#and my upcoming mid-life crisis

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Cost of Fame

(37)Cillian Murphy x F! (23)Famous Reader

Summary: You are currently in a presscon for your new album, an interviewer asked you about your relationship with Cillian.

Wordcount: 5.6k

Warnings:

Switch! Cillian, unsafe sex, m! overstimulating, m! & f! oral receiving and giving, handjobs, fingering, p in v, soft/dirty talk, aftercare, younger reader, like by 14 years. So she’s 23 lolz.

She smiled at the interviewer, the question about your relationship with Cillian Murphy one she’d faced many times before. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, knowing that her answer will be scrutinized and analyzed by both fans and critics alike.

After several questions about your music and upcoming projects, the interviewer stood up, his expression sharp and confrontational. She recognized him immediately as someone who thrived on controversy.

“Do you think Cillian is having a mid-life crisis by dating someone your age?"

The interviewer’s question hangs in the air, charged with insinuation. She took a moment, maintaining her composure, and then meet their gaze with a calm, confident smile.

“Cillian and I have a relationship built on mutual respect and genuine affection,” she begin. “It’s disappointing that people might reduce our connection to a cliché like a mid-life crisis. Cillian is an incredible person with a deep understanding of life, and he values me for who I am, not just my age.”

"Do you think Cillian sees you as more of a trophy girlfriend because of your age and beauty?"

The fuck is with this interviewer man..Jesus Christ

Maintaining her composure despite the intrusive nature of the question, takes a moment before responding. Her expression is calm but resolute, reflecting both her confidence and the depth of her feelings for Cillian.

"I understand why some people might think that way," she begins, her voice steady and measured. "But those who know Cillian and our relationship understand that it goes far beyond superficial attributes like age or appearance."

She takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. "To suggest that he sees me as a 'trophy girlfriend' is to undermine the very essence of what we share. We challenge each other, support each other, and grow together.”

Her eyes soften as she continues. "Cillian has always made me feel valued and respected for who I am as a person, not just for how I look or my age. That's something I deeply cherish about our relationship."

She finishes with a confident smile. "So, to answer your question: No, I don't believe Cillian sees me as a trophy. He sees me as his partner, his equal, and someone he truly loves."

She had walked into this interview feeling ready for any kind of questions they might throw at you but for god’s sake she wasn’t prepared for any of these questions.

"Given your significant age difference with Cillian Murphy, do you think you’re being taken advantage of in your relationship? Or do you believe it’s just a phase you'll grow out of once you mature a bit more?" he asked, his tone dripping with insinuation.

The room fell silent, the question hanging in the air like a dark cloud. She felt a rush of heat flood her face, a mix of anger and hurt. The insinuation was clear, and the disrespect stung deeply.

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, but the anger was too raw. "Excuse me?" She said, her voice steady but laced with a cold edge. The interviewer didn't back down, his eyes gleaming with the anticipation of a reaction.

"Do you think your relationship is genuine, or is it just a means for publicity?" he pressed on, clearly sensing he had struck a nerve.

She stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. The room collectively held its breath. "I don’t have to justify my personal life to you or anyone else," she said, her voice firm. "This interview is over."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out, the silence behind her was deafening. The press conference, with its blinding lights and probing questions, had left her drained. The whispers of the journalists faded as she made her way down the elegant staircase of the venue, the heels of her shoes clicking rhythmically on the marble steps.

She pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she navigated to Cillian’s number. The screen seemed to blur momentarily as the fatigue from the day caught up with her. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the call button and held the phone to her ear, listening to the steady ring. She loved Cillian, but sometimes he was a bit slow to pick up the phone.

Finally, the call connected, and you heard his familiar, comforting voice. "Ey’ love, how’d it go?"

Her breath shook a bit as she responded, "Cill, definitely not a fun interview."

"Do you want to talk about it when you get home?" His concern was evident, and it warmed your heart.

"Yes, it would be nice," she replied softly.

"I love you," she said before hanging up. The weight of the day seemed to lift slightly with those three words. She slipped her free hand into her purse, pulling out her favorite pair of bulky Louis Vuitton sunglasses. They were perfect for hiding from the paparazzi, who were most definitely outside waiting for her.

With a sigh, she put on the sunglasses. As she stepped out into the waiting throng of photographers and reporters, she felt a rush of flashes and shouts. The cameras were relentless, capturing every moment of her exit. But she held her head high, knowing that she had someone waiting for her at home who loved her unconditionally. The drive home was filled with a mixture of relief and anticipation. She couldn't wait to see Cillian, to feel his arms around her and hear his comforting words. The scrutiny and judgment from the public seemed to melt away when she was with him, replaced by a profound sense of peace and understanding.

As she pulled into the driveway of her shared home, she saw Cillian waiting on the porch, a soft smile on his face. He stood up as she approached, his eyes filled with concern and love. She stepped out of the car after bringing it to park and he opened his arms, enveloping her in a great big hug.

She buried her face in his shoulder, feeling the tension of the day melt away. "I'm glad you're home," he whispered, his Irish accent a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.

Cillian pulled her out of the gentle hug and looked into her eyes, his gaze full of warmth and affection. With a tender smile, he brushed aside some strands of hair from her face, his fingers lingering softly against her skin. Cupping her cheeks, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her soft lips, savoring the moment.

"Even though it's a day, I can't stand to be without you," he murmured, his Irish accent adding a charming lilt to his words.

She smiled against his lips, her heart swelling with the love she felt for him. "It's the same feeling over here, y'know," she replied, her voice filled with emotion as she leaned back in for another kiss, not wanting the moment to end.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside faded away. In that moment, it was just the two of them, their hearts beating in unison, their souls intertwined. The future was uncertain, but as long as they had each other, they knew they could face anything that came their way.

With a soft sigh, she rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "I love you, Cillian," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He tightened his hold on her, his lips brushing against her forehead. "I love you too, more than words can say," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity and devotion.

Together, they stood there, wrapped in a cocoon of love and contentment, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would always have each other to lean on.

Some days had passed, and now her and Cillian were in the kitchen together, a comfortable routine having settled between them. The midday sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room as she busied herself making lunch. The aroma of fresh ingredients filled the air, mingling with the sound of a soft melody playing from the TV.

Cillian leaned against the countertop, his eyes following her every move. He watched as her hips swayed gently to the rhythm of the song, a small, contented smile playing on his lips. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved, a natural grace that seemed to come effortlessly to her.

"You know, you have a knack for making even the simplest tasks look enchanting," he remarked, his Irish accent adding a melodic charm to his words

She glanced over her shoulder, catching his gaze with a playful glint in her eyes. "Is that so?" she replied, her voice light with amusement. "Maybe it's just the company I'm keeping."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Flatterer."

Turning back to her work, she couldn't help but feel a warm flush of happiness. The kitchen had always been a place of comfort for her, but having Cillian there, sharing these simple moments, made it even more special. She reached for a spoon, stirring the pot with a rhythm that matched the music.

Cillian took a step closer, his presence a comforting weight behind her. "What are we having today, chef?" he asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Just something simple," she replied, smiling as she looked up at him. "A bit of pasta with fresh vegetables. Nothing too fancy."

He nodded appreciatively. "Sounds perfect to me."

She returned to her task, feeling his gaze still on her. It was moments like these that made her realize how deeply she cherished their time together. Despite their busy schedules and the constant demands of their careers, they always found a way to make these everyday moments feel extraordinary. As she plated the food, she turned to him with a satisfied smile. "Lunch is ready. Hope you're hungry."

Cillian pushed himself off the counter and moved to help her, his hands gentle as he took the plates. "Always am when you're cooking," he said, a hint of teasing in his tone.

They sat down at the table, the soft music providing a backdrop to their conversation. They talked about their days, their plans, and shared laughter over little jokes. It was in these simple exchanges that they found their strongest connection, a bond that went beyond the glamour of their public lives.

At one point, she reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his hand. "I'm really glad you're here," she said softly, her eyes reflecting the sincerity of her words.

He squeezed her hand gently, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that took her breath away. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he replied, his voice low and earnest.

They finished their meal, the afternoon light casting long shadows across the room. As they cleared the table, Cillian wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You know," he murmured, "I’m glad you’re mine..”

After a long day, Cillian and she had just finished a relaxing shower, the warm water soothing their tired muscles. They stood in front of the mirror, drying off and getting dressed, a comfortable silence enveloping them.

Once they were both dressed, they retreated to their bedroom, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the room. They crawled into bed, the sheets cool against their warm skin, and snuggled under the covers, a sense of contentment settling over them. They turned on the TV and started a movie, the sound filling the room with a comforting background noise. Cillian wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, her head resting against his chest. They lay there in comfortable silence, the only sounds the gentle hum of the movie and the steady rhythm of their breathing.

As the movie played, Cillian occasionally brushed his fingers through her hair, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. She tilted her head up to look at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. He met her gaze, his eyes warm and full of love. She shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of the sheets against her skin as she moved to sit on Cillian's lap. His cock wrapped in the thin layer of a soft polyester pressed against her inner thighs, his body radiating a comforting heat that enveloped her as she settled into his embrace.

Cillian's breath caught in his throat as her thighs applied just enough pressure to elicit a response from his now throbbing cock. He shifted uncomfortably under her, his body betraying him in the most deliciously agonizing way.

"Cill..." she murmured softly, her voice a gentle whisper that sent a shiver down his spine. "I can feel you throbbing..."

His face flushed bright red, embarrassment and desire warring within him. "I know," he admitted, his voice strained with restraint. "I can't help it... but it's fuckin’ hard not to be hard when you're on top of me like this..."

Feeling his discomfort, she slid off his lap, her movements careful and deliberate. He grunted softly, the loss of her weight leaving him feeling strangely empty. She pulled back the covers, her eyes drawn to his predicament, his cock pitching a tent in his boxer briefs. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight, arousal pooling low in her belly at the thought of him, so achingly hard and desperate for her attention. She could see the head twitching, a damp stain where his pre-come was dripping from, evidence of his arousal and need.

"It fucking hurts," he confessed, his voice strained as he bit down on his lip, trying to hold back the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

Without a word, she reached out, her fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of his boxer briefs, feeling the heat radiating from his straining cock. She could feel his pulse racing beneath her touch, his need palpable in the air between them. His hips were bucking up towards her hands.

“You’re a needy lil’ thang aren’t yah?”

Gently, she tugged down his boxer briefs, freeing his throbbing cock from its confines. He hissed softly at the sudden exposure, his arousal on full display for her to see. Without hesitation, she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, her tongue darting out to taste the salty sweetness of his pre-cum.

Cillian's breath caught in his throat, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as pleasure washed over him in waves. "God, please," he pleaded, his voice hoarse with need. "I need you, love... please..."

Her tongue danced around the tip of his cock, teasing and testing, exploring every sensitive nerve. She took her time, savoring the salty taste of his pre-come, her touch both gentle and deliberate. Today, she wanted to hear him pant, beg, whine, and break. This side of her emerged on certain days, a side that reveled in having Cillian at her mercy. Cillian's hands were pressed against his face, trying to maintain some semblance of control. But it was a losing battle. He couldn't help the soft, desperate sounds escaping his lips as her tongue worked its magic on him.

"God, love, please..." he whispered, his voice trembling with need.

Ignoring his pleas for now, she continued her slow, torturous ministrations. She flicked her tongue over the sensitive slit, then swirled it around the head, before taking him just an inch into her mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, and Cillian's hips bucked involuntarily. She let out a soft, pleased hum as she felt him twitch against her tongue, and it vibrated around him, sending a shiver through his entire body. Slowly, she began to take more of him into her mouth, inch by inch, until her lips were stretched around him, and he was pressing against the back of her throat.

Cillian's hands moved to her hair, threading his fingers through it and holding on for dear life. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he fought to keep from thrusting up into her mouth. The feeling of her hot, wet mouth around him was almost too much to bear.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're so fuckin’ good at this."

She took him even deeper, relaxing her throat to accommodate him, her nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. She could feel his body tensing, his muscles straining as he fought to hold back his climax. She pulled back slightly, her tongue still swirling around him, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked him hard. Cillian let out a strangled cry, his grip tightening in her hair. He was close, so close, and she knew it.

Determined to push him over the edge, she increased her pace, bobbing her head up and down, taking him as deep as she could with each movement. The room was filled with the lewd sounds of her mouth working on him, and his increasingly desperate gasps and groans.

"Please, love, I can't... I'm gonna..." he panted, his voice breaking.

And then he was there, his body tensing, his hips bucking as he came hard, spilling into her mouth. She swallowed every drop, her tongue still working to prolong his pleasure, to milk every last bit of his orgasm. Cillian's hands fell from her hair, his body collapsing back against the bed, utterly spent. She released him gently, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock before crawling back up to lie beside him, her own arousal thrumming through her veins.

Turning to look at his flushed face and listening to his panting breaths, she felt a renewed wave of desire wash over her. She wanted more, but would he be able to survive it? There was only one way to find out.

“You’re so good for me, Cill, so good for me,” she murmured, her voice a husky whisper in the quiet room.

Her hand moved slowly to his semi-soft cock, which lay against his abdomen. Her thumb traced circles around the head, collecting the beads of cum and spreading them along his length. He let out a soft She began rubbing her thumb against his slit once again, watching his every move with an almost predatory intensity.

Cillian groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he buried his face in the soft nape of her neck. "B-baby... you’re gonna kill me if you do that again," he groaned, his voice laced with both exhaustion and undeniable arousal.

Cillian threw his head back as her thumb continued its slow, deliberate movements on his already weak, fragile, and sensitive cock head. His body trembled under her touch, each gentle stroke sending waves of electricity through him. He buried his face into her chest, his soft and begging moans filling the air, creating a symphony of desperation and need.

"Please," he whispered, his voice muffled against her skin. "I can't... I can't take much more."

Her hand started to move slowly up and down his shaft, each stroke a tantalizing mix of pleasure and pain. She chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through her chest as she hummed a tune, the melody wrapping around them both in the intimate setting.

“You’re already a mess,” she teased, her voice a sultry whisper. “Come on, make a bigger one for me, eh?”

His body shuddered at her words, the raw need in her tone making his cock twitch in her grasp. “I-I can’t... it’s too much,” he gasped, his voice a broken plea. She smiled, a wicked glint in her eye as she continued her slow torture, her hand squeezing gently at the base before gliding up to the sensitive head again. His hands clutched at her back, his nails digging into her skin as he tried to hold on, tried to control the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. But her touch was relentless, each stroke, each caress pushing him closer to the edge.

“You’re going to come for me again,” she whispered, her voice a command wrapped in velvet. “And you’re going to love it.”

Cillian’s breath hitched, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. But he couldn’t deny her, couldn’t resist the pull of her words, the promise of cumming in her hand. “Please,” he moaned, his voice barely a whisper. “Please, make me come.”

Her hand moved faster, her strokes more insistent, driving him towards the brink with a skill that left him breathless. “That’s it, love,” she encouraged, her lips brushing against his ear. “Cum in my hand, yeah…that’s it you slut.”

With a final, desperate cry, Cillian’s body convulsed, his cock pulsing in her hand as he came hard, his cum painting her hand and his abdomen in a white, hot, and sticky spurts. He buried his face deeper into her chest, his moans muffled but no less intense. She continued to stroke him through his orgasm, milking every last drop from him until he was a shaking, trembling mess in her arms. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “You did so well~…”

His breathing was erratic, chest heaving as he tried to regain control, but it didn't matter. She clearly wanted more. Her intentions were unmistakable, and the desire in her eyes left him both helpless and exhilarated. His mouth hung open, a desperate gasp escaping his lips as he practically drooled on her chest, the dampness seeping through her thin shirt and onto her skin. It was a sight that drove her wild, seeing him so utterly undone by her touch.

"Honey, I'm-ima old man... you can't ju-"

She cut him off mid-sentence, her hand wrapping around his sensitive cock again. This time, her strokes were slow and deliberate, each movement designed to drive him insane. His protests died on his lips, replaced by a low, guttural moan that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.

“Yeah..but you’re also a fuckin’ slut whose begging for more”

His eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling under her touch. "Fuck... you're killin' me," he groaned, his accent thick with desire and exhaustion. He tried to hold on, tried to resist the overwhelming sensations, but it was futile. She had him completely at her mercy.

Her hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm, the slick sound of her strokes filling the air. She watched his face intently, relishing every twitch, every gasp, every whimper that escaped his lips. "You're so good for me," she murmured, her thumb brushing over his leaking slit, making him shudder. "Just one more time, love. You can do it."

His head fell back, mouth open wide as he panted and moaned. He could feel his release building again, the pleasure almost too intense to bear. "I... I can't... it's too much," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, you can," she insisted, her strokes becoming a fraction faster, her grip just a bit tighter. "Come for me again”

His eyes flew open, locking onto hers as his release approached. With a strangled cry, he came, his cum spilling over her hand in hot, sticky ropes. She continued to stroke him through his orgasm, drawing out every last drop until he was a quivering, whimpering mess.

"That's it, love," she soothed, her voice like honey. "You're perfect."

He collapsed against her, completely spent. His breathing was ragged, his body slick with sweat.

She leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, "Baby... I'm so fuckin' wet from watchin' you come so much..."

Cillian's mind raced, her words sending a jolt of electricity through his body. Despite the exhaustion from his recent climax, his cock began to stir again, the thought of her arousal igniting a primal hunger within him. He glanced down at her, his eyes darkening with renewed desire. He could practically taste her, the anticipation making his mouth water.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice rough and low. "You don't know what you do to me."

With a sudden burst of energy, he flipped her onto her back, his body hovering over hers. His eyes locked onto hers, a mix of lust and adoration swirling in their depths. "I need to taste you," he growled, his Irish accent adding a delicious edge to his words. "Like it's my last meal."

She shivered with anticipation, her body responding to his intensity. He kissed his way down her body, each touch of his lips a promise of what was to come. When he reached her hips, he paused, looking up at her with a smoldering gaze before hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties and sliding them down. Her wetness caused her cunt to practically glisten under the light. Cillian settled between her legs, his breath hot against her inner thighs. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her arousal driving him wild. With a groan of pure need, he finally dipped his head, his tongue darting out to taste her. She gasped, her hands gripping the sheets as his tongue explored her folds, savoring every drop of her essence.

His movements were slow and deliberate at first, savoring her taste and the way she writhed beneath him. But as her moans grew louder and her hips began to buck, he increased his pace, his tongue moving with a fervent intensity. He latched onto her clit, sucking gently before flicking it with his tongue, driving her closer to the edge. Cillian didn't want to let up. With a determined glint in his eyes, he gently pulled her legs over his shoulders, angling her hips to grant him even deeper access. He wanted to taste every inch of her, to savor every drop. The sheer pleasure of it had his cock throbbing with need, the hardness almost painful. He couldn't resist the urge any longer.

With his left hand, he moved to grasp his twitching cock, the contact sending shivers down his spine. He began to stroke himself in time with the rhythm of his tongue on her, his moans mingling with hers, creating a symphony of shared pleasure. His mouth worked diligently, his tongue exploring her depths with fervent hunger. The taste of her arousal was intoxicating, driving him to delve deeper, to lick harder. He groaned softly against her, the vibrations causing her to gasp and arch her back. Drool mixed with her juices as he devoured her, his need for her evident in every lick and suck. He stroked his cock faster, the slick sounds of his hand moving over his shaft adding to the erotic atmosphere. His breaths came in hot, heavy pants, each exhale fanning over her sensitive skin and sending tremors through her body.

She writhed beneath him, her hands gripping the sheets tightly, her moans growing louder with each passing second. "Cillian... please..." she whimpered, her voice thick with desire.

He responded by increasing his efforts, his tongue moving with a relentless pace as his hand continued to work his cock. The dual sensations were driving him to the brink of madness, his own moans becoming more desperate as he chased his release.

"Fuck, you're so good," he groaned against her, his words muffled by her flesh. His own pleasure built to a crescendo, the sensation of her wetness on his tongue combined with the tight grip of his hand on his cock pushing him closer to the edge.

Her body tensed beneath him, her moans reaching a fever pitch as she approached her climax. The taste of her arousal became more potent, spurring him on. With a final, deep suck on her clit, she came undone, her orgasm crashing over her in powerful waves. He growled against her, the vibrations sending her over the edge. Cillian didn't stop, his tongue continuing to lap up every drop of her juices, prolonging her pleasure until she was a trembling, gasping mess.

Her cries of ecstasy were music to his ears, the sight of her in the throes of pleasure pushing him over the edge. He groaned loudly, his own release spilling over his hand as he continued to stroke himself through the aftershocks. Cillian's body trembled with the force of his orgasm, his mouth never leaving her, savoring the final moments of their shared bliss. As the waves of pleasure subsided, he finally pulled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He moved up to lie beside her, their bodies slick with sweat and arousal.

Cillian looked at her while panting heavily, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He had already come four times by this point, each release more intense than the last. God, she knew exactly how to touch him, how to unravel him in ways he never thought possible. But now, it was his turn. His turn to make her the moaning mess, to make her forget everything but the pleasure he could give.

"Yet here you are, a moanin’ mess," he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. "You know how to make me crumble, but only temporarily. However, I can fuck you 'til you forget you know your name, love."

His Irish accent, thick with arousal, sent a shiver down her spine. The promise in his words was clear, and she felt a surge of anticipation wash over her. Cillian leaned in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that left her breathless. With a swift, practiced motion, he flipped her onto her back, positioning himself above her. The look in his eyes was one of pure dominance, a primal hunger that made her heart race. He paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build, before sliding his hand down to her messy and sticky cunt. She was already a mess from his feast a minute ago but her body was eager for more.

Cillian's fingers teased her clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made her hips buck. He watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut, her mouth falling open in a silent moan. "You like that, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice a husky murmur in her ear.

His fingers brushed lightly against her folds, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips. He marveled at the slickness of her arousal, his own desire growing with each passing moment. His fingers knowing exactly where to go to drive her wild with need. He circled her clit with feather-light touches, teasing her with the promise of pleasure to come. Her hips bucked against his hand, seeking more contact, more friction. He increased the pressure of his touch as he began to stroke her clit in earnest. His movements were slow and deliberate, each stroke sending a jolt of electricity through her body. He could feel her muscles tensing beneath his touch, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

But Cillian wasn't satisfied with just teasing her clit. He wanted to explore every inch of her, to drive her to the brink of ecstasy and beyond. With practiced skill, he slid one finger inside her, feeling her walls clench around him as he began to move. He set a relentless pace, his finger plunging in and out of her with a rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart. Her moans filled the air, a symphony of pleasure that drove him wild with desire. He added a second finger, stretching her to accommodate his girth, and she cried out in ecstasy as he filled her completely. His thumb continued to stroke her clit, adding an extra layer of sensation that pushed her ever closer to the edge.

Cillian could feel her climax building, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. But he wasn't about to let her off that easily. With a wicked grin, he curled his fingers inside her, hitting that sweet spot that sent her careening over the edge. She came with a scream, her body convulsing with the force of her release. Cillian didn't let up, his fingers continuing to pump in and out of her until she was a trembling, quivering mess. Only then did he withdraw his hand, his own arousal burning hot and fierce. Cillian watched her, a satisfied smirk on his lips, as he slowly withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth, tasting her essence.

But he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. He positioned himself between her legs, his cock hard and throbbing with need. He guided himself to her entrance, pausing for a moment to look into her eyes. "Ready for more?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

Her answer was a breathless yes, and with that, he thrust into her, filling her completely. She gasped, her hands clutching at the sheets as he began to move, each thrust deep and deliberate. The pace was slow at first, teasing, but he quickly picked up speed, driving into her with a force that made her cry out. Cillian's hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer with each thrust. He could feel her tightening around him, her second orgasm building rapidly. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss as he drove her higher and higher.

When she finally came, it was with a scream that echoed through the room, her body shaking with the force of her climax. Cillian followed soon after, his own release hitting him like a freight train. He groaned her name, his body tensing as he spilled into her, the pleasure overwhelming him. They collapsed together, panting and spent, their bodies tangled in the aftermath of their passion. He pressed soft kisses to her forehead, her temples, her cheeks, savoring the intimacy of the moment. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, telling her how much he loved her, how she was his everything. She melted into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished in his arms.

He ran his fingers gently through her hair, his touch tender and loving. "You were amazing," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "I love you so much."

She smiled up at him, her eyes filled with love and contentment. "I love you too," she replied, her voice soft and filled with warmth. "That was... incredible."

Cillian leaned down to kiss her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. He wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped in her arms, lost in the moment. But he knew that they couldn't stay like this forever. Reluctantly, he began to move, untangling their bodies and sitting up. He reached for the blanket, pulling it over their bodies to ward off the chill that had settled over them. He then turned his attention to her, his gaze soft and affectionate.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. "No, I'm fine," she reassured him. "You were perfect."

Cillian's relief was palpable, and he leaned down to kiss her again, his lips lingering against hers. They stayed like that for a long moment, lost in each other's embrace, before finally settling back against the pillows, their bodies still entwined. As they lay there, Cillian ran his fingers gently over her skin, tracing patterns along her arm and across her back. She sighed contentedly, her eyes fluttering closed as she savored the sensation of his touch.

"I could stay like this forever," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cillian smiled, his heart swelling with love for this woman who meant everything to him. "Me too," he replied, his voice filled with tenderness. "Me too."

Author’s Notes:

I got this idea from a lovely character AI user, which is shurilix. Yes it’s just main message you get from a character that sparked the idea of a series by itself. But it’s really all their idea. I don’t think they have a tumblr but I still wanted to mention it. Also I originally wasn’t going to do smut for this part but fuck it why not.

Credit for the little sparkle smol divider: strangergraphics-archive

[obliqueblade]

End of Season 9 + health update (kinda)

So, I finally got a chance to watch most of the Hermits videos about the end of season nine, just finished with Grians, and I was not anticipating that I would cry.

I did. An embarrassing amount.

Something that I haven't talked about in a while, is the recent really bad health crisis I had a few months ago. For those unaware, or who don't remember, I was diagnosed with a form of Lung Cancer almost three years ago.

A few months ago, one of my roommates, allowed her partner into our apartment knowing that they had Covid and didn't tell me or our other roommates. I got sick. Really sick. I don't want to go into too much detail, because it is not pleasant, but since then my doctors and I had to change almost everything about my treatment plan, but the major thing we were unsure of was how would it affect one of my upcoming surgeries.

Originally, this was set for mid-January, but my doctors wanted to run some more tests and make sure that I would be strong enough to undergo it. At the time in late October, they told me they would know for sure by December. And, a few days ago I got the call to go and meet with them.

I'm not strong enough.

Which, essentially means that without this surgery, all they are really going to be able to do is keep me comfortable until I pass.

Obviously, this sucks, and not at all how I had intended things to go. I've not told any of my family, mainly because I don't really know how to at this time. Tomorrow being Christmas it feels wrong to do it now, so I'll probably wait till after the holidays.

Do not worry, I am still making progress on the fic, as it isn't strenuous to do.

Anyway, I felt that I needed to write this with the end of the Hermitcraft season. I had only started watching Hermitcraft during season 8, not long after I had gotten my diagnosis. So season 9 was my first time watching a full season- start to end.

I think that might be one of the reasons I got so emotional towards the end. Realistically, depending on when they start season 10, I won't be alive to see it, let alone the end of it.

Obviously, I'm not saying "they need to start the new season now because I'm dying, and screw how burnt out you guys might feel". That would be ridiculous, and not the point I'm trying to make.

The Hermits introduced me to so much joy, such much creativity, and so much strength. The days I felt like were the end, were made so much brighter, because of the Hermits.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I probably wouldn't have made it through the past two years without them.

So, in the only way that I hopefully can with the time I have left, I want to complete this fic. I want to attribute something back to this amazing community, and the people that got me through so much.

Thank you, Hermitcraft, for making the last few years of my life feel like they were worth living.

[chicagosavant]

Dealing with a person who has some major unacknowledged personality disorder traits—of the narcissistic/border-line sort…

The absolute one-sided, self-centered perspective of reality—I see it in my patients so often, and I’ve glimpsed episodes in this particular friend over the years. But never to this extent, and so flipping disconnected from reality, where they accept absolutely no responsibility in their actions. And when the people who’ve tried to help them out mention their own particular commitments, or boundaries, regarding the situation that’s persisted longer than it was ever meant, bc of a lack of clarity in communication—that, I’ll admit both to parties sharing some responsibility (although, the BPP person certainly won’t…)—and the reactive hostile vindictiveness…omg. They’ve said their part, and we’ve said ours. Trying to reframe their actions in terms of the lack of clarity, and completely inaccurate portrayal of topics discussed is like trying to truth-sandwich an anti-Vaxer. It’s pointless, bc their version of realty is so self-absorbed, and detracts from any constructive trouble-shooting. Their poor dogs, who are the subject of this vague-post, where we’re (my partner and I) are trying to get our friend to get her damn (but actually very sweet, fairly low maintenance, but have literally been staying with us for 6 fucking months already) dogs, while our friend/ex-friend decided amid a mid-life crisis, they would up and drive 1/2 way cross-country to buffoo-NewMexico, thinking this was The Great Life ReSet—then, decided, literally after trying it for 6 wks in NewMexico-Life wasn’t happening quite as planned, and upped-n-hauled back to New-Fucking-England. En route, mentioning they needed a place to leave their dogs till they could get set up in a new apt.

Bad foresight on my part, not specifying a time-frame we were willing to watch them for (in the Midwest, btw—no where near NewEngland….). 6 months was not a part of this dialogue, till after they tell us they signed a lease on an apt, but the catch: “Oh surprise! They won’t let me have my dogs. So, as a favor to you guys, I told them I could only sign a 6 month lease bc I just couldn’t be away from my little shmoopies that long, for a full 12 months. So, it looks like you’ll be watching them into the spring (wtf??? That hadn’t been mentioned…)”. Btw, this friend is a working professional in healthcare, at a pretty cush teaching-hospital in NewEngland—not homeless/jobless/salaryless/or skilless—they can afford the $450-900 pops for their ketamine infusions, every 1-2x/month, but lament how hard-up they are financially, unable to afford a place that’ll let them have dogs. We’ve attempted to politely inquire as to any updates on her living situation a few times, in the last few weeks, especially as this 6 month lease is up in early April, and supposedly, her current landlords were considering letting her have her dogs, so she could finish out the coming 6 months on her lease. Or, bc—well, you know—finding a place, and moving and all that…also, well, we’re going out of country in early April, and we don’t want to be responsible for her dogs needing a boarder. And they’re not our dogs. She’s covered the cost of kibble (2 long-haired doxies, not that expensive anyway, but appreciated from our end), but we’ve done all the other doggy things you do when you’re not a turd, and you’re caring for fur-babies. However, We already postposed/wrote-off a few fall trips that had been in the works/planned bc of her sudden crisis-mode, and the changing goal-post of duration for which we were meant to be watching her dogs originally. So, bc we heard nothing in the last 2 months, in terms of time-frame, touching base on dates of when she’d be able to out to get her “shmoopies”, (for the record, we’d even floated the possibility of driving them out to her once she had a better idea what her plans were…), we sent an email mentioning upcoming dates that we were finally planning on going abroad to visit a friend (in 2 months, btw—about the time our friend was/is supposed to be out to get her dogs), and we were trying to figure out what game-plan was. She tells us she’s already put in for vacation, and only had a certain select number of days/dates, end of March into April, that she could be out, bc it was already approved by her employer, and there was nothing she could do to alter that, and if the dates didn’t work with our plans, well that was on us bc this is what we’d talked about in a conversation 2 months ago.

um, yeah, I don’t need to say here—this was not how that particular topic was mentioned 2 months ago. We’d batted around a general time-frame, with the understanding we’d be revisiting the dates more specifically around now, before anything was set in stone. We had no idea she’d already made plans—didn’t even know she was planning on staying with us, or she was intending to visit at that time. And proceeds to blame this whole situation on us…

Anyway—I have every sympathy for the shit-pie she keeps referring to in every-other paragraph, regarding her life-choice consequences in the last 5 years, and I hope she finds a place in her life, at some point, where she feels more in control of her circumstances. We’ve tried to help her, to the extent we were able, in the way she’d seemed to ask, but the rule of thumb with Narcissistic/BPersonalities is—the moment you mention you’re own commitments, or boundaries, they’ll come back at you, blaming you for failing every expectation of what they expect from a friend…

enough said—personal rant done…

[yeohaeng]

UNCERTAINTY

What will happen in the upcoming days? Is the current path I'm on the right one for me? Will I deviate from my dreams and life goals? These are the constant questions that plague my mind. I find myself torn about the career direction I am pursuing. Life demands hard work for survival, but is this the right path for me to thrive? These thoughts constantly loop in my mind as I contemplate where to begin anew if I decide to change course. Can I ever find a career that aligns with my aspirations and ambitions in life? The fear of making decisions during a mid-life crisis in one's 30s is daunting. Companies seek specific qualifications and fresh talent, intensifying the competitiveness in this harsh reality we must navigate. Doubts weigh heavily, yet the world continues to turn regardless. Survival becomes paramount, overshadowing personal preferences for a job as long as it meets financial needs in this unforgiving world.

In the quiet of the night, thoughts wander to endless "what ifs." What if I took the leap towards my true passion without fixating on monetary gains? Will I receive the support needed to succeed?

There is envy towards those who seem to have their lives planned out effortlessly. Privilege appears to pave a smoother path, leaving me questioning why that luxury eludes me. Everyone deserves a shot at such comfort - why not me?

Fear consumes me of my tomorrow's uncertainty

[juangallojongaro]

Recently, I spent a non-insignificant sum on tickets to see The Killers during their upcoming Las Vegas residency. A couple months prior, I bought tickets to see Death Cab & The Postal Service perform their now 20 year old breakthrough records. This is not to brag, but only to say: I am not relevant. I am a skeleton. I am an irrelevant skeleton. 

Once I looked at my music list as an Important Document of the Past Year. I’d try to listen to all the stuff, read the lists, and put together a coherent and definitive list. I didn’t do that in 2024; I didn’t try, I didn’t care to try, and, therefore, I just didn’t listen to that much stuff. This is fine! My life is no better or worse for the change! Also, no one gives a shit about what I listened to last (or any) year! 

So, a format change. I’m gonna list a bunch of songs I liked with the normal commentary. After that, I’ll rank my top ten movies of the year and my top five favorite books I read in 2023. Sound good? I think it’s fine.

2023 YEAR IN MUSIC!

Big Thief - “Vampire Empire” A slow dawning of just, like, oh, Big Thief is just one of my favorite bands. They’re hitting that mid-2010’s (teens? Twenty-tens? What are we doing with this one?) The National-zone where every record they put out is a unique and rockin’ bop. This track is a good example of the more aggressive yelly-stuff. 

boygenius - “Not Strong Enough” 2023 was the year of Taylor Swift and the guys were a part of it. My favorite supergroup was at their peak powers last year, releasing the ALBUM OF THE YEAR as well as MY FAVORITE CONCERT OF THE YEAR WHERE I CRIED A BIT DURING “COOL ABOUT IT”. I fucking love that record so much. Before they all blew up, Baker was the stealth star carrying the pathos while Dacus made us sad and Bridgers screamed excellently. Just watch them on SNL; they’re so happy. It’s nice.

The New Pornographers - “Pontius Pilate’s Home Movies” Not much to say about a middling album that produced this banger with the funniest line of the year, “Now you're clearing the room just like Pontius Pilate/When he showed all his home movies/All of his friends yelling, ‘Pilate, too soon’” Side note: You ever notice how English people don’t say “quotation marks,” but instead, “inverted commas?” Frankly, it’s fucked up.

Slaughter Beach, Dog - “My Sister in Jesus Christ” Really enjoyed this album by the former Modern Baseball co-frontman. He’s settled into a more shambolic pop-oriented sensibility which suits him fine.

Sufjan Stevens - “Will Anybody Ever Love Me?” I kinda came to Javelin late but after sitting through several listens it’s definitely in the pantheon of Stevens albums. I’m not sure there’s anything on here that’s a hit, but it’s so lush, dense, and achingly beautiful. He’s a man genius. ALSO ALBUM OF THE YEAR; SURE, WHY NOT?

Taylor Swift - “Cruel Summer” I don’t care this song came out in 2022. I’m in my Lovers Era! It’s pop perfection! I love(er) it! I have a lot of thoughts about Taylor Swift but no one caaaaaaaaaares. Go Chiefs.

Wednesday - “Chosen to Deserve” A twangy, meandering tune about all the embarrassing things you did when you were younger and still torment you and will forever except now you’re in love so maybe it won’t be so bad anymore? BONUS: Really enjoyed MJ Lenderman’s live album; those Wednesday folks are doing great!

2023 YEAR IN CINEMA!

Best Pictures

Past Lives (*****)

Anatomy of a Fall (****1/2)

Godzilla Minus One (****1/2)

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (****1/2)

The Zone of Interest (****1/2)

Poor Things (****1/2)

Barbie (****)

All of Us Strangers (****)

Oppenheimer (****)

Showing Up (****)

Four Daughters (****)

Honorary Mention

Stop Making Sense (****)

Best Short Film

Donald Trump NOOOOOOO

The First Twelve Seconds of the Maestro Trailer “If Movie List doesn’t sing in you, then nothing sings in you. And if nothing sings in you, you can’t make Movie List.”

2023 YEAR IN BOOKS!

(In no particular order)

Nixon Agonistes: The Crisis of the Self-Made Man by Garry Wills

The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton

The Narrow Road to the Deep North by Richard Flanagan

The Goodbye People by Gavin Lambert

Blood Meridian or The Evening Redness in the West by Cormac McCarthy

[blackthoughtsbyhfil]

I can pinpoint the genesis of my drinking habit to an exact date: November 7, 2013. Every instance of drinking before this was irregular and unsystematic, as if random aberrations in history, like the briefly proto-democratic Athens. These occasions were separated in time by a "dry age", which in spite of its name shouldn't be understood as a sober period, but rather in a sense that the conditions were not yet in place for this habit to escalate. As of the beginning of November, I was living on my own and no longer relied on conventional norms of hours and modes of drinking.

The final exam in the miserable national economics class was scheduled for Friday morning. On Thursday evening, fuzz rock giants Kadavar held a concert in Stockholm.

I began the evening in a civilized way at home, eating pancakes and drinking three or four cans of beer. Then I proceeded towards Debaser's newly opened venue in Hornstull which I struggled to find for a long time. I went inside just in time to drink one or two more glasses of beer and catch Siena Root's opening set, which although it impressed me, put me in a self-conscious mood after it was over. I became convinced I'd lost my coat ticket and planned my escape from the venue in the late autumn cold, before I found the ticket again secure in my pocket. Had I actually left and missed the upcoming experience, I would have been much less eager to try visiting another concert ever again - this being a return to concert for the first time in years - and my life would have been unequivocally dramatically different from today in both interests and drinking habits. This strange interlude (a mid-session crisis of sorts, or the pain of transformation?) was dispelled when I decided to invest in another couple of glasses of beer before the headliner.

I was three sheets to the wind when Kadavar entered the stage with the composure of titans. Strategically placed floor fans caused the three band-members' glamorous, flowing hair to wave like banners. They performed several songs from partly their first, less relatable album which I endured, all the while drinking an unknown additional mount of beer. Eventually they played the opening licks to Doomsday Machine; a rare transcendent experience helpfully aided by the amount of beer I'd drank. I filmed the first verse on my phone and this video revealed that at this point I was stumbling around on the floor. (Many years later, I learned that this is socially acceptable in fuzz concerts.)

I returned home in a sort of personal triumph and stayed up until late at night reflecting on the experience. Four or five hours later, I woke up with the worst hangover yet, scrambling to get ready for the exam and injuring my finger on the duffel bag's zipper causing a flow of bleeding that continued throughout the first hour of the exam. That entire first hour was in fact entirely spent on sitting, staring at the table trying to suppress my nausea, commiserating with myself and clutching the paper to stop the bleeding. Finally, I bravely mustered the focus and determination to write the exam, which I passed with minimal margin, and proved heroically to myself and the world that alcohol and psychedelic rock were here to stay.

[noble-6]

Wassup yall!

Luckily i remembered about the existence of this app. lol. Another life update entry i guess? Here we go ->

Life hasn't been that great. I mean yeah aside form studying, I've been having fun! Socialising, playing football, a bit of rugby. To be honest, this entry won't be a fun life update. Basically I'm here to rant. Can't do it on twitter cause all my friends are there. No one wants to hear my problem. You can say this place is a safe space for me (even if you read this you might be a stranger to me lol but feel free to read !).

Academic wise, I think i'm fumbling my degree. Yeah! I've started my degree last march. I'm in my first year first semester. At first I was excited ! Learning new things, coding, doing homeworks. No for real i did all the homeworks they gave me, for the first 3 weeks. But then it all sort of fell off like domino pieces because of Raya celebration. Don't get me wrong I love Raya, it's just that the holidays distrupted the college timetable A LOT. I mean replacement classess were all during the night or the weekends. Quizzes were held every week, assignments, crappy lecturers.

Tonight I just had my mid term test 2 for this one subject. It was at 8pm. While i was on my bed that evening(i slept after studying) my lecturer of said subject just released the score for quiz 4 of the subject. I actually tried my best for that quiz. I studied, rewatch the lecture recording, made notes. I had high hopes that i wouldn't get a score below 5(full marks was 10). You know what i did get? 1. 1 out of 10. After seeing the result, I honestly didn't know what to do. "Should i go and take the test that night? It's pretty much worthless if you think aboht it". I could say the feeling was worst than a heartbreak( i wouldn't know i've never experience it before). And then i started to think about this other subject at which my carry mark was also pretty low. Not only this subject has assignments to submit, it also has a final exam. So that's twice the headache i need to face for 1 subject.

I'm 24 this year and since this is my first year degree, I should be graduating when I turned 26. A lot of my friends has started working this year and here I am just starting my degree. Talk about being late. Now i have a mid-20ish-lif crisis(?). I'm starting to think I'm not smart. I mean all my life I thought I was average. Like yeah straight after highschool i played alot. But I've always thought if i really did focus on my studies, I'd be average. Now I'm not so sure. I think I'm 90% conviced that I'm below average. You know how theres smart students who scored straight A's, then there's above average students who scores 3.5 and above, and then the average students who scores 3.2 and above. I used to think I was average. Right now i think i'm just stupid. I studied, however i still didn't score. Like what does that tell you? You're not smart enough for this course.

So let's talk about my backup plan. As of right now, plan A is to finish this degree and get a job in the it industry. Plan B is work part time whilst studying this degree( to avoid me doing nothing at all). Plan C is to enroll in those google coirse where they give you a certificate upon completion(data analyst, web developer etc).

Plan C looks to me the more realistic approach given the situation I'm in. The only downside is I won't have a degree to my name. And that's bad for my future. It means it will be hard for me to climb the corporate ladder. I may be stuck in the same job position until i retire.

But let's be honest here, the only logical thing to do here is to finish the degree. Everyone else agree with this. Even you! Stranger who i don't know, reading my post somehow. I should just push through this upcoming 3 maybe 4 years of university life. It'll be over before i know it. I know i can do it. I just have to believe in myself again. Find that spark.

It all comes down to the basics of life you know? How my relationship with Allah is, with my family, friends. I need to do a lot of self reflect to become a better version me. Maybe not the best version, but just better than yesterday at least.

Wow! That's a lot of rant. Hahahaha. Yeah i just need to vent out you know. Maybe the next time I do my life udpate I'll be writing some good news! Maybe.... we'll see.

See ya!

[corneliaxrouge]

Kapag alam kong may upcoming long weekend holiday, super excited ako. I guess, kahit sino naman na pumapasok 5 days a week with 4hrs travel time per day, masasabik. Feeling ko, during long weekend ko maibabagsak yong katawan ko, yong pagod ko. Feeling ko all will be better pag nag weekend na, pag walang pasok.

This time, 5 days ang naging vacation bcoz Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, weekends, and holiday yong Monday of the following week.

Usually, ang saya ng 1st day na walang pasok. Magpaplano kami ng mister ko na walang tulugan to do all the stuff na gusto namin gawin, pero ang ending, ang aga din naman nakakatulog.

2nd day, medyo into games pa. 'Yong mga quest na napending, tinatyaga. I try to stay away sa social media as much as I can kasi when I see other people doing more complicated stuffs, naiinggit ko. Why do I spend my vacation days like this lang? Bahay. Period.

But I know my priorities, my limitations. Alam ko rin na tamad naman ako lumakad. I like being comfortable lang. So that's why, instead of making myself feel and think about all those things, I choose to ignore what triggers it.

3rd day. Hay 3rd day. It's hard. Bored na sa games. Bored na manood. Bored na makipaglaro sa mga pamangkin. Busy yong asawa ko. Gamer kasi sya. So ako lang talaga yong bored 😂 Tapos na ko maglinis so wala na rin akong malinis. Walang nang pending chores. So wala na.

I want to do other things, like read or do arts and crafts. Pero ang tamad ko kumilos. Di ko masimulan.

And then when I try to think bakit ang tamad ko, it's like may sumasagot from the back of my brain na gurl, chance mo na to do nothing and magpahinga. So mag relax ka na lang.

Pero ang boring magrelax. I know ang priveleged pakinggan. Pero ganito siguro bcoz wala pang anak, walang legit plano na gagawin. Ganito siguro yong day without intent. Ang hirap gumalaw. Ang bigat sa pakiramdam. Ganito siguro yong nffeel ng mga elders natin. Ang pangit sa pakiramdam kaya they always see to it that they are doing something, whether magbutingting yan ng kung ano, or makihugas ng pinggan kahit pilit natin silang pinapa upo na lang para magpahinga.

Hindi ko din gets bakit tunog mid life crisi na yong rant ko kahit wala pa man din ako sa 30s. Ang lala. Anyway, may 2 days pa. Buti na lang magcchurch kami bukas so may plan. May purpose. Paggising pa lang sa umaga alam ko nang may kailangan for that day.

Ganito lang naman ako kasi ang daming time alone with my brain na walang ginawa kundi mag overthink. Pagdating naman ng Tuesday na gigising ng maaga para pumasok sa work, kinakaladkad ko nnaman yong katawan ko para bumangon sa kama.

[agapi-kalyptei]

maybe do meet your heroes

They’re disappointing, but you need that to move on.

Many years ago, in a different life, in a different apartment, I read John Cleese’s autobiography, and it was pleasant. It was normal most of the time, funny a bunch of times, and absolutely hilarious on a few occasions. It left me feeling good. I wasn’t so excited about him defending his right to make fun of other cultures, but he emphasized that it needs to be done with kindness, so I didn’t linger on it. (It was like one paragraph.) I’m not a Python superfan, but for better or worse, they did grandfather an absurdist satire, that in some way is a predecessor to even the dadaist deep-fried gen z memes.

(Aside: I’m not on twitter and I don’t care about anything happening there, much less now that a (not-so-)cryptofascist owns it.)

Pre-pandamic, I bought tickets to see Cleese’s show, which got delayed a year, then 2 more years, and then moved back a year. I’ve never seen Pythons live, and with his age, I knew I never would otherwise - plus, it’s been a few years since I saw a live stand-up.

Cleese is 82? 83? and it shows. I’m not going to analyze his every joke and try to make judgments about whether he’s a Good Person or not, because it’s not my role. I sat there thinking, he’s more than twice my age, would I also be like this if I lived to 80? Will I be entertaining people because it’s in part some childhood trauma, to cheer up a severely depressed parent? Will I linger to some way of speaking that was not just okay, but refreshingly anti-establishment when I was young, which will age poorly and become poor taste?

Will being on tumblr be the new “i’m buddies with harvey epstein”? Will “by Talos” jokes be offensive? Will skyrim loading screen parodies be inappropriate? Will the b-word be reclaimed, more offensive than ever before, or re-reclaimed?

I’m still in denial about being at a risk of being in my 40s in a few years. I wasn’t afraid of 30s at all, and these were intensely interesting years, but nothing about my identity feels like it belongs in 40s. I don’t want to be 40 on tumblr. I don’t want to be 40 and single. I don’t want to be 40 and employed. I don’t want to be 40 and unemployed. I don’t want to be 40 in a new relationship. And I sure don’t want to be 40 trying to catch up on pop culture, trends, shifts in vocabulary and fashion and I don’t want to have an invisible committee to judge me because I missed their hive mind decision about what’s right and wrong.

And to be clear - I don’t want to stop growing and learning and trying to be better, kinder, and more respectful. I don’t want to defend my right to say some stupid offensive stuff. But every year it’s easier to miss major movements in pop culture, because there’s so much of it. Paying attention to it is a full time job. I barely caught up with eeby deeby blorbo glup shitto plinko horse in time for it to still be funny; and I love the organic growth and mutation of good memes, their death and eventual revival and remixing with newer memes. But every year I have less attention to give to everything, and life becomes more about choosing what really matters. (Laying on the couch and complaining on your blog.)

[turnleftaticela]

Even though as a rule I hate aging rockstar songs about technology I do think the Manics have come the closest to not being thickheaded about it

[thesims4blogger]

The Sims 4: New Hairstyles Coming In Upcoming SDX 

For upcoming SDX drop, The Sims has collaborated with DeeSims to create two stunning, natural hairstyles, Bantu knots and two strand twists, that are fit for any occasion. Both are protective, staple styles originated and worn by the Black community.

Interviews with Deesims:

DeeSims has had a love for The Sims™ from a very young age. As a dedicated Simmer, YouTuber, and content creator, she knows no bounds when it comes to storytelling within The Sims™ 4.

It is Simmers like DeeSims that continue to spark us, and we wouldn’t be us without YOU! As part of our ongoing You Make The Sims series, we’re continuing to spotlight creators across the world who inspire us and the game we make.

We sat down and spoke with DeeSims about the importance of this addition to the game, her inspiration for the styles, and how they will enhance the Create-A-Sim (CAS) experience for Simmers.

When we connected with you on this collaboration opportunity back in June and you started to research what hairstyle you wanted to see in game, did you have a specific goal in mind?

My goal was representation! I knew I wanted to create more textured hairstyles for the game. I wanted to embrace curly and textured hair patterns with day to day hairstyles and to create styles that are common in the Black community, so more and more Simmers could continue to see themselves in The Sims 4!

What made you decide on the Bantu knots and two strand twists hairstyles for your collaboration? Did you have specific inspiration?

I had so much inspiration! It was truly hard to decide which path I wanted to take because there are so many amazing hairstyles that stem from the Black community. But once plans were in motion, it was clear that the Bantu Knots and Two Strand twist hairstyles were perfect for my vision!

How does it feel to have collaborated on two hairstyle pieces being added to The Sims 4? It's so surreal! I love The Sims and the franchise! I’ve been playing The Sims since I was very young. I promise you, as a young kid, I never would have thought I would one day create something that would be added to the game. It feels good to contribute to a game that has had a huge impact on my life!

What value do these two hairstyles add to The Sims 4 in your opinion? I believe they hold a great value! The hairs are detailed with features that Simmers take into account. So much time and research went into this project, and those little details matter. I wanted to make sure that every feature was well thought out and implemented. For that, and that the hairs are so freaking cute, I believe the Simming Community will embrace them!

Which hair color swatches are you most excited to see the community style? I am excited for the purple hair swatch of the Bantu Knots! Purple is my favorite color. I’m also excited about the roots of the hair; the rich colored hair swatches have slightly darker roots with the Bantu knots. It has a realistic feel to it which was very important to me when creating these hairstyles!

What’s something new you learned about hair in the process of designing hairstyles for The Sims? I learned about hair budgeting. To stay true to the character design of the game, there are certain things you have to take into account when creating hairs - the length, the texture, the bump outs, the curves…they all play a part in creating a style. You have to account for clothing or objects that interact with the hair and how it would all pan out with your idea. It was very rewarding to see my ideas come to life! It was a great experience and I truly learned a lot!

How do you see people using these hairstyles in the game/how would you style Sims with these hairstyles? The hairstyles are versatile! They can be used on any occasion - from a wedding, to a party, to makeover for your mid-life crisis, the options are limitless. I honestly see Simmers using these hairstyles casually in their day to day looks…that’s exactly what I’m going to do!

The two Create-A-Sim items by DeeSims will be available beginning 11/17 in The Sims 4 on PC via EA app, Mac® via Origin, Steam®, PlayStation®5, PlayStation®4, Xbox Series X|S and Xbox One systems.

[fire-fist-ann]

Whitebeard’s dilemma

This was inspired by that lovely art that @aifozu made of goth marco 

@cyborg-franky @rosiinante @bast-s @strawhat-bast @secretsnailor @tsunderedoctor @childofblackmaria @gaynchor-content

" IT"S NOT A PHASE THIS IS WHO I AM YOI!" the angry teenager yelled storming off whitebeard just sighed pouring himself a drink as he rubbed his temple, what on earth was going on with his 15-year-old son he felt like he didn't even know him any more" how long do you think this is going last vista?" he asked the older boy, vista rubbed his head " truthfully I don't know," he said shrugging his brad shoulders as whitebeard slumped in his chair running his hands through his blonde hair

It all started three months ago when Marco dyed his hair black, changed all his clothes to all black, got a bunch of fake tattoos all over his neck and his forearms, then started wearing heavy dark black eye makeup and black lipstick then last came the tongue piercing and the nose ring, whitebeard didn't really understand it but it made his son happy he tried to know more but Marco would flip so fast and start yelling that is was who he was now and that he had to get used to it when he wanted a family he didn't expect to deal with whatever this was. it was too soon for his son to have a mid-life crisis

mealtimes were a nightmare because someone would tease Marco and then he would blow up and it would be a mess just like the other night where they were eating and someone made the mistake of asking Marco if we could rice and he flew off the handle and started chasing the person who had said it, of course being the captain he really tried to diffuse the situation but made the worst mistake he could have at least in Marco's eyes

" Marco calm down and-" i,m not sensitive! yoi!!" he yelled his once blue feather were now pitch black apparently him changing his hair color changed the wings as well. Whitebeard sighed heavily" I never said you were son," you thought it! whatever i,m going to my room!"

Whitebeard of course had tried to check up on him not only had he locked the door he had blasted music through his door " CUT MY LIFE INTO PIECES, THIS IS MY LAST RESORT" whitebeard huffed and walked out the other way he would try again later

Lately, his latest thing was just picking fights with him for some reason, all whitebeard had to do was breathe near Marco wrong at this point and it would suit the bird user off " sheesh whats with him these days" he said his face in his hands as he sulked " my son hates me" no-no pops he doesn't hate you, he's going through a phase, a phase!" vista yelled waving his arms frantically trying to calm the giant man. whitebeard looked up " a phase" yeah! you know m-maybe if we get him a date it will be better" whitebeard's eyes sparkled with interest this he could do

Marco sat across from whitebeard with his arms crossed refusing to look at him " did you hear what i just said Marco " i,m not going" yes you are" no i,m not" he said as the,  two went back and forth in arguing Marco was wearing on his patience he could only handle so much " yes you will it's an order" he gasped offended " GOD!"Marco yelled storming off before he stormed off the ship to go on this stupid date he was being forced to go to

well when Marco came back he was somehow more heated than when he left whitebeard groaned already hearing the upcoming fight he poured something stronger than sake in his cup as the dark-haired teen approached him " i didt have fun just so you know....but he was nice"  whitebeard quirked an eyebrow " but i,m never going on again old man yoi!" he said ah there it was Marco's face turned bright red "...love you pops don't drink to much" he mumbled walking off

whitebeard laughed well he could deal with all of his antics as long as his son still cared that's all that matter it would pass eventually even if it didn't he still loved his son no matter what form that took he relaxed in his chair before he heard a loud scream and crashes " i don't even want to know" he mumbled just praying the headache would go away on it's on

one night all he wanted was one night of peace

[babbushka]

Happily Ever After (Part 1)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

10k; Slow burn, strangers to lovers, hidden/secret identity, falling in love, first kiss; cw: Kidnapping, sword fighting, archery, near-death experiences 

A/N: I originally was going to upload this as one big oneshot, but then I got carried away and it became too long. So here is part 1, part 2 will be coming tomorrow, which has a much darker tone/set of warnings, please keep that in mind! Thank you to everyone for voting on my 5k Follower celebration polls and allowing me to write this story! I truly couldn’t have done it without you :) 

Available on AO3

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Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a magical kingdom known to all as Springs Valley. It was a peaceful and prosperous kingdom, nestled deep in the heart of a mountainous range. Though the villages were small, they were happy, for they were ruled by their beloved Queen and her husband, the Prince. The monarchs treated the villagers fairly, and justly, ruling with a kind yet firm fist from their castle, a grand building called the Purple Palace. And if there was one thing that the monarchs taught above all, it was that the power of goodness and love, would always triumph over evil.

This is the story of how one man fought against all odds to start anew, to find his heart, and earn his crown.

Of the many small villages that co-existed in Springs Valley, there was only one that could be considered the Capitol. It was called Pike Peak, and that is where our story begins. Pike Peak was nestled on the outskirts of the Purple Palace, so named due to the land surrounding it: vast waves of lavender which swayed like a tide in the breezes that traveled through the Valley. The fields stretched from the edge of the palace all the way to the village, and so no matter where one stood in Pike Peak, the castle was always in sight, its crystal walls glittering in the sunshine. 

From his home high up in the mountains, just on the edge of the village, Philip Zimmerman awoke every morning to the rainbow beams of light that the sun bounced off of the crystal walls. A humble carpenter, these bright rainbows lured Philip out of bed each morning, and called him to begin his day toiling away in his workshop.

On one particular morning, Philip awoke with a thorn in his side. For over thirty years, he had lived and worked in this home, crafting all manner of things from wood. His father had owned this workshop for eighty-years, and his father had owned it for nearly as long prior. Though in life there were no certainties, one thing could be counted on: Philip was born a woodworker, and he would die a woodworker.

“Another day, another order.” Philip huffed to himself that morning, wishing he were doing something, anything, else with his time.

He wasn’t ashamed to be a carpenter – no of course not! He’s good at it, the best in the village they say. It’s an honor to be the best at something, Philip thought as he stretched and set some coffee atop the stove.

It’s just that…well…it sure would be nice to have someone to share that with, wouldn’t it? He’d never tell a soul, but often when Philip is hard at work assembling the orders that have been given, he lets his mind wander to another world, a different world, where he could be something other than just the man who fixes a wobbly table or loose wagon wheel. A world where he could be a Knight in shining armor, have a beautiful maiden to call his wife and keep warm at night.

He loved living in the village, of course he did. He loved the townspeople and the quaint living, the fresh bread traded for baking paddles carved by his own hand. But as Philip turned his gaze to the Purple Palace, glittering and shimmering in the distance, he had to believe that there was something more to life than this.

He had to, otherwise what was all this for?

And he didn’t know, but looking out through your window in that very same castle high above him, a certain someone was thinking the very same.

Though the walls were made of crystal, mystery shrouded the Purple Palace. No one from the village had ever been allowed inside, so naturally rumors spread across the Valley, of what could be hidden away. One such rumor was that of a Princess, cursed for all eternity to remain bound to the palace grounds. No one had ever even seen this Princess, but still, the rumors remained.

Little did the Valley know, but there was indeed a Princess, although she hardly ever felt like it. Never allowed beyond the boundaries of the East Wing, she spent her days keeping herself company, occupied with her books and her art and her music. It was music most of all which she loved, so much so that when she thought no one could hear her, she would sing in the early hours of morning. The King and Queen had told her it was for her own safety, that she would surely be kidnapped or held for ransom by the neighboring Kingdom – and so out of fear, inside the castle she remained.

It wasn’t so bad, she reasoned, living in the castle. She had all her needs tended to, anything she wanted was given to her. New beautiful dresses and shoes, books and instruments and the latest entertainments, whatever food she desired were all brought to her at the snap of her fingers -- but what she craved most of all, more than any delicious meal or fine gown, was love.

Love like that which existed in the books she read to pass the hours wasting away in her bedroom. True love, pure and sweet. So every morning she sang, her window open, hoping that one day someone might hear her, and she might find the love she was after.

But Philip did not know any of this. Shaking the daydreams out of his head and turning away from the palace, he began to busy himself with the day. He dressed in the clothing that his meager peasant’s salary could afford, and drank the black coffee he had brewed. Leaving his small kitchen to check the post, Philip braced himself for another slew of orders – and new orders there were.

Every day it seemed as though something new in the village needed mending, or replacing. He had come to expect the same requests day after day. However, what he had not braced himself for, what he could never in a million years have expected, was a thick envelope sealed with purple wax, stamped with the crest of the royal family, sitting on top of the pile of mail.

Rushing into the small house once more, Philip tore open the envelope and could scarcely believe what he was reading,

“Dear Mr. Zimmerman, we have heard the wonders of your skill and have decided to commission your talents to build a grand centerpiece for the upcoming harvest festival,” He read aloud to himself, his eyes growing wide with every word, “By royal decree, we invite you to the castle for a consultation.”

Philip took a moment to process the offer, eventually coming to the conclusion that could only be described as, holy shit.

Abandoning his tasks for the day, Philip at once set off towards the Purple Palace.

Though it was early in the day, the path to the palace was filled with villagers, going about their lives in the same orderly fashion as they always had, the very same that Philip did. Philip wondered if they had dreams of grandeur, or if it was only he who was going through this mid-life crisis.

“Good morning Mr. Zimmerman!” One portly fellow, the butcher, waved to him. “Thank you again for the cutting blocks you made me, they work like a damn charm!”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad to hear they are holding up.” Philip gave a friendly nod and waved back.

“Flip? Flip! Over here!” A young boy called to him as he passed through the village square, “Check out this new trick I learned!”

Out of nowhere, this child ran up to him and threw a large stick his way. Expertly, Philip caught it and began to at once deflect blow after blow from his young opponent’s stick. The young boy waved his around and around, acting as if it were the mightiest of swords.

Allowing the boy to overtake him and knock the stick out of his hands, Philip heartily laughed as he fell to the ground with a theatrical flair that had the child bursting into a fit of giggles. Philip tried not to allow himself to grow bitter over the years, never having any children of his own. The village children were good-natured and friendly, if a bit chaotic at times, and it always reminded Philip of what could have been.

“Very good, keep that up and one day you’ll be fighting for our crown.” Nevertheless, Philip always encouraged the children whenever he saw them, so he got up and with a ruffle of the boy’s hair, continued on his way.

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Glittering in the morning sunlight, the Palace was even more intimidating up close and personal. Guards standing by the door inspected him with raised eyebrows, but the moment he showed the seal on the envelope, the gates parted for him to pass through. As they opened, Philip hesitated – he had never been inside the palace before…no one had. He did not know what he was going to find, or what it would be like, but as the rainbows sparkled across the lavender fields, he knew there would only be one way to find out.

Every bit as magical as Philip had hoped, was the answer. He tried not to gawk at the mesmerizing architecture, seemingly clear and yet reflective all at once. Everything in the palace felt fragile and yet formidable, it was a disorienting experience. His disorientation only grew, as when he made his way through the entrance hall, he found none other than the King and Queen waiting for him atop their tall thrones. Philip knew what they looked like of course, their faces were on every piece of coinage and sent across the Valley by way of statue and tapestry, but much like the palace had seemed, up close they were intimidating.

At once, Philip bowed deeply, not wanting his first interaction with the monarchy to be his last.

“Mr. Zimmerman!” The King’s voice boomed loud and proud through the grand throne room, “How good of you to join us after all. We had hoped you would find our offer compelling.”

This friendliness was unexpected, and Philip, with great hesitation, stood back up to his full height. The King and Queen smiled at him, warm and welcoming.

“Yes your majesty, but I wonder, why me?” Philip had to ask, clutching the envelope in his too-large hands.

“Why not you?” The Queen challenged with a knowing smile, “It is no secret that you are the most talented carpenter in the Valley, and such talents do not go unnoticed by the crown.”

The praise brought a blush to Philip’s cheeks, and once again he averted his eyes. He wished his Ma were still here with him, if only she could have seen him now, being asked to make something for their monarchs.

“What would you like for me to build?” He wondered aloud, hoping it was not out of turn to be so direct with the royals.

“A wheelbarrow, one large enough to hold all the lavender for this year’s harvest.” The King did not seem deterred by his questioning, and had his answer ready to reply.

Philip’s eyebrows shot up at that notion, and through the crystal walls, he stared out into the sea of lavender just beyond. It seemed to stretch endlessly, for miles and miles all around. Philip had heard tales of the ocean but had never seen it himself – he imagined this was not dissimilar.

“That would be big indeed, I’m afraid I don’t think I would have the room to construct such a thing at my workshop.” Philip admitted, suddenly feeling ashamed at his own humble dwelling.

“You may live and work here for the duration of the build, if you so desire. I daresay that our workshop will be more than satisfactory.” The Queen offered at once, something that the carpenter had only ever dreamed about.

“It would be an honor, your majesties.” Philip agreed straight away, his hands already itching to begin carving and chipping and sanding away wood.

“Then we expect you to get started at once!” The Queen gave him a dismissing nod of her head, and he bowed deeply once more, before being escorted out of the throne room by palace aides, and down towards the East Wing.

And with that, Philip began constructing the largest and most impressive wheelbarrow that the Valley had ever seen.

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His routine was the same every day, for twenty days and twenty nights: in the early morning before the dawn, he would hike out into the forest to collect his wood. Chopping down only the most perfect of trees, Philip hauled logs and trunks across his shoulders back to the workshop, where he would use all the tools, space, and materials that the palace had to offer. He would not leave until very late at night, his hands cramped and body exhausted, but it was the most wonderful work he had done in a long time.

It was backbreaking work, especially for only one man, but every evening when he rested his head on the narrow bed in a small room just off the workshop, Philip fell asleep with pride in his chest. The singing helped, of course. Every morning, instead of awaking to rainbow beams of light shining through his window, he woke to the sweet song of a fair maiden. He did not know who she was, or even where she was, for the sound bounced around the crystal walls and made it appear as though she existed everywhere and nowhere.

Songs of longing, wordless melodies filled with a yearning for something which Philip had never been able to voice himself but that he could feel in his own soul, carried him through the day. It was a delight, a privilege to hear the music when it came, and a sorrowful emptiness when it finished.

Working by himself as he always had, alone in the workshop like he always was, he felt as though that maiden sang for him. He had grown so attached to the voice in fact, that when the wheelbarrow was complete and sent out to hold the year’s lavender harvest, Philip cast a yearning gaze up to the stars himself hoping that by some miracle, the maiden would reveal herself to him, and he could thank her for the beauty that was her voice.

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The festival began at sunrise, and though Philip was in good spirits, he found that he could not join in the immense excitement of those around him. Seemingly the entire town had awoken to celebrate; booths were constructed in the main square, and music and dancing were already underway. 

In the center of it all, was the wheelbarrow, a structure larger than Pike Peak’s largest building. Standing nearly thirty feet tall and seemingly just as wide, it had been rolled out by palace guards and filled with lavender harvested from the fields, it truly was a sight to behold.

“Flip, it is marvelous.” The baker congratulated him, pulling him into a tight squeezing hug.

“How amazing, one of our own working for the King and Queen!” The cobbler stared at the magnificent sculpture in awe.

“Will they commission you again?” The blacksmith wondered aloud hopefully.

Of all these comments and questions, that one was the only thing that occupied Philip’s mind. Not for the prestige, or for the money, but to hear the voice of that fair maiden once again, to be able to work by the sound of her voice once more.

“That I cannot say, I hope to inquire about that when I receive my compensation tomorrow.” He replied, before sticking his hands in his pocket, and leaving the large gathering to go find a quiet place to smoke his pipe.

So lost in a daydream about the maiden was he, that he did not make it very far before someone collided with his firm chest at such a speed that she toppled onto the ground with a startled gasp.

“Oh shit!” The poor maiden groaned. Belatedly, Philip realized that she was holding a hot coffee fresh from one of the breakfast stalls, and immediately began to search and ensure that she had not been burned.

“Please forgive me!” Philip apologized at once, flustered in his own right, feeling like a fool and concerningly asking, “Are you injured?”

The maiden simply looked at him, and Philip felt as though all time and space came to a standstill. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld. Even with her torn and tattered hem and her dirty apron, Philip could feel the tides within him change.

“No, no I’m quite alright. I should have been watching where I was going, the fault is mine.” Dazed, the maiden seemed just as affected by Philip as he was of her, and he pulled her gently to her feet.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, are you new to the village?” His own voice sounded a thousand miles away to his ears, too captivated in the presence of such beauty.

“Hm? Oh! Yes,” She began to stammer, nervous about something. “I, um well you see I come from out of town. I heard there to be a large and impressive centerpiece for the festival, and I wanted to see it for myself.”

“You heard about the wheelbarrow?” He blinked, chest pounding.

“Of course! And I find it absolutely magnificent, seeing it up close like this.” She replied with an honest smile, “Whoever made it surely is an expert at their craft.”

At this, Philip’s heart soared! This beautiful woman had heard of him, had heard of his work. His heart began to beat harder, faster than before. All at once, any worries he may have had about the quality of his craftsmanship vanished, all in the wake of this one person’s praise.

“Do you really think so?” Philip swallowed around a lump in his throat, and all too softly, the maiden nudged the back of his hand with her own.

“Yes, I do.” She whispered, a sparkle of sorts in her eye that made Philip sure he had to be dreaming, that sort of sparkle that told him she knew exactly who built it. Biting her lip for a moment, she looked around and continued in that same hushed tone, “I fear that I am not familiar enough with your village to know my way around this festival, would you accompany me?”

No one had ever asked Philip to accompany them to anything, as a friend or…or otherwise. And the way she was looking at him, he knew that this was most certainly an otherwise.

“It would be a privilege.” He offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted, and back to the festival they went.

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Pike Peak knew how to throw a party, this was extremely evident to the young maiden as Philip led her through the main square. Everyone had donned a costume of sorts, masks and hats and funny tunics made to look like the buds of the lavender flower which they were celebrating. Music played happily and people danced, children ran about shouting out in joy as they chased one another, and merriment was abundant.

As they walked through the square, Philip brought the maiden down towards the merchant stalls, where craftsmen like himself had goods on display for purchase. It wasn’t just those in Pike Peak who attended the festival, no no, people from all over Springs Valley made the journey to partake in the festivities, and the merchants knew it. Philip had of course seen all these goods before, but it was evident that the maiden had not.

She stopped in front of one stall belonging to the Jeweler. Kept in wooden boxes made by Philip’s own hand were one of a kind necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets of purple stones that shone in the late morning light.

“Would you like one?” Philip asked her gently, when he noticed her staring at a particular pair of earrings.

“Oh I couldn’t possibly.” She replied with an embarrassed shake of her head, about to move on from the stall.

“Which pair? Please, allow me.” Philip reaches out to grasp her wrist to prevent her from leaving, wanting to give something to her, wanting to do something nice for her. He didn’t have very much money, but he knew that he would soon be paid for his commission, and decided this beautiful woman was worth the expense.

“Those.” Entranced, she pointed to an ornate set.

Philip had to admit, she had wonderful taste. The earrings were set in gold, small hoops from which stones dangled. The first and largest stone was oval shaped, and from it six smaller circles in two rows of three sat nestled in gold as well. And then, dangling from them, three oblong purple stones twinkled and clinked together like windchimes as Philip picked them up.

“How much?” Philip asked the Jeweler, who eyed him with joy.

“For you, who has done so much for me? Take them as a gift, I insist.” The Jeweler put her hands up as if to say she would not be convinced to change her mind. She regarded the maiden then and told her, “Without this man’s talents, I would not have a studio to make my designs in.”

The maiden grinned at Philip, who only blushed deeply from the kind words spoken about him. Turning to him, the maiden pushed her hair away from her ears.

“Would you put them on for me?” She asked, and Philip had to will his hands not to shake as he did just that. She did not even wince when he tightened the earrings a little too much, and the two chuckled together out of shyness when she corrected it, before addressing the Jeweler and this handsome man, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. I shall never take them off.”

With that, Philip and the maiden continued along their way, exploring more of the festival.

Surely he was delusional, he thought, he must have been. Because every now and again, he felt the barest brush of knuckles against his own, a tentative invitation. He is about to have a crisis about it, when she speaks softly and does it again, the careful nudging of her fingers against his.

“Won’t you take my hand?” She whispered, turning those bright eyes of hers onto him, stunning him with her beauty.

He grew self-conscious, regarding his own palms. Covered in callouses and blisters and bandages were they, cut up by splintered wood and burned by hot glues. They were a peasant’s hands, dirt still lingering under the fingernails, scarred from a lifetime of efforts. Her hands were soft, he could tell just by looking at them, at the smooth supple skin that kept ghosting over his own.

“I fear that you wouldn’t like them, they are rough from years of woodworking.” He admitted, and much like he had felt in front of the King and Queen, he feels shame.

But she only took his hand with a confidence that shocked him, the electric feeling of her fingers weaving through his own making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You are mistaken, my good sir.” The maiden gives him a smile, soft and sweet, “It is because they are rough that I would like to hold them.”

Philip could do nothing but blink.

Could this be…? Could it be the very thing that he had longed for for so long? A person who accepted him for all that he was, and all that he was not? With the way she looked at him, Philip felt his heart begin to pound, growing larger in his chest. She, lovely and gentle as she was, wanted to hold his hand, his dirty scarred hand – never did Philip think he could have ever been so lucky!

In that moment, it was as if the festival disappeared entirely, as if there were no other villagers in the square aside from him and her. He was lost in her eyes, in her smile. Sweating and nervous, Philip let his eyes close and began to lean down, compelled to offer her a kiss. Terrified, he held his breath as adrenaline surged through his body, for though he had his eyes closed, he felt her leaning in towards him, felt her lips just about to press against his own when –

The wailing of a small child snapped them both out of their moment of intimacy, and Philip opened his eyes, seeing a young boy with big fat tears spilling over his cheeks clinging to the maiden’s apron.

“Oh you poor thing!” She opened her arms for him and scooped him up, balancing him atop her hip in a manner that has Philip so endeared to her that he cannot even be angry that their moment was interrupted. She pet down his thick curly hair and bounced him gently, all the while soothing him, “Don’t cry, what is the matter?”

“I’ve lost my Mama.” The little boy hiccupped and cried, and the maiden gets a determined look in her eye straight away.

“We’ll help you find her, won’t we?” She asked Philip, and he was so dazed by the sight of her kindness that he barely recognizes his own voice when he speaks.

“Yes of course -- ” Philip began fully prepared to do just that, before a frantic looking woman appeared out of the crowd.

She had another child on her hip, this one much younger than the boy that had stopped crying once he saw her. The family resemblance was striking, and Philip kicked himself for not recognizing the boy.

“My precious baby! Oh thank you so much -- Flip, madam, how can I ever repay you?” The cobbler’s wife cried tears of relief when the maiden let her son out of her own arms, the boy running back to his mother.

“Don’t be silly, I’m only glad it did not take long for you to be reunited.” She replied. Now that her hand was freed, it once again twined through with Philip’s, an almost subconscious decision that Philip had no intention of bringing up, lest she change her mind.

“Bless you, oh bless you.” The cobbler’s wife surged forward and placed a kiss to each of their cheeks, before gently scolding her son as they walked away, “Darling what have I told you about running off, you gave me a heart attack!”

In the wake of the momentary drama, the maiden couldn’t help but smile at Philip.

“Your name is Flip?” She inquired, and Philip kicked himself – he had never actually introduced himself after all this time.

“It’s a nickname.” He corrected, before bowing with good manners like the gentleman he was as he said dramatically, “Philip Zimmerman at your service.”

“That’s a strong name. You wear it with pride, I can tell.” The maiden laughed at his theatrics, a sound which warmed his heart.

“It’s the only name I’ve ever had.” Philip mused, “So I suppose I have to, don’t I?”

“I suppose so, yes.” She chuckled at him softly, her eyes kind even though they were teasing. He felt no malice from her, and therefore allowed the jests to go unreprimanded.

At the thought of jesting, Philip was reminded of the stages which had been constructed in the now-harvested fields of lavender. Stages where jesters and comedians alike tried to rouse crowds, nestled among smaller stages where those who felt lucky could try their hand at various games and competitions.

“Come, let me show you more of the festival, there are games to be played.” Philip squeezed her hand adoringly, watching in delight as her eyes lit up.

“Games! Oh that sounds wonderful!” She breathed, and Philip could have sworn that he never felt more alive than when he began to run, tugging him along towards the promise of entertainment like that which she had never before seen.

                                                 ---------------------

Hours later, many hours later, when the sun had gone down and the crickets had come out to play, their songs filling the air with a symphony of chirping, Philip sat  conflicted. He never wanted this evening to end, because he knew that once it did, this woman that he had decidedly given his heart to would have to leave him…and if she only came to visit for the festival, he did not know if he would ever see her again.

The two of them found themselves sitting alone near the drinking well, after enjoying the last of their dinner together. The maiden was even more beautiful in the moonlight, if such a thing were possible, and Philip spent a great deal trying to figure out how to express that. She didn’t seem to mind the silence, her eyes closed as she rested her head against his shoulder, comfortable with the tranquility.

“I must confess, I have never met anyone like you before.” Philip said eventually, his voice quiet.

“Nor I to be sure.” She replied, the pinky of her hand gently looping around his much larger one. When she spoke again, it was with a breathless sort of sadness that told him she didn’t want to leave him either. Plaintively, she looked up at him and sighed, “Oh Philip…”

“May I kiss you?” He dared to hope aloud, hoping that this time they would not be interrupted.

The smallest of smiles graced her lips, and she gave him a gentle nod. Joy simmering underneath his skin, Philip leaned in and pressed a small, chaste kiss to her lips. She was every bit as sweet as he had imagined she would be, and when she sighed against his mouth and allowed her lips to part, Philip thought he was going to pass out from the way her tongue welcomed his in.

Like that, the carpenter and the young maiden kissed underneath the stars, the last of the festival dying down in the distance. By the drinking well, Philip’s heart soared, as he cupped her cheek with one of his rough palms, and she only leaned into it, nuzzling her face further.

“I’m afraid.” She admitted with a whisper when they broke apart, only far enough to breathe, their foreheads and noses still touching.

“With me, you have nothing to fear.” Philip promised, not knowing why she should be afraid, but wanting her to understand that should she allow him, he would protect her from any kind of harm, from now until always.

He needn’t say the words, for she heard them anyway, and leaned in for another kiss, one that he was happy to give, one that he found himself always willing and eager to give.

So wrapped up in the embrace were they, that the clock-tower struck eleven times nearly unnoticed, until on the twelfth time, the maiden pulled away sharply, eyes wide, afraid.

“Shit, is that the final evening bell?” She scrambled to stand, pulling herself away from the warm arms that had surrounded her.

Philip frowned, confused, worried for her. Was this what she meant by afraid? He had so many questions, only getting so far as “Yes but – ”

“I must go! I’m sorry – ” She interrupted him desperately, regret and terror and sadness plaguing her voice.

The maiden began to dash away, and Philip chased after her, managing to take her hand and pull her towards him with a plea.

“Wait! Please wait, please don’t go.” Philip cupped her cheeks and felt the cold of dread flood through him, realizing belatedly that -- “You never told me your name!”

“It’s (Y/N)!” The maiden ducks out of his grip with a look of despair, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. “I must go, or else I’ll be in trouble, big trouble.”

Against his better judgement, Philip releases the maiden. He wouldn’t dare disrespect her wishes, no matter how desperately he wished that she could stay with him.

“Will I ever see you again?” He chased after her still, not wanting to let her out of his sights just yet.

“I hope so.” She threw him a pained glance over her shoulder, her voice breaking as tears stung at her eyes, “I’m sorry!”

“That’s okay – I’ll, I’ll find you!” Philip promised, his voice carrying out into the night, “No matter how far you go, I’ll find you.”

With that, the maiden was gone.

On the far edge of the village, where the town met the mountains, Philip stood alone. He looked out at the vast expanse of the wood beyond him, and let out a deep sigh.

Just then, he noticed the moonlight twinkling on something that had fallen to the ground. Picking it up, he realized it was one of the earrings that he had given her. It must have come free from her ear in her haste, and carefully, ever so gently, he picked it up and cradled it in his palm.

“I don’t know how, but I’ll find you.” He said to the earring, before clasping his hand around it and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

                                                 ---------------------

                                                 ---------------------

The next morning, feeling a dark cloud of sorrow and frustration beginning to form over his head, Philip dressed himself and began his trek to the palace once more. As part of the negotiations, the King and Queen of Springs Valley had told him that they would pay him his commissioned fee after the work was completed, so that he would not run off with the sum. He thought this perfectly reasonable, although really, who was he to argue with the royals?

The only thing keeping him in a good mood was the anticipation of this payment, which he had, through the night, decided he would use to travel and find (Y/N), which he had silently pledged his devotion to.

He figured she must be in one of the neighboring villages, which weren’t all that far away. Using the payment from the monarchy, Philip decided he would purchase himself the materials and means to ride across the Valley in search of her. But when he got far enough into town on the walk passing through so that he could reach the Purple Palace, he noticed that everyone was gathered in the town square, a concerned hush fallen over a crowd.

Frowning, Philip stood at the edge of this crowd, and tapped the shoulder of a young man to get his attention.

“What’s going on?” He demanded to know, for this was no merry enjoyment of a festival, no no, this was a concerning sort of apprehension and worry.  

“Haven’t you heard? There’s been a kidnapping.” The young man explained, growing more impassioned with every word, “Someone has taken the princess! The princess from the Purple Palace! I always knew she was real, apparently the king and queen received a ransom note from King Felix of the Forbidden Forest -- and are on the verge of waging war.”

At this news, Philip staggered back a few feet.

The rumors of the princess were true? She was real? And she had been kidnapped?

Philip didn’t have much time, it would seem. He needed to get his payment and get out now, before any war were to begin. He needed to find the beautiful woman that stole his heart, and make sure she was safe from harm. Without so much as even a goodbye, Philip broke into a running pace, his mind clouded as his feet carried him to the palace.

                                                 ---------------------

Bursting through the doors, he bowed deeply, out of breath yet respectful.

“Your majesties, I have heard of your tragedy and I am so sorry to hear that such a thing has come to pass.” Philip broke royal protocol by speaking to them first, wanting simply to get what he came for, and get out of their hair.

The royals were, by all accounts, despaired. The Queen wept on her throne, her face buried in her hands, and the King’s sadness manifested in a snappish, “What do you want?”

They were no longer warm and welcoming as they had once been, but Philip could not blame them; their daughter was taken from them after all.

“I come to fetch my payment, for the commission.” Philip boldly requested, making the King frown.

“Your what? No I don’t think so, not now.” He waved the carpenter away, shocking Philip.

“…With all due respect, your majesty, you promised – ”

“I said no! There is war to be had, the money will go towards that instead. I do not expect you to understand.” The King shouted, before his shoulders sagged and he slumped back in his throne.

Philip chewed on his lip for a moment. He could see the palace guards approaching him, ready to throw him out, ready to haul him and drag him out if necessary…but Philip needed that money. He needed it so that he could search for (Y/N). So, without thinking, he blurted out the only solution his mind had thought of:

“What if there need not be a war?”

The King and Queen both looked at him then, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” The Queen, with her scratchy sorrow-filled voice demanded of this…this…this peasant.

Philip stood tall and strong under their gaze, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“Allow me to retrieve the princess.” He requested, and tried to ignore the snickers and incredulous chuckles of the palace guards behind him.

“You!” The King scoffed, feeling like the cause was well and truly hopeless. “Why you wouldn’t last one night out in the Forbidden Forest, let alone make it all the way to King Felix’s fortress.”

“Allow me to try. Give me five days, if I have not returned by then, assume me dead and send your armies.” Philip insisted, “But if I do return with the princess, I expect double the payment for my commission.”

This was a risk, he knew, but he was certain it was something he could pull off. He knew the mountains like the back of his hand, he spent his entire life in the wood! He knew the paths and the trails, and most importantly, with King Felix expecting an army, he would never suspect a lone carpenter to be of any threat.

The Queen seemed to be thinking the very same thing, because after a moment or two of shocked silence, she stood up from her throne and descended the many steps which kept her elevated. She descended those steps with grace and poise, and when she finally stopped in front of Philip, he got down on one knee.

Placing a hand on Philip’s shoulder, a move which stunned everyone in the royal court, the Queen promised softly, “My boy, if you return with our princess, I will grant you anything your heart desires, and on that you have my word.”

                                                 ---------------------

And so, Philip’s journey began.

Riding atop the gentle steed that had accompanied him on many a trip into the mountains, and equipped with nothing but his carpentry tools, Philip set off discreetly, quietly. There could be no fanfare, no one in the village could even know what he was up to, lest the evil King Felix catch word.

He had put a sign on his workshop’s door saying that he had gone out of town, but he did not say for what. It felt slightly wrong, leaving the village without another word like that, but all the while he kept one thing in mind: the sooner he rescued the princess, the sooner he could begin to search for his lovely (Y/N).

The mountains were quiet for a long while, the better part of the day in fact. He and his horse had ridden through the winding trails that so many before him had traveled, trails that were easy and comfortable. He wasn’t very far outside the village yet, so things were relatively tame. It wasn’t until dusk began to fall, that he noticed a steady plume of chimney smoke up in the distance.

A chimney meant a house, which meant possible shelter for the night. Philip allowed himself to hope that perhaps the owner of the house would give him refuge, even if only for a few hours – and was so caught up in his daydreaming that he did not notice when a man jumped out of a tree a few feet in front of him, landing on his feet skillfully.

“Halt!” The man said, holding a hand outstretched, startling Philip’s horse.

“Woahh!” Philip tried to calm his steed, and when the beast was no longer threatening to buck him off its back, Philip cleared his throat and tried to be amiable, “Good day to you sir, what – ”

“None shall pass without besting me and my bow.” The man cut Philip off, making him raise his eyebrows.

“…Excuse me?” Philip sized the man up for a moment.

He was handsome, a well styled afro and neatly groomed beard denoting him as a man who prided himself on his appearance. His clothing followed suit in such a fashion – well tailored and made from expensive materials like silk, a brocade tunic shimmered in the warm light of the golden hour.

“You are trespassing on my land, and if you wish to leave with your life intact, you must best me in a test of archery.” The man did not budge, and Philip did not know how to proceed.

“But I have not bow nor arrow.” He explained, to which the man’s proud posture fell a little flat. For how could there be a competition if the competitors were not equally matched?

“Oh.” The man scratched at his beard for a moment or two, trying to come up with a solution. Eventually, he snapped his fingers with an elated smile that showed off brilliantly white teeth, “Well in that case, you may borrow some of mine!”

The man beckoned Philip to follow him, and with only a small amount of hesitation, Philip followed. What lay before them was a grand home, constructed of the most sturdy stone. A family crest that Philip did not recognize waved from flagpoles atop the home, but Philip didn’t need to recognize the crest for him to know that this was a noble home. This became increasingly evident as the man lead Philip to a field where a shed sat – a shed that looked larger than his entire home.

“What’s the test?” Philip asked, having gotten off of his horse and walked up to the man.

He handed Philip a beautifully constructed bow, and three sharpened arrows. He then pointed to two targets way across the other side of the field, so far away that Philip had a hard time locating them at first.

“Best of three shots, whoever gets the most bullseyes is the victor.” The man announced, and Philip gave a single nod in agreement.

It was no secret in the village that Philip had some of the best eyesight around, he needed to. Spending so many hours staring at intricately fine details in his woodwork had sharpened his skills considerably, but more than that Philip also hunted for his own food, as much of the village did. Nearly every weekend Philip went into the mountains to shoot, and every weekend he was successful.

This man did not know that, but it did not matter. The only thing that mattered, was Philip getting this over as quickly as possible so that he could be reunited with his maiden.

Stepping up to a line of dirt in the field, the man allowed Philip to take the first shot. He steadied his aim, took in a deep breath and fired – bullseye! Philip gestured to the man, who went next. With expert precision, he too shot his first arrow directly into the bullseye of the target. 

Philip went again, and again he scored a bullseye, so precisely in fact, that this arrow managed to split straight through the previous one. Shocked, the man looked Philip up and down, as if trying to recognize him from a past archery competition. Philip only gave him a shrug, and watched as he too split his previous arrow into two pieces.

Each man only had one arrow left, and Philip knew that this was the one that mattered most. If he struck his bullseye, he surely would be allowed to pass. Closing his eyes, he focused not on the setting of the sun, or of the breeze in the air that evening brought, but of his (Y/N). He visualized her smiling face, her lips upon his, and released his bow into the air.

It soared through the great open field with precision and struck the target with a determination that Philip mirrored in his soul. He cracked one eye open, and saw that the arrow had indeed landed on the bullseye! Not nearly as well as the other two arrows had, but it was undeniably a success.

With a huff, the man raised his own bow and arrow for the final time, and pulled back a little too forcefully out of anger at being bested – causing the bow to snap and the arrow to go flying rogue.

“Dammit!” The man shouted, stumbling backwards, his hand in pain from the recoil of the broken bow.

“Look out!” Philip urged, because what went up must come down, and Philip charged at the man, tackling him to the ground, knocking him out of the way of the arrow which was making its return to Earth directly in the spot where the man had been standing.

Bewildered, the man looked up at Philip with admiration, as he stood away from the nobleman.

“Here, let me help you up.” Philip insisted, “Take my hand.”

“What is your name?” The man asked, accepting the offer and allowing Philip to haul him to his feet.

“Philip Zimmerman, but call me Flip. Yours?” Philip gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder to make sure he was alright, as the two got their footing. The men looked at the arrow in the ground, noted how it had buried itself deep.

“Lord Ronald Stallworth, but you may call me Ron.” Ron replied, with a polite nod of his head. “You are a most accomplished archer, Flip. Where are you headed? I don’t get many visitors out this way.”

Philip looked around, looked over his shoulder, wanting to make sure no one was around to hear.

“The Princess has been kidnapped, and I have been tasked on a secret mission to retrieve her.” He explained, hoping that Ron would understand his urgency, “I’m sorry about your bow, Ron. But I must be going now.”

Philip began to walk back towards his horse, when Ron surprised him by jogging to catch up, walking alongside him.

“Wait!” Ron called, stopping in front of him for a moment to make Philip pause. Ron put his hands on Philip’s shoulders in a friendly gesture, and then pointed to himself, “You are a good man, Philip. Allow me to join you on your quest! I know these woods well, I could be of assistance to you. Two archers are better than one, wouldn’t you say?”

“Why do you want to join me?” Philip frowned. Ron was rich, he had a luxurious home and accommodations, surely that would be more comfortable than a rugged trip up the mountains.

Ron chuckled at his question, and scratched at his beard once more.

“To tell you the truth, it’s pretty fucking boring here waiting for someone to pass by for a challenge. And you are the first man who has ever bested me, I am eager to see where your journey takes you. Where it takes us.” Ron looked hopeful, and Philip reasoned that he was right, two archers were better than one.

“I’d be happy to have you join, Ron.” Philip agreed, officially adding a new member to his party.

                                                 ---------------------

Not only did Ron allow Philip to spend the night in his large home, but he also ordered his kitchen staff to cook a grand meal for them to enjoy. Philip was grateful for the strength, particularly as Ron was rich, and had no worries about running out of food any time soon, so the portions were large, and there was more than enough leftover to be packaged for the road.

“So, a princess, huh?” Ron asked around a bite of venison, thoughtful and yet slightly confused.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Philip sighed, slightly annoyed at this interruption of his plan to find the maiden.

Ron frowned into his potatoes, confessing, “I didn’t know that we had one.”

At this, Philip let out an honest laugh and shrugged, chugging a large gulp of sweet mead.

“To tell you the truth? Up until this morning, I didn’t either.” Philip admitted, which made Ron laugh too. They cheered goblets, and indulged in another drink at the situation before them. “I thought the whole thing was a bunch of bullshit rumors, but then there it is in the square: Princess Kidnapped.”  

“The reward must be great then, for you to go on such a dangerous journey alone to retrieve her.” Ron noted casually, but Philip shrugged.

“Only that which I have been owed, is all that I’m asking.” He replied cryptically.

Of course he had decided he would give Ron a portion of the money for his help, but he didn’t necessarily want anyone knowing just how big of a reward it truly was. In any case, Ron was a Lord, and probably spent that very amount on a month’s worth of goods.

“I wonder what your wife must think of such selflessness.” Ron replied with a grin then, making Philip’s mood soften.

“I…I have no wife to speak of, though I should hope that if I had, she wouldn’t find fault in me for it.” Philip’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think about it, about what would happen should he find (Y/N).

Now it only seemed logical, the most obvious step, for him to court her and hopefully, one day, marry her. But that was a dream, one that Philip couldn’t get too ahead of himself to dwell on. He needed to make it back with the Princess alive first and foremost.

“Forgive me.” Ron’s voice too quieted, and he cleared his throat, “It’s just, I can see the love in your eyes, I was wrong to assume.”

“What do you mean?” Philip asked, a frown dipping between his eyebrows.

Ron mused and mulled over a bite of roasted vegetables, tried to best explain himself. He eventually settled on the truth: “It affects everyone differently, love. But every lover I have ever known as the undeniable sparkle in their eye, as do you.”

“Well…there is someone…” Philip admitted, a blush blooming across his cheeks.

“Ah-ha! Tell me all about her my good man.” Elated, Ron clapped his hands together once and let a happiness light up his face.

“Her name is (Y/N), we met last night.” Philip blushed deeper, reminiscing in the fantasy that had been their time together at the festival. “I am hoping that when all this is over, I might find her and see her again.”

“Well then, we must get our rest and leave at the first light of morning! For it is a long journey to the forbidden wood, and then a long journey back.” Ron replied.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, Philip ate the rest of the food on his plate with a newfound vigor. Perhaps he could do this, he reasoned. With a man like Ron at his side, who had such skill and obvious charm, the two of them could be unstoppable.

When the dinner was over, they retired to their respective rooms, and Philip allowed himself to let sleep wash over his mind, thoughts of his fair maiden dancing in his head.

                                                 ---------------------

The next morning, true to his word, Ron woke Philip at the break of dawn. During the night, his servants had prepared a bundle for which Philip and Ron would travel, including the leftover food, canteens of fresh water, and a change of clean clothes. Additionally, Philip was provided with a bow and a set of arrows to use all his own. Philip was grateful for it, and the two set off in amicable company, listening to the sounds of the trees and nature sing around them.

They managed to cover much ground in the morning, passing the time by talking of themselves. Ron told Philip all about how his family came from a long line of nobility, and that he inherited the estate from his father. Philip told Ron all about how he too in a way, inherited his trade from his father. Though they came from different places, the two found more in common with one another than they found differences.

All in all, it was a wonderful friendship that had begun to form, and Philip and Ron found themselves in a fit of laughter at a joke Ron had told, when they came to a large stone bridge that sat high up above a gorge of water. Standing in front of the bridge was a tall man, with long sandy hair, and an expression on his face that told Philip he meant business.

“Halt!” The man said, his voice commanding of attention, “Who goes there?”

Philip and Ron looked at one another, and as Ron had a higher rank of authority, he was the one to reply.

“We are Lord Ron Stallworth, and Flip Zimmerman, who speaks?” Ron asked in return, and the man straightened his posture, before bowing slightly, not realizing he was in the presence of nobility.

“I am Jimmy Creek my Lord, owner of this bridge. If you wish to cross, you must pay the toll.” Jimmy introduced himself, making Philip look at Ron.

“Do you have any money on you?” Philip whispered, assuming the answer was yes, and being unfortunately surprised when Ron gave him an embarrassed wince.

“Shit, no. Didn’t think we’d need it for such a short trip, you?” Ron whispered back, making Philip’s mind race to find a solution.

“We have no coins to spare. May we pass by another means? Or perhaps I could send money to you once we have returned?” Philip asked, hoping that Jimmy would be reasonable. He looked like a reasonable sort of fellow, anyway.

Jimmy thought on this for a while, before brandishing the sword that he kept on his hip. The metal glinted in the afternoon light, throwing sparks of sunshine all around as he twirled it and whirled it around effortlessly.

“If you can best me in a fight, then you may pass.” Jimmy announced, and Philip chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I haven’t got a sword.” He replied honestly, and this stumped Jimmy, for what travelers did not move through these mountains without a sword?

“Oh. Well in that case, you can borrow one of mine.” Jimmy snapped his fingers then, and beckoned Philip over to him as he walked back to a small hut near the bridge.

It was humble, made of stone and wood, and looked similar to one of the dwellings he might see in his own village. Philip waited outside while Jimmy rummaged through his hut and eventually emerged with a sword for Philip to use.

The sword was beautiful. Obviously crafted with care, the grip happened to be the perfect size for Philip’s hand, the jewel crusted pommel and cross-guard weighted just enough to counter balance the long blade. Philip wondered where a man like Jimmy came across such a thing, as he gave it a few experimental twists and spins.

Philip had virtually no training in swordsmanship, except for that of the surprise attacks that the village children waged on him. Jimmy was no child though, and this made Philip gulp, doubting his chances – until Jimmy began to run at him full speed ahead, and the only thing Philip could think about was winning.

Swords clanged, great big sparks flying into the air as they went after one another again and again. Jimmy may have been older, but he was nimble, quick on his feet. Philip found he could not use his sheer size and strength alone, although this certainly helped him. Dodging and ducking away from Jimmy’s blows, Philip pushed pushed pushed Jimmy back, until the two of them began to move down the bridge.

Below them, the gorge rushed with water furiously hungry, white frothy waves of grey-blue water crashing and smacking against craggy cliff walls. Out there on the bridge, the wind had no place to buffer against, and both men began to realize that one strong gust of wind could very well send them over.

The sounds of their swords echoed through the gorge, as did their grunts of effort from trying to best one another. Jimmy would lunge, and Philip would jump back, waiting for a moment to lunge himself. Their swords met in a flurry of silver metal, blade swinging expertly and with deadly precision.

He thought of the children in the village, thought of the way his beloved (Y/N) might interact with them. How she might cheer them on as they attacked Philip in the very same manner that Jimmy now was. Spinning his sword in the same way that he had watched the young boy from the village all that time ago, Philip managed to generate enough momentum in his arms to block every single sharp and quick blow that Jimmy sent his way.

Back back back Philip pushed Jimmy, his arm muscles flexing and his feet planted on the ground – until he gave Jimmy a particularly harsh swing of his sword, and in the effort to block it, not only did Jimmy’s hand lose its grip on his sword, but Jimmy stumbled backwards and fell, the wind striking at the worst possible moment, sending Jimmy over the edge of the bridge.

“Oh fuck!” Ron’s shout traveled from the other end of the bridge where he waited with the horses, watching with wide eyes, a hand clasped over his mouth as Philip ran to the edge.  

Jimmy was dangling precariously close to death, his hands scrabbling for a grip on the rough and rocky side of the bridge that did not promise much purchase. The wind howled and whipped up the spray of water from a thousand feet below, a taste of the certain death Jimmy would face should he fall.

“Quick, take my hand!” Philip shouted over the rush of the wind and water and the pulse in his veins, letting his own sword clatter onto the stone of the bridge as he reached out.

Without hesitation, Jimmy grasped the offered hand and Philip hauled him back onto the bridge safely, Philip’s muscles making quick work of the effort. Exhausted from their fight and this momentary scare, the two men simply laid on their backs on the bridge, catching their breath.

“You spared me?” Incredulously, Jimmy regarded Philip who was not more than a few feet away on the narrow structure of stone.

“Of course, why should I kill you?” Philip replied, a friendly smile teasing at his lips.

“Thank you, Philip. You are a good man.” Jimmy said seriously, and Philip blushed, he wasn’t sure about all that, it’s just, who was he to end a man’s life? Jimmy glanced at the beautiful sword that “You can keep that, you’ve earned it.”

Philip too looked at the sword, at how beautiful it was. Because really, the thing shone in the light magnificently, the jewels sparkling and shimmering in the rays of the sun. Philip was entranced, absolutely entranced by it, but he could not lay around and stare at it all day. He had a princess to rescue, and a maiden to love.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Philip asked as he stood up, helping Jimmy up too.

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll be on our way then.” Philip gave him a nod, and then gestured for Ron to come over with the horses and join them, eager to continue on their way.

“Wait! Allow me to accompany you on your quest?” Jimmy asked, eyes wide with a sudden anxiety.

At this, Ron and Philip looked at one another and then back at him, a slight frown on their faces.

“Why?” Ron asked, looking him up and down, wondering what Jimmy was suddenly so anxious.

“Truth be told, I’m really sick of sitting around on this fucking bridge. My father sat on this bridge as did his – but I never wanted to. This is my chance at something new, something different!” He then turned to Philip, “I see you have bows and arrows, but in combat you’d be best to do with an extra swordsman, and that I can provide. Besides, you’re the only person to ever give me a run for my money like that – I respect you.”

Philip understood that feeling all too well, the ache in his bones for a different life than the one that was promised to him. He had been given a chance for this quest, and now he could do the very same for this man, he could give Jimmy a chance of his own.

Looking at Ron to gauge his reaction, Ron looked back, and then nodded with a great big grin, “Oh I don’t see why not, welcome to the group.”

“Thank you! I won’t let you down!” Jimmy excitedly hugged them both, his long sandy-blonde hair blowing in the breeze as he ran back to his hut just on the other side of the bridge.

When he came back, he had a horse of his own, and a bag already packed. Philip smiled, he must have had this bag packed for quite some time. It made something inside Philip’s chest warm – one was never too old for adventure, a truth that continued to make itself evident.

“Say, where are we headed anyway?” Jimmy asked, sheathing his sword in the holster on his hip.

“To the forbidden wood, to rescue the princess that’s been kidnapped by King Felix.” Philip responded, sure that no one could hear them up on the bridge the way they were.

Jimmy frowned and looked at Ron, scratching the back of his neck and asking, “We have a princess?”

Ron burst out laughing and slapped Jimmy on the back, “That’s what I said!”                                                  ---------------------

                                             ---------------------

Tagging some friends! Part 2 will be up tomorrow :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @drake-bells-waxed-penis @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl​ @loverofallthings​ 

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

St Vincent: “Pour a Drink, Smoke a Joint... That’s the Vibe”

Ding dong! Daddy's Home

By Johnny Davis

19/03/2021

Annie Clark, known professionally as St Vincent, picked up a guitar aged 12 after being inspired by Jimi Hendrix. During her teens she worked as a roadie and later tour manager for her aunt and uncle, the jazz duo Tuck & Patti. Originally from Oklahoma, she moved to Dallas, Texas when she was seven and later attended the Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts for three years, before dropping out.

Clark worked as a touring musician with the Polyphonic Spree and Sufjan Stevens, before releasing Marry Me, her first album as St Vincent, in 2007. By her fifth album, 2017’s Masseduction, she had become one of the most celebrated artists in music, the first solo female artist to win a Grammy Award for Best Alternative Album in 20 years.

She became unlikely Daily Mail-fodder around the same time, thanks to an 18-month relationship with Cara Delevingne, and later Kristen Stewart. Her ever-changing music, dressing up-box image and head-spinning well of ideas have seen her compared to David Bowie, Kate Bush and Prince. To complete the notion of her being the "artist's artist", in 2012 she collaborated with David Byrne on the album Love This Giant.

Indeed, she is surely one of few performers today who could stand in for Kurt Cobain with what’s-left-of-Nirvana, performing “Lithium” at their induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2014, as well as cover “Controversy” at a Prince tribute concert in 2020, with such guitar-playing fireworks its author would surely have approved.

Following the glam-influenced pop of Masseduction, St Vincent has performed another stylistic handbrake turn. Complete with a new image – part-Warhol Superstar, part-Cassavetes heroine – she has mined the textures of the music she loved most as a kid: the virtuoso rock of Steely Dan, the clipped funk of Stevie Wonder and blue-eyed soul of mid-Seventies' David Bowie, on her upcoming album, Daddy’s Home.

The title refers to Clark's own father, locked up in Texas for 12 years in 2010, for money laundering in a stock manipulation scheme, one in which he and his co-conspirators cheated 17,000 investors out of £35m. It is also, in typical Clark style, a bit of saucy slang.

Back on the promotional trail, Clark Zoomed in from Los Angeles one morning recently – fully caffeinated and raring to go. “My vices?” she pondered. “Too much coffee, man…”

What question are you already bored of being asked?

There’s not one that’s popping out. There’s no question where I’m like “Oh God, if I ever hear that again, I’ll jump off a building.” I’m chill.

I mention it because prior to releasing your last record you put out a pre-recorded “press conference”, seemingly to pre-empt every inane question the media would throw at you.

It’s so funny. It didn’t really occur like that. Originally that was supposed to be a legit green screen conference. Like, “I’ll just answer these questions ‘cos when they need to have me on ‘The Morning Show’ in Belarus they can have this and put their own graphics behind it”. But then when my friend Carrie Brownstein [collaborator and Sleater-Kinney vocalist-guitarist] and I started writing it and it became very snarky. For some reason it didn’t occur to me that “Oh, that might be off-putting or intimidating to journalists” I just thought "This is silly”. So anyway… I understand.

We're curious about your dad and the American legal system.

I have had a lot of questions about that. For some reason it didn’t occur to me how much I would be answering questions about… my hilarious father!

How do you view his time in prison?

Just that life is long and people are complicated. And that, luckily, there’s a chance for redemption or reconciliation, even after a really crazy traumatic time. And also anybody that has any experience with the American justice system will know this... nobody comes out unscathed.

You recently presented an online MasterClass: "St. Vincent Teaches Creativity & Songwriting". One of the takeaways: “All you need are ears and ideas, and you can make anything happen”. Who’s had the best ideas in music?

Well, you’ve got to give credit to people who were genuinely creating a new style – like if you think of Charlie Parker, arguably he created a new style. This hard bop that was just absolutely impossible to play. It was, like, “Check me out – try to copy me!” So, that’s interesting. I think Brian Eno, for sure, has some great ideas about music – and obviously has made some of the best music. Joni Mitchell – completely singular. I mean: think about that. There are some people who are actually inimitable – like, you couldn’t possibly even try to imitate them.

It’s a brave soul who covers a Joni Mitchell song. Although, apologies if you actually have.

No, I have not. And there’s a reason why not. Come on – Bowie. Bowie never repeated himself. David Byrne also didn’t repeat himself. He took all of his influences of classic songs and the disco that was happening at the time, and the potpourri of downtown New York music from the mid- to late Seventies… and synthesised it into this completely new, other thing. I mean, that’s impressive. Those are the ones we remember.

How hard is it not to repeat yourself?

It’s whether people have the Narcissus thing or not. Like, it’s always got to be a balance where you’re, like, “Well, I need to believe in myself to make something and be liberated. But I can’t look at that pond of my previous work and go ‘Oh you! You’re gorgeous!’” So I don’t go back and listen to things I’ve done. I finished Daddy’s Home in the fall and it was, like, “This is done” and it felt great. I loved the record and it was so fun to make. But what I did immediately afterwards was to write something completely different. But then I don’t know, ‘cos there are people who do the thing that they do just great. And you just want to hear more songs, in the style of the thing that they do great.

Right. No one wants an experimental Ramones album.

Exactly. Or, like, or a Tom Petty record. I don’t want a tone poem from Tom Petty! I want a perfectly constructed, perfectly written completely singalongable three-chord song.

The new album has a very “live” Seventies feel. I’d read that some of the tracks are first takes. Can that be right? It all sounds very complicated.

That’s not right. I should say [rock voice] "Yeah, that’s right, we just jammed…" But, you know, I’ll be honest. There are some vocal takes in there that are first takes. But it really is just the sound of people playing. We get good drum takes. And good bass takes. And I play a bunch of guitar and sitar-guitar. And it’s the sound of a moment in time, certainly. And way more about looseness and groove and feel and vibe than anything else [I’ve done before].

Amazing live albums, virtuoso playing, jamming – those were staples of Seventies music. Have we lost some of that?

I mean, I can wax poetic on that idea for a minute. In the Seventies you had this tremendous sophistication in popular music. Stevie Wonder, Steely Dan and funk and soul and jazz and rock…. and all of the things rolled into one. That was tremendously sophisticated. It just was. There was harmony, there were chord progressions.

What else from that decade appealed to you for Daddy’s Home?

It reminds me of where we are now, I think. So, 1971-1976 in downtown New York, you’ve got the Summer of Love thing and flower children and all the hippy stuff and it’s, like, “Oh yeah, that didn’t work out that well. We’re still in Vietnam. There’s a crazy economic crisis, all kinds of social unrest”. People stood in the proverbial burned-out building. And it reminds me a lot of where we are today, in terms of social unrest, economic uncertainty. A groundswell wanting change... but where that’s headed is yet to be seen. We haven’t fully figured that out. We’re all picking up pieces of the rubble and going “Okay, what do we do with this one? Where do we go with that one?” Being a student of history, that was one of the reasons why I was drawn to that period in history.

Also: that’s the music I’ve listened to more than anything in my entire life. I mean, I was probably the youngest Steely Dan fan. It didn’t make me that popular at sleepovers. People were, like, “I want to listen to C+C Music Factory” and I was, like, “Yeah, but have you heard this solo on [Steely Dan’s] ‘Kid Charlemagne’”? That music is so in me. It’s so in my ears and I feel like I never really went there [making music before]. And I didn’t want to be a tourist about it. It’s just that particular style had a whole lot to teach me. So I wanted to just dig in and find out. Just play with it.

Is there a style of music you don’t like?

That I don’t like?

You're a jazz fan...

I love jazz. Are you kidding me? I was that annoying 14-year-old who was, like, “Yeah, but have you listened to Oliver Nelson’s The Blues and the Abstract Truth?”

I love jazz. Are you kidding me? I was that annoying 14-year-old who was, like, “Yeah, but have you listened to Oliver Nelson’s The Blues and the Abstract Truth?”

That does sound quite precocious for a 14-year-old.

It’s annoying. Just insufferable. [Thinking aloud] What music don’t I like….? Here’s what can happen. And I feel like it’s similar to when an actor has some lines in a script and they’re not very good – not very well-written – so they overcompensate by making it very dramatic and really overplaying it. I would say that is a style of music that I don’t really like. Where somebody has to really oversell it and it all feels… athletic. Instead of musical or touching.

Did you put your lockdown time to constructive use?

If you need any mediocre home renovations done, I’m your girl. It was fun. I did – let’s see now – plumbing, electrical, painting. Luckily there’s YouTube, so you can more or less figure it all out. I did a lot of that stuff and I have to say it was such a nice contrast to working on music all day. Because when you’re working on music you have to create the construct of everything. You’re, like, “I need to make this song. But what is this song?” Everything is this kind of elusive castle in the sky thing. But then, if you go and sand a deck, you’ve done something. It feels really good. And it’s not, like, “What is a deck? And who am I?” You’re just, like, “This is a task and I get to do it and I can see how the mechanism works I understand it it’s not esoteric – it’s simply mechanical". I can do something mechanical. I loved it.

Which bit of DIY are you most pleased with?

Painting the kitchen cabinets. That’s a real job. We’re talking sanding. We’re talking taking things off hinges. We’re talking multiple coats. The whole lacquer-y thing at the end. That. I’m, like, “That looks pretty pro”.

What colour did you go for?

Oh, you know, it’s just a sort of… teal. But classy teal.

Of course.

Yeah. The wallpapering wasn’t as successful. But, you know, that’s fine. So that was really fun. And then I also went down a history rabbit hole. I realised I had some gaps in my knowledge about the Russian Revolution and life under the Iron Curtain and the gulags and Stalin and Lenin. So, I went down that hole. And then I was like “Oh I forgot – I haven’t read any Dostoevsky”. So I have been working on his short stories – which are great. And then Solzhenitsyn I really liked – I mean liked is a strange word to use for The Gulag Archipelago. I read Cancer Ward… All of them. I recommend all of it. And then, before that, it was a big Stasi kick. I can’t remember the last time I had time to brush up on the Russian Revolution.

There’s a lyric on “The Laughing Man”, “If life’s a joke… then I’m dying laughing”. It’s also on your new merchandise. What do you think happens when we die?

Nothing.

This is it?

Yeah. I mean, I understand that it would be comforting to think otherwise. That there might be a special place. It would be nice! The thought’s never really been able to stick for me. I would say that we are made of carbon and then we get subsumed back into the Earth and then eventually we become life again – in the carbon part of our makeup.

Well, that sounds better than an endless void.

I don’t think it would be an endless void.

In what ways are you like your mum and dad?

Let’s see. Well, my mother is a precious angel who has unwavering optimism. She is incredibly intelligent and also very nonjudgmental and able and happy to explore all kinds of possibilities. Saying that, though… it’s sounding not like me at all. I’m like my father in that I think we have very similar tastes in books, films, music and a very similar sense of humour. My mother’s so kind that it’s hard for me to… Her level of kindness and decency is aspirational to me.

How famous are you, on a scale of one to 10?

God, I mean, like, “TikTok Famous” probably a one, right? I’m gonna say – I don’t know about the number system – but I’m going to say I-occasionally-get-a-free-appetiser-sent-over famous. Which is a great place to be.

What do you look for in a date?

It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date. You know, I once read something, it might have been something cheesy on a card, but [it was]: if you don’t like someone, then the way they hold their fork will bother you. But, if you like someone – or love someone – they could spill an entire plate of spaghetti on your lap and you wouldn’t mind.

You play a zillion instruments. What’s the hardest instrument to play?

Well, I can’t play horns or anything like that. The French horn is supposed to be really hard. I don’t like to blag… but I’m an incredible whistler. Like, I can whistle Bach.

Is Bach a particularly tough whistle?

I think… yeah. It’s fast. And noodly.

What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we're out of lockdown?

I’m gonna get a manicure and a pedicure and a massage. Massage from a stranger. Any stranger.

What about a night on the tiles?

I will probably attend a dinner party.

That sounds quite restrained.

It sounds hella boring. Sorry.

Clubbing?

No, I don’t really go to clubs. I think in order to go to clubs you have to be a person who likes to publicly dance. And I don’t publicly dance. I mean I would feel too shy to dance at a wedding. But for some reason I will dance on stage in front of 10,000 people.

That’s why alcohol was invented.

Exactly! But I swear I would reach the point of alcohol sickness before I would be drunk enough to dance.

The effects of drugs on creativity: discuss.

Unreliable. Really unreliable. Sometimes after a day’s work in the studio you’re like, "I’m gonna have shot of tequila and then sing this a few more times, and then play". It’s okay but you peak sort-of quickly. You can’t sustain the level without getting tired. And then I would say that weed just makes me paranoid and useless. Every once in a while some combo of psychedelics can get you someplace. But, for the most part, you either come back to [the work] the next day and you’re, like, “This is garbage” or you get sleepy or hungry or distracted and you’re not really doing anything. I’ve never had opiates. Or coke or whatever. So I don’t know. I can’t speak to that. But with the slightly more G-Rated [American movie classification: All Ages Permitted] thing, it doesn’t really help.

What do you have too many of in your wardrobe?

I’m not a hoarder. I tend to have one thing that I get really obsessed with and then I wear it every day. Some people, having a whole lot of things gives them a sense of safety and security. It gives me anxiety. I can’t think if there’s too much visual noise. If there was a uniform that I could wear every day I would absolutely do that. And at certain times I have.

Like Steve Jobs?

Or, oh God, what’s her name? The Theranos lady… Elizabeth Holmes!

The blood-test-scam lady?

Well, I guess it was unclear how much of it was self-delusion and how much of it was, you know, actual fraud.

Another black turtleneck fan.

And – again, this is unconfirmed – she also adopted a very low voice like this in order to be taken seriously as a CEO.

Like Margaret Thatcher.

Did she have a low voice?

She made hers “less shrill”.

Oh yes. Yes!

What movie makes you cry?

The Lives of Others

That’s a good one.

Right. I rewatched that during my Stasi kick.

I’ll be honest, your lockdown sounds even less fun than everyone else’s.

I mean… Look, I had to educate myself. I went to a music college [Berklee College of Music] where I tried to take the philosophy class and the way that they would talk about it… it was taught by this professor who was from one of the neighbouring colleges in Boston. And it was very clear that he really disliked having to talk Kierkegaard to a bunch of music school kids. He was just so bummed by it. I’m trying to learn, “What’s the deal with Kant?” and he felt he had to explain everything only in musical terms [because he assumed it would be the only thing music students could relate to]. Like, “Well, you know, it’s like when Bob Marley…" I’m, like, “No, no, no! I don’t want that!” So I had to educate myself. This is where its led me.

Where should we ideally listen to Daddy’s Home?

Put it on a turntable. Pour yourself a glass of tequila or bourbon – whatever your favourite hooch is – and smoke a joint and listen to it. I think that’s the vibe.

Daddy’s Home is released on May 14

[adamfoolcry]

Caught in the Act (Sicheng - Drabble)

pairings: Reader x Winwin/Sicheng, Johnny and Mark (side characters)

rating: 16+

warnings: sexual innuendos, cursing, suggestive scenarios

genre: comedy, pure crack more potent than the white stuff

synopsis: Johnny and Mark caught you and Sicheng doing ....

word count: 1,045

a/n: Mentioning @nctcreations​, @kpopscape, @neo-the-stars-net, @nct-writers in case the tags don’t work. I don't even know what is this but I laughed while writing it. Unedited and not proof-read, I don't know where to find a beta, cries. So please excuse the mistakes. - xo aria

The slam of the door alerted Johnny and Mark of Sicheng's arrival in their shared apartment. Enjoying the Friday night after all-nighters, procrastination, and caffeine-induced mornings, the two are sprawled on the couch, boxes of pizzas and empty soda cans littering the coffee table, and a suspense movie playing on the television. Reaching where the two was, Sicheng announced unceremoniously:

"Johnny hyung, Mark. ________ is coming here tomorrow. Just wanna tell you." twisting open the doorknob to his room, Sicheng abruptly entered it leaving them staring at the closed door.

"Hyung what does 'Just wanna tell you'," Mark did a double air quote with a baffled face," implies?"

"- and with a glare too Mark," Johnny added in a skeptical voice, scratching his chin in deep thought looking like a man in his thirties experiencing a mid-life crisis.

As if the proverbial lightbulb that was floating above their heads switched on and they have the gift of telepathy. They look at each other as if in sync; eyes wide like they had an epiphany.

"You thinking, what I am thinking?" Mark asked to which Johnny retorted:

"They're gonna get it on right?"

"You bet they will, maybe Sicheng gege wants us to leave the two of them alone, to have some sexy time," Mark concluded.

"Well fuck that, tomorrow is a Saturday. I am not going anywhere." Johnny said determined.

You and Sicheng have been going out for six months now, not counting the months he spent courting you. Every Saturday he makes sure to clear his schedule and bring you out on dates, to compensate for the time he wasn't able to, during weekdays due to course works and other curricular activities. During the first few months, the two of you will go out and spend the day frolicking outdoors with an itinerary and set of activities planned but lately, you two have been so tired of planning excursions every Saturdays, plus one downside of it is - it sucks both of your wallets dry. Being two broke college kids you two decided instead to coop up in your apartment every Saturday, trying a new baking recipe, replicating trendy drinks at the cafes (which sometimes turn out good or completely inedible), and doing other couples stuff. Unfortunately, the heater at your apartment broke and the landlord said that he will fix it this Saturday which will hinder your plans of trying a new baking recipe. Left with no choice you and Sicheng have agreed to spend the upcoming Saturday in his place - shared between him, Johnny, and Mark.

The sunlight streams in the room and bathed both Johnny's and Mark's figure in comfortable warmth. Johnny sat up in his bed in a lethargic state, still half asleep, he proceeded to rub his eyes. Meanwhile, on the other bed, Mark was stretching his arms to the high heavens yawning. The moment of serenity didn't last long for there was a loud clatter that suspiciously sounds like plates and mugs cluttering to the floor which rendered both men to fully rouse out of their half undead states. The next thing they heard was you screaming:

"Sicheng, harder, faster." Johnny and Mark looked at each other mortified.

"Of all places why in the kitchen?!" Johnny exclaimed frustrated by the idea of someone doing the deed in their shared kitchen space. He stood up in rage ready to reprimand the two of you for doing such a vile act. He stormed his way to the kitchen with Mark in tow. What greeted him was nothing short of what he was expecting.

Sicheng was holding a mixing bowl in his arm while his other hand is whisking away, like a madman possessed, emitting grunting sounds. You were cheering him on by the side: "Harder! Faster!"

After a few seconds of Johnny and Mark gaping at you and Sicheng, you have become aware of their presence. You greeted them warmly.

"Johnny! Mark! Would you like some Dalgona Coffee?" You graciously offered them some.

"Ohh Ummm sure. One for Johnny hyung too." Mark replied, flustered.

After having breakfast with dalgona coffee courtesy of Sicheng. Johnny and Mark decided to shoulder lunch and went out to order food at their favorite chicken restaurant. Both of them were excited to go back to the apartment and feast on it ordering two buckets. Closing the door with a bucket of chicken in hand, discarding their shoes to slip on their slippers they suddenly heard your voice.

"It's so hard Sicheng. I don't want to put that anywhere near my mouth." You whined as you poke at the muffin you just have taken off the oven. Johnny and Mark stopped in their tracks.

"________, don't be stubborn open your mouth." Sicheng said in a commanding tone daring you to disobey him. Holding a muffin in his hand, forcing you to taste it. "Sicheng I don't want to..." You whined some more dragging out the last syllable. Johnny looked at Mark who started sweating, eyebrows twitching, fear evident in the younger boy's eyes.

"I didn't know Sicheng ge is a dom." Mark searched for Johnny's eyes. Sicheng was starting to get annoyed by you, so he shoves the muffin past your lips which caused you to have a fit of little coughs."________ doesn't sound like she likes it? It may be non-consensual." Mark added.

"You can swallow now." Sicheng's lower timbre traveled through the kitchen as you took too long to chew the muffin. Sicheng observed your face waiting for your verdict if the muffin is good. Meanwhile, Mark made up his mind that he will not let anyone be the brunt of abuse, regardless if Sicheng is his close friend, he was ready to throw a fist at Sicheng upon reaching the kitchen. Only to find ...

"Oh wow, this tastes so good." You reached for another muffin feeding it to Sicheng. Sicheng instantly became giddy as you praise his muffins.

"Oh, you two want some muffins? Sicheng and I baked it." You noticed both Mark and Johnny standing in a corner mouth agape, faces inscrutable.

"I don't think admiring me while you sit there is enough participation, _______." Sicheng teased you.

"What the hell Sicheng, _______!" Johnny exclaimed while Mark unmoving stood traumatized.

a/n: Read more of my works for NCT here:masterlist.

[thevoilinauttheory]

Soul Meets Body

[ FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 23: Soul ]

[ Content Warnings: None! ]

[ original video not posted for shaky camera / depictions of implied animal death (it’s a strange video, because it isn’t actual animals, just metaphorical) ]

==

“Lothaire.” “Hm?” Lothaire turned his head up from the papers he was writing - a never ending manuscript, it seemed - tapping his pen against his cheek in thought. The monotone voice was no other than his grandfather, staring down at him with his usual glare - which he had learned to ignore, since his face never seemed to match what mood he was in. Ever. Maximiloix closed his eye, folding his arms over his chest. “I have something for you.” “Eh? Since when do you give out gifts!” He laughed, pushing himself up from his desk; his grandfather stared at him blankly. “Well, since it seems you have forgotten, I will retract it - continue on.” Maximiloix shooed him back to his desk with some vague resemblance of a smile on his face. “Wait- what? Forgot what!” He had to think on it… a lot longer than he should have. What was the date again? It certainly wasn’t Starlight, it was in the middle of summer. Oh. He started to laugh. “Forgot my own nameday again, huh?” “You are far too focused on your work, so it would not do well to miss the dinner Camilla has been working on for you due to it. First, however…” Maximiloix pulled a small decorated box from his satchel to pass over to him. “I feel you have grown enough to take care of this, and I trust that you will not misuse it.”

Lothaire tilted his head, taking the box with hesitation. It wasn’t that he distrusted his grandfather, but he had stressed *several* times to not trust him fully - but his curiosity always got the better of him, and usually he ended up giving his full trust in the end. Inside the box laid a small crystal upon a bed of cotton; it was hand chiseled and smoothed into a queer shape, dark blue with a golden symbol he had only read about in books etched into it. It pulsed with a soft light in response to him, accepting him as his new owner. “Is this…?”

“A soul crystal, with all of the knowledge I have gained regarding that of old Nymian Scholars. I know it will help you with your current work, as well as keep you… *safer* on your forays. Please take care of it - that is quite a lot of knowledge to hold, and I will be livid if it falls into the hands of another.” “O- Of course!” He didn’t know what to say, speechless was an understatement. He was trying to hold back tears just from how happy he was - this was more than he could have *ever* expected from him. He took the crystal from its resting place, holding it in his palm to feel the soft hum that resonated within his mind. There was so much within this small stone, he didn’t know where to start, how to sort it all out. 

“Grandfather, this is…” He shook his head, opting instead to rush forward and hug him tightly. He never dared to touch him, he was always so strict about that, but he couldn’t help it. This truly was the best thing he had been granted from him. Maximiloix stood stiff for a moment as he tried to comprehend the action, letting out a sigh of defeat as he accepted it; he returned it with a gentle one of his own, then pried him off of him. “Do not attempt to gain its power all at once, you will become overwhelmed. It will grant it to you as you become accustomed to the previous lesson, and with enough practice, you may be able to put your own twist on its spells as well as add your own.” He scoffed out a laugh. “Here is to your nameday, and the upcoming mid-life crisis you may go through.” “Thanks. I think I’m already hitting one.” He laughed, stacking up his massive bundle of papers into a neat pile. “Grandfather?”

“Hm?” “...I don’t regret leaving Ishgard. I want you to know that. I don’t regret seeking you out, regardless of the warnings. I don’t regret asking to learn from you, asking for help from you.” He smiled brightly. “It’s rough work, but… I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, since.” Maximiloix blinked at him - the closest to surprise one would get from him. Rarely did he ever hear such words from his family, not after their disowning of him. Lothaire was one of two that would speak with him without disdain, but to hear it out loud? He offered him the first genuine smile he had seen in thirty years. “It is your nameday, not mine. Keep those words to yourself.” “Like hells I will!” Lothaire laughed. “Why don’t you join us for dinner, huh? Bring Grandpa too?” “Mm.” “Camilla would like to see both of you again.” He let out a heavy sigh, then nodded. “I suppose so. I have one other piece of business to attend to, then I will be over.”

Lothaire nodded with another bright smile, taking his leave after that. Maximiloix made his way downstairs, and down another flight to the basement and his own desk, flopping himself into his seat with another sigh. It was exhausting being kind, though he could muster it for one day. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the surface, drawing his clawed fingers up through his hair. His eye stared down at the array of chipped crystals he had been imbuing for future students, with one staring back at him - pulsing with the same light the one he had gifted. One that accepted him as its owner… he had denied it, refused its knowledge. It did not belong to him, he did not deserve anything it had to give.

The smoothed circular stone that gave off the faintest aura of orange and gold, with the spurts of violet aether which belonged to its original owner. It tried its damnedest to get into his mind, to change the way he thought and acted, but he would not give in. He would not yield to a dead man’s word; nor would he relive the memories which drove him mad.