[ Bastien lolls his head to the side and grins. From one side of that grin the tip of his tongue briefly appears to rest thoughtfully against the corner of his mouth.
He's not thinking about the book. But there are too many dogs in the room for him to do more than think about not-the-book—and briefly—so he says, ]
His father did. Or did he? It all depends on the memory formed by a two-year-old.
[ He deposits Rat Red back on the bed, then slips in under the wonderfully pre-warmed blankets. He thinks about the fight they'd had, over animals in the bedroom, and feels such gratitude that Bastien let him have his way on this, and he kisses his neck in unspoken gratitude.
Then, back to the smut - ]
He better have. It's cowardice to make the evil love interest actually simply misunderstood. Make him evil, make her evil. No noble suffering, only ignoble suffering.
[ Byerly, it should be noted, always finds some reason to complain about stories where evil prevails. He never complains about that directly - of course not - but there's always some other flaw in the story that keeps him from enjoying it. And by some odd little coincidence, he doesn't tend to find those faults in stories where good wins (though he does heartily complain about the cheesy ending). ]
[ Bastien accepts the neck kiss with a hum, pleasantly oblivious to its motivation. ]
Let's find out.
[ He slides an arm around to keep Byerly against his side, holding the book open with one hand while he starts reading the relevant part aloud, interspersed with paraphrases of some of the unnecessarily long parts.
He's not the only one in the room who wants a cuddle. Here comes Rat Red in search of a lap (and fingers to bite) (and perhaps also the cover of the book? please?) (or sleeves!). A moment later, Whiskey sighs from her place nearer the fire place, heaves her big bones and sea of skin off the floor, and clambers onto the foot of the bed to snuggle into the valley between their legs with her head on By's thigh and her great sad eyes fixed on her attention-hog of a little sister.
Bastien rubs her shoulder with his knee, pausing to huff— ]
She's not going to tell us here. Tease.
[ —and flip ahead in unrepentant search of the answer. ]
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no subject
He's not thinking about the book. But there are too many dogs in the room for him to do more than think about not-the-book—and briefly—so he says, ]
His father did. Or did he? It all depends on the memory formed by a two-year-old.
no subject
[ He deposits Rat Red back on the bed, then slips in under the wonderfully pre-warmed blankets. He thinks about the fight they'd had, over animals in the bedroom, and feels such gratitude that Bastien let him have his way on this, and he kisses his neck in unspoken gratitude.
Then, back to the smut - ]
He better have. It's cowardice to make the evil love interest actually simply misunderstood. Make him evil, make her evil. No noble suffering, only ignoble suffering.
[ Byerly, it should be noted, always finds some reason to complain about stories where evil prevails. He never complains about that directly - of course not - but there's always some other flaw in the story that keeps him from enjoying it. And by some odd little coincidence, he doesn't tend to find those faults in stories where good wins (though he does heartily complain about the cheesy ending). ]
no subject
Let's find out.
[ He slides an arm around to keep Byerly against his side, holding the book open with one hand while he starts reading the relevant part aloud, interspersed with paraphrases of some of the unnecessarily long parts.
He's not the only one in the room who wants a cuddle. Here comes Rat Red in search of a lap (and fingers to bite) (and perhaps also the cover of the book? please?) (or sleeves!). A moment later, Whiskey sighs from her place nearer the fire place, heaves her big bones and sea of skin off the floor, and clambers onto the foot of the bed to snuggle into the valley between their legs with her head on By's thigh and her great sad eyes fixed on her attention-hog of a little sister.
Bastien rubs her shoulder with his knee, pausing to huff— ]
She's not going to tell us here. Tease.
[ —and flip ahead in unrepentant search of the answer. ]