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threepandas · 2 months ago

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Bad End: Royal Weddings

They whispered. About the scandal of it all. Such a bold and shameless color.

As far as I was concerned? What was shameless? Was inviting your affair partner to a Royal Wedding. He hadn't even looked at her. Too absorbed in the sight of his True Love weeping. Too busy wallowing in his own drama to care that he wasn't the only one giving up his life to this.

After all... who WOULDN'T want to marry him?

She must be overjoyed.

I walk High Princesses Kiara, of the United Northern Kingdoms, down the aisle. In the traditions of her people, it SHOULD be the Crown Prince. To show that from this moment, this wedding, they walk together. It's symbolic.

The rich reds, the color of life and love, are painstakingly embroidered. It would have taken decades. Likely by her own hand. As is also traditional. A show of skill and wealth, I think. I studied up. All the better to serve my new lady. My Queen.

The prince hasn't even glanced at her.

People sneer.

This by all rights should be a wedding of mixed traditions, so as to not offend either people. Yet it... it is a paltry effort at best. An INSULT. Each turn another slap across the face.

First there were flowers, when there should have been a dagger and salt. I manage to hunt down satisfactory articles only to find them about to OFFER HER MEAT. On this! Her WEDDING DAY! Something I KNOW his Highness did not hunt himself and CERTAINLY was not PRESENTING himself!

I drive THEM off? Only to have to fend off maids trying to slather her face up in the "latest fashions" of make up. As though I don't recognize that HARLOTS maids! Is the humiliation of having her be the "poor bereaved lover" of the wedding not ENOUGH?! Not to MENTION that her Highness' people DONT WEAR MAKEUP ON THEIR WEDDING DAY.

On and on it went. For DAYS. I was forced to keep her Highness wedding dress WITH ME in my quarters! Lest it "mysteriously vanish" and she be forced to wear WHITE. You know, like a CORPSE? White? The COLOR OF THE DEAD for her people?!

Now, near tears, I walk. Steps even. Head high. Wondering how she has the strength.

These people are AWFUL. Vicious, nasty, ugly, soul-less, MONSTERS to the last. This... this was supposed to be a HAPPY day! Happy!! I was so EXCITED. One of the few people in the capital who had ever even studied the North in any depth, I... I thought it was an HONOR! But it WASN'T was it? No.

It was just one more insult.

The inexperienced lady in waiting, with no idea of how to do ANYTHING. How very perfect for the Queen that his Highness doesn't actually WANT. No. No HE wants his fragile, waifish, VIPER of a-!

"Calm. When you let them anger you, they begin to win. You start to make mistakes you can not afford. Be Calm. I am here." Her Highness whispers, voice soft but commanding beneath the bland music. It is the sort of voice meant for speech. The command of armies and simple men. "We will get through this farce and be done with it. Do not forget, but do not let it hold you. You are a bird, far from here. Their insults mean nothing."

I nod subtly. Try to visualize it. A bird... a bird... open skies beneath my wings, the rush of air. No whispers or cloying perfumes. Green countryside stretched out far beneath me. Free to go anywhere. I am a bird. I... I am a bird. Breathe.

We reach the end of the aisle. The prince I am supposed to one day serve as king, is making moon eyes at his fucking mistress in broad daylight. At his WEDDING. She dressed like this is a funeral. Oh, boo hoo. He's been ENGAGED SINCE BIRTH. This is NOT A SUPRISE.

Maybe it's first life sensibilities, the ones that carried over. When, for whatever reason, I didn't quite "blank slate" between dying and being born like everyone else. Got that proper Isekai experience of starting over. New world and a only sorta new me etc. But?

If a man is FUCKING ENGAGED? Maybe don't TRY THAT? What the actual hell? Yeah, yeah, complexe social mobility issues. But like? Royal Marriages are COMPLEX ALLIANCE CONTRACTS?? Fuckboi is risking a very real WAR? The assassins alone are going to be both vicious and immediate? Cause the King is not dead yet.

The Crown Prince HAS brothers.

"Hunting accidents" have a precedent here.

Her Highness brothers are going to be PISSED when they hear about this wedding. The treatment of their sister. The alliance hinges on "treat my sister well or at least politely". And he couldn't even manage THAT. It baffles and enraged.

I listen as the priest drones on... and on... and on...

With a growing horror? I realize? His royal moronic? Is using SOLEY our peoples vows. Which won't be RECOGNIZED by the United North as a valid marriage, according to ANY of the predominant alliances, agreements, or faiths. Motherfuckers. I KNOW I sent the wedding planners Big Boldly Worded Warnings about this!!

The prince reluctantly goes in for the binding kiss.

Her Highness leans back.

The room goes Dead Silent. Oh gods. I break line and, under the eyes of FUCKING EVERYBODY (ha ha... oh gods, this is terrible, I hate this so muuuuuch) step up to the royal couple. Pick up the gods damned KNIFE. You know? The MARRIAGE KNIFE? The knife specifically required to MARRY EACH OTHER? That one?

I offer it to her Highness. Who tears her now distainfully blank look away from the prince to look down at me. To consider what's in my hands. The moment seems... charged. I wonder if she's reconsidering her marriage to the prince. She looks at it, drags her gaze up to meet mine, then slowly reaches out. Each finger wrapping around the blade with careful precision.

Holding eye contact as she does. The hint of a smile gracing her face. Approval in her eyes. She tucks in in her sash, in the appropriate place. Then picks up the salt from where it was carelessly shoved aside. Turning fully to hand it to me.

Well THAT'S subtle. She's supposed to hand that to her husband. But I guess since he didn't hand her the blade, she refuses to hand him that salt directly either. I turn and try to offer the prince the salt. He rolls his eyes and demands to know if this is some "northern ritual".

YES, you TWIT. It's called a MARRIAGE CEREMONY.

Getting no answer, he turns to the priest and declare that they are married, can they move ON now? My jaw wants to drop. No. No, they are NOT. In EITHER culture. I was WATCHING. She didn't seal SHIT. Or even verbally AGREE to the vows. Priest. Priest for the LOVE OF THE GODS YOU SERVE-!

The coward nods, letting the sham continue. Holy shit.

They aren't fucking married. If he sleeps with her? It'll be considered an ACT OF WAR. I stare in horror at the priest, who avoids my eyes. He knows as well as I do that the marriage isn't complete. Watching him squirm in his expensive robes, sweating like a rat in a trap factory, I wonder who ACTUALLY owns his soul. In my hands, the salt in it's delicate glass container, feels like it's soaked in blood.

Slick with all the innocent blood that's going to spill, because one man and one COWARD couldn't finish a simple ceremony.

The North will NEVER forgive this trespass. This spit to the face. It goes against everything their people stand for. Cultural THEY CAN'T let this go. The people would RIOT.

My hands tuck the salt in my sash, careful and far away. Feel numb as I watch the priest skitter away to safety like an insect jumping ship. Watch the Crown Prince sweep away to escort no his Supposed WIFE, but his LOVER to the reception. In full view of the court. Before the eyes of visiting diplomats and foreign royals alike. Ha ha...

I want to scream. Just scream and scream until the horror leaves me.

But I can't. The day is not over and I am not alone.

A soft but calloused hand, warm and grounding, touches my arm. I turn to my future Queen. She is bathed in light. Tall and regal, unbending in the face of this endless parade degradation. Her eyes are like the clearest sky I've ever seen. The sunlight catching her hair and making it light itself. I wish I could be a fraction so composed.

"It's the practice." She says, lips barely moving. No doubt to the great frustration of attempted easedropers. "I've had years of training. You're doing well, considering the circumstances, little Brave. Let us go. Endure one last party. Then we will be free to consider our options."

She correct of course. Just... just one more party. And it's nice, reassuring even, how she talks like we're a united front. It does? Niggle something. Try to knock some factoid or other lose in my brain. But I'm so fried. Rattled. Just get through this and we're done. Just... just get through this. It can't be that important, surely. I would remember it if it was. Right?

.....right.

The reception is a horror show. I don't know why I expected it to be anything BUT, at this point. Every single thing The LOVER enjoys. A party to make HER happy. No doubt as an apology for the grave crime of DOING HIS DAMN DUTY. But of course, God's forbid! Any consideration for the BRIDE who had to LEAVE HER HOMELAND! Who ALSO is doing her duty!

At least, bless them eternally and to the last, the dignitaries and other royals all come and speak with her Highness. Keep her company.

Joke about her single status.

Sweet merciful fuck, the country is going to burn. And it's all that idiots fault. I don't even... actually? ACTUALLY?! No! No, this is above my pay grade. I tried! I really, really did! First thing in the morning? I'm sending the folks a priority Strongly Worded Letter that it might be a GREAT idea to pack up everything we care about and "visit the in-laws" over in Gammia. Heard the coast is LOVELY this time of year!

Whole ass family should join um. Take the pets. Any neighbors they much care about.

REALLY, REALLY Lovely. That Coast.

I have to stop FIVE MORE MEAT DISHES. Literally grab a server, drag him down, and inform him the NEXT bastard that brings any form of animal near her Highness? Is getting things thrown at them. Public spectacle be damned. I WILL throw carving knives, Do Not Test ME.

Strangely enough! Suddenly the miscommunication suddenly STOPPED.

.....I hate everyone here. Wish desperately I could be drunk. Can't afford to be. But wouldn't it be nice? Instead, I just aggressively correct people. Oh? You were talking? Not my problem. You were wrong. You KNEW you were wrong, were being RUDE, so frankly? Fuck you.

Fire me. I fucking DARE YOU.

Oh, that's RIGHT! You CAN'T can you? LAPDOG. Because YOU are to busy chasing the favor of the Crown Idiot's FUCKING SIDEPIECE to remember that? He's marrying an actual ROYAL. The person who will ACTUALLY have access to all those contracts, funds, and staffing decisions! (You know... if he ACTUALLY MARRIED HER.)

By the time we turn in? I am considering defecting to the North when this all blows up. I've heard it's harsh but ultimately nice. Good food, beautiful clothing, hot people everywhere. What's not to like? Certainly less asshole behavior. They get stabbed.

I walk the High Princess to her rooms. Pulling open the HEAVILY padlocked chests with the key that I'd kept on me. The wedding furs went on the bed, soft as clouds. They're decorative obviously. You move them before... well. But they are meant to show off her greatest accomplishments. Some fur from difficult hunts, others hide with stories carefully burned onto. A life's work.

See, it is meant to say, the whole of who I am and what has lead me here.

There are fabrics, beads, sets of jewelry. I am setting them all out under the softly watching eyes of her Highness. We are waiting. Even though the marriage is a fucking sham. The idiot still seems to THINK it's done. Which means he must come, remove her veil, undo her braid.

No longer a bride, no longer a girl. There are TRADITIONS. They are MEANINGFUL. They hold a special place in people's heart, in their lives and memories. It is supposed to be tender. Intimate. An emotional, close moment between two people, now bound for the rest of their lives.

Which is why, obviously, the BASTARD doesn't show.

I don't need to even GUESS where he's gone. Let my fury and disgust show, as I slam the door with a VIOLENCE. How dare he. How DARE HE?! ON HIS WEDDING NIGHT!? I hope they DO kill him. At this point, he's begging for it!

Rage shakes through me as I imagine wrapping my hand around his gods forsaken throat. Him and his viper DESERVE each other. I hope they BOTH get every! Last! BIT! Of what they've EARNED.

Hissing out a furious breath. I center myself. Shove it down for later. And turn back to the matter at hand. Her Highness still needs to sleep. And I DON'T trust any of these fuckers. Glancing the fire place, I grab the fire poker. Wedge it through the doors handles. There.

No surprises.

Turning back to her Highness, still sitting at the foot of her own wedding bed, surrounded by her life's work? Years and YEARS of hardwork and meticulous planning? Beautiful things meant to be SHARED with the one she loved? I want to cry and put my fist through something. Be sick. Gods... this isn't right.

"I can only assume then, he's not coming? I can not say I'm suprised." She says, hold a hand out to me. "But then who will remove my veil? Unbraid my hair? I wonder..."

Once again, I'm taking over for what the prince should be doing. I planned the wedding as best I could. Provided, to the best of my ability. Offered the knife and received salt in return. Now? After a, hopefully comforting, squeeze of her Highness hand? I gently begin unpinning her veil.

This close, she smells of highland flowers. The little white-blue ones, that I can only barely recall. I saw them once. When I was younger. They were beautiful. Cover everything, come spring. I wish I knew the name of them.

So many little pins. Her hair is soft. I try not to let my hands linger. It's not my place too. Besides, she's likely not remotely interested. It's been one shit show after another, since we met. Finally though...? The veil is free. I gently lower it away. Together, we remove the no doubt heavy bits of jewelry she's worn all day.

I fetch a brush. Sit behind her. Something about the straightening of her back, softly expectant. Does she think it will hurt? A sensitive scalp perhaps. I work to be extra gentle. Making sure to lightly massage her no doubt sore crown, from where all manner of things have pulled and tugged at her hair all day. Softly working her hair tangle free, I make loose sleeping braids off to each side.

"You know..." her Highness muses, a current of something I can't quite place threading through her words. "This technically makes you my 'husband.' We are married, by Northern law. Irreparably bound. I can not say it's what I expected, coming here... but I think we suit each other, no?"

She's smiling. The first time, fully at least, all day. I can not help but smile back. It's a joke, of course. Silly. I could never be married to a High Princess. No one in their right mind would ever allow it. Not to mention I'm fairly certain only a handful of islands and two nations in the south even recognize such marriages... right?

Again, the niggling in the part of my brain where half forgotten facts lay. Something about her Highness specific Northern region? Her faith? Maternal clan? It's something. I studied this. KNOW this. But... gods, it's been such a day. Can't we just joke and laugh in peace? Rest? Surely we can deal with it tomorrow...

I unearth her nigh clothes. Soft and warm. Sweep back to help her get free of her marital dress. Beautiful as it may be? It weights a TON. I am careful to pack it away. Refuse to chance any mysterious loses. Standing, I move to repack her marriage works. Only to be stopped by the sight of her Highness sitting in bed, covers moved back, hand held out to me again.

"Join me? Surely you will not have me sleep alone, on my wedding night, husband?"

The bed is far too large for just one person. Surrounded by her works, hopeful expression on her face, it would take a far strong woman then I to turn her down. Respectful thoughts. Respectful! Thoughts! It's just a joke. You are her FRIEND. This is FRIEND CUDDLING.

.....oh gods.

Pretty. So pretty. So, so, SO pretty!

Mentally I smack myself. Take myself by the shoulders and shake, as I go and change into my night clothes. Do! NOT! Make this weird for her! She is lonely and far from home. TRUSTS YOU. Needs a friend. You can die over how unbelievably gorgeous she is on you OWN time! Be the friend she needs right now!

I come back. Awkwardly crawl into bed only to get tugged down into unexpectedly strong arms. Uuunnnggggff?! No! NO. Respect thoughts! Ha ha... oh gods they are testing me.

Her Highness arms wrap around me. Cuddling me close. The bed is possibly the single most comfortable thing I've ever rest on. That scent of flowers. Everywhere. I am cradled, even as I lay there frozen and unsure. Feel a hand, softly stroking my back, as though soothing a skittish little creature.

"I've always preferred women you know. But the contract was already made. We do not go back on our word." The words as whispered, an intimate and dangerous confession, almost directly into my ear. "But certain parties have grown rather arrogant. Full of themselves and their supposed superiority. Unfortunate then, for them, that they broke the only thing keeping us from breaking THEM."

The pieces finally align enough, in my head, to click into place. Factoids connecting with string. Her Highness is from the Redcrest Clan on her mother's side. The Redcrest Clan, due to a Matriarch five generations back, formally recognize any-sex marriages. His Highness... if she completes the marriage exchange...

Wait.

A....am I married?

Her Highness presses a kiss to my forhead. Gently tugging my body closer toward hers. To tangle her legs with mine. A pleased little noise escapes her, deep in her throat. A near soundless hum that's more exhale then anything else.

"You'll love the North. And I have no doubt my brothers will adore you. We will have to fetch your Clan, of course, but I have lands I can give them. I swear to kill any who dare harm you. Love you as you deserve."

With a sleepy smile, that did nothing to hide the deadly edges to it and eyes that seems to dance with the coming flames of war, she whispered.

"I'll make you a Queen, my love. Lay these lands at your feet. You will look so lovely in a crown."

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thegildedbee · 6 months ago

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Jealousy/Empty: May 27 & 28 Prompts from @calaisreno

This latest chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3. ...............................................................................................

On only rare occasions did Mycroft Holmes’s body register qualms about a plan of action. Long ago he had decided not to second-guess well-studied plans at their point of execution; to do so was to invite potentially disastrous distractions, with the deployment of second guessing performing as does Hercules’s sword when it slashes at the neck of the mythical hydra, only for it to grow two more, and so on ad infinitum. The meeting about to take place that he had arranged by subterfuge is one of those rare occasions.

Watson’s visit the preceding week had been exceedingly unwelcome for a number of reasons, but mostly as it left him with having to decide how to resolve the dilemma it presented of his brother’s instruction that Dr. Watson was not to be given any indication that Sherlock had survived the fall from Bart’s roof. However, the stable door was no longer shut, and the horse had bolted.

After failing his brother in the Moriarty affair, Mycroft had felt honor-bound to accept Sherlock’s outline of his plans to go underground and undercover, after he had been summoned to the morgue by Miss Hooper. He had indeed acquiesced to Sherlock’s strategies at the launching of his mission; once a mission is underway, needs must as to corrections and improvisations that have to be made based on changed circumstances. Such was his conclusion.

In consequence, there was one matter that he had decided could no longer remain hidden. The remedy required summoning Watson, Mrs. Hudson, and Detective Inspector Lestrade. He refused to undergo the required machinations three times as a concession to his own disquiet about the matter. He had made a reservation for Watson to take Mrs. Hudson to tea at St. Ermin’s Hotel, and he had made an arrangement for the Detective Inspector to meet with one of his MI5 case officers off-site from their respective government offices at the Caxton Bar at the hotel. At the conclusion of these two events, preparations had been made to take all three of them through an underground tunnel that ran from the hotel to a secure location nearby, which held only three chairs and a table. It was now time for him to join them.

As he opens the door to the room, all three faces greet him – as he had expected – with various mixtures of surprise, resignation, resentment, and curiosity.

“I want to thank you all for being here,” he begins, with all three of them rolling their eyes. He grimaces, and continues, saying, “you will understand the need for secrecy directly.” He places in front of each of them a stapled stack of papers with a blank cover that contains only a series of numbers at the top right.

“I know from Dr. Watson that the three of you have divined that Sherlock is alive, and that he has been at work since his presumed death in espionage activities against the Moriarty enterprise. What you do not know is why, and I believe that, going forward, you must be read into that area of the case.”

“And what is it that we have come here to read?” Watson asks, his voice hard, with a challenging edge.

“My brother tossed his mobile on the roof before he fell. He had made such preparations as he could, expecting that the odds were that he would survive the fall, but he knew that there were substantial odds that he would not be successful. The public information about the mobile that was given was that it was empty of any relevant information. However, Sherlock had recorded the last conversation he had with Moriarty using the voice memo app on the mobile."

It is now Lestrade who speaks, his voice tinged with disbelief. “So what we have here is evidence that was withheld from the investigation.”

“Yes, Detective Inspector. On national security grounds. What I am going to share with you is, in fact, beyond your authorized levels. I have granted clearances for each of you for the next 20 minutes. My brother did not intend for you to learn of this conversation, so I have not brought the actual recording; to hear about this event in his own voice is – either through this means or directly – I believe, a decision for him alone. I cannot ask him for that permission, because Dr. Watson has told me that Sherlock is not to be told that you know the truth about his death. What you have before you is an unredacted written transcript of the conversation.��

“Mycroft Holmes!” Mrs. Hudson begins, addressing him with some asperity. “I am quite sure I do not know what to do with you!"

“For now, nothing. What is to be done immediately is for you to read the transcript, if that is your wish. You do not, of course, have to do so.”

He notes that all three look stunned; but there it is, there’s nothing that can be done to mitigate that circumstance. As difficult as reading through the record of Sherlock’s “last” conversation may be, they do all have each other, the closeness amongst them having become even more so over the last month of their shared investigations. He tamps down a flare of jealousy. They will be fine.

“I shall leave you to it then,” he says, with a slight bow. Taking one last glance at them as they each turn to the first page, he quits the room, softly closing the door behind him.

........................................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #sherlock bits and bobs #may prompts 2024 #johnlock

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guerillas-of-history · 5 months ago

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🚨🇾🇪 BREAKING - Yemeni Armed Forces:🚨 For the 35th week, dear Yemen comes out in its million man march in Sana'a and everywhere across the country as all criminal bombings, threats, and CIA cells fail to deter the people and their resistance from unparalleled support for Gaza.

This week's slogan: "Steadfast with Gaza.. and Confronting All Conspiracies."

While all eyes turn to the Sabeen square in Sana'a (media 1 and 2), massive marches took places in dozens of cities and governorates including Hodeidah, Thamar, Hujja, Al-Jawf, Taiz, Raymah, Amran, Ibb, Mahwit, Ma'rib, Lahj, Dalea, Bayda, Sa'ada, and many more.

Children and adults come to reaffirm their stance. All chanted:

"O Gaza! O Palestine! With you are all Yemenis! You are not alone!"

"O Arab and Muslims! your stance is shameful and offensive! Rise up for Palestine!"

"Honor, honor to Allah! and to the men of Islam in Gaza!"

"A thousands salute to Hezbollah who shook the earth [beneath] the enemies of Allah!"

"A salute of honor and esteem for the heroes of the heroic security personnel!"

The statement of the marches started by commending the level of coordination and unity among the Palestinian factions in Gaza compared to the disparities and resignations within the zionist entity, highlighting its failure.

They saluted the unique and escalating operations of the support fronts in Lebanon and Iraq, and the significant and pressing operations carried out by the Yemeni Armed Forces.

"We tell the 'israeli' enemy that you are doomed to vanish, and your reliance on American and Western promises and support is futile, as America could not even protect itself," affirmed the people.

They condemned the American and British aggressions against Yemen the latest being the targeting of civilian sites in Raymah governorate, resulting in two martyrs and nine injured, and assured the normalizing Arab and Islamic regimes, that it is a betrayal of Islamic values to watch the Palestinian people starve to death while they stand by.

They considered the dismantling of the espionage network a strategic achievement of the September 21 Revolution and affirmed the continuation of activities, events, marches, official and popular mobilization, and economic boycott of the enemies.

#yemen armed forces #houthis #ansarallah #yemen #guerilla #resistance #photography #video #solidarity #resistance news network #telegram

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octuscle · 1 year ago

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Dear Support-Team,

I just downloaded the App for my mobile but I guess I'm too overwhelmed with all these settings. Thats whyy I am asking you for help.

I'm 25 years old, german. Just finished university and now I'm working a boring job, but at least good income.

Sometimes I see old classmates (the cool kids, most of them are Moslem and with Arabian (?) family backgrounds) on Instagram and I wonder: where would I be today if these People where my friends at school and today...

I don't know how to program the app to find out. Hopefully you can help.

Thanks a lot!

What a cool car! Your father-in-law was really generous. But when you marry his son tonight, when your new brothers and cousins block the inner-city ring road of Dortmund honking their horns, when you dance in the streets and shoot your guns in the air, then everyone should also see that someone is getting married here who made it. An alpha Arab. And you, his German husband.

Damn, you wouldn't have thought that twelve years ago. You were only 13 years old. And a car fanatic. But your father was unemployed and your mother had to work as a cleaning lady. In life, you would never be able to afford one of the cars that stood at the luxury car dealer in the industrial park. That's where the soccer stars of Borussia Dortmund bought their cars. And other people you didn't even want to know where they got their money from. You always stood in front of the shop windows with wide eyes. And then you took heart and asked if you could have a student job. To be allowed to be close to the wonderful cars. And then you started vacuuming floor mats, polishing rims, cleaning air vents with a toothbrush. Always on time, always hardworking, always thorough. The boss's eldest son quickly noticed this, and as a result he gave you more and more errands to run. And more and more responsible tasks.

You must have been about 16 years old, you had just finished secondary school and changed to high school when the Aouns invited you home for the first time. And that's when you saw Chafik for the first time. A cool man. Well built, well dressed, disarming smile. It was probably love at first sight. Even if you had to keep your love a secret for a long time. But in the years that followed, you earned the unreserved trust of the Aouns. At the latest, when your mother died of breast cancer and your father later of his alcohol consumption, you were the sixth son here. And at some point it was clear that there was more than brotherly love between you and Chafik. Mr. Aouns was furious. But at some point he accepted that he could not imagine a better son-in-law than you.

After graduating from high school with honors, you joined the family business and took over the fitness center division. And you made the business flourish. In the meantime, more pharmaceuticals were sold in your gyms than in the pharmacy of the nearest university hospital. And you were always clean. Even if you didn't convert to Islam, you didn't drink alcohol. Of course you would have liked to decorate your muscles with tattoos. But that would not have been godly. At some point, you fit perfectly into the clan. As one of the area leaders. You were only always the only one without a beard and with a smooth chest.

You turn into the underground car park of your mansion at the Phoenixsee. Now you have to hurry. In an hour you will marry Chafik dressed in a suit. Then suddenly you are Christian Aoun. Although no one calls you Christian anymore anyway. Because of your radiant smile, you're just Bassem to everyone here!

Thank you, @jacobadler2 for the perfectly fitting picture!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #tank top #muscle transformation

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merakiui · 9 months ago

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not the same anon but i would actually love to know more about you :) like what your hobbies outside of writing are, what type of music you listen to, if you're a gamer since you play twst and genshin, etc

AAAA thank you so much!!! (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) I'm honored you want to know more. 💖

I have lots of hobbies outside of writing, but I'm most passionate about fashion/makeup, thrifting, reading, exercise, gardening, photography, researching and learning new things, watching anime, collecting keychains and strange plushies!!!! Sometimes I draw. I'd like to get back into sewing and crocheting!! It's been some time, but I used to make pillows and blankets for my plushies when I was younger.

As for music,,,,,, it's a lot of genres. I like to listen to all kinds of music because the variety is exciting and you can never get tired of it when there are so many styles! My latest song obsession has been the extended version of Dance With Me by Sir, Please. It's become my unofficial "wake up in the morning with a dance while I brew tea" song. It's just,,,,, SO GOOD. OTL I want to write a fic based on it with either Cater or Floyd because it reminds me of them hehe.

I'm not Idia-level gamer,,,,, ;;;; I truly wish I was, but I can't afford a fancy gaming set-up. >_< I have my tablet for mobile games and a nintendo switch for other games. I hope to buy Cupid Parasite at some point and play it once I finish my semester. :D

#chit chat #about meraki

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thecatholicbozo · 2 months ago

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Plea for Aid to Western North Carolina

"But God has so composed the body, giving greater honor to the part that lacked it, 25 that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another. 26 If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together." 1 Corinthians 12:25-26

Please give whatever support you can to the relief efforts from Hurricane Helene. Western North Carolina depends on the Body of Christ right now

Many of you may not be aware that this is a region that struggles tremendously with poverty even in the best of times. Many of my neighbors & fellow parishioners rely on welfare, government assistance, & charity programs. Many others live paycheck-to-paycheck. These people do not have savings, retirement accounts, or emergency funds that they can draw from. They need help. Western North Carolina needs the Body of Christ right now

I don't know the latest death toll - yesterday in Buncombe County (Asheville) it was 30, other counties have been slow to report the deaths until they can find family members to inform first. Houses have been swept away on the water. Bridges have collapsed & roads are washed out - some of these are the only entrance & exit to people who are now stranded without food, water, and medicine. Businesses have been leveled, and some of the ones still standing have been looted. Many people are still without water & power, including some of my coworkers. Many folks will now be jobless due to businesses being destroyed. Western North Carolina needs the Body of Christ to send help.

Please send whatever aid you can through reputable organizations like the Red Cross. Lives are at stake & the wellbeing of the survivors depends on you, my brothers & sisters in Christ.

It's inspiring to hear the entire continent mobilizing to save my neighbors in danger. But once everyone has been saved, there will be a lot of rebuilding to do before things feel back to normal. I was able to get out of my driveway for the first time since Friday, and it just felt surreal. I don't really know how else to describe it.

Please share this sentiment & charity opportunities as much as you can. And if you have friends & loved ones in the area, please reach out to them. They may not have cell or internet reception yet, but I can guarantee they will greatly appreciate it. Western North Carolina needs the Body of Christ - for relief, for prayers, & for comfort.

I'm grateful to God for keeping my friends & family safe throughout all this. I'm grateful for all of the prayers & support y'all have sent already. I'm grateful for all of the emergency crews & responders from across the country who have been working 24/7 to restore infrastructure & help people in peril.

I'm especially grateful to the iHeartRadio crew who has been broadcasting updates from local callers & government officials every day - from safety alerts to resources available to just giving people a voice & for giving us a voice to keep us company. It was a very lonely weekend - I did not know when power was going to be back, and kept my phone off to save battery basically from Friday evening until this morning. The only time I turned it on was to update my parents that I was okay, and then I turned it back off. The only other contact I had with the outside world was through the iHeartRadio broadcast, and honestly it makes me break down in tears thinking about how much their show helped me to not feel alone & to feel hopeful. They're good people.

I'm sorry if this is the billionth post like this y'all have seen this week, but I just needed to dump this out there. It's been a scary weekend, and all things considered I haven't really been in any serious danger. I can't imagine what the folks in the mountain are going through right now. But they need you, the Body of Christ.

"Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world." James 1:27

#western north carolina #hurricane helene #tropical storm helene #helene #christian #christianity #catholic #catholicism #north carolina

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thezombieprostitute · 1 year ago

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Bets

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty Bingo card, combining "Nursed back to health" and "Lost a bet". Reader is implied fem (”Doll”) but no other descriptors. Warnings: Mentions of wounds, bruising. Other than that, I don’t think this has any, but please let me know if I missed them.

A/N2: I've written this whole thing as a dialogue because 1) it's what I've got the most experience with. 2) I'm tired of looking up all the different ways of saying "said". 3) It just kinda worked for this story.

Y/N *walks in and sees Bucky bandaging up Jake*: What the hell happened?!:

Jake: So…

Bucky: Well…

*Y/N crosses arms and taps foot*

Jake: It was all Sam’s fault!

Y/N: Sam did this to you?

Bucky: Sort of. He made us a bet.

Y/N *facepalms*: What have I said about bets?

Bucky: You don’t understand Doll, it was also a matter of honor.

Jake: Yes, exactly! It wasn’t just a bet, it was an issue of honor! I swear!

Y/N: It was still a bet and you both know you’re not allowed to do those because you keep doubling down until someone ends up hurt! And sometimes even beyond that to where we have to go to the ER!

Bucky: Look, Sam needed help with his new drone and we had to prove we could damage the thing physically *points to himself* or electronically *points to Jake*. We’re not gonna let ourselves be dishonored by that bird brain and his toys.

*Jake nods in agreement*

Y/N: Let me guess, you were betting on who could take the thing down first?

Jake: No…not exactly.

Bucky: We just needed to damage it, not take it down.

Jake: Unfortunately Sam’s latest software is tough to crack. I actually had to focus to hack it!

Bucky: And that may have made him too distracted to notice when I hit the thing with my arm and broke off some shrapnel which lodged itself into his leg.

Jake: Which, by the way, was mere milliseconds after I’d finally hacked the software! Wilson didn’t beat us and now he owes us both $5.

Y/N: FIVE DOLLARS?! You put yourselves at risk for just FIVE DOLLARS?!

Jake: It wasn’t supposed to be a risk…

Y/N: This. THIS is why I’ve banned you two from making bets!

Bucky: Technically we didn’t make the bet, Sam did. We just took the bet.

Jake: Yeah, this is all Sam’s fault. He knows we can’t resist a bet so he set us up for this.

Y/N: And where is he? Why isn’t he helping patch up Jake?

Bucky *chuckles*: He’s busy picking up the pieces of Red Wing.

Jake: Yeah, that virus I uploaded to Red Wing made it self-destruct! It was an awesome explosion!

Y/N: It exploded?!

Bucky: And that’s when I threw myself in front of Jake to take the bulk of the damage. Most of it is already healed up.

Y/N: You got hurt too?

Bucky: What? I’ve had worse. Mostly just bruising now.

*Bucky removes shirt, showing Y/N the bruises and cuts on his back*

Y/N: That doesn’t make any of this okay! As soon as you’re done patching up Jake you’re both grounded or something. No bets! No explosions! Nothing but rest until Jake’s back to full health and mobility!

Bucky & Jake *grumbling*: Yes, Y/N.

Y/N: Now I’m gonna go find Sam and kick his ass for goading you two into this.

*Y/N leaves*

Jake *whispering*: Thank god Y/N doesn’t know about the noodle incident.

*Bucky nods and carries on patching up Jake*

#bucky barnes x reader #jake jensen x reader #bucky barnes fluff #jake jensen fluff #navy and roo's sleepover

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eddie-redmayne-italian-blog · 7 months ago

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‘Cabaret’ Review: What Good Is Screaming Alone in Your Room?

Eddie Redmayne and Gayle Rankin star in a buzzy Broadway revival that rips the skin off the 1966 musical.

Eddie Redmayne, center, as the Emcee in Rebecca Frecknall’s revival of “Cabaret” at the August Wilson Theater in Manhattan.Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Time

By Jesse Green April 21, 2024

Just east of its marquee, the August Wilson Theater abuts an alley you probably didn’t notice when last you were there, perhaps to see “Funny Girl,” its previous tenant. Why would you? Where the trash goes is not usually part of the Broadway experience.

But it is for the latest revival of “Cabaret,” which opened at the Wilson on Sunday. Audience members are herded into that alley, past the garbage, down some halls, up some stairs and through a fringed curtain to a dimly lit lounge. (There’s a separate entrance for those with mobility issues.) Along the way, greeters offer free shots of cherry schnapps that taste, I’m reliably told, like cough syrup cut with paint thinner.

Too often I thought the same of the show itself.

But the show comes later. First, starting 75 minutes beforehand, you can experience the ambience of the various bars that constitute the so-called Kit Kat Club, branded in honor of the fictional Berlin cabaret where much of the musical takes place. Also meant to get you in the mood for a story set mostly in 1930, on the edge of economic and spiritual disaster, are some moody George Grosz-like paintings commissioned from Jonathan Lyndon Chase. (One is called “Dancing, Holiday Before Doom.”) The $9 thimbleful of potato chips is presumably a nod to the period’s hyperinflation.

This all seemed like throat clearing to me, as did the complete reconfiguration of the auditorium itself, which is now arranged like a large supper club or a small stadium. (The scenic, costume and theater design are the jaw-dropping work of Tom Scutt.) The only relevant purpose I can see for this conceptual doodling, however well carried out, is to give the fifth Broadway incarnation of the 1966 show a distinctive profile. It certainly does that.

The problem for me is that “Cabaret” has a distinctive profile already. The extreme one offered here frequently defaces it.

Let me quickly add that Rebecca Frecknall’s production, first seen in London, has many fine and entertaining moments. Some feature its West End star Eddie Redmayne, as the macabre emcee of the Kit Kat Club (and quite likely your nightmares). Some come from its new New York cast, including Gayle Rankin (as the decadent would-be chanteuse Sally Bowles) and Bebe Neuwirth and Steven Skybell (dignified and wrenching as an older couple). Others arise from Frecknall’s staging itself, which is spectacular when in additive mode, illuminating the classic score by John Kander and Fred Ebb, and the amazingly sturdy book by Joe Masteroff.

In this production, Gayle Rankin’s Sally Bowles is meant to be taken medicinally and poisonously, projecting instead of concealing her character’s turmoil, our critic writes.Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

But too often a misguided attempt to resuscitate the show breaks its ribs.

The conception of Sally is especially alarming. As written — and as introduced in the play and stories the musical is based on — she is a creature of blithe insouciance if not talent, an English good-time gal flitting from brute to brute in Berlin while hoping to become a star. Her first number, “Don’t Tell Mama,” is a lively Charleston with winking lyrics (“You can tell my brother, that ain’t grim/Cause if he squeals on me I’ll squeal on him”) that make the Kit Kat Club audience, and the Broadway one too, complicit in her naughtiness.

Instead, Frecknall gives us a Sally made up to look like she’s recently been assaulted or released from an asylum, who dances like a wounded bird, stretches each syllable to the breaking point and shrieks the song instead of singing it. (Goodbye, Charleston; hello, dirge.) If Rankin doesn’t sound good in the number, nor later in “Mein Herr,” interpolated from the 1972 film, she’s not trying to. Like the cough syrup-paint thinner concoction, she’s meant to be taken medicinally and poisonously in this production, projecting instead of concealing Sally’s turmoil.

That’s inside-out. The point of Sally, and of “Cabaret” more generally, is to dramatize the danger of disengagement from reality, not to fetishize it.

The guts-first problem also distorts Redmayne’s Emcee, but at least that character was always intended as allegorical. He is the host to anything, the amoral shape-shifter, becoming whatever he must to get by. Here, he begins as a kind of marionette in a leather skirt and tiny party hat, hiccupping his way through “Willkommen.” Later he effectively incarnates himself as a creepy clown, an undead skeleton, Sally’s twin and a glossy Nazi.

Having seen Frecknall’s riveting production of “Sanctuary City,” a play about undocumented immigrants by Martyna Majok, I’m not surprised that her “Cabaret” finds a surer footing in the “book” scenes. These are the ones that take place in the real Berlin, not the metaphorical one of the Kit Kat Club. She is extraordinarily good when she starts with the naturalistic surface of behavior, letting the mise en scène and the lighting (excellent, by Isabella Byrd) suggest the rest.

And naturalism is what you find at the boardinghouse run by Fräulein Schneider (Neuwirth), a woman who has learned to keep her nose down to keep safe. Her tenants include a Jewish fruiterer, Herr Schultz (Skybell); a prostitute, Fräulein Kost (Natascia Diaz); and Clifford Bradshaw (Ato Blankson-Wood), an American writer come to Berlin in search of inspiration. Soon Sally shows up to provide it, having talked her way into Cliff’s life and bed despite being little more than a stranger. Also, despite Cliff’s romantic ambivalence; over the years, the character has had his sexuality revamped more times than a clownfish.

The Schneider-Shultz romance is sweet and sad; neither character is called upon to shriek. And Rankin excels in Sally’s scenes with Cliff, her wry, frank and hopeful personality back in place. The songs that emerge from the boardinghouse dramas are not ransacked as psychiatric case studies but are rather given room to let comment proceed naturally from real entertainment. Rankin’s “Maybe This Time,” with no slathered-on histrionics, is riveting. It turns out she can properly sing.

The interface between the naturalism and the expressionism does make for some weird moments: Herr Schultz, courtly in a topcoat, must hug Sally goodbye in her bra. But letting the styles mix also brings out the production’s most haunting imagery. The intrusion of the Nazi threat into the story is especially well handled: first a gorgeously sung and thus chilling version of “Tomorrow Belongs to Me,” then the swastika and then — well, I don’t want to give away how Frecknall stages the scene in which Schultz’s fruit shop is vandalized.

That so many of these moments arise from faithful attention to the original material should be no surprise. “Cabaret” hasn’t lasted this long for nothing. Created at the tail end of Broadway’s Golden Age, it benefited from the tradition of meticulous craftsmanship that preceded it while anticipating the era of conceptual stagings that followed.

All this is baked into the book, and especially the score, which I trust I admire not merely because I worked on a Kander and Ebb show 40 years ago. That the lyrics rhyme perfectly is a given with Ebb; more important, they are always the right words to rhyme. (Listen, in the title song, for the widely spaced triplet of “room,” “broom” and, uh-oh, “tomb.”) And Kander’s music, remixing period jazz, Kurt Weill and Broadway exuberance, never oversteps the milieu or outpaces the characters even as it pushes them toward their full and sometimes manic expression.

When this new “Cabaret” follows that template, it achieves more than the buzz of chic architecture and louche dancing. (The choreography is by Julia Cheng.) Seducing us and then repelling us — in that order — it dramatizes why we flock to such things in the first place, whether at the Kit Kat Club or the August Wilson Theater. We hope, at our risk, to forget that, outside, “life is disappointing,” as the Emcee tells us. We want to unsee the trash.

Cabaret At the August Wilson Theater, Manhattan; kitkat.club. Running time: 2 hours 45 minutes, with an optional preshow.

Jesse Green is the chief theater critic for The Times. He writes reviews of Broadway, Off Broadway, Off Off Broadway, regional and sometimes international productions. More about Jesse Green

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/21/theater/cabaret-review-eddie-redmayne.html

#eddie redmayne #cabaret #cabaret nyc #review new york times #broadway #eddie redmayne cabaret #cabaret nwe production #august wilson #theatre #cabaret 2024 #musical #cabaret musical

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pompous-puffed-up-penguin · 2 years ago

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BTAS!Mad Hatter x Fem!Reader

You’re not really sure how you should approach your first time in bed with someone. But Jervis knows how to make you comfortable.

AN: I have to post this on mobile because my laptop decided it doesn’t want to cooperate. But here, I needed to write something with Jervis because I’ve accidentally fallen in love with him, haha oops

Word count: ~2000

CW: First time, Fingering, Erotic reading of poetry

It’s not that you didn’t want to take the next step with Jervis. On the contrary, now that the two of you had been an item for a few weeks, you were excited at the thought of taking this relationship to a more physical place. And you were sure that if you brought it up, he would be in bed with you before you could finish your proposal.

But as you watch your boyfriend and partner in crime mend one of his mind-control cards, you find yourself too anxious to make the first move. Even though it’s always mesmerizing watching his nimble fingers work, you find yourself fidgeting at the hem of your shirt as you try to find the words. It doesn’t help that you didn’t have any experience to begin with. No matter what you think, you worry that it would come off as too desperate.

“Something on your mind, dear hare?” Jervis’s voice knocks you out of your thoughts and you look over, meeting his blue eyes. Suddenly feeling self conscious, you quickly switch your gaze to the card in his hands, claiming something about faulty wiring.

Evidently not satisfied with that answer, Jervis puts the card down with a sigh. “You worry me when you lie. What’s the matter? If it’s about the plan tomorrow, I’m more than happy to go through it once more.”

No, it’s not that, you assure him, you understand everything about his latest scheme. It’s just, well, you really don’t know how to ask this. You’re thinking it might be impossible.

With a smirk, Jervis grabs your hand, gently stroking your palm with his thumb. “Was this one of the six impossible things you thought of this morning?”

You can’t help but laugh, remembering your daily thought exercise with him. Still, you find it hard to relax enough to actually bring it up. Finally, you take a deep breath. He loves you, right?

A quiet laugh slips out of him. “You must be going mad if you feel the need to ask such a silly question.”

Then…Ugh, why can’t this be easy? It’s such a stupid way of asking but…

“Oh, pish posh. Just say what’s on your mind, my dear.”

Well…you gulp before letting the words spill out.

Taken slightly aback, Jervis blinks as he processes your question. “Would we…” As a faint blush rises to his cheek, he gives an amused chuckle as his grip on your hand tightens. “Oh, to bed with a sweet thing like you would be an honor! Why would you hesitate to ask?”

You look downwards, embarrassed as you find the words. You really don’t want him to be disappointed in you, especially as tears threaten to prick at your eyes.

However, Jervis quickly puts the pieces together, and his tone shifts from excitement to something more tender. Gently, he cups a hand on your cheek to comfort you. “Oh, my poor, sweet hare…” He leans forward and kisses your forehead. There was always something about his kisses that calmed you, and he knew it. “If you’re afraid, we don’t have to-“

No, you interrupt. You want to, you really do! It’s just that you don’t want to disappoint him if you don’t do well.

“Hush now,” he says with a scowl. “The only way you could disappoint me is if you put mustard in your tea. Now would you ever do something as ridiculous as that?”

You laugh, feeling the tension fade away as you feign disgust.

“Hm, I didn’t think you would. You’re much too clever to do that.” Jervis’s smile returns as he kisses your forehead again before moving onto your cheek. Finally, as the final giggles escape from you, he kisses your lips, and you relax into it as you return it. Again and again, you trade kisses, finding yourself unable to stop and closing your eyes to sink yourself into each of them. Jervis’s hand sneaking down to your waist doesn’t help, and his blissful sighs spur you on. As you begin to warm up, you muster up the courage to take a step forward and lick at his lips, wordlessly asking for entry. Though he stalls for a moment, he lets you in, and the lingering taste of peppermint falls on your tongue from his. You squeeze your thighs together, aware of the tingling sensation beginning to grow, and gasp as Jervis pulls away, forced out of your dreamy state. You open your eyes, seeing him looking over you, grinning as his hand lowers to your thigh.

“Perhaps we should continue this somewhere more comfortable.”

He’s not worried about his cards?

“A distraction such as you is much too tempting, dear hare. I’m afraid I will not be able to concentrate for much longer.” He grabs your hand, helping you stand up as he flashes a soft smile. “Will you? Won’t you?”

You nod, letting him lead you down the hall to the bedroom. But no matter how much you try to keep yourself calm, your heart pounds, threatening to burst out of your chest. Now that you’ve gotten this far, second thoughts begin to plague you. You don’t doubt Jervis will be good to you, but-

As you step through the door, a hand tilts your chin upwards to look at him. Jervis looks over you, admiring you as his hand slides down to the buttons on your shirt. “May I?”

The heat in your cheeks rise to a fever pitch as you almost forget to answer. But you give him permission, even adding a ‘please’.

Jervis laughs as he unbuttons your shirt with quick motions, setting your heart fluttering. “You mustn’t be so polite. No need for that here.” As he pulls away the last button, his hands linger on your waist, slowly moving up to your chest and to your shoulders. “Gorgeous…” He seems to study every inch of you, etching your image into his mind as you look towards his chest. Noticing your gaze, he smiles, taking his hands away. “Ah. I’ve almost forgotten myself.”

But before he can start undressing, you reach over, looking up at him as you make your request.

Again, he smiles, melting your nerves as he puts his hands down and sits on the bed. “Go right ahead.”

Right, here you go. Doing your best to keep your hands steady, you unbutton his shirt, though your movements are clumsy compared to Jervis’s. Afterwards, you place your hands on his shoulders as he lets the sleeves fall down his arms. For the next step, after taking off your jeans (which Jervis watches intently), you get up on top of him, straddling him as you kiss him once more, traveling down to his neck. You hear him sigh again, and he brings his hand up, letting his fingers snake through your hair as you pepper him with affection.

“Oh, what a pretty thing you are,” he mumbles in your ear as you feel a slight tugging at the back of your bra. “But if you will allow me, I would love to see even more of you.”

You take a deep breath as you reach back, unhooking the strap, and the way his eyes brighten when you let your bra fall from your shoulders sends a heatwave from your throat down to your lower stomach. Jervis brings his hands up, brushing his fingertips over your nipples. Even this small sensation makes your breath catch in your throat, especially as your groin tingles. Jervis seems to notice your arousal, as he giggles and kisses your left breast.

“Poor hare. We’ve barely started and you’re trembling.” His lips hover your nipple, and with the tip of his tongue, trails lazy circles over it. His other hand massages your right breast, occasionally pinching the nipple there, and it becomes increasingly harder to keep your breathing in check. You risk a glance downwards, and notice his sapphire eyes looking up at you admiringly. You swear you see the edge of a grin as he closes his eyes, pressing his lips and tongue harder into you. A gasp escapes you, and the tingling in your sex becomes too difficult to ignore. As if they had a mind of their own, your hips begin to move, finding delicious friction along Jervis’s thigh. It’s not ideal, but this bit of stimulation draws whimpers from you as sparks of pleasure course through your nerves.

Jervis pauses, releasing his grip on you and looking back up to you, watching you squirm in his lap with amusement. “Would you like a little more?”

You only nod, not trusting yourself to speak without sounding like a whimpering animal.

There’s a slight tugging at your parties now. “You could always have more. If you’re willing, of course.”

You gulp, knowing what’s going to come next. But Jervis sees the hesitation in your eyes and leans back, keeping his hands behind him. “Take your time. We have as much of it as you need.”

As you lay down on the bed, hesitation spreads to your fingers. Maybe he should be the one to do the honors, you suggest.

“Oh my…” But Jervis seems distracted at the moment. He looks you over, every inch of you, with such intensity, as if memorizing every detail of your body. You might as well be wearing a label reading “Eat me” somewhere. With rosy cheeks, you notice for the first time his arousal, which becomes even more apparent as he unbuckles his belt. “Marvelous,” he mumbles, throwing his pants aside without any of his usual grace. “Magnificent, momentous, mouthwatering.”

Despite his mad muttering, he doesn’t jump on top of you right away. Jervis takes his time at first, slowly approaching you and hooking a thumb underneath your panties. As soon as they were off, seeing you completely naked on his bed must have triggered something in him. But ever the gentleman, Jervis leans toward your ear. “Could I, ah…feel you?”

You nod, your legs opening for him as if on command, surprising yourself on how readily you welcome him. But you make him promise to be gentle.

“As sure as ferrets are ferrets.”

And he was off. As his fingers brush against your clit, stroking and massaging, the pressure in your core builds as you lose control of your voice. Your back arches as you bring your wrist to your mouth in an attempt to muffle yourself. As you reach the edge of stimulation, your wrist is taken away and pinned to your side.

“Please don’t.” Jervis whispers, nibbling at your ear lobe. “Let me hear you, little hare. Your melodious moans.” With your entrance soaking wet, he ever so slowly slips a finger inside, and like a rubber band, the pressure makes you snap as your first orgasm courses through you in waves.

Fuck, you just came in front of someone. No, not just someone. The Mad Hatter himself was the first person to give you an orgasm. And so easily, too. You don’t know whether to be proud or embarrassed.

Mercifully, Jervis gives you a few seconds to collect yourself before continuing. You’ve fingered yourself before, but having someone else explore you was a different level. You don’t know how he’s doing it, but the way he curls his finger upwards makes the pressure build again. In between whines and whimpers, you find yourself calling his name, wanting more of the pleasant burn his touch leaves.

“He took his vorpal sword in hand,” you hear him mutter to himself, pacing himself. “Long time the manxome foe he sought.” Slowly, he adds another finger. With your walls spreading farther than you’ve experience before, the subtle pain is not unwelcome, but too strange to put to words. But as he continues reciting, Jervis notices your demeanor and slows down, giving you more time to settle into these feelings. “And, as in uffish thought he stood, the Jabberwock, with eyes of flame…”

Again, it builds. More and more, it makes your toes curl as you shake in Jervis’s embrace. “One, two…One, two…” Calling his name spurs him on, and again, the rubber band snaps. As you come on his fingers, covering them in your slick, he finally pulls them out, kissing you and muffling your breaths.

“Would you like more?”

Yes. Oh God, yes, you’re ready for the main event.

Jervis practically rips off his shorts, and as soon as you see his erection stand to attention, something primitive wakes in your mind. The thought of him taking you, owning you, claiming your first time, it makes your libido flare like a volcano. He takes your legs, rests them on his shoulders, and readjusts so the head of his cock teases at your entrance.

“I know it will be…difficult,” he says, “but please try to relax.”

Ever so slowly, he begins his descent, and you bring his arms around him in an embrace as your walls spread apart for him. Fire courses through your nerves, and you feel every muscle in your sex tremble as Jervis reaches further than you felt before. You lean into his shoulder, muffling your voice as he rests inside you, groaning as you feel his cock twitch inside you.

“Are you alright?”

You need a few seconds to collect yourself, but eventually, you give him permission to continue. He obliges, rocking his hips at a leisurely pace. His sighs and gasps in your ear make you shudder, adding to all the sensations he’s giving you.

“‘Tis the voice of the Lobster,” you hear him recite again, “I heard him declare…” His voice vibrates through your brain, his poem laced with occasional moans and gasps. You wrap your legs around his hips, spurring him on to quicken the pace.

The friction inside you brings you to the edge, and even as you coat Jervis in your orgasm, he continues, embracing you. “When the sands are all dry, he…” he stammers, “he is gay as a lark…” The sound of his hips falling onto yours fills the room. “And will talk in contemptuous…tones of the Shark…”

You have to admit that his concentration when reciting is impressive. But you have no time to rest as your core heats up again. Jervis continues, but the stuttering in his voice becomes noticeable as he reaches his peak. “I-I passed by the garden, and marked, with…with one eye.” And you’re suddenly pulled close to him as he begins to slam into you, muttering into your ear. “How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie…” You reach the edge again, and you can’t help but think this sudden move had something to do with it. His voice doesn’t help either, and as he continues purring his poem, you lose control of your own moans. God, this man could read the dictionary and still send you spiraling into ecstasy.

Even as you call his name, letting him know how you feel, his recitation continues as he keeps his pace. “While…While the…” He soon loses control of his own voice as well, his words dissolving into whines as you feel his cock twitch. You beg him to come inside you, so you can know what it feels like.

And he does. His seed spilling into you sends you into a powerful fit of pleasure, your hormones going wild as you envision it. Tears build as the sensations overwhelm you, but they don't feel unpleasant. In fact, you're enjoying the high, even as Jervis pulls out and catches his breath.

"That's..." He says, struggling to find the right words. "Are...Are you alright?"

You can only nod, having difficulty finding your voice again. As he lays down next to you, you cuddle up next to him, resting your head on his chest.

You hear a sigh as Jervis wraps his arms around you, kissing the top of your head. "It wasn't too much, was it?"

A little bit, but as you got into it, it felt good. But you can't help but feel you're going to start aching in a bit.

"That's natural," he chuckles. "But you were amazing, my dear. My beautiful, darling hare."

#pom prose #mad hatter #jervis tetch #mad hatter x reader #jervis tetch x reader #btas

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ipicnowmobiles · 1 year ago

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Table of Specifications: Honor Magic5 Pro

#latest mobiles #mobilesecurity #mobilestand #nokia #reviews #mobile phones #mobile software #mobileshopping #pros #cons #review #honor #magic

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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Taylor Swift remains inescapable. Tales of her reign are legion, as are her fans. Next to Beyoncé, her power and influence have reached heights so unbridled it’s almost unfathomable. Her Eras Tour made nearly a billion dollars in 2023, and the concert film of that tour has brought in nearly $250 million worldwide. When rumors started swirling in the fall that she was dating Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce, they upended American football. Still, when Time named her Person of the Year, conspiracy theorists saw only one explanation. They allege Swift is a psyop.

If you’ve lived on the internet long enough, you will have heard this kind of thing before. Back in 2016, when she was largely apolitical in her public life, Swift was a hero of the so-called alt-right who some believed was actually red-pilling America to further a racist, conservative agenda. When she piped up about politics in 2018, some people online (somewhat jokingly) theorized she’d been replaced by an NPC. The latest twist? “The regime has plans to weaponize her just in time for 2024,” the @EndWokeness account posted on X Wednesday, adding that if you didn’t find this plausible “you clearly have not been paying attention.”

@EndWokeness has 1.9 million followers, and, as of Monday morning, the post had more than 788,000 views. On Telegram, a QAnon influencer account posted that “we need to wake the next generation up to the occult forces colluding with their favorite celebrities.” Right-wing commentator Jack Posobiec posted on X that “the Taylor Swift girlboss psyop has been fully activated.”

Last week’s Person of the Year honor was also followed by resurfaced allegations that Swift is performing witchcraft to further her success and that the left is using her to influence the 2024 US presidential election. Stephen Miller, a senior adviser during Donald Trump’s presidency, posted a message on X saying that “what’s happening with Taylor Swift is not organic.”

All of this happened the same week WIRED reporter David Gilbert published an investigation into a pro-Russia campaign that used fake Swift quotes in a series of Facebook and X posts attempting to seed anti-Ukraine sentiment, reinforcing—in a totally different way—that celebrity is a powerful tool for manipulation. A few days later, Microsoft researchers revealed a similar effort by an unknown Russian group to alter Cameo videos by celebs like Elijah Wood and Mike Tyson to make it look like they were being critical of Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelensky.

Swift exists as a unique example of the intersection of celebrity and politics, and how it operates globally, says Jonathan Dean, a professor of politics at the University of Leeds. “An important feature of culture and politics over the past 10 years, certainly in the UK and the US and I think probably more broadly as well, is that there’s been a significant convergence in the grammar and style and mode, if you like, of pop culture fandom and political citizenship,” he says, referencing the similar ways fandoms and political parties can operate. “Taylor Swift is interesting in that sense because I think she’s a real embodiment of those convergences.”

Simone Driessen, an assistant professor of media and popular culture at Erasmus University Rotterdam, agrees, noting that as the message-spreading of fandom has merged with that of politics, support can be mobilized readily. As Driessen puts it, “fandom(s), particularly the practices of what fans do, can be weaponized.” What’s weird is that to those who believe these claims, Swift has risen to a level where she can be a powerful political pawn—all without her input. (Swift’s rep did not respond to an email seeking comment on whether or not the singer was part of a psyop.)

Well, maybe not entirely without her input. Swift herself knows how to plant seeds. Her lyrics are written to be decoded by listeners. Her fans have their own theories, like those espoused by Gaylors who decode every image and message from Swift through a queer lens, powered by their belief that the singer is trying to signal that she’s in some way into women. (She could be! But also, who cares?) Some people believe she showed up at Kelce’s game against the New York Jets just to alter Google Search results away from her use of private planes.

Swift’s name draws attention, and that’s power. It’s why the State of Israel often tags her in social media posts, and why #SwiftiesForPalestine have been asking for her to speak up about the Israel–Hamas war.

Celebrity has been used by political movements for centuries. Politicians are celebrities. Swifties are simultaneously like every fandom before them, but they’re also unique. By remaining largely apolitical for the first half of her career, her acolytes were able to project whatever values they held onto her. When she finally came out in support of women’s rights, LGBTQ+ rights, and Joe Biden during the past few years, she alienated some and brought others to the fold.

Swift also created a vacuum in which anyone could claim she was an agent for any cause. It’s hard to imagine Swifties believing she said Ukrainians “behave like charlatans,” so the odds that a pro-Russia campaign could successfully weaponize her fame are slim. Where she stands on the 2024 US election may be more indecipherable. Perhaps that is the real psyop.

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