#racism warning ofc

[eighthdoctor]

Book Review 49/60

The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein

First thing I've read by Gertrude Stein and I spent the entire book going like. Oh I see why people hated you. Yeah sure it's lesbians in early 20th century Paris but jesus christ, epitome of nobody in this book is a good person. Incredibly readable, but I did keep wondering why nobody has punched her yet.

4/5

#racism warning ofc #book review

[mickyschumacher]

NGL I LOVE UR WORK... ive been hopping thru ur m.list since the last hour.... its currently 1 am and i have an essay to finish before 8 am(im sure my prof will give me more time ik dey love me) anywasy i was wondering if u could do an enemies to lovers with Lewis((like really hated eachother)the reader could be a driver its oky don mind what she does) and then they were arguing abt sumting lewis says something thats completely out of the line and she starts crying in front him then he just kinda leaves her be, a few days later he would go on then apologize to her abt wat he said and then more fluff. (just ignore this if ur not into it or not takin a request at the moment. but im actually just hapi i kind of got the courage to ask u for a request also ur stories are soooo good i admire and envy u at the same time.)

𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐄  .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: as lewis's former teammate, there are lines that shouldn't be crossed. but a bad move from lewis puts him completely out of line.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: enemies to lovers trope!, poor humour, some fluff, in depth moment of an alternated 2021 wdc (apologies in advance), therefore ANGST, bad race jargon, horner and masi discussed :(, mention of intermittent explosive disorder, misogyny, allusion to racism (not from the reader ofc!), shitting on the fia for a bit, lewis kinda being a dick for probably an unfair reason lol, a proclamation of feelings from sir lewis himself

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lewis hamilton x red bull!driver!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: you're too sweet to me! 🤧 i couldn't tell if you wanted this to be romantic but i went that way in the end! hope this was good! ♡︎ very very loosely based of swift's 'right where you left me'. but if you argued it wasn't, i would be inclined to agree. proof-read...ish?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

No one ever truly understood your move to Red Bull. It was in 2019, far from when Max was practically living on pole, so Red Bull wasn't exactly a threat to Mercedes, your previous team. Toto had even put a three-year extension on the table several months before your contract came close to expiring.

Yet you had chosen to sign with the devil.

When the commentators, journalists, and fans took a closer look at your decision, the only thing they could all collectively agree on was that you had moved to Red Bull because of Lewis Hamilton. Because you both couldn't keep your differences aside and Lewis had finally struck your last nerve.

While you weren't quite sure about the last part, the first was true. You had Lewis had never ever exactly met eye-to-eye. Every F1 driver had a specific style of driving. You liked to call Lewis' the 'calm before the storm'. He raced with a composure and maturity that most drivers did not hold. He was particularly calculative and the everyone loved him.

You, on the other hand, had given yourself a new nickname along side 'Flash 13' because you did everything in a flash: you overtook ruthlessly and calculated, you pushed the car till it was undrivable, and you were decisive to the very nanosecond. But you had also garnered yourself the name 'IED', after the behavioural disorder.

In part this nickname was due to the misogyny you faced as the only current female driver in F1 but also due to the sheer anger that bursted out of you whenever you encountered Lewis.

The amount of warnings Toto had given the both of you was simply endless. He had even resorted to putting you two with the team therapist.

The source of your hatred for each other was as clear as day. You hated Lewis' arrogance because somehow it was even worse than Rosberg, Alonso, Räikkönen, and Verstappen. And Lewis hated you for your 'perspective'. You didn't know what he initially meant by that but you regretted asking him. He said you needed to be stronger to be in F1 and that you were far too soft-hearted. Right after you had gotten your first ever pole.

It was ridiculous, to say the least.

No F1 driver was soft-hearted. You were all, simply put, a bunch of dicks. Not literally, of course. Naturally, following that comment, Lewis had pissed you off. He hadn't even had a second to know you before even making that judgement. It was ironic as well, considering your nickname that labelled your anger.

After watching Lewis win several championship titles with you following multiple places behind and seeing you only get angrier with each other, you had decided to call it quits for Mercedes. If people were going to take your annoyance and frustrations with amusement, you were going to head to the angriest team of all and leave your former team fuming.

Two years later, in 2021, you had finally gotten the perfect opportunity.

You hadn't really a clue how exactly Red Bull had made the 2021 car so well that you were matching the speed of Mercedes' car but you didn't care. You were matching Lewis. And Christian Horner was a happy man. A sexist prick but a happy man nonetheless.

Pole was either Lewis' or yours. Either he was a Grand Prix winner or you were. It was a game of cat and mouse, always in a constant pursuit of each other. The same went from your team leaders, Toto and Christian, who practically had the race director, Masi, on speed dial.

And by Abu Dhabi, you were equally tied, locked at 369.5 points. It hadn't been easy after getting penalised for multiple incidents against Lewis, but you were here. Lewis was trying to get his eighth championship and you your first.

You weren't sure how this was going to end. Heck, no one could've predicted what happened that day. But all you knew was that you were not going down without a fight.

You secured pole in Abu Dhabi which had put the entirety of Mercedes and F1 on edge. After a discussion with your engineer and several strategists, you had opted for soft tyres to further your advantage over Lewis.

Despite all of that, it was Lewis who had led the first corner after those red lights had gone out. It was only by turn six did you even get a lead. But it was a moment too short as your former teammate regained his top position by going off into the damn run-off area of the track.

You didn't need to scream in annoyance. You couldn't hear Horner, but deep down you knew he had already called up Masi, demanding an investigation. Your engineer reported to you that the stewards had dismissed it. The gap between you and Lewis was getting bigger, the race was coming to and end, and you knew you needed a miracle towards the end of the race if you wanted to win.

And that miracle was called Nicholas Latifi. The poor guy had crashed into Mick and the safety car was out on the tracks. Thankfully, they were both okay, but the timing of it was simply impeccable.

You had pitted to get new soft tyres and Mercedes was on the fence about heading to the pit lane in fear of the race restarting. So Lewis didn't pit. Miracle 2.

You re-joined the track with five lapped cars in between you and Lewis. And soon enough, Race Control had given the dooming message: lapped cars were not allowed to overtake.

The taste in your mouth was bitter. You had cussed out Horner, asking why you were even seeing these lapped cars in front of you.

Then came Race Control again: only the five cars in between you and Lewis were allowed to overtake. Miracle 3.

But of course, F1 had a flair for the dramatics. Because you were fucking restarting. Putting you and Lewis on a tight show-down for the final lap.

The bad news? Lewis hadn't pitted yet.

The good news? You could overtake Lewis. Miracle 4.

And the headline? You won.

You fucking won.

You were F1's first female champion in history.

You made history... or, well, herstory?

Yes it was controversial. Yes it was dramatic. Yes, questionable decisions had been made.

But you won.

By the time you had gotten out of your car and finished with screaming and crying in pure happiness, you had finally caught a glimpse of Lewis.

A small part of you felt bad. You knew for a fact, that these decisions weren't 'human error' as the FIA would go on to claim the following year in Bahrain.

It was entertainment. It was business. It was money.

You had both worked so hard this year. But the fight between an F1 driver breaking the record for the most championship titles and the first possible female champion in F1 was too good to resist.

Things between you and Lewis after Abu Dhabi hadn't gotten worse. You just talked far less than you normally did. You barely argued with each other anymore. It was disconcerting to say the least. Especially now that you were struggling to match Max's pace, always coming second or third as per the instructions of your engineer. For a moment you thought, what was the point of winning if you weren't going to win again?

━━━━━━━━━━━

You were still determined. Beating your own teammate would be hard. But you weren't a stranger to the idea. You had spent years trying to beat Lewis while purposely being the support for him to win. They were two actions they didn't go together but it had happened.

That being said, the venture was proving to be more difficult than you anticipated. In fact, it had caused a full collision with Lewis in the first lap of the Qatar Grand Prix.

You were so focused on beating Max you hadn't taken a second to look around you.

"What the fuck was that?" Lewis' voice invaded the air as he barged into your driver's room, ridden with sweat and still in his racing gear.

"Look, I'm sorry okay. I didn't see you. It was my fault. End of story," You told him curtly, not really wanting talk to Lewis any further.

"Damn right, you didn't see me. You could've taken me or anyone out! Are you so fucking stuck up your ass that you couldn't see me?" Lewis asked incredulously.

You scoffed at his accusation. It was true. But you didn't like when the truth fell from his lips... especially not when they sounded like that.

"Lewis, drop it. No one got hurt. Let's just move on okay?" You queried, annoyance dripping from your voice.

"Why? Can't handle the truth, L/N?" He laughed gently, almost mocking you. "Right... you were always like that."

You snapped your head towards him, raising a sharp brow. "Excuse me?" You spat as if to say he was becoming dangerously close to crossing a line he did not want to cross.

Lewis folded his arms, shrugging nonchalantly. "What? You don't like the truth. It's simple. I told you that you need to be stronger because you're too soft-hearted. And you hated that. And now that I'm telling you that you're selfish, you obviously can't handle it."

"Oh my God, you are one to talk. Lewis, you are so blinded by your arrogance that you can't see anyone else win. That's why you can't accept that I won right?"

"Not Abu Dhabi, aga–"

"Yes, Lewis, Abu Dhabi again. You are so fucking sour about losing that even when the hate targeted me, you let it. You let them say that my win was due to race and gender. Me, Lewis, out of all people, me."

No matter your differences, you had stuck up for Lewis on many accounts when it came to the FIA, 'fans', and haters. But he wasn't there for you.

You could see dark expression fall onto Lewis' face. "That's not true, Y/N."

"Then what was it Lewis?" You flailed your hands in exasperation. "Because you sure as hell didn't come to my aid."

"Because you didn't deserve it!"

You blinked blankly, arms falling to your side. Your mind took a minute to process the words that had fallen from his lips in mere seconds.

Lewis' face dropped as realisation struck him. What the fuck did he just say? "Y/N, I–"

"Get out," You grumbled.

Lewis did a double-take on the fresh line of tears accumulating on your waterline. He took a step closer to you, hands reaching out. "No, no, no, Y/N, I–" But your words made him stop.

"Lewis, get the fuck out of here before I start screaming like the bitch everyone thinks I am."

You watched Lewis return his hands to the side, clenching his jaw tightly as he made way to the door of your room. He stopped briefly, hesitating to open the door, taking one last glance at you before leaving.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Four days.

You had pondered in deep thought for four days. And after 72 hours, one thing had become obvious to you.

Lewis wasn't with you or any of the other drivers. He was still in 2021, right where you had left him. Not a second had gone by for Lewis where he hadn't thought about Abu Dhabi.

What if he had just pushed for Bono and Toto to get him in that pit lane?

What if he had veered the car a little to the side and you didn't overtake him?

Lewis was still reliving the worst moment of his career and his life and everyone had moved on. Sure, every fan and commentator talked about it time to time. But it was something of the past.

To say you didn't deserve your championship title... you had heard it from several 'fans' and insignificant others. But to hear it from Lewis? It fucking killed you.

You cared about his opinion more than anyone in the world. And he knew that.

You would've never said anything as shitty as that to him or anyone for that matter.

You had worked your ass off to get to F1. Fuck, you had won F2 two fucking times because no one was willing to let a girl on their team... into a man's sport. Every driver worked hard to a certain degree. But you were a girl who didn't grow up with the means of driving yourself to your death every day. If everyone worked hard, you had worked ten times harder.

Everyone knew that you and Lewis had fought. And by the looks of it, they also knew it was far worse than your normal fights. You wouldn't look at him, you refused to speak to him, you spent minimal time in the same room, you had even paid your media fines in full to avoid everyone...

Max had even become some sort of bodyguard, telling Lewis to turn back around when he neared the Red Bull garage.

All of this protection, and yet, he had still found you in your favourite place. The one you both came to when you needed to become level-headed. The top stand of any empty Grand Prix, in this case the México Grand Prix, where the air felt a little bit cooler against your heated skin and you could think for even it was for just a second.

You sucked in a sharp breath, seeing Lewis in your periphery while you were firmly seated. He looked nervous, chewing on his bottom lip and taking cautious glances at you.

"Hey," Lewis greeted, making you raise a brow at his lame entrance.

You forced yourself to look at the rest of the empty seats in front of you. "Hey," You mumbled back, trying to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth.

An unsettling silence enveloped the both of you. You were sure Lewis was here to apologise. But you could also tell he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not in a selfish way. But in the most guiltiest way possible.

You sighed. "How are you?" You asked gently, peeking out of the corner of your eye.

Lewis winced at your question. Leave it up to you to still be this kind after what he had said to you. "Sorry. I'm so so sorry," He rasped, voice raw with the pain that had been gnawing away at him ever since those god forbidden words had left his mouth.

You nodded slowly, taking another deep breath. "I know you're going to call me soft-hearted but what you said really fucking hurt, Lew," You jested with a brief smile.

Lewis grimaced at your poor humour, before his ears perked up at the old nickname you had given him when you first started getting on each other's nerves. "I know. I'm an idiot for saying something like that. Or that you're soft-hearted. You've worked so hard for all of this. You absolutely deserve everything and that win was only the first of many, I'm a hundred percent sure of it. Your Dutch shortie doesn't really know what's coming."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile after huffing in amusement at his diss towards Max. "Thank you," you told him earnestly. "Although, I am quite positive he is like almost ten centimetres taller than you. But, thanks anyways."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "Have you seen me? You don't think I give off tall energy?"

"You mean tall in insults?" You joked, grinning at the blank look on Lewis' face.

Lewis sighed. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean any of it. And by 'it', I mean all of the insults and fights. I was just disappointed in myself. Even more so that I didn't stand up for you. I'm so sorry."

You drew your eyebrows together, turning your body to face him. Confusion filled you. "Then why did you say it at all?"

"I–" Lewis blew out a small laugh. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Lewis, can you not see me dying here? Like a whole kitchen set of knives in my back?" You deadpanned.

Lewis rolled his eyes again. So dramatic.

He brought his hands together, staring at you briefly before looking at the empty stand. "Well, obviously, I heard of you before you joined Mercedes. I thought it was ridiculous that you had to get two F2 championships to get a seat, but anyways, I digress. Toto told me, he was considering you even though you had never been in the junior team.

And I remember just being so fucking jealous of you. Toto was consumed by you. He and Horner had been fighting for your seat for so long and now that they finally had an open seat, it was chaos. Toto won, obviously. And then we met each other in person for the first time and I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world."

You felt your heart begin to race and your skin heat at the sudden proclamation. "You... you what?"

Lewis smoothly glossed over the compliment. "And then we had our first quali together and you beat me. You got pole on your first race. So you were talented and beautiful. A crime, might I add.

And so when you came to tell me, you were so excited with all your talent and beauty, I was pissed. Because out of all things in the world, I had gotten an amazing competitor I was bound to feel for. I thought that by saying you were soft-hearted and all, it would get on your bad side and it would make me less attracted to you. It didn't. It got worse while it got easier to pretend to hate you."

You blinked blankly at him, cheeks aflame. Lewis Hamilton liked you. Your stupid teammate? The same one who's eighth championship you arguably took? "I'm sorry... hold up, we've been fighting for years because I'm a hot, talented, gifted, smart driver and you're a simp?"

Lewis squinted his brown eyes at you. "I did not include all those adjectives."

"I mean... that's basically what you said," You shrugged, flickering your eyes to the setting sun.

Where did all the damn cool air go? You wondered, pressing your hands to your flushed cheeks and feeling your soft palm absorb the molten lava known as your skin.

Lewis chuckled, picking up your flustered reaction quickly. He watched as you suddenly stood up. "Okay, well I'm... I'm going to meet Hugh and find a way to beat Max. See ya!"

Lewis paused, grabbing your wrist. "Wait? What? You aren't going comment about what I just said?"

You eyed his hold on your wrist: it was searing you. You turned to him, lowering your head to meet his gaze. You briefly looked down at his lips before looking back up. "I think I prefer hating you."

Lewis felt you press your lips on his cheek before walking past him. He watched your retreating figure, your kiss feeling heavy on his face, putting him right where you had left him: absolutely and utterly smitten.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

#mickyschumacher #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic

[hana-no-seiiki]

This is generally such a stupid ask but I feel like it would be.. Chaotic? At the very least amusing

Anyways

Batfam x Nicole from Class of 09! Reader

Do what you want (etc make it romantic or platonic, doesn't matter)

Just the batfam (yandere ofc) dealing with a chick who loves to ruin lives for her amusement and sometimes for revenge

Istg she'll just bully them at any chance she gets

~ 🕒

I just binged watched Class of ‘09 and all its endings/choices for you non. I don’t think I can fully depict how brash wittiness of Nicole is but here I go! (I am so traumatized) Didn’t know that’s where “No I’m flirting with you flash me a tiddy bitch” came from no wonder Nicole sounded so familiar.

btw if people are interested in watching class of ‘09 just be warned it’s basically a VN version of Degrees of Lewdity but the mc is actually a minor (without the sex/r*pe mechanic though) and it depicts a lot of just… pedophilia, necrophilia, assault, su*c*de, school shootings, racism??, BE WARNED.

The following content above ^ might be mentioned in this fic but in passing. MASSIVE DDDNE WARNING.

I don’t think I’m comfortable writing stepcest/incest in this blog so despite how perfect it’ll be to make Bruce your step father considering Nicole’s mom has divorced like a hundred times…maybe ask me in @yoru-no-seiiki and I’ll be down for it.

THIS IS ADMITTEDLY TIM + DAMIAN CENTRIC

“Do you even care? Do the results of your actions mean anything to you?”

“Yeah when they affect me, sure.”

You were a bitch. There was no denying that. But you were a pretty one. One many would grovel to be under.

You were used to this, ever since you reached a certain age people just looked at you different, acted in a way that… made you think they were boring, utter losers.

One of those losers was Tim’s friend.

Like all the stupid, horny men in your life, you hung out with him once and he spilled everything there was that you could share.

To the entire campus, the internet, even the news.

And because you were pretty, you got off scot-free. Those morons didn’t even check to see what you’ve been doing the past decade.

Except Tim. Timothy Drake. You only knew that his dad was super rich, and as much as it was tempting to sink your teeth into him and get a load of that daddy’s money, you knew better.

He apparently didn’t.

You see there was one thing every batfam member couldn’t resist. Well, two things. The first was saving people.

The second? Fixing them.

When Tim first approached you he was confused.

You were quite the popular figure in Uni. He heard the rumors. He fully expected to be cussed out to hell and back.

But you were… nice. Agreeable at most really. Brash was an understatement. But you were witty. Your comebacks were swift and deadly.

The more he studied stalked you the more he realized that the two of you were the same.

Two bright people stuck with dull idiots.

And Tim? Tim interested you enough for you to not to completely drop him after the first week. That and most of your bullying probably wouldn’t bode well towards the son of a billionaire.

He was smart, even more so than that nerd friend of his that you destroyed the life of. But more importantly he actually had some tact, and was surprisingly packed underneath all those baggy clothes.

Tim had to admit he was kind of forgetting his entire purpose of ‘fixing’ you.

Until you manipulated yet another guy into jumping off a school building for you. Thankfully he survived because Red Robin happened to be there to apprehend him but still!

And what’s worse, you met up with him afterwards talking about how that Red Robin ruined all your plans of crippling a r*pist.

Wait, a r*pist?

Tim looks through your past victims once more. Admitted he only did a surface level job of studying them in comparison to his PhD level knowledge on everything about you specifically.

And…you were right. Every guy you’ve harassed was being pushy with you in the first place, if not people with authority a decade older.

Fuck.

Well now he had no excuse. He had to make you his.

Meanwhile…

“Ugh, Damian. Can’t you tell your brother to like, fuck off or something? I can feel my social standing totally plummet every second he’s around. How do you handle being related to him?” You groaned. You weren’t fucking stupid. You knew Tim was stalking and drooling all over you lately. You hated it. He was ruining your chances with your new victims.

“Jeez [Y/N]. And here I thought you were like, into him.” Jessica, your actual crush and best friend, commented as she filed her nails.

You being the emotional stunted adult you were only replied with an (admittedly softer) “Eat a sandpaper cock and die bitch.”

Damian stared at you, the words die before they crawl out of his mouth. His hands clenched underneath the lunch tables.

Guess he had another thing to steal from his brother this time.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere core #yandere batfam #batfam #batfam x reader #yandere batfam x reader #tim drake #damian wayne #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne x reader #yandere tim drake x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #yandere robin x reader #robin x reader #yandere red robin x reader #red robin x reader

[drcranessweetestdoe]

MASTERLIST

Hi! I’m Aurora and welcome to my blog! <3 I love pink, bows, bunnies, deers, ballet, babies, being adored and cute stuff in general:) This blog is dedicated to the lovely Cillian Murphy and his characters, so expect fanfictions, smut and just writings in general (and ofc a whole lot of fangirling)

Feel free to request your wishes. I am open to write about kinks, but there are some that I won’t write for (any butt stuff, anything with vomit, scat or urine, anything that includes animals, etc.), if I happened to leave something out I will let you know if it is requested and I refuse to write for it. I don’t tolerate any hate on my page (racism, homophobia, etc.), please let’s respect each other and be kind:) english isn’t my native language, so excuse me for the mistakes I make in my grammar, thank you! And also, if I haven’t posted in a while, do not worry about me. I am healthy and well, if this changes, I will let you know. I am just simply a lazy person.

minors dni! my blog will contain 18+ contents and topics that might upset you. my writing will be coming with warnings, but I am not responsible for the content you decide to view. and please don’t copy my work, time is put in it and it would be greatly appreciated if it wasn’t taken for granted.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨Cillian Murphy୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Bad, bad bunny (stepfather!Cillian)

No silly boys, no one, just daddy (stepfather!Cillian)

Hands on mine (older husband!Cillian)

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨Thomas Shelby୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Finally mine (possessive!Tommy)

#cillian fic #cillian fluff #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #jonathan crane #cillian smut #cillian x y/n #cillian x reader #cillian fanfic #cillianmurphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy daddy

[made4radio]

Ready or Not [Series Masterlist]

Explicit | Multi-Part | Alastor Art - @lustylita

Pairing: Human!Alastor x OFC

Content Warning(s): Graphic depictions of Violence and Death, Domestic Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Vulgar Language, Racism, Age Gap, NonCon/DubCon Elements (Warnings will be updated as necessary)

Navigation

-Chapter One

-Chapter Two

-Chapter Three

#alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbinhotel #alastor x reader #alastor x oc #hotel hazbin #alastor smut

[cookiesupplier]

Run A Dagger Through My Chest

pairing: Noah Sebastian x ofc (Ellie)

warnings/tropes: racism/speciesism, post cheating anxiety, blood magic, weapons, soul bonding,

summary: A night out at the bar, Ellie overhears something from one of Noah's shadows that she wishes she didn't, and now she isn't the only one that has to deal with how it makes her feel.

author’s note: This is the very first proper outtake of the Hell-Verse that I've written. As per where it exists in the timeline, it takes place prior to Chapter 17 of A Friend Down In Hell.

For those that wish to catch up on what's going on in this verse, here is the Combined Hell-Verse Masterlist.

tags: @spicywhenspeaking @bngurngheart @cncohshit @valiantroeagleangel

@blackveilomens @dominuslunae @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747

@lyschko666 @lacktoesandtoddlerants @jilliemiw86 @emmmm127

@badomensls @sorrowsofsilence @collapsedglasshouses @vinyardmauro

@4rtificialfolio @agravemisstake @sunsshinesunny @tearfallpixie @dsireland86

@notingridslurkaccount @laurpartyprogram

Okay so I've tagged everyone that has so far been on the ride for the Hell-Verse.. hopefully they get through.. fighting with my tags is exhausting, I know they are weird.. but they are working like this.. so.. Ima go with it!

Ellie knew what Ishtar was doing. She might feel bad that Folio was going out of his mind a little, considering he was not getting as much time with Ishtar as he would like. However, after years of the demoness trying to get him to meet with her outside of the bar so they could get closer, dropping hints and him not picking them up? She deserved to have a little fun, didn’t she? He needed to work to snag her. So yes, him wooing her, even if it was over text messages, with their flirty conversations, and stolen moments before and after work.. Sure they were barely there, Ellie knew that Ishtar was certainly making him work to get his time with her. 

As it was, he certainly didn’t look remotely disappointed right then as he leaned across the bar, signature bright smile across his face as he relished the chance to talk with her. Ellie was thankful that the shot challenges weren’t a thing any more, at least, not to the extent that they used to be. As they say, boys will be boys, and Ellie had noticed, they would still get up and do stupid shit. Now, however, at least Folio wasn’t determined to push for the night of constantly pouring liquor down their throats until they were smashed so she could get closer to Ishtar.

Tonight, was one of those contest nights, only instead of shots they were playing darts, and that of course, put Noah at the forefront of the game. 

“Can someone explain to me, who had the bright idea to think it was smart to try to compete against Noah using sharp objects again?”

Ellie giggled at Jolly’s complaining before he lifted his glass and drained the last of his current beer. Folio being at the bar as he talked to Ishtar, was supposed to be getting them another round of drinks. They’d sent him up there a little while ago, knowing he’d take some time to come back with their drinks once he got distracted talking to Ishtar. If there was one thing that was predictable on a night like tonight, was that folio would get preoccupied with Ishtar and spending time with her. The guys could tease him about it all they wanted, but, Ellie noticed that they also enabled him at the same time. Whether it was planning nights out specifically to the bar so he could spend time with her. Other times they planned boys nights to help distract him when they knew Ishtar was busy working, and he wasn’t going to be able to see her, they found ways. 

Yes, between Jolly, Noah and Nicholas, they all enabled Folio, and then teased him mercilessly while doing so at the exact same time. 

“At least he doesn’t have you trying to throw axes, do you have any idea how difficult that is? In saying that, pretty sure I almost took his head off last time he wanted to teach me something.”

Ellie grinned wickedly only to earn an, are you kidding me glance from Noah, before focusing back on the dart board.

“Never happen, BabyGirl. I knew exactly what I was doing. You didn’t even get close.”

Shrugging slightly, he said that, but she swore she’d seen a little bit of blood that time, and oh, it had been awfully close as well. Admittedly, she had been way off target to almost get him at all like that, which meant she had done horribly in that particular instance, but her argument still stood! The fact that Noah kept insisting on teaching her these crazy things was hilarious to her, but she did enjoy the time they spent together. Even if there were some days she just spent watching him train, one of her books in hand, glancing up as he worked on his exercises, whether with the other demons, or on his own. Ellie never watched him actually work with the souls he punished, never, just his physical training. His work with punishment another situation entirely, and one she was better off never touching at all. She had heard snippets from Folio about some of the horrible things that another lesser demon did, one that Noah had to keep in check, and she didn’t even want to think about it. In saying that, from the people she knew were in there, she knew they deserved it.

“I’m going to go and check on Folio, make sure he hasn’t forgotten our drinks.”

“You mean instead of making eyes at Ishtar.”

Shaking her head as the guys laughed in response, yes, she remarked on Folio forgetting their drinks, but the jibe that came at Folio’s expense as to the odds of whether he had legitimately forgotten their drinks was meaningless. She knew they didn’t really mean it anyway. They supported Folio as much as she did, otherwise they wouldn’t have endured his puppy dog starry eyed routine for the demoness as long as they had before he finally got this far with her. Finally being the word there!

 Once she had stopped by the bar to nudge Folio, say hello to Ishtar and put their drink orders in, smiling when Ishtar seemed to have not received their order at all before now. Ellie got an innocent get apologetic smile from Folio. She nudged him with her elbow to let him know she’d forgiven him. As long as he got the drinks to the table, that was, she needed to go to the ladies room. It was on her way back that she heard them chatting away and gossiping among themselves, Noah's shadows, they were always hanging around the bar when they were there. At least, lately, they seemed to have learned to keep their distance. Mostly since the incident that have Ellie wanting to kill one of them for actually trying to kiss Noah in front of her, it had not been a night she wanted to remember. Apparently a few had heard about it, and less wanted to test her, at least, for now, she wondered how long that would last though. They had started showing up again lately. Probably wouldn’t be long before they started approaching him again.

She didn’t really want to know what they were saying, but the problem was, the way when you heard your own name, it was like your brain perks up sometimes. You tune in without being able to help yourself.

“Oh there she is!” “Ellie, she’s so pathetic.” “I don’t know what he sees in her. She’s so, so, human! It's disgusting” “Absolutely, she’s nothing. She’s worthless.” “I bet you all she's in it just to bond with him, what else would a human want from a demon.”

Ellie hated it, but she’d come to terms with how Hell wasn’t as different as she’d like in terms of human vs demons relations. Of course, in the land of the living, it wasn’t demons, it was humans vs humans, it was about the different races, but it was no different, and dealing with it here was just, it was sad. When she had first arrived, she had thought there were a lot more humans in Hell than there really were. However, the reality was that because demons could shape-shift, was that many of them chose to take human form, and yet, they still spoke of her like that. It would never make sense to her, never. 

Hearing them talk about her so spitefully for no other reason than she was with Noah, and they wanted to be, was like a knife digging in. They didn’t even know her, and in truth, they didn't actually know anything about Noah either. All they knew about him was his position in Hell, which was why he did his best to avoid them. Yes, he admitted to his years of adoring fans so to speak, but he got over that before he’d even met Ellie.

She tried not to think about what they were saying as she made her way back to the table with the others, it was all too much right now. Ellie didn’t want to think about the way that word just seemed to stick in her brain at that moment. Bonding. Bonding. Bonding. Just the feel of it screamed another word, and it felt like a dagger twisting in her gut just thinking about that word… marriage. Ellie had long sworn off any thought of getting married years ago, along with that bastard Jeremy. After everything that had happened in seeing him again, that dark feeling in the pit of her stomach, she didn’t really want to deal with all of that again. Not marriage, not bonding, not any of it. No, no, thank you.

Noah didn’t know what to do, Ellie had started being distant for a little over a week now, and he was starting to get worried. It wasn’t like last time when she was avoiding him altogether, that at least was in his favour. But some nights when they were together, even when they were alone, she barely seemed to want to have anything to do with him. Trying to talk to her would get him one word answers, and yes, she still seemed willing, and open, and would smile and kiss him in the morning.. But..

She was pulling away..

He was terrified that something was going terribly wrong all over again and he, just, couldn’t do this again. The thought of losing Ellie, the thought of that loss when she had come to mean so much to him, he didn’t know if he could deal with that. His parents hadn’t been the greatest, even when they were here. Noah didn’t talk about them, not really, his parents were gone, into the abyss. No one talked about it, but there were ways for demons to die, permanently. Rare as they were, and do not ask Noah how to do it, any way that he knew, he wouldn’t speak of to a soul. Any self-respecting demon that knew, wouldn’t. He’d lost his parents not just years ago, but life times ago, the Ruffilo family taking him in, making sure he continued to come back to them each lifetime since that first time.

Now he was considering a different loss, and it was one he didn’t want to face. He would fight for Ellie, time and time again, and tonight he was determined to talk to her. It was going to be different tonight, because instead of trying to get her to talk to him, he was just planning on talking to her. Noah needed Ellie to understand, that no matter what was on her mind, what was upsetting her, not matter what it took, he would always be there, he would always listen. He would wait. He would be there when she was ready to finally talk to him, he was desperate for her to know that.

That was the plan.

He picked up their favourite pizza on the way home after a very long, frustrating day at work. Frustrating because, unlike some, no matter how many people he tormented, no matter how many souls he tortured, it was never going to ease the troubles on his mind. Noah would never understand how some would claim causing other people pain would make him feel better. Yes, yes, when he suffered, he rounded up those that made those he loved to suffer, and he would happily bring down his wrath, but did that truly ever take away his pain? No. Not even close. So yes, today was frustrating, because it was not nearly as satisfying as he would like it to be. 

Okay, so he called it home, it was her apartment. Noah hadn’t stayed in his own apartment in months. At most, he went back there to get new clothes and things he needed from time to time if he absolutely had to. They weren’t living together, technically, but he had been staying with Ellie so often that him not being at hers just felt wrong. Even with her pulling away, had she told him to leave even once, no. Was there a part of him waiting for it, yes. Did it make him sick to the gut over it, absolutely. The look in her eyes, something told him everything was going wrong, and he couldn’t stand it, so tonight, he was going to lay it out for her. Him just staying there, wasn’t just because they were together, it was because she was his everything, and no matter what she had to say, he wasn’t about to walk away. Ever. Not after everything they’d been through.

Setting the pizza on the counter, he knew she’d spent the afternoon with Ishtar, who would be off to work by now.

“Ellie, you home, I brought dinner, pizza.”

“Did you for-”

“I’d never forget your garlic bread, I wasn’t born yesterday, BabyGirl.”

Seeing her coming out of her room then, at least he got a small smile from her, that was the majority of how their interactions had been going lately. There was little teasing between them, maybe he’d get a smile, and then she’d shut down. Noah would try to keep it going through the night, but to no avail. When they went out with their friends, she’d interact with the others openly, just not with him, and he was almost certain that the only person that hadn’t noticed was Folio. He couldn’t blame him, if he had someone to distract him, he might not have noticed either, Ellie was his perfect distraction. 

As they sat to have dinner, though, Noah was going to take advantage of her quiet tonight.

“Ellie, I need to talk to you about something tonight.”

He could feel the way she tensed up, and whatever the reason was, Noah wasn’t going to let her doubts about whatever it was that was eating at her until there was nothing left, he wasn’t. She might not want to talk to him tonight, but he was hopeful she would talk to him, soon.

“You don’t have to say anything BabyGirl, just listen. I’m not going anywhere, I don’t expect anything, from you. I know most of your life you’ve spent with people in your life telling you that you should life your life a certain way, that you should do things in a certain order, but in truth none of that will ever matter to me.”

Tilting his head to try and catch her eye, to make sure that she was looking at him, and when she glanced away, he reached up and lifted her chin to make sure her eyes met his. Make sure she was paying attention to what he was saying. If she was looking him in his eye, she would pay more attention, it was a gentle touch, but it was effective, and he knew it.

“Furthermore, I don’t care if we never do anything but sit on that couch and watch movies. The single most important element of my life, is you. We can do anything you like, or nothing but sit around cuddled up on the couch.”

Ellie had been struggling, ever since she had heard about those girls talking about how she could only ever want Noah to bond with him. All she could think about was that bonding had to be the demon version of marriage. No how irrational it seemed considering it was not Noah that had brought it up, that Noah was not pushing the subject at her. It all just felt like a noose wrapped around her neck for the last week and a half. 

Her eyes were wide, glazed as she looked at Noah right now,

“God, I love you, Noah.”

Seeing the way he sighed so heavily, oh, she knew the relief he was feeling, she was feeling it too. Smiling slowly,

“You knew just what to say, didn’t know?”

A soft shaky breath escaped her, she’d been so scared, never able to consider how to talk to him about it, and she still wasn’t sure how to. It all came down to at least starting with one question, she supposed. Then, when Noah explained it to her, then they could talk about what they were going to do, if they would do anything at all, or enjoy everything they already had, just as it was. As far as Ellie was concerned, it was pretty wonderful already, no matter what Noah’s shadows or anyone else might think about them!

“So um, I heard some of your shadows talking about something called bonding, from the way they made it sound they made it sound significant…” And that she would never be worthy of him for it.

“Could you, tell me about it?”

Two weeks, it had been two weeks since Noah had happily explained everything about bonding with Ellie, and expressed how it was absolutely not marriage. Humans tended to throw marriage around like it was the be all and end all. It was said to be a binding of souls in the eyes of God, said, that was done on human faith. While he respected faith, he did, but this was something that was distinct, and magically connecting their souls beyond death, connecting his soul to hers. When the day came, the fateful day came he passed, and demons did not live forever even if they lived far longer than humans mortal years. When he was reborn, he would still be connected to her, and as he aged, he would come to remember her, and love her all over again.

They’d talked more than once about bonding, Ellie wanted to understand it more each time. Coming up with more questions, about how it would affect him, her, about why demons could do it and not humans. 

Today, though, there were no questions, today they were training. Noah was attempting to teach Ellie how to better aim and throw daggers at a target, and Ellie couldn’t help but smirk to herself at the thought. It was almost ironic thinking about it, the night she first heard of bonding, they had been teasing about him teaching her axe throwing and how horrible she had been at it. Dagger throwing, she seemed to be a little better at it so far, not that she had been all that better at fully getting the knives to stick in the targets as deep as Noah would like. Standing behind Ellie, holding her hands to adjust how she was holding the blade, to adapt the balance of her technique as she threw the weapon. 

When she managed to finally get one of the dagger to stick into the target deep enough, the blade didn’t just fall from the board, that Noah actually had to approach and pull it out. After a moment, Ellie smiled brightly.

“Well, look at that, we will make a warrior woman out of you yet, BabyGirl!”

She rolled her eyes at him with a smirk before picking up another of the daggers, while demons could, potentially summon weapons directly to them with magic, in this training arena, the magic to do so, was banished. Noah explained it in a sense that it was a training technique to make sure they didn’t get lazy. There was also the added benefit to make sure that those that were not as quick to learn, didn’t accidentally get in the way of other, more experienced demons, and get sliced up in the wrong way. There were also those that he had unfortunately seen, that were purposely dismembered. The way he had said that, had Ellie thinking back to some of Folio’s remarks about the demon that had tortured him for part of his tenure in the punishment realms of Hell. She was more than glad to have avoided that experience entirely, not just because she was a semi-decent person. No, she would not claim she was good, like anyone, there were probably questionable things she’d done in her life, but obviously, not enough for punishment.

“I think I’m ready to be a different kind of woman right now.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Bonded.”

Noah almost dropped the dagger he was flipping around in his hand. As far as Ellie was concerned, it was a miracle he didn’t just slice off any of his fingers off with the look of the way the weapon just whirled around. Not to mention how he was looking at her. Startled almost, awed was another way she might put his expression, and she smiled,

“Oh, BabyGirl, I can’t wait to get you home, and-”

“No, here, right here.”

That stopped him short, Noah glancing around, they’d talked about the ritual enough that she knew it step by step now, right down to memorising all the markings she’d need to make. Yes, she knew already that plenty of others chose to perform the bonding rite in private, but Ellie didn’t want to wait another second. The moment the spell took, he could whisk her away, teleport them home, and then they could spend the rest of the night together.

As late as it was, there wasn’t really else hanging around training as well, it tended to be why Noah would bring Ellie during this time to train her. It presented the least probability that another demon might accidentally miss their mark and risk harming her. Yes she would survive, but why would she want to get hurt in the first place?

“Alright, let me get what we need.”

Really what he needed was, something to mark the circle, and some he quickly sound some chalk for the training ring to do it.. After he marked the circle surrounding them, Noah stripped his shirt from his body. While Ellie was already wearing active wear, her tank top had wide straps at her shoulders and he needed to mark runes to her collar bones too, not wanting to leave to go home to do this, a slice of a dagger, and the back of the straps were cut and the tank top became a halter top, exposing her collarbones. Perfect. 

Standing in the circle, each cutting their palms so they could mix their blood, marking the runes to their skin. Ellie had been thinking about thie for weeks. So fervent in her thoughts of how she felt about bonding, her hesitation had nothing to do with Noah, and everything to do with herself, she had the runes cemented into her memory. Dipping her fingertips into their mixed blood didn’t bother her in the least, between having to, at times deal with assaults in the office from souls coming through to punishment, to training with Noah, she was getting more used to a little bit of blood. Now, a lot of blood, that would be a different situation entirely.

Once they were both done, and Noah was sure they were right, Noah took Ellie’s hands and started with the demonic words of the ritual. It was a disappointment that she knew she’d never be able to speak or understand the language, but Ellie squeezed his hands as his words continued.. The blood runes tingling on her skin. She gasped as he continued. When he finally she finished, she watched on in awe as the ritual completed, the bloodied runes they’d both drawn onto their skin melting together and slither into one long line swirling band of blood over their skin. Eventually she noticed that the band of blood travelled all the way around her body, along one arm to Noah’s body, around his shoulders and arms and back to her body, again around her shoulders and arms. Wrapping them both up up completely, binding them completely in the ritual spell before the red string of blood sank into their skin and bonding their souls.

“And it’s done.”

Ellie shivered, lifting her hands to Noah’s face and pulling him down to her so she could kiss him, the softest whimper escaping her, they were bonded.. As she pulled back, she spied the small black tattoo on her index finger, it looked just like one of Noah’s. He’d told her this would happen, and she had wondered which of his tattoos she would receive, this one was tiny, and subtle, but she’d have it no other way. This was their bond mark, this was the mark from his soul.

“You are all mine.”

She giggled as she looked up to him,

“BabyGirl, I was always yours.”

Dividers by @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune

#bad omens #noah sebastian #fanfiction #bad omens cult #bad omens band #bad omens fic #noah sebastian x ofc #hell au #demon noah #fic: hell aint so bad #hell verse #fic: dagger through my chest

[tiajk]

Here are the black batsis head cannons

warnings: crack, Love lots of it, shitty parents, sibling bonds, things that only make sense to black people, so sad racism, your a vigal i’m this

This is one of the things you guys voted so here you

So for the sake of the plot you are very very african like you have the accent and everything (it can be whatever you imagination chooses light heavy whatever ) bruce had known you through a drug deal he had busted your father he's was selling drugs when bruce chases him all the way to your apartment your home he had found your mother overdosed your father now where to be found and you just sleeping in the room

You waking up when you feel a certain caped crusader watching you in your sleep

When gordon and the police came they took your mother to the hospital she didn't make it your father they caught him at the bar and he is going to prison for the rest of his life

Gordon knows he has a thing for kids that need a home

You had gone home with im the next day and had been apart of the batfam ever since

You had been adopted right after Jason so that made you the first girl (before he died) Dick was 17 Jason was 12 you were 11

You and dick weren’t that close because of the age gap but he made it work he visited the manor more for you and Jason like going on missions together and dropping you off to school you made fun of his red head fetish a lot tho

you and Jason were the closet because of your age but you guys shared some of the same interest reading is the most common one. something you guys do a lot is trade books you will read his stuff and he’ll read your it’s like a little book club

now you and tim were very rough at first of course you were mourning jason’s death and tim comes along it was alot,for you but you loved him no matter what

Damian….when you guys met he thought you were like everyone else unimpressive and unimportant but you treated him the same way it only lasted for a week when he saw you in the garden drawing the scenery a way to relax but you guys relate to each other the most because your both not white it’s connects you guys more

Stephanie and you were close asf she was always in love with who you are and your confidence you guys would always have girl days with cass ofc she would do you make-up a lot she wants to experiment because the boys are all the same and Damian won’t let her (unless you ask him)

now you and cass when she came to the manor she didn’t talk much and your were just fine neither that you were her voice in situations and when she started to talk you were so proud of her you always helped her no matter what

NOW U AND DUKE WERE LOCKED INN you guys are the only African-american people in the house so y’all just did things that made sense to you guys like taking your shoes off in the house, WASHING the chicken before you season it but anyways whenever the family said some where people things y’all gave each other the “I know he didn’t just say/do that” the family doesn’t understand for example one time it was your birthday your 21st birthday you had 2 of the biggest and i mean biggest party possible the first one was for bruce’s friends and all the fake bitches that were only there for money and show themselves off

the second party was for your friends and siblings like the justice leagues kids and every true friend you’ve grown to love over the years after cleaning the party you guys would hear a noise from down the hall jason and his bright mine said let’s go check it out before the rest of the fam could find you two y’all had already bolted sure you were vigilantes but you were not doing no scary shit tonight

Alfred he loved you with all his heart dont tell the others but your his favorite he teaches you how to cook his food and you can do it perfect your the only one who hasn’t and ever will get a ban from the kitchen

Bruce and you weren’t always the nicest to each other but you love each other to death your just like him a workaholic and doesn’t take brakes unless there needs to be sometimes not even Alfred can pull you away but bruce comes and carry’s you like the little girl he wish you still were you TRY and i mean TRY to teach him how to cook it’s terrible tho

Selina was like your mother too you she thought you how to be strong like nothing else you guys went on a few heist together she always listens to you when no one else does she’s always there for you

One thing that the batfam will do for any and all is protect one another from racism,villains anything

you also got flirted with a lot by wally,roy, anything that could lay there eyes on you and they all hated it

#tiajk #batfam x batsis reader #batfam x reader #black coded reader #black reader

[assortedseaglass]

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕋𝕠 𝕄𝕖 - 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

Billy Washington x OFC

They had always been opposites, and sometimes Ida thought that the only thing they had in common was their childhood. Pulled in different directions, a series of events throughout one summer heatwave will change everything.

Warning: This series contains strong language, sex and depictions of racism and violence. Trigger Point (TV) Spoilers.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

#ewan mitchell #trigger point #billy washington #billy washington x oc

[as-amemory]

I Could Drive You Crazy

Pairing: Éomer x OFC (unnamed)

Summary: She drove him crazy, with her little mannerism specifically crafted to irritate him, to get a rise out of him, for it was then, in that sweet spot before he starts to boil, before his true ire took over, that they find themselves in the heated throws of passion.

Warnings: NSFW, explicit, racism against Dunlendings (if thats a thing? I don't know, I'm new here), unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: less than 2k.

Setting: Aldburg, Rohan - some years before the War of the Ring.

Notes: This is the result of me ovulating and having no outlet as well as a song-bug stuck in my ear: I Could Drive You Crazy by Sierra Ferrell. Basically its a song about being crazy and I thought that might make for an interesting character to pair Éomer with, since apparently I enjoy watching him suffer. I'm not yet ready to name this OFC. I kind of hate her but I want to play with her a few more times and see what mischief she can get up to first before I decide if she needs a permanent residence.

I'm probably going to the small section of hell they specifically reserve for the sickos who deface Tolkien's works with such vulgarity. Enjoy!

Hay Fever threatened to take him fully yet she barged through the door as if he hadn’t complained to her that morning of an oncoming headache. She loved to do that. Ignore his every word and then act surprised when he was upset with her for having to repeat himself. Rare did he share his feelings with others, rarer still that he was forced to repeat himself. Not as Third Marshal of the Mark, Lord of Aldburg. People listened when he spoke. She did not. 

“Feed your dogs, Éomer,” she says, voice full of spite. He hated when she called him by his name so casually. He never particularly cared for the triviality of titles. It matters not to him how he is referred to, as long as he first gave leave to call him by his given name, yet she takes the privilege without even bothering to ask permission.

She eyes the hound dogs sprawled at his feet with contempt. She did not like that he allows the dogs to reside inside the confines of his home. They belong in a kennel, outside. “They look as though they will devour me.” 

This was his home. It would do her well to get used to seeing them laying on the floor. He sits back in his seat appraising her, the judgment seeped deep in her dark eyes. She is of mixed ancestry, there is no doubt of that by looking at her. Carrying enough blood of the Dunlendings to mark her differently. A mark of his resentment towards her. Resentment that blossomed into hate, the sweet fuel to their more rousing escapades. 

“I should let them.” The threat comes out harsher than he intends, the start of a cold restricting any tenderness from escaping his throat. 

Tossing two halves of an uneaten pheasant on the ground the dogs swallow it whole in one bite. He had taken his supper in his room that evening, not in the mood to dally with the residents of Aldburg. Typically the seasonal Hay Fever did not affect him but the heavy spring rains had caused an influx of new weeds to run wild in the fields causing him to feel less than ideal. Currently a pain bloomed behind his eyes and at the base of his throat, leaving him in no state to make friendly conversation. Yet here she is, when he had specifically ordered the Doorward not to let anyone into his rooms. 

She could drive him to insanity with her blatant disrespect of him. He did not know why he kept her around. They had nothing in common and his list of grievances against her was long in number, dating back almost a year prior, growing longer still.

Showing up late to a personal invitation to go riding, acting as though they had never agreed to a time and certainly not a place of meeting. She had once offered to cook him supper to which he almost choked on the bones swimming in the stew. Had ruined a hunting trip, scaring away all the animals with her incessant humming. A tune which was stuck in his head for almost a fortnight. There was no fishing to be had with her, requiring more patience than whatever little she possessed. Yet time, and time again, him found himself tangled in sheets of his bed with her, or roughly pressed against the edge of his desk in the solar, partial to the idea of being caught, or in the hayloft above the stables, straining so deliciously tight around him as she rode - 

He teeth grind at the sight of her, fluttering about his room, touching this and that, moving it slightly away from its original spot as she talks about her day. 

“I found a lovely bolt of cloth that would make a fine dress.” She has picked up the crystal paperweight from his desk, peering at it as if she is speaking to the paperweight and not him. 

So it was money she wanted? He should have known better than to think she was checking on his well being. He lifts his chin, waiting for her to meet his eye. She would have to ask him directly if she desired any coin from him but she continues to pick up random items just to set them down again, completely ignoring him. 

“Come here.” His patience has grown thin. He will not ask her twice yet she looks at him as if he should be the one crawling on his knees to be near her. As if he should hand over his purse just to be allowed the honor of being in the same room as her. 

When he does not concede to her silent petition she nods her head in appreciation to his stubbornness. A sly smile curls on her lips as she approaches him, already lifting her dress to better seat herself on his lap. 

“I don’t know what I ever liked about you,” he says gruffly as she straddles him. Pushing aside her skirts he unties the laces of his trousers. He would have his due of her before this Hay Fever set in fully. 

She laughs mockingly at that. “You love me.” 

“I don’t think I do.” He nips at her lips and she smiles ruefully. Skirt pulled around her waist he is able to easily palm the wet folds of her labia. “You seem to like me,” he draws out, pushing the heel of his palm into her sensitive nub, eliciting a delicate gasp from between pink parted lips. He takes the opening to kiss her fully when she otherwise does not particularly enjoy the intimacy of a long drawn out kiss. She surprises him by matching the energy, eagerly molding her lips against his. Rutting down on his hand and along his ever hardening cock causes a gasp of his own to escape his mouth and into hers. His eyes closed briefly at the contact. They had last laid together only that morning. Was he so fallible to her that he could not even keep from gasping out like an inexperienced adolescent? 

She bites down on his lower lip. Hard, drawing blood. He hisses his resentment through clenched teeth, digging his fingers into her side. He hated when she did that. This she knows. She remembers that particular detail about him, yet could not remember the name of his first horse or his favorite fishing spot. More than anything she loved to know what he hated.

She is trying to get a rise out of him. Make his boil, just a little. The sex was always better for it. 

“Minx,” he growls against her mouth. Taking hold of his cock he spreads the juices of her pleasure along the length, lining himself up with her entrance. Greedily he flicks his hips up into her without warning. She laments her pleasure, loud for all to hear. The Doorward, no doubt, will not be expecting reprimand from him, not when he can so clearly hear the results of his mistake. 

Wiggling against him she tries vainly to adjust to the size difference but he holds her in place, fingers digging into her sides. He wishes that he wasn’t so incorrigible. That he wasn’t so tempted by her teasing. That he could withhold himself from acting out so rashly. Maybe like that of his older cousin, whose poise and sense of propriety had always come with ease. Yet he falls for her time and time again, fucking her exactly as she enjoys. As he enjoys. 

Letting his eyes linger on her undulating body he sets his jaw to keep from baring his teeth at the pressure of her rolling hips. If only she rode horses as good as she did him then she might be worth her weight in the saddle. Yet for all her withering she is shit astride a horse. It was that cursed Dunlending blood, tainting her ability to be anything but subpar.

A whimper escapes her lips, and he smiles cruelly, at least she suffers, same as him. She rides him slow, a painful pace that leaves him groaning. His only respite from her torture is his thumb circling her clit. She might know everything he hated but he knew exactly what her body loved. Specifically how to milk an orgasm out of her that would leave her seeing stars. It starts slow. Small circles to bring her to attention, and then an increase of pressure as blood engorges to the area. Her breathing hitches in her throat. Like the cat that caught the canary, he smiles at the sight of her. A harsh thrust of his hips, he fills her fully causing her pace to falter. The careful placement of his thumb halts, watching the confused look cross her features as her incoming orgasm slips out from under her. 

His name is a growl on her lips, a slight warning. “Éomer.” 

That he could take his name from her lips. 

She knows the game he plays, the same one she taught him all those years ago. His thumb picks up pace with her rolling hips. He cradles her neck with his free hand. Skin hot, beneath his touch. A sheen of sweat is building along her hairline. He traces the curve of her collarbone and down her chest, across to her nipples, hard beneath her bodice. She is almost as sensitive here as she is between her legs, her hands clench around his shirt trying to hide her rising ecstasy. His nostrils flare, eyes trapped on the expanse of her face, carefully watching for each small indication of her pleasure. 

Turning her head she tries to hide from him but he quickly has her jaw clasped between his fingers. He would see her. Shaking her head she waves off his touch, attempting to cover her eyes behind her hand, like a child hiding in plain sight. He clicks his tongue, taking her hand in his and after some struggling binds them both in his clasp behind her back.  

“Go on then.” He flicks his chin in her direction. Her pace has all but stopped, hesitantly she finds it again, knowing full well that he now possesses all the power. The power to dish out pleasure as he saw fit.  

Yet her rolling hips are more powerful, more exaggerated than before, causing him to grimace, lest he call out her name. She would love that, revel in his undoing. He steels himself with a deep breath through his nose. A ragged breath from her lets him know she is close again. He slows his thumb, wondering if she’ll cry out, plead with him to give her what she wants. 

“Éomer.” His name, like a prayer on her lips, is soft and sweet, and he knows he no longer possesses the control he once touted. 

Letting free her hands, he pulls her in close until her head rests against his. He can feel the warmth of her breath as he takes his pace, thrusting into her. She has brushed away his teasing thumb, replacing it with her own skilled fingers. A shuddering breath and she tightens further around the length of him. She cries out loud enough that he is certain they hear her in the Great Hall. He is still thrusting into her as she convulses hot and heady around him but he soon follows suit, letting his release run him fully with a loud groan of his own. 

Panting, she rests her head against his chest, forehead sticky with sweat it clings to the thin fabric of his shirt. She does not cuddle. She never has lingered in his arms as they slowly drift down from their high. She slips off his lap and he shutters at the sudden loss of contact, hands gripping the armrests of the chair. 

By the time he has regained his senses enough to stand she has relieved herself and wiped clean his seed dripping down her thighs. Maybe a good romp was the cure to any oncoming ailment. He drowns the last of his ale, eyeing her as she smiles prettily for him under dark thick lashes. So demure and pliant, when only moments earlier he was ready to have her thrown from his room for her uncouth behavior.

“You spoil me, my lord,” she says coyly. He bites back a scoff. 

Her gaze is taken with the leather purse heavy on the corner of his desk. A slight nod of his head and she promptly reaches across the expanse, showing off the long lines of her body, and that of the soft curves she knows he loves to grab hold of during their coupling. Deftly, her fingers dip inside the pouch, taking out three coins. 

“This should cover the cost.” Her gaze darts to him, searching for any subtle hint of permission that she could take more but he is hard set against giving her indication. Already she pushes the bounds of his generosity. 

“And one more,” she purrs softly, plucking a fourth coin out. “As insurance to return to you.” 

He rolls his eyes, knowing well she will only return when she pleases not because she feels indebted to him. Offering a low curtsey, she mumbles her thanks, letting his gaze linger on her, on the low cut of her dress. Her bosom all but swells out of the strains of her bodice. When did such a salacious style come into fashion? Surely his sister did not expose herself so scantily in Edoras? He bites his lip, thoughts of his sister quickly pushed from his mind replaced instead by the women so humbly lowered before him. Already he feels a slight twitch of his groin. 

She rises, satisfied with her display of deference. A Haunting smile on her lips, she glances at the hound dogs splayed out on the rug. 

“Feed your dogs, Éomer,” she instructs as a final goodbye. Out the door he is certain she can hear his mocking laughter following her.  

#I probably got his voice entirely wrong #but I had fun writing this #eomer fanfiction #Eomer x OC #Eomer x OFC #Eomer smut #lotr fanfic #lotr smut

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter Two: Bright in the Sea

(moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter Summary: Lydia continues to settle in at Barrow College, developing a closer friendship with Ben as well as other colleagues. Not everything is smooth sailing, however, and things come to a head at a staff team-building away day at a New England beach.

Word Count: 6.5k (??)

Rating: Mature; will become Explicit in later chapters.

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (she is 41 and Ben 47 when the story begins); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; strong language; thinly-veiled racism and discrimination; accent discrimination; "anti-woke" culture war nonsense from academics; not all historians, etc; alcohol consumption; discussion of anxiety and panic disorders as well as coping methods.

A/N: This chapter is part world-building, part "dealing with academic assholes", part meet more characters - all woven through the growing friendship between Lydia and Ben. I guess this is mostly fluff but kinda angsty at times? I did warn you it was a slow burn...

Much of this chapter is set around academic administrative and 'team-building' activities. Trust me when I say that these are the norm if you work in a contemporary university or college (and that I'm jealous of the Barrow people having a cute beach house for these events).

Also trust me when I say that the views and attitudes of K. Wright Lacroix are scarily common in academia on both sides of the Atlantic, and kicking against this is vital.

The title of this chapter is taken from the lyrics to Laura Veirs' song 'Cast a Hook in Me'.

I also listened to Lisa Hannigan's Sea Sew album while writing the last scene, and 'Sea Song' from that record feels very fitting for these two.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Further, short A/N right at the end to avoid any spoilers.

Taglist: @cutesyscreenname; @lunapascal; @fuckyeahdindjarin; @julesonrecord; @tieronecrush; @perennialdoll247; @vermillionwinter ; @iamskyereads ; @love-the-abyss; @tessa-quayle; @javierisms; @imaswellkid

The universal language of twenty-first century academia is, it seems, all-faculty meetings in airless lecture theatres, fuelled by terrible coffee and slightly stale cookies. 

For you, though, attending your first proper meeting of the year at Barrow was a novelty, and the mid-September residual sunshine and warm temperatures (by your standards) meant that your new colleagues were in an upbeat mood. 

Well, more or less.

“Are you ready for your first mandatory death by a thousand statistics? Fuuuuuck me, I hate this shit.”

Ani Sen stands at your office door, hip cocked, dark curls piled on top of their head to show off their freshly trimmed, back to school undercut, and impossibly funky, bright green glasses dangling from one hand. 

“It can’t be as bad as an all-staff briefing I once had,” you suggest, scooping up your notebook, pen, and iPad and popping them into a tote bag. “Twenty minutes with the head of department and every slide had an animated graph, pie chart, or word art on it. I felt nauseous.”

Ani grimaces. “Okay, that does sound fucking awful. But where we lack in pointless animations, we make up for in tedium. And dick-swinging.”

The first time you met Ani, a fellow art historian and specialist in contemporary art, you’d been in awe of how cool they were. Mid-40s, smart, stylish, and highly accomplished, Ani’s coolness was positively glacial. They were also sweet, kind, and incredibly funny, their brand of sardonic (and sweary) humour chiming perfectly with your own. 

Ani’s best friend in the faculty was Evan Rhys, a colleague of Ben’s in the literature department. Where Ani was dry and sardonic, Evan was bright and effervescent. He was about 40, tall and rangy, piercings dangling from one ear, and a perpetual spark of colour in the faculty corridors. When you first met him, Evan was sporting a shock of bright orange hair and a lurid green slash-necked jersey shirt, paired with white jeans and a pair of Converse exactly the same colour as his hair. 

He was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a huge student favourite. Rather more surprisingly, for a college professor entering middle age, he also had an Instagram following in the tens of thousands. (Ani was completely at a loss as to why he was so popular. “It’s just photos of him in those fucking outfits!”, they whined. “Maybe it’s because he matches them to his hair.”)

Between them, Ani and Evan had wasted no time in ensuring that you were invited for lunches, coffees, and introductions to the colleagues they thought you’d like to meet. Or, as Ani put it, “I’m gonna make sure you meet the non-fuckwits first.” 

There was no shortage of fuckwits, apparently. Ani had drawn up a masterlist - “in case I’ve forgotten someone is, or has been known to be, a dick.” You had scanned it casually, feeling an unexpected surge of relief when you note that Ben Morales’ name is absent. 

You knew deep down that he wasn’t a fuckwit, though lord knows what he thought of you. But you had had one day to get the measure of the man - Ani had been working here, alongside him, for several years. 

“I met Ben Morales on my first day,” you mentioned, trying to sound casual. “He was tasked with doing the welcome for me. Seemed really nice, actually.”

Ani closed their eyes and makes a sort of “awwwwwh!” noise, as if they’d just seen a red panda or a sea otter or some other furry creature of equivalent cuteness. 

“Oh, definitely not a fuckwit. Me and Evan have coffee with him or sometimes go out with a bigger group to Murphy’s - that’s the one bar that even students usually steer clear of. Ben’s the anti-fuckwit, actually, in every sense. Just an all-round good guy.” They raised an eyebrow. “Total fucking dork, though.”

Total dork or not, Ben had continued to take his welcome duties seriously. A couple of days after your welcome meeting, he’d met you in the staff lounge yawning at the filter coffee machine while it brewed up a fresh pot. 

“Are we running you ragged already?”

You turned, smiling when you realised who it was. “I swear to god, I get the worst slumps around 4pm. Trying to get ahead of this one.”

He nodded sympathetically and brandished his blue mug. “Why do you think I’m here?” 

The next day, around the same time, you were about to get up from your desk in search of coffee when you noticed a familiar silhouette in the glass panel of your office door: Ben, bearing two cups of coffee (one black, one with creamer). 

“I hope you don’t mind? I was getting some for myself and remembered what you said about your 4pm slump, so…”

You beckoned him into the office and to a spare seat, gladly accepting the cup and placing it on your desk. “I’m so grateful. Coffee to your door? Come on, that’s the dream.” You rummaged in your tote bag, producing a small box of cookies and shaking them in his direction. “Unfortunately these are all I can offer by way of a thank you.”

It had only been a couple of weeks since you started at Barrow, but in that time the coffee call had developed into a bit of a habit on days where you were both around in the afternoons. He’d claimed that the companionable chatting that accompanied the coffee was just to see how you were getting on and make sure you had everything you needed, but you suspected that he really just liked having someone to talk about books or movies and swap silly stories with.

And you like it, too, especially when you manage to make him laugh so hard he has to take his glasses off to wipe his eyes. You’d bonded with some of your closest work friends (of all genders) at home in a similar way. It felt easy and natural with Ben from the start, and - with Ani and Evan - you were glad to have found such welcoming people so soon.

There was no sign of him at the all-staff event, though. You slip into a row of fold-down seats alongside Ani and Evan, who’s nursing the biggest iced coffee you’ve ever seen. 

“Have you prepared her?” he asks Ani, who’s retrieving a pen and notebook from their bag. 

“I have. From what she’s said, this is a universal experience. She’ll be fine. Right Lydia?” 

He swigs some coffee, ice cubes clattering inside the enormous plastic goblet. “Not every college has a Professor Lacroix, though”, he muses, ominously. 

You are about to ask who Professor Lacroix is when you feel a brush of fabric on your right arm and detect a familiar scent: clean soap, paper, bergamot, slightly spicy cologne, and with the addition, now, of coffee.

“Okay if I sit here?” Ben is gesturing to the empty seat beside you, at the end of the row. He’s a little more formally dressed than usual: black jeans, checked shirt, and a dark red tie. Somehow he’s managing to carry a cup of coffee, his glasses, and a folder all at once, and an old conference tote bag is slung over his shoulder. 

“Of course!” you nod, moving your things over to clear space. He sits down and puts on his glasses before turning to you with a smile.

“Benjamin,” Evan says, nodding and raising his enormous iced coffee in Ben’s direction. Ben reciprocates the gesture, nodding with exaggerated ceremony. Evan’s gaze shifts to focus on Ben’s tie.

“Um. Benjamin. Are those…giraffes?”

You turn to look a little closer. Sure enough, Ben’s tie features a pattern of tiny giraffes, woven into the silk fabric. He looks down and lifts up the tie.

“My brother’s kids got it for me at the San Diego Zoo,” he explains. “I promised them I’d wear it for the first talk I had to give this year.” 

Evan remains sceptical, sipping on his coffee as if the tie has personally offended him. You are about to tell Ben about your eldest niece’s love of giraffes when Professor Jennifer (Jen to most, Jenny to very few) Arden walks up to the end of your row. 

Jen is head of the literature department at Barrow and a formidable figure in the world of gender studies, with a publication record as long as her arm. She is petite and fine-boned, her dark bob neatly slicked down, and she always looks perfect: beautifully tailored palazzo pants, gorgeous silk blouses, and a collection of statement necklaces that you covet greatly. She’s incredibly smart, deeply charismatic and very no nonsense, but has been extremely kind and welcoming thus far, embodying the perfect blend of “do no harm, take no shit” that a role like hers requires. 

She’s also close to Ben, having joined the department around the same time. One day over lunch, Ani had mentioned to you that there’d even been a student rumour about them being secretly married. “Someone in one of my classes once claimed - no, swore blind - to have met them grocery shopping in town with their kids. Their KIDS!!” Ani laughed so hard the tears ran down their face. “Her wife is a goddamn paediatric surgeon for crying out loud, and a gorgeous one at that! I mean, no offence to Ben but if they saw Rachel they’d realise how wrong they were, because she’s incredible.” 

Jen checks in ahead of the staff briefing, making sure you’re okay with being introduced to the entire faculty (do you really have a choice?) and confirming that Ben’s ready for his presentation. 

“It’s going to be great, promise. It’s vital work.” She pats Ben’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance.

Ben looks up at her, his expression uncertain. “And if there’s a backlash…?”

Jen raises an eyebrow. “Then we deal with it. Don’t let the bastards grind us down.”

When she's returned to the central podium you ask Ben about the presentation, wondering why he’s preparing for a negative reaction. This sort of trepidation was normally only seen when someone was about to announce a faculty restructure or cuts. 

“It’s the next stage in the diversity and inclusivity initiative we’ve been working on,” he explains, opening his folder to retrieve some of the documents. “It’s a team effort - I’m just the person who reports back on the committee’s plans. Unfortunately, some colleagues aren’t quite so keen and -“

He’s interrupted by the loud voice of Professor Andrew Whitney, faculty dean, calling for attention as the meeting gets under way. “I’ll explain later,” Ben whispers, dark eyes serious behind his glasses, “but…well. You’ll see.”

Professor Whitney introduces you about halfway through the meeting. “…who will be with us for the entire academic year, working in Art History. Lydia?” He scans the lecture theatre. “Perhaps you could introduce yourself more fully, tell us about your expertise and plans for the year?”

Panic rises in your chest. Public speaking is literally part of your job, but something about the rows of expectant faces makes you want to sprint up the steps of the hall and run.

A gentle nudge from your right. “I think that’s your cue. You got this, don’t worry.” 

You nod appreciatively at Ben as you get to your feet, introducing yourself and explaining your research interests. “So, uh, yeah. I’m really excited to be here, and thank you all for being so welcoming so far.”

You sit back down as quickly as possible, heat rising in your face. Jen stands up at the podium and leans into the main microphone. “A reminder too that, as is traditional, Lydia has two elective modules open to students on any major/minor combo in the faculty, so please do encourage your students to sign up! Lydia, would you like to tell us what these are?”

You stand up again. “Um, semester one is a course on unpacking the gaze in visual culture, focusing on the female gaze and queering the gaze; semester two is focused on readings in radical theory and applying this to visual culture studies. All welcome! No prior knowledge required!”

Jen grins at you from the podium and lightly applauds. You suddenly become conscious of a theatrically loud tut-tutting coming from the other side of the lecture theatre, where a pale man with sandy-coloured hair and dressed in a navy blazer, chinos, striped shirt and bow tie is staring directly and disapprovingly at you. 

Evan leans over. “That’s Professor Lacroix. I think you’re his worst nightmare. Apart from Ani. And me. And probably Ben, after this.” He gestures towards the podium.

Ben is standing at the rostrum, loading up his PowerPoint presentation. He seems a little nervous, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and occasionally fiddling with his tie. 

When he glances around the hall and meets your eye, you can’t help but give him a little thumbs up, mouthing “you got this!” in a reciprocal act of reassurance. He half-smiles, and starts the presentation. 

He’s a natural: convincing and engaging, every detail meticulously prepared and evidenced. The project, it transpires, focuses on making Barrow - historically associated with providing a liberal arts education for the “elite” (translation: rich white people) - more inclusive and diverse through a range of admission schemes, scholarships and grants, and ongoing support. 

You can see why Ben is the committee’s spokesperson. His passion for the project is plain to see as he outlines the supports being introduced - monitoring progress for students who’ve entered through the new schemes, offering extra, free support services and guidance to help them throughout their degrees, and so on. 

“A liberal arts education is for everyone,” he says, “A college like Barrow is for everyone. We’ve started to make this a reality, and this year - with your help - we’ll ensure every student gets the support they need.” 

Applause ripples through the theatre - except from the po-faced Professor Lacroix, who exhales, rolls his eyes, and does the most half-hearted attempt at clapping imaginable. 

Ani leans in to you as Ben walks back up to his seat. “Lacroix is Fuckwit Numero Uno. King Fuckwit. The Fuckwit Tzar.”

Sure enough, when you look back over in his direction you notice that Lacroix has his hand up. Andrew Whitney calls on him to ask his question, and you swear you can hear everyone around you doing a sharp intake of breath. 

“Professor Whitney,” Lacroix drawls in a bizarre mid-Atlantic accent, “I suspect you know what I am about to ask. But I must once again express my concerns about the direction of travel in this faculty.” To your horror, you notice a handful of his colleagues in history nodding appreciatively. 

“Fuuuuuuck offffffffff”, Ani mutters under their breath. You steal a glance at Ben, whose usually open and friendly face has fallen into a scowl, jaw ticking as if he’s biting his tongue for fear of what he might say. 

Lacroix turns in your direction, and gestures to himself. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m K. Wright Lacroix, Professor of American History.”

“The K stands for Kevin,” Ben whispers in your ear. “Or Kunt”, Evan adds, draining his iced coffee and forcing Ani to suppress a giggle. 

Lacroix isn’t that old. Hell, he might be younger than you, but he’s got that countenance of someone who came out of the womb clutching a copy of the National Review. He continues speaking, now addressing the entire hall. 

“Over the last couple of years this college has drifted in a dangerous direction,” he pronounces, as if addressing a rally. “We have had the incursion of critical race theory, gender ideology, and now we have our visiting professor offering radical theory to our students. Meanwhile, traditional subjects and approaches - the bedrock of the liberal arts education! - are forgotten.”

You want the ground to open up and swallow you. This isn’t the first time you’ve had this shit thrown at you. It won’t be the last. But the tacit acquiescence to this guy’s bullshit is mortifying. 

Ben is clutching a pen in his right hand, long fingers gripping it like he’s afraid to let go. 

“And of course, we have just heard the latest from Professor Morales and his comrades - pardon me, committee - in their efforts to kill off the grand Barrow tradition of high standards and academic excellence. And I ask once again - where will it end? Who will we ‘cancel’ this year?”

There’s something about the way he pronounces Ben’s surname - technically correct, if one was speaking Spanish, but with an extremely exaggerated accent intended to reiterate its “foreignness” - that makes you feel sick. Coupled with his use of “comrades”, the implication is clear. You’re appalled and surprised. This sort of thing would result in immediate action if it happened in your institution. Wouldn’t it?

The seats in the lecture theatre are close together, and as a result you can actually feel Ben’s entire body tense up. Ani is throwing their hands up in exasperation. 

“Can we move on? This isn’t adding anything to the meeting, for crying out loud!”

Professor Whitney waves his hand in a call for calm. Jen Arden is rolling her eyes and shooting daggers at K. Wright Lacroix. 

“Thank you, Professor Lacroix. As ever, your comments will be noted.” Professor Whitney looks at his watch. “I think that’s us done. A reminder: the annual away day is on Saturday, at the Barrow beach house! A wonderful opportunity for some team building and lobster rolls, as always!”

In your experience, an “away day” literally meant going to another room on campus to eat terrible buffet food while doing team exercises and focus groups. There was no “away” involved. It comes as a surprise, then, when the reaction to Professor Whitney’s announcement from the room is decidedly muted. 

“Why does no one seem to like a beach away day?” you ask Ani as you pack up your things. 

“Because they expect us to attend at weekends, because the actual beach time involves stupid shit like scavenger hunts or building a raft, because Andrew fucking Whitney thinks that’s how you build collegiality and interdisciplinary working,” they hiss. “Plus, it’s cheap - the college owns the property so they don’t have to pay venue hire.”

You turn to ask Ben if it’s really as bad as all that, but he’s already gone.

You swing by the college canteen, in search of some sustenance to bring back to the desk. Evan is still fuming from the briefing. 

“Fucking historians I swear to fuck!” he hisses, assessing the selection of sandwiches on offer. 

“I mean, they’re not all like that guy,” you offer, trying to defuse the tension. You’re still smarting, too - not so much from the stuff Lacroix had directed at you, as the casual racism and classism in his comments about the diversity initiatives. About Ben. 

Evan exhales and reaches for a hummus and roasted vegetable wrap. “I know. Some of my best friends are historians, as they say. It’s just Lacroix. He gives them a bad name. And he’s always had it in for anyone who isn’t a cishet WASPy fucker.”

“Why doesn’t anyone do anything? I mean, he’s clearly guilty of implicit discrimination, at a minimum.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “First, he’s a bit of a nepo baby. Family of academics. Well connected, especially to the head of the college. Well off. So the college leadership doesn't really bother pursuing it when the issues are raised.” 

He fills a paper cup of filter coffee for himself. “Secondly, the Barrow way is that colleagues - as in, permanent employees of the college - aren’t allowed to directly confront colleagues unless it’s specific to a class. There’s a process involving filling out forms. Supposed to stop confrontation and tensions, apparently.”

“What the fuck??”

“I know. It’s toxic.”

You fill a coffee cup for yourself, add creamer, then pour another. Black, this time. You pick up two donuts: one glazed, one powdered sugar. You walk with Evan as far as his office and then continue along the corridor. 

You can see him through the glass panel in his office door, sitting at his desk. He appears to be reading something on his computer screen while absentmindedly playing with a little bobblehead figurine on his desk, lightly tapping its head so it wobbles back and forth. 

You knock gently, holding up the coffee expectantly when Ben looks up. He nods, beckoning you in. 

“This is very kind. Thank you.” He looks deflated. He takes off his glasses, pinches the bridge of his nose, and exhales. 

“I’ll leave you be. I just thought you might appreciate the coffee -”

Ben shakes his head, gesturing for you to sit down. “No, no. Just a bit of a headache. I probably need caffeine. Stay. Please stay?” 

You sit down in the chair facing his desk, opening the bag of donuts. “Glazed or powdered sugar?” 

His eyes widen and his mouth forms a little “o” shape. “Ooh. I think I’ll go with powdered sugar.” He smiles as you hand him the donut on a serviette. 

Ben’s office is, well, very him, inasmuch as you know what “him” is after a couple of weeks : a substantial desk with an anglepoise lamp stands in front of the tall windows, covered in piles of papers and books; a mid-century armchair sits in one corner with a low table beside it and a floor lamp behind, also stacked with books; and there’s a whole wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all heaving with texts of various shapes and sizes (and in several languages, you’d noticed). Family photos and framed prints are dotted here and there, and you’ve been meaning to ask him about some of the trinkets that you can see on some of the shelves.

“I was really impressed by what you said today about the diversity and inclusion initiative, you know,” you say, sipping your coffee. “It’s such important work, and the plans are great. Like Jen said, it’s vital.”

He shrugs and chews thoughtfully on his donut, powdered sugar lightly dusting his moustache. “You saw what I meant about some colleagues not being keen.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I know I've only been here a few weeks, and it may not be my place to say it, but… that guy’s just one asshole. One asshole on the wrong side of history, ironically for a historian. And he shouldn’t be allowed to treat colleagues like that. Especially not the way he…well, how he referred to you.”

Ben sighs, resigned. “It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last. It’s not that simple here, unfortunately. There’s a rule -”

“Evan mentioned it to me. And - again, might be speaking out of turn - in this case it’s fucking stupid. Anyway, more importantly - the scheme sounds fantastic, and I’d be glad to talk over some of the equivalent stuff we do at my place sometime. Maybe share some best practice and swap ideas?” 

Ben tilts his head and smiles. “I’d like that.”

You scrunch up the paper bag. “Before I go, I’ve got two questions.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“One. Is the beach away day really that bad, and what’s the dress code? Because I’m not sure I want to do bathing suit chic in front of the entire faculty.”

He huffs a laugh. “It’s not that bad. Just be prepared to help academics who’ve never as much as changed a lightbulb complete a scavenger hunt or assemble a raft from a selection of junk. And shorts are about as far as anyone goes. Thankfully.” 

You feign wiping sweat from your brow. “Phew. Okay, question two. Can I see who that bobble head is?”

He turns the figurine around. “It’s our old pal Indy. I know you’ve probably never seen a professor with a bobble head in their office before. Please don’t judge me.”

“Judge you?!” Your grin is wide and genuine. “Just wait until you see my historical figures Playmobil collection. I love this! He’s got a PhD and everything. Didn’t you say he’d given you a misleading expectation of what it would be like to be an academic, though?”

He smiles at the figure, sending Indy’s head bobbing in its Panama hat. “I did. Not so much the fighting Nazis thing. More so that he never had to do any admin. And that he could climb out of his office to escape students.”

“That said… some might argue that you’re fighting oppressive and would-be dictatorial individuals, just at work rather than in the field? Wait - I didn’t say that. You never heard anything.” You mime locking your mouth and throwing away the key. 

Ben gasps before collapsing in a fit of laughter. “Holy shit, Lydia, you’re the only one who could get away with that.” He rests his hands on the desk and tries to recover his composure. “Fuck. I really needed a laugh.”

You nod your head as you open the door to leave. “At your service.”

“Has everyone found their teams and their colour-coded sticker?”

Andrew Whitney is trying to corral an entire faculty’s worth of humanities academics into five teams for his grand team-building exercise - as Ani predicted, this year it involves building a raft. To promote interdisciplinary communication (per Professor Whitney’s introductory talk, delivered that morning), the teams are mixed, with people from various departments working together. To your relief, K. Wright Lacroix is on a different team, one primarily made up of other historians. Ben is on a team with Evan, and you and Ani are working together with a mixed group of musicologists and literature colleagues. 

Though most of your colleagues remain cynical - Evan, for example, is wearing huge sunglasses, an enormous black hoodie emblazoned with the word NOPE, and a brightly-patterned pair of board shorts - you’re enjoying the relatively warm mid-September weather, stiff ocean breeze notwithstanding, and appreciating the novelty of seeing the New England coastline. Not having banked on a professional visit to the beach so soon, you’ve rustled up your most beach-appropriate and practical attire from your limited wardrobe: a pair of dark green cropped linen culottes and a long-sleeved Breton striped top, with a trusty pair of vintage-style leather sandals. 

Ani stamps their Teva-clad feet on the sand and pulls up the hood on their tie-dye oversized sweatshirt, wrapping their arms around themselves to warm up. “You know the drill, right? We just have to make something that’s going to stay afloat for like, a minute.” 

You nod. “And we can use the pile of beach trash in the middle as our source for components, and the aim is to work together to decide on a design and execute it. Is there a prize?”

Ani looks at you with a pitying glare. “Two guesses, girl. I’m motivated by spite. I just wanna beat the shit out of fucking Master and Commander over there.” They flick their head towards Lacroix and the historians, who seem to be assessing wind speed and direction by holding up fingers and tossing paper handkerchiefs into the air.

The building process is less an example of teamwork and more a sociological case study in group project dynamics, where one or two people take the lead and do most of the work while the rest kick back. Ani’s desperation to triumph over Kevin Lacroix and his crew has them going hell for leather in designing a simple but lightweight structure, dispatching you to gather plastic bottles and twine for the other team members to bind together. 

You wander over to see how Evan and Ben are getting on. Evan is literally motionless, sitting in a lotus position on the sand with his hood up and shades on. Ben, clad in a pair of dark red shorts, a navy zip-up hoodie, and a grey, well-worn Wilco Yankee Hotel Foxtrot T-shirt, is constructing a mast and sail of some sort from a long twig and an empty plastic bag. The ocean breeze has left his hair a tousled mess and he appears to be squinting against the glare despite wearing his sunglasses, but he looks like he’s in his element. 

He notices you and waves, and you move a little closer. Your culottes flap against your legs in the wind, and you have to rest a hand on your brow to shield the sun enough to see him properly.

“I think you’re enjoying this, Professor Morales.”

Ben stands up, leaning forward to brush the sand from his knees and thighs. The gesture draws your attention, unconsciously, to the strong, lean muscles of his legs. 

Your brain immediately remembers, unbidden, that he cycles to work. 

He shrugs but his smile says it all. “Transferable skills!” he admits. “Building Lego taught me everything I know.”

A roar from Ani jolts you. “Lydia get your ass over here we have like ten minutes I swear to fuck!”

“They want to beat Lacroix,” you explain. Ben lowers his sunglasses and looks at you conspiratorially. 

“Who doesn’t?”

And then he winks at you.

Ani is a pretty good raft-builder when they’re out for blood. Your team's haphazard construction bobs around in the surf while its captain whoops and cheers it on from the shore. The musicologists have long absconded to the beach house, hoping to steal an early march on the lobster rolls, so it’s just you, Ani, and a couple of the literature people left to witness the triumph of the SS Fork This Shirt.

“I thought you hated this stuff?” you ask Ani while they jump up and down in the sand. 

“I love it when I’m winning and Fuckwit Tzar over there is not.” They gesture to where Lacroix is hastily trying to fix the mast on the overly elaborate ship his team had constructed out of an old plastic barrel. “Hey, historians!" Ani roars. "Oceans are battlefieeeeeeelds!” 

Lacroix’s raft is the only one not to successfully set sail, which makes Ani even happier. Evan embraces them in a hug as you all stroll up to the beach house for the long-awaited lobster rolls.

The beach house, which was left to the college by a former professor, is an early twentieth-century building with shiplap cladding painted a pale blue with white accents, accessed from the beach via a white wooden staircase. Two white Adirondack chairs sit in a small garden facing the ocean, perfectly placed to admire the view.

You fall into step with Jen Arden and Ben as you join the rest of your colleagues inside. You’re all ready to dive in for a lobster roll when Andrew Whitney puts himself between you and the food. Never a wise move, but this is technically the boss, after all. 

“So tell me, Lydia, are you settling in okay? What made you want to come to us for the year?” 

You have your responses down pat. Professor Whitney seems impressed enough, moving on to ask about your plans for your elective classes. 

You’re in the middle of explaining the concept of “queering the gaze” when a familiar but unwelcome face appears alongside the faculty dean. K. Wright Lacroix sips his white wine as he tries to insert himself into the conversation, and you feel deeply uncomfortable. 

The next time there’s a natural lull, he pounces.

“I’m not here to critique your ideology this time, my dear. I am here to offer some friendly, constructive advice. Your accent, it's…difficult to follow. Impenetrable, at times. You speak very quickly, you know, and not all of us are used to having colleagues or tutors with an accent.” 

You silently try to draw on some of the grounding techniques you’d learned for anxiety, willing yourself to stay calm. 

“Technically, everyone’s got an accent,” you say quietly. 

He understood that, alright. “Be that as it may - think about your new surroundings.” He speaks to you as if you are from another planet. “Speak more slooooowly. Enunciate. Yes?”

Your eyes are starting to prickle with tears but fury is rising in your chest. Fuckwit Numero Uno, indeed. 

“There’s nothing wrong with how Lydia speaks, Kevin.” Ben, behind you, has overheard the last part of the conversation. “No one else has trouble understanding. Do you, Andrew?”

Professor Whitney is flustered, eyes darting between the three of you. “I…do not.”

Kevin Lacroix looks like he’s sucking a lemon. “Another bit of friendly advice, Lydia.” He flicks a glance at Ben before returning to stare at you. “Choose your friends here carefully. Though, admittedly, it looks like Morales here has already won you over.”

That fucking exaggerated pronunciation, again. 

The red mist descends. 

“Oh, okay. Enough. There you go again. I know your colleagues can’t say this - but I can. I’m not a permanent colleague, am I?” You’re trying not to raise your voice, but it’s taking every ounce of self-control you have not to let this creep have it. 

Lacroix looks startled, clearly unused to someone letting rip. 

“I don’t know exactly what your problem is, but I can take a pretty good guess. And if this is the stuff you throw out in public about someone like Ben - I mean, about Professor Morales - then I can only imagine what you say in private about your colleagues. And it’s disgraceful. No wonder you can’t abide the work being done to make this a more diverse and inclusive institution.”

You do not notice that the hum of conversation in the rest of the room has died down, as your colleagues turn their ears and eyes towards you.

“I genuinely don’t care if you think I speak quickly or not, but I do care that I’m about to spend a year in a working environment where someone can undermine their colleagues on the basis of their ethnicity or identity or gender or their first language or even just what they teach. That is not the image this college should want going out into the world.” You glance over at Andrew Whitney, who shifts uncomfortably.

“I don’t need your advice on how I speak, Professor Lacroix, and I certainly don’t need your advice on choosing friends. I think I’ve done pretty well so far on that front, you know?” 

It’s only when you turn to meet Ben’s gaze that you realise everyone has been watching and listening to you tearing strips off K. Wright Lacroix. There’s a note of concern in Ben’s eyes, and when you look for Ani you see them mouth the words “Fuck, Lyd”.

You fucked up. This isn’t how they do things. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Fuck.

“Um, Professor Whitney? I will follow the official complaints procedure, just to keep everything above board, and…yeah. Excuse me.”

You walk as quickly as you can out of the house, settling on one of the wooden chairs out front as you try to quell the panic starting to grip your whole body.

Deep breaths, and the sound of the sea. Eyes closed, you concentrate on your breathing and on the waves lapping at the shore.

“Hey.”

Ben is standing beside you, a plate with a lobster roll in one hand and a glass of what looks like lemonade in the other. “I don’t think you managed to get a lobster roll in there, did you?”

You shake your head, and he hands you the food and drink, tilting his head as if he’s trying to read your mood. 

“I wouldn’t mind some company, if you’d like?” You gesture to the other chair, placed just to the right of yours. He does that little half-smile of his and sits down, looking out to sea as you tuck into your food.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck me!” 

Ben turns, startled. You swallow the bite of your lobster roll.

“M’sorry. It’s just so good. I didn’t realise how hungry I was. Or hangry, maybe.”

“You didn’t have to say that, you know? Inside.” He looks back out towards the Atlantic, brow slightly furrowed.

“I’m really sorry, Ben. I just…me and my big mouth. I am so sorry if I’ve caused trouble for you, and - fuck. Not even been here a month and I’m a troublemaker. Typical.” 

“You’re not a troublemaker, Lydia. I meant that you didn’t have to feel it was on you to take Lacroix to task like that.” He turns slightly towards you and a smile creeps over his face. “But I’m kind of glad you did. Dropping that ‘international reputation’ thing with Andrew Whitney there? Fuck, Lyd. It was…pretty badass.”

“I just hate that fucking gatekeeping shit from people like…him. It’s hard enough making it in this job without connections and family prestige or whatever he’s got.” You shrug. “And anyway, you stuck up for me and my accent, too.”

He hums thoughtfully as he watches the surf breaking on the sand. “It’s what friends do, isn’t it?” 

You study his profile for a moment. The art historian in you is somewhat tickled by its near-classical proportions, noting the strong curve of his aquiline nose. You’d never noticed the little heart-shaped patch of bare skin in his beard before, either.

“It’s really beautiful here, isn’t it?” you say quietly, turning your gaze back to the water. “Maybe they’ll let me just move out here for the duration of the visiting role, keep me in lobster rolls all year.”

He chuckles. “It is beautiful. It’s nice to have the ocean relatively close. And hey, if you do stay here and need help eating the lobster rolls, well…”

A crunch on the gravel of the front yard interrupts the conversation. Ani has come to find the two of you. 

“They’re loading us back on the buses to campus now, dudes. You okay, Lyd?” 

You pop the last of the lobster roll into your mouth and give them a thumbs up. 

“More than okay. Apparently, I’m a badass now.”

This time, you wink at him.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

Further A/N: Kevin Lacroix's comments to Lydia about how she speaks and her 'having an accent' are, believe it or not, based on actual stuff that was said to me by a colleague at a conference in the US.

Reminder: everyone has an accent.

Thanks, as ever, to the Visiting headcanons and sounding board: @cutesyscreenname, @julesonrecord, @lunapascal, @imaswellkid

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #professor ben x OFC #mr ben #pedro pascal character fanfic #mr ben x ofc #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #Spotify

[thelunaticghost]

xvn fic recs !!

i have been meaning to do this for a while : mostly because fic recs are fun to compile and also thee seems to be a BIG shortage of any fic rec posts!! so here are some fics i have enjoyed over the years!! ofc this list is non exhaustive please note the ratings of each fic and heed the tags before reading! sorry, that i am putting in the shorter summary

anyway!! feel free to put in more fic recs too!! :D

End OTW Racism | over the edge of all our knowings by merthurlin [ G, 10,146 words , 1/1 ]

Years down the line, after the whole business with Lumine and her brother has been concluded, Venti decides to go on a world tour. He sends Xiao letters.

merthurlin got me into xiaoven so ofc my list starts with her fic! this is just so so sweet and even if its not necessarily fluffy there is a warmth to the writing it is a comfort read for me! i recommend every work by her (regardless of fandom). though in xvn End OTW racism | never dreamed of nobody like you is another excellent fic!

nocturne by yanrans [ T, 34,540 words, 4/4 ]

In which Venti sells magical music boxes, Xiao is his unwitting customer, and there is absolutely, definitely nothing more to it at all.

modern au where venti is - a scammer? - i mean a music box seller and xiao is just a regular guy and and. its funny and delightful and absolutely breath taking. i wouldnt elaborate more so as not to spoil anything further but the fic has many unexpected surprises in it! yanrans is another writer i definitely recommend to check out more! their writing style is very flamboyant and poetic.

what hides in neon shadow by morii_tea [ T, 7,547 words, 1/1 ]

In which Xiao is a cyborg, Venti is a thief, and the glittering city of Teyvat hides more secrets than they’re prepared to find out.

its so rare to see morally grey venti is potrayed (even though he isnt v morally grey but still. xiao having to remembering that venti isnt as honourable as he appears is yesssss wohoo). this fic has some thrilling action and a v fun cyberpunk world!! i wish it was longer but it is v exciting nevertheless

every morning in the dark by magicites [ M, 77,124 words, 34/34 ]

Stuck in a time loop where he succumbs to his karmic debt, Xiao struggles to see the point in moving forward. Venti struggles to save him.

READ THE TAGS!!! character death and suicidal thoughts are two major warnings. but DAMN this fic it's just so. SO FULL of everything WRONG with xiao!! and venti too but such a GREAT angst fic!! it gets everything so Right. magicites also happened to have written one of my most favourite genshin fic too :] and if you havent read her other works!! you are missing out!!

the half-life of the yaksha is absolute by GStK [ G, 1,000 words, 1/1 ]

Venti digs his thumbs in to keep open the wound but it is too late His gaze snaps over to the teal essence dancing over Xiao’s fingers. Now all those words will belong to him And Venti will belong to him, only.

READ THE TAGS!! now that i have went into the time loop fic ofc i have to mention the beautiful corrupt xiao prose. the imagery is flowery and grotesque!

foreigner's god by smallghosts [ T, 3,818 words, 1/1 ]

Lord Barbatos falls asleep for a few hundred years. Xiao copes with his absence in strange ways.

a pre-canon fic where xiao becomes - in a way - a worshipper? it's SO GOOD. its about the yearning!!!!!!!!! SCREAMS i dont think i have to explain further

love me like you do by Limerancy [ T, 3,000 words, 1/1 ]

They aren’t the kind of friends that touch.

TOUCH STARVED AND TOUCH AVERSE XIAO!!!!!! this fic makes me a lil bit feral. a little unhinged. i absolutely enjoy reading about the yearning , the desire JUST!!!! AAAA. this writer also writes v fluffy modern au one shots!!! so be sure to check them out too :)

The Kissing Tree by Princeliest [ G, 7,581 words, 2/2 ]

Venti kisses Xiao, and Xiao does not understand why.

VENTI COMMITMENT ISSUES!!!!! as much as i adore reading xiao angst, venti angst is still something i love seeking out and its a tragedy that its not explored enough in this ship :c but anyway!!! such amazing characterization and exploration!! princeliest is one of fav genshin writers and this fic delivers!

wishing on dandelions all of the time by OedipusOctopus [ T, 8,270 words, 1/1 ]

When Venti first catches sight of the swords artfully hung on the wall of his new roommate's bedroom, he regrets putting up the sublease on Craigslist. Firmly believing this guy is a total weirdo, Venti is more surprised than anyone when he realizes the total weirdo is actually adorable. It's not against some invisible Roommate Code to dream about kissing your roommate, right?

ofc there is a classic roommate au fic!! this was one of my most favourite fic from last years xvn week: its hilarious and silly and just a perfect relaxing read!! the characterization and their banter is so entertaining i admit i have read this multiple times!

Where Words Fail by kavvueh [ T, 27,926 words, 11/12 ]

"You're Barbatos," Xiao repeats breathlessly. The young man in front of him nods. "Yep." "But..." Xiao cuts himself off and tries again. "You're the God of songs and poetry." The Anemo Archon nods his head sagely. "More or less." Xiao fixes Lord Barbatos with the most incredulous look he can manage. "... You're failing Music Theory."

this fic is such a delight!! it has some light background lore, some silly shenanigans, miscommunications, pinning - a truly fun mixture! the fic is v light hearted but written with a lot of tenderness. i am v excited to see its conclusion!

what queer sins stain thy soul by Anonymous [ M, 3,232 words, 1/1 ]

In which Xiao, long-established asexual, learns that identity is not as stable as he’d like to believe.

there is some explicit things in it (in non explicit way) i believe religious guilt is one of the best flavouring to xvn. it is an under-explored area in this ship imo and this fic not only has that but also!!! asexuality !!!!!! this fic so so personal and its exploration of desire that gets to me a lot

unholy virtues by morphasia [ E, 17,065 words, 6/6 ]

In exchange for his body in more ways than one, Venti summons a demon to reclaim something that has been stolen from him. It's a just contract. That's all it's supposed to be. That's all it was ever supposed to be.

READ THE TAGS!!! this fic truly went creature/creature. this au is just so fascinating and funny in a twisted way (but not bad). this fic isnt for everyone though but it is definitely worth the shot.

#luna rambles #genshin impact #xiaoven #venxiao #thats all i think ? #anyway this made me realize that i forget to bookmark so many fics..... #whoops #and also that i tend to like fics on how much i like venti's characterization. hehe #but yeah this is non exhaustive list! if someone wants to add they can ofc! sorry for my over commentary #and even though i repeat it in the post itself 13804 times: check out other works by the writers!!! #i wanted to include more but. but the post is so long already you know? like i couldve done a shorter format BUT AAAAAA #i could idk it's just not. the same #making such posts is just a destress activity to me tbh

[maljaws]

IHNMAIMS Discord!

Started today, I'd love for ya'll to join if you can, but theres no pressure to ofc Under the cut are the rules, copy & pasted from the server's rules channel! Reblogs to spread the word are appreciated if you join, but not required

// Server Rules //

Discord TOS must be followed (13+)

Discord account must be over a year old

No nsfw or suggestive content allowed, nipples of any gender allowed only if you spoiler it! Artistic nudity is fine, but no genitalia, and please spoiler. There are minors here.

Absolutely 0 racism/xenophobia/homophobia/transphobia/ableism, etc. This goes to slurs to, extending to profile pictures, statuses, and avatars

Keep sensitive content and common triggers spoiled! Due to the the nature of IHNMAIMS it’s allowed, just be mindful of others around you. Spoil your stuff and give a content warning. Gore falls under sensitive, but only drawn or fake gore is allowed

Try to avoid eyestrain / full saturation colors here, spoil them when they're a primary part!

Remember everybody is a person, respect them and respect that. No matter their identity or interests

Art theft and tracing is not allowed here, bases are fully allowed if properly credited No ai art, period

No excessive spam, but 3-4 short messages in a row is fine

Tupper is only allowed in roleplay chats, #bots , and #general-w-tupper to prevent people having full-on roleplays in channels. Accidents and just a message or two are fine, but full on roleplays are not

If you see anything violating these rules, tell a me or a mod please!

Remember to introduce yourself in #introduction! You must make one before 24 hours passes or you’ll be kicked

// Last Updated // Dec 22st 2023

#i have no mouth and i must scream #maljaws #ihnmaims #ihnmaims am #am #allied mastercomputer

[olderthannetfic]

I don't understand why people are advocating for more mandatory tags. Not just in the discussions about a racism tag, but at all. Mandatory tags don't do anything as it is because people can choose not to warn and then put whatever they want in additional tags. Mostly they just act as a remunder that "many people don't like these 4 things". Those who want to warn, warn. Those who don't, don't. All a new mandatory tag would do is lead to more reports, more work, and a whole lot of shit-stirring because ofc several creators would have Suspicions about who wanted their work to be tagged X when they themselves don't see it as X (or consider it a spoiler, or don't want to be easily found by those who harass ppl over writing X) and have already said so to commenters asking them to tag it.

--

[xxlovelynovaxx]

Cool, so you're fundamentally reactionary:

(AI discourse below, you have been warned)

(the part below it says something about "the torment nexus)

If you think the books from 1984 are the torment nexus, or even a large contributor to the dystopia and not say, extreme censorship leading to those books that are made by machines that have STRICT rules about what can be written and produce NOTHING deemed "unacceptable" then I don't think you actually read 1984.

It's almost as if they have symbolic meaning and "machine book bad" isn't actually the full point.

And don't get me wrong, I don't personally like AI books. But about the only censorship that's occurring is of sexual content, and given that sexual AI text generators exist I think that's a moot point. If you're so concerned about society becoming "literally 1984" though, maybe focus more energy on stuff like Patreon and Gumroad's bans of (certain) nsfw content, on legislation within your state attempting to ban or restrict access to literature on queer identity and racism, and so on?

I'm not saying the people whining about AI aren't also doing that, but I am saying that wasting time on AI that could be used on stuff that actually matters isn't smart, because a world where AI generated texts exist alongside all manner of human-made ones is nowhere fucking close to 1984 and y'all need to either get a grip or keep weeping.

Also bonus:

Cool, cool. How much of your dislike of AI then comes from just having a squick around certain types (especially since as AI tech improves, I highly doubt you're having this reaction to every single image - at least, you're either "reacting" to stuff that ISN'T AI based on a shared art style and a guess that it is AI, and/or you're not reacting to all AI images because there's some you miss and think are not AI) and how much from fundamentally fascist ideas about what "real art" is or culturally christian ideas about how "real art" requires "hard work" or has "no soul" without a human touch.

I really need to filter AI discourse myself because I'm getting so tired of seeing the same indistinguishable-from-conservative-arguments-about-art about AI.

Especially the ableism and leaning into inspiration porn as proof that all disabled people CAN do art without using AI - or if not inspiration porn, insisting that any medium puts on a surface counts as art and people who can't do art in the way they want should just make basic fingerpaintings or scribbles and be happy they created something, which is WILDLY patronizing. There's nothing wrong with fingerpaintings or scribbles ofc, but gods don't act like that's enough for most people or even the reason people are engaging with art.

And for that matter stop moralizing people who engage with art for an end product rather than the process because reacting to "art is always about the end product" with "art is never about the end product" is just the same problem in reverse! It's almost as if the actual issue with either statement is in fact the idea of a "right way" to engage with art!)

Anyway it's not like the squick/trigger isn't valid but like. You clearly have not examined your biases or how your dislike of a type of image informs your reactionary beliefs towards it. Also, your actual issue seems to be that people aren't properly tagging their posts that contain AI images (and listen, I do have some sympathy for not being able to filter just "AI" as it would filter every post that has any word with letters in those order, possibly even that has letters in between judging how "a/e/mogai" filters "accessmogai" for us).

But I mean, people improperly tagging and poor filtering abilities aren't actually about AI. It's about this site's hostility to attempts at curating your own experience, despite being one of the better sites out there for it, and about people not doing anything to get around that.

Mind you, there's a solution that involves AI itself - if AI has a tag denoting that it is such in the metadata, and sites have a toggle that allows you to filter that tag so it's blurred or blocked altogether, much like they currently do for "adult content", then you'd never have to see AI again. Hell, the site could make the toggle only for stuff that had a "community label" or tag of AI and let users determine that - although with how many human artists have been accused of their art being AI, I think that's probably a really fucking bad idea.

Anyway, I'm tagging this as aicourse. I also struggle to filter shit takes like the screenshots above because no one is fucking tagging "ai hate" or "ai discourse" or anything, so again, I get the annoyance at not being easily able to filter it. I just think the latter person is a huge fucking hypocrite for not making their tired takes about AI filterable for everyone too, especially if it's because they think it's all "stupid brainwashed techbros" (wow, that's a lot of ableism*) that are for or neutral on AI.

*The amount of ableism and downright cruelty I've seen even towards people who have fallen for actual scams like NFTs and cryptocurrency, basically treating them the same shitty way you treat people with intellectual and cognitive disabilities with a heaping scoop of the shitty way you treat people who have been manipulated, radicalized, and even survived cults or cult-adjacent groups, is really fucking gross. And as somesys who hated NFTs and cryptocurrency at the height of their popularity, it's certainly made me feel unsafe as victims of manipulative abuse and survivors of cult-adjacent harm, it's made us feel really fucking unsafe!

Do you even actually care about how your rhetoric impacts vulnerable people, or is hating or clowning on a random bit of tech more important to you than that? Well, it's not either/or, because you could literally just actually think critically about the things you're saying and decide to use actual arguments that don't send out shrapnel leaving a bunch of collateral damage in their wake. I'd still disagree with it, but quite frankly even if I think you've chosen the wrong target, I can get behind hating.

Even if it's just for hating's sake, or if it's not, I find hating not related to identity/people to be a perfectly acceptable and even enjoyable pastime for plenty of people. It's just that you kind of fucking need to make sure you AREN'T still hurting people about it, directly or indirectly. Like when I hate on rayon sheets because their texture makes me want to peel my skin off, I'm not making it the problem of people who can only afford that or who like them or who are forced because of fast fashion to keep getting them or w/e.

Idk this has devolved into a personal vent but like. I'm gonna go make a post now about how shitty people are about people who are literally victims of scams and cults and such bc. Y'all fucking suck.

#aicourse #<- oh look a tag for filtering purposes #🙄

[istherewifiinhell]

okayyyy also. tagged by @joelletwo for 5 topics i could talk about for an hour with no prep.

now. two things. 1. i have infernal podcast dude energy and could say a lot about nothing. weird trait to have if u dont like talking to people? hard to say. 2. GESTURES AT BLOG. im ALREADY. talking at length abt my beloved shit. so im just ruling out turtles, alien robots, trek, etcetcetc all the shit thats been a main blog topic for the last past. 4 years?

I'm gonna say.... western voice actors? not that i could really. Give a lecture so much as. I'm way more familiar with them that than I am live action actors. And I'm kinda just CONSTANTLY like. Oh you know so and so from every cartoon youve ever fucking seen? And FEEL a real. gap. with people when they dont have a same reference point. probably like how ppl feel with me when i dont know their acting guys jhadbgjfga. Like u can name 5 VAs from ur childhood cartoons/animated movies right? And personal interest like, hey btw u know like the entire cast of tng was in disneys gargoyles? U know keith david can SING? And diego luna? Hey you know about Canadian actors who are in all the dubs and video games and yeah cheap shit? You know Scott McNeil right? You know Ian James Corlett? You know. THE IAN. of being Ian. Hello. is this thing still on?

I really like and care about the topics of education, children's rights and pedagogy? Not academically so much as, personal interest. What seeing very clearly that there was a lot of arbitrary rules that involved things like. The Government. and Systems. as a child does to a motherfucker I guess? I'm always INTERESTED in a discussion about it, is how i mean I guess. Like focuses of multiple intelligence and "applied knowledge" (and short comings there of). I mean long and short of it. Kids are full human beings and until u can grapple with that their feelings and opinions um. Actually matter. I hate you? jdhbgjhdb. And Naturally the world being good for kids has the prerequisite of it not sucking ass for adults too....

UHhhh guh. User design/civil engineering? You'll hear it from me until the day I die, crushed under the tires of a ford f1 giga truck with the LED 20million watt bulbs. PROTECTED BIKE LANES. for the love of god. I just know a lot of designers I guess and like engineering, conceptually. But like, u know that famous bridge everyone crashes into. If theres 80million warning signs and people are still crashing... maybe theres. other factors. Or you know ofc like, traffic planning, vehicle accidents, structural disasters. A lot of them are not just. Things happening. Tragedies. There's politics there. Usually a lot of Money stuff. and structural racism. The real reason your fridge is full is that there's a bunch of half empty condiment jars hiding all your forgotten left overs. And widening the roads isnt gonna do shit for traffic.

Jackass entry: Themes and motifs of anyyytthing ive watched with another person or saw, and like they also know it. I realllly like, visual theming and narrative shorthands. Anything that breaks like, maybe people in this setting dont have the same customs, but their gonna do something so you the audience can recognize it. Non literal/accurate use of colour and lighting, for mood and clarity. Breaking the physical shape and scale of things so they can appear and be readable on screen. COSTUMING COSTUMING COSTUMING. A well styled character can do soooo much for your understanding of a work, especially with large casts, and a poorly styled one can take me right out. Well. anyway. yes i love animation u all knew that.

uhhhhh Thatgamecompany/giantsquids studio. im giving myself a free space. lol technically I DO. blog about this. the music. at least. BUT beloved. games. Me and everyone else I guess. Hey speaking of u know its laura bailey and troy baker as the voices in the pathless? And you know how a lot of the games have themes of coming into being/growing/rebirth. And LOTS of environmentalism. And implied cultural world building, and wordless stories. and beautiful metaphor rich otherworldly visuals. and gameplay styles that really connect with the emotional story their going for. and ofc, the music. oh the leit motifs. well. there u go. sword of the sea when?

tagginggg. uh did anyone get @deadgrantaires or @army-of-bee-assassins yet? anyone elseeee who wants to regale me with things they knowww about. id love to know.

#some shit #KINDA. gave up. cause i hampered myself with the restriction not my fandoms. jadgbdhf BUT YALL ALREADY KNOWWWWW i could take u thru #my fav mirage issues or like. my favourite implications of tf stuff. #like. all the things i like to watch and like. this is a story about familys. or rebellion. or why people care about each other. #why its important to keep living. and everything iver ever blogged about. lmao #i also skipped on things like. cool machinery i like or how products are WORSE now days. even tho. djjhdbfj. if i have to talk to a #less known person i would consider those like. safety topics. dgjhdf #if u wanted to be really vague i could to a tangential daisy chain all themed around the colour blue. ofc.

[assortedseaglass]

𝑩𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑾𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

💗= 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒅 ✍ = 𝑶𝒏𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈

💗 Come Back To Me They had always been opposites, and sometimes Ida thought that the only thing she and Billy had in common was their childhood. Pulled in different directions, a series of events throughout one summer heatwave will change everything. Multi Chapter Series Pairing: Billy Washington x Ida Súilleabháin (OC) Genre: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Angst Content Warnings: Smut, Strong Language, Violence, Depictions of Racism (TV canon), Depictions of Terrorism (TV canon), Injury Detail, Trigger Point (TV) Spoilers.

💗 An Ever Fixed Mark A year after the events at Cranstead Fields, Billy and Ida meet at the altar... Oneshot Pairing: Billy Washington x Ida Súilleabháin (OC) Genre: Friends to Lovers Content Warnings: Strong Language, Underage Drinking minor spoilers for Come Back To Me and Trigger Point (TV)

💗 Recollections A Come Back To Me companion piece. Snapshots of Billy and Ida throughout their childhood. Oneshot Pairing: Billy Washington x Ida Súilleabháin (OC) Genre: Friends to Lovers Content Warnings: Strong Language, Underage Drinking minor spoilers for Come Back To Me and Trigger Point (TV)

💗 The Ashes In My Wake On a night out, Billy struggles to keep his anger in check. Oneshot Pairing: Billy Washington x Unnamed OFC Genre: Established Relationship, Angst Content Warnings: Strong Language, Minor Smut,Violence, Depictions of Mental Health, Trigger Point (TV) Spoliers

✍️ Damage Gets Done Part of ☆ @arcielee's 1k challenge Pairing: Billy Washington x Reader (third person)

💗Curl Into Me Billy comforts you during your period Pairing: Billy Washington x Reader Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff Content Warning: Language, Talk of Feminine Health, Suggestive Language

💗 Advent Billy knocks on his neighbour's door with a case of the wobbles. Part of the Twelve Days of Christmas Pairing: Billy Washington x Reader Genre: Fluff Content Warning: Language, Panic Attacks

#ewan mitchell #billy washington #billy x ida #billy washington x oc #billy washington x reader #trigger point