#I'm so lucky to have the people in my life that i do

[velvetvexations]

I'd like to add something to the topic of forced impregnation / corrective rape of transmascs & men.

One thing I feel like other people tend to believe is that trans people with uteruses / the capability to get pregnant are "extremising" a problem that really only affects a few select trans people, surely not a lot.

What they don't get is that we're not extremising anything. Even just on the topic of forced pregnancy, I know barely a single trans man who hasn't been told that getting pregnant would fix him or that his whole worth as a person with a uterus is measured in how many children he can pop out at best, or being straigh up threatened with it or at worst having someone actually attempt to or fully act on that threat. And the ones who it didn't happen to? They know full well that it's always a "it didn't happen yet". That threat is still there, even without anyone saying it. People don't have to outright say it or threaten us because we just know.

It's not something we made up as a "gotcha" to trans women. In fact, it has nothing to do with most trans women at all, safe for the ones who can get pregnant! It's our lived experience. Our every-day life.

I was thirteen, just started my period, when my mother started to try to convince me that my whole worth as a person was making babies, that I needed to make kids the second I'd turn eighteen, that I would otherwise waste my life. And no, she didn't actually think that of all women. My cis sister? Never got to hear any of that. Just me. Because my mother looked at me being masculine and saw something she needed to fix (by only buying me extremely sexualised feminine outfits and telling me the stuff mentioned above, and that it was "only that" makes me one of the lucky ones). It happened to me not just because I was born with a uterus, because then it would've happened to my sister, too. It happened because my mother could tell something was "wrong" with me because I was too masculine. Got a little too exited when people mistook me for my brother. She didn't know what transmasculinity was back then in name, but she absolutely did know that it was "wrong" and needed to be "fixed" - and the way to fix a "broken woman" is to get her pregnant. She, of course, couldn't do that back then, but she could do her best to try to make me do that once I was "old enough" (I'm very glad today that she failed.)

And basically every trans men I've talked with about that topic had their own story like that or much, much worse. Only very rarely has a transmasc/man not experienced something like that, and even then, the threat is so omnipresent that even they tend to know exactly what I'm talking about.

It's a horrifying truth, it's uncomfortable, but it needs to be talked about. Our pain has been ignored and swept under the rug for so long, and people are still continuing to do so. So they can keep telling themselves that we "don't have it that bad" that we're "making a deal out of nothing" that what happens to us is just "individual cases" not something targeted. Because if people don't listen, they don't have to admit to themselves how they're playing into our oppression. Because to this day my mother is still claiming that she supports the trans community, after she did everything in her power to stop her son from existing. She won't listen to what I have to say because it "wasn't that bad", and my sister turned out great, so what do I have to cry about?

Nobody listens to trans men in general because it's never "as bad" as we make it out to be. After all, a cis woman said it wasn't that bad and she'll always be more believable than what ever a trans man or transmasculine person has to say. A trans man could obviously never experience anything a cis woman in his situation wouldn't.

This got longer than I anticipated. Thank you for listening and talking about this topic. I appreciate you, your work here is incredibly important and I'm glad you do this. Take care, and have a nice day!

(Also, this whole assumption about us "extremising" and "making a big thing out of nothing" also sounds a bit like hysteria talk to me, especially given that our conversation is about uterus-related things, but I might be reading to much into it here.)

the issue is that TRFs will take all this as "so you're saying that means trans men have it worse than trans women?"

like noooooooo you invented that sentence! that was nowhere in the original text girliepop!

[yuyusshinelight]

Yunho smut where the reader is shy to ask anything sexual and Dom yunho helps her by edging

Hi, my shining star! I'm sorry it took so long, the truth is that I've gotten into this fic a little longer than I expected. I don't know if it's what you were looking for but I really hope you like it as much as I loved writing it🫶🏻.

Warnings: established couple, edging, oral sex, fingering, breast playing, use of pet names, dom-sub subtle dynamic.

You have been scrolling through your Instagram page for half an hour more or less, seeing a big variety of edits, videos and pictures of your lovely, sweet boyfriend being or looking everything but lovely and sweet. It's almost insane the amount of hot, breathtaking content Yunho has in social media, even making you feel overwhelmed by how scarily handsome his public persona is. The way he moves, the way he looks at the camera, the way he poses… Every single angle of your boyfriend makes him look fine. Certainly, Yunho doesn't have a bad angle at all.

And that's why you perfectly understand why Atiny is so obsessed with him. Because you have seen a lot of messages, videos and more and more about how much random people want Yunho for themselves. As you have also seen a lot of content about how much they want to feel his hands around their necks, how much they want him to finger them, how good it would be to be at his mercy...

There's a lot of dirty content about your boyfriend on the internet, and you could be jealous of all those filthy comments about Yunho but, meanwhile they only can have those videos or pictures, you can delight yourself with the real thing.

You are the only one who has seen what happens when the sweet Yunho everyone knows takes a step back to give free rein to the kinky one. It's you who has tasted all the things he knows to do with those glorious hands that life has given him. Your pussy gets wet just thinking about those long fingers digging into your tight hole to make you moan his name at the top of your lungs as his free hand closes around your neck with utmost subtlety, applying light, pushing pressure in the right place to cloud your vision.

What a bad time to get horny when you are curled up in the corner of the sofa with him sitting next to you, playing one of his many video games.

Don't get it wrong, there's nothing bad about getting horny being by his side, it's just that you are a really shy person and asking anything sexual is out of your possibilities. You always shake like jelly, looking away from him with your cheeks and ears as red as a tomato when Yunho asks you if you feel like having sex. There's no way that you can ask him to finger you without getting nervous, you know yourself pretty well, you would end up running away in embarrassment before even calling him.

What a lucky girl you are to have such an attentive person as your boyfriend. Because yes. Yunho has noticed that something goes wrong with you. You're moving your feet nervously while you shrink more and more into place, slowly turning your phone over in an attempt to hide from him whatever you are seeing. In addition, all the furtive glances you have been giving him for a while now, blushing immediately before looking away. Yunho has a slight idea of what's wrong with you, and he's more than happy to give you the solution you're asking for with those little looks, but not without playing a bit first.

“Everything okay, princess?” He asks without taking his eyes off the screen, his voice is calm but his face tells everything. Although you can't see it because you are too embarrassed to lift your eyes from your phone now “Y-Yes” you squeeze your shirt. You know your boyfriend pretty well which makes you be sure that he will tease you until you say what he wants to hear "Are you sure?” his voice changes to that one deep and pussy-tease voice he knows you love ”Because it seems the opposite to me, princess. Come on, be a good girl and tell me what it is that makes you so restless” Like a flash, the fact that you were right makes you blush even more, turning your face to your phone, noticing that you never removed the reels, meeting with several clips of Imitation. Bad timing indeed. Like the rest of his fans, you have a thing for actor Yunho.

“O-Oh my god…” In a quick motion, you turn your phone off and let it fall at your side, hiding your face in your long sleeves, which obviously catches Yunho's attention. He knows it's not right to take your phone without your permission but the reaction was certainly striking for the idol so, out of curiosity, he pauses his game before taking your phone and turning it on, finding one of those many edits of him acting jealous. The smile that spreads across his face says it all.

“Does my princess like when I act jealous?” He says with a certain tone that makes you close your eyes tightly “N-No” but both know that you can't deny it when he has the proof in front of his eyes “Then? Why is my princess all brushed right now?” You make an embarrassed sound, hiding even further in the not secure shelter of your arms.

He shouldn't press you like that, you don't seem comfortable with the course of this conversation, if it can even be called that. But just the way you curl even more in your spot, how you squeeze your legs together or how red your ears are getting is enough for Yunho to know that you need some attention down there but you don't know how to ask for it without saying it. And, as he also knows that you will not make a move even if your cunt starts to squeeze around nothing uncomfortably hard, he decides to take the next step.

“You know?” Yunho gives small pats on your thigh, making you look up at him for a few seconds, just until he says “Something tells me that you need a panty replacement. Am I wrong, princess?” squeezing your soft thigh with a certain force. You get goosebumps as soon as he leans close to your ear to whisper that last part in a sensual way ”Because, if that's the case, I can help you. You only have to use your big-girl words” he says, looking at you with that knowing smile printed on his perfect lips, expecting from you to answer him but you can't say anything, not with all that amount of new arousal running down your folds, ruining your panties even more.

You don't even dare to look at him, how can you utter a word? But, you know Yunho, you know he won't give you what he knows you want from him unless you do it his way. It always happens. He can have you gushing in his mouth but won't move a muscle until he gets things the way he wants them to go. So, you bite your head off and whisper a faint “Please”.

“Please what, princess?”.

“Help me”.

And that's how you have ended up on the couch with your legs wide open to leave Yunho enough space to give you the attention he perfectly knows you need.

With utmost delicacy, Yunho brushes his fingertips up your stomach, making you sigh between lovely whimpers, as he likes to call them, ending up dragging his nose along the curvature of your now exposed breast “You smell so good” he inhales deeply with the sole intention of becoming intoxicated by your scent, dipping forwards and placing tender kisses along your chest, “Mm” Yunho rubs a hand up your thigh, keeping his eyes on your cute expressions “I could eat you up, princess” your stomach tightens, breath short on your lips as his soft lips brush over one of your pebbled, pink mounds before taking it into his mouth to start flicking it with his tongue nonchalantly “I… Yunho please” you breathe desperately, melting into his touch, savoring the way his tongue tortures shamelessly your poor nipple with steady flicks and sucks.

"Be… be careful, they're sensitive" but that warning only encourages him to bite down gently and tug lightly on it to elicit the mewls of painful pleasure he loves so much. Only after he hears you meowing his name between needy sobs is when Yunho disconnects his mouth from your breast, "Much better, don't you think princess?" Without giving you time to respond, he bends his head to your chest again, this time taking the other one in his mouth as he indifferently massages the breast he has just played with. His lips closing perfectly around your nipple as his tongue rolls it incessantly, sucking at will at the same time as his fingers play mischievously with your other nipple.

“Y-Yuyu” With your body burning with desire from just the stimulation on your breasts, your restless hands quickly search for a place to clutch to release even a little tension, meeting immediately with Yunho's strong arms ready to be squeezed by you. And, though at first your hands stay there still, delighting itselves in the sweet touch of his arms, they themselves decide to move upwards until one reaches its fixed place on his back and the other on his head, fisting on the fabric of his shirt and his silky soft hair.

That little tug on his scalp you give him when he bites your nipple with some force makes Yunho grunt lasciviously against your skin, burying himself even deeper as he ruffles your nipple. The stimulation is enough to make more and more arousal wet your little pussy, the feeling of pressure in your lower belly making you raise your hips in search of something to help you release it.

The moment your hips begin to move subtly to the rhythm of Yunho's fingers on your nipple, he doesn't think twice and drives his free hand down to the moist warmth between your legs, just brushing his fingertips gently across your sensitive clit over the fabric, applying just enough force to make you shiver slightly without giving you the pleasure you crave.

More and more moans of his name fall out from your mouth as he continues playing with your pink abused mounds. Meanwhile, his long, skilful fingers have already passed the barrier of cloth that separates him from your wet heat, slipping two of his digits at once into your tight pussy while his thumb immediately finds your clit. The reaction is instantaneous, the moment you feel his fingers make their way into your tiny hole your back arches, causing your head to snap back with just the first rub on your clit.

“Oh god… Yunho” Your legs automatically wrap around his body, pulling him tighter against yours in a reflex action “feels so good”. You can feel him smiling against your skin, rushing the movement of his fingers synchronously with his tongue, stimulating both breasts equally but giving more attention to your little tight cunt which does not stop squeezing his fingers.

It's non-stop, his fingers going in and out of your pussy as he pleases, making sure to hit your cervix every time he slips them back in. The softness with which he caresses your inner walls only to expertly prick your sweet spot makes you delirious, tears begin to form in your eyes as a thin trickle of drool trickles down the corner of your lips.

This is what Yunho likes the most, it's a direct ego boost for him how with just his fingers and tongue he is able to make you lose your mind like this in a matter of minutes. And even more so with what he has planned.

Thirsting for your delicious arousal as if he hasn't had a drink in a decade, Yunho separates a second time his insatiable mouth from you, wiping some of his saliva from the corner of his lips with his tongue. A sight too hot for your own good “Do you like it princess? Come on, tell me how much you like when I play with your needy cunt, when I play with your boobs. Tell me” And you want to answer but the shame of talking dirty and the climax approaching dangerously fast prevents you from raising your voice except to moan and sob “Say it, princess. Or maybe I should stop?”.

At the threat of losing all sources of pleasure now that your body had reached that state of excitement that announced a near orgasm, you shake your head quickly, moving your hips to the sound of his fingers in search of more pleasure, but Yunho stops you with his free hand “Say it”. His voice is serious, ringing in your ears in the most sensual way you could have ever expected, it could almost have brought you to cum but Yunho has had to decide to remove his fingers from your pussy just when you were almost dare. It clearly makes you cry at the loss of that delicious orgasm you were going to have. But you know that doesn't work for Yunho, in fact, it encourages him to tease you even more. So, in order to make him not let your orgasm fade, you answer him “I… I really love when… when you finger me or… or play with my boobs”.

Satisfied with the response, Yunho starts to kiss down your body, trading little licks and bites all the way down your stomach until he reaches your both clothed anymore cunt because, you don't know when, he has already got rid of your panties “Good girl” He says against your pussy, letting his hot breath make you shiver before spreading even more your legs wide and hooking them over his shoulders to lazily start sucking and nibbling on the flesh of your inner thigh, alternating it with kisses “So good for me always”.

The tension in your lower belly that was threatening seconds before to explode shortly is easing considerably and you are not amused about it. Now it's clear to you that it didn't matter what you did or said, he was going to steal the pleasure of cumming anyway.

Well, you need his tongue in your throbbing pussy to make you cum really good and you need it now so, playing a dirty trick “I’m your good girl, yes” You start to move your hips subtly, indirectly asking him to bury that perfect face he has in your pussy and abuse your insides with his tongue as only he knows how. But, instead of that, Yunho spanks your thigh a bit hard, enough for pleasure and pain to mix deliciously together. “Good girls use words to ask for what they want, princess” he says, moving to the left to give it the exact same treatment as the other.

With the stinging sensation still in your right leg and the sweet touch of his lips on your left, you know you have no choice but to give him what he wants to get what you want so, swallowing a bit hard “Please, Yuyu, eat me” He kisses your thigh one last time before spanking it as hard as he has done with the other one, looking at you directly in the eyes with that proud smile spreading his lips deliciously hot “What do my princess want me to eat first?” For that piercing gaze he is giving you, you already know that there's no other option, either you say it or he will stop everything.

“Eat my… my pussy. I need your tongue, your fingers. Whatever. But please, make me cum”.

With that proud smile that he has not erased growing, Yunho finally approaches his mouth to your needy cunt, leaving a soft kiss on your throbbing clit “Whatever my princess wants, my princess gets” Nothing but a whine leaves you when his hands, now securely on your hips, pull you down further, making it easier for him to devour you.

The very same moment he passes his tongue flat over your throbbing clit, your nails dig into his shoulder, making him hiss hard but not enough to make him stop his task. The pleasure is high enough to make you start to rock your hips uncontrollably, his nose bumping your clit perfectly to make your whole body tremble. That tension in your belly reappears quickly, even stronger. Your pussy opening and closing around his tongue shamelessly as Yunho plays roughly with your clit.

“Ah!” your head twists back, your hands clutching harder when Yunho pulls his tongue out to attend your clit now “Y-Yunho! P-Please… Please!” The feeling of his tongue flicking along your clit has you rocking your hips involuntarily “Please…” you pant, your body vibrating with pleasure and so close to snapping “I-I'm your good girl… m-make me cum”.

You feel Yunho press a close lipped kiss to the top of your swollen clit, making you gasp, looking down between your legs to find your smiling boyfriend looking up at you with an easy sated gaze, his chin wet and his hair an absolute haystack, blushing across his cheeks.

“S-So hot” you exhale, almost to yourself, but Yunho chuckle tells you that it has not been only for your ears “Does my princess like what she sees?” he rubs your little hole with the tip of his finger, making you jolt “Y-Yunho!” your hips roll, searching for more of his touch “P-Please, come on, please Yunho”.

“I can hear you saying my name like this all day” Yunho sings and kisses your clit again, focusing now on how good his fingers look when he sinks them into your hole one more time, pressing deep until his knuckles are flush with your opening “Yuyu” You cry his name in a moan just as he likes while he starts to pump his fingers again, picking up the pace “Come in, princess, say it again” He croons, moving them quicker when you clench around them “Y-Yunho, Y-Yu-Yu…”.

“That’s it, princess, that's my really good girl. Now, cum for me” He delivers a quick slap on your sensitive clit, making the tension that has been threatening to burst all night finally explode what makes you choke between hard cries of his name. He's quick to put his mouth back on your pussy just in time so that you cum in his mouth, pushing his fingers even deeper while his tongue flicks one last time around your clit before separating once and for all and letting you recover from your orgasm.

“Everything okay, princess?” You can't respond, your breathing is too fast, your heart is racing and your body doesn't respond. Just like Yunho wanted to have you before the next round because, guess what, there is no such thing as rest in his plans.

[rekino2114]

May i please see Valentine Prompt 10🩷 for Diana Venicia trying the lipstick on y/n since she's the ultimate Cosmetologist I feel like that's something that she would like to do.

Diana testing chocolate lipstick on you

Pairing:Diana venicia x gn reader

A/n:this kinda ended up being just a longer version of this drabble I did a while ago

It was no secret that Diana was an absolute sweetheart, and you knew that incredibly well. She always greeted you with the widest smile she could have and did anything she could to make you smile back at her, she just loves to see people happy and that's turned up to eleven when it comes to her lover.

So it's no surprise that Valentine's Day is her number 1 favorite holiday. She adores just seeing everyone so in love and happy (and getting to cheer up the single people) so she'll obviously do something special for her biggest source of happiness, also known as you

She brought you some pretty expensive chocolates that she made sure were of all your favorite flavors and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. But your favorite thing was a small note she gave you with written "every day with you is special but today even more, I love you more than anything and hope we can spend the rest of our beautiful lives together, I love you so so much, please never forget that" with hearts drawn all around, a lipstick mark and a genuinely adorable drawing of chibi versions of you two holding hands, you flet your heart actually melting when you looked back at her and she gave you her usual bright smile, you were so lucky to have her in your life.

Following that, you decided to do something equally special for her, buying her flowers and chocolates obviously but also doing one of her favorite things together, going shopping.

You told her she didn't have to worry about the budget, but after a lot of arguing, you agreed to split the cost (she wouldn't let you pay and you could not resist her puppy eyes)

She brought outfits, plushies, and entirely too much stuff just for you. You knew better than to argue with her at this point. She's just too sweet to not think about you literally every time.

But her favorite part was the one you kept for last, going to the make-up aisle. The moment you walked in, her eyes sparkled, and her smiles widened even more if that's possible

She constantly asked you your opinion, it's a small thing but it shows she really cares a lot about you and what you think of her, she always said stuff like:

"Hey baby how do you think this eye shadow would look on me?"

"I really like this mascara . Do you think it fits with my eyes?'

"Oh yeah, I really need more nail polish by the way, you can choose the color, I trust your judgment"

And your answer was always the same

"You look beautiful either way Diana, you can choose"

Sometimes, she accepted it, and other times, she pressured you into choosing something, but she always loved how you called her beautiful.

"Oh look there's a special section for valentine's day, I wonder if they have any exclusive stuff"

Diana dragged you to the aisle in question and started looking through everything, sometimes commenting on how pretty a product looked or how she had a similar looking one at the salon, until she gasped seeing something

"Baby! Baby! Look at that"

You looked at where she was pointing and saw an ad for a......chocolate flavored lipstick

"That sounds......"

"Great! Now I can make my kisses even sweeter"

"You wanna buy that?"

"Of course, you like chocolate right? That way I can make every kiss I give you taste so so sweet and delicious"

"..........are you sure?"

"Yeah but if you don't want to then I won't"

"No no please, get anything you want. This is supposed to be your gift anyway"

"Sweetie, please you're the most important thing in the world to me, if you don't want me to buy that lipstick then I will never ever touch it in my life"

"......I'm sure you're like way sweeter than the chocolate anyway"

"Hehe, thanks"

"But go buy it"

"W-what?"

"I love you just as much as you love me Diana, so if you want to have that lipstick I will steal it for you if I have to"

"Awww that's so sweet darling, but I'd never do something that you don't agree with"

"And I'd never not let you do something that you want"

"Oh I think I have a solution"

"What Is it?"

"I'll just have to convince you that the lipstick will make my kisses better"

"W-wait you mean?"

Diana proceeded to ask the cashier if she could take the lipstick to try it on (she might have used her ultimate as an excuse) and when she got the OK she grabbed it and pulled you in a nearby dressing room

"Are you sure Diana? You know I always love your kisses but are you sure you wanna do it now and here?"

The cosmetologist finished putting the brown lipstick on herself and smiled

"Of course, only if you're ok with it obviously"

"I'm more than ok with it"

"Then it's settled"

She hugged you and beamed even brighter seeing you get so excited

"I'll show you this lipstick is worth it"

She started kissing you all over your face, your cheeks, your neck, your forehead, everywhere she could kiss you she did.

"Oh I......might have overdone it sorry"

Even if your face was basically completely covered in brown marks of her lips you still smiled back

"Don't worry, your kisses are always worth it, I can just wash later, but you still didn't keep your promise, show me how sweet those kisses can really be"

Your girlfriend giggled and nodded rapidly, getting even closer to your face and passionately kissing your lips, mumbling some "I love you so much" and "your lips taste so good" in between every kiss

When you pulled back you both looked at each other with so much love in your eyes

"So how was it?"

"Amazing, We're definitely buying that lipstick......as well as a few others just to be safe"

"Hehe I can never say no to that, as long as you let me pay"

"No way, this is your gift"

"My gift was that amazing make out session we just had"

"That was mine too"

"......well I guess we can split the cost for this too, technically it's a gift for the both of us if I continue giving you more kisses like that"

You both laughed and held each other's hands as you walked out of the dressing room

"I wouldn't want anything else, happy valentine's day Diana"

"Happy valentine's day to you too my love"

[crazybiscuit]

Uptown Girl

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: You, an out of touch rich pureblood, recently moved to England for yet another engagement prospect. Unfortunately, things don't go to plan as you somehow find yourself constantly running into a werewolf, who has developed a valid reason to dislike you. Warnings: This is going to be a long fic and the reader will be a bit of a bitch at first. The story will definitely contain violence, excessive use of alcohol, smut and mentions of death. This chapter doesn't have any graphic content though. On side note, this is set in 1983 and sadly, Lily (my wife... 😔) and James are dead. So Sirius is in Azkaban and Peter is "dead". Word Count:  2287 Credits: @saradika-graphics thank you for the divider! A/N: Let's pretend I didn't mean to post this yesterday... London was an actual nightmare to map out in my brain and I'm fully aware the title doesn't make total sense considering uptown and downtown is a mostly American concept but I figured it fit the context of the story. So for our sake, Remus will live in East London, closer to the Thames, and you, my dear Readers will live in West London, more North of the city. On a side note, fuck JKR and her disgusting beliefs. Also, to anyone struggling, whether it be personal life or political climate, I hope you're doing alright. Writing is my current escapism and I hope I can help someone else in the process. On another note, chapter 2 should be posted on the 28th!

 

“When is that damned exterminator going to get here?” your father’s gruff voice was muffled by his handkerchief he held to his nose as he walked into the parlour.

“We should’ve just called the ministry,” the woman sat next to you snapped, her head sticking out of the window taking advantage of the fresh air, “No one would’ve ever cared about our little problem. But no, you had the brilliant idea to hire some random man you found in a pub.”

You brushed your damp hair, trying your best to ignore the foul stench emitting from beneath the floor, “There’s nothing small about our problem, so I’d much rather keep this discreet myself.”

You should’ve known better than to oppose your poor, dear mother, as she grasped her chest as if he couldn’t breathe, “Discreet! I don’t care how discreet we are dealing with this! This man will fail to help us, screw up and we will have to call the ministry anyways. Hell! He’s probably a fraud and planning to rob us. Do you have any idea how much worse that will be! People will think we are fouls who can’t maintain our estate.”

You didn’t bother hiding the way you rolled your eyes as you glanced back out to the cloudy sky, which caused mother to rant about disrespect to the old man, now sitting in his recliner.

The fall wind was a welcome guest as you began to carefully style your hair, turning your attention to your faint reflection in the window. The bundimun infestation might have stalled the redecorating efforts of this old dirty hole of townhouse, but it was certainly not going to stop you from looking your best.

“It’s lucky Josephine is still in France. I'm beginning to doubt any amount of magic can revive this place.”

“Enough complaining,” your father cut in, as he cast another scouring charm in an attempt to lessen the smell, “We all know this isn't ideal, but you should be grateful we even found this estate for you.”

You felt slightly annoyed as you finished your hair, frowning at him through the glass reflection. Your hand dropped dejectedly as you glanced back with a sigh. He was right, despite every one of your arrangements falling through due to the war, your parents had still managed to find you a respectable match, “I know, I know… I'm sorry. This is all just frustrating.”

Your parents shared a look but remained silent. However, this didn’t last long as your mother suddenly stood up, “I feel like I might faint.” 

Your father let out an exasperated sigh at her theatrics.

“I am sorry, dear, but I cannot do this anymore. You'll have to deal with the exterminator yourself, I'm going out for lunch with Y/N–”

Before your father could protest in annoyance, you interrupted, “Actually, I still need to finish my makeup, so you can go with Papa.”

They put very little effort into arguing and quickly vanished from the house. The silence would've been appreciated if it weren’t for the disturbing smell surrounding you and you found yourself tilting your head back as you leaned against the window sill. Even upside down, the townhouses that lined the street bored you, and you decided to stare at the sea of grey clouds slowly drifting across the sky instead.

You figured, much to your annoyance, that it would likely rain again today. Your attention snapped to the street when you heard the crunching of the colourful leaves beneath someone’s shoes. You flipped over to get a proper look of the man coming up the street and your interest peaked. He stood out against the pristine houses, his dark clothes seemingly worn from years of wear on his tall, though lanky figure, and he seemed handsome enough even from the second floor.

You quickly grabbed your wand and summoned your silk robe, slipping it over your nightgown. He must’ve been the man your father hired, and with that thought, you grabbed your perfume bottle to apply some.

By the time the doorbell rang, you had grabbed your lipstick and you carefully applied it as you looked at yourself in the mirror against the wall. The bell rang a second time and you sighed, quickly wiping off the colour that was out of place. You smoothen out your silk robe before heading to the front door, opening it and finding yourself faced with a man’s hand frozen midair, ready to knock.

“Oh, sorry,” your eyes snapped up to the face that spoke and you met the man’s slightly startled hazel eyes. He was taller than you expected when you saw him outside and his light brown hair was messy but still made him look rather charming. He seemed a few years older, likely in his mid or late 20s. But what truly caught your eyes were the scars scattered across his face, neck, hands. Any bit of skin you could see was littered with scars, “Hi, you hired pest control..?”

His deep voice snapped you out of your daze and you noted the faint Welsh accent as you stepped aside, opening the door wider for him, “Right… come in.”

The man took notice of your outfit and nonchalant demeanor, but remained professional as he followed you in. His expression remained steady despite the familiar pungent smell filling the house. He awkwardly adjusted his bag on his shoulder. Your father hadn’t told him the exact issue, only promising to pay him nicely, and Remus hadn’t exactly allowed himself the privilege of worrying about the oddity of the situation. However, you did notice his stance relaxed as he recognized the infestation he was handling, “Bundimuns?”

“Unfortunately, that is correct,” you sighed, looking back as you opened the door to the area where the test was the most prominent. You noted his slight hesitancy to walk in as he observed the half-decorated house, “Our house warming party is in a few days and we need this issue to be solved quickly so we can finish the renovations.”

“Right…,” Remus tried his best to hide his expression of confusion and disbelief as he stared at the loud decor scattered around the room, “This seems like it would’ve been easier to report to the ministry.”

“Probably,” you agreed, making your way to the open balcony, “We’ll take our chances though. I’d rather only have one person know about this than deal with official records of the infestation.”

That confused the poor man, who had set his old messenger bag down on one of the uncovered powder blue sofas, but he wasn’t about to push for more answers. Rich, purebloods were always preoccupied with reputation, he knew that very well.

You leaned against the cold, metal railing as you watched him digging through his bag for his notebook, “How long will this take you?”

His gaze met yours for a split second before going back to flipping through the yellowed pages, “It’ll take two or three hours. This is a pretty serious infestation and this building is a lot bigger than it seemed outside…” 

It was clear he had questions but it didn’t seem like he was going to ask. You figured you’d explain the situation to prevent any rumours to spread (though you doubted his words would actually reach any important ears), “This house was built before the ban on extension charms for houses. We have ministry approval to keep it that way.”

Remus smiled a little apologetically, finding the page he was looking for, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound accusatory. It really isn’t any of my business, so I wasn’t going to ask.”

His passiveness was mildly surprising but you brushed it off. It was nice not having to worry about him talking and clearly he needed the money, so you figured he'd stay quiet. You finally moved and sat at the table on the balcony as he began to read the most effective spells to get rid of the secretions and creatures.

It was fairly cold outside but you figured you should keep an eye on him. To entertain yourself for the next few hours, you figured you should write to your sister and friends back in France. You flicked your hawthorne wand, summoning your quill, paper and other supplies wordlessly.

The two of you worked on your separate tasks quietly, barely interacting for over an hour. You had lost interest in watching him as he cleaned the house out of the green menaces, using spells you had never heard off, and only headed back inside due to the charming British weather. Rain was always such a nuisance.

You carried your stack of letters with you as you walked back into the house. The smell, though still lingering, had mostly vanished from the house, which was a relief, “I'm going to be upstairs. I trust you won’t steal anything. Though I doubt he’d even be able to identify the actual valuable objects.”

The last part was mumbled under your breath but with the context, it was easy for the brunette to infer it was likely an insult. Remus watched you disappear to the third floor, “What?”

“Feel free to ask the house elves for help. They’re in the basement. They’ve been trying their best to deal with the acid,” with that, you shut your bedroom door, completely missing the man’s expression of disbelief and mild offense.

Another hour passed and Remus had done everything in his power to avoid you as he finished up the rest of the house. This would’ve worked wonders if he didn’t have to worry about getting rid of the last few bundimuns in the house, which conveniently were hidden behind the double doors leading to your room.

He sighed. He was never skilled in divination but something in his gut was telling that you were trouble, but he needed the money and he wasn’t about to half-ass his job because of some spoiled brat. So he knocked.

You opened the door and he immediately took note of your outfit change. You were no longer in your silk robe and pajamas, instead dressed in a simple but classy turtleneck and skirt, “I need to charm this room then I’m done…”

You hummed, letting him in as you walked back to your four poster bed, tying the stack of at least 15 letters together so that your owl could carry it. This gave Remus at least a few minutes of peace as he finished up, but it seemed you sensed he was about done as you spoke up, “You know, I know a potion maker in Saint-Brieuc, who is very skilled at Scar-Diminishing Serums.” 

“I beg your pardon?” his Welsh accent seemed deeper now that you’d upset him. The unprompted comment caught the man off guard and he scoffed, unable to believe anyone could be this insensitive.

“I’ve used them a few times and they work wonders. Great way to boost confidence and better your appearance,” you paused, sensing he was upset, much to your confusion, “Don’t get me wrong, you’re fairly handsome, but I think it would definitely hel–”

He suddenly got up after casting one last spell, “I’m done.”

His voice, though composed, made it obvious he was pissed. You hesitated slightly, trying to figure out what you did as you followed him down to the first floor, “No need to be so upset, I was just trying to give you advice.”

He interrupts, surprisingly calm for someone getting insulted every other line, “Well, I kindly reject it, thank you.”

He stopped in front of the front door, almost considering leaving without payment, not wanting anything from you. Before you could protest, he opened the door and your mother let out a yelp, not expecting to see the stranger.

“Oh! Remy, was it?” your father smiled, glad to see the exterminator.

“Remus.”

It finally occurred to you that you had never even introduced yourself or asked for his name.

“Right, right! You must’ve finished! Y/N, did you pay him yet? I left the galleons on the table in the office,” he kept rambling, walking past Remus and you to get the money. Your mother smiled nervously, looking at the man, who she had already predetermined as creepy and untrustworthy, and tried her best to maintain a polite demeanor.

Unfortunately for her, she did a terrible job and her expression visibly relaxed when your father came back to save her from the conversation, “Here’s the 10 Galleons we originally agreed upon, and I figured you could get an extra 5 for–”

“Actually the 10 will suffice,” Remus forced a smile. He wasn’t stupid. It was clear you and your family were hoping to buy his favor to avoid any bad mouthing, and he wasn’t going to do that. Hell, he didn’t even want to talk about you to anyone (not that he really had anyone left), but it was a matter of principle.

You parents were stumped. They had rarely, if ever, met someone so quick to deny their money, “Sir, we insist–”

Remus had stepped out, taking the 10 Galleons, cutting off your mother with a thigh smile, “Honestly, I’m good.”

Your father, in a desperate attempt to get some sort of upperhand spoke words that made your  jaw drop, “Well then, please consider joining us for our solstice party on the 21st.”

Your mother’s expression mirrored yours and you knew they would argue about this later. Remus’s eyes met yours and something awoke in him, a slight sense of amusement he hadn’t felt since Hogwarts. He looked back at your father, adjusting his old bag on his shoulder, and smiled slightly, “I’ll think about it.”

[thetepes]

I'm going to skip over the cute egg moments of childhood and say I've always felt wrong and I've always been masculine. I just am. When I was adopted my mom specifically stated she wanted a "little china doll" to dress up and do mommy daughter things with. What she got was a big, hairy, mentally ill Eastern European who sobbed when she tried to dress me in her handsewn pastel dresses and who's pretty blonde ringlets turned brown around 9. I've had to take estrogen since I was a kid. I've never fit physically what a girl is by what everyone told me they are. Especially my mom.

She fought and fought and physically wrestled me at a few points to make me wear skirts and makeup and do my hair. It didn't feel right. It felt bad, but over time I learned to just fucking do it because it made my mom happy and my life easier. Waxing stops hurting. The hair dye stops burning. The leg cramps can be massaged out, but you can't be muscular. Just thin. Dainty. Pretty. Hairless. Don't tan, you're already too dark. Pale. Use this lotion to be softer, paler, smell pretty. Use this body spray. Use this glorified cheese grater on your feet so they're not rough.

My mental health went to hell around 14 and I ran away after graduating early due to bullying and how bad my home life was getting. I got lucky and found a group of people who took me in, loved me, took care of me. They convinced me to go to college and I did. At college I fell into the hands of some very bad people.

At the time I was so sure they were my friends. This group of women who just wanted to help me. They were lgbt+ and they were progressive leftists who said all the right things. I was 16 and I didn't know I was being groomed. I didn't know that what those women were doing to me was the same fucking thing my dad had been doing and what I ran away from because they had me so convinced that it was good. It was different.

They were helping me come to terms with what he'd done to me. Showing me porn. Touching me and worse. Telling me shit that wakes me up out of a dead sleep still. Coaxing me into this soft meek gentle thing that they kept like a lap dog. Exposure therapy they called it. Men were evil. I wasn't a boy, I was a girl. I was a good girl. I wore pink and lace and my collar was so cute and my nails were perfectly done and I had all these fucking adults doing things to me no adult should be doing to a child. I was addicted to it. I'd have done anything they told me to just to not lose the attention and love.

It wasn't until they lied about one of their boyfriends sexually assaulting them that I realized something wasn't right. They outed him as bi and lied about so much shit he'd never done and I knew because I'd been there. I realized they were liars and they really enjoyed lying and causing this guy pain. Then I realized it wasn't just him, it was all men. Then I realized I'm men and I felt like a fucking clown. I felt so stupid and gross in that dress with the makeup and everything else. How could I have let them do this to me? I was some terfs blow up doll.

I went to the school faculty, told them the girls were lying, gave my first hand account and all the chatroom receipts of them talking about what they were doing, and transferred out to another school in another state that was willing to pick up my credits.

I had so much damage to undo. I worked so fucking hard in therapy. I still blame myself. I'm never going to get over what they did to me. At the time it was just surviving the shame of it and I did. I stuffed down all my emotions about it and my gender until the last five years. Life slowed down and it felt safe to think about beyond just hating myself and my body.

It was hard to parse through what was that old misery about the body I had and what was the new because of the accident. Sometimes I still can't tell if I hate something because I'm disabled or because of the dysphoria or even because I'm fat. It feels like who I should have been is hidden under layers of wax and I'm peeling at them with a spoon and just not making a dent. I'm stuck with who I am. I can kind of see them under there. Just enough to be mad about it.

I called myself nonbinary at first and kept it to myself then finally I came out as a trans man socially and really sank my fingers back into being LGBT+

I have never felt more fucking policed by people who had no damn business in my life. All that shit that didn't matter when I was enby was suddenly a big fucking issue. What you shaved your face? What you can't bind? What you aren't doing your voice training? What you aren't on testosterone? What you aren't doing this or that or whatever the fuck. It suddenly became this nightmarish passing game where if you weren't putting your whole pussy in that blender then you weren't a real trans man.

And I did it. I reached a point where you couldn't fucking tell I was a woman once when I spoke. Crushed my tits until they were blue. Cut my precious hair. Even planned on going through with surgeries that scared the living shit out of me and results of weren't at all what I wanted just so I could pass that much more and maybe feel just a little bit better in my skin. I took medication that was dangerous because of my hormone disorder to try to be a good trans person who did it right.

I was still struggling with my grooming though and undoing all that evil and no one gave a fuck because I triggered them by just existing. God forbid I speak about it even in spaces where they dumped oceans of trauma because mine was triggering and bad.

And the culture? Repelled me. Those same fucking women that abused me were suddenly all around me in all shapes and sizes and getting praised for everything they did to me. The same art that had been used to get me comfortable wearing lolita pink bullshit and collars was being mainstreamed. The uwu baby speak I'd been trained to speak in to be cute for my abusers was mainstreamed. I was surrounded on all sides by orientalism, bio essentialism, and this tits deep hatred of men. Of masculinity.

You can't be a man and be safe to these people. "You're going to turn out just like your dad" "Why would you want to be a man after what they did to you" "All men are abusers" "All men are oppressors" "So when are you going to start raping" Treating me like I was some kind of threat when they found out I'm not fucking white then doubling down when they found out I was a man. Suddenly I was aggressive and harsh and scary when I had not even slightly changed my personality from when I was enby and they loved me.

Worse than all of that though was the pity. They pitied me for being a man, wanting to be a man, trying to be a man and it made me sick. I didn't want their fucking pity. They sowed these seeds of doubt in the post petty passive aggressive ways. Telling you it's ok if you dont pass then praising others when they do right in front of you and talking about gender euphoria and how good it all feels when you do while you're left sitting there feeling like some kind of disgusting freak of nature.

I watched people glorify this objectified take on gender and sexuality until I just couldn't anymore and I left all those rancid fucking spaces and said "I'm not a man. I'm done." and just started laughing. That's all you can do. I hit 30 and realized this is all fucking bullshit. Why am I obsessively checking myself for someone else's standard of a man? I don't need to be a man to exist.

And saying that unleashed a very special hell. Did someone hurt you? Did someone talk you into doing this? Did someone talk you out of doing this? You can tell us. You know you can just be a girl if you want to! I'm sorry that society is preventing you from realizing who you are. It gets better, I promise. Just keep trying.

Or you were never really trans.

Noooo, never mind I've never felt like a girl. Never mind all that hate I have for myself physically. Never mind my medical issues. I'm not doing enough so I was never trans. It can't be the entire community is full of toxicity, ablism, racism, sex pests, and tribalism. You would all gleefully accept a pedophile as long as they came with some kind of label then praise Kendrick at the Superbowl for calling Drake one in front of thousands. Let someone bang on a keyboard for a minute and you'll become a debate rapist when it comes out they jacked off in calls with unknowing minors or god forbid ones they damn well knew as long as they have a deadname.

So, yeah. Sure. I'm a failure. I failed to be a girl. I failed to be a woman. I failed to be a man. I failed to be trans. I failed to be cis. Detransitioning fixed as much as transitioning did. Not a damn thing. What actually helped was not obsessively checking myself and being in a space where gender is treated like an eating disorder. I'm worlds less dysphoric outside of the community because I'm not being inundated with what is and isn't trans. What's helped is therapy. What's helped is genuine friendship that isn't built on what I am, but who I am. What's helped is having a job I'm damn fucking good at and hobbies I enjoy. What's helped is turning 30 and realizing I'm done living for other people and by their standards. It's my time now.

I'm a happy failure.

[lisbeth-kk]

As proposed by @fluffbruary, I have made a Valentine's rec list. Now that I've read through it, It seems to have become more of a love letter...

First of all, I want to thank someone special in the Sherlock fandom - the remarkably talented podficcer extraordinaire @podfixx There isn't a day that goes by without that comforting voice weaving its way to my heart and core. Picking a favourite is almost impossible, because every single one is a gem. But, there is one I will promote a little extra on this romantic day.

The Wedding Garments by cwb

Summary: This is the story of a young consulting detective who wants nothing to do with marriage and an army doctor who wants to find true love. It's 2020 post-Brexit England and the British government is encouraging arranged marriages. Candidates meet through state-run agencies and date in hopes of finding love (and tax benefits). Sherlock doesn't need or want a spouse, at least not until John Watson shows up. Hesitant to give in to his more carnal urges because of the way they derail his mind, how will Sherlock progress toward the more intimate aspects of a relationship? The answer lies in a very special wedding gift.

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There are authors and fics out there that get less attention than they deserve. This story is just one example of that. It's utterly sweet and there's a dog! Sherlock's dog. Please, give it some love!

Late Nigh Emergency by consult_this_prick

Summary: Sherlock shows up late one night with his sick dog at the doors of John's veterinarian clinic.

There is a collection on AO3 I want to direct your attention to. It's called Johnlock on Holiday in FTH 2024 The title says it all, really. Perhaps you'll find some holiday tips.

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Of course, you don't won't to miss anything the giants of this fandom has written. (I'm only going to name a few of them)

Kaleidoscope by @totallysilvergirl

The Last Envoy by @calaisreno

John Watson's Big Adventure by @mydogwatson

The Wisteria Tree by @silentauroriamthereal

A Quiet Life by @discordantwords

The Silence Between the Notes by @jbaillier

Lost in a Good Book by @khorazir

To Stand Before the Storm by @arwamachine

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Honourable mentions of writers that never dissapoint:

A Strange Encounter by @holmesianlove

Rache (German for Revenge) by @blogstandbygo

By the Bi by @keirgreeneyes

When the Worst Parts Begins by @thalialunacy

Without Complexities or Pride by @raina-at

White Pony Tattoo by @meetinginsamarra

The Murder of Sir Emory J. Amat by @chriscalledmesweetie

Kinesis by @stellacartography

An Experiment in Ethanol by @the-reading-lemon

Like a Man by @hubblegleeflower

The Gilded Cage by @the-pen-pot

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It wont't do to forget the fantastic artists this fandom is so lucky to be blessed with. Go visit their blog to see their portfolio.

@petite-madame @bluebellofbakerstreet @helloliriels @justanobsessedpan @gooolabatooo @ceruleanmindpalace @nitaelwyart @a-victorian-girl @starrosea

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And last, but certainly not least, the fandom's librarian, the keeper of lists for every possible and impossible prompt, AU, trope, etc - Steph @inevitably-johnlocked

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We have a saying where I live: no one mentioned, no one forgotten, and I am certain that I have forgotten many amazing people, but not mentioning anyone would undermine the task completely, so there's that. It is what it is...

Much love to you all!

[quinnophile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐕

pairing. emperor Geta x original character

synopsis. As whispers of her sudden engagement to the emperor spread through Rome, Diana struggles with the weight of a future she did not choose, clinging to the last moments of freedom with those she loves.

warnings. (general) violence, misogyny, infidelity, forced proximity, discussions of producing an heir, mental/physical abuse, forced marriage

word count. 3.8K

notes. If they’re allowed to have sharks in the colosseum, i'm allowed to have historical inaccuracies in my fic

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

All of Rome was alight with whispers of the emperor’s engagement. The people speculated over the identity of the mysterious bride, questioning why the match had come about so suddenly. Some believed it to be a love story, others a political move, and some dared to say it was a ploy for power. But none of it mattered to Diana.

She felt hollow. It had been weeks since that fateful dinner at the palace, weeks since she had last seen the emperors. And yet, their presence loomed over her, shaping her fate without ever stepping into her world again.

For the first time in her life, marriage was not a dream but a prison. As a girl, she had imagined love, a quiet life filled with devotion and companionship. Now, that dream had been stolen, replaced with a future that was not hers to choose. Acacius had tried, gods, he had tried everything—stalling, negotiating, even seeking an escape she knew he would never admit to. But the weight of an imperial command was too great to defy.

Now, with the wedding fast approaching, all that was left to do was prepare.

Diana stood before the mirror, arms raised slightly as the seamstress adjusted the delicate fabric of her gown. The dress was beautiful—layers of silk and embroidered gold, the very picture of regal elegance. But it did not feel like hers. It felt like a costume.

Lucilla sat nearby, watching with quiet affection. “You look stunning,” she said warmly. “It suits you.”

Diana forced a small smile. “That is its purpose, isn’t it?”

Lucilla chuckled. “You could wear rags and still turn heads.”

Diana huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re trying too hard to make me feel better.”

Lucilla stood and approached, smoothing down the fabric on Diana’s shoulders. “Because you deserve to feel better,” she said gently. Then, her eyes welled with tears, her voice turning thick with emotion. “Oh, look at you. I remember when you were just a little girl, running through the halls, tripping over your own feet. And now… you’ve grown into such a remarkable woman. I’m lucky to have been here to see it.”

Diana’s own throat tightened. She turned slightly, meeting Lucilla’s gaze in the mirror. “I always imagined my mother would be here for this,” she murmured. “But if she cannot be, I’m glad that you are.”

Lucilla let out a shaky breath before pulling Diana into a careful embrace. “She would be so proud of you, my dear,” she whispered.

The moment was warm, bittersweet, and full of unspoken longing.

The sound of the door opening broke the silence.

Acacius stepped in, his presence instantly filling the room. The seamstress quickly excused herself, sensing the intimacy of the moment. But Acacius did not immediately speak. He stopped a few steps inside, staring at Diana as if he had been struck breathless.

Diana bit her lip, seeing the way his eyes shone, the rare vulnerability creeping into his features. “No,” she warned playfully, her voice breaking. “Don’t you start too.”

He let out a short laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “You look… you will be the most beautiful bride, Diana.” He swallowed hard, exhaling sharply as if to keep himself steady. “Your mother would be proud.”

Diana let out a wobbly breath, her heart twisting at his words. “Thank you,” she whispered.

They shared a brief, fragile silence before he smirked, shaking his head. “I should have knocked that asine’s teeth out when I had the chance.”

Lucilla sighed heavily. “Acacius.”

“What?” he said defensively, folding his arms. “We’re all thinking it.”

Diana couldn’t even deny it, but her nerves twisted in her stomach at the reminder of what was to come. She shifted, smoothing out a wrinkle in her gown as if that could fix the mess her life had become. “I don’t even know him,” she spoke quietly. “How am I supposed to marry him?”

Lucilla offered a reassuring smile. “I watched them grow up in the palace, you know. The twins.”

Acacius scoffed, rolling his eyes as he felt her ever present tender-heartedness beginning to surface. (Meh) 

Lucilla shot him a warning look before turning back to Diana. “They did not have the easiest upbringing. They were raised in an environment of power and expectation. I am not excusing their choices, but I do believe there is more to them than what the world sees.”

Diana listened intently, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress.

Lucilla reached out, gently squeezing her hand. “You have a kindness in you, Diana. Perhaps, in time, you will see a side of him that others do not.”

Diana said nothing, but she held Lucilla’s words close, knowing they would echo in her mind in the days to come.

———

The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light across the courtyard. Diana stood in its warmth, but she did not feel it. Her hands clasped together, hidden beneath the long white folds of her bridal robe, the sheer veil draping over her face like a soft barrier between her and the world. At her feet, the bright yellow straps of her wedding shoes gleamed—a stark contrast to the weight in her chest.

Acacius stood beside her, silent, rigid. Lucilla, ever the reassuring presence, occasionally touched her arm as if to ground her. But no words were exchanged. What was there left to say?

She had grown up expecting the traditions of marriage—the arrival of her betrothed at her father’s house, surrounded by family, the blessings given, the love shared. But there was no father to receive him. No home of her own to give her away. And her groom was not a man she knew, but an emperor.

The sound of hooves against stone shattered the stillness.

A small group of riders emerged through the gates, their armour catching the afternoon light, their indigo cloaks billowing behind them. The Praetorian Guard. And at their centre, astride a dark horse, was Nicomedes Valerian.

The man responsible for all of this.

He dismounted with ease, his expression adorned with the same insufferable smugness that had never left him since the night he had found her. His gaze swept over Diana, pleased with the sight, before he turned to her guardians.

“General.” he greeted smoothly, as though he had not upended their world. “My lady.”

Lucilla, ever the diplomat, gave a polite nod. Acacius, however, did not move, did not speak. His gaze was ice, his body coiled like a viper waiting to strike.

Nicomedes only smiled, clearly amused by the hostility. "Ah, come now, Acacius. You make it seem as though I’ve done something cruel."

Acacius’s lip curled, but before he could speak, Nicomedes reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a sealed letter. He extended it toward him, his smirk never fading.

"This arrived from the emperors personally," he said, voice smooth, almost casual. "I thought it best you receive it before the evening is through."

The general hesitated before taking it, his fingers tightening around the parchment. His eyes flickered over the seal—unbroken, untouched, yet something about it made the air between them heavier.

Lucilla’s gaze lingered on the letter before she turned back to Diana, her voice quiet, meant only for her ears. "We will not be far behind. We will be there for you in the morning." A reminder. A promise.

It was time.

The guards moved to the carriage, its wooden frame ornately carved, its curtains thick to keep prying eyes at bay. Lucilla squeezed Diana’s hand once, a final comfort, before she stepped back. Acacius’s expression remained unreadable, but his fists clenched at his sides.

He looked as if he wanted to say something—his lips parted just slightly—but under the watchful gazes of the guards, he held his tongue.

Diana hesitated at the carriage door. Then, suddenly, she turned back and threw herself into Acacius’s arms.

The force of it nearly knocked him back a step, but his hands instinctively came up to steady her. For a moment, he was completely still, caught off guard.

Then, he huffed a short laugh. "Diana," he muttered, amusement creeping into his tone. "You act as if you’re never going to see me again."

"Well, you never know," she replied, her voice muffled against his chest.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but he held her tighter. Just for a moment. When she finally pulled away, his grip lingered before he reluctantly let her go.

Diana gave him one last look before stepping inside the carriage.

As the door shut, she turned to the small window, watching as her guardians faded into the distance. The sorrow in her chest grew unbearable.

And in Acacius’s hands, the letter from the emperors remained unopened.

———

The streets of Rome stretched out before her, bathed in the warm hues of evening. Through the thin veil, she watched as they passed through the bustling city—merchants closing their stalls, children running between the shadows, laughter and conversation spilling from open doorways.

For a moment, she allowed herself to see the beauty in it. The way the golden light touched the stone, the way life never ceased to pulse through these streets.

But beneath the splendour, she saw the others. The sick huddled in corners, the beggars whose hands stretched out to passing citizens who paid them no mind. The hollowed-out expressions of those who had long accepted their suffering.

Her fate had been decided for her, and yet, compared to theirs, was she not still fortunate?

Or was she simply a different kind of prisoner?

Her fingers curled into her lap, her thoughts too heavy to hold.

The carriage came to a halt at the base of the grand palace steps, the rhythmic clatter of hooves giving way to a tense silence. Night had fully claimed the sky, its dark embrace illuminated by the flickering glow of torches lining the marble facade. The air was thick with anticipation, the gathered crowd pressing against the Praetorian guard, their hushed whispers a chorus of intrigue—soft, endless, like cicadas on a summer night.

Diana exhaled slowly, steadying herself. She could do this. She had to.

The door of the carriage swung open, and Nicomedes extended a hand to her. His smugness was ever-present, though now tinged with something more—satisfaction, perhaps. As she took his hand and stepped onto the stone, her white robes trailing behind her, he leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

"I half-expected you to run," he mused, amusement laced through his tone. "I know that’s what Acacius would want."

Something about his words sent a ripple of unease through her, lodging itself deep in her chest. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she lifted her chin and forced herself forward, the heavy fabric of her veil obscuring her face but doing little to calm her racing thoughts.

It was only as she ascended the steps that she noticed him.

Geta.

He stood at the top, dressed in imperial crimson and gold, his figure imposing against the fire lit backdrop. His gaze was unreadable, his expression carefully composed, yet there was something in the way he watched her. A quiet intensity, as if she had stolen his breath for just a fraction of a moment.

Her steps slowed as she reached him, her heart pounding so loudly she swore he could hear it. With practiced grace, she lowered her head into a respectful bow, greeting him as tradition dictated. "Emperor."

His silence stretched for a moment too long before he inclined his head in return. "Lady Diana." His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it, a hesitation that hadn't been there before.

She couldn't help it—her eyes searched, her thoughts racing.

He seemed to recognise the question she did not voice, his lips pressing together as he exhaled lightly. "It is tradition," he explained, his tone quieter now, "for the groom not to see the bride before the ceremony."

She nodded, but the response did little to ease the tension wound tight in her chest.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world around them blurred—the expectant crowd, the whispering nobles, even the distant hum of Rome itself. All that remained was the sound of her own breath, the weight of his gaze, the strange, almost reluctant softness in the way he regarded her.

Then, without another word, Geta extended a hand toward her.

She hesitated only briefly before placing her’s in his grasp. His fingers were warm, steady, but unlike Nicomedes' touch from earlier, this was not a grip of possession or control. There was something unexpectedly careful about the way he guided her toward the palace doors—an understanding, a quiet restraint.

The torches cast shifting shadows across the marble as they stepped inside, leaving the cheers of the crowd behind. But even as the doors closed, sealing her within the imperial walls, the weight of the unknown pressed heavier than ever.

Diana stepped through the grand archway of the imperial palace, the golden glow of the torches illuminating the marble halls. Despite the nervous weight in her chest, she couldn't help but admire the sheer magnificence around her—the towering columns, the elaborate frescoes that told tales of Rome’s past, the sheer scale of it all. This was to be her new home.

She followed in Geta’s wake, her veil still draped over her face, her two guards keeping a close distance behind. The palace was alive with movement—servants scurrying through corridors, whispering amongst themselves, guards standing at their posts with rigid discipline. A sense of order and chaos woven together.

Then, an unmistakable ruckus echoed from the nearby halls—boisterous laughter, the clatter of goblets, the heavy beat of music against the stone walls. Diana furrowed her brows, tilting her head slightly as if to listen closer.

Before she could question it, Geta came to a sudden halt. She barely stopped herself from colliding into him, her long robes swaying slightly from the abrupt movement. He smirked, turning just enough to glance at her over his shoulder.

"Not accustomed to such grandeur, are you?"

There was something teasing in his tone, reminiscent of their first conversation in the gardens.

Diana, catching on to the playfulness of his words, straightened, a flicker of her former self pushing through. "Oh, I’ve seen finer," she said smoothly. "Where I’m from, of course."

For a brief moment, the weight of the evening lifted. Geta chuckled, the deep sound of his amusement settling between them like a familiar presence. They watched each other, the silent understanding lingering longer than either intended.

Then, as if snapping himself from a daze, Geta cleared his throat. "You should rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."

Before Diana could respond, the guards at her side stepped forward, prepared to escort her away. Her gaze lingered on Geta for a moment longer, following the direction he now walked—toward the source of the raucous celebration.

As she was led past the open doorway of the great hall, she caught sight of the spectacle within.

It was a banquet of indulgence—lavish food spilling over golden trays, musicians playing wildly, bodies entangled in laughter and drunken conversation. At the centre of it all, sprawled lazily upon a grand chair like a king at rest, was Caracalla.

Diana’s breath caught at the sight of him. The husband-to-be was surrounded by figures—senators, generals, concubines. His tunic was half undone, his goblet full, his demeanour one of pure satisfaction.

The sight made her stomach twist.

This was the man she was to marry.

She quickly looked away, forcing herself to walk forward, to keep moving. She would not think of it now.

The atrium was smaller than the grand halls she had passed, but no less elegant. A banquet had been arranged for her—platters of fruit, roasted meats, spiced wines, all untouched. The room was not empty; a small group of women, finely dressed and adorned with gold, rushed to greet her as she entered.

They fawned over her, their words a flurry of excitement.

"You must be exhausted, my lady!"

"Or perhaps she is simply too excited to think straight," another teased, her tone light.

Diana managed a smile, but it did not reach her eyes. She listened, nodded, allowed them to guide her to a seat, to prepare her for the feast, for the evening ahead.

Yet, despite the warmth of their presence, despite the beauty of the chamber and the soft candlelight flickering against the walls…

She had never felt more alone.

———

The great hall pulsed with revelry, the scent of spiced wine, incense, and sweat thick in the air. Goblets overflowed, laughter rang out, and the music of lyres and flutes wove through the chaos like a fevered dream. The celebration was in full swing, indulgence reigning supreme.

At the heart of it sat Caracalla, flushed with drink, his grin wide as he basked in the attention of senators, harlots, and sycophants alike. Dondas perched upon his shoulder, plucking at his golden chains as his master raised a goblet high.

Then, his eyes flicked to the entrance.

"Brother!" Caracalla called, his voice warm, full of drunken delight. He pushed himself to stand, swaying slightly, though he hardly seemed to notice. "Come, tell me! Has she arrived?"

Geta strode in, his expression composed but his steps just slightly unsteady, evidence that he had already begun to drink elsewhere. His eyes flickered toward Caracalla, then to the eager faces surrounding him.

"She has."

Caracalla beamed. "Good! Dondas has been waiting to see her again." The small creature chittered in agreement, reaching toward Geta as if to say he had been just as impatient as his master.

Geta tilted his head, offering the smallest smirk. "You should enjoy the night instead, brother. Your last night of freedom before the wedding."

Caracalla’s grin faltered, just slightly. "Ah, but I was going to go see her! It’s not as though I must wait until tomorrow."

Geta tensed for just a moment—so brief, so imperceptible, none but his brother would have noticed. He recovered quickly. "And ruin the anticipation?" he chided, shaking his head. "Besides, it is tradition for the groom not to see his bride before the wedding."

Caracalla narrowed his eyes, suspicious, though not fully serious. "Tradition?" he repeated. "Since when do you care about such things?"

"Since you decided you would be a ruler of Rome," Geta countered smoothly. "The people are watching, and they expect you to uphold their customs."

Caracalla exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes before waving his brother off. "Fine, fine," he relented, "you always find a way to spoil my fun." He threw an arm around Geta’s shoulders, pulling him closer, his grin returning. "But I suppose I should enjoy my last night as a free man!"

And so, he did.

The festivities continued in full force, the hall brimming with excess. Wine spilled, harlots danced, and men roared with laughter. Gifts were presented—gold, silks, rare oils from distant lands—all tributes to an emperor about to wed.

Geta drank. More than he should have.

For all his efforts to keep his composure, the wine loosened his tongue, his thoughts drifting into dangerous places. He sat beside his brother, their bodies slouched into the cushions of the settee, watching as men lost themselves in revelry.

"Tell me, brother," Geta mused, swirling the dark red liquid in his goblet. "Do you ever wonder if you’re doing the right thing?"

Caracalla, mid-drink, turned to him with a bemused expression. "What kind of question is that?"

Geta’s gaze was distant, unreadable. "This marriage," he continued, softer now, "do you truly believe it is what’s best?"

Caracalla let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "This—" he gestured grandly around them, "—was what you wanted. You. The senators. Rome. Diana was sent to us for this very reason." He smirked, tapping the rim of his goblet. "You should be toasting to the success of it all."

Geta’s expression did not change, but something in his eyes darkened. "Perhaps," he murmured, taking a slow sip. "And yet…"

He let the thought linger.

Caracalla’s gaze sharpened. "And yet?"

Geta met his eyes, the tension between them palpable. Then, just as quickly, he let out a breath, shaking his head as if dismissing his own words. "Nothing," he said smoothly. "You are right. This is what Rome desires."

Caracalla studied him for a moment longer, suspicion flickering, but the haze of wine and celebration dulled the edges of his concern. He scoffed, shoving Geta’s shoulder playfully. "You think too much," he chided. "Drink more! Enjoy the night!"

And so, Geta drank.

As another senator stepped forward, a new gift was presented—two exquisite golden bracelets, finely wrought, fit for an empress.

"You are a lucky man," the senator toasted.

Caracalla grinned, lifting his goblet high. “I am to marry a goddess!" he declared, the senator not realising the sincerity behind his words. "We have been blessed by her presence!"

Geta’s lips curled, his mind hazy, his restraint slipping further into the depths of his wine. He leaned back, voice deceptively casual.

"Goddesses," he murmured, "are meant to be praised by all."

The words seemed to hang in the air. 

Caracalla’s smile faltered, his fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet. "What do you mean by that?"

Geta smirked, tilting his head. "As brothers, we have always shared, haven’t we?" His voice was smooth, unreadable, but his eyes held something else—something darker, something challenging.

For the first time that night, Caracalla was completely still. His drunken haze did not stop his blood from running cold.

"No," he said, his voice low, dangerous. He set his goblet down with a hard clink. "She is mine. My wife. She belongs to me."

Geta arched a brow, feigning innocence. "Not yet," he reminded, his smirk never quite reaching his eyes.

The tension between them thickened, the revelry momentarily drowned by the unspoken weight of the moment.

Then, Geta leaned back, letting out a short chuckle. "It was a jest, brother," he said easily, lifting his goblet once more.

Caracalla exhaled, his fists relaxing. He let out a loud booming laugh, capturing the attention of spectators nearby. “You truly know how to amuse me brother!”

His good mood returned and the music swelled again, the festivities resuming. But Geta… 

He could not shake the feeling clawing at his chest.

Across the room, his gaze landed on one of his brother’s favourite concubines; a young man who had once been the emperor’s most treasured indulgence. Now, he was slumped against the cushions, struggling to stay conscious, his skin pale, his body thin, almost sickly.

It did not take much to know why.

A shadow crossed Geta’s face. He looked at his brother, still revelling, still laughing, still believing himself to be blessed.

And for the first time that night, Geta did not drink.

He simply watched.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Adam could admire how hard Lucifer worked for everything he worked for.

Lucifer: You know, I haven't told many people this but ....... There was a time where I had nothing. My parents died and I ended up in the streets. Fortunately I had a place to stay while I was in university.

And he got lucky when his toy company took off, he wasn't sure what he would have done if it flopped.

Adam: I'm sorry about your parents.

Lucifer: Thank you........ If you don't mind me asking...?

Adam: How I became homeless? My engagement to my girlfriend fell through and she kicked me out. I fell into the wrong crowd which, earned me bad habits which led to me losing my job. Since I don't have money a lot of things I've gotten from people were through sexual favors.

So that explained why he tried to give Lucifer a blow job when he first got here.

Adam: It really means a lot that you're giving me this chance to do better, I didn't want to live that life forever.

He was very certain that he would have eventually died living that way.

Lucifer smiled: I'm glad I can help.

He let Adam get back to work and Lucifer couldn't help but admire him from his office window while he worked. Adam was right he was very good at gardening.

Lucifer didn't know if Adam was into men, but if he was...... Maybe he'd be interested in him?

CEO x Homeless

⚠️Contains Drug Use ⚠️

Lucifer grumbled as he parked his range rover on the other side of the street from the soup kitchen. Charlie said that he should give back to the community and get in touch with his roots. He wasn't going to do it, he had a company to run for fuck sakes he doesn't have time to serve soup to bums.

But Charlie, his sweet Charlie, reminded him that he wasn't always a billionaire and that if nothing else he could make this good for the PR.

So here he was, getting ready to serve soup. Lord have mercy on his soul.

-

Adam breathed as he let his high kick in. Sure he had to suck Steve's dick to get a bump but when you have no money that's practically giving it away.

He should probably go and get something to eat and try to get into the shelter tonight. Even if they are always full up it never hurts to try.

Getting up from his spot in the cardboard box that he has under the bridge Adam makes his way to the soup kitchen.

He sees a lot of familiar faces, both the volunteers and the scum that come here. Not everyone is so bad but there are a few people Adam tries to stay away from. Waiting in line that's when he noticed this new guy, short, blonde, he looks well put together even in that ugly ass apron they give you.

This guy was very good looking but Adam had to stop himself from scoffing. He could tell that his clothes were expensive and the guy was wearing a Rolex watch. So he was some pompous rich asshole.

Great.

Adam didn't speak to him as he was given his food. Lucifer looked at him and aside from the ratty tattered clothes, looking like he needs a shower and maybe even a smile he found the brunette very attractive.

Lucifer watched this guy go sit off alone, no one joining him.

Lucifer looked over to the brunette man with interest. Even with the ratty clothes, long hair that needed to be washed and cut, and the five o’clock shadow he looked very attractive. He didn’t know why, but he walked over to him.

Lucifer: My name is Lucifer Morgenstern, what’s your name?

Adam looked up in shock to see the handsome rich man. No one really took an interest in him.

Adam: Adam, my name is Adam.

Lucifer: Is there anyone you want to sit with?

Adam: No.

Lucifer: Aren’t you lonely?

Adam just looked down, why did he take so much of an interest in him.

Adam: Yes, but no one really cares about me. If I died no one would care. I would just be some nameless John Doe whose body is donated to science because no one would claim me.

Lucifer didn’t know why, but hearing that broke his heart.

Lucifer: Let me help you.

Adam looked up confused.

Adam: How?

Lucifer: Let me take you to my home so you can get cleaned up and have a hair cut. Maybe I can even help you find a job.

Adam: Ok.

At this point Adam was willing to do anything to get off the street. Lucifer escorted Adam to his Range Rover and they got in. Adam was impressed with the fancy manor Lucifer. Once in Lucifer’s room, Lucifer sat on the edge of his bed. He was quite shocked when Adam knelt in front of him and spread Lucifer’s legs apart while starting to pull down Lucifer’s pants.

Lucifer: What are you doing?

Adam: I am going to suck your dick to thank you. Unless you want to fuck me.

The defeated way Adam sounded was very sad.

Lucifer: You don’t need to do that. Go and take a bath, when you are done I am going to give you a haircut.

Adam just nodded and went to the bathroom so confused about everything.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

[shittygothbitch]

Omg

[collophora]

"Let's fix this drawing" *redraw the whole thing*

[swordheld]

hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?

hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].

but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.

it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.

and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.

the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.

an emptiness, like you said.

but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.

you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.

he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.

but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.

how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.

the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.

think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.

i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.

but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.

as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛

[biffhofosho]

If you don't hear from me again, it's because I have shuffled off this mortal coil and descended into madness on the wings of a fallen angel named Mito.

[july-19th-club]

i think the funniest neal relationship is when he's dating sara because 90% of it is 'we both like to be dressed to the nines at all hours of the day and night, we should fuck about it' and the instant they have any disagreement whatsoever they're like oh right our expensive and impractical taste in clothing is the only thing we have in common

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

"But why would Sonic still be friends with them why wouldn’t he denounce them or treat them like the villains they are? Why won't he realize they're just evil?"

First of all, has it perhaps occured to you that Sonic loves/cares for them no matter what they do and doesn't want to hurt them if he doesn't have to? Has it perhaps occurred to you that he doesn't see them like irredeemable villains and it's not because he's a dumb dumb idiot?

Second of all, haha keep talking and I'm gonna unroll my character analysis essay. "They're just evil" yeah that's rich. Bet you thought the ending of the series was about "redeeming" them too, huh?

[sciderman]

Sometimes i remember a comics moment i randomly came across somewhere, where Sam Wilson mentiones a musical and Steve Rodgers says he doesn't like musicals, to whitch Sam goes "Guess that means you really are straight" and even tho i don't care about Cap America or the Avengers, the moment stuck in me for that quote by Sam. And like....Sci, any ideas if straight men actually don't like musicals or is that bullshit?

actually i think i know more gay men who hate musicals than i know straight men who hate musicals. i've had a drag queen stop me point blank when i was about to sing a barbra streisand song, and i know so many gays who pointedly hate abba. so based on my experience i think the inverse is true. most of the straight men i know are kind of impartial about musicals, but gay men? hate.

my theory is that a lot of gay men don't want to fall into stereotypes, maybe. but thaaaaat's just a theory! a gay theory.

[shmowder]

The depressed teen to enthusiastic adult pipeline is far too real