#i’d been waiting for the story to explore for ages

[ahalliance]

current plan 4 me is to take a break from the event overall bc these anxiety stomach pains are NOT worth it (i will take the time to catch up on critical role)

#jay rambles #i’ll probs be back when mr pepino man is back to streaming the event #if he figures out smth that works for him of course #but also damn finally an excuse to catch up on cr again LOL i missed my guys <33 #im only like 5 eps behind so it’s fine but i rly stopped at the most interesting part #i’d been waiting for the story to explore for ages #im very smart

[lixzey]

The Unknown Number

A/N: ignore the time stamps 😆 i know, i know, but it's literally 2am when i edited this and i can't edit the time 😔

warnings: none? just that reader is italian and a lil bit of peach dissing [if you know, you know]

You were bored.

You were sitting alone in your hotel room, plans foiled by a stormy day, waiting for some miracle to happen. You were supposed to enjoy a beautiful day in New York; you had just arrived last night from Italy for a three-week vacation in America. You have planned this trip for so long. Originally,  your best friend Hailey was supposed to come along, but her family needed to go to Germany to visit her sick grandmother. Hailey had urged you to go on with the trip, practically forcing you to go to the airport and live your dream—the American dream you've been dreaming of since you were a little girl—and just enjoy, even without her.

You agreed, of course. You've been dreaming of coming to New York ever since you were eight; you weren't going to pass off the opportunity to fly to the place where your mother came from. Your mother left when you were eight—she died of cancer. As a little girl, you'd listen excitedly when your mother told you stories about her hometown. She painted such a vivid picture of New York City that you felt like you knew it like the back of your hand, even though you'd never been there. And now, here you were, sitting in a hotel room with nothing to do.

As you stared out the rain-streaked window, you sighed, feeling sorry for yourself and wishing Hailey was there with you. This was not how you had envisioned starting your vacation in the big city. You had been looking forward to exploring Central Park, visiting museums, and trying out all the famous New York food with Hailey. It just wasn’t the same without her. 

You took a deep breath, grabbing your phone from the nightstand beside you and deciding to scroll on Instagram to ease your boredom. As you mindlessly scrolled through your feed, something caught your eye—an advertisement for Wonka.

“Oh, I almost forgot about this,” you muttered to yourself, tapping twice on the post.

You have been a fan of Timothée Chalamet for less than a year. Hailey had been the one who introduced you to the young actor, and to your surprise, you were the same age as him. The first movie of his you’ve ever watched was Little Women, and you've loved him ever since.

You've been obsessing over his films like Dune and The King, loving every shot of him and admiring his beauty and talent. When you watched the trailer for Wonka, it was surreal to see him in such an unserious manner. Singing and dreaming about chocolate in his infamous purple coat.  

Continuing to scroll down your feed, you began seeing more of him, fan interactions, the red carpet, and movie promos. God, he's beautiful, you thought, moving to screenshot every photo you scrolled by. Mindlessly switching to Tiktok, where you see numerous edits of Tim on his premieres looking absolutely stunning in his colorful suits, left you imagining what else would be peeking under his jacket.

 “Is there anything you won't do for fashion?”

“Oh man, yeah, do it for the fashion.”

I’d do anything for you, all for you. You thought as you kept on scrolling some more to see character edits, ship edits—which you hated—thrist edits, and so much more that you couldn’t save anymore because you were running low on storage.

You sighed, closing the app, tossing your phone to the side, and plopping on the bed. This isn’t the American dream. You were supposed to be out, exploring New York, getting a sense of nostalgia from all of the stories your mother had told you years ago. But no, you were stuck in a hotel, scrolling through all of your social media feeds. God knows how many times you’ve scrolled through instagram and tiktok. You should be walking down Fifth Avenue, shopping and taking in the sights, eating hotdogs and pizzas as you walk through Central Park—maybe even running into a celebrity, hopefully Timothée Chalamet—not just stuck inside your hotel room moping.

What I’d give to have a moment with Timmy. 

Personally, you’d give the whole world just one minute with him. But you can’t help but wonder: What would any of Timmy’s fans give to just have one moment with him? Probably the same as you, but every person is different.

You grabbed your phone again, opening Instagram. As soon as the app opened, Timothée’s newest post greeted you.

He looked so effortlessly handsome, and it made the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy. You wished to be in Kylie Jenner’s place, but you could never be her. You’re just this plain girl that he would never even take a second glance at. You didn’t have a famous family, you didn’t have tons of fans, you didn’t have a successful makeup brand, and it’s sure as hell that you didn’t have a model body and a perfect face. You’re just a normal Italian girl with flaws. You had a belly, stretch marks, dark bags under your eyes from staying up late, cellulite, big arms, and acne scars from your youth. You were far from the girls he’d ever want. But you still love him nonetheless, even if you could only love him from afar. 

Tapping on his profile, you clicked on the message button. It was the only thing you could do—message him every once in a while. You wondered how many girls would freak out if Timothée Chalamet messaged them. It was a long shot, but if it ever happened to you, it was sure as fuck that you’d be either crying of happiness or faint. There’s no in-between, honestly. 

Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. 

Text random numbers and pretend to be Timothée Chalamet. 

It was a bad idea, sure, but when have you ever thought before doing shit? It’s only some harmless fun, right? You knew if you asked Hailey, she’d support you; no questions asked. So, there isn’t anyone else who’d tell you it’s a bad idea.

You opened your IMessage app, deciding to go with your stupid idea. 

“Here goes nothing.” you muttered, typing in the number Hailey gave.

You laid on your stomach, typing in a random greeting message, stifling your laughter before tapping the send button. “Sent.”

You couldn't stop laughing, you were honestly enjoying this even though it was wrong to catfish people. You were bored, this was the only thing that gave you smiles as the storm outside raged on.

You tried to stop laughing so you could type in a message for your next prank victim, failing miserably. You tossed your phone to the side, clutching your stomach as you let all of your laughter out of your body. It was absolutely funny to see people’s reactions, knowing all too well that you aren’t the real Timothée, and just riding along with your shit.

After a few minutes of laughing, you finally regained your composure. “Alright, onto the next.”

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @imnotoverlyobsessive @mel-vaz @elsagreeer @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29 @saintcosette @ashisabitgay @ladyladybuggg @nyrasunderwrld @remussbitch @jadahxx @starrystormwritings @ell0ra-br3kk3r @dreary-salem @drewsandsebastianswife @greenapplegrass @lilianelena39 @haybellewrites @cloudlst @si4a @ev3ningrain @ttulipwritezz @lilmaymayy @bullets-from-another-dimension @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @reg-arcturus-black @marina468 @3stelar @timhalamet @st4rf00k3r @idli-dosa @jimins15thhair @blacksgarden

#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet #timmy #timmy chalamet #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee #lil timmy tim #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée chalamalabingbong #timothee fanfic #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet imagine #timothée x reader #timothée chalamet fanfiction #timothée chalamet fanfic #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee x you #timothée imagine #timothée fanfic #timothée x you #timothée hal chalamet #timothee hal chalamet #iil timmy tim #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #insert reader

[goforth-ladymidnight]

On ACOTAR Faeries and Names

For some reason, SJM undoes most, if not all, of traditional faerie lore in her books. (I haven't read TOG or CC so I can't comment on those.) The cynical part of me thinks it's because faeries can be difficult to write well, therefore she took the easy route; the more forgiving part of me thinks it's because she set out to explore why humans believed certain myths about faeries, but then lost interest as she spent more and more time in the realm of the Night Court. (Side note: I find it odd that SJM chose to emphasize that the Illyrians are NOT really faeries, whether High or "lesser". I honestly wonder why that is.) Regardless, there's nothing very faerie about SJM's High Fae, etc. except for their ethereal beauty and pointed ears and the fact that they can do magic, I guess.

I've already written about Aging and Lying when it comes to ACOTAR's Faeries, and I thought I'd touch on another aspect of faerie lore that SJM chooses to ignore. (Heh, that rhymes.)

Names.

His [Rhysand's] eyes shifted to my face. “What’s your name, love?” Giving him my name—and my family name—would lead only to more pain and suffering. He might very well find my family and drag them into Prythian to torment, just to amuse himself. But he could steal my name from my mind if I hesitated for too long. Keeping my mind blank and calm, I blurted the first name that came to mind, a village friend of my sisters’ whom I’d never spoken to and whose face I couldn’t recall. “Clare Beddor.” My voice was nothing more than a gasp. ~ACOTAR ch. 26

Clare and her family are killed because Rhys revealed that name to Amarantha, even though he admitted later (in the next book) that he thought she made it up. So, Feyre's fears were not unfounded, but once she is Under the Mountain with everyone else, she is still reluctant to give her name when Amarantha asks for it.

Lucien is even brought forward and refuses to give away Feyre's name. For his defiance, Amarantha orders Rhysand to shatter his mind before Feyre finally gives in and shouts her name for everyone to hear. The Lady of Autumn even repays her sacrifice by helping her with one of Amarantha's "household tasks".

What is the sacrifice, though? It would seem that the only reason Amarantha wants to know her name is because Feyre knows hers, and wants to address her "properly":

“Feyre,” Amarantha said, testing my name, the taste of the two syllables on her tongue. “An old name—from our earlier dialects. Well, Feyre,” she said. I could have wept with relief when she didn’t ask for my family name. “I promised you a riddle.” ~ACOTAR ch. 35

In traditional faerie lore, it is said that names have power, so giving a faerie your name gives them power over you. (It is important to note that they cannot take anything from you. It has to be given.)

There is a scene in Hayao Miyazaki's animated classic in which the young protagonist Chihiro signs a contract to work for the sorceress Yubaba. In a beautifully animated sequence, her signature floats away and into Yubaba's waiting palm. She literally signed away her name. Chihiro is then given a new name in exchange: Sen. By the next day, she has already forgotten her original name and her purpose (freeing her enchanted parents). It is only when another ensorcelled young man gives her the bundle of her old clothes with a card in the pocket (with her name written on it) that she remembers who she was, and why she's there.

I just think it could have been very interesting to give Feyre a similar plotline in ACOTAR. By giving Amarantha her name, she no longer has it, and can no longer remember it. (And since the story is told in first person, it's easier to convey.)

How she gets her name back could be handled in one of two ways: Lucien gives back her name like the true friend he is, or she doesn't remember it until the very end.

If we explore the second option, this is what I'm thinking: Amarantha sought to break Feyre in mind, body, and spirit. The one thing she could never take from Feyre was her love for Tamlin.

“I love you,” I said. “No matter what she says about it, no matter if it’s only with my insignificant human heart. Even when they burn my body, I’ll love you.” My lips trembled, and my vision clouded before several warm tears slipped down my chilled face. I didn’t wipe them away. ~ACOTAR ch. 43

In my Faeries and Lying essay (linked above), I think it would have been more powerful for Amarantha to want Feyre to admit to lying about her love for Tamlin. In the same vein, I think it would be that much more impactful for Feyre to admit that even if she does not know her own name, she knows she loves Tamlin, and that's enough.

It's the one thing Amarantha couldn't take from her. It's the reason Feyre went Under the Mountain in the first place. And most importantly, it's the answer to the riddle. Love. And that's enough.

#my essays #sjm critical #the farther we get from the first book #the less magical it gets #acotar is a better standalone book #acotar worldbuilding #missed opportunities

[veronicaphoenix]

Chapter tags & trigger warnings: swearing, talks about physical abuse, physical fight, implied depression, alcohol intake. | Word count: 3.1k | Cross posted on AO3 | Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

 “You’re no better than me, Noah!”  “I don’t give a shit. You touch her, you answer to me!”

Author's note: I'm so so sorry for taking ages to update this fic. I'm back to working on it now, and I plan on completing the missing chapters for this part during this month ^^ This is the baby of my fics and the first one I wrote with Noah, so it's very special and personal, and I can't wait to fully dive into it again and continue the story from Zutto. Thank you to each of you that are still following and keep supporting this story, it means a lot to me 🤍 (I don't even know if I had a taglist for part 2, but if you want to be tagged, please just let me know and I'll create a taglist for the upcoming missing chapters ^^).

“Oh, crap,” I heard Lia mutter from the kitchen. 

            I made my way from the studio and leaned out through the doorframe into the open kitchen. Lia stood by the island, still in her pajamas, her arms raised at shoulder level as she surveyed the scene before her. The scent of that morning’s breakfast still lingered in the air as she cautiously stepped back from the puddle of liquid on the floor.  

            “What happened?” I asked.

                She turned to face me, revealing a knocked-over bottle of juice and a sizable mess on the floor. Her clothes were stained, clinging to her skin. 

            “I’m sorry,” she apologized, taking a few more cautious steps away from the messed-up area before reaching the kitchen rag beside the sink. 

            I approached her, careful not to tread on the spilled juice, and took the rag from her hands.  

            “It’s alright. I’ll handle it. You go get changed.”

            Lia looked at me with a touch of helplessness, her shoulders slumping. 

            Five minutes later, her voice called out my name from the bedroom. I found her locked in the bathroom, the scent of her toiletries and perfume wafting out. When I entered the bedroom, she peered out from the bathroom door.

            “What is it now?” I asked. 

            “I need something to wear,” she said. “These pajamas need to get washed. Can I borrow one of your…?”

            Before she could finish, I had already nodded and made my way to the drawer. I pulled out the first t-shirt I found and handed it to her through the open bathroom door. She thanked me with a small smile before closing the door. 

            When she appeared in the hallway a few minutes later, with her hair gathered in a messy bun with two stray locks escaping from it and wearing white socks and my oversized t-shirt that fell down to her knees, I couldn’t resist eyeing her up and down. I couldn’t stop myself that time, and I could not stop myself later, when she’d reach for a cereal box placed too high in the kitchen cabinets and the hem of the t-shirt would ride up, revealing another slice of her thighs, nor when she’d walk and the fabric swayed, teasingly revealing more. The sight was too tempting.

            I’d seen her in less clothing before, at the pool, at the beach. Hell, she’d even changed outfits in front of me once clad only in her underwear. Yet, there was something different about seeing her in my clothes. I knew the details—her hidden nipple piercing, the scar on her waist. Yes, she had also worn my t-shirt many other times, even when we lived together in the past. But this time it felt singular. With us being home alone (Jolly off at a friend’s house), there was an inherent intimacy in having Lia here like this. She was my responsibility. I had to look after her. And I couldn’t help but think that this was what I had been doing all my life and what I wanted to keep doing. 

            “I’m a mess,” she muttered, looking defeated.  

            “You’re not,” I reassured her with a half-smile, wiping my hands on the rag.

            With a sigh and a rub of her hand across her forehead, she hesitated a moment before speaking. 

            “Do you think you could take me to Mitch’s house?” 

            The question caught me off guard, making me look down at her with a frown between my brows. 

            “To retrieve the rest of my things”, she clarified. “I want to get it done. He should be at work now, and I still have a spare key.”

            “I’ll go,” I offered.  

            “No,” she insisted firmly, shaking her head. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

            “You said he’s at work.”

            “He should be, but I don’t want to take chances.”

            “And I don’t want to take chances with you,” I asserted, trying to make her see my concern. Her features softened at my words.

            “I’m not taking chances with you, either” she replied, giving me that determined girl’s look that said that she wouldn’t change her mind, no matter how hard I might try. 

            This time, I was the one who sighed. I nodded and told her to get ready; we would leave in the next twenty minutes. 

If Lia had seemed confident and determined when suggesting that we go to Mitch's house to pick up her things, that attitude faded and her confidence waned as we neared the residential area. I noticed her shrinking back in her seat, fingers fidgeting in her lap. 

            While I wouldn’t have minded going alone and spare her the discomfort, I also didn’t want to overstep boundaries with her. Plus, after a little bit of thought, perhaps this final visit could help her find closure, putting an end to that chapter of her life… 

            Mitch was a fucking bastard, and I didn't think my desire to beat him up would lessen any time soon. At least it was satisfying to arrive at his block and find his trashed car. The boys had done a pretty good job. Lia, however, said nothing, her eyes fixed on the vehicle, her mouth slightly agape. 

            After a few moments, she blinked and shook her head, stepping out of my car and gesturing for me to follow. 

            We stood in front of Mitch’s apartment door. Lia attempted to insert the key into the lock, but her hands were trembling. I took hold of her wrist, relieving her of the keys to open the door myself.        Before entering, I squeezed her shoulder and reminded her that if she felt overwhelmed at any point, she could wait in the car, or we could leave immediately.

            I felt a swell of pride witnessing how Lia composed herself, focusing on the task at hand. 

            The house appeared even worse than when I had pulled Lia out from that toxic environment. Dirty dishes were piling up high in the sink, empty beer bottles were strewn about, cupboards were left open, and dirty laundry was scattered around. The apartment exuded a musty odor, and my heart ached at the thought of Lia having spent so many days under such conditions.  

            Lia had brought a couple of suitcases with her, and I had retrieved and folded two empty cardboard boxes I had found in the garage from the last merchandising order. We filled them with what was left of her clothes. Lia didn’t say, but I sensed that she had been afraid she would find that Mitch had burned her clothes or done something like that. Luckily, Lia’s clothes that had been left there were still in place. She gathered up her things and even a couple of mugs that belonged to her that she found at the bottom of one of the cupboards in the kitchen. 

            I excused myself briefly to take the heavy boxes to the car. 

            When I returned, I was greeted by the sound of cups shattering. I rushed to the kitchen to find Lia smashing everything in sight, her face contorted in anger.  

            “Hey, hey. That’s enough,” I intervened, first attempting to quell her destructive frenzy by restraining her hands, then encircling her waist to guide her away from the chaos she made of the kitchen. Tears welled in her eyes as I managed to pause her rampage, standing together amidst the wreckage. “Lia, enough. Let’s go. There’s no need to cause any more damage. The apartment is already a mess,” I urged, my voice firm yet gentle. “You won’t get anything from doing this.”

            “I don’t care. I want to wreck his life like he wrecked mine,” she retorted with a fierce tone. 

            “Lia,” I gently cupped her chin, waiting until her tear-filled gaze met mine. “He’s lost you. He can’t get any more miserable than that. His life is already in shambles.”

            A few sobs threatened to escape her. She reminded me of a small child in need of a hug and safety, things that her own mother had neglected her from. 

            “Why do you always have the right things to say?” she whispered, her voice strained with emotion.

            I shrugged, offering a faint smile. “Maybe it’s some sort of autopilot mode that kicks in when I see my best friend hurting.”

            With that, she let her head fall against my chest. After a few moments, her breathing steadied, and she released her grip on my hoodie, stepping back.

            “I'll check if there’s anything left in the bathroom. Then, we can go,” she declared, sniffing and wiping her face with her hands. 

            I nodded, watching her retreat before turning my attention to the task of loading the suitcases into the trunk of my car, leaving the door of the house ajar behind me. As I arranged the boxes and bags like pieces of a puzzle, the morning sunlight bathed the quiet street, where a few cars passed by and pedestrians enjoyed leisurely walks, unaware of the what we were going through.

            I decided to tidy up the car’s interior while I waited for her, clearing dust off the seats and ensuring there was no overlooked clutter. Lost in my task, I didn’t expect the sudden piercing scream that echoed from inside the apartment, followed by Lia screaming my name. Within a second, I bolted back inside. 

            Lia was trapped at the far end of the hallway, overshadowed by a figure much larger than herself, leaving her with nowhere to go. 

            Even before his voice reached my ears, I knew it was him. I’d recognize that bastard anywhere now. My muscles tensed at the sight. 

            “You thought I wouldn’t catch you sneaking back in?” he was saying to Lia. “Lucky for you, I decided to take a few days off because my damn car is fucking trashed! I step out for twenty mintues to grab some beer, and look who waltzes back into the house!” Mitch’s voice filled the hallway with venom.

            “Get away from her, now,” I grunted through gritted teeth. 

            Mitch turned to face me, his expression showing no surprise, but his eyes widened as Lia took the opportunity to slip past him towards me. Mitch made a clumsy grab for her, but I was faster and swiftly moved to shield Lia behind me.  

            “Well, well, if it isn’t Prince Charming,” Mitch sneered, his face contorted with malice. “Not surprised to see you here, considering you couldn’t leave the bitch’s mind for a second during our entire relationship.”

            “Watch your mouth, I warn you,” I replied, my finger pointing towards him.  “God knows I’m dying to break your face for what you did to her.”

            “Yeah. Did you ever stop to think that maybe she deserved what she got?”

            “Don’t you even dare,” I muttered, raising a finger. My breathing was becoming ragged, and Lia’s hand clutching at the back of my hoodie wasn’t helping. She was nearly pressed against me, and I could feel her own heartbeat against my back. 

            “What? You really didn’t?” Mitch questioned, raising his chin. “Of course everything she got, she got it because of you! Because you were always somewhere in that little head of hers! Wasn’t he, Lia? I’m sure you even thought of him while I fucked y—!”

            I charged towards him, a surge of raw emotion flooding my senses, an amalgamation of anger, fear, and protectiveness that suddenly threatened to consume me. Lia’s tear-streaked face loomed large in my mind, her pain igniting a fire within me, driving me forward with a fervor I had never known. When I launched myself at Mitch, I did so by grabbing his shirt. propelling us forcefully towards the wall. 

            “You son of a bitch,” he shouted.  

            “You’re a despicable piece of trash,” I spat back. 

            “You’re no better than me, Noah!”

            “I don’t give a shit. You touch her, you answer to me!”

            And it was about time that he fucking answered.  

            The words dripped with a venomous promise as I launched myself at him again. Every fiber of my being screamed with the need to protect Lia and to give this piece of shit what he deserved. Mitch’s fist collided with my face, splitting my lip and sending a jolt of pain searing through my body. But in that moment, the pain took a backseat to an overwhelming need to unleash all my pent-up rage. I hit him back. The surge of ferocity was foreign to me, but I had no intention to contain it.  

            “She’s nothing more than a fragile little thing, always needing her dear best friend Noah. But you couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else having her, either. Could you, Noah?!” Mitch’s loud voice reverberated with malice.  

            “Shut up!” I shouted back. 

            “No! I want to know. Have you fucked her yet?!”

            With a primal roar, I lunged at Mitch, my fists flying in a flurry of punches aimed at his face. The force of our collision sent us crashing to the ground, the impact jarring my already split lip, while Mitch’s bruises and cuts began to ooze blood.

            Every blow I landed carried the weight of months of pent-up frustration and fear, fueled by the knowledge that Mitch had been terrorizing Lia for far too long and that he didn’t seem to stop. His abuse had not only left Lia bruised and broken; it had shattered her spirit. 

            But it was Lia’s own rage that fueled and ended the fight. With every blow exchanged, I could sense her anger boiling over as she screamed at Mitch to stop hitting me while we rolled on the floor. With one last scream, Lia launched herself at Mitch, driving her foot into his chest and then delivering a forceful kick to his side, causing him to clutch his stomach. When he stood up and staggered backwards into the hallway, expecting Lia to retreat, she advanced with determined steps, and with a swift strike to his knee, she brought him crashing to the ground again. 

            “Don’t you ever touch Noah again,” she seethed.  

            Mitch lay sprawled on the floor, bloodied, and defeated. She spit on the floor next to him, cementing her resolve to end that right there right then.   

            “You’re doomed, Lia. Hate me all you want,” he said, checking his nose with a hand and checking the blood dripping from one of the nostrils. 

            “I don’t hate you,” Lia stated. “You don’t even deserve that from me.”

            “Whatever. You’ll be miserable for the rest of your life,” he said, clutching his stomach as blood dripped from his face onto his t-shirt. His left eyebrow began to swell. My knuckles hurt from the hitting, but fuck him. “Now, get out of my fucking house!”

            Lia threw the house key at him before returning to my side, seeking reassurance in my eyes. She wrapped an arm around my waist and together we made our way toward the door, stepping out into the sunlight, holding onto each other. 

            Back home, the adrenaline of the fight still pulsed through my veins as if refusing to let go. Lia moved with a sense of urgency, her movements almost automatic as she hurried to gather a first aid kit from the bathroom and tend to the split on my lip. I watched her, feeling a mixture of gratitude and frustration swirling within me. Gratitude because she was fine; she wasn’t hurt. Frustration because I still couldn’t erase the past, no matter how hard I had hit Mitch. 

            His words still echoed in my head, accusing every bruise on Lia’s skin as my fault. Maybe he was right. Maybe I shouldn’t have demanded her company so insistently or failed to accept her relationship to another man like the fucking I adult I was. 

            But I didn’t. 

            And now I had a split lip and a best friend grappling with the aftermath of an abusive relationship. 

            For a moment, rage threatened to boil over, and when Lia insisted on cleaning the wound for the third time after my dismissals, I snapped sharply at her. My voice came out as a harsh scream, causing her to flinch. Instantly regretting my outburst, I reached out to her.

            “I’m sorry…” I sighed. “I’m just… I should’ve done more.”

            “No,” she cut me off. “You shouldn’t have.”

            “Yes, I should’ve—!”

            “None of it was your fault. It doesn’t matter what he said.”

            We locked eyes and stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. I didn’t even have to say it; Lia knew exactly what had been on my mind. 

            As I reached for her hand, gently stroking the back of it with my thumb, I asked her if she was hurt. She shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes, and I felt a pang of guilt. 

            Sitting on the sofa, I lifted my head towards her, silently offering myself to her care.

            Lia raised my head with her fingers, and with her other hand, she clutched a piece of cotton damped with alcohol. Regardless of the stinging sensation, Lia’s touch was tender and delicate when she disinfected the cut. Despite the violence that had erupted just a while ago, she was able to be so sweet to me. As she cleaned the wound, silent tears began to fall from her eyes, and my heart ached at the sight of her pain materializing.

            I reached out to pull her into a hug, but Lia pulled away, refusing my comfort. Instead, she headed straight to the kitchen, discarding the blood-stained cotton in the bin and then opening the fridge, from where she retrieved a beer with trembling hands. I watched her, my heart heavy with concern, as she took a long swig from the can.

            “Lia,” I called out, but she didn’t respond. “Lia,” I pressed. “Come here, please.”

            Reluctantly, she came back and took a seat next to me, can still in her hands. I didn’t take it from her, but I made my disapproval clear.

            “You know that’s not the solution.”

            “I’m aware,” she replied, pretending to show that she didn’t care. 

            “Have you thought about what we talked? Going back to therapy? You haven’t called her, your therapist, have you?” 

            “Not yet,” she admitted with defeat, her head low, her eyes away from me. 

            “Why don’t you give it a try? You can always stop it if it doesn’t help or if you don’t feel comfortable. You can always talk to me, but I’m afraid I won’t be enough.” 

            At those words, she lifted her head to meet my gaze, her eyes telling me that I was wrong about myself. But successfully, she agreed to give therapy a chance and call for an appointment. 

            She lay her head on my shoulder. 

            I sighed softly, knowing that healing would take time, that the scars left behind by Mitch’s abuse ran deep. But in that moment, all I could do was hold Lia close, offering her the safety provided by my company. 

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #the inevitability of love at second sight

[literallydontlook]

Atonement - part 1

Pairing: Crosshair x f!sex worker!reader

Rating: Explicit (minors, skidaddle)

WC: 5.7k

Series summary: After Cody deserts, Crosshair comes to terms with his place within the Empire and the things that he’s done in its name. As the inhibitor chips begin to degrade, his building guilt finally pushes him to defect himself. Life on the run is harder than he imagined, but he’s found moments of comfort and true peace from an unlikely source. Can he ever atone for the crimes he’s committed or is he condemned to a lifetime of guilt?

Series CW: canon typical violence, swearing, sex work, lots of negative self talk, PiV, masturbation (m and f), probably oral at some point; reader has a back story but no physical descriptions; lmk if I missed anything

Unwhitewash the bad batch disclaimer: these guys are straight up white in the show and that is not ok with me. My descriptions and headers are made to combat canon designs. If you don’t like that pls leave.

A/N: SOOOOOOO ONCE AGAIN I’m on my Crosshair shit even though almost 0 of my followers are here for this. I wanted to explore what it would take for him to find redemption. TO BE CLEAR a lot of the stuff he says on the show and his attitude and superiority complex in canon are straight up disgusting, but I can’t help but wonder if I’d be strong enough to defect if I were put into a similar situation. In an age where we are so quick to condemn people for their mistakes (god knows I’ve made my share), how can we nurture the good in people instead of pushing them farther away? Also I was horny lol

—

Sharp eyes scan the cantina over the rim of his drink. Others are like him — sitting at tables obscured by the darkness. They’re scheming and dealing, keeping low profiles as they search for their next gigs. The dim lighting blurs their faces and the air is hazy with smoke. But Crosshair still sees everything.

But he also listens.

“…Black Sun…—ot take kindly to…”

“…we’ll need a qui—….to pick off…”

“I don’t want no part of…-mperial control…”

There are a number of promising-sounding leads and he indulges in a little bit of cautious optimism. It’s been 2 months since he’d defected and two rotations since he’s eaten. He never thought he’d ever miss the Imperial slop they served at the mess, but it’s starting to sound pretty good right about now. His stomach rumbles.

Finding jobs was proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated, especially for a man looking to disappear from the Empire. Most bounty hunters belong to the Guild, but he can’t risk leaving that kind of a record. It leaves him with the kinds of jobs that are actively avoiding official channels.

A spineless-looking gentleman dressed far too expensively for the establishment looks over his shoulder before taking a seat across from Crosshair. He runs a hand through greasy, slicked back hair and fiddles with the gaudy rings on his fingers, twisting them nervously. Crosshair acknowledges him with a silent nod.

“That’s quite a rifle you’ve got there,” he says, attempting to sound nonchalant.

Crosshair hums in response, taking a sip of his drink. The man looks around again and dabs at the sweat around his neck before leaning in.

“I’m looking for some help,” he says, voice lowered to almost a whisper. There’s an awkward silence as he waits for a response but he’s met with Crosshair’s usual brand of stoicism.

He waits for the man to continue and it takes almost all of his willpower not to roll his eyes and scoff. “What’s the job,” he asks finally.

“Ah, yes — well, I’m looking for someone who can be discreet. This cannot be traced back to me,” he says, looking over his shoulder again, “and my associate spoke very highly of you.”

Crosshair narrows his eyes. “And who, exactly, is this associate?”

He leans further over the small table, lowering his voice even further. “Gini Millegi,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“Hmm…” Crosshair considers this information carefully while absentmindedly stirring his drink with a toothpick. Millegi was a notorious gangster in the region who’d hired him for a hit just a few weeks ago. Something about rival gang politics — he couldn’t care less, to be honest. The pay was good and the job was surprisingly easy. What more could he ask for?

The man clears his throat and Crosshair’s returning glare nearly burns a hole in his forehead. “Go on,” he says impatiently. The man jumps in his seat and pats down his pockets nervously.

“The target will be at Safa Toma, just across town tomorrow.” He frowns, mumbling something to himself before exclaiming, “The little brat — she can’t just waltz in here out of nowhere and take our family’s hard-earned fortune! Who does she think she is?!”

He closes his eyes and places a hand over his heart dramatically.

“My father is not long for this world and she needs to be eliminated before he passes.”

Crosshair holds up a hand, “Spare me the details. What’s the bounty?” He didn’t need to hear a long winded story about greedy families vying for an inheritance. The less he knows, the better.

The man sits back and huffs indignantly. “Five thousand credits. Double if you can make it look like an accident.”

Five thousand credits. That's enough to buy some stability for at least a month. He locks eyes with the man and something in the pit of his stomach turns as he considers the proposition. It sounds easy enough, but he’s learned quickly that in this line of work, nothing is ever as simple as it seems.

Especially when the client is avoiding official Guild channels.

His stomach grumbles.

“Fine. But I want fifty percent up front. Those are my terms,” he says, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. “You won’t find a more discreet hunter.”

The man hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek in consideration. Finally, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a coarsely woven bag. He sets it on the table, but his hand lingers over it. “How do I know you won’t just run off with the credits?” He asks with narrowed eyes.

Crosshair plucks it from below his palm. “You don’t.”

—

Safa Toma is boisterous, a hub of raucous activity and a host of unsavory characters. The main draw is riot racing, a dangerous sport akin to Tatooine’s pod racing with the addition of officially sanctioned weapons usage. Crosshair had heard of it. Many clients in his new line of work were enthusiastic participants with racers of their own, but he’d never had an interest. The place is decidedly too cacophonic for his taste.

He peers at the stadium through his scope, searching for the reflective discs he’d strategically placed the night before. With any luck, he’d be able to mask his location with a shot rebounded from the opposite direction.

He’s perched high on an abandoned building, several kliks away. By now, the toothpick dangling from his lips is gnarled and ready to snap. He can’t shake his nerves and the vague feeling of foreboding he’s had about this job. His commlink crackles to life.

“The target is en route to the viewing suite. Do you remember the hand signals?” His client’s voice is low and his speech is rushed, nervous and impatiently demanding some sort of comfort to placate his anxious energy.

Crosshair rolls his eyes before responding. His scope swings across the stadium in search of a group matching the provided description. An older, heavier-set woman with a severe expression and dressed impeccably. Another woman in expensive robes and perfectly coiffed hair carrying a small child. And two greasy-looking men in suits wearing jewelry worth more than Crosshair’s entire ship.

“I have a visual. Awaiting your signal.”

The link goes silent as he watches the client dart out from behind a column and speed walk down the hallway to catch up, arms pinned rigidly to his sides in a ridiculously short strut.

So much for playing it cool.

Now that they’re all together, it’s clear that these people are the client’s family. The resemblance between him and the two men is unmistakable. And they’ve all clearly inherited the older woman’s chin, who he figures is their mother. The connection to the younger woman and the toddler is less clear.

He’s focused on tracking the group but registers the sound of stray blaster fire and a unified gasp from the crowd. The announcer’s voice booms and even from this distance, Crosshair can hear it.

“A friendly reminder to all our spectators: be mindful of blaster fire. Safa Toma Speedway is not liable for any injury, death, or disintegration. Thank you.”

He absentmindedly rolls his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. Hmm, he thinks, that’d be a convenient cover if the timing is right. Maybe I can double the bounty after all.

Steadily, he follows their movements with his scope until they reach the suite. The two men plop down on a luxurious looking sofa and turn on a large screened TV, where they’re able to watch several sporting events at once. The client pulls out a seat next to the window for the younger woman and Crosshair tenses in preparation, recognizing that this placement is surely intentional. She must be the target.

She sits and places who Crosshair assumes is her daughter on the ground. The child toddles towards the window, pressing her small, chubby hands against the glass, looking down at the speedway with wide, innocent eyes.

He exhales a stuttered breath and closes his eyes.

The kid will be fine, he reassures himself. The family’s loaded anyway.

When he peers through the scope again, he sees the client approach the child, kneeling down to meet her eye level. He places a hand on her shoulder and gestures down toward the track with three fingers, wagging them three times.

Crosshair sucks in a breath.

The hand signal.

Maker. What in Malachor has he gotten himself into? The toothpick snaps between his gritted teeth as he focuses on the small child. She ohs and ahs, clapping clumsily as the speeders pass by. And as if she knew he was there, she turns towards Crosshair’s position, looking straight into his scope and smiles.

Finger hovering over the trigger, he contemplates the job. He’s so close to the easiest payout of his life, but he’s struggling to make the shot. His head begins to throb violently.

Just do the job.

The faces of every innocent child he’d ever executed flashes in his mind.

You must do what needs to be done.

“You know what makes us different from battle droids?”

Just fucking pull the trigger.

“We make our own decisions. Our own choices.”

You were born for this.

“And we have to live with them, too.”

The pain crescendos — an acute, stabbing — until he can’t take it anymore, releasing his rifle with a clatter as he grits his teeth and sits back, hands gripping his scalp and eyes squeezed shut.

He can’t do it.

He won’t.

—

It’s late by the time Crosshair arrives at the agreed-upon meeting spot. The sun has long set and the only respite from the bite of cold evening air is the occasional puff of putrid-smelling steam released from an underground pipe. He leans against the damp alley wall, eyes cast downward. Anger and frustration swirl but at who and about what? He’s not sure.

His brooding is interrupted by the splash of stomping feet approaching. The client is cloaked, a hood pulled over his head, but Crosshair doesn’t need to see his face to know that he’s pissed.

“What the kriff happened back there?”

“You failed to mention the target was a child,” he growls, jabbing a finger into his chest.

The client, seeming to forget Crosshair’s physical advantage in this altercation, doubles down on his outrage.

“What happened to ‘spare me the details’?!” He shouts, slapping away the accusatory hand. “What part of non-Guild work do you not understand?”

The toothpick in his mouth snaps in frustration, knowing it’s his own fault for taking this job, so he only responds with a silent glare.

“I’m not a child murderer,” he seethes. He pulls the burner commlink from his belt pocket and throws it on the floor, crushing it under his heel.

Not anymore, he thinks.

The client rears back with his jaw hanging open. He points a condemnatory finger towards the sniper.

“You —“ he shrieks, “you’ll pay for this.”

“Enjoy the fucking credits. I hope it’s worth it,” he says darkly before spitting at his feet and disappearing into a mysterious speeder just arrived at the end of the alleyway.

The leather of his gloves squeak as he tightens a fist and inhales slowly through his nose. He exhales a steadying breath and closes his eyes.

At least he’s got the deposit.

The coarsely woven bag sits heavy in his other hand but lifts a weight from his shoulders. Enough credits for a few weeks. He stares blankly at it until his stomach protests, reminding him that he’s close to death. He lets his feet take him to his next destination.

His boots splash murky puddle water as he mindlessly travels to the closest source of food. The shop is crowded but the warm, comforting smell of stewed nuna and protatoes is too enticing to ignore on such a frigid night.

He waits in the crudely formed line outside. There’s no indoor seating, only a dark window where credits are exchanged for a piping hot bowl of stew passed anonymously by a clawed hand. A Rodian man shoulders his way past Crosshair and anger flashes hot in his chest before the hollowness in his weakened limbs reminds him of his vulnerability.

The air is moist by the time he gets his bowl, the hazy fog settling heavily and blurring his surroundings. He finds privacy in an unoccupied alley to enjoy his meal and absorb its warmth. After the first taste, his eyes widen before he tilts the bowl back and gulps the stew ravenously, nearly choking on the large chunks of meat.

He tosses his trash into a dumpster and begins the long trek back to his ship, docked outside the city’s limits. He hasn’t had enough credits for docking fees and had been making the long journey into town by foot each day.

He absentmindedly scans the fliers posted to a communications pole. It seems like a popular spot judging by the absence of any free space. Some locations are stacked thick with flimsi and everything is damp from the dewy droplets formed on the metal shaft. Many fliers are out of date — faded and torn, pasted over by newer announcements and ads.

Lost Tooka - REWARD. Last seen at central market.

Waste removal services. Discreet and quick. Comm for pricing.

Rhodian Underground LIVE at the Spotchka A GoGo

Midtown Inn — long term and nightly rates available

Crosshair digs into his utility belt, fumbling for the credits. Weighing the bag in one hand, he deliberates his lodging options as he calculates the cost of ship repairs and ammo and food. His body aches and the thought of sleeping on a real bed is tempting, to say the least.

He looks at the time, knowing he’s got another hour or so until he reaches the ship. He makes a spontaneous decision to stay in town, allowing himself to indulge for one night. It’s a short walk to the Midtown Inn, but by the time he gets there, the “no” has been illuminated on their vacancy sign.

He sighs. Just his luck.

He runs a hand over his head, his shoulders sagging in defeat, as he looks around for another option. The immediate surroundings look like a bust. Just closed businesses shuttered for the night.

The inn itself is tucked into the neighborhood, surrounded by a maze of small streets and alleys that eventually link up to the main road. He’s not sure anymore what the fastest route would be so he takes an educated guess and follows the small road past more closed shops below crumbling housing, using the tracking equipment in his vambrace as a guide.

He’s so focused on the little red dot on the radar that he nearly misses it.

The repeating pattern of one junk building after another is finally broken by a small pathway nestled between two closed restaurants. It’s remarkably void of trash. In fact, everything he can see of it from the road is uncharacteristically pleasant. He stares at it for a long time, looking back at his vambrace to determine if this could lead to the main road.

He approaches it skeptically, standing at the mouth of it and finding it to be very well maintained.

Cautiously, he follows the path, each side flanked by tall, solid stone walls that tower even above his significant height. They’re lined with lamps hung close to the ground where they cast a warm, otherworldly glow, keeping most of the way shrouded in darkness. The tranquility here is a sharp contrast to the grit of the rest of Ord Mantell City. He feels as if he’s entering a secret space and he’s careful to stay vigilant as he travels deeper down the path.

Finally, he reaches a crossroads. To the left, the path continues, turning sharply around a corner and out of sight. To his right stands a nondescript two story building, perhaps a house. On one side a large tree’s branches reach up and over its flat roof. And while the walls are painted a dark color, adding to the home’s mystery, there’s something welcoming about it. There aren’t many windows, but the lights are on in most of them, the curtains all drawn shut. Barely visible, painted in a hue just one tint lighter than the walls, is a small sign reading “House of Desire - walk ins welcome” in aurebesh.

Ah.

He thinks again about the credits in his pocket. Doesn’t he deserve one night of relief? He could certainly use it.

Reluctantly, he approaches the door and stands at the entrance. The cylindrical eye of a TT-8L gatekeeper droid extends abruptly from the peephole, focusing on Crosshair’s face before quickly retreating with a slam. The door slides open.

The entryway opens directly into a comfortable living room with a plush sofa set behind a low, circular holo table. A set of stairs runs parallel against the back wall where he sees two sets of legs disappearing up to the second floor. An older pantoran woman stands regally at the center of it all, her hands clasped low in front of her body.

“Welcome to the House of Desire. How can I help you?” She asks, motioning for him to take a seat.

Crosshair reluctantly approaches the sofa, carefully unholstering his rifle so he can sit comfortably. The woman seems entirely unbothered by his armored appearance and weapon as she takes a seat across from him.

“Can I offer you anything to drink? Perhaps an herbal tea?”

He simply nods and she immediately comms someone to bring them a pot.

“It’s your first time here, I gather,” she says with a smile, tapping the table’s control panel and projecting a menu of options. “Let’s start with some questions,” she suggests.

Crosshair visibly stiffens and she smiles knowingly, “Don’t worry, we understand the…sensitive nature of our business. There's no need to divulge your full identity here, only what’s necessary to ensure the safety of our girls.”

He hums in acknowledgement as she asks him for a name, to which he declines, instead opting for an identification number — ironic choice for a clone who’d only ever wanted to be recognized as a person, but different times and all that.

She conducts a full health screening, including a body scan for signs of contagious infections and disease. Finding him healthy, she takes note in his registration file as she explains the rules of conduct within the House. He agrees, signing his newly issued identification number.

“Alright, that about does it,” she says, navigating the holotable program to a roster of the House’s available girls (although the word “girls” is a fairly restrictive industry term it seems, as the catalog features people of all life forms and genders). He peruses a catalog of full body, three dimensional holos, each one including detailed information about their specialties, likes, and dislikes.

The options feel endless and he swipes through each one almost mindlessly, trying to narrow down his criteria. It seems like there’s something for everyone here.

He’s on the verge of making a random selection until one catches his eye. He’s not sure exactly what draws him to you specifically, as many of the girls are what he’d consider pretty — he wouldn’t have a hard time getting in the mood with many of them, truthfully. But there’s something about your entry that makes him stop and piques his interest more than the others.

He silently glances at the madame and she smiles, making note of his selection in his file and sending a message to you.

“Oh, you’ll like her,” she says, pulling a small card from the holo table. She hands it to him before inviting him to follow her up the stairs.

“This is your membership chit. Bring it whenever you visit,” she explains, “you can also plug it into your data pad to make appointments with or contact any girls you’ve had sessions with before.”

He pockets the chit as they walk up the stairs and down the hall to a door marked simply with the number 04.

She knocks gently and a voice answers from within, granting permission to enter. The door slides open to a dimly lit bedroom awash in the dreamy, soothing glow of candlelight. Taking a tentative step inside, he immediately feels his tense shoulders relax as he breathes in the light scent of jogan-blossoms and Felucian jasmine. The gentle plucking of strings, the song more atmospheric than melodic, plays quietly in the background.

“Enjoy your visit.”

Crosshair whips his head around, startled from his reverie by the madadme’s farewell. She shuts the door with a swish, leaving him suddenly feeling very self aware of how dirty his armor is.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” a voice calls from the adjoining refresher, “you can store your rifle and armor in the wardrobe. Unless you’d prefer to keep it on.”

Still hesitant, he finds the aforementioned wardrobe and shrugs off his weapon, next unclipping each piece of armor slowly. Once down to his bodysuit, he looks around the room feeling uncertain about his decision but ultimately resigned to it. He sits down on the sofa, hands clasped together and body hunched over, one leg bouncing anxiously in anticipation.

“Well hello there.”

He stills before finally lifting his gaze. Fuck. You’re even more beautiful in person. The holo doesn’t do you justice.

You walk towards him slowly, exaggerating the sway of your hips, each step shifting the hem of your deep red negligée in the most tantalizing way. This thing was designed specifically to send him to an early grave — he’s sure of it.

You stop in front of him, trying to suppress a smile, mirth dancing in your eyes. He realizes his jaw has been hanging open and he shuts it immediately, averting his eyes. Caught.

“May I?” You ask with a chuckle, motioning to the seat beside him. He continues to avoid your gaze but nods once.

Cautiously, you lay a hand on his bicep.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” you coo, “you can look. Isn’t that why we’re both here?”

He’s got a lot of shame and pride, you think to yourself when he doesn’t acknowledge you.

You smooth your hand up to his shoulder and down his back, feeling the defined muscle beneath your palms.

“Let’s get the boring stuff out of the way first,” you say, shifting to a more businesslike tone. He finally turns to look at you. “Lay down some ground rules and talk about what you want to do.”

You forge ahead. “I ask all my guests to wear a biosheath for the duration of our sessions.” You reach into a jar sitting on a side table, pulling out a foil packet and handing it to him. He accepts it with a silent nod and you smile, pleased that he seems unphased by this request. A good sign.

“Additionally — and I’ll understand if you’d like to find another girl — I will not kiss my guests on the mouth.”

Crosshair raises a brow, surprised by this rule, but nods in agreement. You sigh with relief.

“At any time, you and I are able to renegotiate any activity if either of us begins to feel uncomfortable.

I like to use a color system. Red means stop. Yellow for proceed with caution. And green for go. Does that work for you?”

Another nod.

You laugh. “Talkative I see.”

He shoots you a withering look and you laugh harder.

You move to stand in front of him, using a gentle hand to push him back against the seat.

“Relax,” you say lowly as you swing a leg over his lap to straddle him, running your palms up his firm chest. “Is this okay?”

You grind your hips down against his experimentally, feeling him grow hard beneath his pants. His breath hitches and you take this moment to firmly place his hands on your waist.

“Is that a yes?” You ask, only to be met with obstinance and his silent, piercing gaze. You tsk, “I need to know you want this.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, “why else would I be here?”

What a brat.

“People come here for all kinds of reasons,” you explain, soothing your hands over his shoulders. “Some people come to watch or be watched,” you grind down again, nipping at his ear, “some people just want me to hold their hand.”

“Now,” you whisper, “what about you? What do you want?” You ask, letting your breath fan against his neck. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat attempting to adjust himself, but there’s no hiding how turned on he is beneath the skin tight bodysuit.

Truthfully, he hadn’t thought this far. The entire journey had been fairly spontaneous and he didn’t think he’d have, well, options. He’s never had options before. Not any so straightforwardly given anyway.

You crawl off of his lap, dancing your fingers along his shoulders as you circle the sofa to drape your arms around him from behind. Your hands explore his upper body and you feel his muscles begin to relax when you massage his neck.

“I…want to watch you,” he says finally. “And then I want to fuck you until you scream.”

You hum in agreement. “That sounds like a good plan. You’re so tense,” you muse, digging your thumb into a particularly large knot. He groans involuntarily — something between pleasure and pain.

“How about a massage first? Then you can watch me play with myself.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, palming himself over his pants. You smile impishly.

“I’m gonna take that as an enthusiastic ‘yes’,” you tease, leading him to the bed and slipping your fingers below the hem of his top. He pulls it over his head, and you nearly gasp. Brown skin pulled taut over some…significant muscle development has your eyes bulging. You thought his body suit was leaving nothing to the imagination but apparently there was much more to see.

Maker, you think to yourself.

It’s now his turn to smirk, making you look away embarrassed, caught off guard.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he teases, “you can look. Isn’t that why we’re both here?”

You roll your eyes. “Get on the bed.”

He doesn’t respond, but he smirks at you knowingly as he lies face-down.

“So tell me,” you start, massaging the scented oil over a particularly nasty scar across his shoulder blade, “what do you do for work? I’m guessing you’re a bounty hunter.”

“…something like that,” he answers evasively. You hum thoughtfully, finally deciding to cater to his preference for silence as you work over his tired muscles.

He sighs and you smile to yourself, pleased to be able to offer this man some relief. You crawl onto the bed, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle his back as you continue.

Your fingers work into a tattoo of a skull over the number 99 written in aurebesh and you wonder about its meaning knowing you shouldn’t push him too much. The man is like a stray, injured tooka — skittish and deeply suspicious but desperately in need of affection and attention.

“What? No more inane questions?”

You chuckle - Maker this man is infuriating. “Tons. But I won’t pry. You’ll tell me everything I want to know in your own time.”

He scoffs, “Awfully confident, aren’t we?”

You only smile and hum in response as you dig your fingers into a particularly tense knot of muscle. He hisses, turning his head in an attempt to scowl at you. You laugh.

It’s not everyday you’re actually attracted to a guest, but there’s definitely a level of sexual chemistry here that’s unusual for your experience. His kriffing back of all things is getting you hot and bothered. Without even realizing it, you begin to grind yourself down on his ass, your breath growing heavy as you mewl softly.

Crosshair can feel you becoming needy and it makes him feel ready to burst. He’s been rock hard since you’ve entered the room and he knows that if he so much as ruts into the mattress he’ll come in his pants like some shiny fresh from Kamino.

He growls, finally flipping you over and caging you in between his arms.

“I said I wanted to watch,” he breathes, pupils blown wide with lust. You swallow and nod, almost paralyzed by his hungry gaze, before he releases you.

He pulls up a chair and takes a seat, lounging with his legs spread wide and one hand cupping his bulge. Grabbing the hem of your negligée, you begin to pull it off but he stops you suddenly.

“Leave it on.”

He looks like a king. The way one arm drapes casually over the seat’s back. The way his eyes devour you. Everything about him thrills you, shooting electricity down your spine. It’s been ages since you’ve felt this nervous energy performing for a guest.

You make a show of it. Biting your lip and massaging your breasts. You tweak a nipple and mewl in pleasure as your chest begins to heave with heavy breaths.

“Fuck, kitten, yes” he groans, using every ounce of self control not to stroke himself, “play with your pretty pussy. Show me what you like.”

Obediently, you sit back against the pillows, letting your legs fall open to put yourself on display. You pull your soaking panties to the side and run your fingers through your glistening folds to gather the wetness. Without breaking eye contact, you bring them to your lips and dart your tongue out to lick them before sucking with an obscene moan.

Crosshair grinds his teeth together so hard they nearly break. He doesn’t even know what to focus on anymore. The outline of your pebbled nipples through the silky fabric? Your lips wrapped deliciously around your fingers? The other hand rubbing circles over your clit?

“Fuck your fingers,” he demands, voice painfully strained. You obey, releasing your fingers with a pop before plunging them into your cunt. “Such a fucking good girl,” he praises.

You can’t help but to cry out in frustration as you try to reach that impossible place within you, working both hands feverishly to chase your high.

“That’s right, kitten, is that how you like it? Add another finger for me,” he grits.

You comply, panting heavily, your eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Before you know it you hear the violent clattering of the chair being upturned. You feel his hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking your hand away. Your cry of frustration quickly morphs into one of pleasure as he plunges two fingers into your tight hole, scissoring them until you snap, coming with a scream as his fingers fuck your through your high.

By the time you’re able to see him again through heavy lids and the aftershocks of your orgasm have subsided, he’s desperately rolling the biosheath down his thick cock.

“Hands and knees,” he rasps, barely in control of his desire.

You scramble to obey, arching your back deliciously and presenting yourself to him with a wiggle of your ass. He kneads your cheeks, reverently admiring the way his fingers sink into the plush meat there.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. Fuck me,” you respond breathlessly.

Grabbing you firmly by the hips, he finally guides himself into your waiting heat and, finding no resistance, sheathes himself to the hilt in one stroke.

You both groan in unison as he stretches you open for the first time.

He hunches over you, fondling your breasts. “I won’t be gentle,” he whispers into your ear. He feels your walls clench around him as he ruts into you.

“Good,” you breathe.

Fuck, you’re going to be the death of him.

Raising himself back up, he grips your hips and begins to pound into you mercilessly, taking out years of pent up frustration as his fingers dig deep into your flesh. For the first time in a long time, he feels in control, using you for his own pleasure.

“You’re such a fucking good girl. Listen so well. Letting me destroy this tight cunt,” he growls.

You can do nothing but grip the sheets as he pistons his hips into you, the bed frame slamming into the wall with each thrust. You’re sure the other girls can hear it. The lewd squelching. The slap of his hips against your ass. Your pathetic moans. Apparently this man is silent except during sex.

“Yes. I’ll do anything you ask, sir. Make me feel so good,” you mewl. His rhythm begins to falter as he reaches his high, finally plunging himself deeply as he comes undone. His release triggers your own and you scream, your walls clamping down on his cock, milking him until he’s spent.

Panting, he pulls out, carefully removing the biosheath and disposing of it, only to collapse back onto the mattress when he returns.

“Maker,” you breathe with a hand resting on your sweaty forehead, “that was —that was…“ you laugh in disbelief as you struggle to catch your breath. He doesn’t respond so you enjoy a moment to come down from your high.

The candlelight is beginning to dim as some candles flicker out. The music has long since reached its last track. The two of you lay in contented silence for some time as you softly caress his bare skin, walking your fingers up his arms and smoothing your hand down his back in soothing motions.

You get an inkling when you feel his pliant body first becoming tense beneath your touch.

Before you know it, he’s trembling, his shoulders shaking more and more violently as he begins to sob. It starts as silently but soon devolves into wretched cries, his voice rough with pain. You gather him into your arms, letting him hide his face in your neck as you cradle him, gently rocking your body until you both fall asleep.

—

By the time your alarm chirps and the sun begins to stream in through the curtains, he’s gone. You wake up to an empty bed and a stack of credits on the nightstand.

You lay back down, clasping your hands behind your head and sigh contentedly.

You wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

—

A/N: 🫠 uh i Guess i hope you enjoyed?

#tbb #the bad batch #crosshair x reader #crosshair x fem!reader #tbb crosshair x reader #atonement #crosshair x f!reader #crosshair smut

[novamariestark]

I just read your Tallahassee story and omg it was incredible!!!!! Seriously that man hasn’t gotten enough love and you wrote him so perfectly.

If your taking requests for him using your prompt list I’d love #2. Like what you see? and maybe the reader is waiting for him wearing his hat and nothing else or whatever you have in mind for that prompt!

[A/N] This is my first request and I'm very nervous 😅. Thank you. Glad you liked it. I was actually worried that Tallahassee may be out of character despite me watching Zombieland on repeat. For research, of course, not just to stare at Tallahassee 😂

I agree that the internet is lacking Tallahassee content. I always found myself searching for it so I decided to write some myself.

Now this here kinda ended differently than I originally planned and I hope you enjoy it as much as the other one 😀.

Like What You See?

Summary: After 10 years, reader finally gets to wear the cowboy hat. But nothing else 😏

Warnings: possible cringe cause I'm still new to writing smut 😂, PIV, unprotected sex, 🔞, no use of y/n, slight age gap (Tallahassee is 45, reader is 33), slight dom!reader

Words count: 1915

There it was. Just sitting there. That one accessory that he always wore. But in the 10 years you’ve been with him, not once had you worn it. But it was almost always glued to his head. Except now. Now it was just resting on the bed post. Why hadn’t you worn it? You had thought about it, but you never did. But before you knew it, your hand was reaching for it and lowering it onto your head. As you tucked a few stray hairs under the rim, you couldn't help but feel curious about what your loving cowboy would think of you wearing his hat. Does it look as sexy on you as it did on him? A small smirk rested on your face. Why don't you find out?

You bite your lip as you look at yourself in the mirror. Envisioning exactly what you want to do and what you want to happen. Knowing he’d be back soon, you began to strip yourself of your pj’s, which wasn’t that much to begin with. Just one of Tallahassee’s shirts and your thin piece of underwear. Tallahassee didn’t mind that at all.

Now wearing but your man’s hat, you looked at yourself in the mirror again. Years ago, before Tallahassee, you avoided seeing your naked body. You hated it. But Tallahassee had a way of making you feel gorgeous. At first you thought it was because it was slim pickings nowadays and you were the only girl for miles, he could fuck that wouldn’t try to eat him. But he loved you, and even ten years later, he still finds small ways to show just how much he does.

Underneath his sexy, tough exterior was an even sexier, softer man with a heart larger than life. He was someone who didn’t want to get attached because the pain of someone literally being torn from his life was too much. He didn’t want to feel that again. But boy did you fuck up his plan. He couldn't help himself from being pulled towards you by some invisible force.

The softer side of him worshiped you, your body and just everything you. In his eyes you were perfect, you were beautiful. You were his entire world. His other side was reserved for the times you’d purposely torture him at times when he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop you. Your hand exploring him under the dinner table or under a blanket whilst you were watching a movie with the others. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you knew you would receive your “punishment” later on in the confines of your shared bedroom.

Tonight, you were hoping for the latter.

You smiled to yourself when you heard a low whistle. Over your shoulder in the mirror, you could see your boyfriend, standing there, his eyes wide as he took in your naked appearance. His eyes travelled up and down your body, taking in every curve. The way your hips swayed as you moved, your tight stomach, and your full, round breasts had him mesmerized.

"Like what you see, baby?" you asked with a look of innocence swimming in your eyes. His eyes scanned over your body once more before returning to yours. You could feel his gaze burning into your soul like a lighthouse beacon in the dark night sky. His initial shock when he entered the room had dissolved and been replaced by something else. Something animalistic. He slowly stepped towards you, like a predator stalking its prey. His pupils seemed to grow darker as he stepped closer and closer. You could feel the tension between you two as if it were a living, breathing organism.

Now just inches from your body, he couldn't help but run his fingers through your hair and down your arm. His touch was electric, like a current running through your veins. You couldn't help responding with shivers of excitement and anticipation of his next move. He finally let out a small smile and mumbled 'Uh huh' as he reached forward, tracing his finger along your collarbone before it travelled lower, flowing down between your breasts like a river.

Tallahassee closed his eyes and let out a deep groan of pleasure that echoed throughout the room while he imagined you on top of him, riding him like a wild stallion. He envisioned your dark hair tousled and wild in the air as you dug your hands into his shoulders, laughing as you bent down to place a light kiss on his lips.

His hand quickly snaked around your waist and pulled your naked skin against his fully clothed body. A moan fell from your lips as the roughness of his jeans brushed against your exposed core.

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” he whispered in your ear, his lips attached themselves to your neck, gently grazing your skin with his teeth, before tenderly nipping, and sucking at the sensitive flesh. Your body trembled as his fingers travelled down your back with light caresses.

His hands found their way to your ass, giving your cheeks a squeeze before slapping one of them, making you yelp out in surprise. You giggled as you felt him smirk against your neck before biting it, eliciting another moan out of you. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not yet at least.

You take hold of his hands, unwrapping his arms from you and slowly drawing them away. Your eyes never leaving Tallahassee’s. As you run your hands to the hem of his shirt, you feel a current of electricity pass between you. You pull the shirt up and over his head, discarding it on the floor. The passion in his gaze intensifies, making your heart pound. You slide your fingers around the leather belt of his jeans and unbuckle them. You feel your knees tremble as you take a step back to look at him, giving yourself some distance to gather your composure before continuing. You slowly draw the zipper down and feel the warmth of his skin through the denim. You guide the jeans and boxers to his ankles until he stands in front of you, bare and beautiful. His captivating eyes holding your gaze. You take a deep breath as you rise back up from your knees.

You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him backwards until his legs hit the bed. You smirked at him and gave him a push, making him fall backwards on the bed. You had just turned the tables on him. You licked your lips as you took him in. Sprawled on the bed, watching you intently and waiting for your next move. Did you look this sexy like this? No wonder he couldn’t stop fucking you.

You lifted one leg off the floor and swung it over his hips, bringing the other to rest on the other side of his hips. Your wetness kissed his hardening cock as you brought your mouth down to his, your tongues wrestling for dominance. Usually, a battle Tallahassee won, and you let him. But tonight, you wanted to be in control. Tallahassee’s mind was going a hundred miles an hour. Was his vision earlier about to come true? He surrenders, eager to see what you were going to do. You pull away, sitting up, your nails dragging down his chest. Your hands grab his, placing them on your shoulders before sensually moving them down your body. The roughness of his fingertips making your skin tingle. You rock your hips, needing friction against your clit. Tallahassee’s hands rest on your thighs as he watches your face scrunch up with pleasure. You were practically using him to get yourself off and it was as if you put a spell on him because he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Your hips continue moving against his growing member, coating it in your wetness. When you can no longer take your own teasing, you lift yourself up on your knees just enough to slip your hand between your bodies. Your hand clutched around his red, throbbing member and guided it to your awaiting hole. You placed your hands back onto his chest, your nails digging in as you sank down, swallowing him up inside you. Moans and curses fell from both your lips. You allowed yourself a few moments before you started moving your hips up and back down in the most excruciatingly slow pace that you could take.

Tallahassee groaned, as he realised you were going to tease him like he does to you. You were in complete control, and you loved it. You increased your speed as you rode him. The sight of him writhing beneath you was enough to drive you wild. You rocked back and forth, your tits bouncing in sync with every force you exerted upon him.

“Don’t fucking stop, darlin',” he groaned, his hands tightly gripping your waist as you continued your movements. His breath ground to a halt whenever you rolled your hips.

Tal's gaze was transfixed on your face as it twisted in pure bliss. Waves of pleasure rippled through you making you tremble and gasp, “Tal, I'm gonna...” you gasped loudly, no longer caring who heard you.

“I know, darlin',” he said with a satisfied smirk. His grip was strong on your hips as he felt your walls clenching around him, squeezing his cock, ready to milk him for all he’s worth.

You felt the fire rising within you and with one last cry, you felt as if you exploded. Pleasure ripped through you like a sudden surge of electricity. You could tell by his heavy breathing that Tallahassee was close but not quite there, so you tried to continue but despite your best efforts your legs gave way, and you collapsed on top of him.

Tallahassee takes over and with whatever bit of strength he had left, he wraps his arms around you and pulled you close. You moan out loud at the new angle. He drives his cock into you with more force. The sound of wet skin slapping, and moans fill the night air. His hands run swiftly up your back, until they meet your neck, pressing ever so slightly into your skin. His hands then grip tightly around your shoulders and he roughly pushes your body to meet his halfway, your hips crashing together and soon you can sense another orgasm fast approaching as your body began shaking.

The strength, the speed, the angle, was soon too much to bear. Your second orgasm hit you harder than the first, much stronger than the first. That feeling of you coating him with your cream alone pushed him over the edge and he released inside you, completely filling you up.

You took his hat off and reached over to place it back where it was before you curled up beside him, still wrapped in his safe embrace but feeling empty from the sudden loss of him.

“Fuck. Why have we not done that before?” he asked with a laugh.

“You liked it?” you asked, looking up at him shyly. Your confidence from before now gone and insecurity began to settle in your mind.

“I loved it, darlin’,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He bought a finger up to your face, gently moving the stray hairs glued to your forehead, “It looks so much better on you,”

You let out a laugh, “I doubt that,”

#reader insert #female reader #zombieland #tallahassee x reader #tallahassee

[spider-stark]

lets talk: A DARK AGE

link to the first teaser

okay so i am so excited to be able to share even the smallest portion of this story with you guys! i’ve been working on the concept and plot of A Dark Age for months now, and i’m so glad to finally have enough to begin sharing it with you guys!

A Dark Age was inspired by the idea offered in No Way Home where Andrew’s!Peter discusses how after Gwen’s death he stopped “pulling his punches”. ever since watching NWH that thought stuck with me, the concept of an angry, bitter, and dark Spider-Man. i spent more time than i’d care to admit thinking about it and ultimately all of those thoughts led to the plot of A Dark Age.

There are three different aspects to the teaser; a newspaper article from The Daily Globe, a tiny portion of the opening bit of the actual story, as well as a video.

The article from the Globe not only has an actual role in the fic, but it’s also my way of introducing part of the plot and letting you all see what’s happening in the beginning of the story. there are several important details in the newspaper! and all of them are central to the plot. this is also not the only newspaper article i’ve made for this story, as the articles play a large role.

The portion of the opening was chosen for the teaser because it introduces a few central ideas to the reader. it lightly discusses the sense unrest settling over New York and gives you a sliver of insight into the readers role in all of this.

The video is something i made solely because the scene that dialogue comes from is perhaps my favorite thing i’ve ever written. it’s short and to the point, but offers you a chance to experience this new side of Peter Parker, of a darker Spider-Man. our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is gone, and in his place appears to be something slightly more sinister.

working on A Dark Age has become a huge passion of mine and i truly can’t wait to share it. even if no one ever reads it, it will still probably be one of my favorite things i’ve ever created. aside from just wanting to explore a dark!Spider-Man concept, i’ve always wanted to create something that allows me to envision what could’ve been after the events of tasm2, and A Dark Age has granted me that! this story doesn’t only follow a grief-stricken Peter Parker, but it also explores the horrors of Ravencroft, introduces characters like Mary Jane Watson (check the newspaper for a hint to her role, also consider the importance of it being the daily globe and not the bugle), while also fixing the storylines of other characters previously ignored or mistreated by the writers, such as Harry Osborn.

if you have any questions or comments then please feel free to send them in or leave them on this post or even the teaser post! overall, i’m just in love with this world i’m creating and wanted to start sharing it with you guys as i finish getting it ready to be posted!

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #spiderman fanfiction #tasm harry osborn #tasm imagine #tasm peter parker imagine #spiderman imagine #mcu imagine #spiderman fic #peter parker fic #peter parker x y/n #harry osborn #harry osborn x reader #harry osborn imagine #andrew garfield imagine #andrew!peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm smut #tasm2 #a dark age

[frannyzooey]

So I’m a little late to the party but I just read In the Dark in like 24 hours. Maybe you’ve shared more previously, but I’d love to know more about Ezra & Birdie’s future. Ezra implied that they could really be together if she had stayed, and being that she couldn’t find it in herself to want anyone else in London, I really hope that they end up together when her program is over. Him coming to visit for two weeks is huge, but I’m clinging to little details — is it just as best friends? Best friends who sleep together? Now that Cee has her own place, assuming Birdie comes “home” to NYC, it would be easier for them to give it a real try. It seems if their feelings remain intact for a year apart (or 8 months) that it’s pretty real.

Anyway if there’s anything more you can share about where YOU think things land I’d love to know. I’m gonna lose sleep, lol. Thank you for such a gripping and touching story ❤️❤️

Hello hello! ❤

First of all, I can't believe you read it that fast! What an honor 🥺

Second of all, I have an essay on this! Buckle up buttercup, you're about to get a million things you never asked for lol

I sort of hinted at it in the epilogue chapter, but what I envision them being is sort of like best friends who sleep together. They are together when they are together, but there is no expectation that they would put their lives on hold for the other when they aren't - if that makes sense?

The connection they have is so intimate and real, but they are also at vastly different places in their lives. THIS concept is actually what I love most about writing age gap stories, because I feel like the trope usually gets twisted (or is assumed twisted by the reader before they even give the story a chance) into the older person taking advantage of the younger person. In this instance (and in everything else I write), it's really the younger person who has all the power. Old enough to consent and know their own mind, they have their own agency and seek out the older person for their life experience. Birdie was attracted to Ezra for a lot of reasons, but one of those was his competence and confidence, while she herself felt completely lost in a huge city. He made her feel like she was the only one in the world, in a city of millions. It's very soothing, with so much care involved on Ezra's part.

Before this turns into an essay on age gap lol (because I could seriously ramble for hours) here is a slice of the text from Chapter 11 on how this sort of dynamic would end up (I think) playing out irl:

and

Would Ezra wait? Yes.

Is that a fair thing to ask of either of them? No.

Not when Birdie is so young and has this whole life to explore, not when he knows she's about to be thrown into all sorts of different situations and meet so many other people, and not on his end either: sitting lonely and alone, while he tries to give her the space she needs to find her own way.

In the last chapter, he did say that they could continue seeing each other if she were to stay in the city, because of course they would. They have this undeniable connection, this chemistry, this love for each other - but on the other hand, they have been living in a very limited bubble. Just being together almost tore his relationship with Cee apart - what are the very real logistics of them spending holidays together? Of Birdie (maybe) one day moving in? Of merging their friend groups, when the people involved are vastly different ages with different interests?

Should Birdie come back to NYC, I can see her getting together with him again as a means to get her grounding, or as a source of comfort and familiarity. I can see Ezra as acting as sort of a guide in that: almost...parental? Like he did with Cee? Cheering her on, giving her a place to stay, welcoming her back into his arms because he has missed her so fucking badly.

Do they end up together in the end? I am undecided. I think their lives converge and split and converge and split and there is never any love or chemistry lost, but I just envision this sort of bittersweet relationship where they met each other at exactly the right time and they enjoyed it for what it was.

Something I thought a lot about (and I still do) is that everyone always wants a "happy ending" answer - and I hate to crush that for people because who knows! They could! She could come back and move in and Cee could come to terms with it and they could be this cute, amazing couple who never gets married (because I am firm on the idea they don't need/want that) but that spend their lives together.

HOWEVER, to me: Birdie gaining confidence through Ezra's emotional support IS a happy ending.

Cee finally moving out and gaining independence IS a happy ending.

Ezra learning that he can put himself first for once without sacrificing everything with Cee IS a a happy ending.

The HOPE held in the possibilities of what Ezra and Birdie's relationship could be IS a happy ending.

The HOPE held in the potential of what this means for all of them moving forward as individuals IS a happy ending.

Meeting someone who changed your life for the better, even if you have to eventually let them go, IS a happy ending.

The fact that you binged this story and you think about them and you are losing sleep means -- more than I can say. I am so incredibly thankful for you and appreciate you more than you know. ❤ Thank you thank you thank you for this ask, and if you want to discuss further, message me! I would be delighted ❤

#in the dark ask

[anneapocalypse]

Didn't Go, Didn't Stay: Sera and the Alienage

The Sera Series: Exploring Sera's Character and Background

Today, I want to talk about Sera's sense of alienation from alienage elves.

Sera could have encountered Dalish encampments in the rural parts of Ferelden and Orlais while traveling between cities. I don't expect that she spent a lot of time with them, but the attitudes of the Dalish toward city elves are fairly well-documented. They tend to be welcoming toward city elves looking to join a clan, but Sera would not have met them with such intentions, and it's unlikely they would have gotten along, so I don't think her antipathy toward the Dalish requires a long explanation.

The alienage elves, though.

I think this warrants further inquiry.

Sera is always reticent to talk about her past, though she will open up somewhat reluctantly as the Inquisitor befriends her. When asked about her childhood in Denerim, she will eventually admit, "I remember an alienage with arseholes. And hating that stupid tree. The one 'elves' always have."

In The World of Thedas Volume 2, some notes accumulated on her and the Friends of Red Jenny may be found, annotated in the margins by Sera herself (p. 236-237). These note, "Sera was likely at the alienage in Denerim as in infant, but we can find no record." This wouldn't be particularly noteworthy as I'm not sure how good the records are of alienage births and deaths generally.

Sera remembers nothing of her parents, so whatever parents she had either died young or were otherwise not in her life. The alienage we're presented with in the city elf prologue of Dragon Age: Origins is a close-knit community. Shianni, Tabris's cousin, wasn't born in the alienage but was a country elf by birth, orphaned young and taken in by her Uncle Cyrion. Had Sera been the orphaned child of someone's neighbor in the Denerim alienage, I have no doubt her story would have been very different. Someone would have taken her in, or barring that she might have gone to the orphanage. She would not have ended up alone on the streets, to be scooped up by some human noble.

However, if we jump over to Sera's rooftop cookie scene with the Inquisitor, there's a particular line that stands out to me.

Sera says, "I got caught stealing when I was little, yeah? You get alienage or worse for that, but the 'Lady Emmald' took me in. She was sick and couldn't have children. I had no parents. It worked out."

Hang on. That's weird, right? Not the "no parents" bit, the other part. Did she say, "You get alienage?"

As in, you get sent there?

How do you get sent somewhere you already live? Like it's a punishment?

This is critical. This line implies that Sera did not live in the alienage before Lady Emmald took her in. She might not even have been born there, despite what these notes on the Inquisition assume.

So how could that be? How could Sera be running around Denerim as a little kid with no parents and not living in the alienage?

Actually, more easily than you might think. What follows is necessarily going to be a lot of conjecture, because the canon we're working with is thin from here on, but I think it's conjecture that can work.

Within the class of city elves, there's a subclass of elven servants, some of whom live in alienages, and some of whom actually live in the estates where they work. In Origins' Human Noble prologue, a Cousland can flirt and share a night with Lady Landra's elven lady-in-waiting, Iona. In conversation she can mention that since her employer's estate is smaller, her family lives in the Denerim Alienage. She seems glad to live there, adding that there her daughter learns what it means to be elven. Somewhere like Castle Cousland, however, servants live on the premises (or Redcliffe Castle, where the Arlessa's maid Valena was trapped in the castle when the undead attacked, though Valena is human).

(And I'd bet you this divide creates its own tensions between residential servants and alienage residents! Actually, I'd do more than bet. How many elves of Halamshiral do you suppose resented high-status servants like Briala even before the rumors that she was sleeping with the Empress?)

Sera might not have been born in the alienage or lived there as a young child if she was born to an elven estate servant, or even a palace servant. If her parent was brought in from out of town, they might not have had any local connections at the time of their death. Maybe she got passed around the servants' quarters with various people marginally keeping an eye on her until someone said she had to go. Send her to the Chantry or the alienage or wherever orphaned elves go. She's too big to keep feeding, too small to be of use, old enough to understand that "alienage" means "where we send people like you" and the way people say it to her isn't nice. From the outside, "alienage" just looks like a big angry gate over a stinky river. She doesn't know it from the inside.

Old enough to slip free and start stealing bread from market stalls, etc.

You can probably fill in the rest for a bit.

So what about later?

Skip ahead a few years. Maybe things were all right with "Mum" until they weren't. "Pride cookies" made things that seemed all right feel bad in hindsight. Or maybe it was rotten all the way through. Either way, she dies. Someone tells Sera, who is still a kid, that she can go on living in the house and get an allowance to live on, the servants can stay to look after her. It'll all be seen to and she'll be looked after. It's what may done, you see, in your unique circumstances. Sera tells them to go piss up a rope.

But where's she going to go?

Home isn't home anymore. Mum isn't Mum anymore and she ruined even what little was good. There's nothing.

Next to the notes about the alienage in The World of Thedas, Sera writes, "Didn't go, stupid tree, didn't stay."

Ah, but "didn't stay" implies you went, Sera. You have to go to leave.

What if she did go? What if she tried, because where else could she go, because she had just lost her only family even if it was shit, and home wasn't home, and could this be worse?

I put Lady Emmald’s death at two years before the Blight. World of Thedas says she died "well before the Blight" and adds, "A particularly virulent wasting illness was known to have passed through Denerim during those years." It declines to specify which years, but for this, we have Iona to thank once again, for she tells us in the prologue to Origins that her partner died two years earlier of the wasting, so unless Denerim is particular prone to wasting diseases, I feel confident placing Lady Emmald's death at two years before the Fifth Blight. Given that I can't see Sera as a day over 25 in Inquisition, and 21-23 seems a fairer estimate, I think it's reasonable to say she was somewhere around 8-10 years old when her adoptive mother died. Certainly no older than 12. Which is to say… she was a kid.

If she did go to the Denerim Alienage then, if that's where her bad experiences come from, she was just a kid. A kid who had been raised to think there was something wrong with her already, a kid who already felt out of place and weird, a kid who just lost the only family she had again and it was pretty shit to begin with, a kid adrift and lost and alone in the world.

What exactly happened in there is only ever going to be a matter of headcanon unless BioWare decides to give us a comic or a short story one day. And am I going to say that there were no "arseholes" in the alienage? I mean, there's always one, right? In the City Elf Origin, that one is Elva, the woman who's bitter about Tabris getting a better match than her. In any group you've ever been in, there was probably somebody you didn't like. I'm not going to claim that everyone in the Denerim Alienage are perfect angels who have done nothing wrong, ever, in their life. It's just that, again, knowing what we do about the characters we've met, I have a hard time imagining that this community as a whole would have been unwelcoming toward an orphaned elven child.

But you know who can be mean?

Kids.

You know who can be really mean to people who are "different," without needing a good reason, because they aren't always good at understanding why people are different? Kids.

Sera is terribly sensitive to rejection as a young adult. Imagine how she was when she was nine.

Would she have stuck around long enough for an Uncle Cyrion or a teenage Shianni to gradually win her trust? Or would she have gone PISS ON YOUR STUPID TREE and high-tailed it out of there at the first sign she didn't belong and never looked back, because after the years of her not belonging being driven home by Emmald's (perhaps) well-meaning lies, more of it was just too much to bear?

Is that fair? Was that the elves' fault? Probably not. She was just a kid, and they were just people who were proud of their home and traditions.

Sera's story makes a whole lot more sense when you stop trying to hammer it with logic and start to see it through the eyes of a sad and angry and hurt child alone in the world encountering people who had no chance to understand or connect with her pain.

No, they weren't "arseholes." It wasn't their fault.

If anyone has to be blamed, blame Taraline Emmald, because whatever her intentions, they left a child hurt, isolated, and alone. No estate, no inheritance, no amount of money was going fix that.

If there is solace along this road, it is that Sera did find the Friends of Red Jenny, and maybe eventually an Inquisition she could fit into. She did eventually find a place to belong. And one day, years later, she says, "Always waiting for that fight is way too much work. It's like, doing half the hurt for them."

#sera dragon age #dragon age sera #dragon age meta #dragon age inquisition #world of thedas #world of thedas volume 2 #dragon age #blunders of thedas #sera #sera series

[soul-controller]

Patreon Update (January ‘23)

Hello there everyone, hope everyone is doing well now that the holidays have passed and life has returned to some form of normalcy. Here’s a quick little summary of the stuff I’ve released over on my Patreon over the past month. If any of the following stories intrigue you, please feel free to click on the title so you can sign up for the appropriate tier to read it! I’d love to have you join my Patreon and my Discord community, where you can view exclusive photo captions.

Man Of His Dreams II

Upon taking a potion that was meant to summon his ideal man, Ricardo is shocked to find himself turned into a straight white redneck not too different from those that constantly taunt him around town. As he waited for his friend James to craft up a reversal potion, the man headed to bed. Unfortunately for him, sleeping it off only led to further changes as reality and the man's mind both altered to match his new body...

Tags:  Age Progression, Muscle Growth, Racial Change, Weight Gain, Unintended Consequences, Reality Shift

A New Years’ Meet Cute II

Under the influence of the pub's magical drink, Henry has been unknowingly transformed from an average teacher into a beefy and muscular hunk. With the physical changes now finished, the bartender Greg begins to slowly ask questions and make statements that completely alter Henry's personality and memories. Before long though, Henry's frustration with the bartender soon leads to Greg being accidentally pulled into his own transformation as the duo start 2023 with an all new relationship.

Tags: Mental Changes, Muscle Growth, Reality Shift

Oh, You Dirty Dog II

With his transformation into a dog well underway, Miles is forced to deal with the humiliating loss of not only his masculinity but humanity as well. After six months though, will Miles soon accept his new life or continue to search for a way to get his humanity back?

Tags: Animal, Gender Change, Punishment, Post-TF

…And A Happy New You!

This is the alternate POV of the Have A Muscle Christmas story posted in December. If you enjoy muscle theft / twinkification, this is the story for you!

While normal man Oliver Thomas got his Christmas wish of having a bodybuilder physique granted by stealing Ryan Terry's life, this story follows Ryan as he frantically tries to figure out why his body is losing muscle at a rapid pace. Not only that, but his sexuality is also shifting to where he can only get off to hunky men!

Tags: Muscle Theft, Twinkification, Mental Changes, Reality Shift

S-C Escapes: Austria

When Luke arrives home from his birthday party, he is shocked to find a special gift waiting on his doorstep: a free vacation package to Austria from an anonymous source. Upon verifying its legitimacy, the man packs his bags and departs to explore the European country. Once he arrives at the hotel, Luke decides to forgo the crowded hotel pool and instead travel to a nearby abandoned lake. Upon getting into the water though, the mystical lake begins to transform the man's body into that of a hunky silver-haired DILF…

This is a special 5k commission from Luke DeAn that is an expansion of a September caption posted in my Discord.

Tags: Muscle Growth, Age Progression, Reality Shift

#announcement #patreon update #male transformation

[childotkw]

So I’m assuming this will be addressed in Fractured Hearts but are Riddles followers aware of how deep the relationship is (besides Barty)? I’m assuming not but I’d be interested to see how many of them react to it besides that little snippet you gave us awhile ago of Bellatrix, Snape, and Lucius. Not just them but others as well seeing how anytime a relationship between them has been mentioned or suggested (at the top of my head I believe those times have been Sirius and Tonks when Hadrian spat back at Dumbledore about Riddle wanting to Fuck him, Riddle telling Lily that Hadrian in his bed looked splendid, Pettigrew mentioning the age difference, and the Lady when she was told they had fucked) it’s met with revulsion one because Riddles a Dark Lord and two because Hadrian is still a minor , the minor thing especially because I think many people disregard there even being a relationship because of the age gap and then are disgusted that it’s even a thing when they find out, also because peoples versions of what the Dark lord looks like varies in who you talk to so the general public might think of Riddle as his Voldemort persona if it ever gets out. I think it’ll be really fun when Hadrian is older in Fractured Hearts and rumors surface at some point of him “Fraternizing with a dark lord” as Riddle put it, when he was younger and it affecting his standing in the French political world. I’d be interested if when people do find out whether they think Hadrian was fucking Tom Riddle the professor (which, yikes favoritism), the Dark Lord, or what he actually looks like or alternatively the secret of them all being the same person and Riddle looking completely different to the first two surfaces. I’m assuming there’s going to be a lot of pity for Hadrian from those who don’t know him about it being a possible grooming situation if people thing it’s Riddle the professor. Also side bar, is Erebus the vampire that nodded to Hadrian in chapter 35 as he was getting ingredients for the doppelgänger spell to save Lily? Take as much time as you need for the chapter I’ll wait a million months if they keep coming out with the quality they have been. Have a good night/day <3

It will be explored!

You're right in that most of them haven't a clue. They might suspect that Voldemort is interested in Hadrian, but they think it's purely a recruitment thing to gain a foothold in France.

The only ones that know are Lucius, Barty, Narcissa and Bellatrix. They've been up close and personal to many of the story's events and have put it together - Barty has outright caught them making out, so he definitely knows what's up.

The general vibe from the Death Eaters not already aware would be either: confusion, jealousy, disgust or acceptance. Confusion because Voldemort's never really had a partner before, jealousy because they want it to be them, disgust because Hadrian's a 'muggleborn' in their eyes and not worthy, or acceptance because they're sycophants and Voldemort can do no wrong so Hadrian as his partner is just something they fold into their world-view.

The revulsion many people have when reacting to Hadrian and Riddle being together is less to do with the age thing (remember, Hadrian is seventeen so in the HP world he's technically an adult, regardless of IRL standards), and more to do with just how morally dubious it seems to an outsider.

There's the power imbalance most immediately find suspicious and think Hadrian's being coerced / blackmailed / forced (which is where the worry about the age gap issue connects into). There's the fact that Voldemort murdered his father and forced Lily and him to be on the run and live in fear. And there's the inherent assumption that Voldemort = evil, Hadrian = good, so therefore they shouldn't be allowed to be together least Hadrian be 'corrupted'.

But you're right in that if their relationship became public in Fractured Hearts, it would absolutely tank Hadrian's reputation in his home country. There'd be whispers that he's a puppet for Voldemort, there'd be a lot of concern over any policies he introduced and if they even somewhat reflected Voldemort's agenda. Corruption allegations would run rampant, and there'd probably be calls for an investigation / inquiry into their past with each other.

A lot of secrets would come to light - not least being the whole Harry Potter thing, which would explode into an even bigger mess for everyone. There'd definitely be a sect of people who would be very worried over Hadrian himself, and what being 'in a relationship' with Riddle while he was seventeen could have done to him, mentally, emotionally and physically. Which Hadrian would hate - the pity, the coddling, the taking away of his agency...it would be a nightmare for him to deal with having such private aspects of his life blasted across the global news and having to deal with everyone's opinion.

Basically, it'd be a total clusterfuck (pardon my language).

And yes, Erebus was the vampire that nodded at Hadrian! He's a sneaky-sneak.

#kaiandcapra #HP #consuming shadows #fractured hearts #harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #tw: implied / referenced grooming

[hamliet]

Hey I’m the svirdgailov anon from a while ago, about halfway through demons, just read stavrogins confession and man this story is just incredible, you were right about thinking I’d like stavrogin. You’ve had plenty of responses about kirillov and pyotr, not sure if you’ve talked about the at tikhons chapter, maybe I should wait till I finish the story before sending this ask but I’d like to know ur opinion on the chapter itself. To me it’s the best chapter I’ve read from Dostoevsky besides the c&p epilogue so just wondering . Ty in advance

Also off topic question but have u read the eternal husband? I found that story really interesting too and I see quite literally no one talk about it, the double gets talked about more somehow, I think it’s so underrated .

Hiiii!!!! I'm so glad to read this, because Stavrogin is definitely inspired from a lot of the ideas Dostoyevsky used to explore Svidrigailov.

I have read The Eternal Husband, but it was probably ten years ago. I must reread it. I do remember really liking it.

I do think "At Tikhon's" is masterful, but since you're not finished yet I'll talk about the chapter outside of the novel and its context... when you finish the novel, do come back and ask again!

I'm not sure if you were aware of this, but the chapter was actually censored originally and not allowed to be published. See, back in the day, novels were serialized like manga chapters today in that they were published in regularly-scheduled magazines chapter by chapter. "At Tikhon's" was not allowed to be published because of the disturbing nature of its content, and so has been added to Demons as an appendix, or in some modern versions, slotted in where it was intended to be included in the novel.

I think the chapter is vital to understanding the story and to Stavrogin's character, and one that asks moral questions of not just Stavrogin and everyone who seems to care about him, but also of us as readers. It's a truly disturbing and unsettling chapter. It's triggering as hell and hard to read, but ultimately the novel is more powerful for its inclusion--it's not at all gratuitous, but it should upset readers.

However, because of its rejection, Dostoyevsky had to resort to other ways to show Stavrogin's characterization. This has led to some critics thinking the chapter is ultimately irrelevant to Stavrogin's character, but I think this is a take fast fading with time. Most modern critics regard it as essential, and I would also consider it necessary to understand his character.

Again, to go back to the "outside the novel" idea, this chapter, along with Svidrigailov's character, that of Fyodor Karamazov in The Brothers Karamazov, and Totsky in The Idiot, all have an extremely similar sin in common: basically, rotten men who sexually abuse young women, and how society responds to these crimes--or doesn't. All but Fyodor's were preteens/young teens, and Fyodor's victim was seriously mentally disabled. The reason Dostoyevsky includes this in a lot of his works is because one of his formative childhood memories is of a girl about his age arriving for help from Dostoyevsky's father, who was a doctor. The girl had been assaulted, and it clearly traumatized Dostoyesvky. There's a reason his works always touch on the question Ivan Karamazov poses right before delving into The Grand Inquisitor: "but what of the children?"

#ask hamliet #demons #fyodor dostoevsky #nikolai stavrogin #tw

[anya-snow]

MASTERLIST OF WANTED CONNECTIONS

OOC Note: Below you'll find a list of connections I'd love to have for my characters. These connections can be filled by existing characters within the rp, or new ones! Please don't hesitate to reach out if anything interests you. Nothing here is set in stone, all is open for discussion and fun plotting.

For YUAN ANYA ( Read more about her )

YUAN FAMILY: One or two relatives from the YiTish region of Wan. If they're cousins, Anya only has male cousins back in Wan. The WC could be other members of the extended family. Any FC filling this connection must have Chinese heritage.

Helpful links: Yi Ti lore | WC for YiTish people in the North

For CALLA LEFFORD ( Read more about her )

FIRST LOVE/CONFIDANT: Age 31 - 36. Suggested FCs are Chris Evans, Oscar Isaac, Diego Luna, Charlie Cox, Jon Bernthal. You're encouraged to contact me. This character would most likely be from the Westerlands or Westerlands-allied regions. This character's story is entirely utp, I don't have any pre-established headcanons, just that they were each other's first love but ultimately things didn't work out (Maybe his mother didn't approve of Calla's capricious nature? Perhaps Calla's mom, Lanna, didn't approve of him. We can brainstorm). What's important is that they're still close to this day (There could've been some distance during the Dance, but they've found their way back). They're refreshingly honest with each other and have a way of understanding the other, which is something Calla doesn't have with anyone else. He wouldn't have neglected her/shamed her after the disastrous end of her marriage to Garland Hightower.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND: Age 28 - 33. I would love for Calla to have a close friend that she’s known all her life. Could be a friendship that has endured through to their adulthood, or had suffered because of time and distance. Since Calla was little, she was outspoken, capricious, and stubborn af; so this girl could be someone that marches at the same speed or someone with a calmer nature who helps to ground Calla a bit. Anyway, I’d just love a friendly bond, female friendships, and sorority between women is lovely and I want more of it, please. Taken connection → Alayne Farman

For DEIMOS VELARYON ( Read more about him )

YOUNGER BROTHER: Age 27 - 28. Captain of a ship within the Velaryon fleet. The Velaryons siblings can butt heads because they all have strong personalities, but ultimately I think they're there for each other when it counts. Deimos can be stern and callous, but everything he does is for the good of the family and what he believes is in his siblings' best interests. I would love to keep exploring more sibling dynamics with this new brother! Suggested FCs are Freddy Carter, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Bradley James, Paddy Gibson, Aneurin Barnard.

Helpful links: Velaryon family

For DAERON DONDARRION ( Read more about him )

CLOSE FRIEND: Age 31 - 35. A Stormlander, just like Daeron. These two would have been friends for years now, maybe not keeping in touch at all times, but always easing back into a sort of "found family" vibe. I'm open to any and all ideas, to explore what brings them together as friends and what makes them clash. I just want him to have a bro since his literal bros are dead and gone. Taken connection → Magnus Wylde

YOUNGER SISTER: Age 26 - 31. Suggested FCs are Blanca Suárez, Astrid Bergès-Frisbey, Ana de Armas, Isis Valverde, Alba Galocha, or any Spanish FC/FC with Hispanic heritage. Sibling dynamics are my weakness, so it would be amazing to have this lady in the game. She's the youngest Dondarrion and is a lady-in-waiting to Queen Caerella. Daeron is protective of her since she's the only sibling he has left, which can lead to some ride-or-die vibes or perhaps even her feeling smothered by his big bro protectiveness. There's a lot to unpack in terms of the family and what they've been through with the deaths of the oldest brothers and their mom. It would be interesting to explore what her stance was/is about that. Also, as a woman of Blackhaven (heavily inspired by Basque heritage and as well as the calé people), a woman has a very important role within the family structure. There are beliefs about their virtue and whatnot, sure, but they're very equal in standing to men, especially as wives (once they marry), so she wasn't raised to become anyone's shadow.

#anya: connections

[esperata]

WIPs

Rules:  list your wips with a brief description

I was tagged by @tj-dragonblade and I always enjoy airing some ideas that are waiting in the pipeline. It feels especially timely since I’m nearly done drafting one wip, although editing it will still take some time. Regardless, here’s a look at what else I might choose to work on.

First up, those which are at least started:

I’ll make a man out of you [riddlebird] - Arkhamverse and a continuation of my existing series. Building on a proposal made in an earlier fic.

Every Breath You Take [hattercrow] - Arkhamverse and detailing the start of their relationship in that universe.

In the air tonight [riddlebird] - A first foray into the Batwheels variation of the characters.

You Only Live Twice [riddlebird] - A continuation of my Telltale series and continuing to build the relationship.

Bathing the Duke [Resident Evil Village] - Exactly what it says. A second person pov and focusing on the sensual.

Secret Admirer [riddlebird] - A concept I’ve had in mind a while, not one but both secret admirers.

The King Is Dead [riddlebird] - Rather more angst than my usual fare but considers how Ed might react to Oswald’s sudden death.

Western AU [hattercrow] - Jonathan Crane should have a horse is the basic premise and I built a plot around that.

What Is Reality? [riddlebird] - This idea has been on the back burner ages. Looks at the aftermath of the episode of the same name.

Living Doll [riddlebird] - Burton-Schumacher and a hint of Coppélia.

The Hands on Approach [octogoblin] - TSSM. I guess this is porn with plot. A way for two difficult people to admit their feelings anyway.

Suit [octogoblin] - TSSM again and another way for guys who don’t know how to communicate to convey affection.

TSSM dynamic [octogoblin] - How I see them working together. I was wondering why these all ended up sidelined and remembered I never saw season 2.

Are We Friends? [riddlebird] - Gotham and I’m not entirely sure where I saw going with it. General confusion about their relationship status I guess.

Gotham Gazette [riddlebird] - Gotham five times plus one styled like a gossip column. I’d like to finish it but got uncomfortable with this area of fandom.

 Now on to some which are decidedly more nebulous:

Fate or something like it [octogoblin] - specifically following No Way Home and how events may play out in the altered timeline from when Norman got dropped back.

Nola Riddler does riddles [riddlebird] - prompted by a comment by the AU creator that he hadn’t delved into his penchance for riddles yet.

Phone Call/Past Midinght [riddlebird] - Two subsequent stories in my Arkhamverse series.

Wrap you round my finger [riddlebird] - A general idea about how Ed expects to deal with Penguin only to be surprised.

Gotta Shape Up [riddlebird] - Post season 2 Harley Quinn series but ignoring season 3.

Late Night, Fast Food [multiple ships] - a regular person’s pov on the late night antics of some of Gotham’s notable regulars.

Siren’s Call 3 [riddlebird] - how does one get along with a genuine siren on board?

Limo prompt [riddlebird] - a miscommunication situation arising in Gotham.

Hand kink [Resident Evil Village] - The Duke has very dextrous hands.

Olga my Queen [riddlebird, Egghead/Olga] - A crossover of sorts between Gotham and ‘66.

Trans Ed [riddlebird] - I’m curious how Arkhamverse Oz would deal with that but writing it requires a careful balance.

pre-criminal meeting [hattercrow] - self explanatory really but what if they knew each other before Arkham and all.

skyscraper [octogoblin] - porn. That’s it.

Batwoman [riddlebird] - I wanted to explore just what happened to our guys and how Enigma fit into that.

Batman vs Dracula [riddlebird] - It was suggested to me to rewrite this film as having Ed involved and I liked that idea.

kids museum meeting [riddlebird] - some comics have shown the young Penguin and Riddler so obviously I ask myself, well what if they met then?

Santa Clause 4 [riddlebird] - Based more on the Krampus. Will I or will I not write this come December.

Pecking Order 2 [riddlebird] - Picking up where part 1 left off and investigating how things proceed.

The Batman [none] - what if a trans Oswald had to give up a kid when he was younger? And what if that kid later found him.

Gamer Oz [riddlebird] - In order to impress Ed, Oswald pretends (badly) to be a gamer.

P.I. Riddler [riddlebird] - sort of turning the femme fatale trope around so Ed falls for the husband.

60s bookshop [riddlebird] - Penguin runs a bookshop and is pursued by Bookworm and Riddler.

Streamer Ed [riddlebird] - he habitually comments on Oswald’s Iceberg Lounge promotional videos.

Rumour Mill [hattercrow] - Jonathan comes to Jervis’ defence when rumours spread.

Pax Penguina 2 [riddlebird] - A continuation where I intended introducing Martin.

Angel!Ed/Demon!Oz [riddlebird] - Another continuation building on my first story.

Circus Crew [riddlebird] - An idea to do something with Nola Oswald’s circus crew.

Rogues go skiing [multiple ships] - Cute piece probably involving the lego version.

Arkham sitcom [multiple ships] - episodic story featuring their lives and antics in Arkham.

If you made it this far, thank you! My ask box is open if you want further info on any of these.

#wips #riddlebird #hattercrow #octogoblin

[inkofamethyst]

July 2, 2023

!!! Song of the Summer !!! On a Journey by Theresa Ambat (I’m in love with the vocals, I’m in love with the instrumentation, I’m in love with the production, I’m in love with the themes and lyrics, and that Night Vale episode’s weather (222 (which is my birthday which is kinda wild)) was so unbelievably timely for this mental space that I’m in right now (bonus: You Sure Are Something by Theresa Ambat has also been a favorite these past couple of weeks, got me kickin my legs like a romantic fr))

Rules for a good gelato place (as I learned from the best):

must not be piled high like a mountain in the tin!!!  that means there’s air in it.  the person must scoop downward into the gelato tin where the gelato is level or below the rim

several flavors available!!!  this probably means they know their stuff and aren’t just some random sweets place that decided one day to sell four or five flavors of gelato to attract a few more customers

non dairy in the fruit flavors!!!  fruit flavors should have no milk, just ask if they do and walk out if the person behind the counter admits to the crime

mostly muted colors!!! pistachio should be greenish-brown, not bright green.  brighter colors means they’ve likely added coloring artificially (though some of the fruit flavors like berry and mango tend to be brighter)

You know, I’ve never really put thought into decorating a room before.  Like, in both my childhood homes, I had purple walls but nothing hung on them.  I mean I have a dresser-vanity and some whiteboards, and I used to have a fishtank and for a short time some butterflies pasted around the place, but literally no decor of my own choosing.  When I moved into my dorm freshman year, I got some canvas prints from amazon and went with a gray/mint theme, and it was cute and pretty and looked like a lot of the other dorm pictures I’d seen online, but it wasn’t really me, if you know what I mean.  I remember a few months (a year?) into living in my apartment when I put up my red starfleet academy banner and stared at it for an hour in awe of how amazing it made me feel.  It remained my only piece of decoration for the entirety of the time I lived there.  I don’t want live like that in my next place, but I do want to expound on that energy.  

I have ~ideas~ both for common and personal spaces.  In common spaces, I know I want to have a fake bouquet on the table.  Maybe switching them out occasionally.  In my room, I think I want to go for a very specific theme: “starfleet ensign whose ship crashed on a presently uninhabited class-m planet several years prior and whose crew has been living off the land and uncovering the buried civilization that existed there eons before they were marooned” or “Explorer Vibes plus my star trek banner lol”.  I just.. Rachel Maksy said in a video once that she likes to tell stories with her outfits, and I sort of want to try that with my room.  I really love the “mosscore” and academic looks, with scientific drawings on aged paper, maps, vines and wisteria, knicknacks.. but I kind of want to make it my own, where if someone were to look closely they’d see all the treky things and it’d just be a little whimsical, like me.  I just want to make my room into a space that I love.

Oh my god wait it’s space academia is what it is.

Anyway I’ve started filling up a new pinterest board and while it’s a bit of a mess I’m kind of in love with it.  Now, as I’ve been going through this thought exercise, I get this pervasive thought about how there’s no permanent sense of self and for that reason it’s foolish to try to chase the whims of my own style which may change with the next passing fad.  But.  I look back on the years when I was obsessed with my galaxy jeans, and I’m happy for that Nina, even if she’s not me anymore.  And I think maintaining that outlook is better than expecting to shame my current self in the future for doing something that’s with or against the grain.  So as someone with not much money, I think I’m going to look into getting furniture pieces that are stylistically modular, at first, which I could add a covering to (or make a covering for?  hm..) to match my most recent whim.  Like getting a black saucer chair but crocheting a green granny square blanket to cover it, like otherworldly moss (to fit in with the ~bedroom story~).

So last thing, I’ve been on a bit of a mild movie binge these past few days.  Shazam 1 and 2 were alright, nothing too terribly innovative for the genre, but I really did love the diversity all around.  Airplane 1 and 2 were literally hilarious.  I don’t know what kind of genre it is exactly, but they made me laugh and giggle aloud so many times, I mean the wordplay and physical humor were golden.  Superman: Red Son was an unexpectedly good WB DC Animated Movie.  It interesting all the way through, Travis Willingham made an appearance, the animation style/character design was good... honestly it had the intrigue and impactful climax I was looking for but found lacking in the Injustice: Gods Among Us movie.  Now, I fully recognize that there was a pretty pro-American lean to it disguised under those pro-communism plot points, but I’ll let it slide.

Today I’m thankful for graduation gifts.

[thatdesklamp]

Oh my goodness! Hello!

I wanted to pop in and say that I absolutely adore Intrinsic Warmth. I honestly requested an AO3 account so I can stay updated with whenever you post. I literally read Intrinsic Warmth for the better part of my Wednesday. Chapter 12 was so heartbreaking, I really hope Gojo and Hebi figure things out stat.

If you dont mind, I have a few questions regarding Gojo (i dont know if you’ll expand on later or just leaving it be - so absolutely no pressure to answer this).

Number one is in the 2007 oneshot Gojo thinks about one time before the big fight where he thought of Hebi in a romantic light - will we ever figure out what that moment was?

and then my second question is: did Gojo ever speak to Jin Hebi in chapter 10 when Hebi left to go have a bit of a panic attack in the other room. I’d be super curious in what their interaction would be like now Gojo is an adult.

No pressure at all with these questions! You’ve created such an amazing character and I love how Hebi interacts with everyone in the story, I can’t wait for chapter 13.

Hello!! Thank you so much :( That's so cool and crazy--and bingeing a fic that's nearing 150k words in one day is absolutely insane, and you're stronger than me. IW is reaching my usual cut-off point for fics, lmao, in terms of word count--and I just know it's so likely we'll be reaching 200k at some point, which just gets a bit long for me LOL. So you're braver than me!! Huzzah!

And questions! For sure! I love getting questions because I either 100% know the answer and get to be like, oooh! they noticed!, or it's something I literally hadn't even considered and now I'm like, ooh! I've got to think about this some more!

The first one is somewhere in the middle. I've got one irl friend who properly knows about IW, and she's my first port of call when I have random questions about characterisation or how things come across in my writing (she's awesome), and something she said ages ago was actually the inspiration for the 2007 oneshot, about Gojo having dreams about Hebi without really understanding what it meant. Anyway, she's mentioned that she's always thought 15yo Gojo would've had the tiniest little inkling of some feelings, which honestly was why I put that in there.

Also, honestly because I thought it was pretty funny to put a reference in there without any elaboration. Will they notice? What will they think? ha ha ha he he he.

I can't say at the moment whether I'll circle back to it! If it comes up in IW then I might talk about it as a nudge-nudge-wink-wink to the tumblr people over here, but I also can't see myself writing a oneshot about it just because I do think the ambiguity is really really funny. tldr, I'm not sure! Maybe. It's up to future me.

Your second question falls squarely in the realm of, oh shit, I didn't even think about that but now I absolutely have to. I too would be super curious about their dynamic! Damn. I hadn't thought about what Gojo was doing when Hebi was off, not with any specifics, but I absolutely do want to explore how an interaction between him and her dad would work now they're adults.

Okay, after thinking about it for a little more: when he was younger, Gojo would have never missed an opportunity to talk to the Hebi family, esp. Jin, my girl's father. Usually to taunt them, show off, pretty ostentatious and superior. It'd stem from his hatred of them from what they did to Hebi, but also from the more immature desire to prove his superiority over everyone.

I think when he'd get older and more mature, when Hebi was retreating from her family, he'd see speaking with her family as somewhat of a betrayal of her, a la 2005. If she's not talking to them, he shouldn't either, to show solidarity. Also, it'd be politically wise: excluding the family from the company of Satoru Gojo is an intentional slight, and one that would have been felt throughout all of the society. But I can't see politics being Gojo's main motivator; it'd have to be his loyalty to Hebi. His hatred of her family wouldn't have changed, probably just getting stronger to be fair, but there would be less of that childish need to assert himself as the 'best' over her family.

But I think, at some point, he would have spoken to them, and properly gone off on them. I can't think at the moment as to when, specifically, but I just have a feeling he would have, as an adult. Maybe when she wasn't speaking to him? Not sure. But this is something I want to circle back to. If you see it in future IW chapters, you know why!!!!

#intrinsic warmth