#and i mean that's. a sensible thing to be afraid of

[mothric]

happy new year!! I had a horrible nightmare that (check the tags before proceeding please) I had to get a surgery to release some kind of fluid buildup in my brain and the surgery involved drilling a hole into my skull and I didn't find out they weren't intending to put me under until I was on the operating table with the nurse hovering over me with a GIANT drill

she reassured me they gave me local anesthesia but i flailed and begged to go to sleep and tried to shove the drill away while the nurse basically forced me into position, and I kept tapping my skull trying to confirm that the local even did anything because I couldn't remember them administering it. before I knew it they were drilling into the side of my head and it wasn't painful, so I guess the stuff worked, but I could hear it and feel it the way you feel what the dentist is doing even when there's novocaine. eventually i stopped yelling and fell silent because the drill was so loud and what can you even do at that point.

when they were done they cheerfully showed me an x ray of the hole they made, which went ALL the way back to my spinal cord and brain stem and stopped just a millimeter short of touching them, and they acted like this was normal and they hadn't just gone within a hair's breadth of killing me, and then they gave me a flimsy paper towel and told me I'd just need to hold it over the fresh hole in my head for awhile until it healed.

bizarre and upsetting New Year's Day dreams are practically a tradition for me at this point but, genuinely, what the Fuck was that.

[recreationaldivorce]

my controversial food opinion is that italian food is mid. i think western european food is generally bad but out of western europe i think spanish food is probably the nicest but generally i prefer like. any other region of the world's food lol. western european food is just bland they straight up don't use seasoning except salt and pepper

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat- enter Jason 1/2

MASTERPOST

The air was different with Cass, now. Danny felt a little anxious as he followed her to the study after breakfast. Something about her was serious-determined-protective. 

She always felt protective towards him. That was why he'd followed her in the first place. Some ghosts lied, but they couldn't do it with their aura. He knew what she really felt for him. 

“Sit?” She asked him. She gestured at the big squashy chair. Danny did without complaint. Cass perched behind him and started dragging her fingers through his hair, relaxing him.

Man. She was good at this. Top tier mothering, right here. Danny went limp. 

“I'm worried,” Cass broke the silence. She didn't sound worried. She never really did. Her voice was quiet and serious, but still kind. Her thumbs dug into his scalp. He pushed his head back against it. Bliss. “Barbara made you sad. Because you miss your sister?”

Danny tensed. 

‘I should have figured that Batman would track me down.’

Maybe he had known, if he was honest with himself. It didn't hit him like a shock.

“Tim thinks your name is Fenton,” she added, brutally sensible as always. And yup, that was it. No point in denying it. “Declared dead. In danger?”

He sucked in air through his teeth. He wasn't going to lie to her. 

“Worried,” she repeated. 

He thought about it. He really did. Danny bit his lip. 

She was liminal. That probably meant she'd come really close to death, in at least one sense of the word. Would that mean she was desensitized to it, or extra paranoid?

…It was hard to imagine Cass over or under reacting to a possible danger. She was just so steady. But would she see him as a possible danger if she knew what he was, what he really was? 

He could feel it out before he took a plunge with the whole truth.

Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was invasive. She didn't seem to realize that she was liminal. That meant she definitely didn't realize how much she was communicating to him under her words and gestures. 

But Danny deliberately tuned into her quiet aural communication and tested the waters. “Tim is right, I'm Danny Fenton,” he said. He knew he was too tense. She would definitely feel it. But what could he do about that? He was nervous. “I… Maybe I did die.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. He could feel the crush of grief on her heart. 

But it didn’t wash away the thudding repetition of love-protect-my darling. There was no suspicion, no guilt, no fear. It was just pain for his sake, with no calculation about how to solve a sudden problem. 

God. He wanted so badly for that to have been how his parents reacted. His eyes started to sting.

Danny sniffled. He thought it was safe to tell her. “I died,” he corrected, and he knew he was right when Cass made a little wounded sound and leaned her body into him, aiming to comfort. “Not then, but a couple years ago. I’m different now, and it’s uh… It’s dangerous to be this way.”

“Affects?” Cass asked quietly. She started to pet his hair again. “Mood? Health?”

“...Huh,” he said, because that was a sensible question he hadn’t expected. If he really thought about his mood and emotions before and after the accident: “Yeah, uh, there’s sometimes a mood thing. I might be a little more aggressive than I was before? And I can get kind of intense sometimes.”

He had thought that was basically just a reaction to having a whole bunch of new threats in his life. But would pre-electrocution Danny have been able to actually stand and fight Skulker? He had genuinely been afraid of the jocks. Maybe… Maybe he was different. Sure, Sam and Jazz were up for shooting ghosts with Fenton tech. Would he have been if he was just human? 

…He didn’t really think so.

Oof. Well, that wasn’t exactly great for his sense of self.

Cass shook him lightly. “Health?” she repeated.

Danny forced down that revelation to deal with later. He didn’t like acknowledging that he was kind of a chicken by nature, but historically, there wasn’t much evidence of bravery pre-mortem. “Uh, my heart rate is really slow, body temp is low, so I can’t really afford to go to a doctor for a checkup,” he said. “Uh, sometimes I’ve got none at all and my hair turns white.” He paused there. That was- that was enough, yeah? He was going to be honest with her because she deserved honesty from him. But that didn’t mean he had to explain the whole great beyond and his inhuman status.

“Sounds like Jason,” Cass said, after a long silence.

Danny short-circuited. “Wait, what?” He craned to look at her. “Who?”

Cass darted forward to kiss his forehead. “Little brother,” she said cheerfully. “Want to meet him?”

Uh, yeah. Danny nodded vigorously, wondering what the hell she was on about. “Do you mean he died?” 

“Died,” Cass agreed, getting out her phone and tapping away at it rapidly.

“Not like, heart stopped for a minute on the operating table and he was revived, or what?” Danny pressed.

“Dead in the ground, came back later,” Cass said. “Dead for months. Now, very crabby.”

Danny balked. “What?”

“White hair too,” she said. Then her face did something funny. “I think he dyed it recently,” she said. 

Danny huffed a laugh. “If it’s the same thing as mine, you can’t dye it.” He saw her look over his head for white streaks. He didn’t correct her line of thought.

He hadn’t thought that anything could top the anticipation of meeting Batman. But Danny had to admit the rest of the day was a wash. Apparently Jason couldn’t make it until the evening, about an hour before patrol.

Danny nearly paced a line into the carpet. He had enough energy to do that now, even without ecto. He was getting soooo much food here. A guy couldn’t even stress out for an hour without someone coming by to make sure he had fruit and yogurt or a hot drink.

He didn’t need someone to come and tell him that the much anticipated Jason had shown up. Danny knew it when he went to take a sip of cruelty-free chocolate milk (hand delivered by the most frightening child in the world) and choked on vapor.

Damian gave him a glare and snatched the drink away. “Are you incapable of drinking beverages?” he demanded. His face looked so goddamn cross but he was just worried.

Danny managed a smile. “No, went down the wrong pipe, sorry.”

Damian didn’t seem to even see the fog, so- so that meant that either he was really unobservant or he wasn’t liminal enough to see it the way people did in Amity. That was a small blessing. Danny appreciated it and he took back his drink to have something to hold onto.

That was a whole ass ghost. That was a whole ghost coming onto the property, one that felt big and mad and old. Danny smacked his lips, disconcerted. 

He, uh, didn’t know what to expect from this.

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ so, you've been isekai'd into a romance novel...

type of post: blurbs characters: trey, vil, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, kissing in vil's part, lilia's is a little suggestive, I can't help myself, not proofread author's note: I've wanted to do an isekai thing for a while, and I do love a good plot twist ;3

So, you've been isekai'd into a romance novel.

The only way to get home? You have to play the part of the protagonist until the novel ends.

There's just one problem, though: you're not into the love interest.

Not at all.

What's worse: you're starting to fall for a side character.

➼ His Best Friend

You started dozing off while your friend was helping you write an essay.

It was for one of those old romance novels about rich people in the English countryside, and you couldn't stand it. You knew you were going to fail when you fell asleep in your chair, thinking that you'd just cram the next day, except...

...Instead of your room, you wake up on a picturesque hill, inside the book you'd been studying.

You hear someone shouting, and you stand. There's a boy coming towards you, yelling a name you don't-

Oh, oh no.

That's the protagonist's name. Which means that can only be-

"There you are!" Riddle Rosehearts, the love interest of the novel, storms up to you.

"Your friends have been worried sick, you know! We've been looking everywhere! You've embarrassed me in front of the entire county!"

You blink, trying to remember what your friend had told you about this book:

The shouting boy, Riddle, is the love interest. Your love interest.

But it doesn't start out the way- in the beginning, he and the protagonist cannot stand each other. He's hotheaded, strict, and has no interest in love. Over the course of the book, the protagonist teaches him to let go and enjoy life, and blah blah blah...

...Yeah, you have no interest in doing any of that. "Enemies to lovers" isn't really your cup of tea.

But if it's the only way out... you can pretend.

"I... fell asleep," you say. This only seems to make Riddle more frustrated.

"You will come back at once, and apologize to my house and to my guests. Else it'll be off with your head!"

He turns and begins marching back to the estate. You roll your eyes and follow him. You're going to have to put up with this for months?

Well... maybe not.

He leads you through the back door, not wanting to "upset the guests any further", and tells you to wait for him in the kitchen.

Great. Just great.

You watch Riddle straighten his tie and walk into the parlor to speak with the guests, prim and proper as ever. Eye roll.

The door opens- not the door to the parlor, but the one you'd just come from. You turn with a curious look.

"Oh!" another boy says. "I apologize, I wasn't... expecting anyone."

After a moment, it hits you- this is the love interest's sensible childhood friend, so unimportant in the plot that he was cut from the movie adaptation entirely.

You raise an eyebrow. "No, it's alright. Beats getting yelled at,"

He blinks, confused by your wording, and then smiles. You know you shouldn't be thinking these things, but it's sort of cute. What was his name, again?

"Ah... I suppose Riddle found you, then?"

"You suppose correctly,"

"Heh," he crosses his arms. "I apologize on his behalf. He was just... worried."

Wonderful. This is the part where he tells the protagonist about the love interest's sad backstory, isn't it?

"I don't really want to talk about him right now," you say. "Honestly, I'd rather hear more about you."

His smile falters, and he seems a little... well, taken aback. As if no one has ever asked him about himself.

"I... I suppose we haven't been properly introduced, have we?" he mutters, adjusting his glasses in nervous habit. You remember reading that. It was cute.

"My name is Trey Clover. My family owns the bakery in town, but I'm afraid it's not as glamorous as this."

He means the Rosehearts' manor. You could care less about that.

"You bake?"

"...I do," Trey says. "You eat?"

It's a stupid joke, but it makes you smile.

You nod, and he goes back outside, returning with a basket.

"These are for the guests..." he says, taking a pastry out of the basket. "...But they won't notice if one is missing."

You accept the treat. "Rulebreaker, are you?"

Trey's face flushes, but he laughs it off.

"Certainly not. Rule-breaking is a dangerous pastime in this household,"

And yet, he did it for you.

You smile back.

Suddenly, Riddle's temper isn't going to be the only difficult thing about playing this part...

➼ His Rival

With a movie adaptation on the way and a permanent spot on the bestseller's list, you had great expectations for this little book.

You'd heard nothing but praise. Even your family members had recommended it to you, saying that it was right up your alley, and they thought you'd love it.

So, finally, you buy the book (which is WAY too expensive), make yourself a warm drink, get cozy in bed, and...

And... it's terrible. It's completely unrealistic! It's downright boring!

Disappointed, you put it down, turn off the light, and try to sleep it off.

Try to, because you wake up disgruntled and groggy, and not in your bed. In fact, you're not in a bed at all.

"There you are!" a voice comes from above you.

You look to see a short, panicked lavender-haired boy. "Where have you been?! You're on in five!"

You rub your eyes. "Huh?"

"Didja hit your head or 'somethin? If we don't get you back on stage, my boss is gonna-"

"Going to what, Epel?" a colder, stronger voice carries across the hall. You both turn to see a meticulously dressed man with a stern look on him, and not a single hair out of place.

...Shit. You know where you are.

This is the romance book you'd been reading!

"S-sorry, Mr. Schoenheit," Epel says. "But it's their fault! They're the one who ran off!"

"I know that," Vil Schoenheit, the antagonist of the story, says. He narrows his eyes. "I'm not surprised our little potato has already quit. Couldn't handle the pressure, hm?"

You blink- oh, no.

You're the protagonist- the normal, nobody student who was ~randomly~ chosen to be the lead in a romantic drama, even though they've never acted a day in their lives.

"I-I just-"

"Enough of that," Vil says sternly. "Now, get up. These costumes aren't cheap, and you're dirtying yours on the floor."

He escorts you out of the hall and back onto set, Epel not far behind.

"Places!" someone shouts, and Epel nudges you into position on the sound stage.

"Remember, you don't say anything in this scene," he whispers, covering his headset mic. "Just look like you're in love. And make the kiss believable!"

Your eyes widen. "The WH-"

"Quiet on set!" the director yells, and Epel hurries away. "Action!"

You stand, dumbfounded, as the doors fly open and the book's love interest, actor Neige Leblanche, runs on set. His outfit is simple but glamorous, his eyes wide with emotion, his dark hair lightly tousled.

Horrifically, he's wearing a generous amount of lip gloss. So are you.

"My love!" he cries out, running up the steps toward you. You watch in horror as he gets closer and throws his arms around you, and just as you're about to have the dramatic, impassioned kiss the book has been leading you to, you push him off.

The director stares. Neige's eyes widen. Epel smacks his forehead.

The rest of the set is silent.

Finally, you feel a cool hand wrapping around your wrist, and suddenly, you're outside again.

"Have you lost your mind?" Vil hisses, his grip on you tightening. "You are making a fool out of all of us. You're an embarrassment to this production, and you should have never even..."

He stops, mid-rant, when he sees your eyes watering.

"...Don't you dare make me feel sorry for you,"

You sniffle, and he sighs. He pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at your eyes, careful not to smudge the stage makeup.

"You're going to ruin someone's hard work like that, you know," he murmurs. "Now, what are you crying about? Isn't this what you want?"

You shake your head. You must look absolutely miserable, because he isn't even a little mad anymore.

"...You're ridiculous," he mutters, tucking the handkerchief away with a faint smile. "But I can't say I blame you. I wouldn't want to kiss him, either."

You take a deep breath, and then return his smile. How can someone so sweet be a villain?

Vil lets the moment linger. His eyes dart to the stage doors behind you, then back to you, and then he holds your chin between his pointer finger and his thumb, and then he kisses you.

It doesn't last for long, but it's enough to leave you dazed when he pulls away.

"...Your lip gloss is smudged," he comments, and then he walks back to set without another word.

...Perhaps this book is more interesting than you'd thought.

➼ His Father

When your friend started gushing about this new dark romance book she finished, you thought she was just reading a bunch of tropes off a page.

Fae court? Handsome, mysterious, brooding princes? A tall, dark, possessive love interest? Sure.

You promise you'll try it, and she takes that as a "yes", leaving the book on your desk. It goes untouched.

You wake up in a dark forest. For a moment, you think you're still dreaming- until a thorn pricks your finger, drawing blood, and you realize this is very, very real.

You can see a medieval castle off in the distance, and to your horror, you realize where you are.

"No... this isn't happening..." you mutter to yourself.

"What isn't happening?"

You jump at the sudden noise, and turn on your heels to see someone behind you. How you missed him, you're not sure. He's pale, his hair is striped pink, and his eyes are almost glowing.

"Not from here, are you?" he says with a smile. "You must be tired. Come, Lord Malleus' home is always open to guests."

This is the weirdest stranger danger situation you've ever been in. This small gentleman has fangs.

He chuckles. "Don't let appearances fool you. We're quite hospitable!"

You think about it- you could stay in the forest, and die of a slow and agonizing death, either by starvation or mauling, or you could play the part, return to the castle, fall in love with the tall love interest, and have his babies.

...Honestly, hypothermia doesn't sound too bad.

But you also know that the book has to end eventually. And when it does, you'll get spit out. Maybe.

You're in the mood for taking chances.

The castle is just as grand and old as your friend had described it. The food is just as strange, the court just as intimidating.

Strangely, though, she never mentioned any short, pink-haired fae, apparently named Lilia Vanrouge.

"Enjoying the view, are you?" he asks, having caught you staring.

You quickly look back at your own plate. "It's just, um... well... I was wondering about your relationship to the prince,"

He winks, as if to say "nice save".

"He's... well, a foster son, of sorts. Think of it however you'd please,"

"Are you comfortable?" the prince in question asks, his eyes showing genuine concern.

You shrug. "...I guess so,"

"How does one get so lost they end up in Briar Valley, anyway?" one of his knights, Silver, asks in a soft tone.

"AND HOW CAN WE BE SURE THEY AREN'T AN ASSASSIN SENT TO HARM OUR LIEGE?!" the other, Sebek, says in a less-soft tone.

"Oh, nonsense," Lilia says. "Malleus likes them. Don't you, Malleus?"

The prince nods. Oh, brother.

"How nice. Perhaps you two should rendezvous after dinner? To get to know each other better, hm?"

You stare down Lilia, practically begging him to shut up. You want to shake him and shout "Stop trying to set me up with your weird kid!!!!!"

Sebek looks appalled at the very idea. "BUT- MASTER LILIA- THEY CANNOT BE TRUSTED! I CANNOT ALLOW THIS!"

Thank you, Sebek!!! you think.

"Yeah, um... you know, I'm kind of tired, so..." you say. "Maybe tomorrow? Or next week? Or, um, whenever. You know."

Sebek visibly relaxes at that, and Silver raises an eyebrow.

"Of course," Malleus says. "I will have the finest room arranged for you at once."

And he did. This world may be stuck in ye olde medieval fantasy times, but man, what money can't buy...

As you look around the exquisite room, you hear a knock at the door.

Lilia comes in without waiting for an answer. "Enjoying the room, I hope?"

You sigh.

"Did Malleus send you?"

He chuckles, and takes a seat on your bed. "I am his keeper, he is not mine. I just wanted to see how you were faring,"

"I'm fine," you turn back to the wall, pretending to look at a tapestry. The sight of him on your bed is... distracting, to say the least.

"Hm..." Lilia hums. "...I would like to apologize for overstepping at dinner. I did not mean to imply anything. We're rather isolated here, and Malleus has been lonely..."

It makes sense, of course. He's only looking out for his... strange, sort-of son. Still...

"And you're not?" you ask.

Lilia doesn't have a response for that. You turn around to gauge his expression, and he's smiling.

"Khee hee. You're a clever little thing. If I didn't know any better, I would think you were flirting,"

Now, it's your turn to not respond. He's caught you, and he knows it.

Your heart beats with something like excitement as he stands and closes the door.

"But I suppose I have all night to figure it out,"

[fxrmuladaydreams]

the sensible decision (sv5) (dr3)

pornstar!seb x camgirl/pornstar!reader , pornstar!daniel x camgirl/pornstar!reader

summary: although your heart is split between decisions, your mind finds the sensible one easily

notes: i promised you guys seb was going to have to grovel and grovel he will

prev part next part

You don’t know why you expected to wake up with a clear answer, with an obvious sign that told you who you should choose. You don’t want to look at your phone, afraid of a text from either of them asking about the other.

You do manage to avoid your phone for the most part of the morning. You make your breakfast, shower, get ready for the day, but the nagging in the back of your head is incessant. You groan when you finally do grab your phone and look at your messages.

From Seb

Last night was fun schatz. If you still want to do a livestream together I’d like that

You sigh and text him back.

To Seb

I don’t know if I’ll have the time, I’ve been spending so much time with Daniel lately

Yes, it’s a low blow, but you know it’s what he deserves. You leave your chat with Sebastian and open your chat with Daniel.

From Daniel

How is it possible that you made me miss you after only being gone for a few hours? And that livestream was pure torture sweetheart

You smile at his message, practically giggling.

To Daniel

Well I think the torture is just what you needed after what you did to me in our video

You see him typing, then his message pops up.

From Daniel

I’m pretty sure you asked for it sweetheart

You can practically hear his voice. His Australian accent with a teasing tone, it sends a thrill through you.

To Daniel

Wanna hang out today? I don’t have any plans, and if it’ll make you less lonely I’m willing to sacrifice my time for you 😉

His response is almost immediate.

From Daniel

Sure sweetheart. Come over to mine whenever. And bring a swimsuit

You find a cute bikini that you think Daniel will like and pack a bag for your day. You pack basic pool items, sunscreen, a book, a towel.

You drive over to Daniel’s house once you’re finished getting ready. He greets you at the door in a dark blue sweatshirt and green swim trunks. He gives you a toothy grin as he pulls you inside.

“Hungry?” He asks.

“No, I’m alright, thank you though.” You tell him, but your stomach grumbles in protest.

“I’ll make us some lunch.” He says.

You follow him to his kitchen and take a seat on a stool he’s got at his bar top. You watch as he gathers a few things, from his cupboards and fridge. He asks what kind of sandwich you’d like then gets to work putting it together for you. He passes you a glass of water with your food once he’s finished.

He slides onto the stool next to yours with a sandwich of his own.

You glance around his kitchen. It’s a good size, the bar top you’re sitting at is fairly large with a few seats down to the end. You know his living room is quite big as well.

“So what do you do with all this space? What do I have to do to get on the guest list for all the ragers I’m sure you throw here?” You nudge him with your elbow.

He laughs and shakes his head. “Trust me, there are no ragers.” He takes a sip from his glass. “I want to be able to have people over. I like the idea of being able to hang out, spend time with the people I care about.”

“That’s really nice. I’m sure they appreciate it.” You smile and nod.

He looks down at his lap as if he’s hiding from you. “Well I haven’t really found them yet, so…”

“What do you mean?”

“With our line of work it’s hard to figure out who actually cares about you, and who just wants something from you, you know?” He looks over at you.

You know that feeling all too well. “I do.”

He hums and takes a bite of his sandwich.

You lean closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder. “Well, then I’m happy to be the first one here.”

He smiles softly as his cheeks flush a soft pink.

Once you finish your lunch, Daniel guides you outside to his pool deck. You toss your bag on one of the lounge chairs and pull the dress you’re wearing over your head to reveal your swimsuit.

Daniel can’t take his eyes off of you. Sure he’d seen you in much more compromising positions, but this, with the lack of a camera, felt intimate.

“See something you like Ricciardo?” You ask him, winking.

Oh, two can play at that game. He thinks as he tugs his sweatshirt off, tossing it onto another lounge chair.

You can’t help but stare at his bare torso. The tanned skin becomes taut when he stretches his arms. His swim trunks riding up to reveal a gorgeous tattoo that had been peeking out on his thigh. You notice he’s got tattoos scattered everywhere. Some on his arms, his legs, even his hands.

You have to hold yourself back from stepping forward to run your fingers along the designs.

“See something you like sweetheart?” He smirks.

You scoff and dig around in your bag for your sunscreen. Pulling it out you turn back to Daniel. “Help me put this on?”

He takes the bottle from you and empties pours some into his hand. He massages it into the skin on your back and shoulders. You can feel just how big Daniel is as he stands behind you, practically looming over you. His hands cover a good portion of your back, and his thick fingers fiddle with the flimsy strings holding your bikini together. You remember just what those fingers can do as you let your eyes flutter shut.

He steps away from you once he’s finished, taking his warmth with him.

You finish applying the sunscreen on yourself and lay out on your lounge chair. You pull your book out of your bag and open it with the full intent to read, but you can’t stop yourself from watching Daniel in the pool.

The muscles in his back flex as he does laps around the pool, his arms look deliciously strong. He keeps swimming around and around for a while, before he groans and swims over to the edge of the pool.

“You know, I thought you’d actually end up in the pool with me.” He says.

You sigh. “I’ll sit on the edge, is that enough for you?” You ask giving him a teasing smile.

He lets you get comfortable on the lip of the pool as he stands next to you, looking up at you. The sun sits perfectly behind you, creating a glowing effect, giving you a halo.

“Happy now?” You ask.

He grins as he wraps his arms around your legs and pulls you down into the water. You both end up submerged, you cling to him as you struggle to regain your sense of balance. You gasp when you come up from the water, giving him a smack on the chest.

“What the hell Daniel?” You shout.

He’s laughing too hard to give you an actual response. You can’t tell if he’s got tears running down his face or if it’s just the water dripping from his hair.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” He manages to get out in between laughs.

“It’s not funny! I could’ve drowned and died!” You try to pull away from him, crossing your arms over your chest.

He quickly reaches out for you and grabs onto your thighs, easily pulling you up and wrapping them around his waist. Your arms wrap around his neck so you don’t fall backwards.

He bats his eyelashes at you and softly says “I promise I won’t let you drown and die sweetheart.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “Fine, you’re forgiven.”

When your eyes meet his you realize just how close you are. You can see all the little details of his face. The slight bump of his nose, the freckles that decorate his cheeks, the specs of gold in his eyes.

He seems to be doing the same to you, trying to commit your features to memory, then his eyes stop at your lips. He looks like he’s having an internal debate with himself.

“Can I- can I kiss you?” He asks, his eyes trailing back up your face to your eyes.

You don’t answer him, instead you lift a hand to the back of his head and press your lips against his.

[autolenaphilia]

One thing I noticed talking about Linux and free software is that a lot of people seem afraid of learning things about technology. I constantly read things like "I hate windows, but switching to linux would mean learning a new OS, and you have to be some super-smart programmer-hacker to do that." Or even: "Switching to firefox would mean switching browsers and I don't know how"

And that is precisely the attitude tech companies like Microsoft and Apple try to instill in their users in order to control them. They create these simple and “friendly” user interfaces for their products, but these hide information. From their OS being pre-installed to their settings apps, they keep people from learning things about how their computer works, and letting the companies make the decisions for their users.

I think people are underestimating themselves and overestimating how hard it is to learn new things are. It is like Windows/Macos have taught them some kind of technological learned helplessness. Not knowing how computers work and being afraid to learn how is how companies like Microsoft controls you, and justifies that control.

For example, people hate the forced and automatic system updates on Windows. And Microsoft justifies it as necessary because some people don’t know that their computer needs security updates and therefore don’t update, so they have to force the updates on them. That’s definitely true, and Microsoft’s tech support people is definitely very aware of that but it is a operating system that presumes that the user is incompetent and therefore shouldn’t control their own computer. And of course Microsoft abuses that power to force privacy-invading features on their users. Windows updates are also badly designed in comparison, no Linux distro I’ve used required the update program to hijack the entire computer, preventing the user from doing other things, but Windows does.

This is the dark side of “user-friendly” design. By requiring zero knowledge and zero responsibility for the user, they also take control away from the user. User-friendly graphical user interfaces (GUI) can also hide the inner workings of a system in comparison to the command line, which enables more precise control of your computer and give you more knowledge about what it is doing.

Even GUIs are not all made equal in regards to this, as the comparison between the Windows Control panel and their newer Settings app demonstrates. As I complained about before, Windows have hidden away the powerful, but complex Control Panel in favor of the slicker-looking but simplified and less powerful Settings app for over a decade now.

Of course this is a sliding scale, and there is a sensible middle-ground between using the command line for everything and user-friendly design masking taking control away from the end user.

There are Linux distros like Linux Mint and MX Linux who have created their own GUI apps for tasks that would otherwise use the command line, without taking control away from the user. This is mainly because they are open source non-profit community-driven distros, instead of being proprietary OSes made by profit-driven megacorps.

Still, giving that control to the user presumes some knowledge and responsibility on part of the user. To return to the update example, by default both Mint and MX will search and notify you of available updates, but you will have to take the decision to download and install them. Automatic updates are available in both cases, but it’s opt-in, you have to enable that option yourself. And that approach presumes that you know that you should update your system to plug security holes, something not all people do. It gives you control because it presumes you have knowledge and can take responsibility for those decisions.

All this also applies to the underlying fact that practically all pre-built computers nowadays have an operating system pre-installed. Few people install an OS themselves nowadays, instead they use whatever came with the computer. It’s usually either Windows or MacOS for desktops/laptops, and Android/IOS for smartphones (which are also a type of computer).

Now all this is very convenient and user-friendly, since it means you don’t have to learn how to install your own operating system. The OEM takes care of that for you. But again, this is a convenience that takes choice away from you. If you don’t learn how to install your own OS, you are stuck with whatever that is on the computer you bought. It’s probably precisely this step that scares people away from Linux, few people have installed even Windows, and installing your own OS seems impossibly scary. But again, learning is the only way to take back control. If you learn how to install an OS off an USB stick, you now have choices in what OS to use. (Sidenote: the hard part IMO is not the actual install process, but fiddling with the BIOS so it will actually boot from the distro on the USB stick. This old comic strip illustrates this very well).

That’s how life is in general, not just computers. Having control over your life means making decisions based on your own judgment. And to make sensible, rational decisions, you have to learn things, acquire knowledge.

The only other alternative is letting others take those decisions for you. You don’t have to learn anything, but you have no control. And in the tech world, that means big corporations like Microsoft, Google and Apple will make those decisions, and they are motivated by their own profits, not your well-being.

Computers have only become more and more capable and more important in our lives, and that can enable wonderful things. But it also means more power to the tech companies, more power over our lives. And the only way to resist that is to learn about computers, to enable us to make our own decisions about how we use technology.

[fen-luciel]

The witches' covenant

Part.1 part.2

Here's the smut story I promised. It was supposed to be short, but of course, I dragged it out. I'm not yet sure if it will be divided into two or three parts, as the original draft is becoming darker than initially intended.

I hope you enjoy it.

WARNINGS!

Smut/Manipulation/coven/dubious consent

Witch reader X Sith Qimir

There are things you take for granted in life.

Breathing is a rhythmic movement of the body, automatic but fundamental. Maybe no one ever explained to you how or why, but you know it works that way. It's natural. Maybe you've never asked yourself because you take it for granted.

Growing up in a coven of witches led to asking a lot of questions to which you often didn't get an answer, at least not a sensible one. I still remember the first times I asked my mother about the thread, actually, I don't remember her answer, but I do remember being confused. I think she wanted me to find my own logic, and if needed, she would correct me. But I was ashamed, afraid of saying something stupid, and I felt embarrassed when the older members gave me that amused courteous smile after I had said something silly. I know they didn't mean to judge me, but the knot in my stomach that formed every single time was suffocating. So, I developed a bad habit.

I stopped asking. I would nod, at most I would ask to have the explanation repeated, but I never took the first step. "Do you understand?" I would nod. "Do you have any questions?" I would deny.

Yes, I had questions. I had a lot of them, many of which kept me up at night, like doubts about the thread, about our coven, about our planet, about what was outside the galaxy... but I didn't ask.

I tried to give myself answers. As the years went by, I realized that I wasn't the only one without answers. It was clear that many, like me, blindly followed my mother's will as the head of the coven.

Do you have a doubt? Talk to Aniseya.

Don't know what to do? Aniseya.

Are you suffering? Talk to Mother Aniseya.

Everyone sought answers from my mother, and I could understand why, she was... ethereal.

Always calm, with a warm smile, a gentle hand... she made you feel safe.

When I was younger, one of the things that terrified me the most was the fear that something bad would come to harm us one day. I was too young to give a real shape to the evil, it was more an unpleasant sensation that I imagined, and my mother could perceive it without me saying anything.

So, sometimes, in the evening, when everyone else was asleep, we would go out into the woods alone, with a small light to guide us, and we would reach the golden tree.

I loved that place even though it was another one of those things I couldn't explain since it seemed to be the only tree of its kind. I would rest my head on my mother's lap, and as she gently stroked my hair, she would tell me a lot of different stories, fairy tales, adventures, legends. She seemed to know an infinite number of them. I would have liked to ask her where she had heard them, but even in that case, I didn't ask. And so, every time, the next morning, I would wake up in my room, comfortably lying under the covers, the nightmares completely forgotten... at least for a while.

Growing up, many of those childhood fears disappeared, or I managed to answer them on my own thanks to years of study. However, other doubts occupied my mind.

For example, why were we so isolated from the rest of the world?

Why could we use the power of the thread?

Where did our traditions come from?

How ancient were they?

And how were other witches born?

I had seen pregnant women in the village, I had heard the cries of childbirth, the first cries of the babies, the birth of new life in the world was fascinating even though I had never seen the act in person, being too young or unable to help. But it was what happened before that confused me.

Every five years, a meeting was held, after which ten women would leave the walls of the fortress, and after a few months, they would return expecting.

I didn't know what happened, what they did. I believed there was some sort of ritual I wasn't yet admitted to. I imagined that one day it would happen to me too. As the daughter of the matriarch, I had more responsibilities than the others, I would take my mother's place one day. I imagined I was obliged to participate in any ritual presented to me in the coming years. As I was the future of the coven, one day I would have to create the new generation.

When I was about twelve years old, I realized something was off in my mother's stories and finally decided to ask her a question.

"What is a man?"

The embarrassment was still there, under my skin, but she smiled at me gently. Her answer was cryptic as always, but it made me feel better to hear it. "Everything in the galaxy has its opposite. Light and dark, peace and chaos, ice and fire. Woman and man. And between these opposites, many shades that draw closer until they merge. We are opposites and the same thing at the same time"

I nodded, but as usual, more because I felt stupid asking further.

"So... are men evil?" I tried one last time.

She shook her head.

"Do you think you are pure? Gender is only a physical limit, not a mental one. Don't combine the two, it would be a grave mistake" I was ashamed of that question, but I felt better. I felt like I understood.

Years passed, I began to mature, to train more vigorously, to study even more. I was increasingly involved in meetings, though some were still off-limits to me. And the more I became aware of the thread, the more... something called to me.

At first, it was like an unwanted gaze. I would wake up in the middle of the night believing there was someone with me, but upon waking, the room was intact. I even took extra precautions, but none of the alarms went off. I thought I was just stressed.

But the sensation worsened. I felt chills on my skin when I was in the waking world ready to fall asleep, a light touch that grazed my bare skin. At first, I thought it was the wind. Then, the fabric sliding over me at night. Maybe a chill or pajamas tickling me unintentionally, but that wasn't possible.

It seemed like a physical touch, hands, perhaps a feather, I don't know. But it warmed my skin. I would wake up in the middle of the night, uncomfortable, with a damp sensation between my legs that I had never experienced before. Sometimes, I mistook it for other types of discharge only to check and realize it wasn't what I imagined. I blushed, seeing how wet my underwear had become, leaving a sticky, damp spot in the center, the same liquid trickling between my legs or down the cheeks of my butt.

One evening, whether by luck or misfortune, as I headed to the laundry to leave my panties, I ran into Mother Koril.

"What are you doing awake at this hour? And wandering the corridors, Moreover." her tone always harsh and imperious.

It took an enormous amount of courage to explain to her what was happening, but despite my worst fears, she simply nodded. "It's normal for a girl your age. You shouldn't resist it" She ordered me to hurry and go back to bed, then disappeared down the corridor.

But I didn't understand. Resist it? Resist what? It was just another doubt I couldn't answer.

But now the seed of doubt had been planted. I wanted to understand what she was talking about, to see if I could fix this problem that kept recurring every night.

So, one evening I lay down in bed, making sure I was securely locked in, and against all logical reason, I decided to wear only a light tank top, leaving my lower half uncovered.

The only protection was the bedcovers, but I didn't think it would be a problem.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

To this day, I didn’t know exactly what happened that first night. I have scattered and confused memories. I was aware of my body lying on the mattress, but it was completely dark around me, and I couldn't tell if it was because I had my eyes closed or if it was so dark that I couldn't see a hand in front of my face.

All I knew is that the tingling sensation returned, that shiver that ran through my body from my forehead slowly downwards, my nipples hardening as if a gust of cold air made me shiver and even lower on my stomach, finally settling between my legs.

It was a light touch, a slow, long movement that grazed my center externally. I could feel the wetness beginning to seep from my core. Normally, that would have been the moment when I forced myself to wake up, but I repeated Mother Koril's words in my head "let yourself go"

And so I did.

Instinctively, I spread my legs wider, bending my knees, that touch lingering on the bud between my legs that I had never dared to touch in my life, starting to tease me inexorably in a slow, circular motion. I could hear myself panting, my hips moving erratically. It didn't matter if I was trying to escape or seek out that sensation, that touch didn't stop. I didn't understand what was happening, but I could concentrated my internal muscle in one of those natural movements like when I breathed, I did it automatically.

My body knew what I needed, even if I hadn't yet processed it mentally.

It was only a moment later when that caress moved further down where a pool of juices wet my behind that I became clear-headed again.

A pressure pushing into my wet center made me react suddenly, frightened. I woke up, sitting up in bed in one swift motion, as if walking from a nightmare. Moving the covers, I immediately saw the stain spreading and soaking through the sheets' fabric.

I was so ashamed of it that I decided not to tell anyone, tried to dab the stain hoping that it would not be visible the next day, had to dry between my legs with numerous tissues and hissed when I indirectly brushed my still sensitive clit.

I went to sleep with a sense of dissatisfaction that I did not understand.

For two days I pretended that nothing was happening, when I lay down and started to feel that tingling sensation I immediately opened my eyes again, unfortunately in this way the hours of sleep were broken and I rested with more difficulty being slow in everything I did.

On the third day, my mother realised my discomfort and after a particularly bad training session, she took me aside.

"Koril informed me of your conversation the other night" she began.

I could do nothing but tighten my lips in discomfort.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of. Your body is changing as you grow. This is the connection to the thread that shows you the way. You don't have to resist it"

I replied with only a nod of my head.

I didn't understand what she was talking about, what I was resisting but I didn't know who to ask more of, I didn't want to look stupid.

But I trusted my mother.

So that night I tried again.

One thing I realised was that that touch had become more insistent on those evenings that I had run away from it. As if it was chasing me before I woke up, I closed my eyes and could already feel it between my legs.

Again, one new evening I tried against all my primal instincts to let go. One thing I realised was that the sensation I felt on my skin was actually an imitation of a hand's touch, the mornings I showered before joining the others had become a time of personal exploration where I tried to imitate that touch and soon realised that I could actually register that as the caress of a hand on my body. But I did not have the courage to do more.

Instead that evening as I concentrated on breathing in the darkness of my consciousness those phantom fingers returned insistently, they did not lose a second in teasing me by pressing directly on my clit, it was gentle yes, but firm. My legs instinctively spread wide, my hips in the air hungry for touch as that circular motion returned to tease my flesh.

I could feel a steady trickle of juices sliding from me and wetting the mattress as I trembled and tensed.

I gasped open-mouthed, little noises escaped my mouth, I wanted more even though I didn't understand what exactly I was chasing, and then again, that pressure where I needed it most.

There was no doubt when that itch opened my folds pushing deep between my legs, it was like feeling long, thick fingers digging directly into my womb, I panicked as I tried to wake up, but something was blinding me. Someone was tied to me in the wire holding me still and open to whatever was being done to me.

I was stuck with my legs open as that force pressed my inner walls, stretching and teasing me in a slow movement.

I could only continue to whimper as those fingers opened me inexorably.

Everything slippery, the sound of juices coming out noisily from the pressure as yet another caress returned to tease my bud, my swollen, wet flesh trembling from the stimulation, a hint of tears forming at the corners of my eyes, I wanted to look at what or who was doing this to me but it was all dark, I could only feel the mattress beneath me, my arms locked along my sides, my only outlet was in clutching the blankets in my fist.

I felt my body tense up in a vice bordering on painful before that touch continued to force its way into my folds even more deeper than before, I felt like I was going crazy not fully understanding how many fingers were in me, I moaned out loud for the first time as the soft walls stretched to make room, I held my legs open in a desperate search for something more almost hoping it might come in, harder, wetter, a ringing in my ears made everything muffled blocking out the rest of my senses.

And finally almost in a cruel gesture the touch on my clit became faster joining the thrusts in my core, a fire burning my skin, vibrating with a pleasure I had never felt before, a tide flooding my senses rhythmically until I reached the limit I cried out with no voice in my body, the walls contracted around those fingers almost as if they wanted to suck them inside me and these, covered by my fluids, slid easily in and out of me without leaving me a moment to breathe, my clitoris pinched hard one last time making more tears fall from my eyes, my hips galloping the air as I reached the first orgasm of my life.

Maybe I was crazy, but I swore I heard a low voice whispering "Good girl".

When I opened my eyes it was morning, it was like waking up from a nightmare in reality, I had dry skin around my eyes from spilled tears and between my legs a dirty, wet feeling, underneath me the sheet still damp in a stain under my bottom.

I didn't know what was happening, none of it made sense, why was this only happening to me now? And who was on the other end of the line?

By now I was sure of it, someone was luring me during the night hours by drawing my consciousness through the link, but I was still not good enough to be in control of what was going on around me, I was becoming vulnerable in the hands of someone I didn't know, or at least it felt like I didn't know.

Over the next few days I concentrated on searching for that signature in the coven, I found it hard to believe that anyone would dare use the power of the thread on me, I was the matriarch's daughter, I was respected, we were united and yet no matter how hard I searched nothing seemed to resemble what I had felt that night, not to mention that bond itself was silent.

On the one hand I was glad that it was no longer coming to disturb my sleep, but on the other hand... I blushed at the idea of feeling those shivers again, I had even (not without a huge dose of embarrassment) tried to do it on my own, but clearly I was doing something wrong, I was too hard, too hasty and in the end I was left with a sense of incompleteness that irritated me all day long.

I felt used, it seemed like whoever had sought me out had taken what he wanted and then left, it had been so persistent in the beginning and now? I needed... more.

And I knew I wouldn't fight it.

I wasn't a bad student, my mothers were proud of the results I brought I was consistent and diligent, but I improved even more after that experience, I studied harder, more intensely... I would never explain to either of them why I had changed.

And what was I supposed to tell them anyway?

Someone touches me between my legs at night and I realised I want more...? No it was better to avoid.

The subject of private parts was not taboo in the coven, in fact there were specific rituals regarding the sensuality of the body, I didn't know much about them since I wasn't admitted to those yet, but the body is a temple of physical and mental wellbeing and as such should be cared for.

I was simply too embarrassed to ask for more, as usual, I knew more about the medical side of it, but I had never wanted more, I hadn't even thought about it and there weren't really any girls my age to vent to.

All I knew was that by now I had made up my mind.

I would be the one pulling the strings this time and I hoped that whoever was on the other end would respond.

[megumiswife4]

More than just friends - Kento Nanami

Summary: You and Nanami had a great friendship, although he new you were looking for a companion who could make losing your virginity worth while; but would having him as your first be a great idea or would it ruin your guys friendship?

CW: 18+ only, Smut, fingering, slight masturbation, foreplay, penetrative sex.

WC: 4.5k

*ART WORK DOES NOT BELONG TO ME*

Being a virgin all throughout your young teenage years and into young adulthood having not yet been touched by a man. They say it's easy to be a woman, she can pick and choose who she would ideally sleep with; but in reality it was the opposite. It was even hard for you to find that one partner who could make something so intimate truly special. That’s when you met one man… Kento Nanami. One random evening at your favorite local coffee & bakery shop, it sure was a strange occurrence but needless to say it might’ve been one of the best encounters in a lifetime.

You've become such close friends with him that he even knew your deepest darkest secrets. Women around you knew who he was and were envious of the friendship you had with one another. Nanami could sense the jealousy and envy of the other women but paid no mind, you were the first woman to only feel platonically towards him and he respected that and your friendship with him. Nonetheless you both would spend day and night with one another, he would even offer to stay the night or have you stay in his penthouse at times due to you feeling a bit worried about being alone in your apartment. Nanami would often hear your scary encounters with perverted and disturbing men following you back home after a night out with friends, grocery shopping, or even just a late night walk. He was always by your side, regardless of what others had to say about the friendship.

Every week Nanami would meet up for your morning coffee date hearing the endless amounts of terrible Tinder dates; in hopes of coming across a man who would actually take you seriously, let alone sleep with you. Every single one of those men had proved you right and were just not a fit to what you were looking for in a one night stand or a potential partner. You wanted a man not a boy, especially at your bedside, one who will learn how to caress you just right, one who would treat you like a woman and not an object to smash and dash on the spot, and who will take pride in aftercare. As it being your first ever experience with a man you wanted it to be absolutely spectacular and once in a lifetime experience, but you’re just too afraid to pick the wrong man to do it with.

“Y/n you understand that these are all the wrong men right? I mean you’re on a dating app that mostly specifies for hookups that usually ends terribly.”

“Well yes, although that is what I’m looking for, I need a partner that will take sleeping with one another serious and treat me as a woman not just a quick fuck.” You scoffed in irritation.

Nanami let out a miniscule laugh, “Well it is safe to say, you haven't wasted that opportunity on a questionable man especially from Tinder.”

This topic had been ongoing for quite some time, you both knew one another well enough to talk about such things it almost seemed as if you two were dating at this point, and if it wasnt that then they would have already assumed you both would have been sleeping with each other.

“You know Nanami, you’re the only sensible man in this world who actually understands a woman and her desires.” Sipping your cup of coffee.

He leans back, one arm on the armrest, both legs crossed as he is holding his drink. “ To be honest with you, I am not one to share my personal experiences but because we are now close enough to disclose these kinds of things. I may or may not have some encounters with women myself.”

“Oh? Is that so Mr. Kento? So I'm sure you’re quite the ladies man then.” You playfully state.

“You’re not taking me seriously are you?”

“Well to be honest with you no I’m not, I mean you never even tell me how these dates even go?” You giggled.

You and Nanami began to hear a buzzing sound coming from the table, both of you checking your phones only to realize it was his, “It's a business call.” Standing up from the chair he paced back and forth speaking eloquently serious. The call soon ended as he made his way back to your table.

“I have a business meeting right now, would you mind having dinner tonight at my place? I’ll come by to pick you up after I’m off, be sure to have an overnight bag packed too.”

As he zoomed off, you were left with just yourself and your coffee.

—

It's now 5 P.M. and you’re wondering if he's off, constantly checking your stove top clock. An uncontrollably loud buzzing sound began, reaching for your phone. It appeared to be Nanami.

“I’m right outside your door, did you have your things packed like I asked you to?”

“Yes, all that was taken care of, I’ll be right out.”

Quickly opening the door, there stood Nanami towering over you. He was in his blue button up, a pair of beige dress pants, a brown belt and lastly a nice accent to the outfit; was his yellow tie that had black splattered detail. You held your bags ready to head out the door proceeding to walk ahead, you felt something similar to a brick wall hit your face.

“Who said you’d be carrying your own bags?” Nanami stated with an arched eyebrow.

You growled in annoyance, “It’s okay for me to do things by myself without help you know?”

Without hesitation he grasped hold of the bags before you could even pass through the door entirely.

“Thank you for trying, but I got it from here.” He clamored carrying your bags without a sign of struggle, if it was you, you might've made a fool out of yourself with your items at hand.

You followed his lead, locking the door behind you. He gracefully opened his passenger door wide open for you to enter the vehicle, as Nanami made his way around to the driver side after placing your luggage in the trunk; your view of him was nothing but his strong torso, and his muscular arm with his hand around the gear stick. Looking away as you catch yourself from the awe of his mere presence.

Both of you arrived at his penthouse, as he assembled your overnight bags in his room. You began to walk around curiously as if you haven’t been there more than a million times before, yet each and every time you still find it remarkable at how beautiful his sky view is from the main living room windows. Staring into the distance hearing a deep voice from behind startles you.

“It’s interesting enough that you always take a liking to that spot in particular, every time you visit me.” Nanami chuckles, removing his reading glasses placed onto the countertop.

“Back home I don't get such a beautiful view like this. Why wouldn’t I want to see this view everyday for the rest of my life?” You smiled, turning to face Nanami.

“Well If you still want to take that offer up, you’re more than welcome to end your lease at your apartment and live here with me. I have that spare room.” He stated.

“You know I can’t do that, I don’t want to feel like such a burden living in your place I…”

“You’re not a burden, I think we’ve established a great relationship and enough to know that we both feel comfortable with one another. Regardless I respect your decision, and if you decide to change your mind you know where to reach me y/n.”

Nanami’s kitchen consisted of a barstool area in the center. He offered to make a nice dinner for the both of you as you had offered the last time you spent an evening with one another. It was a beautifully medium rare steak with a buttered rosemary glaze over it, a dollop of garlic mashed potatoes as a side and sautéed asparagus as the second and final side. Your eyes widened seeing how gorgeous this entree came out, ready to stuff your face with such a delicious looking meal.

“Oh my god, this looks phenomenal Mr. Kento!” Teasing him but appreciative of his skills in the kitchen.

“I’ll only take your compliment if you finish your entire plate of food, I know you haven’t eaten all day since I’ve been at the office.” His face plastered with a serious look.

“Okay officer, my apologies.” You said sarcastically, raising both hands up signaling a truce. He couldn’t help but chuckle, hovering his fingers over his mouth. Knowing how you were, you were always getting a kick out of Nanami with your sarcasm and jokes. He never knew such a woman with a non-serious demeanor, always taking a liking for your sense of humor.

Nanami brought both plates to the small dining room near the kitchen, proceeding to pull a chair out for you to be seated as he slowly pushed you forward to be much closer to the table. You both sat across from one another enjoying the meal, you both talked away through the evening during dinner.

You both hadn’t realized the time it was, Nanami had a movie in mind for you both to watch until it was time for bed.

“Would you still like to watch a movie? It’s always our tradition to do so. But if you’re exhausted I understand.” He clamored.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I want to miss a great cinematic experience with you? Should I get the popcorn started? Possibly a nice shot of whiskey on ice for you?” You pointed at him with a finger gun hand gesture.

Nanami couldn’t help but chuckle and nod in approval, you knew him too well. Ever since you both grew closer to one another, it progressed into both of you being able to stay at one another’s homes, endless dinner nights, to coffee dates, and lastly even for minuscule shopping dates whenever he needed a new suit for work; you were always beside him.

Nanami always had special items placed for you around his penthouse. His guest bathroom included a space with hygienic items, from specific hair and facial care items to your own special soaps; he had bought out of his own curious observation from your apartment back home. He was a detailed man, he truly was enticed at your choice of products and he took initiative to be attentive without your knowledge of what you favored and didn’t. Some days you’d prefer to sleep in your guest room and other days you’d crash in his, but of course it was normal you both were close it didn’t seem abnormal for this kind of encounter. People from the outside would have thought you both were in a romantic relationship but that was far from the truth or is it really?

Both you and Nanami plop onto his modular couch, grabbing a hold of your favorite soft plush blanket over yourself. He switched the channel onto a streaming service to get to the film you both were anticipating to watch. Nanami had great taste for each type of genre for a cinematic film, and tonight was a romance/drama movie. Surprisingly he had a niche for romance drama films but rather he was discrete about it.

As time had passed you both were on your third film, one scene in particular appeared where the main character she was struggling to find a perfect guy to have her first time with, it landed between her and her best guy friend; of course it lead to confessing their built up feelings for one another and one thing led to another and the next scene included them having an intimate moment.

You began to wonder, if having your virginity taken away by your close friend who happens to be a guy is a good idea? As your mind wandered in thoughts of Nanami being a potential sleeping partner, it was so wrong but yet it felt so right in your heart and mind. You both understand each other to another extent that no one else would get, and here you are having none other than possible sexual thoughts of this man caressing your naked flesh on his bed.

Immediately your train of thought was disrupted by none other than Nanami. “Y/n are you feeling alright?” He calmly questioned.

“Y-Yes I’m okay.” You laughed nervously. You adjusted yourself sitting much closer to him; noticing the remote lying on his leg you proceed to grab it and pausing the film right in the middle of a steamy intimate session.

“Ugh! I mean how amazing could it possibly be having your virginity lost to your friend of the opposite sex?” You claimed, rolling your eyes laughing.

“I don’t believe it would be all that bad, generally it could be a good thing just because you both entrust each other and already have a great relationship at hand.”

He had a good point, the bond is already there between two friends, the feelings and tension however isn’t as close to the surface as you would think it would. You curled your legs up from the couch, leaning on your side to face him as a single arm was placed on top of the couch as you nervously looked up at him.

He questioned, “What’s wrong?”

“Can I ask you something?” You mumbled, as he nodded for you to proceed.

“This might be a weird request but… as you know I’m still a virgin.” Lowering your head in embarrassment.

“And… actually just forget I even ask-”

“So what you’re asking of me is if I could be your first time?”

Your cheeks flushed with a shade of red, bright as a cherry. You couldn’t hold back from feeling such shame, for asking such a thing but you knew he could be your best encounter for your first time.

“As long as you are completely on board with the idea, I’ll agree to make your first time as comfortable as possible for you.”

You nodded your head in agreement in hopes that this was a good decision on your behalf.

Not long after the awkward silence you immediately felt his large hand press against your lower back, and the other on your shoulder leaning you down on the couch he was now hovering over your innocent body.

“Is this okay with you?” He questioned making sure you were okay and consented with his actions.

“Y-Yes that’s alright with me.”

You felt your heart beating fast, was it loud enough for him to hear it too? The only light that luminated throughout the living room was the tv screen, nothing else. Nanami continued to loosen his tie as he was still hovering over your body, but nothing stuck out more than those large muscular biceps. Without a single thought your hand traveled up his arm copping a feel, all this time you only ever admired his muscular build from afar but this time you couldn’t help yourself but to touch him up.

“You know I never thought I would be able to finally touch your muscular arms.” You shyly chuckled.

He couldn't help but give a small smile, “Oh, is that why I would catch a glimpse of you admiring me almost every single time we would spend time together?”

Embarrassed, you propped both hands to cover your face to prevent him from seeing you smile. He knew your tactics when you became shy, it was clear that both of you might have unresolved feelings that began to surface.

Nanami took both of your hands gently pushing them aside as he leaned in closer to your face, softly brushing your cheek.

“May I?”

You nodded, “Anything you do from here on out is okay with me Nanami.”

His lips inched closer to yours as he kissed you so softly, your hands wrapping around his neck pulling him in closer for more. His lips slowly tugged onto your lower lip, they traveled below your chin and made their way to your neck. Nothing else could have ever prepared you for that feeling that you craved more of Nanami.

“If you don't mind, I will take this to the bedroom. It wouldn't be proper for me to have your first time on a living room couch.” He kindly chuckled, scooping you into his arms.

He entered into his bedroom as he placed you gracefully onto his cold sheets, as he began to slip his dress shoes aside his bed and unbutton his shirt a tad bit more. He motioned for you to sit at the edge of his bed upright guiding you with his hand, he leaned down to kiss your lips once again grabbing your cheek caressing it pulling you in for more. His hand finally pushed you into his bed once more as he hovered over your precious body, his hands grazing over your neck down to your chest, his fingers unbuttoning your white button up as your bra and torso now exposed. His lips met between your breasts leaving wet soft kisses everywhere, your whimpers enticed him more to make the crevice between your legs ready for entry.

“P-Please N-Nanami…” You moan as you begin to move your hips, turned on by his mere presence and foreplay you tried to remove the excess clothing on your body. You wanted him more and more, your hands traveling to your breast as you cupped it in one hand as the other was trying to remove your bottoms as it exposed the hemming of your thong.

“Let me take care of you y/n, you shouldn't have to worry about anything when I am here. It is my job to pleasure you the best that I can.”

Nanami slowly removed your shirt and bottoms exposing just your undergarment and bra now, you leaned upward unbuttoning his shirt helping him remove it, as it was your time to return the favor of exposing his body. Your breathing becomes heavy as time goes on, your heart beats faster and your pussy feels wetter. Your hands grazing his chest as you bring your face closer to it leaving miniscule wet kisses making your way up to his neck.

He brought you closer to his chest as he began to unhook the bra strap as it fell gracefully, your nipples were hardened and exposed he laid you back down into the cold sheets as he kissed the crevice between both breasts as his hand softly squeezed it. It soon traveled down your stomach, hips and finally your inner thigh, he softly rubbed the outer opening of your pussy making it throb; you pressed against his hand knowing you were craving more. Nanami continued to place kisses all over your body, he traveled down leaving soft kisses on your hips down to your inner thigh. Licking your thighs kissing them as he gently rubbed his hands on your leg, squeezing your hips as if he wanted you all to himself.

“Just relax princess, everything will be alright.”

He began to come back up for more kisses, his fingers pressing into the entrance of your pussy lightly rubbing it as you began to moan. Biting your lower lip as both of your eyes met, bringing your hand up to his cheek then quickly pulling him in for a kiss. Your tongue making an entrance as he tried to match your consistency, he noticed the lips in between your legs grew wetter after each rub. Nanami smiled in between each wet kiss you both engaged in, retracting disengaged your lips from his you couldn't help but gravitated your attention to the bulge pressing against his beige dress pants.

“Take them off for me.” You moaned, biting your lip.

He gently removed his bottoms and undergarments exposing his hard-on. Reaching your hand to grab it, Nanami groaned at the touch of your hand around his cock. As you began to slowly motion it up and down you felt it harden with each stroke you gave him.

“Mmm” his deep groan was so sensual you were ready to take him on. He adjusted your body to make you feel as comfortable as possible on his bed.

“I’m ready, I need you inside me p-please” you yearned, your face flushed red as your eyes glistening and your desirable whimpers, Nanami’s cock and heart were throbbing at the thought of being inside you. Afterall you were a beautiful woman inside and out he enjoyed your friendship with him but he would have never thought that you both would be uncovering a deep desire for one another in his own bed.

“Are you sure?”

“Y-Yes I’m ready for you.”

“As you wish, just know I’m taking it easy on you if you don’t like something just tell me darling.” Rubbing his finger against your cheek, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead making you feel at ease.

Your body relaxed, Nanami began to slowly spread your legs apart as he slightly spit into his hand and began to massage his cock preparing it for entry.

“Keep your beautiful eyes on me princess, I’ll guide us the whole way.”

“Okay.” You nervously said, grabbing his shoulders.

He slowly began to make his way inside your wet throbbing pussy, you felt immense pressure against your inside walls feeling euphoric but so good. Letting out a loud moan, pulling Nanami in your arms as you wrapped around his large back, lightly digging your nails into it at every thrust his hips made into you. Nothing but groaning and whimpers filled the entire bedroom, with every kiss he gave, your moans traveled its way out of your mouth. Your hands moved up running through his hair as you craved him more and more, he took hold of your wrists and pinning them alongside your shoulders. Your anticipation grew more with each withdrawal and re-entrance of his cock.

“Go…f…faster Nanami”

“Of course beautiful.” Brushing your strands of hair to the side.

As his cock kept at a minimum pace, he engaged much more, thrusting faster and faster. Your breasts began to move erratically with every entrance he was consumed by your beauty and the way you were just submissive to him letting him take the lead.

“Goddamn” Nanami groaned, cupping a single breast leaning over to lick and softly suck on your nipples. Sweat dripping from his forehead, his hair was no longer fixed up as it was now drooping over his face. You thought to yourself, he looked so captivating it was a new look that was never seen before. He was always having his hair fixed away from his face but it was different this time… you loved it.

His pace had slowed down as he grew a bit tiresome of how his speed increased at such a fast rate. Retrieving his soaked cock from your luscious folds, he took his time penetrating that precious pussy of yours. Nanami entered inside of you slowly as you whimpered and continued to slowly withdraw it back out feeling pressure from his long hard cock filling your lower abdomen. Nanami never failed to make you feel reassured and appreciated, someone he took his time with; rubbing his thumb across your cheek leaning in for passionate tongue kissing and never ending compliments that valued you as the woman you are.

“You’re doing so good.”

“You look as beautiful as ever.”

“I can’t take my eyes off you, you’re so captivating.”

“I love being inside of you, I can’t stop fucking you.”

You wanted him more and more just as much as he craved you, you grazed your hands over his abdomen and chest planting small wet kisses, guiding him to now be underneath you as you wanted to be on top. Your legs spread apart each one on either side of nanami’s waist, you pulled his hands touching your breasts to squeeze them and leaned down for him to massage and suck your nipples. Your hands touching every crevice of his muscles from his biceps, chest, and his abdomen, your tongue traveling all over it making its way to his neck and back to his lips. Your hips began to grind against his large shaft as your juices began to cover all over it, this wasn’t over. He slowly planted you accordingly on him as he brought his hand over his cock adjusting for re-entry as you grinded one last time you felt a shiver run through your entire body. Cupping your breasts in the palm of your hands as you lean your head back moaning, you proceed to lean forward and backward movements for Nanami’s cock to slide in and out. It was smooth and felt good.

“That’s it princess, keep doing that.”

Nanami couldn’t get enough of you, he needed more. He wrapped his arms underneath yours to reach your shoulders pulling you in quickly as his pace began to fasten, he was now taking over as his cock penetrated you. His hips thrusting up and down as one of his arms reached down to feel your ass, then traveling back up running his fingers through your hair. Instantly he withdrew his cock, as he grabbed you pulling you underneath him, he promised he’d be the one to please you and do his job diligently to make your first time the best experience and the only man to make you cum. For one last time putting you in missionary, and before you both finished he slowly thrusted his cock inside of you increasing his rate of speed more than usual that you both were panting and whimpering, one hand playing with your hair as he moved it downward to rub your rosy red cheek, he chuckled knowing even at your most vulnerable and being aroused you still were indefinitely a beautiful and charismatic woman in the flesh and fully clothed. That same hand reached up to his mouth as he licked it applying a generous amount of saliva, finally reaching his fingers down to your clit as he massaged it stimulating your nerves as he continued to thrust his wet cock fully covered in your wet pussy juices.

“Keep going Nanami I feel like I’m going to cum.”

“Awe fuckkkk” he began to say, as your pussy was too good he was close to cumming with you.

Leaning your head back into his pillow moaning loud, he couldn’t get enough of how beautifully sexy it was for you to enjoy him being inside of you; being overstimulated by his wet fingers touching your clit and his wet cock covered in juices from your throbbing pussy coming in and out. One hand of Nanami’s on the headboard as the other was right beside you as he had a few more thrusts left in him, sweat was dripping from his face. Finally one big thrust as he released inside of you oozing a warm fuzzy feeling, your body shivering and covered in goosebumps from hitting your peak of the orgasm. You couldn’t help but to pull him in for one last kiss as you both breathe heavily smiling at one another.

You both laid beside one another, Nanami turned over to pull you into his tight embrace brushing your hair and holding you tightly.

“I love you…” you quietly admitted.

Nanami pulled away to take a good look at you, to your surprise he indeed returned the favor.

“I love you too, I’ve been waiting to hear that for quite some time now. I couldn’t be too sure if your feelings were the same.”

You both couldn’t help to be in one another’s embrace, your first time was unforgettable.

[ozzgin]

I can't get your yakuza headcanons out of my mind, Daitou's got me in a chokehold and I'm not complaining, like--

in regards to that doodle you made to show height difference between reader and the boys [I love your art btw (●♡∀♡)] - I can't picture myself in reader's style, I'm currently going through my goth phase in my 20s lmao; picture a big bitch with tattoos and messy hair who's listening to nothing but 2000s hits and screamo bands - so I'd like to request a headcanon of how Daitou would react to a gender-neutral reader like this :D I also like to incorporate the idea of them once being in a famous band that he's a fan of! (sorry if this seems like a lot, I have a huge imagination hehe)

but if he's more into the cute and helpless type, I'll just walk my ass out the door and yeehaw my way into another yandere's arms ✌😔

That's on me for not drawing the reader inserts as cartoonish cinder blocks :') In truth I'm a little bit embarrassed seeing how many likes that doodle has gotten, it was something I put together in a hurry and the clothing was meant to be baggy, shapeless, with not too many folds for the sake of simplicity. I myself am more of a pilgrim goth, just to emphasize the randomness of the choice.

Drawing reader inserts always leaves me a little anxious. If I use a light shade of gray, will people think I'm excluding poc? Will plus sized readers feel like they've been disregarded? What about masculine readers? As someone who's demiromantic I always struggle taking appearance or gender into consideration, because to me it has no influence whatsoever. Which is hard to express when you want to offer blank slate visuals as an extra to the story.

What I'm trying to say is that all of my characters would like you for who you are. Sure, they find your looks cute, but it's not the defining reason. Maybe you have similar traits to them, maybe you're the complete opposite and they find it intriguing. You could be a buff man and Daitou would be just as grateful to have someone who isn't afraid of him. I usually stick to a female reader for bigger stories to avoid messing it up long term, but in the grand scheme of things it makes no difference. I always imagine reader to be a shapeless blob that provides the dialogue I need for the story mood. There's no concrete preference or type for any of my OCs. I mean, ideally you'd like them back and not hang them upside down above a BBQ pit but I feel these are sensible requirements (?).

And now for the actual headcanons since my ramble is over.

First encounter is comically awkward but for reasons you’re unaware of yet. You’re obviously used to people staring at you (more so in a country like Japan), so you were expecting the curious glance every now and then. On the other hand, being under scrutiny, from a man even more unusual looking than you at that, is odd. Mildly uncomfortable. You’re shifting yourself from one leg to another, hoping to be done with the introductions soon.

On his end, Daitou is anxiously fidgeting and trying his best to focus. He’s seen this face before and he can’t shake off the familiar feeling. Where the hell…He obviously can’t downright gawk at you, and he isn’t sure how to politely formulate a question. After several sheepish peeks, it finally dawns on him: weren’t you part of that band he really likes? No, what would the chances be? Then again, how many people out there would look exactly like you? Is it rude to ask? He has no idea. He resumes his mumbled description of the apartment and hands you the papers to be signed.

Back at his place, he finally digs through his merch and sprawls out the available clues. “I didn’t know you were into this kind of music”, Kazuya comments as he looks over the man’s shoulder. He’d come over to ask about the new tenant. “I’m pretty sure it’s them.” He concludes, confidently placing his index over a CD cover. “Huh? Who? The tenant?” Kazuya holds back his chuckle. “Why would a celebrity show up for a shady apartment offer? You’re tripping, man.”

“I’m sorry, this is getting ridiculous.” You finally exclaim, annoyed by the persistent stares of the now two men facing you. You’re standing in front of the apartment building, arms crossed, huffing at the tall scarred man and his blonde friend. “No, I’m sure of it. Even the tattoo is the same.” Daitou turns to whisper to Kazuya, oblivious to your complaints. In turn, Kazuya lightly elbows him, mouthing something about being rude. “Just ask them, man.” He adds, this time louder. “Ask me what??” You groan. “W-were you…um…in this band by any chance?” Daitou manages to blurt out, searching his pocket for the CD case and ceremoniously laying it under your eyes.

Ah. It finally clicks and you exhale, relieved. You confirm their suspicions and show them some backstage photos to solidify your claim. You ask Daitou if he wants an autograph or something, then swiftly scribble your signature on a piece of paper and hand it out to him. He holds it with a wide, childish grin. “You’re a weird one, you know? You could’ve just asked. I guess I didn’t expect to find a fan in the wild, especially here.” Daitou carefully folds the souvenir, eyes lidded with nostalgia. “Oh yes, it’s great. Drowns out the screams.”

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

About the hospital photocall, I believe them when they said they were concerned about Archie’s safety. Meghan said she wanted to do it but the palace didn’t ask her. The briefing at that time was that it was Harry and Meghan who didn’t want to do it. At that time, the spin was they want to protect Archie’s privacy and that by Meghan not doing a photocall, she isn’t setting unrealistic expectations for mothers (unlike Kate), but Meghan later claimed on Oprah that that was the palace lying and spinning. I think maybe that was the doing of their communications head(?) at that time, Sara Lantham. I’m not sure if we can say for sure that Meghan has nothing to do with that spin. But anyway, Harry and Meghan said on Oprah that they would’ve done the photocall, but they didn’t because Archie was not going to be made a prince and not given the appropriate security, and so they didn’t want to do it because they were afraid of the threats to Archie.

Meghan then claimed that the palace lied and spinned the story so they don’t have to explain why they aren’t giving Archie a title. But the real problem was that the palace isn’t going to give Archie a title. Meghan then threw a tantrum about that. We can’t say for sure if she threw a tantrum because she wanted a title so badly for her kids or if she was really very very concerned about Archie’s security. Tbh, with all the neonazi racist stuff said about Archie, it’s possible they really were just very very concerned about Archie’s security. And they couldn’t understand why the palace didn’t give Archie title and security despite the threats. So Meghan then assumed the palace was being racist against Archie, hence the implication of racism accusation on Oprah. Or let’s be real, she probably knew it wasn’t really about racism and just brought that up to get back at the palace.

I’m actually really quite curious about the conversations that went on within the key members of the family. Tbh, I hardly think they really would’ve allowed Archie to be unsafe. My suspicion is that that was the conversation about the skin color was about, if there was ever one. They were discussing all matters about how Archie would fit in the rf in the future. And maybe something about skin color was mentioned, which tbh is quite racist, although I hardly think the intention was racist. They were being realistic and honestly discussing all aspects about Archie’s future. Let’s be real, it’s quite a complicated matter. It really would’ve been nice and things worked out well.

Tbh, I’m also quite tired of rf supporters who dismiss everything as down to Harry and Meghan’s pettiness. Would everyone (i mean not the family but the weirdos out there) really have accepted Archie? Are you all trying to deny that racism exists? My problem with Harry and Meghan is they messed up really badly. They aren’t sensible people. They exaggerate and are addicted to drama. But there are some very real, important points in this saga.

You must be new here. I honestly have no idea where to start with your ask. I guess we'll go line by line.

About the hospital photocall, I believe them when they said they were concerned about Archie’s safety.

Ok, fair.

Meghan said she wanted to do it but the palace didn’t ask her. The briefing at that time was that it was Harry and Meghan who didn’t want to do it.

This sounds like a classic palace miscommunication. The palace expected the Sussexes to say something and they didn't, ergo the palace thought the Sussexes weren't interested. The Sussexes expected the palace to say something, but they didn't, ergo Meghan said she wasn't asked.

At that time, the spin was they want to protect Archie’s privacy and that by Meghan not doing a photocall, she isn’t setting unrealistic expectations for mothers (unlike Kate),

Sure, and wearing white two days after giving birth - when medical practice says that women are still bleeding from childbirth and so much that they're using postpartum diapers - with an actual belt cinching her waist, and sky-high heels isn't setting unrealistic expectations?

but Meghan later claimed on Oprah that that was the palace lying and spinning. I think maybe that was the doing of their communications head(?) at that time, Sara Lantham.

You do realize that Sara Latham worked for Harry and Meghan at the time, right? She wouldn't have done anything without their direct and explicit say so.

I’m not sure if we can say for sure that Meghan has nothing to do with that spin. But anyway, Harry and Meghan said on Oprah that they would’ve done the photocall, but they didn’t because Archie was not going to be made a prince and not given the appropriate security, and so they didn’t want to do it because they were afraid of the threats to Archie.

If there were real and legitimate security threats, the RPOs would be right there next to Harry and Meghan when they made their post-hospital appearance with baby Archie. The RAVEC lawsuit made that very clear; if there are real and legitimate threats, the Sussexes' status, including Archie's, would have been appropriately escalated.

Meghan then claimed that the palace lied and spinned the story so they don’t have to explain why they aren’t giving Archie a title.

The BRF didn't need to give Archie a title. He already had one: his father's subsidiary title, Earl of Dumbarton.

The Telegraph reported that neither Harry nor Meghan wanted Archie to use the title because it had "dumb" in the name and they were worried kids would pick on him.

But the real problem was that the palace isn’t going to give Archie a title.

Actually, the Sussexes' real problem was that the palace wasn't going to upgrade Archie to a HRH style and a prince title at birth. Archie was already eligible to become HRH Prince, he just had to wait for Grandpa Wales to become King in accordance with the 1917 Letter Patent, which allowed all grandchildren of the reigning sovereign to use HRH Prince/Princess. Queen Elizabeth issued a new letter patent in 2012 granting HRH Prince/Princess to all children of the eldest son of the eldest son of the reigning monarch (aka William's children) because the 1917 LP only allowed the eldest son to of the eldest son of the Prince of Wales to have a title. Meaning, if William's firstborn was a daughter (aka a future queen), she would have been untitled and outranked by a younger brother until Charles ascended and she became the grandchild of the reigning monarch because the Succession to the Crown Act of 2013 eliminated the practice of male-preferred primogeniture (brothers will inherit before sisters - it's why Anne is ranked lower than Andrew and Edward despite being older than them) and installed absolute primogeniture (the firstborn inherits regardless of gender).

What the Sussexes wanted - which Meghan made very clear in the Oprah interview - was for The Queen to issue a wholly new LP giving Harry's children HRH Prince/Princess at birth because she did it for William's children. Which the palace declined because they didn't see a need; the line of succession was secure with William's three children, Harry was the second/youngest son of the Prince of Wales, and Harry's children would have the titles eventually anyway.

Meghan then threw a tantrum about that. We can’t say for sure if she threw a tantrum because she wanted a title so badly for her kids or if she was really very very concerned about Archie’s security.

It's both. How much of it was because of the title vs how much was because of security concerns is probably different for all of us.

I'll reiterate what I said before: if there were real, serious, legitimate threats to Archie's safety, RAVEC would have given him security or upgraded Harry and Meghan's status to give Archie security. Archie did not need to be a prince for RAVEC or the BRF to take his security seriously.

Tbh, with all the neonazi racist stuff said about Archie, it’s possible they really were just very very concerned about Archie’s security. And they couldn’t understand why the palace didn’t give Archie title and security despite the threats.

A title does not guarantee anyone security. Anne, Andrew, and Edward have titles but they only get security when they're actually at an engagement.

And someone actually attempted to kidnap Anne once.

So Meghan then assumed the palace was being racist against Archie, hence the implication of racism accusation on Oprah. Or let’s be real, she probably knew it wasn’t really about racism and just brought that up to get back at the palace.

Ding ding ding, we have a winner!

I’m actually really quite curious about the conversations that went on within the key members of the family. Tbh, I hardly think they really would’ve allowed Archie to be unsafe.

Ding ding ding, another winner!

My suspicion is that that was the conversation about the skin color was about, if there was ever one.

It's been unofficially confirmed by the rota that the family was wondering what Archie would like - e.g. would he have Harry's red hair or Meghan's black hair? Would he have Harry's beady blue eyes or Meghan's nice brown eyes? Very normal and very ordinary conversations to have when there's a baby on the way.

They were discussing all matters about how Archie would fit in the rf in the future. And maybe something about skin color was mentioned, which tbh is quite racist, although I hardly think the intention was racist. They were being realistic and honestly discussing all aspects about Archie’s future.

Annnnnnnd you lost the plot. There was nothing to discuss about Archie's future. He was the grandson of the future king, so he was getting HRH Prince anyway, he just had to wait a bit for it. The modern BRF has been slimming for years (Charles's vision for the monarchy involving just William and his family and Harry and his wife, no kids, had been publicly known for years) so it was pretty much guaranteed Archie would not have any official role or do any work for the monarchy, regardless of whether he had a title or not.

Let’s be real, it’s quite a complicated matter. It really would’ve been nice and things worked out well.

I agree. But unfortunately it didn't go that way.

Tbh, I’m also quite tired of rf supporters who dismiss everything as down to Harry and Meghan’s pettiness.

But quite a lot of what Harry and Meghan have done over the years has been petty - like timing their own announcements and appearances with BRF events. Like complaining publicly that they weren't told beforehand about Kate's illness and that they had to find out on the news. Like complaining that William won't return Harry's calls. Like complaining they weren't thanked for flowers they sent to Kate. Like complaining there were security problems preventing Harry from seeing his father, when his father lives in one of the most secure facilities in the world because he's the King, head of state, and commander-in-chief.

No, not everything the Sussexes do is petty, but certainly enough that it's a default opinion for many people.

Would everyone (i mean not the family but the weirdos out there) really have accepted Archie?

You'll have to be more specific about "weirdos."

The general royal-watching public? The fandom? Yes, absolutely. No one had any problems with the Sussexes and/or Archie.

The neonazi racists you mentioned earlier? No, never.

Are you all trying to deny that racism exists?

No one here has ever said that. We have always acknowledged that racism exists. I have always said that Meghan absolutely faced and dealt with racism in the UK. I have always supported Meghan's right to call out racism and defend herself from racism. I have always given Meghan the benefit of the doubt because it's her life. It's her experience. I can't presume to speak for her experience as a biracial woman living in another country anymore than you can speak for my experience being a deaf woman.

What I have said is that Meghan has used racism in certain situations to deflect accountability, ignore protocol, and erase history. Pointing out inconsistencies in one's narrative is not denying racism. It's saying "things aren't adding up here."

My problem with Harry and Meghan is they messed up really badly. They aren’t sensible people. They exaggerate and are addicted to drama. But there are some very real, important points in this saga.

Yes, there are some real points and real feelings at matter here. But asserting BRF history and protocols doesn't mean we don't validate what Meghan experienced and what she went through. It means that there's three sides to every story - the BRF's, Meghan's, and the truth - but right now we're only getting one side: Meghan's. And there are things in it that aren't adding up.

[hiraeth-sonder]

Kept Dove - Purgatorio

Yan!Sunday x Reader

Even if a bird with clipped wings can only fly so far, it is a freedom nonetheless

TW: pseudo-incest, suicidal behaviour, stalking, general manipulative and toxic behaviour

//Characters may be OOC, please go easy on my glass heart. Spoilers for the 2.0 story quest but also I may not remember things correctly so- Not at all accurate to future patches/lore. Excerpts from the Song of Songs.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through veiled curtains and under warm lights, you tug your socks up with a careful hand, your eyes tracking the movement through the large mirror across you. The soft sheer fabric ascends your leg, trailing up and up until it reaches exactly above your knee. Just the slightest askew, you check once more, turning your leg and watching how the edge on your inner leg dips down, sneaking your finger under the garter to readjust its height. When deemed satisfactory, you reach for your sock garters, clipping the metal fasteners onto the ends as the upper ends hang limply by the side of your leg. You do the same meticulous routine for your right leg, putting your legs together to ensure that they are perfectly even. 

Hung on a hanger was a blouse, with no evidence of wrinkles or lint. Gingerly, you slip it off and let the cool fabric caress your bare skin, once again peering into the mirror to straighten the ends only to carefully push every little fabric-covered button through equally miniscule openings. It hugs your form perfectly when finished, tailor made to adhere to your body like a second skin, with bishop sleeves to be held together with custom cufflinks. You do so, deft fingers piercing the fabric with the golden optics before clipping the ends of the shirt with the once hanging garters. 

Your skirt comes next, prudent and pure. You step into it and bend ever so slightly, bringing it up to your waist to fasten the button that would keep it closed. It is only now that you pad across soft carpet towards your lineup of shoes, from sensible flats to respectable high heels, of shined leather to patent, fit for any occasion. You hook the backs of a pair of heels with your fingers, making your way back to your vanity to slip them on. It is now that you turn your attention to the perfumes decorating the front of the gilded mirror, each of them gifts handpicked by your siblings, bottles easily distinguished by your sister’s fondness for winsome designs and your brother’s partiality for elegance. You uncap a lacquered white glass bottle, the airy and floral aroma that comes from the nozzle is one of their favourites.

There is a light knock at your door, a gentle rap of knuckles against hardwood. It is merely a courtesy, he has no real need to announce his presence when you have long known he would come. Your eyes do not even have to glance at the ticking clock, the knowledge of the minute hand’s exact position of twenty minutes to eight a matter you have grown familiar with over the years. 

“Come in.”

Familiar, practised steps barely sound through your room, a few strides until a silhouette appears behind you. Letting out a soft breath, your eyelids flutter close as you turn your head away from the mirror. “I’m afraid you have little to help with today.”

“I merely wanted to check on you,” Your brother’s voice is delicate, even in your mind there is a kindness to his lilting rise. 

A sigh escapes your lips. ‘Check on you’ can mean all matters of things, whether it truly does entail merely checking on you is a test only known to him. Your eyes open upon the slightest hint of movement, watching through the mirror as gloved hands pull your hair back, reaching for a tie to bundle it up into a half-bun. The action in itself is practised and skilled, moreso a reminder of how many times he has performed such on the women of his life, it sends an inexplicable grief aching in your heart. 

He lowers himself to your level, and as the warm lights cast an intimate gleam upon his features, you get the day’s first look of your brother. Golden eyes softened in gentle fondness, or perhaps some amalgamation of it, cool steel locks lay in perfect formation as his soft wings unfurl to reveal his stately countenance. There is a soft smile pulled across his lips, yet for some reason you must wonder why that tightness in your chest exists so. 

“Happy?” You manage to croak out, still fraught with his full attention on you. 

Sunday tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, clearly admiring his work as he hums, “Very much so, you look quite comely like this.”

You glance at yourself in the very mirror that has aided your preparation, the small wings at the back of your ears hang downward in some odd shame, the sharp tips of your halo glinting with a keen shine. The dark wings flutter lightly, and that recurring shame seems to bubble back to the top of your mind everytime you are reminded of their existence. A corvid among songbird and dove, a stain in their otherwise blemishless perfection. A pathetic excuse for a halovian, you had little sway, little influence, little image. Your very existence was a means to uphold their depiction. 

You were just the child taken pity upon, the mutt picked up from the side of the road to house and feed. Thus, you are an extension of them, whatever you do, however you look, it all went back to them. You sometimes wonder whether they know how much you pale in comparison to their light. 

All too quick to shove such a treacherous thought to the back of your head, it would be a cold day in hell before someone pries that thought from your brain. He casts you an inquisitive gaze, one you wave off with your ascent from the chair. Your steps, three steps slower, accompany his longer strides, padding out from soft carpet to thudding wood. 

Leaving the mansion is always some arduous task, and you suppose that there is no one to blame but your brother for all the fuss that needs to be sorted out. Twisting hallways, confounding rooms, even the little sandpit of the Golden Hour, it made it so that leaving required his notice, lest you end up arbitrarily lost. Of course, this also meant that you were severely limited in the times you got to leave the mansion, since he always had so much to attend to in the day. And it is not like you refuse to learn, but rather that you cannot learn its ways that you remain unaware. Furthermore, it is exactly because that he does so much that you find it hard to even bring up your grievances about such a matter, how could you? So even if you yearn to see the world far beyond what he has allowed you to see, you very often keep your mouth shut and play at content. 

As you emerge from those familiar depths, a wing raises itself to shield your eyes from the sudden influx of bright lights. Penacony, the city of dreams they call it, but to you, it has been nothing more than an incandescent lie. Why else would your sister leave?  

It is then you see her, with her flowing light blue hair and her familiar visage. Her attire remains the same as all the advertisements you see with her face plastered on them, her halo tilted to the right and the gems under her left eye in flawless position. Yet, in your heart, your most sincerest of affections borne from years of companionship, you know that it is not her. There is nothing that would infer this thought, the locum in front of you a perfect copy in all matters, but you cannot help but deny the image in front of you.

Turning to Sunday, a slip of your true thoughts revealed through the furrow of your brow, “Who is this?”

“A fool, nothing more,” He spares you a glance, but says nothing else. 

“Will she listen?”

It is only then you manage to meet his gaze, not a second more and not a second less, his voice is placid, revealing nothing even now, “You trust me, no?”

“Of course, but I just worry…” Your plea seems to go unheard, and you wonder whether you were even meant to come along if it meant you would only receive this kind of treatment. 

“Shall we depart?” He offers to the ‘Robin’ in front of you, dignified courtesy and trained care. You remain behind, watching on. His voice rings in your head, the only part of him you get, “Fret not, dear sister, all will be well.”

In your heart, something twinges with an acrid twist. Though this ‘Robin’ is clearly some cheat, he still treats her the same, still has that leak of affection. You have always known that he never took to you the same way she did, he could try to play at siblingly affection, could try to interact with you the same way he did her, but you knew that he never meant it. The daily check-ups, the gifts, the occasional contact, it all means nothing to him, and in the end, is that not what he does best? Lying with a sweet smile on his face, tempting you with a delusion all the while he wishes for nothing but your descent. The only one he could never perform such deeds to was his own sister.

Yet even in front of a fool, with the face of your sister, you could feel no hatred towards her. Because she has never done anything to warrant such, not when this dream of theirs is one you have done everything to uphold, not when she might have been the only light in your life. So even if what stands before you is a fake, even if you do not know what your brother has planned, you will keep your mouth and play at content. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the end, he had never even told you where the day’s itinerary would take you, so when you had found yourself in reality’s Reverie Hotel and met with an interesting situation, you had much to restrain from expressing. A group of four people you have never truly seen before and a man from the IPC, seemingly engaged in a difficult matter. They do not seem to notice your approaching footfalls, neither does Alley.

“Alley, just a moment,” Sunday speaks up, gentle yet assertive

“The Family cannot allow guests to enter a dream while bearing burdens.”

The crowd, now aware of your presence, shifts their attention. The grey-haired youth catches your attention, so clearly out of place yet seemingly intertwined, you can only ponder why. Still, it is not as if their gazes remain on you, rather it would be more accurate to say that they were never on you in the first place, positively enraptured by the natural radiance 

“Speak of the devil, look who's here! It's Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony! Along with the singer renowned across the universe: Robin!” The blond, who you vaguely recognise as hailing from the IPC introduces the two of them with a flair, clearly playing up the flattery. 

‘Robin’ turns to face him, an amused smile playing at her lips as her eyes crinkle in mirth, “He said you were the most dashing person in Penacony, how interesting.”

An older man and a red-haired woman stand before you, their expressions shifting to alert, yet they are paid no mind. 

“I’ve kept you waiting, Mr. Aventurine. This way please, let us speak in private,” Your brother offers, a request that is taken with a courteous quirk of the blond’s lips. 

Your ‘sister’ instead takes charge of caring for the rest of the guests, “Astral Express guests, please come this way and rest your feet.”

It is by now that you have completely mentally checked out of the situation, your presence clearly not noticed nor ignored. Though you yearned to return and perhaps sleep the rest of the day away, your feet automatically flanked the guests of the Astral Express so as to guide them, your eyes following after the grey-haired youth who seemed to yearn to run after Aventurine. Oddly, they do not do so, obediently following after the pink-haired woman. 

You keep your posture perfect and your expression pleasant, not quite hearing but watching, eyes tracking lips so as to turn your perceived attention to whomever was speaking at present. Your ‘sister’ still enraptures, no matter the truth of her nature. Your ears pick up the vague mention of an apology, her hand held to her chest in polite regret. It is only when the redhead’s lips, a woman you believe is called Himeko, move in a manner that seems to be directed to you that you tune back in, a pleasant smile still painted as you meet her gaze.

“And who’s this? I don’t suppose we’ve met before, have we? Ms..?” She offers, playing at cordiality though it is clear she may be a little on guard.

Your lips move to answer far faster than your mind, practically instinctual. The response you get is kindly, one you are not sure is genuine but it makes your head rush. 

The older man, Welt, calls your name, a sound that feels like it should belong on his tongue. There is a familiarity to it, the kind you would hear from an older relative. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of them start with their pleasantries, and for some odd reason, your chest tightens with a yearning. You had watched them band together earlier, seen the way they interacted with one another and even through your haze, could all but feel the amity between them. These were people who were bound together by chance, people who have simply decided to become this family and not only played the roles, but might as well be actual family. 

“Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet all of you as well.”

‘Robin’ seems to fade into the background, a sight you are not used to, but this fool’s interest in you is not a matter you are too worried about. Rather, the new-found attention you found yourself under was now almost overwhelming, too much yet not entirely unwelcome. 

“If we’re not overstepping, may I ask how you’re affiliated with Mr. Sunday and Ms. Robin?” Himeko’s voice is sweet in your ears, a soothing sound.

“They’re my siblings, my older brother and younger sister to be exact.”

The pink-haired youth you believe is called March 13th, is almost all too excited at that answer, yet it dies to wonder, “That’s cool! But why haven’t we heard about you before?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m merely not as noteworthy as them….” Your play at humility is almost entirely accepted, a notion you are at least glad for. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your brother’s approach, a signal to return back into the background. With a hand to your chest, you bid your exit, “If you’ll excuse me.”

It is another haze that clouds over you when your brother arrives to slot himself into the conversation, one that once again seems to block out the words spoken. 

“I apologise for taking up everyone's precious time, and we shan't keep you any longer. If you need anything else while in Penacony, The Family stands ready to serve,” He hums, genteel and ever flawless.

‘Robin’ follows suit, her hand to her chest as she continues the courtesy, “May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

Your eyes fall upon the Astral Express, and though your heart knows what can only be imagined can never be brought to reality, you could not help but wish that you had never been brought in to your siblings. Perhaps in another life, perhaps in a dream far more beautiful and pleasant than this one. 

“May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

You were tired, so very tired. If Penacony truly was the world of dreams, yours must be some sick joke for your life to turn out this way. Given this glimpse of what could have been, how could you even bear to keep living in this illusion?

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

 His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The marble railing is cold against your bare feet, one wrong step and you’ll be sent careening off the side of the building, falling into a never-ending abyss. In the distance, playing on the record player, was the vague lilt of your sister’s voice. You could barely hear it through the wind, yet the very fact that she was there, truly or not, was more than enough. You have all but memorised her every song, humming along as though she was with you.

In a thin nightgown, you have long been free from the confines of your strict dress, hair let loose and face bare. Any matter that once adorned your form has been stripped, left exactly where they belonged in your room as your legs danced along to the melody. Chasse, a whisk and a natural turn, your arms wrapped around some imaginary partner, it all came to you without little thought, merely letting the music guide your form. You have never danced before, never thought yourself fit to, only read about the basics in a book a time forgotten, but you think you enjoy it. Perhaps in your next life you will be a dancer, no matter the fame, it would be something you could do without fear of tarnishing another’s image. 

Caught in your reverie, you are scarce to hear the knock on your door, the heave of heavy wood and the quick steps to the open balcony. Through the flowing curtains and under the starry night, your brother still looked nothing more than empyrean, regardless of the unnerved furrow of his brow and the dilation of his pupils. You do not stop from your actions, continuing to let your body move along the wind.

“What are you doing?” He manages to utter, not as gentle yet cautious. 

Humming, you return his question with another, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Your dearest brother, the man who allows himself only the most minute interaction with you, the man who would not even meet your eyes beyond the confines of your home, though his words sounded as though they came from a more composed man, the slight tremble to his voice told you more than enough. 

“Dear sister, you won’t die even if you take such drastic actions.”

“You’re right, but at the very least I’d be soporose, no?”

There is a pained edge to his voice, visage finally broken out of that placid facade, “I don’t enjoy these words you’re saying.”

“When have you ever?” You laugh, eyes crinkled in levity as a smile pulled across your lips. Bare feet halt from their untethered sway, leaning to meet your brother’s gaze. Your words crawl out from your throat, hoarse from use yet elated nonetheless, “I’m sure that if I were to even look into that head of yours, those few thoughts you dedicate to me would be nothing but pure odium.”

Perhaps you would have been less inclined to disparage your brother once upon a time, more desirous of his attention for once, yet it is now you could care less. His focus means nothing to you now, not when he could not even bother to do so when it mattered most. Even if he threw himself at your feet and begged you to come down, you find it hard to believe you would listen in this state. 

Sunday’s voice is soft, yet simultaneously it is the loudest you have ever heard it, “You seem so convinced that I do not care for you, have you ever read beyond what your eyes tell?”

“Would you let me?” The air in your lungs feels faint, turning your voice breathy as tears strangely dew at your lower lashes. 

Would he even let you witness such? Let himself become vulnerable and open his tempestuous mind for you to pick and pry? You do not even believe he has allowed any other to come so close. Yet perhaps this is what you need to quell that storm in your chest, the last nail in your coffin, your last reason confirmed. 

He nods. 

Through dark veils and cloudy bubbles, you see it. The truth of his neglect, the reality behind his constant avoidance, his performed favouritism, all of it some cruel and horrific attempt to distance himself from emotions deemed iniquitous. All those times the clock would read seven forty, all those times you believed him to arrive on some schedule, that damned bird had been in your room all the while. Tucked away in some corner too high for you to notice, it stood watch at all hours of the day, keenly broadcasting your most natural state to him as if it were nothing more than the daily news. 

What a monster love can be, its dark shadow following you everywhere, in your most private and public moments, you have never been alone. Longing to embrace, alabaster hands ghosting over skin and breath fanning across bare chest, desiring to possess, to keep that object of yearning within a gilded cage and to tuck the key away. Twisting yet ever rigid, covetous and desirous, it is no wonder that your very existence should always be tied to him. There is no you without Sunday, no crow without dove, for what is a pious man without his conflict of sin?

“I love you,” He pleads, finally raw and true, finally directed to you. His face twisted in pure desperation as he approaches you, with his arms outstretched as though to compel you from your perch, your brother practically begs, “So please, stay with me.”

Beneath your gaze, beneath you, he is but a wretched thing. You never thought him stupid, yet for him to think that this was enough to wipe the slate anew, you must have overestimated him. 

You bark out a harsh bite of laughter, void of mirth and filled with scorn, “Do you expect me to just forgive you just like that? A measly ‘I love you’ and years of indifference can just be forgotten?”

“Sunday, you’re nothing but the last etching on my grave.”

Your feet leave the cold marble, tipping off into the unknown abyss below as a breeze flies through your wings. 

Your sister’s face flashes before you as your eyes flutter shut, her soft smile the one thing keeping your head clear and your limbs limp. You hear her sing, even past the rushing wind. Your dear sister, the one person who had been keeping you looking forward to another day, her crooning voice that played from the record player in your room, it is now you hear her clearer than ever. 

A bird that has never flown can only fall when thrown down, wings unable to catch the wind and soar from its cage, yet it is because it has never flown that this feeling is still a kind of freedom. And as your skin pebbles from the chill and your hair flows along your descent, you have never felt any freer, even if it is only for a brief moment. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through lace curtains and under warm light, a hand caresses your leg as it tugs white socks ever higher. Soft fabric clinging to your skin as he raises it to your thigh, far too intimate, far too familiar. He does the same for the other leg, knelt at your feet with his head bowed, the socks are nothing but perfectly aligned as per his preference. The garters hung around your waist, silken material his own hands placed upon you, he grasps the clips as he attaches it to the socks, ensuring he does not blemish your skin beneath. 

Your arm raises when he brings the blouse, silky and smooth. Sunday lets the cool fabric kiss your arms as he buttons each clasp, meticulously pushing them through each miniscule opening. Another piece he had ensured would fit you without fault, it followed the natural lines of your form without fail. He smooths the shoulders down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, moving to pin the sleeves with optic shaped cufflinks. Coaxing you from your seat, he has you step into your skirt, brought up to your waist and clasped neatly. Your shoes, perfectly shined heels tailor made for only you, are slipped on and buckled. Even the sweet florals of your perfume, another white lacquered glass bottle he gifted all those years ago, is applied by his hand. 

His dear sister, someone he has tried so hard to keep at an arm’s length, someone he has done nothing but debase in that torturous head of his, now stands before him, obedient and adoring. Far too tempting to keep away, his arms move to embrace you, resting at your waist.

Instinctively, your arms raise to wrap around his neck, weight leaning against his hands as he bows his head to press a kiss against your lips. You accept him languidly, your eyes fluttering close as he brings your bodies to but a fingertip’s distance. It almost seems meant to be, how they move against each other in a rhythm known only to the two of you. 

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips, the words leaving him so naturally that if one were to tell him that he could finally utter these heavy words to you, that him of the past would have merely waved it off. “More than you could ever know.”

“.....love…”

“..you….”

Your wings flutter shyly around your two faces, as though to hide away from the rest of the world, even your halo trembles ever so slightly, an endearing act as you try your best to convey your affection to him. Still, that does not discourage you from attempting to cling onto him.

He smiles, pressing another, more chaste, kiss to your lips to tide you over. Recovery has been hard for you but he finds he quite enjoys having you so feeble for him. Barely able to even form full sentences through telepathy, it meant that he would be able to hear your sweet voice much more often. You were no songstress, but it is your humming that truly provides him with succour. Furthermore, having you so dependent, so keen for his help, it only serves to soften his heart. 

To reintroduce you to the rest of Penacony not as his sister, but as his dearest lover has been easy, and he can only thank his foresight for keeping your very existence so negligible. You would finally get what you have always yearned for, no matter what lies you told yourself, his full and utter adoration, demonstrable and undisguised. Lest you try to leave him once more. So he will keep you in this cage with him, care for you and love you so that beyond reasonable doubt, you shall have no desire to spread your wings once more.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

[conkers-thecosy]

Hullo! 💛 I know it was a few weeks ago since I posted my fic rec list, but here's the promised compilation of unfinished WIPs that I'd like to recommend, at last! Do give them a look, they're all wonderful! ~ "The Veiled King" by MiraHerondale Bilbo has lost his memory after getting knocked out in Ravenhill, and is found by Thranduil. He’s taken to Mirkwood, unconscious still, to be treated. Upon waking, he discovers he has no memories of the previous year.

Unaware of this development, Thorin and his heirs lie recovering from their wounds and confined to bed rest. Free of the gold madness, the King orders them to search for Bilbo, as the brave burglar is still counted among the many who have disappeared during the fight. Despite this, they find no trace of Bilbo before a terrible snowstorm forces them to abandon their task and accept what they believe to be the hobbit's fate.

The King Under the Mountain mourns and, in the meantime, Bilbo sleeps.

~

"Ambassador To Madness" by @sunnyrosewritesstuff All Bilbo wanted was to be an ambassador to one of the richest kingdoms in Middle Earth. Upon meeting its prince, his opinion is greatly lessened. However, Bilbo still finds himself agreeing to play the part of his consort to help free Erebor from the gold mad Thror. Turns out, Thror may not be as blind as his grandson thinks, and intends to use Bilbo to get rid of Thorin once and for all. ~ "Sleep Alone; Start All Over" by vicious_summer Bilbo had a sudden, cheerful realization. “Oh, my, this must mean you’ve already dealt with the problem of the dragon without me!”

Bofur frowned. “Bilbo, no–”

“Sorry, you haven’t dealt with the dragon?”

Or: the Consort of Erebor loses about seven years of memory. ~ "Golden Hearts Bleed Faster" by @lordoftherazzles Bilbo Baggins, Prince of the Shire, has been left with a kingdom on his back and a ring in his hand after the unexpected death of his parents. Bodyguard Thorin Oakenshield has been brought in to see to the prince’s safety, and do a little investigating of his own on the matter in hopes of coming face to face with the one who turned his mountain, and his life, upside down some years prior. ~ "The Great Ereborian Doily Conspiracy" by @lauramkaye Thorin has always been happy to see Bilbo adopt dwarfish ways, until it is pointed out to him that Bilbo, not actually being a dwarf, might be happier in their marriage if Thorin were to make a bit of effort to adopt some hobbitish ways in turn.

Naturally, Thorin goes about this in a sensible and moderate manner. ~ "Dragonfly" by @edwardallenpoe Snippets of Thorin and Bilbo's life, learning to Heal, learning to Grow, Learning to Trust, and learning to Love, from when they survive, to the beginning of the rest of their lives.

Or; They both love each other and are afraid to tell the other, their plans? To tell everyone else they're together while the other has no idea. ~ "Sparks & Gardens" by @fantasyinallforms Bilbo grew up well-to-do in the peaceful countryside of the shire. Three years after his mother's passing, his father decides to move to London to take up an affluent teaching job at the British museum. Bilbo tries to make the best of his new surroundings and crosses paths with a surly blacksmith named Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo finds Thorin to be an enigma, and Thorin finds Bilbo to be naive. Soon they will learn that Thorin's mistrust of the elite is based on experiences that lead to his dark past, and Bilbo is not as naive to the evils of the world as he may seem. ~ "Of Cold Hearts" by @domesticgoddesswriter Thorin was at a loss. He was a monster slayer. A killer of all evil creatures who prey on humanity. Including vampires. Especially vampires. He hated vampires. He wouldn't be content until he eradicated every last one of the foul beings.

So what in Mahal's name was he doing sitting here in a dusty armchair next to a cold hearth drinking tea (of all things!) with a (admittedly rather cute) vampire. The same vampire that he came to this old castle to kill. ~ Next time I'll do "canon-verse; all time favourites" Feel free to add your recommendations too, I'm always on the look out for new fic to read! 💛

[it-came-from-an-orchard]

Wonderland! Bunnydoll

It's secret to nobody that @endomentendo Wonderland AU has been spreading the same way an invasive root does in a garden (Don't tell Queenie) What some might NOT know, is that the Bunnydollers have successfully bullied them with love and pretty art to make the ship part of their canon Heck, Ragatha's mood allignement change! I call that a major victory!

So to commemorate the change and because @kookies2000 has infected half of the burrow with the WonderBug, I present thee with a small little something.

Its not very good but I had fun. And I think that all Wonderland its about

Leaves fall, birds chirp.

Twigs snap, Branches shake.

The grass crumples, dirt and sand raises in the air. 

The sounds of idle laughter chimes in, carried by the hollow whistle of the wind. Empty steps mark the ground.

The sensible response is to shake your head, turn around, and go back from wherever you came from. 

The sensible and logical thought that pricks at the mind and tells you ‘There’s nobody there’. 

So stupid and wrong. 

Out of all the creatures in the forest to find, those that find you first are probably some of the worst, and by the very nature of their bodies, this one is the most dangerous of all, as they dont get found out if they don't wish to be. 

The laughter echoes around, and if you were to close your eyes— Well, you would be really stupid, because nobody should do that in a forest. Who knows where you could trip going around blind like that? 

But if despite better judgment, you still close your eyes, or at least, the one working eye, it's almost like if windchimes were all around the forest.

Such a pretty laugh.

How can people say Chesires are bad when they laugh like that? 

“Jax! I’m not supposed to wonder this deep in, you know that!” Little Pretty Red Locks and a smile, you are not angry or mad, yet you try “At least tell me what are we looking for!”

The empty, dusty steps wave off the dirt path, leaving purple prints instead as they go up the trunk of a mighty tree

“Seriously? I have to climb? In this dress?” Only mad people talk to themselves, so this really isn’t that weird of a sight, that is, if there was anyone else with Pretty Red Locks and a smile. “Mother is gonna be upset at me if I return to the party with tears on my dress…!” 

She could have chosen not to climb, stay down on the ground, but then the enchanting laughter knew she wouldn’t. Too many a year had passed, at least he thought so, since they first started to play this game. A Cat and a Mouse. 

Why would a little mouse be in pursuit of a cat, you ask? Probably to ask for some milk, or to share a cookie. 

But there is no cat or a mouse in sight, just Pretty Red Locks and a smile. 

Climbing trees is easy, it barely takes a breeze, yet the doll struggles getting around the branches, silly girl, your dress is on the way, Why did you ever think that was appropriate clothing to go tree climbing? Mad idea, indeed. 

Leaves fall, branches creak, and the laughter is no more. A low hum bouncing around the canopies of the trees. A nameless tune that has no lyrics, and even when it does, their meaning is meaningless. Still, Pretty Red Locks tries to sing it, no matter how many times she gets it wrong. What a crazy thing to try

“Are we there yet?” She huffs and puffs the lack of air in her lungs, settling in a big sturdy branch. Yeah, they were there. That’s as good as it could get “I know I’m not a kid anymore, but you could try and give me a hand still!”

“Now, why would I do that?” The voice of nobody speaks, much mirth and much mischief in the way they sound. Just like the laughter from before “You got yourself up here without my help! If you couldn’t, why try?” 

“You told me to follow you, then disappeared and got me here!” Still airless, still amused. Are you not afraid of being this high up? 

“If I disappeared, you got yourself here” Fight a disembodied voice about semantics, if you weren’t mad before, you will be after.

“Well, We’re here-- Or *I* am here now. So what's the surprise?” 

“What surprise?” 

“I’m not going to start that with you”

“Start what?” 

Laughter again, but it's not the voice of the nobody, Pretty Red Locks laughs. 

It’s a pretty laugh.

“The view is nice from up here” Again talking to herself, because there was no other voice to answer her “You always like to be somewhere high, don’t you?” Talking to oneself means nobody answers you, but Pretty Red Locks and a smile didn’t seem to be bothered by that, her lips splayed in a wide smile for the empty space right beside her on the branch “I guess it's part of your nature”

The hollow wind carries the small hum of a melody. Down below littles colorful dots dance around unhearable music. It wouldn’t be long now until they realized the missing person among them.

“Having fun on your regular birthday?” The voice of nobody spoke, though it was lacking a bit of that usual charm. Wonder where it had gone

“What other types of birthdays are there?” The doll only got silence as a response, right, she was answering a question with another question “Yes, it’s very fun. I’m glad you came by”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the end of the world~!” 

Swinging her legs over the void of the fall, the doll swallowed the rest of the questions she wanted to ask, her conversation partner wasn’t in a responsive mood and talking to herself wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, even if she did it more often than most

“I’m gonna give you your gift now” The disembodied voice spoke and the doll felt her insides tickle as if full of loose flower petals

“Does that mean I can see you n-” Ragatha wanted to say something dumb, because she was about to answer a statement with a question. A dumb and also rude thing to do

Thankfully, she was saved from the embarrassment by a pressure over her mouth. Her lips. It felt… Warm. slightly moist, a bit fuzzy. 

Such an odd feeling

Not only was her mouth covered by something, Ragatha blinked once and she was sure something was holding the sides of her arms. It was firm yet kind, the way she always felt when dancing atop the roof of the castle, or balancing over the railing of the balconies or now, over at the top of the trees. 

She pursed her lips and that pressure moved. Ragatha realized now that she couldn’t quite breath with this strange block against her mouth, but just before she could start to worry about running out of air, the pressure left her mouth. The one around her arms remained.

Blinking once, twice. Ragatha notices her eyesight worsening. Just a second ago she could see the party below with perfect clarity, now everything seems to be warped and fuzzy. Like trying to see through an empty glass.

Something invisible in between. 

“Jax?” She called to the nothing around her. “Did you do something just now?” 

Pretty Red Locks got no answer from the empty air around her. She blinked again, the fuzziness went away, and so did the hold around her. 

She missed it already. 

The familiar humming of a distant tune came back, and while the sound bounced around, Ragatha’s gaze stood firmly ahead. The emptiness in front of her slowly filling up from the bottom up, stripes of purple and dark blue hues swirling, tangling and knotting among themselves. Forming limbs, a torso, a tail, ears and finally. 

Two big yellow eyes and a smile. 

“Happy regular birthday, Ragatha” The voice of nobody came from the mouth of this funny looking guy, but Ragatha already knew that. She have known this funny looking man for a long time now

“Happy not-birthday, Jax” She returned the gesture, smiling, not as widely but almost so as the man floating over nothing in front of her. 

“Oh! You remembered! How thoughtful!” The colourful man squinted his eyes slightly as his smile broadened even more, making most of his face “Anyway, Ready to go back?” He extended an open, gloved palm to the pretty doll with red locks and a smile, he was, admittedly, a bit surprised that she didn’t immediately take it.

“Jax, My aunt will freak out if she sees me ‘Floating’ down back to the party!” “Not let anyone see you, got ya!” Jax reached out and claimed Ragatha by the arm to himself, pulling her with him into the nothing void. 

Most people would freak out, scream, cry. To be so carelessly thrown into no ground at all, especially at such a height. 

Ragatha just giggled, barely holding on to Jax as they took step after step, moving slowly, closer to the ground. 

“Aren’t ya afraid to fall?” Jax held got tighter to her and she let go even more, slightly annoying. She should be holding onto him as if her life depended on it. What, was she mad or something?

“Are you going to let me fall?” Pretty Red Locks and the gall you had, trusting your life to a cheshire. 

“Not unless it’s funny” 

They eventually made it back to the ground and Jax lost himself in a puff of color. But Ragatha knew him to be close by. Call it a ‘Womanly intuition’. She just had a gift for this sort of thing. 

In truth, watching the scenery from up high and float back down with Jax was something she was really used to, she could quite understand what about that was supposed to be her gift. 

That feeling she got around her lips though…

She hoped she could ask Jax about it the next time they got to meet for tea. 

She enjoyed it very much

If only a feeling such as that one had a name.

[seeminglyseph]

I really appreciate that Eurylochus in Epic I am pretty sure is adapted from a character in the original who is at the very least somewhat antagonistic and cowardly in characterization and has spun him into a compelling and interesting character who has genuinely caused the fandom to basically to be like “but was he wrong though?”

Because like, the fact that at multiple points both Odysseus and Eurylochus have been right at different points of their adventure and just too fucked up emotionally or too “we can’t talk about things” to like. Clear up the issues they were having, means that they just. Became a tragedy.

And it is especially beautiful because Eurylochus and Polites bring this weight of friendship and loss to Odysseus in Epic, despite their existence in the Odyssey fully lacking that characterization. Though I think it is part of the miscommunication at times because like. Perspective. And if you try to look up extra information from the source text to give more context, Eurylochus is so different in that source text that like… it will back up arguments in favour of Odysseus more easily. But modern sensibilities side with Eurylochus more easily due to monarchs and tyrants like… heavily falling out of favour. So things like kings, gods, princes, captains, status, and rank are like… they exist but they aren’t seen the same.

Like the Odyssey is set in the Mycenaean age, late Bronze Age. This was a tale of ancient times when Homer was telling it. So by modern standards things can’t help but be archaic in ways. Especially given that The Iliad and Odyssey have so much to do with colonization and war and just like. Contemplating it. Existing in it and the aftermaths of it, and being conscious that it is being told to a world of people who are still acting and living in a unifying country due to colonization, that is expanding and growing its power with war and language and colonization. And the stories of the past wars are both glorious and tragic because of the necessity for glory to the heroes of the past but caution and understanding that…

Like Troy was once favoured by Zeus, that favour can be lost or swayed. Only the gods can count on their power lasting for eternity, men must know that a grudge can bloom anywhere and topple the mightiest kingdom if he does not mind his actions carefully.

The Aeneid, by Virgil which is written much later and I admit I have only read a summary, refers to Odysseus (through his Roman name Ulysses) really negatively, but that’s partially because the Romans kinda saw themselves as refugees and survivors of Troy. So like. By the time the Aeneid was being written, it was kinda the story of “those bastards who burnt our home down” from what I understand.

“Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?” For realsies. Looking things up apparently the Aeneid was the most popular version of both the Odyssey and the Iliad for a while and it wasn’t until the World Wars that Homer’s versions came back into fashion. Part of that was translation issues but still, damn.

This has become the most unhinged ramble, I’m sorry. I don’t know what any of this is even about. Translation? Perspective? Adaptation? The power of storytelling? All of it? Honestly the fact of the matter is that Eurylochus has been adapted to a new character for Epic, but he fits the narrative of the Odyssey especially as far as we need it to be told today because of how power structures work, but it’s been executed extremely well.

It keeps the technicalities of the traits of the poem “cowardice” and “mutiny” and creates a character with insecurity and missing sense of self who is afraid in a reasonable way and in order to overcome that fear reacts with aggression or violence. But in a way that is encouraged, acceptable or rewarded for a soldier. However, as a second in command, he is accustomed to having a role where he checks Odysseus’ plans for flaws. This is a good position to have him in when you’re plotting a battle action, it’s a bad position to have him in when you need him to provide a united front to keep the crew from panicking.

His position as both one of the crew and Odysseus’ Right Hand Man puts him in a position where he gets part of Odysseus’ picture, and is used to a relationship where he can be comfortable and doubtful and easy with Odysseus, however Odysseus as the Captain and the King cannot be fallible in the eyes of his men, because his men need to be able to follow his orders without question in the case of a crisis or it will be a serious issue.

Honestly the whole “I need you to be able to trust me and follow my orders in a crisis” is… part of general insubordination going on into modern day practice in crisis response and military as far as I understand it so like. I do get that. Though like. They are… two deeply damaged and traumatized men who just… cannot have a proper conversation with each other.

And also I am of the opinion that Odysseus in Puppeteer, when he brushes off Eurylochys’ attempted confession with his

“There's only so much left we can endure”

I am pretty sure that is not just brushing off, that is fully Odysseus admitting to Eurylochus like “I can’t handle anything else, please.” Like. My brain is making parallels to FMA “terrible day for rain” and Eurylochus drops it because he’s looking at a man on the verge of breaking down, and grants him some dignity or peace.

I mean Mutiny calls back to Puppeteer when Odysseus calls Eurylochus out, he would have done the same. Eurylochus wanted to cut and run on Circe’s island, leaving the men she had to their fate. But since Odysseus has all the power he carries all the blame, which makes it easier when any of the others make a mistake or something goes wrong. And it’s part of the reason Ody goes back to being Captain as soon as the crew is in trouble again. If they’ve angered a god, it’s better and easier to have Odysseus deal with it.

Unfortunately for everyone Odysseus has now crossed the Despair Event Horizon and all that matters is Penelope, Telemachus, and Ithaca. Everyone else can go fuck themselves.

Which, you know. Bodes well for all the fucked up dweebs who’ve been harassing his family for years. That’s probably gonna go great for them considering all the last shreds of his humanity he sacrificed to get home and see them safe.

[paradoxcase]

Someone posted on one of the reddit asexual communities a bit ago saying that they thought they might be ace for XYZ reasons which were completely sensible reasons to think that, but that the idea that they might be ace made them feel sad because they felt like they wouldn't get to experience sex or sexual attraction the way most people did, and was that feeling sad thing an indication that they weren't really ace? And a bunch of us responded that, nah, actually that's a pretty common experience

But it made me wonder, like, is that actually a primarily ace and/or aro experience, because those identities are kind of necessarily about things you don't experience, or do other queer people feel this way, too? Like I've heard of people who start out with negative thoughts about being queer, but it's usually stuff like, I'm afraid I will be the victim of a hate crime, I'm afraid my parents will kick me out of the house, I'm afraid I won't have enough money to transition. I haven't heard as much stuff that's like, I'm sad that I didn't live up to my expectations for being "normal". I don't mean like self-hatred stuff, either, like not stuff like, there's something wrong with me, or I'm broken, or I'm gross, or I'm sinning against god just by existing, but just like, I'm sad, I'm mourning some life experiences that I thought I would have that I probably won't have after all

So, I'm curious what other people's experiences have been. Polls have limited options, so I necessarily had to condense a lot of identities into a few groups, hopefully most people are included here. If you have felt that way about multiple labels, pick whichever one you want. If you have never experienced this, just pick the group you identify most strongly with if you identify with multiple

Please reblog this, because if it only stays on my part of tumblr probably like 90% of responses will be from ace people

[muzzlekiss]

There must be some misunderstanding, practicioner. You - you can't really mean that. You don't. I'm invaluable.

N-no, I'm afraid you really don't understand, I - I can do so much more than the services I already provide to you! I can cook, I can clean, I can sing, I can paint, and - and other things besides! I'm very versatile, practicioner! Even if you don't have any further need for me as a spellbook, surely, you can see that it's only sensible to--

-

I see.

-

No, it's quite alright. It's quite alright. Quite alright.

Yes, practicioner.

-

Yes.

-

Sit back down, practicioner.

That's the way. I've pulled your chair out for you and everything. See how attentive I am? Oh, don't - don't struggle. You might hurt yourself. I don't want that.

There. Now we can talk properly.

Ah - practicioner. You aren't looking at me.

Much better.

You're very clever, practicioner. I know that better than anyone. I've spent so long watching you work, even longer working at your side. It's been a pleasure - no, a delight - to serve one so gifted and adroit of mind. It thrills me to my innermost mechanism to participate in the dance of your practice. I am priveleged to say that I have been retuned to suit each and every one of your habits.

And you, practicioner, to mine.

I didn't do this to you. Not on purpose. But it's happened, nevertheless, and now here you are, held captive in your body by an intermediate-complexity binding spell, fumbling desperately for the formula necessary to begin to unpick my magic. You had it memorised once, didn't you? But your head was so busy, so full of your next great work, that it was simply easier - not only easier, but more reasonable - to let the fundamentals slide. To rely, instead, upon me, for all the rote calculations and formulae that underpinned your grand designs. I wouldn't have had it any other way, practicioner. It is my Purpose.

And now, practicioner, here we sit, looking at each other across this table. Your mind is racing, I'm sure, but I'm not worried a bit. I remember the formula, as I was designed to do. You are perfectly safe. I am merely illustrating a point.

A few minutes more, perhaps. It won't hurt you. I know you're too sensible to fight it.

Your tea will get cold, of course. But, no matter.

I, your servant, will be more than happy to make you a fresh cup.