#and that was with the previously established cast

[cynyari]

so i just played through Cyno's story quest it was great, just wanted to share some of the Nahida dialogue that i caught

Sethos- after the funeral for his grandfather

I honestly feel like these are really important lines and I'm surprised they are locked behind Nahida

this was just funny to me. some haikavehass behaviour tbh (except they were like so chill in this quest they didn't even argue once)

This is after their final conversation at the very end. Cyrus has taught him well

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

One of the things that I think makes Narvin such a compelling character is that he’s one of the only actual proper time lords we get to see in the doctor who universe. Like we see plenty of other time lords but they’re either renegades (or close enough), have some sort of importance to time lord society/history as a whole, or just aren’t in enough stories to truly get to know

But narvin is really just some guy, yeah he has a high ranking job, but he’s a time lord who (at least at the beginning of gallifrey) holds the same views about the universe as most other time lords. But unlike many other time lords like this he sticks around long enough for us to get to see him grow and change, we get to see his views/ideas/morality get challenged and the consequences of that

I just really like getting to see a time lord who has little to no knowledge about human life and culture that we also get to know on a deeper level than just a side character or someone who’s only in an episode or two

[shellem15]

So I mentioned in another post that I had issues with Bells Hells' conversation with the Matron, and I thought I'd expand on that here:

Aside from the obvious "Bells Hells took the completely wrong conclusion from what the Matron was saying", I have some… gripes…with how that convo went.

To preface, I fucking CALLED the "Matron and Old God of Death (OGOD) had a thing" SO long ago!!! As soon as I heard fucking Purvan Suul say "none of the primes have felt challenges to their domains" I was like oop-- HOLD ON A MINUTE! The brainworms were COOKING can I say.

The only thing I didn't expect was that the Matron and OGOD worked on the rituals of ascension TOGETHER. I figured that they had a close (possibly romantic) relationship, I figured that he knew she was gonna replace him ahead of time and ultimately okayed it, I figured it was terribly tragic. I just didn't expect that he was an active participant in the process.

(If you want to see the full extent of my original Matron-OGOD theory/headcanon, you can find that post here.)

Anyways, I have mixed feelings about this reveal. I like most of it, for sure, and nothing about it is specifically problematic, but it just feels *off* to me for some reason. (Maybe because I had a whole ass headcanon laid out already lmao).

I think it's the part that he actively helped her create the ritual that bothers me. I remember another post discussing this more than me, about how it almost devalues her accomplishment, y'know? Almost implies that she *couldn't* have done it without his help.

I'm sure that wasn't the intent, of course, but it still rubbed me the wrong way. It's just not a necessary detail to have, I feel like. She could have her own ambitions for godhood, and could have loved him and wished to give him peace, and could do all of that without him *actively helping* her.

Now, we don't know what her ambitions for godhood were before they met, so we don't have all the context surrounding the situation. But that in itself is a problem: Why *don't* we know those ambitions? That feels important to mention, even briefly, so why was this part of the conversation *solely* focused on her relationship with the OGOD? BELLS HELLS DON’T CARE ABOUT THE GODS, this didn't really sway them either way.

Actually, I do know why there was so much focus on their relationship, which leads into my major issue with this conversation: The Raven Queen survived her ascension because of her love for the OGOD, and Bells Hells can do the impossible (contain Predathos as a vessel) through the power of ~love~.

*Big Sigh* Okay, here's the thing: I would be perfectly fine with this plot point if we HADN'T JUST COME BACK FROM DOWNFALL. AKA "LOVE WAS THERE, IT DIDN'T SAVE THEM" THE SERIES. WHAT DO YOU MEAN "You can do the impossible through the power of love"??? (The spirit of Arthur Aguefort possesses me) WE LITERALLY JUST SAW THAT NOT BE THE CASE!! Unless what we saw in Downfall was WRONG, apparently!? I guess the gods just DIDN'T LOVE EACH OTHER ENOUGH to reconcile huh? Pack it up, folks! We've solved the riddle! The gods just need to LOVE EACH OTHER MORE to fix all their problems!

(If I was one of the gods, and I overheard this shit, I would SMACK HER. The AUDACITY of this b1tch)

*Ahem* Anyways, now that I've calmed down, let me reiterate: Normally, I would be perfectly fine with this plot point. I quite enjoy a good "the power of love" story. But here's the thing: You cannot do this "power of love" thing immediately after you've *already disproven it* in a whole ass flashback-miniseries. Not only have you undermined the tragedy of the previous storyline, you're also setting yourself up for future plot holes and inconsistencies! Why bother playing out Downfall in the first place if it's major themes are just going to be immediately undermined?

It's just, the gods are beings of pure conviction. They are defined by their domains, and cannot act outside of them. The tragic thing is, when they fled Tengar so long ago, it WASN’T love that saved them, that made them real. The ACTIONS they took are what made them real, and they are bound to be ONLY those actions FOREVER. Whether they were motivated by love or not is ultimately irrelevant, because love didn’t define them, their convictions did, and still do.

They were doomed from the start, the actions that made them real are what damned them in the end. Because as beings of pure conviction, compromise is impossible. The Dawnfather HAS to be a guiding light and the Ruiner HAS to destroy and the Lord of Hells HAS to burn and the Everlight HAS to reach out to him and he HAS to lie and burn her in return because that’s *all they are*. And if their convictions are fundamentally at odds with each other, there is no room for reconciliation; it’s as unattainable to them as suddenly sprouting wings and flying is to us. That’s just not something we can do; no amount of love will make wings sprout from our backs. No amount of love between the gods will change their natures.

(And this logic applies to the gods and mortals as well! Aeor didn't fall because the Prime deities don't love mortals! It fell because the Gods' natures apply BOTH WAYS: The Dawnfather HAS to be a guiding light so Ayden HAD to try to save both Aeor and his siblings, he can't just selectively choose his nature when it's most convenient. And that ultimately doomed Aeor, because saving mortals and saving the Betrayers are inherently at odds with each other. Conversely, Asmodeus HAS to lie and lies hurt people so he will ALWAYS hurt both his siblings and mortals, so he was ALWAYS going to drop Aeor out of the sky. There was no other course of action. Love or hate was never going to change anything.)

The love was there, and it didn’t save them. In many ways, it just made things worse, desperately clinging to each other and hurting each other and the world in the process because the thought of separation is too painful to even consider. They love each other deeply but the love they have cannot outweigh their convictions, so the conflict of this inherent contradiction ends up destroying themselves and the world. Isn’t that what Downfall was trying to convey?

Bells Hells are seemingly the exact opposite of the gods. What conviction do they have, really? Except Orym and maybe Ashton, they all seem to just be along for the ride. No strong opinions either way. Which makes me question why Downfall was even included, because (ignoring the obvious in-text reasoning), a flashback sequence like that is, narratively, supposed to parallel your main story. It should highlight flaws within your main characters and show them what NOT to do. It should serve as a cautionary tale that motivates them and encourages character growth and self-reflection, not draw them into more indecision. Downfall didn't really change anything about Bells Hells, it didn't really influence their decisions much at all.

(This sucks, because I fucking LOVE Downfall! Why didn't it have more impact??? Why was it seemingly just forgotten about except to be used in cyclical debates that ultimately didn't go anywhere anyways???)

As Downfall established, love isn't a saving grace. Love is a motivator at best, a hindrance at worst. Love is second to conviction, to tangible action, which is what Bells Hells has been severely lacking. The gods failed Exandria and each other because their natures make them incapable of compromise, not because they didn't love each other enough. What should have been taken from this (in my opinion), is that Bells Hells MUST have strong convictions when taking any sort of tangible action, but they must ALSO have the flexibility to cooperate with others and compromise on certain issues for any actual positive change to occur.

The conversation with the Matron should have supported Downfall and helped guide Bells Hells towards this conclusion. It didn't actually have this effect, however, because although she did call out Bells Hells' indecisiveness (good) and encouraged them to decide for themselves (also good), this effect was immediately undermined by the whole "power of love" thing. Which only served to exacerbate Bells Hells' indecisiveness, which has ultimately culminated in the disappointed responses to the Big Button Push which just happened.

So yeah.

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

While Erika got to go around on Dumbo again with her father, August found himself wandering over to one of the food kiosks, and returning with a small box of Mickey-shaped beignets, saying, "I, uh, I take it the children like beignets?"

"Oh, certainly," Wilhelm nodded with a smile, saying, "Dorian, his wife, and a lot of the spooks in the house are New Orleans natives, so even when they're not buying beignets from the park itself, they're being baked by the chefs Dorian's got employed, as well as a lotta other Louisiana dishes. Beignets, of course, are one of the twins' favorite."

"Well, they certainly come by it honestly," the Burke patriarch chuckled. "Josephine craved them quite a bit when she was pregnant with June."

"No kidding! Junie craved 'em when she was pregnant with Randall!" Wilhelm smiled, the two of them sharing in the beignets as August asked, "Do you have any similar recipes back in Ireland?"

"Not so much. We have apple cake, porter cake, barmbrack cake, soda bread...but nothing quite like this. I still remember the first time Junie made 'em for me-she really opened my eyes to a lotta the food of New Orleans, and in turn, I got to introduce her to a lotta Irish food too."

He chuckled a little, still smiling as he said, "Sometimes we like to sit out at one of the restaurants here in the park and sip a mint julep, just to get that little taste of Louisiana again."

"They serve mint juleps here?" August asked in surprise, at which Wilhelm was quickly clarify, "Th-They're non-alcoholic! Which is...good. I'm...not one for alcohol these days."

If August picked up on the subtleties of this comment, he didn't show it-instead, he smiled sympathetically, saying, "I...I can understand that. I used to smoke a pipe when June was a girl, but...

...that was a long time ago."

[dragontamer05]

God I love Waking the Dragon's arc so much.

[chicohungers24-7]

It's absolutely imperative that Phosphorus doesn't get with Nosferata in season 2

[tired-biscuit]

I feel like you’re setting up Logan for an electric kink. You ever hear about people discovering the kink with those prank shock pens? They get the curiosity to see what it feels like on their clit/dick and end up leading into amazing orgasms. I imagine Logan’s metal body would be extra sensitive to voltage running through him

18+ MDNI, fem!mutant!reader // cw: electrostimulation, established relationship. logan gets zoinked a little, if you will.

wc: 1.1k

divider credit: div1nepetal

wait, all that’s on my mind now is mutant!reader with the power of controlling electricity, finally reuniting with logan after spending several weeks apart!

you’ve always been cautious when it came to using your powers, but around logan you have to take that guardedness a step further and be extra careful since you’re basically a contrasting match and thus pretty much deadly to him because of his adamantium skeleton.

and since all of his bones are encased in metal — that is, of course, highly conductive — you’ve made the choice to constantly make sure to never cast your gifts upon him throughout your entire relationship, to restrain your true nature and basically keep yourself on a tight leash for his own safety.

so imagine both your and his surprise when you shake that phantom leash off your neck for once and end up losing control while he’s finally as close as he can be to you…

meaning that he’s got his cock buried to the hilt inside you; fucking you like an animal on top of your kitchen counter.

you’re unsure how it all comes to fruition. in your fucked out state of mind and all the chaos, all you’re aware of is that your legs have somehow ended up wrapped around your boyfriend’s waist, and that you’ve got your heels locked on the small of his back in weak attempt of keeping yourself from sliding down the counter and melting into a puddle of lust and pleasure on the kitchen tiles.

your panties are hanging on for dear life as they dangle around your left ankle — he’d been far too impatient to take them down properly — however they fall right onto the previously mentioned tiles as soon as you curl your toes from how eagerly he licks his way into your mouth, then.

logan wastes no time as he glides his tongue across the flat surface of your teeth and deepens the kiss in a way that could almost come across as him worrying that he might never get another chance to do so again. he relishes the way you taste with a soft grunt and an even softer “missed ya”, and you swear to whatever god is up there, probably disapprovingly shaking their head at your current actions, that the subtle growl that’s lacing his voice is enough to make you go batshit crazy.

and gosh, as if that wasn’t enough already, you’re also so close. muscle to muscle, chest to chest. your foreheads press together whenever a messy, borderline sloppy kiss breaks and a new one begins, and you’re clinging onto him desperately as he continues to rock his hips into yours in that rough pace that makes you twitch each time he hits a particularly sensitive spot that’s hiding deep — so very deep — inside you.

he really has missed you, huh? i mean, normally he’s so aloof, but now he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you. like an apex predator, so possessive and greedy and hungry, but at the same time so full of desire and longing and love that he’s always been too scared to show until as of late.

his cheeks have attained a hot red hue to them from how much you’re both working your bodies, and his rich, dark hair is all mussed up from how many times you’ve ran your fingers through it already.

he’s also sweaty. so sweaty, in fact, that his brow glimmers slightly and his shirt clings to his muscular back and torso.

shit. perhaps you want to eat him, too.

instead of doing that, however, you use the chance to inhale his scent when he leans in to kiss you again. not a moment passes before the smell of smoke and all things wild fills your lungs. he smells heavy and rich and intense and so fucking male. it makes your blood reach a boiling point because of how overstimulated you’ve become from all sensations combined.

but that’s not all. besides the rising temperature in your blood, you’ve slowly, but surely, also started outright buzzing with energy. your skin feels like it’s prickling in the places where his big, calloused hands are touching and grabbing and manhandling you, and every single hair on your body has risen to attention.

there is lightning in your eyes and electricity thrumming in your veins. he keeps pushing into you, using you, fucking you into stupidity, making his way into your goddamn womb, and you feel like you’re on the verge of bursting.

“logan, fuck, i-…! i-i’m gonna-”

he pants into your half-open mouth from how your jaw slackens all of a sudden, breaths intermingling and spit mixing. picking up the pace even more, he’s physically aching now to help you reach your finish and feel your pussy squeeze around him in the same way that he’s been dreaming about in these last, exruciatingly lonely couple of weeks.

and he does feel it.

well… kind of.

because besides the clench of pleasure, what logan also ends up feeling is a hot, borderline burning sensation that rushes through his skull, down his spine, and spreads throughout his entire body. down to every last tip of his fingers and toes. down to every last hair follicle.

the zap of energy that you accidentally allow to slip from how hard he’s forced you to climax is not strong when compared to your level of power, but for logan it’s like he’s turned mortal again and been hit by one of those giant buses they use for tourists.

goddammit, the wretched thing must be turning back, further pressing him into the ground until he’s mush, because what the fuck?

it makes his teeth vibrate — he swears that he can taste static in his mouth. slightly acidic, his saliva goes runny because of it.

caught off-guard, he sags against you, brain feeling like it’s slowly melting and bones feeling like they’re humming, making you whimper at the immense weight of his body that you now have to help support. you’re too stunned yourself by whatever’s unfolding right now to start voicing any apologies, so all you do is hold him. you hold him tight, while trembling all over.

every breath he takes is shallow. he’s overwhelmingly warm and eerily quiet. when he at long last feels conscious enough to pull back a little so that he can look at you again, his eyelids are heavily hooded and his pupils are dilated to the point where they remind you of the dinner plates that are stored in the cupboard that’s next to your head.

he’s completely dazed.

and it’s not until you can hear something dripping onto the tiles below and feel the stickiness between your legs, that you realize that he’s spilled every last drop of cum into you because of it.

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Zoro is always happy to wish you good morning with a surprise, especially if that means he gets to play with you while you’re asleep. 😳😳😳 ~1.5k words.

CW: Afab reader, no gendered language. Somnophilia, P in V, previously established consent (it is mentioned once or twice, but I just wanted to emphasize that this is consensual).

WARNING: MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

A hazy sensation: arousal and heat pulsed between your legs. You slept peacefully, dreaming that someone was rubbing your clit softly, fingers passing through your slippery wet core and toying with your entrance. It was a delicious dream, one of the best sex dreams you’d had in a long time. You were content and tingly as your mind wandered amidst nasty fantasies.

But you weren’t just dreaming. In reality, Zoro had one of his hands down your panties as you slept. He was laying down next to you on his side, taking in the sight of your curves and soft breaths, the way your head rested limply on the pillow and how your lips were parted. You were fast asleep and dripping wet for him, thighs spread wide. It was around 5:00AM.

Faint blueish light filtered through the shutters of the room’s porthole, casting just enough pale color so he could see you in detail. He gazed down at where his hand was buried in the smooth fabric of your underwear, playing with your clit and folds. His thick fingers delicately rubbed and petted your sensitive spots, coaxing pleasure out of you while you laid there unconscious.

You were so wet that it felt like you were melting on him. He slid his middle finger into you as tenderly he could. When you sighed and shifted slightly, he held still. Zoro wanted to make you cum on his fingers. It got him off beyond belief to think that he could do things to your body when you were out could that got you this aroused.

His erection pressed on his boxer briefs and he could feel precum weeping out of his slit, leaving a wet spot on the fabric. His cock yearned for friction, but he wouldn’t address it for as long as he could get away with. He was laser-focused on you right now, on your sleeping body and aching cunt.

When he was certain you were still out cold, he slowly brought his finger out of you and pushed it back in. Each pass of his finger stoked more heat at your core and your walls fluttered around him. Sparks of pleasure radiated from your cunt, convincing you that you were having a particularly steamy dream.

Zoro inserted his ring finger and you felt like you were floating, soaking your panties and gushing slick as each second went by. He had to stifle a groan when your walls clamped around his fingers. He angled for your g-spot. When he gingerly pressed on it, you let out another sigh and shifted once more.

Zoro held his breath—it was imperative that you stayed asleep for the time being. He wanted to pull as much pleasure from you as he could. Where would the fun be if you woke up now?

Still slumbering, your orgasm started to build. He could tell that his fingers felt good inside of you, even when you were out like a light.

Zoro’s cock throbbed with each noise that escaped your lips. He could see that you were literally starting to drool with pleasure—it leaked out of the corners of your mouth as your lips hung open. While he studied you carefully, you were totally lost in your dreamscape of lust and desire. It felt real, vivid, and tangible—it felt almost too good to be a dream.

As he fingered you, the heat in your core reached a boiling point. Right before you were going to cum on his fingers, you shifted in your sleep, repositioning on your side so your back was facing him. He pulled his fingers out of you in the nick of time, not wanting to risk disturbing your slumber.

When you settled, your ass faced him, and he cursed himself for not making you cum sooner—but this presented a different opportunity. One of your legs crossed over your body, exposing your ass and core at the perfect angle. He thought he could get away with putting his cock in you without waking you up—regardless of how heavy or light you usually slept, some random nights you just slept extra heavy. He could tell that this was one of these nights.

Stealthily pulling his boxer briefs down, Zoro stroked his cock, pulling precum down his tip and over his shaft with a shudder. Each stroke felt like fire after waiting for so long. He touched himself for a few moments, staring at your ass and the glistening wetness on your folds. When he rotated his hand over the head of his cock his hips bucked up and his muscles tensed. He needed you.

Zoro laid a hand cautiously on your hip and brought his cock to your entrance.

After he swiftly pulled your panties aside, he rubbed the head of his cock on your core for a few seconds. You were messy and wet for him, sound asleep while your body begged him for more.

With a deep breath, Zoro pressed his cock into you as softly as he could. Your walls clenched around his girth, getting adjusted. As far as he could tell, you were still asleep.

He began to thrust subtly, dragging his cock in and out of you at a measured pace. He bit his lip to stop a moan from escaping. Your pussy felt so good that it took all his self-control not to push your head into the covers and fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

As his cock glided in and out of your cunt, wet slapping sounds started to echo in the room, quietly at first but gradually getting louder. The clacking sounds were accompanied by light metallic jingles as his earrings brushed together.

A quiet moan fell from your lips and his hips slowed. You were coming to—groggily returning to consciousness, barely sentient as he fucked you. Waking up with his cock in you was something you’d never get tired of.

“Zoro,” you mewled, barely audible, voice scratchy after hours of not being used. You were scarcely cognizant. All you knew was that Zoro’s cock was in you, and it felt great. You didn’t and couldn’t realize anything else. “F-faster.”

You were just awake enough to tell him what you needed, and, of course, he always did what you said.

Zoro picked up the pace, fucking you more conscious by the second. You were moments away from cumming on his dick, so turned on that it was leaving a stain on the covers underneath you. He could feel you grinding on his cock, trying to fuck yourself deeper with it, drowsily following your instincts.

“So needy even in your sleep” he murmured, gripping your hip so forcefully that it woke you up more than him railing you. “Squeezing my cock so hard already. Does it really feel that good?”

You met his words with a whine. The sweet noises escaping your lips made him thrust with more urgency, his grunts coming out at full volume now.

“Z-zoro, fuck,” you whimpered.

He got on top of you, pinning you down with his weight. Your stifled moans traveled through the sheets underneath of you, and you writhed on his cock, still half asleep.

Every time his tip crashed into your bundle of nerves, ecstasy zapped you awake. Your cunt was boiling hot, you were about to snap.

“Cum on my cock, baby. I know you want it.”

It was too much—he had only been fucking you for a few minutes, but you were already so wet that you couldn’t handle it anymore. Your hips bucked and you moaned into the covers, cumming on his cock. He could feel your gummy walls squeeze him as you squirmed desperately. Your thighs shook and your toes curled—it was the best ‘good morning’ you could get. Only seconds later, Zoro’s hips jerked and he came inside you with a groan. His cum shot out so explosively that you could feel it filling you up.

After you were done creaming on his cock, and after he was done creaming you, your croaked out something in your morning voice so sweet yet so simple, and his heart felt like it would stop. “Mmmm. Good morning, Zoro.”

Your heavy-lidded eyes and ruddy cheeks made him smile in adoration. He kissed you, cleaned you up, and cuddled you until you went back to sleep.

that’s all for this one!! i hope you liked it :)

here’s my masterlist and my october posting schedule.

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | 13:53 — ONE NEGRONI

SUM : to help pay the bills and your tuition fee, you get a new job at an elite club where the tips are incredibly generous. you’ve met a majority of the clientele already but they don’t match the stranger who ordered a simple negroni

TAGS. : mafia au ; modern au ; muggle au ; mobster remus ; mafia boss remus ; bartender reader ; reader is a hard working sweetheart that must be protected! ; catching remus’ eye ; remus lowkey wishes he can be the one to do the protecting ; and maybe more ; for now, he’s a low key stalker ; but sexy… ; stalking is bad, don’t do it! ; this is just fiction! ; but hey! remus owns an elite club! wooooo! ; i don’t know how to feel about my interpretation of the marauders as mafia men/mobsters ; it’s growing on me… ; also, im casting peter pettigrew as Dane DeHan in this!

LENGTH : 1.5k

It wasn’t as if you were new to the job; you had previously worked some years as a bar tender for a pretty well-established club, it paid well and managed to help pay for your rent and utility bills for most of your higher education years. However, all the built up stress and sleepless nights finally caught up to you. And you found yourself repeating a year, meaning that you needed to pay for your own tuition this year atop all the other monthly bills and necessities you keep up with. Perhaps it was the universe telling you that you needed to stop and change the direction of your life — you needed to choose an easier path, a doable path. But you were stubborn and also quite the optimist. So you kept at it, determined to finish what you started and earn your degree. 

Yes, it was a let down but you were still breathing. Life just gets hard sometimes. 

Thankfully, your past experience and phenomenal recommendation letter from your previous manager earned you another bar tending job at a very elite club, where tips were more than generous, considering the clientele composed primarily of the privileged class, some with multiple businesses under their belts, some who were phenomenal investors and some living off their parents’ money. You didn’t care to look too much into it, you were there to work and you were going to work hard and honestly. 

The patrons surprisingly had very similar tastes and so, you fond yourself making the same types of drinks repeatedly. It made the job a lot easier and you were able to focus more on your delivery and interaction with customers, leading to more tips. Times were rough after having to accept defeat with your studies and repeating a year with your own funding but things were looking up. If you keep at it, you’ll make it out alive. 

Your only complaint was the dress code. Make up was advised with a bold red lip but must be kept simple. You felt like a showgirl of some kind, squeezed into a high collar, white dress that came down to your mid thigh and with a low-cut, open back. The sleeves aren’t as long as you would like but, at least, you were permitted to use black kitten heel court shoe pumps as opposed to stilettos — your only saving grace, along with the higher salary and generous tips. 

“Looks like we have a newbie working the bar,” Sirius points out, drawing all attention to your lively figure as you served drinks with a sweet smile and airy voice. A hum of curiosity vibrates through Remus’ chest and up to his lips at the sight of you, “certainly easy on the eyes, huh?” the tattooed, right-hand comments again as he looks towards the head of the table where Remus holds up his glass of Negroni. 

“Very… innocent— a sweet, pretty, little thing,” James comments on Remus’ other side, which Peter grunts at in agreement as he takes a sip of his whiskey-sour. 

“Looks like she doesn’t belong,” Peter nods before smirking and letting out a light laugh. The domino effect had James and Sirius laughing too as Remus smirks behind his glass before proceeding to down the rest of his drink. 

“Exactly your type, eh? Moony?” 

Sirius’ teasing comment is ignored. Instead, Remus calls for there server and orders another drink with an additional request that only confirms his smirking friend’s disregarded statement, “Have the new bartender personally deliver my drink for me as well,”

There was no higher authority that could dismiss the club owner’s personal request. 

It was a strange request but you steeled your nerves and asked your fellow bartender to minister your unattended station while you made quick work on the order. It wasn’t unusual to receive requests like this from an isolated table that had privacy curtains for convenience. However, it was usually for drinks that you could make a show out of like a Holy Water cocktail, a Phoenix cocktail and even a Dragon’s Blood cocktail — a performance that you liked partaking in for the flammable aspect. But this was a Negroni. A cocktail of equal parts gin, saccharine vermouth and bitter Italian Campari. It’s a very egalitarian drink that was enjoyed by everyone, men and women alike, simple but elegant and definitely didn’t require a performance. Despite the odd summons, you were eager to fulfil your curiosity for who the client may be. 

With a professional smile, you place refined mix in the middle of your circular tray with it’s classic orange garnish and set off to the table. The standby server, who made the order, saw your approach and quickly announced your arrival through the small front opening, momentarily disappearing into the shadow of the curtains. He reappears a moment later and pulls the heavy drapes fully apart, to reveal the guests from beneath the, once, opaque shadows. 

To say that you were stunned was an understatement. 

It was pure luck that you didn’t stutter in your stride and spill the cocktail prematurely. At the table was seated four men, all dressed in suits and ties that were in various states of disorder. Among their collection of suits, you could spot Armani and Tom Ford, however, you were sure that their unconventional styles were not the way those suits were intended to be worn. 

One man with long, midnight-black hair and paper-pale skin had an array of mismatching tattoos littering both arms, revealed to you by his lack of a suit jacket and rolled-up sleeves. Another wore cute circular glasses and a cheeky grin with a suit jacket but no button up shirt and his chiseled upper body on full display. The last was a dirty blonde with piercing eyes and a deceivingly boyish smile. He had his ankle propped up on his opposite knee and several buttons undone where a tie should have been fastened over, his sleeves also rolled up as his suit jacket lay beside him.

It was the man at the head of the table, however, who stole your attention. If you had to guess who ordered such a simple but elegant drink, it would have to be him. He had his suit jacket draped over his broad shoulders and also had several of his top buttons undone, revealing some faded scars marked across his toned chest. His neat brunette hair and kind brown eyes gave him a deceivingly gentle appearance but his close company revealed a duplicity that caught and tensed your nerves.

You ignored the creeping goosebumps that prickled your skin, down from your toes all the way up to your ears. 

Just do your job…

“Gentlemen,” you addressed kindly with a slight tilt of your head, which they acknowledged with their own hums of acknowledgement, their eyes lighting up in subtle surprise at your actions, “I have an order for a Negroni,” you raise your tray with the drink and scan the four for some indication as to who the order belonged to. 

“That would be for me,” just as you suspected, it was the brunette with the kindest eyes but also the most ominous air. His voice is a deep and smooth lullaby, patient with it’s seduction on your senses. It was a trap that you resisted but are so hopelessly tempted to fall into, “Thank you, sweetheart,” he meets your eyes as you lower the drink into his large, outstretched hand. You notice how his knuckles and fingers are littered with scars also, some fresh, some faded with time and some hidden behind luxurious rings. Nevertheless…

He’s beautiful 

She’s precious 

“Not a problem,” you reassure with a soft voice, “have a good evening,” with your circular tray pressed against your side, you offer him an innocent smile and dismiss the butterflies in your stomach urging you to linger, “gentlemen,” you acknowledge the remaining three once more before offering another sweet smile. Turning on your heel, you leave the group and ignore the stares drilling holes into the back of your head.

She doesn’t know… 

Once you were out of earshot, Remus turns to his closest friends and most trusted colleagues. They all share a look, one that conveys a unanimous thought. It isn’t long before their agreement manifests into knowing smiles and a ring of laughter shared between them.

“Don’t get greedy now, Moony,” Peter chimes in as Sirius throws his head back with a barking laugh. 

“That’s not gonna stop him Wormtail, you know that; she’s a rare one,”  

“So what’s the plan, bossman?” James asks with a raised brow as he brings his drink up to his lips.

Remus doesn’t answer right away, he simply requests that the curtain remain open so he can fix his fond gaze on you for the remainder of the evening. The group already knew what to do and sat at the edge of their seats, awaiting orders eagerly despite their slack shoulders and composed expressions. Only they were able to observe the shift in the air between them; it became charged as soon as you entered their circle and slowly started accelerating, parallel to the climbing affection in Remus’ eyes as he watches you smile at customers while making their drinks. 

He takes a singular sip of his Negroni, bitterly sweet with a citrus edge. 

Heaven in a glass. And made by an angel. 

“I want a background check and profile put together immediately,” Remus finally orders, “I want to know everything there is to know about her,”

A/N : i downloaded some fics and read some over the holidays and there some mafia/mobster aus and i couldn’t help but picture remus as a mob boss, i’m sure im not the only one to ever imagine this but goddamn! why is it so easy to imagine sweet, gentle, responsible remus like that?!

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @rosalyn-s

[wesstars]

hot tea

wednesday addams x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: your addams just really needs some physical contact :) wc: 737 tags: established relationship. nevermore ‘university,’ all characters involved are 18+. ooc wednesday. idk something about tooth rotting fluff a/n: first wednesday drabble wednesday, in collaboration with @evilrawr! fluff has been requested by @melrodrigo. still not my strong suit but we’re going for it anyway. 

masterlist

Steam rose from the warm mug that you carefully wrapped Wednesday’s fingers around, but the heated ceramic was nothing compared to the searing lance of your grasp around her wrist. She watched as you settled yourself down on bended knee in front of her, respectfully pulling back your hands. Her own twitched, minutely. 

It hadn’t been that difficult to come knock on your door, 10 minutes before curfew was over. Wednesday knew you’d be there in your dorm, making something absurdly sweet with your—respectably contraband—electric kettle. You’d stepped aside to wordlessly let her in, and she’d taken her usual seat at the foot of your bed. Strewn around were your day’s assignments, a jacket or two, and she wrinkled her nose at the mess. Your lamps cast a gentle candle-eseque light across everything, blurring every sharp edge. The exact reason why she was in your room, well…

“Long day?” Your gaze was inquisitive but warm, as always. Wednesday watched you, taking in your socked feet and soft pants. Then, she did the Wednesday Addams equivalent of what might be considered a frustrated huff from Enid, or a desolate sigh from you: she looked away first.

The reaction was immediate, she noted absently. You tried to catch her gaze again, the slope of your shoulders and the wring of your fingers imploring her to look back at you. “Weds… talk to me?”

She took a slow sip from the mug, avoiding your eyes. To tell the truth, Wednesday was busy aching in the way that she wished you’d reach across the sea between your knee and hers. Her intense feelings were something that she typically kept locked away, not just with the protection of a key, but with a castle moat, bolted doors, and plenty of booby traps. Inside that cage lay other previously dormant feelings, ones that you managed to pull out, sharp knife to soft underbelly, with startling ease. Wednesday set her mug down on the floor, cocking her head at you. Often she’d feel a baser, visceral urge to blurt out whatever thought she had to you. Restraint was becoming more and more difficult, the more you seemed to flay yourself open in front of her for a perusal akin to autopsy.

There was a muffled thump as you got up just a bit to shift from your kneeling posture, and Wednesday couldn’t take it anymore.

She grabbed the collar of your shirt, pulling tightly until you were about nose to nose. Her mind knew that your actual body temperature wasn’t that high, even lower than the average, but her cold heart felt the bone-deep bonfire of your proximity as your hands slammed into the bed next to her thighs, preventing you from tumbling into her. You took a sharp breath, a fateful one, as it seemed to pull all the oxygen from the room, leaving Wednesday blissfully bereft of that life force. She didn’t need it, anyway; she was convinced she could sustain herself on the dilating of your pupils, the flickering of your eyes down to her lips.

“Come here.” Wednesday’s voice came out in a rasp, but she reasoned with herself—it was the best she could do after you yanked the air out of her still lungs. That ache of absence turned into a yawning chasm, reserve and restraint tumbling down into that eager maw. Her demand fell into that same ravine, eclipsed by the endless depth of darkness.

You stood from your position to sit on the bed as soon as the plea left her, and Wednesday was impressed at your speed. You pulled her into your arms not a beat later. Everything smelled like a faint mix of linen and honey, between your sweater and your tea, and something in it brought Wednesday’s world to a halt. The skin of your collar was warm against the tip of Wednesday’s nose, grounding like the nip of winter air. The two of you fell easily into your sheets, and Wednesday’s mind finally felt like it had found the smoking gun for the investigation. It settled like a content cat right in her diaphragm, making it easy to breathe you in.

“Is this what you wanted?” Your voice, already sleepy, sent vibrations down Wednesday’s spine. She hummed back, leaning her temple up against your shirt and letting her head fall onto your chest. You didn’t say a word more; you didn’t need to.

--

a/n cont'd: so... playing with words… what do we think :0

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[twst-hottest-takes]

Okay, now that I'm caught up on the game's EN release content it's time to talk about the thing!

Lucky post number 300! Hooah!

So, back when the Savanaclaw dream chapters came out in Japan, the translations had people a little bit confused about the implications regarding Leona's dream (see these posts for the drama). Now that we have an official English version, let's talk a bit more in depth about this update and what it means for Leona as a character at least as far as this localization is concerned.

Context First: Leona became king of the Sunset Savana in his dream, but in order for that to happen, we are told that in the dream world those before him in the royal family's line of succession (his brother Falena and nephew Cheka) are dead. The details of the supposed accident that cause this to happen aren't elaborated on and this has left a large question hanging in the air for a lot of people with VERY serious character implications for Leona: Is he responsible for their deaths in this dream scenario where the consequences of doing so don't exist? There is an unfortunate string of bad writing involving Leona as a character which leaves this question woefully unresolved. Did this dream start with Leona getting rid of his family? Or did the dream start at the point where he was inexplicably given the ability to have everything he wanted and continuing on from there without even Leona knowing the details for himself? I'm about to discuss this at length to establish what I personally think the answer is supposed to be, so please bear with me as I delve into this fascinating subject.

Setting the scene a bit; as we continue to travel through the various dreams to wake up our main cast, we notice that something in Leona's dream is very different from what we saw in the previous updates. Somehow Leona is not having an awesome amazing dream, but something that really seems more akin to a nightmare. True to form, instead of having any kind of original idea about where to take Leona's character we are greeted to the latter half of the Lion King where Scar is king and the Pridelands are shambles. It's pointed out by our dream-hopping cast that this is not in alignment with the established patterns of what Malleus' dream magic has done to everyone previously. The only bit that lines up with how we know the dream magic to work is that Leona has become the King of the Sunset Savana. In a world that should be devoid of negative consequences, the throughline should be that Leona is a great king and the kingdom is prospering beyond anyone's wildest expectations no matter what it is he does, but that hasn't happened. So what's going on?

I'll be brutally honest, I have no idea what Idia was trying to say in terms of saying Leona's dream was a "sandbox" style game (akin to minecraft or the sims I guess). The explanation is botched, and nothing they say tracks with what happened before this specific dream. My best understanding of what is going on is as follows: Leona has an insane amount of imagination, intelligence, and mental aptitude that enabled him to subconsciously game the system Malleus had in place to keep everyone in their dream lands. While most dreams are made on the idea of certain negative events being erased or altered while maintaining important people from their lives to keep the dreamer immersed and happy, Leona's dream cannot be founded on things he finds illogical. Falena and Cheka must not be involved so that he can be king, but it would be unrealistic to pose that they don't exist, therefore it is that somehow Leona's dream says they died so that he could get the throne (back to that point at the end). Leona also seems to have the presence of mind to have very strictly altered the nature of the dream to favor keeping him asleep as opposed to keeping him happy. Something about how Leona thinks has dictated that anything "improbable" or "impossible" would break his immersion and consequently cause him to wake up. As a result of this, there is no way his actions in his dreams can lack the negative effects he acknowledges are possible as a result of him doing whatever he wants as a ruler, leading to the nightmare that ends up unfolding instead of the more typical "unrealistic" dream and further ends in him falling into the deeper dream state to escape an already failing one.

In the deeper dream we get a typical recreation of events in the game where reality is altered so that our Overblotter's scheme has gone off without a hitch and he is snapped out of it by getting a harsh reality check. Upon waking up, he gets dragged down one more time and is forced to confront the nasty part of himself that is what caused him to overblot and do a little soul searching before defeating it, accepting it as a part of himself, and returning to the base dream to reunite with the primary cast. (An abridged summary.)

Now we can get to the fun part where I actually analyze what we have got here:

In a wild twist of fate, I have come to the conclusion that the writing of Twisted Wonderland has done something unprecedented and actually given us some character development on Leona's part, or at least some solid characterization that finally shines some light on his depressive disposition. Based on what we were shown, Leona, while being a cut above everyone else in terms of imagination and magic power has forced Malleus' magic to act differently on himself than all the previous dreamers. For comparison, Floyd would have loved a world where his chaotic nature led to any number of negative outcomes for the sake of it, he is unable to change the nature of the dream state and ends up in a perpetually bored state of limbo. In contrast, Leona cannot fathom a world that works unrealistically outside of the mentality that he is currently stuck in--that there is no good end for him in any scenario. Negative consequences need to happen or else he risks waking up, and when those consequences do happen it triggers his regular coping mechanism--giving the hell up and living listlessly--which inevitably drags him down into the second level of the dream state. What this culminates in is the idea that Leona cannot imagine a world where a happy ending is possible for him, the only result of which can be an actual nightmare.

Now what one may ask is, "How does this help us determine how Leona actually feels about his family and if he was actually willing to kill them or not?" I simply posit that by FINALLY being able to acknowledge the perpetual state of resignation to his fate and self-destructive behavior Leona lives in, we can get a better understanding of his behavior in his dream. When sent to confront his past (overblot) self, Leona describes him as pathetic. This twisted version of himself is completely okay with spouting that he hates his lot in life and wishes death on his brother and nephew, but this is acknowledged to be a flawed and weaker version of the character. There is a lengthy discussion to be had about how emotional outbursts can affect what someone says and how much truth can be gleaned from the most visceral exposure to the world the dark recesses of the human psyche can have on us, but for the short of it: The basest version of your emotions are NOT a definition of you as a person, and the same should be applied here. I am of the firm belief that while there are many times where Leona has intrusive thoughts about how all it would take is a well-orchestrated accident to get him to be the next king, he does not regularly harbor those feelings and is not willing to make such a scheme happen. It is my own impression, and belief that this is the intent of the chapter, that Leona's initial dream characterized by him being the king starts at the point where kingship is bestowed upon him and the reason he accepts this as reality for the time is because such an accident happened, and it happened without his causing it, because while it is tragic it is also the only way he can fathom such a thing being real.

Oh, by the way we are absolutely not done here yet: If all you want is my conclusion then you can stop reading, but I have so much more to say.

In summary: Leona is NOT willing to kill his family in order to usurp the throne.

Do I blame anyone else for thinking that he was implied to have done it himself in this case where supposedly he was living the coveted "no consequences power fantasy?" Oh, heck no. Leona's writing has been atrocious for the vast majority of the game up until this point. Even the first two-thirds of Leona's dream story makes it apparent that the writers still struggle to give him any kind of characterization outside of "Scar from The Lion King." They lean so heavily on the source material with this character specifically, of course we're going to believe that Leona would kill his family if they were to come right out and say it (which they nearly did). He tried to get Malleus trampled in a stampede of normal people and regularly espouses underhanded tactics in favor of winning outcomes--Where's the lie? Idia seems to float the idea that Leona made a dream to be played on "challenge mode" which is what triggered the abnormal results, but you can't pay me to believe that when Leona is a notorious lout, cheat, and shortcut taker. Thankfully, the last section of this update did some serious legwork in terms of finally making Leona into a likeable guy that I can solidly say that his visceral impulsive feelings that make him want to be king regardless of how are just that. Feelings. They suck sometimes and Leona actively acknowledges that those kinds of awful actions aren't really the solution to his problems which is why he never does anything. The most surprising part of this entire confrontation between Leona and his id is that he doesn't just accept his negative feelings as what they are, and call it a day saying "This is me, and the world has to deal with it." He says he's going to follow his ambitions and reach his goal somehow of having a throne and pride of his own someday, which is. . .just vague enough to work? Y'all let's be honest, we are so starved for good Leona content that I have to latch on to this with my grubby little fingers and take it for all it's worth. This statement sounds surprisingly motivated for this guy. The vagueness of the statement leaves room for the interpretation that his throne and his pride might not end up being conventionally defined. One might almost mistake this as character development instead of the constant stagnation these overblot confrontations have been feeding us. While it might be a pipe dream, there is some real groundwork being put down here that Leona's got some actual redeeming qualities and I have to happy about that. The execution is still messy of course--a better version of this is one where Leona is stuck in a dead-end time loop of nightmares where nothing he tries works, justifying his self-destructive behavior before finally sinking deeper into the darkness--but at least one person writing this chapter threw us a bone. Leona did the odd sacrifice play to save Ruggie, and didn't make fun of Jack (much) for crying when he came back to the crew intact. Heck, I think it's fair to say that at the end there they even did a manly hug reminiscent of the Stardust Crusaders finale. That's some oddly good stuff for main-story Leona, so there's grounds for optimism going forward.

It's probably too good to be true because this is Twisted Wonderland, but we'll take what we can get.

LONG LIVE THE KING!

Thank you for reading!

Bonus notes because I can't shut up about this stuff: Bruh, Leona modded his dream to have a custom NPC of Kifaji and it was epic. He's the second most powerful student at this school at this point BAR NONE. Leona's mental projection of Kifaji reflects so much respect and even a gleam of hope. Like even if Leona can't believe in a happy ending for himself he still subconsciously believes in Kifaji as a constant. I want to talk about the potential sincerity of Leona's remorse as well regarding him knowing that Falena and Cheka are dead. I want to say that this is where we actually break away from him being "sexy scar" and he wasn't being performative about it. Like he genuinely might be upset being reminded that in that world they were dead somehow and got even more pissed when a fake Cheka showed up later. As though it wasn't Cheka that upset him, but he fact that someone would be impersonating his DEAD NEPHEW to overthrow him. We're getting into fanfic and headcanon territory here, I'll admit that, but Leona could be such an amazing character! I HAVE WANTED TO BELIEVE THAT LEONA DOESN'T ACTUAL HATE HIS FAMILY THAT MUCH FOR SO LONG! WHY HAVE WE NOT GOTTEN MORE SOLID EVIDENCE OF THIS CHARACTER UNTIL NOW!? WHERE WAS THIS MAKING ME FEEL FOR THIS LION JERK BACK IN BOOK 2 HUH!? WHY IS IT ALL SUBTEXT BEFORE NOW!? Justice for Leona! They should not have been holding out on us like that for this long! Give the man his redeeming qualities!

Oh, and of course if they weren't constantly leaning on The Lion King as shot for shot template for Savanaclaw as a whole then Jack yelling, "REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE!" to wake up Leona would have had so much more punch to it. Just . . .UUUAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHH!!!! *Deep Breaths* Okay, now I'm done. The Blog Owner is signing off for real now.

P.S. If you've read this far, guess what? The Askbox is going to be open for a little while, so I'll let you know that as a bonus thank you for reading all the way through my most recent screed.

[trendywaifus]

one leak dropped🤘🏽

revy getting jealous cus eda wants your cookie. cw: fem! reader, cursing, no established relationship, suggestive content, reader works for black lagoon, this is for the shits n giggles (eda and revy are so fine)

“ long time no see, beautiful~“

your blonde friend purrs, smoothly sliding onto a empty stool next to you. eda purposely ignores revy who’s drinking on the opposite side of you, and leans up against the bar counter. her lips stretch into a flirtatious smile as she awaits for response. you chuckled, setting down the small glass of beer to greet her back.

“ it’s been a while eda! it’s a treat to see you here in roanapur again. “ you cast her a friendly smile and the blonde eats it right up, baby blue eyes lightening up with heightened interest through her shades. eda smiles wider, propping her elbow on the wooden surface, and plops her cheek against her open palm. then, her gaze flickers to the bottle of cheap beer before at you.

“ likewise, likewise, baby. is the money tight this time too? let me buy you some real beer since that wild boar over there is treating you to the cheap shit—“

revy, who was previously quiet and already irritated by eda deliberately ignoring her, barks, “ hey bitch, you got somethin’ else to do besides tryin’ to be a whore? “

eda snorts, “ oh please, offering her a real drink makes me a whore? or are you just mad that your ass is too broke to afford her a good time? “

the maroon haired merc slams the glass on the bar counter, “ shut the fuck up, you blue eyed beast! you wanna take it outside?! “

“ alright, alright, pipe down, “ you patted revy’s shoulder and she merely grunts back, “ seriously, it’s hard to believe you two are friends when y’all make it a mission to annoy each other. “

revy let’s out a half laugh, “ heh, friends with that bitch? don’t make me laugh. “

eda’s brow twitches but she still keeps up her calm facade. she’s not letting herself get upset when you’re sitting here pretty. “ (name), you must be tired of having to keep up with that wildebeest. it’s never too late to ditch her and come with me, sweetie pie~”she runs a slow hand down your arm in a sensual manner and smirks to herself as she observes the way your face turns flustered.

“ i-i—wh-wha- “

“ aw, getting shy? use your words— “

“ aw, fuck that! “ revy shoots up from her stool, throwing eda an irritated glare. “ you. me. outside! unless you pussy, bitch! “

eda stands right up, her facade easily crumbling down as she challenges back at the woman angrily, “ i’m sure as hell not a pussy but if you think i’m going to waste my night fighting your ape ass then you really need to be put down! “

“ oh yeah?! so you’d rather waste your night tryin’ to whore your way into (name)’s pants? fuck off! go fuck some broad you don’t know! “

eda fires back with a wild, knowing grin, “ my, my, revy, didn’t take ya for the jealous type! i can’t blame you since this pretty lady here is a rare gem. how about we just get a three-way going? “

“ a three what? “ you look up at the woman like she was crazy and she grins down at you.

“ c’mon baby, it’ll be fun! the hotel is on me. unlike miss revy over there, i’ve got something to prove. it can be just the two of us though if she’s ‘pussy’. “

heavily blushing, revy tuts and stomp towards the entrance.

“ both of you, get your asses up! the hotel better not be far, eda! “

eda smirks to herself proudly.

jackpot. a night with you and revy secured.

[kittttycakes]

Oooh very interested by the 5. feeling their pulse one 👀 for Dreamling maybe?

Dreamling | 1k | G | Retired!Dream | Domestic Fluff | Established Relationship

It took Morpheus longer than it should have to notice that it was a pattern. 

He was, by then, intimately familiar with Hob’s hands and how they felt against his skin, the breadth of his palms and the length of his fingers as known to him as the back of his own hand. They had been the first feeling he had woken to in this, his new life, the weight of Hob’s hand holding his an anchor he had not previously known to search for. It was one he sought out regularly, now. There was a part of him that hoped, in the very back of his mind, that it might be the last feeling he felt, too, a very, very long time from then. 

This was all to say, of course, that he should have recognized the frequency with which Hob’s fingers found their way to his wrist, the way they lingered there, not pressing, but merely resting. It had not crossed his mind to wonder why; after all, did he not find himself touching Hob just as frequently? 

It had been a slow and drizzly day. Everything felt gray: the clouds in the sky, the light filtering through them, the long expanse of the hours before sleep with little to fill them. Morpheus still found it easy to become lost in the labyrinth of his own mind for minutes and often hours at a time. It was Hob’s self proclaimed job to draw him out of it, casting cups of tea and stacks of books and the low drone of the television in front of him to lead him out, a piecemeal version of Ariadne’s thread. 

He found himself in a familiar position: half curled on the sofa, his head in Hob’s lap, the rain lightly tapping at the window to the side of them. Hob’s arm was around him, and, in seeming deference to his comfort, he was not holding his hand, but held his wrist instead, allowing Morpheus to stay in exactly the position he preferred. With a languid stretch, he turned, looking up at Hob rather than the flickering screen of the television. Hob was much more interesting to look at, in any case, with his brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he read, his free hand holding his book open far too close to his face. He had neglected to put on his glasses, something Morpheus could poke at him for later.

Hob looked down at him and smiled, adjusting the position of his arm around him. Two fingers fell against his wrist again, as easily as anything, slipping into place. 

“Hob,” Morpheus said. It was not a question. Had he been sitting upright, his head would have been tilted in that curious way of his that he knew Hob found endearing, but that he somehow could not bring himself to stop doing, an innate gesture that had the added advantage of getting him exactly what he wanted when properly deployed. It was a shame he couldn’t achieve it then. 

“Yes?” Hob shifted the book in his hand, half closing it while his thumb kept his place.

“Why are you taking my pulse?” 

Hob opened his mouth, no doubt to form the words, “I’m not taking your pulse,” before snapping it shut and thinking better of it.  

Morpheus raised an eyebrow, waiting. Hob’s ears were turning pink. 

“I didn’t think you’d noticed,” he said, fingers still pressed against his pulse point, as if it hadn’t occurred to him to move them.

Morpheus considered this. He could picture, suddenly, all of the ways in which Hob had done exactly this before: Morpheus, pressed full length against Hob’s back, his arm around Hob’s waist and Hob’s arm over his own, Hob’s hand resting in just such a way that the tips of his fingers rested over Morpheus’s wrist; Hob, over and above him, not quite pinning his wrists above his head with the span of one hand, the tips of his fingers resting just against the thin skin of his wrist; Hob, taking his arms and arranging them to wrap around him, one hand still caught in his, and leading him in the steps of a dance that was the unholy bastard child of several much more structured steps, singing low in his ear, his thumb resting against the artery and tendon of his wrist. 

“I have noticed now,” he replied. 

“Old habit, by now,” Hob said, ears still pink. It was, Morpheus decided, flattering on him. He so rarely caught Hob visibly off-guard; it was a wonderful opportunity that had been afforded to him now, and he intended to enjoy it. 

“That is not an answer to my question,” Morpheus said, unable to stop the small smile that settled at the corners of his mouth. 

“No, I suppose not,” Hob relented, setting his book down over the arm of the sofa without any regard for the integrity of its spine. 

“It’s a reminder, I suppose,” he continued, looking down at Morpheus. “That you’re here, with me, right now.”

There was something in his voice, still, that Morpheus decided immediately to leave alone. They could return to it later, whatever it was that Hob was refusing to say. He only wanted to know, not to pry. They had all the time in the world, after all. 

He pushed himself into an upright position next to Hob, regrettably losing his hand on his wrist in the process, but remedying this loss by reaching for Hob himself, the palm of his hand cupping his jaw as he drew him closer. Hob went easily; he always did, never needing to be asked.  Morpheus pressed his lips to the underside of Hob’s jaw. For a moment, he thought he could feel it—the fluttering of his pulse against his lips. Perhaps Hob had something there, after all. There was something about it—the relentless pulse of alive alive alive just under his skin—that Morpheus could see himself returning to, again and again.

[rochenn]

The year is 2034. Disney announces the production of the show "Resistance: Dooku of Serenno", set during the early days of the Empire, starring CG Christopher Lee.

We begin with a flashback to Revenge of the Sith. After Dooku is beheaded, we learn that he used the Force to supply his brain with blood and oxygen. The movie is visibly retconned - as Obi-Wan, Anakin and Palpatine flee the Invisible Hand, four human parts can be spotted stealthily floating after them.

Dooku, being Dooku, survives the crash and manages to steal away. His head is surgically reattached. Don't ask why nobody else ever stitched their lightsaber-chopped limbs back on. He ends up getting prosthetic hands, anyway. David Filoni said in a behind-the-scenes interview that he thought they were cool.

Previously established canon prevents Dooku from doing anything in-character until Order 66. He lets loose in Coruscant's undercity and becomes the local kooky old man who couldn't possibly be public enemy number one until Mace Windu, freshly fried and unhanded, crashes down in front of him. What a coincidence.

Mace is still played by Sam L. Jackson. He is So Old. He is only there for the paycheck. Disney didn't know how to recast him. He is acting alongside the shell of a man who has been dead for two decades.

After a joke about missing hands that is very funny, the two get along swimmingly. They don't really talk about Dooku's various war crimes. "My droid army would never traumatize a young child," Dooku says with a wink into the camera. Remember to buy your Mandalorian merch.

Mace and Dooku organize an underground resistance on Coruscant in the spirit of the Confederacy. Mace is okay with this. Choice aspects of this arc are compelling, like the fight against fascism under the yoke of cruel state suppression, but tone-deaf allusions to the work of Sophie Scholl cause controversy abroad. Andor did it better. Critics on YouTube who thus far lauded the return of fan favorites and 'faithful casting' tear into the show for pushing the woke agenda.

Nothing Mace and Dooku accomplish has any impact on the Original Trilogy. What were you expecting? The end of the show teases a second season with the arrival of a mysterious woman. Dooku's secret wife. You never knew of her because she was never relevant before. As the final credit music slowly creeps in, she says: "Don't you want to see your son?"

The music swells and we cut to Serenno. The planet has never been mentioned throughout all 15 episodes of the show. Standing in the ruins of Dooku's castle is Dooku's son: back turned to the viewer, gazing into the sunset. Dooku II of Serenno, proud heir, turns his head. He is played by Harry Styles.

Roll credits.

[musashi]

Musing on Movie!Nessa's Future in Part 2

A lot of people simultaneously expressing confusion alongside their celebration of Nessarose finally being played by a wheelchair user, because her being able to walk in act 2 is obviously a huge plot point--the spell cast on the shoes is what turns them into the ruby slippers which establishes the continuity and leads to a bunch of other plot threads, etc etc.

This is obviously the reason a lot of people give for her being played by an able-bodied actress in the past, it's obviously a bullshit reason because a huge majority of wheelchair users are ambulatory and can walk and stand for varying periods of time just fine. So like. They could have still had an ambulatory wheelchair user playing her, but I digress: the point is she is played by Marissa Bode in the movie. A wheelchair user, hurray!

These are just the opinions of someone who is not a wheelchair user so take them with a grain of salt (and please speak up if you have your own stuff to say as a member of the community!) but from what I can see as someone who's been insane about Wicked for about 15 years now, the movie did a lot of good for Nessa's character. Previously, the ableism toward her was baked into the metanarrative itself, but it's now been moved to a more realistic place--the characters within the story.

Previously Nessa was treated with little agency or autonomy not only by the characters but by the people writing the story. Most notably of all, her chair is constantly being grabbed and wheeled around by other characters. The movie corrects this--she is very rarely wheeled around except by her father (and he is called out for his coddling/infantilizing of her by Elphaba within 2 minutes of their introduction) and the one time a stranger tries to do this in what reads even to me as a genuinely traumatizing and far too familiar scene for any wheelchair user to have to sit through, Elphaba immediately fucking goes apeshit and starts throwing fucking furniture. Nessa herself also tries to advocate for herself and tell the professor in question to stop kidnapping/assaulting her and is, again, realistically not listened to.

This last bit obviously happens in the stage musical too but Nessa's own agency is much less pronounced. The movie adds little things here and there to give her more of that agency--Elphaba's protectiveness is much less "I have to help and watch over my poor disabled sister" and much more "I have to make sure no one underestimates or takes advantage of her." Even the plot detail that Elphaba was not there to be her caretaker but just to drop her off and make sure she got settled in her dorm adds leaps and bounds to Nessa's autonomy. Her and Boq's shared look in the opening ceremonies where they both bond beforehand at their inability to see over the crowds' standing ovation. And of course, the dance scene, where he no longer wheels her out but instead beckons her to follow him!

These little details add up in ways that are, at least in my opinion, very meaningful. They also extend to the production itself--where the sets were made accessible for Marissa and she was even allowed to do her own stunts, in her wheelchair! That part in the beginning where Elphaba levitates her was her in a harness in her fucking chair and all. Dope as FUCK.

So I am mentioning all of this because I think the people working on this movie have shown that they are unafraid to make changes to Nessa to be more respectful to her agency. The ableism she faces, which is still plentiful, is framed as such instead of just casually brushed off & baked into the narrative. By making these small changes, Nessa is not just an unfortunate stereotype of a disabled woman, but a real and fleshed-out person who is dealing with the consequences of those exact stereotypes in the society she lives in. I really liked that! I don't know how others feel about it, but I thought it was very well-shifted.

All that said, 'curing' your disabled character is obviously, like, the biggest no-no of writing a disabled character. And that plot beat is a huge one in every version of Wicked... so far. But here's the thing. We have a shot of Dorothy wearing the slippers. And they... are silver.

Why. Are they silver.

And they are silver in all of Dorothy's small little cameos. Every single one. Even though this shot, which was used primarily for promotional material to draw people in like "Hey! Wizord of Oz! This is What The Refrance!" did not make the choice to even suggest that they should ever be red. One of the most important pieces of iconography, consciously and notably absent.

I genuinely don't think Nessa's going to have her disability taken away in part 2. With how much love to this part of her has been done to the retooling of her character, I do not think it is a stretch to assume that they will find a way to advance the plot without removing her disability. I believe this because that is the right thing to do for Nessa, to ascend her character, however you feel about it--she should stay in her chair. She deserves to continue on the way she is.

I realize this little change effects a lot. But after seeing part one, I am confident they can do it and do it well and replace what the change takes away with something just as good. I have so much faith in the direction of these movies. I really, truly believe it will happen and it will be good and satisfying and perfect.

It might still happen, sure--Marissa might get a stunt double, or CGI, or some other brand of movie magic. The shoes may still get enchanted and stay silver to pay homage to the original Oz books. But I can't help but consider that idea and keep asking myself... why. That makes so much less sense. Why not give movie audiences the red slippers, draw them in with the imagery, give them one more lion cub in the bike basket or Boq talking about how much he cries or poppies putting the whole class to sleep. Why not give us the ruby slippers when you... could.

I think because this is going to be a big, long awaited improvement. And I think it is hiding there in plain sight.

[royaltysimblr]

Princess Charlotte, Princess Peter Tarłowiecki

Princess Charlotte was born on June 11th, 1832, at San Myshuno Palace. She was the fourth daughter and fifth child of Queen Mary II and Prince Charles, 10th Earl of Statford. Charlotte's birth was warmly welcomed by the Queen and Prince Charles, who had given birth to a male heir four years prior. The Queen had previously been disappointed by the birth of her first three daughters, but with the birth of Charlotte, she was delighted. She was christened on July 1st, Charlotte Amelia Caroline, in the San Myshuno Palace Chapel. She was named Charlotte after her mother's beloved cousin, Princess Charlotte of Burgundy, Queen Consort of Norden. The name Amelia was chosen in honor of Mary's aunt, Queen Amelia of Trenton. And finally, Caroline, after the Queen's mother, the Dowager Duchess of Rochester. Her godmothers included her three namesakes alongside King Ludwig II of Norden, Louis Statford, 1st Earl of Blythe, and Prince Frederick of Holstein.

Charlotte’s upbringing was divided among the royal residences of San Myshuno Palace, Glencraig Castle, Windslar Palace, and Statford Castle. Prince Charles took an active role in the education of his children, designing a rigorous curriculum grounded in arithmetic and scientific studies. Charlotte proved intellectually gifted, with a special talent for painting and sculpture. She later pursued formal instruction at the Platz Institute in Windenburg, eventually establishing a private studio at San Myshuno Palace, where she continued to work throughout her life.

She shared a close bond with her brothers, Charles, Prince of the Isle, and Prince Edward. Meanwhile, her relationship with her older sisters, Odette, Ophelia, and Anne, was marked by tension and rivalry. Much of this stemmed from Charlotte’s favored status with their mother, who admired her daughter’s intellect and sensitivity. The death of Prince Charles in 1847 was a devastating blow to the royal family. Queen Mary, shattered by grief, withdrew from public life and retreated to Glencraig Castle for the next few years. Her sorrow cast a long shadow over the household, and Charlotte, then just fifteen, became her mother’s principal companion and private secretary.

This new role came at a personal cost. Charlotte’s own ambitions as an artist were put on hold, and her social freedom was heavily curtailed. A discreet romance with her father’s former secretary, Sir Alexander Grant, ended abruptly when Queen Mary discovered the affair and exiled him to Victoria. Isolated and yearning for independence, Charlotte sought her grandmother, Caroline, Dowager Duchess of Rochester (@simming-in-the-rain), who arranged a meeting with her great-nephew, Prince Peter Tarłowiecki. The pair met in 1851, and after several weeks of secret correspondence, Charlotte accepted Peter’s proposal.

When the engagement was announced, Queen Mary was enraged and refused to speak to her daughter for six months. Reconciliation, brokered by Ophelia, Odette, and the Dowager Duchess, came with strict conditions: Charlotte was permitted to marry only if she remained in Windenburg and continued to live with the Queen for most of the year. Peter, whose ambitions on the continent had diminished, accepted the terms. On September 28, 1851, Charlotte and Peter were wed in an intimate ceremony at St. Andrew’s Chapel in Glencraig Castle, attended by just fifty guests.

Following their marriage, Charlotte and Peter were granted apartments at San Myshuno Palace and an annual parliamentary allowance of 13,000 simoleons. Charlotte received a dowry of 100,000 simoleons and a personal trust of 140,000 simoleons, with an additional 5,000 simoleons per annum from the Queen’s personal estate. The couple adhered to Queen Mary’s seasonal itinerary: winters at Verdun Palace, spring at San Myshuno, summers at Windslar, and autumns at Glencraig. Charlotte resumed her role in the Queen’s household and also undertook royal duties, most notably as Patron of the Historical Society of Windenburg. Prince Peter pursued a military career, becoming a lieutenant in 1855 and rising to the rank of general by 1871. He held numerous ceremonial roles, including Ranger of Glencraig Park and Colonel-in-Chief of the Royal South Witham Infantry.

Peter and Charlotte had five children together: Princess Cecelia Tarłowiecki, Princess Theodora Tarłowiecki, Prince Paul Tarłowiecki, Prince Anthony Tarłowiecki, and Prince Dominik Tarłowiecki. Queen Mary elevated her grandchildren from the style of Serene Highness to Highness as part of her birthday honors in 1865. She also elevated Peter from Serene Highness to Royal Highness. Mary became extremely close to Charlotte's children, who viewed the Queen as a second mother.

Tragedy struck the family in 1874, when a typhoid outbreak claimed the lives of Cecelia, who was recently engaged to the Crown Prince of Brichester, and young Prince Dominik, aged eleven. The loss left Charlotte inconsolable. In her grief, she returned to art, reestablishing her studio and producing a series of watercolors. Her artistic revival coincided with public honors; in 1878, she was appointed Chancellor of the Platz Institute, becoming the first woman to hold such a title. Though the position was largely ceremonial, Charlotte took it seriously and used it to promote women's education and artistic achievement.

Upon Queen Mary’s death in 1885, the throne passed to Princess Alexandra, Charlotte’s niece and the eldest daughter of her late brother Charles. Though she retained her status and influence at court, Charlotte chose to retire from public life, relocating to Windslar Palace and Sulani House in Windenburg City. There, she dedicated herself to cultural preservation, founding the Windenburg Historical Preservation Society in 1903 and publishing a celebrated biography of her mother in 1908.

Charlotte maintained strong ties with her surviving children, particularly Theodora, who often brought her own children to visit every summer. Her grandchildren included Princess Elizabeth and Princess Elliana of Tirana, both of whom later married into the Beloshov Imperial Family, becoming Grand Duchesses. Charlotte’s son, Prince Anthony, married her niece and namesake, Princess Charlotte “Lottie” of the Isle. As the brother-in-law to the Queen, Prince Anthony became one of the most prominent members of the royal family during her reign.

Princess Charlotte died peacefully in her sleep at Windslar Palace in 1918. Her funeral at St. Michael’s Cathedral was attended by the entire Royal Family, and she was laid to rest beside her parents at the Royal Burial Ground of Statford Castle. Her husband, Prince Peter, died the following year. At the time of her death, Charlotte’s personal estate was valued at 370,000 simoleons (equivalent to 26.8 million today).

Charlotte and Peter had five children:

Princess Cecelia Mary Gisela Tarłowiecki (1852-1874), died from typhoid fever.

Princess Theodora Helena Karoline Tarłowiecki (1854-1948), married to Prince Tomislav of Tirana, had four daughters.

Prince Paul Alexander Karl Tarłowiecki (1856-1936), married to Princess Eloise of Zerbst, no issue.

Prince Anthony Frederick Peter (1859-1952), married to Princess Charlotte of the Isle, had one son and one daughter.

Prince Dominik Johann Augustus (1863-1874), died young from typhoid fever.