#THE VAGUELY IS FACETIOUS

[seven-winged-liar]

Heyyy cause Brian May is vaguely affiliated with Freddie Mercury you should reblog or interact in some way with this post /nf and thanks I love you <3

Random doodles under the cut ⬇️

[bellybiologist]

Like where does the anatomy go 😭

In the bones!

[transangelic-lizards]

On the Individual

The individual is the creation of enlightenment-era Cartesian thinking and works for the purpose of mass subjugation under capital. The "Being" has much more in common with an ecosystem than with an individual, both composed of constituent parts (sentient and otherwise) and enmeshed in a complex web of social and biological interactions internally and externally.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Ex Appeal

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake Seresin gets a frightful visitor on Halloween.

CW: Angst, fluff, suggestive themes, alludes to past cheating

WC: 3500+

This fic was written for @roosterforme’s Rocktober challenge! Inspired by the song Poison by Alice Cooper.

Masterlist

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jake says with a look of disgust – as much of it as he can muster. You, after all, have been his greatest source of misery as of late.

You give him a dirty look – your specialty – and barge into his home as though you own the place and Jake’s just a goddamn doorman. “I need to lay low for a bit.”

Jake narrows his eyes as he turns to face you. He keeps the door open because he’s still hoping you’re going to leave any minute. “Lay low?” he asks mockingly. “What’d you do? Commit murder?” He wouldn’t be surprised.

You peek around his arm to glance out at the street. “Someone’s looking for me.”

Jake watches you impassively. “Is it the police?” Then, after a moment, he adds, “Is there a reward?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re the only one in this neighbourhood that I trust,” you say, pushing on the door that Jake is obstinately keeping open.

Jake nods. “Shame that trust doesn’t go both ways,” he comments contemptuously.

You eye him irritably. “Close the door.”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

“I just did.”

Jake shakes his head. “You could not have been more vague.”

You sigh. “Close the door and I’ll tell you.”

Jake exhales warily and shuts the front door. He surveys your outfit. “What are you wearing?”

You glance down at your ensemble: a black, form-fitting body suit and fishnet stockings. You’re also sporting knee-high boots and you’ve got what looks like six extra arms coming out of your back. You look back up at him with an annoyed expression on your face. “It’s Halloween,” you snap defensively.

Jake grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” He gestures to a cauldron full of candy sitting near the front door. “There’s gonna be a fuck-tonne of children coming through here trick-or-treating in like half an hour and you’re dressed like a gothic porn star.”

Instead of being offended, you lift your eyebrows in surprise. “You’re handing out candy?”

Jake sighs and places his hands on his hips, fixing you with a stern look. “Yeah, I’m handing out candy. That’s what adults do on Halloween.”

You stare at him as a smile materializes on your face. “Is that your costume?” you ask facetiously, gesturing at his checkered polo shirt. “Adult?”

Jake squares his jaw to mask the fact that he found your joke humorous, but you seem to notice the shift in his features because your own grin broadens. “My mom got me this shirt,” he says.

“Ah,” you respond. “A fellow adult.”

Jake tears his gaze away from you, focusing instead on the shiny, pointed toes of your stilettos. “Why’re you here?” he asks again, this time a lot less peevishly and a lot more grimly.

You bend down to unzip your boots. “I’m a spider,” you say. “Black widow.”

Jake glances up to meet your gaze as you straighten up. He nods. “Suits you.”

You give him a flat look. “I was at the bus stop and some dude started harassing me.”

Jake’s eyes trail down your scantily glad body. “You don’t say,” he remarks sarcastically.

Your jaw drops in outrage. “Are you victim blaming?”

Jake chuckles and shakes his head. “It was a joke.”

You cringe. “It was in poor taste.”

Jake closes his eyes and lets out a tired sigh. He’s had about enough of your attitude. “You wanna talk about poor taste?” he asks. “Where’s that lovely boyfriend of yours?”

You watch him sourly. “We’re not together anymore, if you must know,” you reply.

Truth be told, Jake probably didn’t need to know. But, now that he does, it’s only fitting that he respond with, “Shocking.”

You give him the finger. As if he were the one who’d been dating two people at the same time.

There’s a knock on the door. “Fuck,” he mutters, giving you a moody look. “Hide,” he says. “Unless you’d rather traumatize a bunch of eight-year-olds.”

You grimace at him. “You think eight-year-olds haven’t seen worse?”

Jake scans the low-cut neckline of your costume. He can’t think of anything more erotic if he tried. But, if he’s being honest, it’s not the outfit so much as your insane body that’s the culprit. He reaches out to grab your hand and pull you aside, making sure you’re tucked safely behind the door before opening it.

He smiles down at the two little kids on his porch when they yell, “TRICK-OR-TREAT!” at the top of their lungs.

“Well, well, well,” he says cheerily, bending down to grab a handful of candy out of his cauldron. “Who do we have here?” He puts the candy into one of their bags. “Are you a mermaid?”

The girl nods happily.

Jake wows in amazement. “You’re the prettiest mermaid I’ve ever seen!” He bends down to grab another handful of candy and drops it into the second child’s bag. “And you must be Iron Man!” he exclaims. “That’s one cool costume, bud. You look great!”

When Jake finally closes the door and looks at you, he sees that you’ve got your arms folded over your chest and a giant smirk on your face.

“What?” he asks darkly.

Your smile widens. “That was cute.”

Jake takes a step from the door and looks away from you. He’s not about to get sucked back into your web of lies, no pun intended. “You wanna hand some out?” he asks.

“I thought you don’t want me traumatizing the children,” you respond sarcastically, stepping out of the corner toward him.

Jake glances at you with a small smile. “I can give you some clothes, if you like.”

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Adult clothes?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Come on, before more kids show up.”

He makes his way into his bedroom and grabs a pair of jogging pants and t-shirt and brings them back out for you. “Bathroom’s down the hall,” he says.

“I remember,” you respond, but you’ve already started to remove your bodysuit.

Jake turns away in alarm and holds out the clothes for you. “Do you?”

“Come on, it’s not like you haven’t seen it all before,” you say. “Shoot, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Jake groans. “Are you for fucking real?”

“You got a pair of boxers?”

Jake swallows uncomfortably. “Hold this,” he instructs, keeping a hand over his eyes as he hands you the crumpled clothes and starts back for his bedroom.

“You know what? I’ll just go commando.”

Jake takes a deep, cleansing breath and turns back toward you. He keeps his eyes closed and holds a hand out so as not to bump into anything as he walks. Of course, as luck would have it, he stumbles into you.

“What the fuck, dude?” you exclaim as his hands cling to your naked body, steadying you so you don’t fall over.

Jake squeezes his eyes tightly so that they don’t open inadvertently. “Sorry, sorry!” he winces, finally stabilizing both himself and you. He feels the softness of your skin underneath his palms as his hands do a final sweep along your back before he lifts them away from your body with a grimace. He’s bracing himself for a punch in the face.

“Are you a dumbass? Open your eyes!” you screech. “You’ve seen me naked how many times?!”

“Twelve,” he responds, a little hoarsely. All he can think about is how smooth your skin felt in his hands not a moment ago and it’s driving him a little mad.

“It was a rhetorical question,” you say pointedly. “You counted?”

“Are you decent yet?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“I’m never decent,” you mutter under your breath and Jake can’t help but smirk. “But if you’re asking whether or not I’m dressed. Then, yes, I am.”

Jake releases a heavy sigh and opens his eyes cautiously.

You scowl at him. “What, you think I’m tricking you?”

“Well, you aren’t treating me.”

You stare at him coolly. “You’re such a delight. Can’t imagine why we ever broke up.”

“Need a reminder?” he calls as you make your way back into the front hall. “It’s because you cheated on me!”

You’re standing at the front door with your arms crossed. “I didn’t cheat, for the last time,” you retort. “We weren’t exclusive.”

Jake presses his lips into a thin line. “I was exclusive.”

You shake your head in frustration. “Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

There’s another knock on the door. You sigh irritably and reach for the doorknob.

“Hello!” you exclaim enthusiastically the moment the door is open.

The mob of children on Jake’s doorstep all look up at you with exuberant grins and yell their opening line in a loud, messy chorus.

You react with an animated gasp. “Oh my goodness! You guys are a frightful bunch!”

The kids laugh. Indeed, they’re dressed as zombies, ghosts, and vampires, and, when you comment on their appearance, they growl and make scary faces at you. Jake smiles at them and then at you as you distribute the candy from the cauldron excitedly.

Once the door is closed, however, you drop the act, giving him an icy look as you settle yourself on the little bench near the door.

Jake fights the urge to sit next to you and maybe get a little lost in the smell of your perfume. He still gets a whiff of it from time to time when he walks by his closet. Which reminds him –

“I have your sweater,” he says awkwardly.

You glance up at him coldly. “Well, why didn’t you give it to me? It’d probably look better than this.” You tug on the hem of the t-shirt he gave you.

Jake doubts it; the fact that he could see your nipples through the fabric of his own shirt is even more of a turn on than your low-cut bodysuit had been. But he responds with, “Probably. But I’m not about to let you change again.”

You snort. “Fair.”

Jake wonders just how detrimental sitting next to you might be to his personal journey of recovery. He figures that you also would prefer that he stay as far away from you as possible. Ultimately, however, he decides that it’s his bench, after all, and that he’ll be sharing it with you and not the other way around. And, with regard to getting over you, well, he can try again tomorrow.

Jake makes his way over to the bench and you eye him cautiously as he approaches. Silently, you slide to make room for him. He gulps nervously and lowers himself onto the seat beside you.

“What were you doing at the bus stop, anyway?” he asks, staring down at his own clasped hands because he can’t handle looking at you when you’re sitting so close.

“Frank and I were on our way to a party,” you respond sullenly.

Jake glances up at you despite himself. “Thought you two broke up.”

You meet his gaze and promptly look away – apparently, you’re not too keen on engaging in eye contact at this proximity either. “We did,” you say curtly. “About an hour ago.”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “An hour ago?”

“We had a fight on the way. I hopped out of the car at a red light.”

Jake leaps out of his seat. “Are you crazy?” he exclaims. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

You give him an amused look. “Don’t you fly jets for a living?”

Jake gapes at you incredulously. “I trained for that,” he retorts.

You let out a small laugh. “You’re right,” you reply. “I should’ve practiced first.”

Jake draws a hand over his mouth. “Okay, so you got out of the car in the middle of traffic,” he says with a wince. “And he, what? Just let you go?”

You shrug. “Wouldn’t you?”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “In what you were wearing? I wouldn’t even let you go to the bathroom by yourself.”

You stare at him with a grin. “That’s a bit excessive.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “How many guys made passes at you before you finally decided that taking the bus home wasn’t the brightest idea?”

You lower your gaze without responding.

“As if that douchebag just left you,” Jake says angrily.

“Well, I wasn’t being very nice.”

“There’s a surprise.”

You eye him dangerously.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” Jake says. “This isn’t the safest neighbourhood.”

You suck in your cheeks and nod. “Yeah, I was pretty freaked out actually,” you admit. “There was a group of guys following me and they kept making lewd comments. When I got to the bus stop, they sort of surrounded me…”

You trail off and Jake’s hands curls into fists of their own volition. “I could kill your boyfriend.”

“Ex,” you remind him.

“Whatever,” he says. After a moment, he asks, “Are you okay?”

You nod. “I pretended to call someone – you actually,” you say with a laugh. “I had a whole fake conversation with you on my way over. They lost interest in me after a little while and took off.”

He watches you solemnly. “You could’ve actually called me,” he says.

Your face turns skeptical. “Right. And you’d pick up?”

Probably not. “Of course,” he responds. Then he sighs and shakes his head. “Maybe I wouldn’t.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

Jake sighs and sits back down beside you.

Several more groups of trick-or-treaters come and go and you and him take turns answering the door. Occasionally, both of you jump up at the same time and end up oohing and aahing in unison at the various costumes that grace Jake’s doorstep.

This activity does little to help quell the feelings he’s tried for months to repress. He remembers grudgingly the night he told you he was falling for you and you telling him that you weren’t ready for that kind of commitment. That’s when he found out that he wasn’t the only one you’d been seeing.

In your defense, it’s not something you had been actively hiding. In fact, you probably thought that Jake was also sleeping around, given his reputation. But Jake caught feelings like an idiot and was heartbroken when you finally showed your cards.

He spent nearly a year convincing himself that you’re absolute scum. Yet, here you are, looking cute as a button in his joggers and t-shirt, laughing giddily at the neighborhood children like you’re some kind of sweetheart. Like you could fool him now.

Jake slumps back down on the bench, trying to interact with you as little as possible. He can sense that you’re starting to win him over again, and he can’t have that happen. He will not be seduced.

You sit beside him with a grand sigh and lean your head back against the wall. “You get a lot of kids here,” you say lightly.

“Mm-hm,” he hums, bending forward to rest his arms on his legs.

“I’m getting hungry,” you say. “You?”

Jake closes his eyes. The last thing he needs is a fucking dinner date with you. “There are some leftovers in the fridge. You can go heat some up for yourself.”

You lay a hand on his back and Jake goes rigid. “You’re not going to eat?” you ask.

“Not hungry,” he manages to say.

Your hand slides unhurriedly down his spine, your fingers grazing him delicately. Jake brings a fist to his mouth to suppress a moan. “I’ll wait, then,” you say softly. Then, before Jake can gather the strength to remove himself from the situation, you lean your body into his and rest your head on his shoulder.

Jake sits very still, trying to decide how best to navigate this turn of events.

“Do you ever miss me?” you murmur faintly.

Jake turns his head to look down at your face while his heart springs into his throat to constrict his breathing. “What are you doing?” he asks huskily.

Your eyes stare deeply into his. “I’m just wondering,” you whisper.

Jake sighs and rubs his forehead. “You just broke up with Frank.”

Your eyes start to fill with tears. “I miss you.”

“Fuck,” Jake mutters and straightens his back. His head drops like a deadweight against the drywall in behind.

You’re displaced in the process but, once he’s situated, you slowly move closer, until your head is resting over his chest.

Jake grits his teeth but wraps his arm around you and, in response, you lay your arm over his abdomen. He can feel your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt. He tightens his embrace around your shoulders and curses some more, in silence this time. What is it about you that he just can’t resist?

You lift your head off his chest so you can be face to face with him. Jake tries very hard not to lock eyes with you because that would likely be the end of him. “Jake,” you say in a wispy sort of tone and Jake instantly loses that fight. He meets your gaze, and your eyes entrance him. “I want you to kiss me,” you breathe.

Jake can almost taste the citrus of your perfume; it hangs over you like a veil. He can already hear your melodic moans; he knows what you sound like when he touches you. He can feel the rise and fall of your chest, the ardent urging of your hands as they slip underneath his shirt.

But what he can’t do is kiss you.

Your lips… your lips are all he can think about. He wants you more than anything in the world but you’re not here the same way he’s here; you’re just passing through while he’s here to stay.

You come impossibly close, aching for just a split second of contact. “Don’t you want to?” you whisper.

Jake can hardly stand being this close to you. “Why are you doing this?” he asks in a low, uneven voice.

You gulp and the tip of your nose brushes his. “I want to be with you, Jake,” you whimper, your fingers digging persistently into his ribs. Your travelling hands ignite a chain of pyrotechnics under his skin that sort of set his entire chest ablaze. “Don’t you want that?”

If only you knew how much. He shakes his head, cupping your cheek in his hand. “How can that be? When you’ve only been single for an hour?”

Your eyes start to sparkle. “You don’t believe me?”

He’ll never believe a word you say. But that doesn’t make him want you any less. He catches the tears that stream down your face with his thumb.

“I never got over you, Jake,” you say, clasping your hand over his on your cheek. “I think about you all the time.”

Jake leans his head into yours and grips your hand in his. If you’re telling the truth, he sympathizes. But, more likely than not, every word coming out of your mouth is fiction.

You push him away and sit up straight, wiping at your tears. “I never meant to hurt you,” you say. “I made a mistake. I realized that the moment you left. And I was too proud to go after you.”

Jake grimaces. “So, you dated Frank for ten months?”

You shrug. “On and off. He cheated on me, so…” you trail off with a cynical laugh. “Got what I deserved.”

Jake furrows his brows. “You don’t deserve that.”

You glance up at him with renewed hope. “I don’t deserve you,” you say with a strangled sigh. “I know that. And you know that, obviously. Which is why you won’t kiss me.”

Jake shakes his head.

“I know that it’s long over, Jake. I’m not delusional,” you say, your eyes so penetrating it feels like they’re clawing right into his soul. “And, I swear, I did not come here for this. It’s just, seeing you again – and your fucking disgustingly adorable adult shirt – handing out candy like a well-adjusted member of society – it reminded me what I missed out on.”

Jake lifts his eyebrows. “A lame, costume-less, party-less Halloween?”

You smile. “It’s not lame. It’s perfect.”

Jake watches you wretchedly. You may look innocent sitting before him in his very own baggy joggers and t-shirt with your dizzyingly beautiful eyes. But you are a fucking black widow. With a venomous bite. And sweet lips that spew lies, webs of which he could never untangle. Poison on the tongue. Toxic to the bone. Fatal. “You’re perfect,” he says.

You gaze at him tenderly, waiting for your moment to strike. Jake is waiting too. There’s no use fighting it, he lost the moment he met you. And he’ll lose as many times as it will take to win you for good.

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[all-purpose-dish-soap]

WAIT I LOVE THAT PUSHUP FIC. can you do one with Gaz and the reader daring him to say their name in between push-ups, and Gaz catches on, but does it anyways.

10 / 1,186 words / takes place immediately after doing push-ups with Gaz

...

You watch Gaz from the corner of your eye, listening to him say your name in that low voice with each rep, grunting with concentration. Music to your ears. 

His toned arms are tense with each push-up he executes. Gaz doesn’t work out to be buff or get attention. It’s all about function and utility on the battlefield for him, which means he’s not one for showing off. But you appreciate it, and you can tell he notices it by the smirk curving his lips.

He knows what you're doing. He knows exactly why you made that little request of him.

"You want me to keep going?" he asks. 

"I have no problem with that.”

"Can't imagine you would."

"Hey. Less talking; more counting reps."

"Did I say I was in the market for a personal trainer?"

"I think you did, in fact," you tell him facetiously. You're still sprawled over his back, admiring how your weight barely seems to affect him each time he lowers and then pushes himself back up. "Lucky you have me here to keep you on track."

"Yeah, lucky me." He grunts a laugh and does another pushup. "Because that's my problem. Staying on track."

"I hear a lot of chatter and not enough saying my name between reps, mm?"

"Think I'd better stop doing that. You like it too much."

"And you said you wanted a challenge. Do you cut corners in the field, too? Does Captain Price know?"

He lowers himself again and holds at the bottom for a moment to increase the tension and stress on his muscles. "You're asking for it, you know that?"

You smirk, shifting yourself a little to fit more snugly against the curve of his back. "Are you threatening me, Gaz?"

"You wish." He chuckles, hardly sounding as winded as he should. "You'd be lucky for me to pay you that much attention."

He's not wrong. But still, the nerve.

Luckily, you notice you haven't heard him counting aloud, either. "What rep are you on now?"

He pauses at the bottom of his rep, then lifts up again, not quite as fast as before. "Sixty-three."

"Liar. You lost count, didn't you?"

"Of course not. You think you're really that distracting?"

You grin. "You said it, not me."

He pauses his rep at its apex this time. You glance at him, sensing the gears turning in his head. For a second, you wonder if you should be proud of yourself--if you've struck him speechless with your blistering wit.

Then he bends his elbow and drops one shoulder almost to the floor, dumping you unceremoniously off his back. You land ungracefully on your stomach with a gasp.

There's a strange look in his eye. Thirst for vengeance. You scramble to right yourself, but it's too late. Gaz drags you off the ground like it's nothing and pulls your back to his chest. He wraps his much thicker arm around your bicep and leans back, forcing your arm over your head in what you vaguely recognize as a submission hold.

You huff, trying to squirm free. His other arm comes around across your midsection to keep you in place. The fact that you're pinned in his lap doesn't escape you.

"Now who’s the distracted one?" His voice is right at your ear. "You want to tell me again how many reps I did?"

"Fifty-five. I counted."

His grip tightens. He leans back just a little more, causing your back to arch. "Try again."

You grab his arm with your free hand and try to dislodge it. Its no good. His arms are like steel. He doesn't budge an inch. 

"Told you you were asking for it." His breath is warm on the shell of your ear. "Count again. Or I'll turn this half nelson into a full nelson."

Your cheeks warm. "Perv."

"You started it. Or don't you want me to say your name again?"

"I have a perfectly innocent explanation for that."

"Let's hear it, then. Go on."

"Um." You squirm a little more in his hold. His breath in your ear is making you feel crazy. "It's actually... because..."

"Because?" He's smiling now, his arm tightening against your skin. You can feel every thick muscle in his biceps and forearms. "Because what?"

You struggle to keep some kind of half-baked explanation centered in your mind. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you can't think about his chest pressing flush to your back. Or his thighs squishing your ass. Or his arm around your midsection, so close to your breasts you swear he'd brush the underside if he so much as flexed.

"Because what?" He asks again, and his voice is so husky it makes you forget all your rational thoughts. "Tell me."

"... Sixty-three," you mutter.

He laughs, the rumble of it shaking his chest against your back. "So which one of us lost count, boss?"

"I did."

"Yeah, you did." He shifts, easing the pressure on your arm. He doesn't release it completely, though. "If you wanted to hear my voice so bad, there are better ways to ask, yeah?" His other hand begins to wander down your side. Your skin burns under your workout tank. "But if you want to be a cheeky little brat about it..."

Before you can react, he bites down on your ear. Not cute and flirty, but hard enough that it hurts. Especially when you squawk and try to pull away.

"Ow!" You shove your elbow into his solar plexus.

He lets go of your arm, gasping and wheezing with laughter as he leans back. You're both surprised at how much force you packed into that elbow jab.

He smiles, though. His heart is racing from adrenaline, and when he looks at you, all pouty and out of breath, he realizes it's a good thing he's not still holding you or he might really do something stupid. He likes how quick you are, how feisty.

"That's mean," you snap.

"And calling me a pervert wasn't?"

"No! And even if it was, your thing was worse."

"Oh, yeah?" His usual soft grin turns roguish. "You wanna get even? Bite me back?"

"Gaz!"

"Then you still owe me." He stands up, stretching until his tired arm muscles pop. "So I'd better see you here tomorrow, same time. What do you say?"

You stand slowly, watching him grab his gym bag. "What if I say no?"

"I'd say you're shirking your duties as my trainer. And my counterweight. Besides, you wouldn't skip a chance to have me say your name again." He pulls the straps up over his shoulders and winks at you. "Right, boss?"

You open your mouth and close it right back up again.

Gaz has just enough self-control not to bite his lip at that rather cute expression. "Good."

He walks away, leaving you red-faced and speechless behind him.

He's right. You'll definitely be back tomorrow.

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

more Gaz / masterlist tag

[pastelhooman]

[WVW Exchange Event 2023!]

"The kisses on your lash, your ears, on the nose that keeps scrunching. The kisses on your hand, on your cheeks, and the exchanging soft words waiting for the break of day."

----- ID under break -----

A total of 6 pages of comics, starting with a close up shots of vash kissing sleeping wolfwood's nose, eyes, lashes, and he furrows them a bit. an overhead shot of the two of them in a motel room, on the bed with vash leaning over wolfwood from the left, laying soft kisses on him. their legs tangled. their normal outfits are thrown haphazardly on the floor, instead donning comfortable clothes. on the outside, the very first ray of lights are yet to shine.

"what a face you're making pfft" - vash says as he grabs both of wolfwood's cheeks, squeezing them a bit. wolfwood mumbles, "There's something that keeps landing on my face, it tickles." he grabs the hand that is on his right cheek. "Well you're letting it happens anyways right?" Vash muses, bringing the hand up to kiss on its knuckles. "Good morning Wolfwood. It's almost dawn"

"… Isn't it way too soon?" - wolfwood asks, but keeps to himself the prayers he's sending to god because the the boy on top of him was such a sight to behold. Vash flops down onto him, leaving the hand hanging and lace his own hand into Wolfwood's hair, peppering kisses to the side of his face. "Yep" - he answers - "But you woke up on your own tho" - facetiously. He giggles, saying that it was a joke after a beat of silence. A sigh, "don't make me upside you first thing in the morning." Wolfwood closes his eyes, hand combing through golden strands. "Heh, how merciful~" "We have a meet up with Milly and Meryl today, remember?" Vash reminds him, which does raise some vague memory. wolfwood hums, the other hand reaching around vash's torso, hugging him. " So, the sooner we arrive, the less likely she'll chew through my head." - Vash adds. "riiiight. And you were SO urgent in waking me up." in wolfwood's hold, both of them slowly turn to the right, towards the edge of the bed.

Well, you were just soooo cute, I couldn't help it! didn't thinkk you'll actually wakE UAA-!"

the bed creaks under the sudden shift in weight as wolfwood tosses vash over and under him, arms firmly hugging him, one at his back and one at his head, hungrily dives down to kiss. "!! Wolf-! Wait-!" Vash yelps, leg instinctively curls around the other's man hip to hang on, trying his damnest to grip on his shirt as HE is now half airborne, barely has any contact with the bed on his upper body. However, wolfwood seems to have another idea as he keeps deepening the kiss, pointedly holding Vash close, hands spread guarding the back of his head as both of them are sliding off the soft fabric.

"THUD!" a resounding fall, possibly enough to wake the room downstairs, followed shortly by laboured breaths amist wet smacks of lips. Heaves and huffs of air exchanging between the two bodies when the need to breath made itself necessary. They press close, cradling each other, and are lost to their own world. After a while they had to part. Metal arm shifts through black locks, caressing down to his nape and they hold eye contacts there, with lidded eyes, strands of saliva thins then breaks.

Wolfwood pushes up on his arms, looking smugly down at his now disheveled partner: "Now this is how it's done, Needlenoggin." he remarks. Vash tries to wrangle his thoughts back in order, but strings of Wolfwood's name and a wonderous question keeps filling his mind, of whether he should risk it all and have fun for a bit more. Regardless, snapping out of his trance, Vash sourly asks, with a wry smile and an aching head: "But did you really need to roll off the bed?" "Wrong side, whoops" - Wolfwood anwers unseriously, laughing as he finds the situation quite amusing.

----- End of ID -----

[feminist-furby-freak]

Well can you explain Gender Ideology with who uses it and where? Can you show where I can find it? Can you describe it without conspiracy theory or recycled homophobia? You are welcome to try.

So I think some of the confusion might come from the language. I know you’re being facetious with this comment but anyway. I am literally a gender studies major so this will probably be more in depth than what you’re asking but maybe someone can benefit.

Gender Ideology™️ isn’t some sort of official concept and doesn’t have an agreed upon definition or foundational text like other social theories. It’s a way of conceptualizing sex and gender. Other analogous frameworks would be biblical gender roles, the Christian fundamentalist ideas of men and women, or postmodernist queer theory, something like Butler’s Gender Performativity.

You’re right that gender ideology is vague and non-specific and I think this is because of the interaction between academia, politics, medicine, and popular culture. Sure, academics and theorists influence society, but rarely in such a direct way (please feel free to correct me). For example, the American civil rights movement and women’s liberation movement had academic elements, but were not governed by how academics theorized race and sex, they were based on people’s lived experiences. Transgenderism, I think, is the opposite and somewhat of an escaped lab experiment. Towards the end of the 20th century, academics began to write about gender in more provocative and philosophical ways. Obviously, this was not the first time anyone had done this, but there was a huge shift in the way academic spaces thought about gender in the US after women achieved full legal rights (which didn’t happen until the 1970s btw). I’m sure the fact that women and gays/lesbians could finally be scholars and professors was important as well. Anyway, I might disagree with Butler, but her theory work is at least intellectually robust. And if you read Butler, it’s very obvious that she is first and foremost a philosopher, not a sociologist or an anthropologist, and this is clear when you hear her speak (which I’ve done btw). Contemporary transgenderism, as a social category, is a direct result of these theorists. There is a lot of misrepresenting or even rewriting history but “transgender” as we understand it today did not exist 20 years ago. We like to call people like Marsha P Johnson transgender, but he didn’t identify that way. He called himself a gay man, a cross dresser, a drag queen, a transvestite etc etc. TRAs often say “trans people have always existed” and homosexual behavior and gender nonconformity (and maybe even sex dysphoria) have always existed but trans as a concept undeniably has not. I could talk a lot more about historical falsehoods and Transgenderism but for the sake of getting to the point I’ll move on for now.

Gender ideology, is how groups like radfems refer to the Frankenstein monstrosity that is the framework Western left/progressives use today to think about gender and sex in order to be inclusive to transgender identifying people. The main ideas are that biological sex is not real and neither is sex-based oppression. It maintains that social and medical transition is necessary for transgender people to live, and that medicine is able to change someone’s biological sex (it can’t). Being transgender is not just dysphoria but some innate sense that someone’s soul is differently gendered than their biological sex (except biological sex is also somehow not real, one of many paradoxes). A woman is “someone who identifies a woman,” even though this phrase is completely meaningless. Because gender is not tied to biology sex, it relies on social ideas. As a result, gender ideology reinforces regressive gender roles and stereotypes, without which it cannot exist. 20 years ago we said boys can play with dolls and it doesn’t mean they’re gay because gender stereotypes aren’t innate and are very harmful, today “we” say that boys who play with dolls are actually girls and need to be given a pink makeover and put on medication. While society was beginning to move away from gender, gender ideology has brought it back to the center and gender is once again considered to be central to one’s identity (and personality) and maybe even the most important fact about them. For this reason “misgendering” and similar actions are considered violent attacks on personhood. Crucially, gender ideology converges with conservative gender ideals through its obsession with gender and performing femininity and masculinity.

[xf-cases-solved]

i've been doing my xfiles rewatch, but i've also been watching twin peaks for the first time with my partner (v weird that i haven't seen it before bc it's very much My Type of show, but w/e), and silence of the lambs was already my favorite movie. so since my personal aesthetic is apparently very specifically honed in on creepy and weird early 90s entertainment centered around fbi agents, here's a collection of random crossover thoughts i've had while watching these things, in no particular order:

-twin peaks, xfiles, silence of the lambs, except all the characters are shifted one plot to the left, so you have mulder and scully trying to figure out the death of laura palmer, clarice assigned to the xfiles division, and dale cooper having to make a rapport with dr. hannibal lecter

-separate thought: if mulder and scully met dale cooper, mulder would be absolutely delighted, and scully would want to put his head on a slab. this would just make mulder more delighted

cooper would be very pleasant to them both, but would find mulder's lack of self-care unsettling. mulder would be trying to talk about the case when cooper would interrupt him to tell him to try the mulberry pie and take a moment to savor it

he would also be able to follow scully's reasonings and would know all the references to scientific studies she makes, and would be like, "very clever! you're very intelligent!" not in a facetious way, he'd mean it genuinely, but then he'd still insist that his dream will lead them to the killer and she'd want to rip her hair out

-cooper to m&s, apropos of nothing: so how long have the two of you been in love?

-scully would not enjoy twin peaks. too rustic, too weird, too many affairs to keep track of

-mulder would love it for all the reasons she hates it

-if clarice and scully met they would get to know each other carnally, obviously. msr can still exist, but mulder has to be ok with being cuckolded by special agent clarice starling

he can watch sometimes, if wants ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-agent crawford would have one (1) conversation with mulder and would immediately write him off as insane and never talk to him again

-crawford and scully would get along fine

-clarice and cooper would be buds, bc even tho cooper is fucking weird, he would be very enthusiastic about how clever she is, and would talk her up constantly, and clarice would appreciate the validation and kindness (besides, she's pseudo friends with hannibal lecter, cooper's idiosyncrasies are nothing in comparison)

-hannibal lecter wouldn't be able to manipulate mulder, but he wouldn't be that impressed by him either. it would be a mutual disdain. they could potentially have a hannibal/will graham-esque relationship but eh

-as badly as a "quid pro quo" scene between scully and hannibal would slap, i can't imagine scully giving hannibal anything to work with. she wouldn't stick around to play games; she doesn't have time for it and would never be able to regard him as anything besides a monster

mulder would agree to take on the puzzles, and hannibal might give them to him, but he'd taunt him and send him on wild goose chases more than he does with clarice, bc mulder doesn't have anything he particularly wants, but he is vaguely curious to see if he can figure it out. (mulder WOULD figure it out, but only with the addition of scully's analysis and theories, not hannibal's direction alone)

-hannibal would not talk to cooper lol. cooper would figure out who buffalo bill is anyway, tho

-nobody at the fbi in the xfiles universe would know how to handle dale cooper. skinner especially would be very -squints- about it, bc he'd get results, but would just be so fucking Weird™️ about it, but in such a different way than mulder is weird

-the lone gunmen would be very sweet and protective over clarice. they would be very confused and vaguely unsettled by cooper

-clarice would be skinner's dream agent bc she would listen to him and value his input and rarely punch him in the face or hold him at gunpoint

-while i can picture clarice getting the hang of the xfiles, i have trouble picturing her in twin peaks (tho, do note that i haven't seen all of it so mb that would change)

-this isn't a headcanon so much as a v obvious observation, but they are all so fucking hot, what the fuck??

-final thought: dale cooper, clarice starling, dana scully, and fox mulder = dream blunt rotation

anyway those are some of the things i think about in my spare time

the end

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Ghost x Dom!Reader x Soap (Sneak Peek)

Ghost and Soap find themselves crushing on the same woman on their team, a friendly bout between two comrades to see who you'll choose, only your answer's not one they'd expected to hear.

Tags: Future NSFW 18+/Shameless Smut/PwP/MMF/some Ghostsoap, Anon Request •ᴗ• (Full tags will be used in main post), Jealousy, Banter, Flirting, Bickering, Sexual Tension, Soap and Ghost are fighting over the same girl, but it's a friendly competition, ends in a three-way too so, spoiler alert, Scarcely proofread

Masterlist

Ghost leans forward now, resting his arms on his knees and furrowing his brow. "A'right, out with it," he says. "What's your game 'ere?"

Soap's brow furrows rather facetiously. '"I'm sorry, sir?"

"Don’t play dumb Johnny." The playful tone Ghost once used before has now since cooled, growing darker. "You know wha' I'm askin'."

Soap merely smirks, resting his arm back against the couch. "The same game you're playing, yeah?"

"And what game is that, Johnny?"

Soap can't help but laugh now, growing more and more cocky with each loaded exchange. On a normal day, Ghost might manage to intimidate the Sergeant every so often with his sheer presence, let alone his words. However, when it comes to women, Soap couldn't feel more in his element, especially up against his superior.

"One I'll beat you in."

Now it's Ghost's turn to have a laugh. A subtle thing, trapped beneath the burliness of his chest, though its deep rumble is audible enough, having warmed the Scotsman's cheeks at the sound.

"I doubt that," Ghost says.

"You underestimate my charm L.T." Soap puckers his lips and kisses the air between the two men mockingly. As much as Ghost tried to hide it, the sight had made the air catch in his throat for a second. It's that usual, competitive nature about the Sergeant that really gets Ghost's blood pumping during these mutual bouts of bickering.

"My last statement still stands," Ghost chuckles. "So what? You thought I'd leave and you two would just go at it then?"

"I wouldn't say it like that," Soap says. "...But I was hoping to have some alone time with her, yes."

"And you figured on waitin' for the rest of us to vacate before making a move..." Ghost shrugs with affirmation. "...Clever man."

"Yeah, well, what about you?" Soap asks. "Clearly we're both still here for the same reason. What's your "game", L.T.?"

"It's not your concern."

Soap groans, sinking back in his seat, though he hadn't been surprised by the lieutenant's response. "Suppose it isn't, then," he says. "It's hers."

"That's right," Ghost agrees. "We can't both have her."

"Can't we?"

Ghost brings his eyes forward to Soap's, having thought his comment had been a mere joke. However, once their gazes matched, Ghost could see that his Sergeant was dead serious.

Personally, Soap's never been opposed to the idea of a threesome. He'd even be lying if he said he hadn't fantasized about it from time to time, as boyish as it sounds. Adding Ghost into that equation hadn't tripped him up much either; Lord knows the lieutenant would be next on Soap's list if you weren't at the top of it first.

Still, Ghost had a hard time even picturing a scenario where something like that could happen, let alone with all three of you. No doubt the man had been interested in you, and for a while, he'd even felt something for Soap as well, feelings that haven't necessarily gone away.

Something with all three of you would no doubt be perfect, however, it just seemed...

"Let's be real here, Johnny." Ghost leaves it at that.

"Suit yourself," Soap merely shrugs, before a light bulb moment suddenly lets off in his eyes. "How about we bring this to the source then? Hey Y/N!"

"Soap-"

"Oi, calm down, mate," he smiles at him. "No point in beatin' 'round the bush, aye?"

You round the corner finally, having heard their voices vaguely through your door this entire time, but not being able to put full words together. From the "uh-oh" look you had on your face, however, something told the two men you were already preparing for them to say something crazy.

"What's up?"

Soap gives Ghost a final look, waiting to see if the man will protest. However, when he sees that he doesn't speak, Soap grins, turning back to you.

"If you had to pick between Ghost and I, who're you choosin'?"

"Pick for what?" you ask, certainly needing clarification. "For battle?"

Soap bursts out laughing, just now feeling how awkward it was going to be explaining this to you. "No," he says. "Like if you had to pick one of us to... I don't know, go out on a date with, who would you pick?"

You keep smiling at Soap like he's joking, but once you see he hasn't budged, you feel your heart begin to race.

Your eyes grow wide, now suddenly embarrassed to have the spotlight on you. "You're seriously asking?"

Soap nods. "I am."

You look over at Ghost now. Surely this was just another one of Soap's antics. "You too?"

Ghost shrugs. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious."

You were hoping he wouldn't say that. But, if they were asking, then may God be your witness as you answer them.

Placing a hand to your chin, you pout to yourself and look back and forth between your teammates, sizing both men up for every physical feature they had to offer.

Your mind immediately goes to the gutter, not being able to help it. You've found them both distractingly good-looking ever since you joined the team, and you've more than thought about this before. Just never in comparison. Or out loud.

Soap looks like he'd be fun to play with -- he's eager, energetic, and even better, open-minded. Not to mention he was cocky too; you always liked a man who could talk his shit and back it up. With those big arms of his, he could just box you in against the bed and pin you down good and firm, as he drills into you, cooing that sweet little accent of his in your ear like he would. It made your body tingle just thinking about it.

And then there was Ghost; if there was any voice you wouldn't mind having growled in your ear while being fucked senseless, it was his. Unlike Soap, you just knew you wouldn't get it rough like you would from Ghost. You've lost count of how many times you've caught yourself gawking at him during sparring sessions or while out in the field, watching that bulking mass of muscle of his he called a body, manhandle any and everything in his way. Having him do the same to you in a more intimate sense never failed to make the lower parts of yourself start to throb at the thought.

After giving both men a good, long look, you sigh, letting your arms fall back to your sides.

"I can't choose."

"Ah, don't be shy now, lass," Soap says. "If you're worried about hurtin' our feelings-"

"No it's not that," you cut in. "It's just not an easy choice, you know?"

Simon raises an eyebrow now. "Oh?"

"Oh, don't act all surprised, Ghost."

"You like us both then?" Soap asks cautiously.

"I'd say so." You begin to smirk. "Why? What's going on here?"

The two give each other a look, before Simon goes to explain things to you.

"We're just trying to figure out which one of us has a shot."

"Figures you should be the deciding vote, seeing as you're the subject of interest, lass."

You imagine you look pretty stupid standing at the center of your living room all wide-eyed like you do, but frankly, this just feels too good to be true. It hadn't been one of them that was supposedly into you, but both of them. If you could do a backflip, you'd do twelve right now, no questions asked.

But before you get head over heels about this, "So you're saying you both want me then?"

"In more ways than one, darlin'," Soap teases.

You glance over at Ghost this time, having taken note of his sudden silence. "You too, Simon?"

He hadn't necessarily been prepared to confess his feelings to you, not like this, and much less in front of an opposing audience. Still, Ghost wouldn't have his own Sergeant show him up so easily. Plus, the way your eyes lured at him this whole time had a chill running down his spine, making it hard to concentrate. So he nods, "That's right."

A devilish smile slowly creeps over your lips.

"Well, can't I just have you both?"

Coming soon...(・ω・｀)………..

I'm in the process of typing the smut for this, but here's a preview. Please let me know if this dialogue kind of wreaks; I don't know why, but I'm struggling to like it no matter how much I rewrite it (I keep flipping back and forth between liking it and not liking it). But enough of that. I'll link the full part here once it's complete! (ʃᵕ̩̩ ᵕ̩̩)

[satansapostle6]

Lovers and Liars | Draco Malfoy

Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott, both determined and resourceful from reputable houses, find themselves at odds in the name of love.

Warning: Mature themes/language. Violence. Sexual content.

Chapter Two

Chapter Three: Unbreakable

Jealousy, Lorelei knew, was an interesting thing, especially among young people. Lorelei never quite understood the feeling of envy. She’d felt it before, sure. Whenever she saw a happy family, or a sane girl. But envy never drove her into madness the way it did others.

Her friend Pansy, for one, was a person driven by envy. Of others, and of the person she thought she was, or could be. Pansy was the kind of person who needed to be completely in control of her entire world, whether that was an attainable goal or not. She achieved that goal, mostly, through Daphne, and her other pawns. Even Lorelei at times, when Lorelei found herself indifferent to the outcome of Pansy’s endeavors.

Lorelei was friends with Pansy despite hating her. Not because she wasn’t strong enough to outshine her, but because she was smart enough not to want to.

“Hey, Pans,” Lorelei said as she sat down for breakfast that morning. “Daphne.”

Daphne looked up at her and just smiled, unbothered. Pansy, on the other hand, visibly had some sort of agenda.

“Morning, Lor,” Pansy remarked, sounding far too chipper to be genuine.

Lorelei sat down in peace, not paying Pansy any more mind as she began to put together a decent plate, of bread, and eggs, and potatoes.

“That’s a lot of carbs,” Pansy remarked, in a thinly veiled attempt to make her self conscious.

“Yes,” Lorelei agreed, “Some of us can eat them.”

Daphne immediately looked down at her plate, stifling a giggle.

“I feel like I hardly see you these days,” Pansy tried a new approach. “You’ve been spending all your time with Theodore Nott lately.”

“We have fun,” Lorelei responded, prompting Daphne to raise an eyebrow in amusement.

Daphne seemed accepting of the vague response, however, Pansy wanted more details. Naturally.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she inquired nosily.

Lorelei just smiled as she ate her food. “What I said.”

*****

Lorelei and Theo decided that, on this particular Saturday, they would enjoy themselves on the school trip to Hogsmease, spending the entire time holed away in The Three Broomsticks, in a secluded booth dimly lit by the ambient lighting in the pub.

“Two Butterbeers, please,” Theo said graciously as a waiter took there order.

Lorelei watched with suspicious narrowed eyes as he walked away, refusing to speak until she knew for certain he was out of earshot.

“So,” she said softly.

“So,” Theo echoed enthusiastically.

“What was it you wanted to talk about?” she asked him. “Must be something important if we couldn’t discuss it at school.”

Theo smiled almost triumphantly as he looked at her, sharing his vision. “I have a plan.”

Lorelei raised an eyebrow. “You have a plan?”

“I do,” he shared. “A big one.”

“How big?” Lorelei asked mischievously. “Like, ‘surprise party’ big?” she asked facetiously.

“More like, eternal glory big,” Theo smirked.

Lorelei secretly liked Theo’s smirk, the way it always made him look as if he was in on some big secret that no one else was. It made him look like someone truly important, someone that belonged on her arm.

“‘Eternal glory’?” she questioned. “Don’t tell me you want us to enter the tournament, too.”

“No. Something better,” he replied.

“Do tell,” Lorelei encouraged, just as the waiter appeared with their drinks.

She sipped hers eagerly, awaiting his response.

“What if I told you…”

Lorelei frowned as Theo suddenly stopped, eyes slowly trailing off to the right, a sour expression on his face as if he’d found out something unpleasant. Lorelei looked at him inquisitively, silently trying to figure out what was going on in his head. Theo just looked at her, a pleasantly surprised smile on his face as the conversation suddenly changed gears.

“…That… I would like to invite you to my family’s winter home over the break?” he concluded.

The linger of his gaze and the thickness of his voice told Lorelei that this wasn’t what he had actually wanted to discuss. He was lying. And she knew that if he was suddenly lying, the reason why had to be something very interesting. Someone was eavesdropping, Lorelei could tell.

“I…” she thought for a moment as she tried to consider the best possible course of action. “I’d have to think about it,” she told him, conveying her consciousness to him with her eyes.

“Of course. Just think about it,” Theo told her, his hand slowly creeping over hers as he spoke.

Evidently, his lie wasn’t entirely a lie.

“I will,” Lorelei promised, her face now inches from his.

Suddenly breaking this trance-like eye contact, she picked up her drink, taking a sip as they sat together in the booth, Theo wrapping his arm around her. They stayed in the pub for another hour or so, keeping themselves entertained with casual conversation until they decided it wasn’t suspicious to leave.

Theo got up first, chivalrously offering a hand to Lorelei. She grinned, knowing what came next. He gave her a nod and she reached into her pocket, drawing her wand along with him. He slowly touched a finger to his lips, indicating a need for stealth. She slowly followed him around the wall behind their booth. Using his fingers, he counted down from three, and once he got past one, Lorelei grabbed the only person listening on the other side of the wall.

Lorelei pushed the Hogwarts student, a younger Slytherin boy, against the wall as Theo kept his wand on him. No one saw as they disappeared behind a wall with him, where no one could see. Lorelei stood at Theo’s side, wand aimed as they both cornered him.

“What’s your name?” Lorelei demanded.

“Thomas,” the Slytherin boy whimpered.

“Thomas what?”

“Thomas Arnold,” Thomas mumbled.

“Who sent you to spy on us, Thomas?” Theo asked calmly.

The second year boy was shaking, terrified of the both of them. “N-No one!” he stammered, looking back and forth between them.

He was panicking trying to respond to them.

“Don’t lie to us,” Theo told him, “It wouldn’t be a smart move.”

He jammed the walnut wood wand into the boy’s Adam’s apple, relishing in the power he held.

“Tell us who sent you to spy on us, or we make you wish you had,” Lorelei threatened him.

She knew that Pansy had to have been involved. With her suspicion and nosiness surrounding Lorelei’s newfound friendship with Theodore Nott, there was no ways she couldn’t have been behind his. Very few people would bring genuine children into the mind games that they played. The boy was paralyzed with fear, unable to speak as Theo took a calculated risk and lost his patience.

“Cruc—”

Lorelei looked at him curiously, just as Thomas stopped him before he could finish casting the illegal curse.

“Stop! Wait! I’ll tell you,” the twelve year-old promised, terror in his eyes.

Lorelei smiled, pleased with their work. “Tell us, then, before he casts that curse.”

“You promise nothing’ll happen to me?” Thomas pleaded.

“After we’re done with you? No,” Theo said honestly. “But for now? Yes.”

The young boy nervously looked between the two of them again, realizing Theodore had made a valid point. Lorelei was growing impatient, just itching for the name ‘Pansy Parkinson’ to fall out so that they could send him running back to her.

“It was Draco Malfoy!” Thomas Arnold blurted out, choking on his own cries, “Please! Don’t hurt me!”

Lorelei and Theo slowly turned to look at one another, hiding their surprise.

“Well,” Lorelei scoffed indignantly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Are you listening?”

Theo smirked as she intimidated the boy to the point of tears.

“Yes, I’ll do anything! I promise!” he begged.

“You go and tell Malfoy that you didn’t hear anything, and that you don’t think we’re planning anything,” she ordered.

“Yes! Yes, I will!” Thomas nodded, swearing up and down that he would obey.

“Make the Unbreakable Vow to me,” Theo interrupted, his blue eyes darkening.

Thomas practically went white as a sheet, terrified for his life.

“The—The what?” he gasped.

“The Unbreakable Vow,” Theo repeated, rolling up his sleeve.

He looked to Lorelei.

“Can you cast the spell?”

“Sure,” she agreed, cherry-colored wand drawn.

“You’re going to make the Unbreakable Vow to me, pledging that you’ll tell Draco Malfoy nothing that you’ve heard, and that you’ll do your best to convince him to stop tailing us. And if you break it… you’ll drop dead. Do you understand me?” Theo asked.

Thomas nodded quickly, a look of fear in his eyes as he realized the consequences of breaking the vow.

“Do you know how this works?”

He nodded.

“Good. Now give me your right arm.”

Lorelei watched as they joined hands, each right hand tightly gripping the other’s. She focused her attention on casting the spell necessary to invoke the Unbreakable Vow, watching as a shimmering cord joined them together. She cleared her throat, staring the young boy in the eyes as she reminded him of the gravity of the situation.

“Thomas Arnold. Do you vow to return to Draco Malfoy and tell him nothing of what you heard here today?” she began.

“I will,” the blond-haired Slytherin boy agreed.

“And do you promise that you will do your best to convince him to give up on his spying on us?” she concluded.

“I will,” Thomas stared at her, silently pleading for his life.

“Very well then,” she said softly, as the cord slowly disappeared.

Thomas pulled his arm away immediately, rubbing it as if he’d been injured. “Can I go now?”

Theo rolled his eyes cruelly. “Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

He and Lorelei watched as he ran away, eyes trained on him like hawks.

“What business would Malfoy have trying to spy on us?” Theo thought aloud.

“Surely he must suspect we’re hiding something,” Lorelei rationalized. “I suppose he wants to know what it is.”

“Maybe,” Theo considered, still seeming miles away. “Maybe…”

Lorelei searched his strangely perfect features for answers. Theo eventually noticed, seeing the sheer will in her eyes.

“You know, I like the way we work together,” he said more softly, his hand caressing her face.

Lorelei smiled at the remark. Her gaze, he thought, could have brewed storms and sunk ships. She was a siren, equal to her namesake.

“I feel as connected to you as I do my right hand,” he murmured. “You’re quick. Smart.”

“You’re good at this, you know.”

“Good at what?” Theo asked with a smile.

“War,” she chuckled.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Theo asked softly.

Lorelei looked at him incredulously, her mouth curling into a hidden smile. “Yeah.”

“Who?” he wondered.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” she told him, watching as he laughed. “Have you?”

He just shook his head earnestly. “No.”

She found this answer only somewhat surprising. Theodore Nott really was one of the easiest boys to fall in love with.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked gently.

Lorelei nodded, hand cupping his cheek. “Yes.”

He smiled as he leaned in, captivating by her porcelain skin and auburn curls.

-

Chapter Four

[brysbeddixt]

Just finished Zhen Hun Vol. 2 and I don’t even have the words to describe how I’m feeling, but I’ll try.

First of all, I don’t care for the drama. I only watched the first couple episodes, but with the EXTREME departure from the premise of the novel and the not great casting (the actors are all good actors; but with a few exceptions, those are NOT the characters I pictured when reading the novel) I just couldn’t continue it. So as far as the drama goes, I haven’t seen it, and this post will be about the novel only.

As far as protagonists go, I LOVE Zhao Yunlan. I love that he pretends to be facetious and shallow, but actually cares a lot about the people (and yao) he deems as his. He’s also extremely competent in a way that’s extremely fun to read, because the reader is usually in on it. I like him more than Chang Geng from Sha Po Lang/Stars of Chaos, but as the official translation for Faraway Wanderers hasn’t even been announced yet, I can’t compare him to Zhou Zishu as I’ve only watched (and LOVED) Word of Honor.

I also ADORE the (as-of-yet unconfirmed but come on) side ship of Chu Shuzhi and Guo Changcheng. I might like them more than the main pairing. I love Changcheng. The narrative constantly paints him as a coward, but he always stands his ground despite being afraid, which really makes him extremely brave. He’s just good, and I love how Priest hints around his love towards Shuzhi in a expert example of “show-not-tell.” Even when Shuzhi could be seconds away from killing him, he never for a second loses his belief that Shuzhi is a good person.

And Shuzhi, in his own way, realizes and returns that devotion. It’s such an understated, vague way of writing a side pairing and yet I eat up every scene they have together.

Now. The ending. I don’t know why the last 30 pages or so destroyed me, considering that Yunlan figures out a lot of it in the 1st and 2nd novels anyway, but his backstory was so fucking sad. I love how Priest writes characters that COULD be the typical “OP main character chosen one” archetype, but then entirely swerves the things that would push that character into Mary Sue territory.

I LOVE how this series deals with Chinese mythology and ancient literature. I think that’s why it rubbed me so wrong that the drama just…threw all that out the window and made it about aliens. Zhen Hun is one of the most involved danmei I’ve read when it comes to actual Chinese mythology. Even Thousand Autumns, which I adore because it’s setting is a REAL period in ancient Chinese history with side characters that actually existed, doesn’t delve so much into the actual mythology.

Zhen Hun is a danmei, but it isn’t really a cultivation novel in the traditional sense, and I think that’s what really grabbed me. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE a traditional cultivation setting. But something about the way Priest wrote Zhen Hun is so magnetic, perfectly blending mythology and a modern setting.

I can’t wait for Vol. 3.

[munacy]

magnetic

@wolfstarmicrofic

They look ridiculous right now, laying flat on the uncomfortable hardwood floor of the kitchen with a woefully empty bottle of gin between them, heads flush against the Muggle refrigerator. It kicks on noisily. Remus vaguely wonders when was the last time they honest-to-God swept, but decides he can worry about that at a later time.

(That’s always what he thinks. Even sober. It’s why the floor’s not been swept in ages.) “And it’s because they’re…magentic, yes?”

He says it like magenta, the color, forcing a throaty drunk giggle from Remus’ throat.

“Close, sweetheart, close. They’re magnetic, they’re magnets. The metals have, like, opposite poles or something,”—Remus finds that in this state, it’s a bit difficult, accurately recalling basic science, but reasons that Sirius won’t know any better if he gets part of it wrong—”and it causes them to be attracted to one another.”

“Ahh, Moony, then I must be magnetic to you, eh?” Sirius murmurs lasciviously while squirming closer to Remus. However, the motion of his drunkenly swinging hand upsets the precariously placed magnet (a magnet portraying a chihuahua in a purple bikini and thong, because they are classy gentlemen and would never display a naked chihuahua). The chihuahua falls, as all great dynasties do. Smacks Sirius in the middle of his porcelain forehead, causing him to squawk in pain. Remus guffaws with abandon, sharp gleaming teeth, free, loud.

(Only Sirius gets to see this. Every one else gets the breathy chuckle, muffled into a fist or disguised as a cough.)

When Remus regains his composure, he finally notices the precious cargo in Sirius’ hand. It is a Polaroid of Lily and James at their wedding, previously pinned to the fridge by their fallen comrade.

“You know, Remus,” Sirius says softly, if a little garbled, “we should do this.”

“Take a photo together? We’ve got hundreds.”

“No, you giant twat!” he laughs. His laugh is so beautiful, so gorgeous, and, by God, Remus wants to eat it. “We should get married.” His smile is soft, angelic, dimples and blushing innocence.

(Only Remus gets to see this. Only Remus.)

“Sirius Black,” he says gravely. “Did you just propose to me on the dirty floor of our kitchen after calling me a giant twat?”

Sirius barks out a stunned laugh and adopts a put-upon frown. “What, you don’t like it? You won’t marry me because I called you a twat? I thought that—stop tickling me you bastard!—thought that was part of my charm—really, enough, you fiend!”

Remus has gained the hard-won upper hand, straddling Sirius and pinning him down. He smirks down at Sirius suggestively, then attacks with lightly peppered kisses all over his face and neck as Sirius shouts and feigns displeasure.

Through breathless laughter, Remus gets out, “You silly, imperious, capricious, beautiful, stunning creature, you can’t propose to me on the dirty floor of our kitchen after calling me a giant twat and being completely and utterly trollied, you ridiculous sod.”

Sirius puts on his very best forlorn puppy eyes. It shouldn’t work with slate grey eyes, but it does.

“But Moony,” he whines with adorable petulance, and Remus sees his pale hand scrabbling under the fridge (Disgusting, his mind supples unhelpfully), “I got you a ring and everything.”

The searching hand brandishes a bread twist-tie like a weapon, bent into barely a circle shape. Remus laughs delightedly.

“Ah, Pads,” Remus says fondly, slipping the twist-tie onto his ring finger, “You know I can never say no to you.”

He’s being half facetious.

He’s being more serious than he’s ever been.

“But! I would rather never say no to you when we’re both sober,” he finishes, smiling shyly. Sirius grins crookedly at him, kisses his hair.

“Alright, alright, Moony, point taken, no more playing.”

In the morning, when they’re both murderously hungover, Sirius doesn’t understand how Remus could possibly be surprised, not see it coming, as Sirius bends down on one knee for the real deal, with the real ring that he’s hidden in his sock drawer for weeks, both of them weeping like silly little boys. They take a Polaroid of their happy engagement, and this one is pinned to the fridge with a magnet of a Pomeranian in high heels.

[renaultphile]

Ten things I liked about…….The Friendly Young Ladies

It’s not a romantic story.  There are no heroes or villains, just people doing their best.  The characters are portrayed without sentimentality or judgement and with a touch of affection even as they behave appallingly.

The clothes, the make-up, the feminine charms, the fashion fails, the tips on covering up sunburn.

The interplay of the different relationships is done with great tenderness and humour.

Elsie’s adolescent world is a delight of social embarrassment, vague yearning and small victories.  She is looking for a guide to life in all the wrong places, and her journey is neatly contrasted with the world-weary women who are trying to protect her.

Boating, swimming, the river, the idyllic and transient setting, the symbolism.

The facetious, elliptical, brittle repartee is simultaneously funny and unbearably poignant.

Whatever you think of their decisions, these women have agency.

The style is show not tell.  Except that we are shown practically nothing and told even less.  To say it is layered barely covers it.

This might well be one of the most personal of Mary’s novels.

This is a deeply subversive book that takes all the traditional and non-traditional tropes and tests them to destruction.

[dongsofsevotion]

happy kuso ginhiji life

not within the usual remit of this blog, but it seems important to be a person yelling on the internet about just how ginhijicore harada's happy kuso life is.

let's get the obvious stuff out of the way: light hair x dark hair, red eyes x blue eyes (at least by gintama anime standards), idiot NEET x proper company man (whose IQ canonically drops when they interact), same age, same (hkl) or matching (gh) birthdays, same height, so similar-looking they're virtually interchangeable (hair colour aside), constantly fighting and engaging in absurd contests they can't bear to lose, both absolute cowards in the face of scary stuff - and as the plot progresses, so obviously but obliviously in love in a way that is unmistakeable to everyone around them, despite their refusal to admit to even getting along.

if you're a ghg person you might appreciate the total reversibility of hkl, too - i suppose harada did write some hg in hanbunko, after all...

anyway, i love how harada's ginhiji DNA shines through in hkl, and how some tropes she tried out in her gh doujin work (plus some from original gintama!) reappear. please consider the following examples.

characters as neighbors! very ochiru, very kurasu especially, down to the getting drunk and boning business

then, once they're living together, the ol' "it's just for convenience's sake and there's definitely nothing between us" play (see kurikaesu)

youngsters do indeed learn the value of life from rhinoceros beetles

oh no, it's kabe!

that chapter speeds through a bunch of porn tropes and also includes a predictably sexually disappointing time-stop segment (battery not included)

hahaha it's literally otoshimon

passing out in a sauna, in honor of that ep 48 tee that just got released (i copped i am fucken stoked)

and don't get me started on how much i love harada's memey faces...

hkl is reskinned ginhiji, QED. ok but facetiousness aside, of course i am looking for gh parallels because i want to see them, but more accurately, i suppose the hkl dynamic just happens to match my ginhiji hc; ymmv. nevertheless, hkl is ridiculous and fantastic and should be more widely consumed (fair warning for rape handled irreverently, but nothing vaguely approaching the peak harada potential for trauma). nobody chooses frames quite like she does.

five volumes have been published so far by takeshobo; english localisations have been digitally handled by renta! (three volumes) and coolmic (four volumes) as happy shitty life, while in print, kuma has localised the first two volumes as happy crappy life.

[shreddheir]

ok i'm vaguing that post i just saw "you can criticize the us without being racist towards marginalized americans!" true and valid! why did you construct a strawman of a global southerner and facetiously claim that global southerners are not fucking victims of imperialism. why did you have to pull out the "middle class argentinian". why did you have to imply global southerners are victim-blaming indigenous americans for their genocide.

[jadeykitties]

i love the phrase "i'm gonna end up on the news" as a reaction because it can be so flexible and vague. like. it could be a threat, implying you're going to do something drastic. and it's nonspecific about what exactly you're going to do. just that it's drastic. but it could also be a facetious way to voice an anxiety of sorts, like "they're going to see me doing this thing that is not actually that big of a deal. and i'm gonna end up on the news about it." it's usually that first one but you never know.