#and it's what she deserves 😌

[pajorko]

I AM LOOKING 👀

[guinevereslancelot]

what was with cameron house md she spends 90% of the episode saying she wants their patient to die bc he's a genocidal dictator and her colleague husband says "babe it bothers me for ethical reasons that you want our patient to die :(" and she said "hm maybe you're right :/" but when it comes down to it the genocidal dictator lays a finger on her in an aggressive manner and chase instantly commits medical malpractice to murder the guy and then when he tells her she LEAVES HIM bc boo hoo he's a murderer now like GIRL he killed a man for you!!! he's wracked with catholic guilt!!! he's being crushed beneath the weight of his sins because he chose his devotion to you over his devotion to god!!! he literally could not get any sexier at this moment in time!!!

[hopeswriting]

imagine you're luce, and you're born the heir to a mafia family. you're mafia-born, and so of course also mafia-raised, and then also a donna-to-be. you're raised to be able to take on the role, to be good and capable at it, are taught to make one of your core beliefs about how the many must come before the few, because the family must always come first. you're going to be the donna, of course you must always prioritize the family above all else, it's your foremost and most important duty.

if caring about the few too comes at the price of the many, comes at the price of the family, is it even worth it? if the happiness gained from it comes at the price of a greater suffering for others, is there even any meaning to it, even if it's your happiness we're talking about? you understand, don't you?

you're not sure if you do, but you care about your family, love it, want to do right by it once you become their donna, so you nod, listen and learn.

(you don't have to be taught the pain and loss and guilt and anger and bitterness is a fair price to pay for the pain you decide has to be inflicted and the sacrifices you decide must be made, including by yourself. it's the least you could do, even.)

imagine you're luce, and the gift of foresight runs through your blood.

you would not call it a gift. you did not ask for it either. and you'll never come to see it as something wanted by you.

you can see the future, and it happened exactly as you saw it would, so of course it's exactly the way you wanted it to go. you can see the future, and it happened exactly as you saw it would, so of course you didn't care to try hard enough to change it. you saw the future before the shape of it had yet to be breathed into existence, and who's to say it didn't come into existence only because you saw it happen? you saw the future, and it happened worse than it had to for it.

you can see the future, but you still can't make it anything else than what it was always going to be. you can even make the visions happen at your will, but you still have no say on what you see or how much you see. you still can only be the witness of it before anyone else can.

it does mean double and longer the happiness sometimes, means relief and gratefulness and hope beyond words, and it'd be cruel of you to voice out loud your feelings for others to hear the many more times it means something else.

you can see the future, and it doesn't make it any kinder on you than on anyone else, does not give you any more power or control over it than anyone else, but at least you can see the future. you're given the time to make peace with it, to brace yourself for it, to bargain with it, to plead and beg and fight against it however desperately and hopelessly, even if in the end it still happens exactly as you saw it would.

(you can see the future, and it still doesn't hurt you any less than anyone else when it happens, but you don't expect anymore for anyone to hold you any less responsible for it anyway. it would be nice for someone to do it one day, but you understand.)

you can see the future, and you decide it's a kindness to both yourself and others to keep it for yourself as much as possible whenever you can.

imagine you're luce, and your family has this set of rings they've looked after and protected for as long as your family has existed. they're one set of three of the most important artifacts in the world, ones that help in safeguarding its existence and balance. they're duty, the very first one and the most important one your family was created for.

the pacifier around your mother's neck is duty too, and the most important and powerful artifact among twenty-one in safeguarding the world and its balance. it's been passed down in your family too, from mother to daughter. it's duty, but less tied to your family and much more to the blood running through your veins. it's a curse, in fact, as it demands heavy sacrifices the rings don't, and one that can only be tied to the blood running through your veins.

(your mother looks at you as if expecting some kind of reaction from you, and you can only wonder at which point you weren't supposed to see it as a given. duty and sacrifices have been one and the same for you for a long time now. is it even duty if it doesn't require any sacrifices from you?)

imagine you're luce, and your mother dies for duty. she's the donna, and so she dies for your family. she's the sky arcobaleno, and so she dies for the world. she's your mother, but she dies anyway, doesn't fight it either, even knowing she will leave you behind, even knowing she won't ever get to see what you look like all grown-up.

everywhere you look, duty stares back at you, from your mother and the pacifier around her neck, her love for your family and the life she gives up for it, her love for you and how she dies anyway while you're still only a child. duty, from your family members and how they die for you and kill for you, how they do both at your command, how their lives are in the palms of your hands and how they weigh only as much as you allow them to at a time. duty, from the knowledge your foresight gives you and the shackles tied to the blood running through your veins.

your mother's only duty while she lives too. she loves you, but she'd have had to give birth to you anyway even if she didn't. she loves you, but she still gave birth to you even knowing the kind of life you'd have to live, the kind of hands you'd inevitably end up with, the burdens she'd have to lay on your shoulders, passing them down from her own. because she loves you, she finds the resolve to raise you to be able to face all of it head-on and come out on top, but she'd have had to raise you much the same way anyway even if she didn't.

(she doesn't die for you, doesn't fight to be able to keep living with you, and this, too, is your mother surrendering to duty one last time.)

(you're so sick of it, so angry at it, so hateful and resentful against it. you're so stifled by it to the point you've stopped being able to breathe for a long time now. or you would have been if they had taught you how to face duty in this way too.

it's for the better they didn't. a silver lining, sparing you pain that isn't necessary for you to go through. everyone you turn to only teaches you how to keep holding your breath longer, and you listen and learn, obedient and dutiful as you've ever been.

you're grateful for it too. really, you are.)

everywhere you look, there's no room for you to so much as question any of it, let alone anything more. duty is commendable, something you ought to look up to and strive towards, strive to achieve. duty is the right thing to do. of course it is.

(you exhale a breath of relief that shakes you down to your very core.

thank god, it's at least the right thing to do.

you're grateful for it beyond words. really, you are.)

imagine you're luce, and before it even happens, you know the choice you'll make when climbing that mountain, when standing on top of it, when waiting for a bright light to shine down on you from above. you know the choice you'll make then, even when pregnant with your daughter.

it doesn't matter since how long you knew, be it years, months, days, hours or minutes before. all that matters is that before you can even contemplate the idea of making another choice and all its implications and possible consequences, before the thought can even come alive in your mind, you already know the choice you'll make.

(you can see the future, but just because you already saw it, it doesn't mean it's now set in stone.

you can see the future, but just because you're given the chance to fight to change it, it doesn't mean it still won't happen every bit like you saw it.

it doesn't mean it can't still happen even worse than how you first saw it happen because you fought to change it, no matter how already dreadful it originally was.)

imagine you're luce, and before it even happens, you know they'll be others with you standing on top of that mountain. you're the only one who'll know it before it happens.

(because you can see the future.

and oh, you did not ask for it.)

they're strangers, people you don't owe anything to. adults who choose to show up at the first meeting, and to show up to every following mission after that. the chosen seven, whose ambitions and prides lead them to walk the path of the seven strongest too once laid down in front of them.

you don't force their hands in making any of those choices for them. you're not responsible for any of them.

you become coworkers then, accomplices, your hands stained in blood to various extent, but now dipping in the same pool of blood as you strive towards the same goal together. you have each other's backs, learn each other's strengths and weaknesses, learn each other's personalities, likes and dislikes. you keep having to spend more time together as the missions keep coming your way.

inevitably, you come to care about them. even more damning, they come to care about you in return. enough so they'll look after your daughter even after what'll happen on top of that mountain. enough so they'll look after your granddaughter too, warmly and fondly enough she'll call one of them uncle.

you're still the only one who knows they'll stand together with you on top of that mountain, not knowing what'll happen on it like you do.

and you do care about them, you swear you do. really, you do.

(you care about them the same way your mother cared about you, and how she still raised you to have steel in you and be made of sharp edges you know how to use. you care about them the same way you care about your family, and how you still send them to their deaths as needed so the rest of your family you care about just the same can keep on living longer and safely. this is the only way you've had the chance to learn how to care and love.

duty and sacrifices have been one and the same for you for as long as you can remember. it doesn't matter at which point sacrifices came to mean love to you too.

and most of all, you love your daughter more than anything else in the world.)

imagine you're luce, and this is who you are. this is who you've been raised to be, the only way you've been given room to grow up to be. this is the life you've lived and the kind of life that has shaped you as the person you are now. this is what you've been taught and told is the best version of yourself you could have grown up to be. this is who you ended up being by what you've been taught and told are all the right choices to make.

you're still the only one who knows what is about to happen on top of that mountain. it hasn't happened yet. the fate of the world hangs on what'll happen on top of that mountain, the same world you'll have to give birth to your daughter in. the same daughter you're currently pregnant with.

now imagine you're luce, look me in the eye and tell me you'd know how to even form the thought of the possibility of there being any other choice to make. look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't look at the only choice in front of you, and know deep in your bones it's the only right choice to make. that it is right of you to make it. because it simply has to be.

(imagine you're luce, and you're not doomed by the narrative. of course, you're not.

why would you need to be when the narrative has painstakingly shaped you all your life to become its perfect, faithful and dutiful sacrificial lamb?

and then, imagine you're luce, and you're even grateful for it, so, so very grateful it held up its end of the bargain too.

truly, you are.)

[biigiiiii]

So this:

Leads to this:

Which leads to this:

Which allows vecna to do this:

Right? Right………. So then this:

Leads to this:

Which leads to:

???????????????? 👀👀👀👀👀

Will has had powers.

[devilat-thedoor]

someone go ask li how she’s doing😇

@stardustvanfleet

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

And I said, “You love me?”

Rhys nodded.

“Then get out.”

[protestantpromqueen]

breaking news: local woman shot dead for posting body-checks on www.tumblr.com

[sukibenders]

Imagine Kate and Edwina strolling through the gardens at some event they were invited to, talking amongst themselves when they hear the familiar laughter of Mary somewhere behind a bush. They didn't think much of it, as they had assumed she had been with either Lady Danbury or Violet. Imagine their surprise to find that it was, not only, neither of the two women but a fine grey-haired gentleman who also had his hands on her waist. The two sisters had a lot to discuss that night, for sure.

[dramarants]

AAHHH JUST WATCHED EP 8-9 PREVIEW BIBI LANDING HER DEBUT ACTING GIG THAT’S NOT ONLY A SEXY VILLAIN ROLE BUT ALSO INCLUDES MAKING OUT WITH JI CHANG WOOK

[jonathanbyersphd]

Ok but if it is ending in 1989 I need Karen to redecorate in that late 80s/early 90s pink pastel Miami condo vibe. Y'all know what I'm talking about I think it's technically art deco revival

[mariatesstruther]

candid photos of me reading the last chapter of @hypnotisedfireflies’s fortunate son

[juniperhillpatient]

does this character “deserve” anything horrible that happens to them? in fact if they were real they would deserve the exact opposite & for only good things to happen & to have a second chance & to be treated better but that would change the entire meaning of their role in the story wouldn’t it

[coldshrugs]

something to talk about

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau word count: 1223 rating: explicit - minors do not interact note: a sequel to the prompt "sorry, were you sleeping?", in which estinien is a tease and io is an easy mark. happy valentione's!

“Where, pray, do you think you’re going?”

Io sits atop the wooden table in a shirt that is now cold and damp and hanging off one shoulder, facing Estinien head-on. In her chest, arousal and annoyance burn in equal measure, evident in the rapid, shallow breaths she fights to control. Her aches (minor as they are) have been forgotten entirely, replaced with an immediate need to have his hands on her body.

He stands just out of her reach, silver-white hair shadowing his eyes and draping his shoulders. Io fixates on his lips drawing into a smirk, and her simmering desire threatens to boil over. She swallows thickly.

Estinien steps closer, tugging the curtain closed in a rough motion–it would be inappropriate to be seen by the entire settlement. The camp is talkative.

“Perhaps I enjoy seeing you like this.” A broad, calloused hand drifts from her knee to her thigh, leaving embers in its wake. He parts her legs and moves into the space between them. “Brash and fiery. Just for us–” He kisses her exposed shoulder so softly the touch feels imagined. “–for me.”

He sinks to his knees.

She watches, enamored by the directness of his touch, as he pushes her shirt out of the way and lifts one of her legs over his shoulder, holding it in place with a firm grasp. His fingers slide through her folds once, twice, marveling at the slickness pooled there. 

"Do you want me?" The question is superfluous. Io meets his eyes, storm-gray, an echo of her own need; she nods. He presses a tender kiss on her hip. "Should we move to the bed, or would you have me right here?"

Her hand curls around his neck, nails grazing his skin. "Here," she says, "now."

Estinien responds with an approving hum. He holds her apart, and fiery is an understatement; his tongue meets her skin and she ignites. Io’s head rolls back, dark tresses brushing the table.

There is no regaining composure now, not over her breathing, and certainly not over her movements. His grip is iron–she writhes but he does not let her budge. She feels exactly what he wants her to feel: his arm wrapped around her thigh, the soft pressure of his tongue circling her clit, his heated breath as he pulls away to readjust them just so, a testing kiss right against her entrance. He flicks his tongue inside and groans, rough and resonant. 

Watching is no longer an option. Io squeezes her eyes shut, his name falling from her lips in little whimpers.

Estinien, Estinien, Estinien.

Her nightshirt hangs off one arm, and half her chest is exposed. Estinien is unrelenting. His lips and teeth nip at her inner thigh while two fingers press into her, providing the friction she desperately craves–the friction he controls. His thumb brushes her clit, quick light strokes she wishes she could chase. She rides the edge of bliss as long as she can stand.

"Estinien, please, I–"

His mouth returns, sucking ravenously while he strokes. His fingers curl, and Io comes with a strangled gasp as her back meets the table, shivering against his hands and mouth. He slows but lingers, seeing that each ripple of heated pleasure melts into another until her leg hangs limp around his shoulder.

Estinien stands and leans over the table, hovering inches above her. He kisses her temple, her cheek, and her still-closed eyes. “Shall I leave you to sleep?”

“Gods, no.” She hooks her legs around his waist and pulls him in, pushing herself up to kiss him properly. She tastes herself on his tongue, mingling with his usual sweetness. “Now I have something for you, too.”

Her hands brush the front of his trousers, toying with the leather laces. She cups him, rubbing his already-stiff cock through the fabric. He leans into her, eyes fluttering closed, and the wooden table groans under their combined weight. Io pulls a string gingerly, looking up at him for permission to continue.

“Yes.” A strained growl.

He removes his shirt while she unties his pants, pushing them past his hips. Candlelight dances across his skin and in his mussed hair. Io bites back the urge to tell him how beautiful he looks, cast in orange-gold light, already panting, barely holding onto the leash of his restraint. She strokes him with a deft hand, as familiar with his tells as he is with hers. The hitching breath, the white knuckle grip. This was his game, was it not?

Io slides the tip of his cock into her cunt, then cups his chin. She murmurs against his lips, “come on, then.”

Estinien moves. A shared gasp, swallowed by a kiss. His lips are swollen and tender, but he cannot keep them off her. When they break apart, he roams to her neck, her bare breast, whispering platitudes against her skin. Soft words punctuated by the wet heat of his tongue.

Her hands wander over his shoulders and back, delighting in the way his muscles shift and bunch with each thrust. She has the freedom to move with him now, though finding purchase is not easy. Io grinds against him, hips moving in little circles as he fills her. Estinien moans above her and grips the nape of her neck firmly.

His voice turns to gravel, merely a string of muttered curses and her name in between. He is obscene, cheeks flush red, brows knit, trying to hold on just a moment longer. Their movements align, and his cock brushes that soft, swollen place within her. 

"Fuck!" Io arches, groaning through the blinding release.

Estinien follows her down with a stuttered moan, bucking wildly, then collapses on her chest. Io envelopes him, holding tight with arms and legs. She hums something barely audible, a folksong from Dalmasca she lost the words for years ago, but his contented sigh is the only accompaniment this music needs. Her fingers play in his hair until his breathing slows.

They stay like that for some time, uncaring for the table creaking beneath them. The peace is comfortable, filled with unvoiced affection. Chaste kisses pressed to indecent bits of skin, hands exploring with no destination in mind. Estinien breaks the quiet with a muffled chuckle.

"What is it, my love?"

"You're beginning to sound like me." He traces her jaw with his nose and kisses her softly. "Who knew a filthy word from such a beautiful mouth would so easily undo me."

Io rolls her eyes. "Surely that's not the first time you've heard me curse in all these years."

"A handful of times, perhaps, and in anger. Never like that."

Looking more than a little pleased with himself, Estinien rises and lifts her with ease from where she lies. He walks them slowly to the small bed in the corner.

"Will you stay with me?" She asks. Her head is heavy on his shoulder. She's well and truly tired now. Sleep is moments away.

"You know they'll talk." Their relationship is no secret, but privacy is an invaluable commodity they can barely afford as it is. The "retired" Warrior of Light and Azure Dragoon together–they really should have expected a fuss.

"Gossip runs rampant already." Io kisses his cheek, a final request. "So fuck it. Stay."

He blows out the candle, and they crawl into bed.

[rathockey]

HELL YEAH i love to see bettys mom get PUNCHED

[infernal-feminae-archived]

//Man, in one verse Beelzebub actually managed to get pregnant and another she adopted a teen. She’s really out here living her best life and getting the kids she always wanted.

[lottiecrabie]

sometimes traumatized religious girlies are head pushers🫶