features, amused by how desperate he’d made you.

“no need to hurry, princess.” he started.

“‘s just get it over with,” you slurred slightly, only for ayato to take a step back. you propped yourself up on your elbows, lips already a little bit swollen and an incredulous look on your face.

“stop it with all that.” his tone grew more commanding, expecting you to listen to his orders without questioning them. “i’m the one doing you a favor. perhaps you need reminding of that, hmm?”

he moved closer towards you, anticipating you to pull him back in, though impressed when you remained still. a cool, nimble finger traced down the side of your face, as though inspecting your beauty. “what a pretty thing you are. . . i can’t help but think about how much sweeter you’ll look begging for my cock.”

your mouth fell agape, surprised at such lewd words rendering you speechless - something that, compared to your prior, tough-talking demeanor, shocked ayato. he took the opportunity to unbuckle his belt before collecting your wrists and positioning you to lie against your pillows.

“i’ll be nice, unless you give me a reason not to be. do you plan on being a good girl for me, darling? after all, i’m not sure if i can clear the debts of a nasty brat.”

you mumbled in agreement, squeaky promises that you wouldn’t be bad. something about having your landlord towering above you cast a spell over you, his soft blue locks framing his face and fabricating the image of a perverse angel. you let him take control, fully submitting yourself to the man as he carefully slipped your shirt over your head. ayato proceeded to utilize his belt to craft makeshift restraints, fastening your hands to the headboard.

“perfect,” he muttered, eyes focused on your chest. he placed an uncharacteristically sloppy kiss to your sweet lips before heading south, groping your tits over the lace of your bra as he sucked a pretty mark onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder; subtle enough that you could hide it, though satisfactory enough to brand your body as another property that he owned.

though you tried to reach out, wishing to bury your hands in those untidy blue locks, yet were halted by your binds. the only noises leaving your mouth were tiny pleas for more, combined with frequent whines as you pulled your wrists forwards. ayato could only tut, leaning in to your ear to whisper that “only good girls get to cum.”

you failed to hold back whimpers as ayato removed your bra, taking one nipple into his mouth as slender fingers glided over the other. embarrassment crept over you, both from feeling so very exposed and helpless, and from feeling like a common slut whose sleeping with somebody for her own benefit.

ayato’s tongue swirled over the hardening bud, nibbling at the sensitive skin every now and again just to admire the way that your back arched ever so slightly in response. his cock stiffened with each sweet sound that slipped past your lips, suddenly becoming aware that he would struggle to do anything but bury himself inside your wet cunt soon enough.

all you managed were strangled, wanton moans as ayato pulled away from your chest, once again tugging at your restraints subconsciously.

“patience, princess,” he muttered, which was fairly hypocritical given his intentions. he peeled himself off of your helpless form, leaning over to your bedside drawer. you could hear him mumble something about condoms, using the last part of your sanity to yelp a “stop!” as he opened the drawer.

your face flushed deep red with embarrassment, praying to any gods above that your landlord, your fucking landlord, had missed the hot pink vibrator that your kept stored in that drawer. you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the worst, however the snicker that your heard told you that he’d located the object. the faint buzzing only confirmed your fears.

“well, well, well. it seems that my princess is nothing more than a dirty whore, hmm?”

ayato situated himself between your legs, peeling away any remaining clothing until you were in nothing but your panties. “open your eyes,” he commanded. one little kiss to your inner thigh was all it took to coax you out of the sheepish state that had overcome you.

he fired up your toy once again, the head of the silicone ghosting over your slit. ayato used it as an experiment, teasing and toying to best discover how to elicit the most salacious noises from you. he wanted you to beg for him, to beg for his cock, to reach such a point of neediness that you relinquished every last shred of control to him.

“please,” you begged between pants, trying your absolute best to keep your head above water. “more, need more,”

trademark smugness painted his cheeks, egos continuing to grow at the sight of you in such a vulnerable position. ayato would have been more than happy to spend the remainder of the afternoon teasing you, watching that already-visible wet patch on your panties grow even larger, but the bulge constricted in his pants was becoming impossible to ignore.

“what do you need? use your words, princess,”

you didn’t want to give in, you really didn’t. internally you were degrading yourself for being such a cheap slut, for letting yourself be used in exchange for a bill to be waived. yet ayato had a grip over you, turning you into putty in his hands.

“cock. . .” you began, mind already hazy, “need you to fuck me, please, please, please,” you even made your best puppy dog eyes to the man, batting doe-like eyelashes to better plead your case.

you whined as ayato turned off the vibrator, pulling away to remove his own clothes. you knew the man was attractive, but without clothes, you saw a grecian muse, unable to resist your jaw slackening ever so slightly. the bed shifted as you tugged on your restraints once again, desperate for some sort of friction.

“so needy, aren’t you? what a sweet thing. . .”

ayato crept forward, dipping the mattress. he placed a kiss to your lower stomach, gaze hungry as he looked up to you, so vulnerable, so very delectable. at a painfully slow pace, he peeled away your panties, watching your reactions to the cool air hitting your exposed cunt.

the man pushed your thighs further apart, ego inflating as you squirmed weakly for him. he dragged two fingers through your folds, smirking at the string of slick connecting his digits to you. “all of this just for me, hmm?”

you’d given up on articulating any adequate verbal responses, simply reduced to moans as ayato’s thumb caught your puffy clit. he had you exactly where he wanted you: desperate, needy, begging for his touch. he wanted to further the teasing, though something in him told him that in the future there would be apt opportunity to turn you into his pliant little whore.

instead, ayato settled for positioning you in just the way he desired, lining his cock up with your weeping hole. he was long, prompting babbles from you that expressed concerns that it wouldn’t fit.

“shh, princess,” ayato cooed, reaching out to cup your cheek. the gesture was tender, as though he’d dropped this hardass facade that he typically displayed, only for it to reappear a moment later in the form of a harsh “i’ll make it fit.”

whilst you were left to internally debate whether or not that was a promise or a threat, ayato plunged two fingers inside of you, digits gliding with ease and filling the room with lewd wet noises. he had to hold back his own groans, mind wandering to how fucking sweet your walls were going to feel gripping his cock if they already felt so damn divine clamping down on his fingers. after a few additional flicks of his wrist, ayato once again left you to whine over being denied release.

however, you couldn’t exactly complain. the speed at which ayato’s fingers were replaced with his cock was surprising. he eased his already leaking tip into you, hand resting on your stomach for leverage as the other held your thigh, keeping you spread out for him.

your slippery cunt sucked him in, hips bucking ever so slightly to meet ayato’s own as he pushed deeper inside of you. you could feel the knot in your stomach already forming and growing painfully tight after such a short period, mentally preparing yourself for ayato to leave you on the edge once again.

the room became flooded with a melody of whines and pants, an orchestra of skin slapping against each other. ayato’s cock filled you up and stretched you out, his thrusts precise and possessing what appeared to your borderline delirious state as an inhumane speed.

if his belt wrapping your wrists was any looser, you were convinced that the binds would have been broken. you wanted to pull yourself closer to ayato, to chase your own high rather than be subjected to whatever he chose to lay upon you. to think that the blue-haired man didn’t notice this wouldn’t be short of idiocy, for you could hear the clicks of his tongue as his movements slowed.

“princess,” his tone threatening, “i thought that you promised to be good, hmm? does someone need to be taught a lesson?”

you whined, words feeling foreign yet the way your cunt clamped down on him at such a lewd threat (or rather, promise) seemed to provide the answer that he wanted.

ayato drew his hand back to land a harsh slap to your clit, chuckling to himself as you clenched your eyes tight shut at the stinging sensation. amused enough to repeat the action, he smacked your sloppy pussy a few times before your pretty little lips began spilling apologies for him.

“good fucking girl,” he spat, chest further swelling with pride as it appeared that he was worn you down enough for now.

ayato pushed your knees up to your chest before thrusting back into you, drooling pussy even more exposed for him and ready to be filled. you could feel the head of his cock kiss your cervix periodically, your back arching at the sensation.

“‘m g’na cum,” you slurred, “‘lease, can i, please, ‘ll be so good,”

he could tell how far gone you were, fucked dumb on his cock for his eyes only. you looked absolutely angelic to him, such a pretty thing all messy underneath him. his mind ticked over. . . surely you deserved a reward, right?

ayato reached for your vibrator once again, flicking the toy on and pressing it against your pulsing clit. screams of euphoria fell upon his ears, your velvety walls gripping ayato’s cock as you came undone with a cry of his name. he praised you as you came down from your high, triggering his own orgasm as he twitched inside of you.

sticky ropes of ayato’s cum spilled from your cunt, a sickeningly sweet concoction of your releases dirtying your bodies and the sheets below you. he made quick work of freeing your wrists, gently caressing the red marks on your skin with an uncharacteristic amount of care before slumping down next to you, bubblegum locks splaying all over your pillows.

“next month,” his voice remained ragged and raspy as he regained his breath, “my place. i have some of my own toys that i’d like to introduce to you.”

well, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about paying your rent anymore.

#kentoberryposts #kamisato ayato smut #ayato smut #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x you #ayato x you #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin x you

[lokiondisneyplus]

Sure, the “time slipping” phenomenon that Loki experienced during Thursday’s Season 2 premiere couldn’t have been achieved without some excellent visual effects.

But it also couldn’t have happened without series star Tom Hiddleston “performing his heart out” to make the time slips look believably exhausting, which he did to great success on Loki‘s set, exec producer Kevin Wright says.

“Those are going to be really fun behind-the-scenes [reveals] when that eventually comes out,” Wright divulges to TVLine. “It’s all Tom’s performance.”

Loki‘s sophomore debut picked up where Season 1 ended, with Loki having been pushed through a time door to a different iteration of the Time Variance Authority — one where Agent Mobius and Hunter B-15 had no idea who Loki was. As we came to find during Thursday’s premiere, that version of the TVA wasn’t actually a different one, just a past version of the TVA that Loki had come to know. And as the episode unfolded, Loki began to time-slip more and more, which resulted in him getting abruptly and chaotically pulled back and forth to different places in his current timeline. (“It’s terrible. It looks like you’re being born, or dying, or both at the same time,” Mobius explained to Loki after witnessing the time slips up close.)

And though visual effects were responsible for Loki’s actual vanishing and reappearing, Wright tells us that Hiddleston completely committed to the full-body physicality of the time slips, even giving “eight to 10 different performances” for every time slip that occurred. And Episode 1 featured quite a few.

“There is a ton of raw material of him. If he’s being pulled in five different directions, he’s giving you those bespoke performances for each one of those,” Wright explains. “If you were on set, what you would see is Tom Hiddleston performing his heart out and acting those things. And so much of the pain that comes through is because it is baked into his performance.”

And unlike what you might see on other Marvel sets, Hiddleston’s time-slip performance included nary a harness or motion capture suit, Wright confirms.

Elsewhere in the Season 2 premiere, Loki introduced us to way more time travel jargon than just “time slipping,” as Loki, Mobius and TVA tech guru Ouroboros (aka O.B., played by recent Oscar winner Ke Huy Quan) attempted to stop the time slips and get Loki permanently restored to just one part of the timeline. But even as the show hopped between the past and present, throwing out terms like “temporal aura extractor” along the way, Wright says it was crucial to him and the writers that Season 2’s timey-wimey logic stay understandable for viewers.

“We would often write for ourselves the really long, detailed version of how all this is working… and then often, as you get into it, it’s about slimming it down, condensing it. Because sometimes, the more detailed it is, the more confusing it becomes, or the more logic loopholes that you make for yourself,” he admits. “Oftentimes, it was about simplicity and visuals. You want it to be fun and intriguing, never confusing and like homework.”

h/t @honeyfromtheweed

#tom hiddleston #time slipping #loki s2 #kevin r. wright

[twh-news]

Those Loki Premiere Time Slips Were All Tom Hiddleston ‘Performing His Heart Out,’ EP Says

Sure, the “time slipping” phenomenon that Loki experienced during Thursday’s Season 2 premiere couldn’t have been achieved without some excellent visual effects.

But it also couldn’t have happened without series star Tom Hiddleston “performing his heart out” to make the time slips look believably exhausting, which he did to great success on Loki‘s set, exec producer Kevin Wright says.

“Those are going to be really fun behind-the-scenes [reveals] when that eventually comes out,” Wright divulges to TVLine. “It’s all Tom’s performance.”

[Possible spoilers ahead]

Loki‘s sophomore debut picked up where Season 1 ended, with Loki having been pushed through a time door to a different iteration of the Time Variance Authority — one where Agent Mobius and Hunter B-15 had no idea who Loki was. As we came to find during Thursday’s premiere, that version of the TVA wasn’t actually a different one, just a past version of the TVA that Loki had come to know. And as the episode unfolded, Loki began to time-slip more and more, which resulted in him getting abruptly and chaotically pulled back and forth to different places in his current timeline. (“It’s terrible. It looks like you’re being born, or dying, or both at the same time,” Mobius explained to Loki after witnessing the time slips up close.)

And though visual effects were responsible for Loki’s actual vanishing and reappearing, Wright tells us that Hiddleston completely committed to the full-body physicality of the time slips, even giving “eight to 10 different performances” for every time slip that occurred. And Episode 1 featured quite a few.

“There is a ton of raw material of him. If he’s being pulled in five different directions, he’s giving you those bespoke performances for each one of those,” Wright explains. “If you were on set, what you would see is Tom Hiddleston performing his heart out and acting those things. And so much of the pain that comes through is because it is baked into his performance.”

And unlike what you might see on other Marvel sets, Hiddleston’s time-slip performance included nary a harness or motion capture suit, Wright confirms.

“It’s his physicality,” the EP says, adding with a laugh, “He was pulling from many years of dance lessons.”

Elsewhere in the Season 2 premiere, Loki introduced us to way more time travel jargon than just “time slipping,” as Loki, Mobius and TVA tech guru Ouroboros (aka O.B., played by recent Oscar winner Ke Huy Quan) attempted to stop the time slips and get Loki permanently restored to just one part of the timeline. But even as the show hopped between the past and present, throwing out terms like “temporal aura extractor” along the way, Wright says it was crucial to him and the writers that Season 2’s timey-wimey logic stay understandable for viewers.

“We would often write for ourselves the really long, detailed version of how all this is working… and then often, as you get into it, it’s about slimming it down, condensing it. Because sometimes, the more detailed it is, the more confusing it becomes, or the more logic loopholes that you make for yourself,” he admits. “Oftentimes, it was about simplicity and visuals. You want it to be fun and intriguing, never confusing and like homework.”

#loki #loki series #tom hiddleston #review #loki season 2 #TVline #article #interview #kevin wright #loki spoiler #spoilers #loki spoilers

[dipperdesperado]

notes towards changing the world

i feel like the main way to change the world is to not think on a global scale. one of the coolest things about complex systems is how agents in the system, focusing on the local level and following simple rules while cooperating with other agents can create global behaviors. a vision of solarpunk could be the attempt at imagining and prefiguring a world that embraces complexity for the betterment of all of the agents in the system.

so, to change things, thankfully we don't have to figure out how to bring about worldwide upheaval. if we can change the local milieu, that can reverberate outward. this is not to say that it's easy, but it's possible. this is also not to say to never think globally. it's a dialogue between spheres of distance. you have to have a revolution internally to have a revolution interpersonally to have a revolution locally to have a revolution regionally and so on and so on.

now, we can finally talk about how to change things. the general (relatively nonlinear) phases of this process are analyzing and trying to understand the world, creating visions, goals, and values from that analysis, creating strategies to reach those goals, and enacting tactics birthed out of those strategies.

Analysis

Identify the social issue: figure out the bad thing. try to understand the bad thing using complexity theory/systems theory. in other words, understand what the system is, what are the agents/elements are within that system (people, institutions, environments, etc), where the resources flow, what feedback loops exist, and what the vulnerabilities are.

Set your goals: The goal is to promote systemic change that addresses the root causes of the social issue, rather than simply addressing individual symptoms or surface-level manifestations. The guiding principles may include holistic thinking and interdisciplinary collaboration.

Visions, Goals, and Values

Visions: think about what you want the world to look like. put on your utopian lenses. what are the dreams that you have for the community (and maybe even the world at large)? Try to stretch your imagination as far as you can.

Goals: based on your visions, what are some more concrete targets to aim for? for ex., if one of the aspects of your visions is a city that is in harmony with nature, what are the material changes that need to happen?

Values: what are the guiding lights that will inform how you reach your goals? This can be thought of as the ethical/philosophical foundation of your praxis. these would also be points of unity for other folks. some good ones to include in this would be solidarity, free association, and a militant anti-oppressive orientation.

Strategy

Universal goals: make some specific goals for your specific context. ex. “everyone can access healthy, culturally relevant, and dietarily conscious food.”

Understand where the community is: how is the community, on average, doing at reaching this goal?

Understand the population: figure out the population segments in the given community, and discover their “distance” from the goal. take not of those differences.

explore the system: look at and make visible the structures that support or impede each group or community from achieving the universal goal.

create bespoke responses: develop and implement targeted strategies for each group to reach the universal goal. using our food example, rich folks in a community might not need any help reaching this goal, while unhoused neighbors might be furthest from this goal. this allows us to create responses that help each group in the ways that benefit them the most.

dismantle the system: while providing an equitable response to the issue through your bespoke responses, work towards removing the root causes of the issue. equity is good, but we want to move toward the abolition of oppressive systems and enter a space of liberation.

Tactics

tactics are the actions that we take, informed by our strategy, which stems from our goals, visions, and values. to organize specific tactics, a useful mental model is to think of “encircling” your goal. essentially, we want to try to reach our goal using multiple tactics in parallel (or relative parallel), attacking issues from multiple angles. I think that it’s ideal to have as many tactics deployed as is reasonable, but I like the idea of 2-4 campaigns of tactics going at the same time. I also like these tactics to be across the spectrum of commitment, from very simple, low-lift, and “reformist”, to more high-lift and “radical” or “revolutionary”. So, while our goal is to destroy the rule of authority (and all of its associated ills), actions that directly do that are the most extreme, and most folks don't start off ready for that level of commitment. To build that capacity in practice, this strategy could look like:

One campaign starts by making appeals to authority and getting more radical from there (foot in the door). Some examples are basically all of the things that liberals say to make changes: calling representatives, signing petitions, writing letters, op-eds, case studies, and things like that. Realistically, if the goal is widespread change, these things won’t really be able to cut it. You can’t vote a revolution in. So, we can use the more liberal actions as a gateway into more revolutionary actions. We also HAVE TO make sure we’re transparent about this so that people retain their ability to freely choose how they engage. In this campaign, we’re marching towards more and more radical action.

One or Two campaigns that start with civil disobedience (foot in the face). Some tactics here could be boycotts, strikes, sit-ins, and the like. Similar to the above action, we march towards more radical stuff but start from a more antagonistic position.

One campaign that starts with more directly confronting authority (door in the face). This campaign would start at as far of a place that the people would want to go. This would escalate into more radical action from a very radical place.

The purpose of formatting our tactics in this way is to be fighting on multiple fronts in ways that makes the movement harder to clamp down on, while having folks move in a more radical direction.

Note that all of these tactics are informed by what comes before them. Like everything else, it is useful to think of this as a dialogue. We don’t want tactics with no conception of a strategy and such, and by doing our tactics, we should and can reframe our strategy.

#activism #activist #direct action #solarpunks #solarpunk #praxis #socialism #sociology #social revolution #social justice #social relations #social ecology #organizing #complexity

[horselessheadperson]

LITANY AGAINST FAST FASHION: A SHORT GUIDE

2 disclaimers:

I'm not an expert, these are just my ideas. The more you can add on or correct the better, please reblog

The first responsibility in fixing these issues (there are many, it's not a single problem with a single solution) lies with the people making the big money off of this. If you feel like you already have a system for making clothing and textiles work for *you* and you don't feel up to changing anything, that's absolutely fine and you should feel good about yourself for finding something that works.

Having said that, here's the main problem as I see it:

DUE TO FAST FASHION, WE'VE ALREADY PRODUCED ENOUGH TEXTILE/GARMENTS TO LAST US FOR GENERATIONS

The term "fast fashion" really comes from the rapid circulation of collections high street brands go through. H&M famously advertises they have "something new every time you visit", you can always find new pyjamas at Primark, Pull & Bear prints new shitty tshirts every day. Obviously, not all of those clothes actually sell well and then continue to get worn until they are absolutely beyond repair. Most of those garments end up in landfills. Even the stuff that sells usually doesn't survive past a couple uses and gets thrown out.

=> What can I do in the face of this?

Cherish every bit of textile you have. Even dishcloths. Remember even though sewing machines exist every label, hem, and embroidery is hand-crafted onto your bit of fabric. Was it under $50? Then it's likely someone suffered to bring this to you. This is obviously not your fault and this is not meant to inspire personal guilt, but it might inform the way you handle fabrics. Wash something instead of throwing it out whenever you can and follow the instructions on the label. Choose the right kind of fabric for your needs so you don't have to continuously get new stuff.

Learn how to repair and/or alter stuff. This is a big one HOWEVER I feel like this advice is often thrown around without mentioning that a lot of clothing these days isn't made to be repaired. Some socks are so thin and flimsy they won't take to darning and some shoes aren't meant to be cobbled. Most hems don't have enough spare fabric to lengthen a pair of trousers these days. Once you learn about these techniques though you'll be able to more or less tell which is which before buying. I feel confident in my repairing abilities now so I only buy clothing that's sturdy enough to take a few repairs. Again, if that's above price range, don't feel bad.

BUY SECONDHAND. This is the single best piece of advice anyone can give to avoid the fast fashion trap. Always look for a secondhand option - charity shops, bespoke vintage stores, refurbished design, heck, even ebay. Buy something that has already been through circulation and don't add to the demand for new products. The way quality has declined over the last ten years, this also means you'll likely get much higher quality.

Learn to make your own stuff. This is basically a last resort as it's costly and takes a lot of effort and resources. If you're at all interested in fashion though, it's very much worth it to at least look into one or two fabric arts to pick up on the side. You'll have full control over the materials, cut, size, and finish of the garments you make yourself. If nothing else doing this will help you appreciate how much a piece of fabric or a garment is really worth in terms of labour and expertise.

Wear a piece of clothing until you can't repair it any longer. Then, turn it into rags or use it as scrap material for small projects if you do any crafts. After that, donate or re-sell what you can. No, not everything that's donated gets sold, but it's still the most responsible way to get rid of textile products you don't need anymore.

Buying more expensive garments isn't always better. I've had €500 shoes that went bust after two wears and I've had cheap tshirts that lasted for years. When you need a longer lasting item, say, a coat or a pair of boots - do some research, check second hand options, and stay critical. Don't buy based on brand. A good example is Doc Martens, whose boots have famously more or less gone to shit the past 5 or so years.

Remember, fashion is both a verb and a noun. Enjoy!

#fashion #fast fashion #clothing #textile art #textile industry #textiles #sewing

[abandonambition]

Who drew these Capricorns? It's me! I did it. S...Sorry.

HI TUMBLAR. I'm Dana. I draw animals and mythical creatures (mostly capricorns and dragons). I like to reflect on lesser-known or dark aspects of nature, feelings of distress and despair, or creating designs that just look cool for the sake of looking cool. I have a sort of positive nihilist outlook on life, in that I'm rather upset with the general state of things but I still feel compelled to find or create beauty and interest anyway, even if my darker feelings sometimes come out through my work.

"Abandon Ambition" is both grimly serious and darkly humorous. I was raised in both a household and country that emphasized setting lofty goals of acquiring high earnings and impressive assets, but the timing of my pursuit of these things has laughably aligned with global financial crises, global pandemics and lockdowns, and now global heatwaves and global conflicts. Abandon ambition, and instead embrace what you want to say and do and create and build now; Tomorrow is not yours, and your goals may not be waiting for you there.

Be responsible, and be kind. But hope and wait for nothing.

So uh, yeah, I draw a lot of stuff and explore a lot of things that I think I've been holding back on for years for one reason or another. I want to draw dark goats, glowing bats, tempest capricorns, skinny dragons, snarling wolves. So here they are.

Check out what I made!

A lot of my designs find themselves on fun and/or practical merch! I like to create things that are high quality and have a long shelf life: I don't want to make something thinking it'll go in a landfill in a year, I want you wearing and enjoying my work for a very long time.

Here's a hat that glows in the dark!

Wow! Here's another hat that doesn't glow in the dark, but still looks really nice.

Pretty! If keeping your skull cozy isn't your thing, I've printed my art on fabric, too. I like this idea because if you move house a lot and/or can't afford custom frames, art printed on fabric can be displayed anywhere, and folds up nicely when packing up for your next move, without any breaking glass or anything.

A big part of my thinking when I'm designing products is also what do I myself use in my day-to-day life, and lately I've been desperately trying to cut my phone addiction by going back to pen-and-paper planners and books and things instead of using screens. And to keep track of where I am in my planners and books, I've made bookmarks!

I had so much fun designing these. You have something enjoyable to look at on both sides of the page it's clipped on. How fun is that?

Okay lastly, I make a TON of stickers. A lot of my designs translate really well into small, self-contained things like stickers, and I only ever print vinyl stickers, so they live a long time on your laptop or phone case or wherever you wanna put them.

So that's a small collection of the things I've done and made. Do you like them? I hope you like them. I liked designing them.

A COOOUPON JUST FOR YOUUUU

If you'd like one o' these things for yourself, you're in luck!

You, lucky Tumblar user, can visit my shop and take 20% off with code TUMBLR20. This coupon expires 1st April 2024 (or does it...? That's April Fools' Day after all... Okay yeah it does actually expire then. Sorry).

Oh, commissions?

Hey! Sometimes people like my art style and want a custom commission. That's great, and I'm so glad you're interested!

If you'd like a custom ink mailed to you on a postcard that also features my art on the back (so it's like... you get two pieces of art on one postcard), these are exclusive to my Patreon right here. I have limited slots per every month, so check back often in case I'm sold out.

I also offer what I call "instant order" commissions via my Ko-Fi. You pick out one of the offerings I have, send me your ref sheet, pay, and I just...get it done. It's as close to instant as commissions can get.

Besides those, I also do more bespoke work, so you can send me a message to discuss your idea and we'll work something out. :corporatethumbsupemoji:

Honestly? Thanks!

The internet has become a pretty weird and honestly rather hostile place. I'm a solo act that's as indie as they get. So, it really does mean a lot to me when your eyeballs land on my stuff and you click that little heart or reblog icon, or even better when you add it to your cart and click check out. Your eyeballs land on thousands of stuff every day, so the fact that my stuff brought you joy or interest or something deep that you resonated with means a lot to me. I think in a sense it makes me feel like my brush strokes are going somewhere far beyond whatever canvas I've otherwise confined them to.

This is a pinned post to share who I am and help me get some coins to fund my life and art projects, but yeah you can reblog it and share it around planet earth, I don't mind. It's nice.

So yeah, that's me! Feel free to comment if you have questions or want to know whatever else, I'll uh... reply and like answer them and stuff.

#artist alley #tumblr artist alley #art #drawing #animal #animals #artwork #creature #creatures #artist #goat #occult #baphomet #bat #cat #biquette

[mariana-oconnor]

The Three Garridebs

This is the one, right? Where Holmes says the thing? Y'know, the thing.

This is definitely the one.

It may have been a comedy, or it may have been a tragedy. It cost one man his reason, it cost me a blood-letting, and it cost yet another man the penalties of the law. Yet there was certainly an element of comedy. Well, you shall judge for yourselves.

Sounds hilarious to me.

Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, was a short, powerful man with the round, fresh, clean-shaven face characteristic of so many American men of affairs. The general effect was chubby and rather childlike, so that one received the impression of quite a young man with a broad set smile upon his face. His eyes, however, were arresting. Seldom in any human head have I seen a pair which bespoke a more intense inward life, so bright were they, so alert, so responsive to every change of thought. His accent was American, but was not accompanied by any eccentricity of speech.

The undercurrent of 'lol Americans' in this is subtle but definitely there. Also, 'in any human head', is that an implied animal description?

"My friend here knows nothing of the details." Mr. Garrideb surveyed me with not too friendly a gaze. "Need he know?" he asked.

Clearly Mr J Garrideb (John. May I call you John? Gonna call you Johnny boy). Clearly Johnny boy knows nothing about anything or he'd know that Watson has to know everything that Holmes knows. Otherwise Holmes just plain won't take the case.

Honestly, imagine not wanting to tell Watson! Imagine wanting privacy! What insanity!

"If you came from Kansas I would not need to explain to you who Alexander Hamilton Garrideb was."

I've never seen Hamilton, but this feels like it works here...

"'Find me another!' said he. I told him I was a busy man and could not spend my life hiking round the world in search of Garridebs. 'None the less,' said he, 'that is just what you will do if things pan out as I planned them.'"

Okay, so he was a bit of a dick then? Got it.

"It's five million dollars for each if it is a cent, but we can't lay a finger on it until we all three stand in a row."

This already feels like a con. It's like the Red-Headed League. Mysterious American bequeaths fortune to strangers based on an arbitrary trait they share.

"But he is a lone man, like myself, with some women relations, but no men. It says three adult men in the will."

Okay, so he was a sexist dickhead. Great.

According to research married women in Kansas at the time had the right to separate economy, no clue what the laws for unmarried women were. Or widowed women, as I assume that for a married woman the surname would be considered her husband's and therefore he'd get his 5mill first, but a widow with the name Garrideb? Doesn't matter anyway because Alexander Hamilton Garrideb didn't want women to get money, so who cares.

The fact that he didn't want to tell Watson is the most suspicious part of all this. Of all the stories we've had, this is the one that privacy makes the least sense for. Little sus. Alexander Hamilton Garrideb is clearly a real actual person and in no way fictional.

Inflation calculated says that $15mill in 1902 would be equivalent to $536,841,279.07 today. Which is the equivalent of £439,301,981.09. So basically Alex was a billionaire by the standards of the time.

"By the way, it is curious that you should have come from Topeka. I used to have a correspondent—he is dead now—old Dr. Lysander Starr, who was Mayor in 1890."

Blatant test to see whether Johnny boy is telling the truth is blatant.

Mr. Nathan Garrideb proved to be a very tall, loose-jointed, round-backed person, gaunt and bald, some sixty-odd years of age. He had a cadaverous face, with the dull dead skin of a man to whom exercise was unknown. Large round spectacles and a small projecting goat's beard combined with his stooping attitude to give him an expression of peering curiosity. The general effect, however, was amiable, though eccentric.

Not a fan of this new habit of comparing people to corpses, Watson. And there's no need to make him sound so old when he's only in his sixties. The quavering voice? The cadaverous face? You're making him sound like he's approaching a hundred. Or older.

So, what does Johnny boy want from Nate over here? Clearly he needs him to do something or he wouldn't be trying to con him. Given that he's a collector, I assume it's something to do with one of his collections. Maybe the ancient coins?

"But do you tell me that you never go out?" he said.

OK. So Johnny boy just wants to get him out of the house. Presumably so he can burgle it. It's Red Headed League pt 2: Revenge of the Fake Garrideb.

"Have you any articles of great value in your collection?" "No, sir. I am not a rich man. It is a good collection, but not a very valuable one."

So, he might not be aware of having an item of value. Or maybe it's like the Red Headed League again and they want access to the house for some other reason.

"I have written to this man and told him that you will see him in his office to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock." "You want me to see him?"

Yes, because he wants you out of the house. Sorry, Nate.

"I would go with you if you wished, but I have a very busy day to-morrow..."

Yep, he's going to be super busy burgling your house.

"It is nothing, Mr. Garrideb. I have figured out your connections. You leave at twelve and should be there soon after two. Then you can be back the same night."

You organised his train journey? Way too eager. You need to calm down a bit. You might as well say 'I am trying to get rid of you' to his face. Could you make it more obvious?

“Unfortunately, I have not. But these specimens are so well labelled and classified that they hardly need your personal explanation. If I should be able to look in to-morrow, I presume that there would be no objection to my glancing over them?”

Nate is just the most trusting corpse that ever lived. Just going to let people into his home to look at his most prized possessions when he met them less than an hour ago. Nate, Nate, Nate, you sweet cinnamon roll.

“I saw that the word ‘plough’ was misspelt.” “Oh, you did notice that, did you? Come, Watson, you improve all the time. Yes, it was bad English but good American."

I blame the fact that I didn't notice that on the fact that I spend hours changing both from UK to US and US to UK at work and my brain registers both as correct now half the time unless I'm actively trying to find them.

“It is fair to tell you so, though I know it will only be an additional reason to you for running your head into danger. I should know my Watson by now. But there is danger, and you should know it.”

And thus we enter shipping defcon 1.

"He is none other than ‘Killer’ Evans, of sinister and murderous reputation.”

That's certainly a nickname. I wonder how he got it.

"I have been down to see friend Lestrade at the Yard."

Oh hai, Lestrade!

"Dead man was identified as Rodger Prescott, famous as forger and coiner in Chicago."

Aha, a coin connection.

"I think we may take it that Prescott, the American criminal, used to live in the very room which our innocent friend now devotes to his museum."

OK, so there's fake money under the floorboards. That explains why I remember a trapdoor in this one. Literally the only scene I remember is the famous one, though, so I didn't remember how they got there.

He took a revolver from the drawer and handed it to me.

You never managed to get Watson's revolver back from the river you threw it in, did you?

In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and had fired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron had been pressed to my thigh.

NO! WATSON! He's already been shot in the leg, Johnny boy. Or maybe it was the arm... but he really didn't need another one. (Yeah, I totally remember this scene.)

It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain.

Look, look, look, excellent scene, well written, super shiptastic etc. But I'm sure Watson has said half a dozen times that it was the only time he'd caught a glimpse of Holmes's heart. Not to step on the moment at all, but...

“By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive."

Ah yes, the infamous line.

We heard later that our poor old friend never got over the shock of his dissipated dreams. When his castle in the air fell down, it buried him beneath the ruins. He was last heard of at a nursing-home in Brixton.

Nate, you poor, wonderful, naive corpse man. I'm so sorry. You deserved better, my friend.

And there it was, the most infamous of the short stories. The story that validated a thousand shippers, and the rest.

#Letters from Watson #The Three Garridebs #Sherlock Holmes #long post

[loving-n0t-heyting]

as someone who does sadly get most of their information through posts (looking to change that but also, busy and bad at reading) can you elaborate/explain the theory behind how artisians should be paid for their labor?

(disclaimer that i am not an expert, and also do not attribute to marx/engels the kind of prophetic status a lot of ppl on here do, but do know enough to spot some truly egregious eisegesis)

a big theme in marx/engels is the "socialisation of production" under capitalism; it comes up in capital, obviously, but also in a lot of shorter works, including eg socialism: utopian and scientific. it refers to the integration of formerly bespoke, domestic, individual productive labour into industrialised, public, mass production whose paradigm case is the industrial textile factory in contrast to women's household production of fabric goods. this is essential to capitalisms ability to reap the efficiency benefits of economies of scale, and to its formation of a large cohesive working class responsible for the tasks of production, while coming at the cost of making any given individual's level of contribution to overall output imprecise and illegible. it stands in contrast to medieval feudal production, in which it makes more sense to think of the labouring peasants as a large number of individualised workers whose productivity scales more or less linearly wrt man-hours of work

marx/engels dont see this process as essentially good per se; they clearly regard it as a very serious exacerbator of exploitation and class inequality. but it is for them bound up with the possibility of a communist transition: the efficiency and wide-scale social integration afforded by socialisation are an important part of what lays the groundwork for a transition to socialism/communism under an organised working class, and it is why socialism was hitherto at best a pious wish detached from economic reality. so in this sense capitalist socialisation is a (latently) revolutionary development, and opposition to it is reactionary

this marxist attachment to the socialisation of production goes hand in hand with a suspicion of peasants and small-scale artisans (both often falling under the reviled heading of "petite bourgeois"). theirs is a form of production incompatible with socialisation: insofar as they are peasants or small-scale artisans rather than proletarians, their way of life is inimical to mass, industrialised, divided labour, and thus is inherently reactionary. this was a source of major friction between marx/engels and other less "scientific" socialists of the time, such as proudhon, who saw in individual artisans a preferable alternative to industrial capitalist barons. and this why ppl talking about marx spinning in his grave over bespoke seamstress hobbyists getting paid poorly are being idiots: handwringing over the payment due to such small-scale, unsocialised producers is antithetical to his core revolutionary beliefs

now you shouldnt take this too seriously purely in and of itself. the fact marx said smth is not in its own right a great reason to believe it if yr not already committed to thinking he was the brilliantest most insightfulest economist ever to walk the earth. he wasnt a fucking oracle. and in particular a lot of the most annoying leftists on this site are eager to import into wholly inappropriate contexts (like bizarre shittings on etsy artists and patreon furry illustrators) sentiments at home in 19th cent. tirades against small textile merchants. but if yr going to invoke the name of one of historys most prominent political philosophers as some sort of socialist talisman its not a good look if you bungle the contents of his writings that badly

#ask #anon

[dabblingreturns]

I have seen alot of really good analysis of caviler being a gender....rather than a job....and the fetishiasion of cavilers by necromancers like cytherea.

And with that in mind, there is something a bit heartbreaking about the dinner party scene in Gideon the Ninth.

Image: [highlighted text from chapter 15 of Gideon the ninth. "“This is going to be a weird question,” said Jeannemary. Gideon dropped her arm and tilted her head quizzically. A little bit of blood drained from the teen’s face, and Gideon almost felt sorry for her.....“Ninth … how big are your biceps?” It seemed to be long after Gideon was forced to supinate and flex at the whim of a teenage girl"]

Followed up by this exchange

Image: [highlighted text from chapter 15 of Gideon the ninth. "Gideon looked. Isaac and Jeannemary were standing close to the table, Jeannemary’s sleeves pulled down to reveal her biceps. They were the muscles of an athletic and determined fourteen-year-old, which was to say, unripped but full of potential; her floppy-haired teen-in-crime was wearily measuring them with his hands as they carried on a conversation in whispers— (“I told you so.” “Yours are fine?” “Isaac.” “It’s not like this is a bicep competition?” “Dumbest thing you ever said?”)"]

It's a funny conversation....except when you relize that it's a 14 year old comparing thier body to their older peers and finding thier own bodies to be wanting....Gideons thought that Jeannemary's biceps are "unripe but full of potential" is a much better response, even though it's unspoken...then Isaac's "it's not like its a biceps competition"...because that's not calming down Jeannemary's worry about her body.

And its not like other cavs font have wierd body stuff going on too

Colums body is bespoke, it's not a fighters body...but it is optimized for his duty as a cav. And I bet all the cav's (except gideon) are aware of that.

Naberius and Protessalous are both ripped. Protessalous to an unsettling extent.

Camilla physique isn't notable, but her skills are and her body is a wepon of war in service to herself and her family.

And Marta exact shape is hidden under some nice tailoring, But I assume it's honed by training and battle.

Magnus has a dadbod...but Abigail likes his dadbod....and Magnus never was a traditional caviler.

Jeannemary is looking all around, trying to figure out what shape society wants her body to be. And freaking out as it doesn't quite match up. It's understandable, but also tragic

And the cav who is closest in age to Jeannemary, and to whom Jeannemary looks up to, just happens to possess some of the best biceps in the nine house.

It's enough to give a poor cav a complex.

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #tlt #gideon nav #jeannemary chatur #caviler #gender and body images #body image #the horror of being 14 #tlt meta #cav as gender