#and we cannot *be* if it means the way we are being isn't this carefully curated version people have of transness + queerness

[uncanny-tranny]

It's always, like, mildly annoying when people see a het trans couple and go "all that work just to be straight?" like... one, you don't know if they're straight and two, trans people don't owe you a queer sexuality to "make up" for the fact we're trans. Transhet people aren't a subtype of trans people, they're members of the trans community, and the queer one if they so desire!

[inkskinned]

the problem is that being single is seen as the consolidation prize, and not the natural neutral state of being-a-person. at the end of the movie or the book or the poetry, there is a person waiting for you at the altar, and they love you. if the play is a comedy, everyone gets married. the metaphor is about how you are not-whole. the metaphor is about how everyone is going to be happily-ever-after. the metaphor is that romantic love is the most important resource on the planet, not just all-love. all-love is not a thing, that is a disappointment. the treasure is not the friends we made along the way. the treasure is the girl you landed.

the metaphor is that you cannot be alone, that means you are broken. are you getting over someone? that is acceptable, you can be getting over someone, but not for long. you must be single because you would rather not be single. you must be single and looking to not-be-single. you must want to date, eventually.

friendship and community are never seen as being equal-to or even-better than romantic connection. that person is your one! you need to find them. you need to hunt through the sand particles until you can shift out some kind of gem. this is regardless to your own experience of the beach and the sun. you need to be somewhere with someone.

if you are taking this time alone to heal, that is so sad. everyone gives you this little pitying look. the understanding is that you are not actually happier than you were before you were single. it is seen as a sort of pity - oh, you are choosing yourself, making yourself the priority? - that isn't quite right. you must mean that you are making yourself ready for the right person. you are just laying the bed better this time. open up your heart. you'll find them, we promise!

what do you mean you're really-truly genuinely-very happy? you are probably misremembering what it was like to be in a relationship. and besides, once you meet your person, that time will look grey and bland and wasted. your person is the only way for you to see in color. so what if you have taken this time - for the first time in your entire life - to actually-for-real do the fucking work. you can be proud of yourself, sure. but the way we need to know that you got better is that you get a partner. you're healed enough for the next bad part!

people don't choose to be single, they just say they're choosing to be single - they actually mean "nobody wants to date me." it doesn't matter how many people you have gently rejected or how many times you've talked it over carefully in therapy. what matters is that you are single, and by all accounts - that means you are something worth our pity. your successes and life all seem pale in the sunlight. sure, you have done amazing things and finally found your way in life. what matters is that there wasn't a person in the room with you while you did it.

you want to tell them - that's the whole thing. i didn't know how to be alone in the room. i didn't know how to handle the silence. every moment was so sharp, and i kept choosing the wrong way to close the door. i have spent my entire life in the empty well, living in the ricochet of someone else's cruelty. for once i have built myself a ladder. for once everything i taste is all mine, every bite of sunshine and laughter. i have learned how to sleep out in the open with my memories. recently, they have started to purr.

your father rolls his eyes. listen. this isn't about you. i just want a grandchild in my future.

[harmonysanreads]

La Follia

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Yandere!Sylus x Reader

cw(s) : yandere, coercion, implied murder, implications of forced marriage, one mention of blood, guns, imbalanced power dynamics.

「 words : 800+ 」 「 art credits 」

· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ This... is not the fic idea I said I had in my wips but somehow we ended up here anyway ^^;

Before signing any document, it is crucial to carefully read its contents.

Not this one though. Your spite digs its talons into the pen, glaring at the offending piece of paper its situated against. The strings of legal ruminations and dry wordplay are irrelevant, unnecessary and jeeringly useless before your present predicament. Your eyes would rather bleed than capture their meaning.

Vague phantoms taunt your periphery, specks of dust rising from litanies of codicies towards the flickering lightbulb make it impossible to forget your environment. The state of a government office ; a place to admonish rules and keep the reputation of the constitution flowing — he has no need to adhere to them.

Redundant cannot even hope to describe the absurdity of the situation, in fact, you think you're at a stage of mental stupefaction that no adjective can. Perhaps it would carry some semblance of logic had it been a toddler instead of a conscious adult conducting this ridiculous show.

A show, yes, yes — it is nothing but an impromptu drama. To dig and imbibe the fact into your and everyone else's heads, that the leader of Onychinus has the luxury, the power to carry out even the most nonsensical whims.

Why shouldn't it be possible? In a world dictated through strength, governed by the fittest and where history is written for posterity in hopes of conditioning them to sing the greatness of those who won, you suppose something like this isn't all that irrational.

Supposing now, all things considered, that none of this is illogical in the grand scheme of things. In fact, should the so-called strong decide that it is completely normal, acceptable even to hold a gun to another's head, push them to a stack of papers and shove a pen to finalize some joke of a matrimony — it would be deemed appropriate, because it is the one with the might who has thought so.

But what it wouldn't be, is fair ; another hapless notion that can be discarded easily with the universal knowledge that nothing ever is fair in this world.

You peer through your lashes to the unfortunate clerk that had the fortune of witnessing this hilarity. He tries his best to maintain a semblance of professionalism and fails effortlessly, if the way he toys with the silver-band around his ring finger is anything to go by. Your eyes shift to the picture frame kept with care at one corner of the desk, the innocent smiles of figures who you assume to be his family almost make your heart ache.

Marriage. Coveted, anticipated, so beautiful in its purest form yet the causation of so many miseries. You would've never thought it could be ridiculed to this degree before this day.

You don't need to look beside you to picture his amusement, fascinated at how the clerk appears as though he's seeing his every wrong doing and each moment of joy play out before his eyes despite it being you with a weapon pointed at your head.

There is no rationality behind the demand of marriage by a man who dwells in a land governed by the rule of no rules, no explanation as to why he saunters into this establishment and insists that it be finalized through legalese furthermore.

No, no, it is but to prove to your stubborn self — see and witness what I can do should I desire, I can adhere to law and trample upon it according to my whim. Will you still deny me, still deem me beneath you after this?

You will, if just to push his patience to its last hinges. You know very well this is all just a game to him. If Sylus truly desired to end your life, he wouldn't need a measly gun to do it.

You count the beats of time and construse your own schemes, searching for exits from this doomed playground and wander right into his trap.

“Can’t bring yourself to do it?” the purr is close, too close for your comfort. The tip of the pen shines as it tilts in response to your loosened clasp, sharp, you note ; pointed enough to pierce through an eye and dash away a few paces.

“Need some encouragement? Yes? No? Maybe so? You could've just said it instead of glaring at the poor paper.” the cold muzzle retracts from the side of your head but the heat of its presence remains.

The clerk's pupils are clear enough to reflect the panic that paints your face. The pen drops from your grasp, rolling across the papers and the worn out wood of the table ; gravity pulling it closer to the earth till it hits the tiled floor, splattering the crimson pooling around the surface.

The warmth of the hand that forced the weapon to your hand swiftly withdraws, your vision clears to the coldness of the gun in your clutch, the silence that follows the bullet's release nearly deafens your ears.

You hear the devil's whisper, “Now you and I are equal, no? As such, there should be no further excuses preventing you from marrying this monster.”

It would've been a taunt only some seconds ago, but now, it has become an irrefutable fact. No matter how cunning, how stubborn, the weak will always be controlled by the strong.

[crazy-pages]

Blue Eyed Samurai and Queer Gender

There's a reason so many trans people keep reading trans identity into Mizu.

Because even if she's cis, her gender is still queer.

Lemme back up for a second. Queer identity is deeply intertwined with experiencing sex and gender in ways which are fundamentally non-normative and non-conformative for the societies we live in. It is about being "other" to what society's default is. There are reasons that queer liberation movements have historically often allied with kink communities, with polyamorous circles, and with feminist movements. There's overlap there, in being outside a tightly constrained norm and demanding equality and recognition. And this also means that what queer is, is defined in part by the society it stands in opposition to.

Because for contrast there have been societies, historically, which have been fully accepting of trans people or even had specific social norms and customs around nonbinary gender. The colonizing Spaniards found and recorded interactions (typically violent, sadly) with trans people in what's now Mexico who lived, married, and were recognized in their societies without regard for their genitals. There are entire fields of study around various historical recognition of nonbinary identities. None of these people existed in opposition to the societies they lived in. Heck if we look at sexuality, the ancient Greeks would certainly not have seen men having sex with men as queer (though they would have judged and demeaned the bottom), but some of them certainly pathologized women who had sex with women. In such a society bisexual men would not be queer, while bisexual women would be.

Queer is contextual. Someone who lives in a fully accepting society as a trans person, who never has contact with a culture where that acceptance isn't the norm? I'm not sure I would call them queer. At the very least, there's a definition of queer as the embrace of one's sexual and/or gender non-normativity which such a person might very well not opt into. That person might not feel queer. We might not share that emotional experience.

And where this comes back to Blue Eyed Samurai is that it's possible to be cis and to be marked unavoidably and unalterably queer by one's society. A cis woman living in the US today who feels absolutely cis but cannot, for whatever reason, stand wearing dresses and must wear pants? Might experience some gender non-conforming experiences, but not necessarily be queer. That same woman in 1890s US? Her gender expression would be outright illegal as a form of crossdressing. She would be seen with the same lens as a trans man and their experiences of gender would both be queer, despite one being cis and one being trans. If such a woman, despite being cis and straight and allosexual and alloromantic and all the rest, told me she felt queer? It would not surprise me in the least.

So if you define queer as any kind of experience or internal feeling, as a state of othered existence rather than a specific set of prescriptive definitional boxes that fit our specific societal norms and practices? Mizu is queer. Mizu might or might not be queer if you transplanted her into the 2020s US where I live. But to define her by how she would fit in our society's boxes is fundamentally missing the point of both the queer experience and the story of Blue Eyed Samurai. (And she might not be cis here, he might be a trans man, or they might be nonbinary. It's hard to say ... and this is why queer history scholars step carefully around modern definitions, by the by.)

What we can say is that who Mizu is, in the context of Edo period Japan, is queer. Whether Mizu is genderfluid, or a trans man, or a cis woman who hates having to be undercover, or a cis woman who thrives being undercover, or a cis woman performing drag, or a trans man who thinks of himself as a woman in drag because he lacks context for being transgender? It's all queer gender. There is no framing in which Mizu wouldn't relate to the experience of queer gender.

Mizu doesn't get to experience gender in a normative way. That's both because of who she is at her core, and something that's defined by society without her consent. She is queer, innately born so and structurally made so at the same time, and that's not a contradiction.

[aziraphales-library]

Do you have any fics where one or both of them lose their memory? I love those kinds of fics!

We have plentiful #memory loss and #amnesia tags, so check those out for loads of fics! Here are a few more to add...

Your face is like a melody by Primroza (T)

Crowley accidentally takes over the bookshop. His new routine is interrupted by amnesiac Aziraphale returning. Crowley is determined to help him even though he knows Aziraphale will leave him again as soon as he remembers. *** “Oh my, I do apologize!” Aziraphale says. “I did not mean to startle you.” “Ngk,” says Crowley. He isn’t sure what’s the protocol for when the love of your life walks back into your life after rejecting you. But he sure as Hell knows that clumsily climbing out from under the armchair is a bad start.

The Clue (Love Is in the air) by Bildadthebaddie (G)

Archangel Aziraphale only had memories that go back a few weeks, or maybe months? Years? He doesn't know. He doesn't really know much- like who that stranger on the bench is, or why Heaven are checking up on him so often- but he knows that London is filled with an overpowering feeling of love

Shipwrecked, with no memory of who we were before by RCReveal (M)

Our two ineffable ones wash up on an island with no memory of who they were. Some fluffy fluff to watch them fall in love yet another time and maybe find themselves in a whole new way.

Far Away, Long Ago Glowing Dim as an Amber by guessimdemoms (G)

Anthony J Fall is a humble plant shop owner in a seaside English town with no memory other then being found by his friends (and shop mates) four years ago and nothing to his name but his plants, his shop, and an old copy of Pride and Prejudice with a ripped photo of a magician inside. One day, Anthony gets commissioned to provide the flowers for a wedding in Soho and when he arrives gets swept into a plan that not only is meant to help him regain his memory, but also stop the second coming.

Your Other Half by anyofmany (T)

Crowley is sent to the dungeons of Hell to execute a captive angel -- who stalls him with an absolutely insane story about averting the Apocalypse and a grand romance between the two of them. Hell's just taken Crowley's memory of it all as part of their punishment. How can Aziraphale gain Crowley's trust when everything about the truth is too fantastic to believe? Can he trust who Crowley is without any of the best memories of his life? And what will it take to save them both?

Strangers Again (patria sine memoria) by D_A_Cullum (M)

Months after Armageddon failed, Crowley stops by the bookshop to find its owner a stranger with no memory of him. The history is all there, from the garden to Tadfield, but Crowley isn't. He will have to start over with the angel while carefully sifting the past for clues as to what happened to his friend, and how it might be undone. Meanwhile, Aziraphale is ordered to get close to the demon who sauntered into his bookshop, to find out what he can about Hell's plans to restart Armageddon. That task is made all the more difficult as London falls under strict lockdown procedures. When Crowley defends him against a reconstituted Duke Ligur, Aziraphale begins to question the narrative he's been told. Now, as uneasy allies, they face whatever Heaven and Hell conjure for them. But will Crowley survive their future together, one where he remembers what Aziraphale cannot?

- Mod D

[zz0nie]

Genshin Hcs

Neuvillette & Wriothesley

note; this is my first time writing (after like 2 years, so much improvement I'd like to hope :0) just thought I would start it easy with Neuvi and Wrio, much loved Fontaine boys <3 (Suggestions are always welcome!!)

Neuvillette

Neuvillette would never EVER bring it up to you; however, he is a man who loves his hair being played with or brushed to pass time. If you bring it up he will give you a surprised look, maybe bringing out a response from you, "Don't give me that face, Neuvi." As you're holding a hairbrush in one hand. He will silently work his way to you, in fact he is extremely attentive to how you are carefully brushing around his horns to make sure you don't hurt him. So soft in general, he loves you.

Neuvillette's favourite drink is water - as we know with his idle lines, suggesting each water from each nation is different - if you suggest to him to try some tea, he would say he does not enjoy it. However, give it a large ratio between more water less tea? You may catch him having the occasional "tea" (An extremely diluted tea, keep in mind. Maybe enough to consider it flavoured water.)

Figuring he has helped the Melusines find a safe second home inside Fontaine, he has become a parental figure to them, and as he has given them jobs often if you walk into his office while it is a relatively calm time you may happen to see a small melusine tucked up on his sofa with a large blanket suited for a human wrapping their body up. He will take it with care and duty to take care of that melusine. If he is busy he will have them escorted to their home safely though. He is a worried father, leave him be.

He is extremely quick to pick up on items or things you like or dislike. Very minimal change in your body language can tell him everything, as he does in fact notice the way you stare longingly at an accessory of clothing that would go perfectly with your outfit. If you enjoyed flowers he will go out of his way to pick you or buy you your favourite flower(s) and make sure you receive them. (Most of the time he's extremely busy and gets a melusine to go to your door, he's trying his best. :(

Neuvillette has little time to enjoy things, however, while figuring court cases inside his office, you may walk past slowly and hear the hum of his record player playing some classical music. Maybe one day you'll walk in and ask him to take your hand, you'll sway together in his office, just the two of you as you sweep him away from work and to you.

At the start of your journey together, sitting in silence was not something that was sought out from either of you as it felt awkward between you. Neuvillette isn't the best at small talk, so if you aren't either it may take a while to get this going. However, when you grow closer there will be a time where he will come to seek you out, just to sit and do his own thing while you do yours, simply enjoying your presence.

He loves like old people do, the small things mean a lot to this man. Remembering small things and going out on a walk somewhere - heck, when you help him with washing his hair when he has had a long, tiring day - between you in that moment, there is no lust or hatred, just pure love for each other. Neuvillette bathes in your sweet affection during these moments, he loves you so much, even if he cannot find the words to say it.

Wriothesley

Like Neuvillette, loves a specific brand and way of tea being made, if he teaches you how and you pick up and make it for him like that u are probably one of his most favourite people. Definitely prefers his tea on the stronger side, this man needs his energy somehow.

Children love him, even if he is this big scary dude that controls the prisons in Fontaine they see him as an extra father - especially orphaned kids - and he treats all children with such respect, he's so sweet to them. You look at him when a young girl comes up to him, holding something behind her back: Some handpicked flowers. She holds them out to him, all shy around such a pretty older boy. Of course, he accepts them and thanks the young girl as she giggles and runs off, he watches her with a small smile - if you point it out the man will throw you a frown. "Can't a guy enjoy the little things in life now? Why don't you get me flowers?" Uh oh, he's got you there.

I believe when this man decides he is done being the ward of the prison in Fontaine, he finally relaxes in a home with you - and a potential child - he cares less and less on physical appearance, obviously tries to keep up but as age comes so does laziness. So beware he may begin to grow a dadbod, he would rock it though.

Ticklish on his stomach, don't know where it came from or how you found out, maybe it was your hand brushing against it while he was stretching and his shirt came untucked. Don't play with the fire though, this man does not like being tickled. Though, he has the most gorgeous laugh, maybe it would be worth it.

Wriothesley takes his sweet time petting animals on the street and taking care of any he may come across - I mean, when does he EVER get to see a pet while stuck at work? It's always something that makes a mans heart swell with joy. However if you were to ask if he is a cat or a dog guy will be admitting he is much of a dog guy. Though, dogs aren't at all interested in him which makes him sigh in defeat, yet cats just seem so in love with him (me too) when they come running up to him. He doesn't mind it though, in all honesty he would prefer having you holding onto his arm as you both walk.

HE WILL PICK YOU UP FROM BEHIND THIS MAN DOES NOT DISCRIMINATE ON WEIGHT EITHER. HE DOES RESPECT BOUNDAIRES THOUGH! IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT HE WONT DO IT!

He absolutely loves it if you show off any clothes, or general items you have recently brought to him. Especially the clothes, he would REALLY love it if you treated his office like a mini walkway, strutting and turning with however much confidence you have. He loves it. The way you talk, walk, smile, everything. He loves whatever you do, he just loves you.

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

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

Chapter 10: Happy Birthday, Mr. President

You were buzzing with excitement. You were currently getting ready for Bradley's birthday dinner at the White House. He'd made sure all of his friends from the Dagger Squad were granted special leaves and permissions to be in D.C. You were excited to see all of them again and celebrate his 37th birthday.

You were even more excited for the surprise you had planned for him later.

You were currently putting the finishing touches on your outfit. You carefully fastened your earrings before slipping your wedding rings on. You held up the front of your beaded lavender sheath dress as you waited for Bradley to come and zip it for you.

You quickly fired off a text to Jake and Jaycee to make sure they were still okay to help with your plan.

Soon, Bradley emerged from the bathroom with his lavender bow tie in hand. You took it from him before handing him your necklaces for him to fasten for you.

"Don't forget to zip me." You tease him.

"I won't, Sweetheart." He says as he drags the zipper up before smoothing his hands over the back and placing a kiss on your neck. You grin at him in the mirror before turning around in his arms with his tie in your hand.

You loop it around his neck, as your skilled fingers make quick work of it.

"You know," Bradley begins. "Before we were together, I bet I zipped a dozen and a half of your dresses. Since we've been married, I've lost count." He states. You look up from his tie and raise your eyebrow at him. A silent way of asking what his point is.

"And every time you have me zip it, I can't help but wonder what the things you have on underneath it look like." He finished as you secure the knot on his tie.

You smile at him sweetly before getting on your tip toes. You pull him down towards you and put your lips close to his ear.

"In case you were wondering about this dress, I'm not wearing anything under it." You whisper before kissing his cheek and walking out the bedroom door. It takes Bradley a minute to rest his brain after that remark.

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

His birthday dinner is going fantastically well. Everyone is having a great time, and Bradley hasn't stopped smiling. Everyone has just finished dinner, and cake is being served when you leave your seat and head to a microphone.

"Good evening, everyone!" You warmly greet the crowd. "Thank you all so much for being here for this special occasion. I'm so excited to be celebrating my wonderful husband's birthday with all of you!" The room fills with applause.

"Now, I know he would rather do without, but I simply cannot let the day pass without singing 'Happy Birthday' to him, so I was hoping you all would be alright with that. Is everyone okay with that?" You ask. The crowd laughs and agrees.

Someone plays a few bars on a piano before you start singing to him:

"Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday, Mr. President,

Happy Birthday to you"

Bradley swears under his breath as he feels the crotch of his pants tighten. You look like a modern-day Marylin Monroe up there, and he's trying to figure out when would be the most polite time to steal you away and sneak out of his own party.

After a round of applause, the band picks back up again, and you make your way around the room, greeting guests, shaking hands, and thanking everyone for coming.

Bradley is tucked away in a corner, downing his third glass of champagne when Jake comes up to him.

"Easy there, Rooster, this isn't the Hard Deck," Jake jokes with him. Bradley rolls his eyes before setting the glass down.

"Hangman, why is champagne such a violent beverage?" Bradley asks him. "What do you mean?" Jake replies. "I mean, the more I drink it the more I think about when would be the best time to sneak out of here so I can go fuck my wife." Bradley clarifies. Jake almost chokes on his drink. He sputters out a cough before shaking his head and checking his phone.

"Well, I might be able to help you with that." He tells Bradley, and now it's his turn to look confused. Jake shakes his head before pulling a card out of his jacket pocket. "Mr. President" is written in your sleak hand writing on the front. "Have fun, Rooster." Jake says before patting him on the back and walking away.

Bradley opens the card to find three works written inside: "Oval Office, now."

He tucks the card in his suit and looks around the room to see that you have vanished. He makes sure that no one is watching before slipping out of the room and down to the West Wing.

His office is quiet and dim when he enters. He makes sure to lock the door behind him.

"Took you long enough," you speak. Bradley turns to find you perched on his desk. Your hair has been taken down from its neat updo, and your shoes are haphazardly tossed to the carpet. Your legs are crossed as you lean back on your palms and watch him walk towards you slowly, like a cat stalking it's prey.

"My, my, my. What do we have here, Mrs. First Lady?" Bradley asks you as he walks up to the desk and plants his hands on either side of you, trapping you in place.

"I just thought I'd give you an extra special present for your birthday, Bradley." You tell him. "And what might that be?" He asks you with a coy smile.

"Well, Mr. President," You begin as you reach up to remove his bow tie. "I thought it would be nice if the leader of the free world bent me over his desk and fucked me like a slut." You finished before unceremoniously tossing his tie to the floor.

You watch Bradley's eyes darken and his jaw clench. "Is that so? Does my perfect, smart, beautiful wife want to be treated like my play thing? Is she going to let me do anything I want to her for my birthday?" He asks cocking his head to the side.

"Yes, sir." You tell him. Any self-control Bradley had left vanishes. He crashes his lips to yours in a kiss that is all teeth and tongue. He pulls you harshly to the edge of the desk before running his fingers through your hair.

He shoves your dress up your hips before pushing your thighs open. He's pleased to see that you were telling the truth when you told him you weren't wearing anything under your dress.

One of his hands leaves your hair to swipe through your slick folds. He easily slips two digits in and begins to expertly curl them into you.

"Mmmm, fuck Bradley. Feels so good." You praise him. But the words had no sooner left you mouth, and he was stopping. "Bradley, no." You whine as you attempt to grind your core against his fingers.

"Only good girls get to call me Bradley. But you're not my good girl right now, are you? You're my needy slut who needs to be taken care of aren't you?" He growls out. His words send another wave of arousal through you. You aren't sure how to respond. Bradley must not have liked that you didn't answer him because he gives a harsh smack to your cunt, causing you to jump.

"Answer me. What are you right now? He asks again. "Your needy slut." You tell him. "Exactly, so if you want me to keep touching you, it's Sir or Mr. President. Understood?" He tells you.

"Yes, Sir, Mr. President." You respond to him. He grunts in approval before starting again.

He speeds up his movements from before alternating between curling his fingers and scissoring your walls. He can feel you pussy clenching around his digits and he knows that you're close.

"Are you gonna cum for me? Are you gonna cum all over my hand like the slut you are?" He asks you as his thumb circles your clit.

"Fuck—yes! I'm so close, Sir, please don't stop." You cry out. Bradley has no intentions of stopping. No, he wants to push you over the edge until you're stupid and crying and shaking.

Your thighs are already there as he draws the first orgasm of the night out of you. He guides you through it before withdrawing his fingers and licking you relase from them. You slump against him, but he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.

"Aren't you going to say thank you?" He asks sarcastically." "Th—thank you, Mr. President" You stutter out.

"You're welcome." He bites back before pushing you to lay flat on the desk and kneeling between your wide spread thighs. "The cake was great, but this is the dessert I'd rather have." He mumbles before liking a stripe from your weeping hole to your throbbing clit.

He buried his face in your heat, fucking his tongue into you. His nose and the fine hairs of his mustache grazed your clit with each swipe of the firm muscle. One of your hands gripped the dark wood edge of the desk while the other grasped his curls. You wrapped your thighs around his head, securing him in place. The heel of your foot dug into his back. There would probably be a bruise from it. You didn't care, though. It wouldn't be the first time the two of you had left marks on each other from lovemaking.

You were approaching another peak when Bradley pulled off of you with a wet pop.

You let out a displeased cry.

"Look at me. He growled from his position. You leaned up on your elbows just enough to meet his eyes. They were blown with lust. Your wetness coated his face and chin. The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and you could see the flush of his skin.

"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" He asks you. "You have no idea just how much power you have. I mean, look, you have the most powerful man in the world on his knees for you. No one else on earth can do that to me but you. I might be the leader of the nation, but for you, I'm a humble servant who is grateful for the chance to worship you." Bradley states as he kisses your thighs.

"Now, I want you to watch, while the president of the United States makes you cum all over his face." He tells you before diving back in.

His eyes never leave you as he works you up again. He slips his hands under your ass and pulls you closer to him as you grind against his face. Another wave of pleasure is about to crash over you.

"Sir—Mr. President— fuck!" You cry out as the band snaps. You try to keep looking at him, but it's too much. Your head lulls back, and you close your eyes as you ride the wave. Bradley doesn't stop his tongue until you're pulling him back because it's just too much.

He gets up from his spot on the floor and takes off his jacket before cupping your jaw and kissing you. "You okay?" He asks, pressing he forehead to yours. "Very." You assure him. "Think you can do one more for me?" You smirk at him. "I know I can, Mr. President."

Bradley smirks back at you before pulling you off his desk, spinning you around, and pushing you flush against the cool wood. He stops just long enough to undo his belt and push his trousers down to free his aching cock. Precum coats the tip of it.

He hikes you dress up even further, so your perfect ass is on display for him. He gives it a few harsh smacks as he fists himself. He loves the little mewls you let out with each strike.

He pushes into you without warning, your gummy walls gripping him as he begins to pound into you. The blunt tips of his fingernails dig into the flesh of your hips.

His taking you so hard and so fast that your body jolts forward with each thrust. He grabs the base of your neck to hold you firmly in place as he continues to pound into you.

A string of incoherent curses and moans leaves your mouth as he drives into you. Bradley smiles, knowing he's the only one who can make the oh so smart First Lady sounds like a babbling idiot.

"That's it, baby doll. Keep babbling like the dumb little slut you are while the president fucks you. Love how fucking stupid and needy you sound right now." Bradley growls out as he pulls you up flush against his torso.

"You're pretty little pussy is squeezing me so fucking much right now. Do you wanna cum again for me?" He asks against the shell of your ear.

"Yea—" you managed to squeak out.

"If you wanna cum, you're going to have to ask me nicely. Go on, use your words, Sweetheart." He goads you, knowing damn good and well that you can't because of how he's fucking you right now.

You want to ask him. You really do. You want to beg him to let you finish because you're so fucking close, but he's only giving you just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. You want to tell him how good he feels and how much you love him. You also want to tell him that this orgasm that is building doesn't feel like one you've ever had before.

You want to tell him that you feel like you're on fire. You want to tell him that you might cry if you don't get to finish soon. You want to tell him how badly you want it. But the only thing you can manage in your pleasure induced high is:

"Please, Mr. President." He chuckles at how pathetic you sound before pushing you over the edge. You feel the relief wash over you as your release flows out of you and coats your thighs and his. He continues to fuck you through it, drawing every last ounce of pleasure from you.

He close himself, and the feeling of you clenching around him and cumming harder than you ever have, has him on edge.

"Shit, that's it baby doll, fucking cum all over me. God you're pussy feels so fucking good. Fuck I'm so fucking close. I'm going to cum in this pretty little hole of yours and fill you up. Gonna fill you up so fucking good, you'll feel me in there for weeks baby doll." He cries out before painting your walls white with his thick release.

He collapses on top of you. Both of you are sweaty and panting. The air in the Oval Office is thick with the scent of sex.

It takes several minutes before either of you can speak.

"Happy Birthday, Dearest." You tell Bradley.

"What a birthday it was." He states as he pulls out of you. You can feel his cum leaking put of you onto the desk, but your entire body feels like jello and you can't move.

Bradley quickly grabs some tissues to clean the both of you up. He then scoops you up bridal style and makes a mental note to come back later and clean everything up.

He carries you back to your living quarters before depositing you on the bed. You motion for him to cuddle you, and of course, he does.

"Do I want to know how you orchestrated this whole thing?" He asks you. "Probably not." You reply.

He shakes his head and wants to ask you, but he thinks better of it. Somethings are better left unsaid.

Oh wow, babes! It finally happened! The Oval Office has been defiled!

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @mj-l4 @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @chicomonks @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby

[alpinelogy]

🤍 sargebon ? ^_^

🤍 kiss at the wedding/milestone

Ajsjs I’m finally catching up on these (real not clickbait).

Started writing this way back when I first reblogged this ask game, procrastinated until the news dropped but i swear it was always this sappy. Not beta read, might go and clean it up later

sargebon, 0.9k, fluff without plot

The night has started to wind down a long time ago now, the first guests have started leaving hours ago, slowly trickling out one by one until now, where they are practically the only ones left still at the wedding, the last ones remaining. Only the two of them, now allowed to enjoy the aftermath, the after of it all.

They both have abandoned their suit jackets a while ago, neither of them in favor of wearing the rigid garment for longer than necessary. They both looked good in them, Logan more so than Alex but secretly, Alex suspects Logan would argue the opposite. Now however, both have long forgotten them, leaving them hanging over the backs of their chairs.

Logan is standing on the edge of the dancefloor, looking further out where the shoreline is barely visible in the clear, warm night. Alex thinks he looks ethereal, from another world, his head spins whenever he remembers that Logan said yes, that he smiled, laughed in joy and said yes months ago and then said it again today, this time a bit more collected and less caught off guard.

Not for the first time, Alex is reminded how horribly, sappily he is in love with Logan. He cannot bring himself to care, to be bothered by it. If today is anything to go by, Logan is just as in love with him as he is in love with Logan.

“Care for a dance?” Alex carefully wraps his arm around Logan's waist, pulls him closer. He is a solid weight against Alex, warm and familiar, someone that Alex has wrapped himself around a thousand of times before, curling up in the evenings, keeping close to retain at least a sliver of comfort, of warmth in the winter.

Logan laughs. A ringing sound, full of joy and love. Alex is smitten, even after all these years, “There is no music playing.” He argues. He isn't putting up a fight, he is not trying to argue with Alex, he is just being pragmatic, practical and organized.

“Doesn't mean we cannot dance.” Alex leans in to place a soft kiss on Logan's temple. He knows Logan was not arguing against him, that he was only being practical, that he can be easily swayed. Alex wants to sway him. They had their first dance, they danced afterwards, but this feels somehow different, more personal, more private. Just them.

Again, Logan laughs and turns around to properly face Alex, “Okay.” He eventually says. His smile isn't the large, excited grin from hours ago. Now it is more muted, smaller, more genuine and honest, Alex knows fully well.

He slides his right hand into Logans, keeps his left hand where it was on Logans waist and slowly, carefully he leads them back to the center of the dance floor. It is slow, careful, neither of them can properly remember the steps, both of them only relenting to learn this dance after George ragged on them continuously for long enough that their determination to not learn weakened and waned until it was fully gone.

Still, even with their unskilled steps, Alex finds it stupidly, horribly romantic. The cicadas and the sea are the only two sounds accompanying them, their slow, out of tune and out of sync steps. Alex could not have imagined a better end to the day.

“I love you.” Alex close to whispers. He isn’t sure if Logan even heard him, he says it more for himself than for Logan, Logan has heard him say it a thousand times over, he promised Logan forever today and he plans on keeping that promise, “But you already know that.” He adds, almost self deprecatingly. He only barely holds back the awkward laugh that is threatening to get out.

Logan hums, Alex can feel the vibrations spread into his own body, “Still like hearing it though.” He heard then, he heard Alex’s confession. Alex doesn't mind, not really, he knew that Logan would most likely overhear, “Love you too.” He adds after Alex’s words properly sink in.

Alex’s heart clenches. He knows that, obviously he knows that, he has known that for years. It still makes something in his chest flip. The cold metal of Logan’s ring grounds him, makes all of this feel more real, more probable, more tangible. His own ring has already been a steady reminder. Logan's ring just solidifies it.

Neither of them say anything. They don't need to, not when Alex can feel Logan warm against him, barely suppressing a laugh, opting only for a muted, content smile.

One more spin and they stop, standing in the middle of the strangely empty dance floor. It is just them now, it has been just them for a while now, stupidly, horribly infatuated with each other. Alex would not have it any other way, can not imagine his life any other way, no matter how much he tries.

He cups Logan’s face, Logan leans into the touch. He strokes Logan’s cheek, runs his thumb along his cheekbone. Logan slowly closes his eyes, lets Alex do whatever he wants, trusts him because he knows what’s coming next.

They have kissed a thousand times before, several times today alone. It still feels like the first time, every time Alex pulls Logan closer to kiss him something always flutters in his stomach, something flutters and then settles down, content and happy, pleased, almost maybe a bit smug that he gets to kiss Logan whenever he wants.

They part. Logan smiles again, laughs, a ringing sound. Alex is horribly, awfully in love maybe.

[poordeadsejanus]

tigris hating the new snow (colour symbolism + minor meta from this scene)

i'm so deeply obsessed with so many of the colour choices in tbosas movie.... like wow! one day i'll talk more about them, but one i want to pull out and talk about right now is tigris' colour scheme in her last scene. the one where she's wearing this:

(the picture is not great quality, i'll update this when i have a pic that's more than 2 pixel lol, but it shows what we need to see)

she's got on a light purple/lavender dress with dark blue stripes. blue and purple are usually associated with wealth and royalty (given the historic complications that came with producing them).

purple is especially representative of royalty and wealth, and tigris' outfit is mostly purple, symbolizing the new (wealthy) life that she's found herself in.

blue, along with it's other meanings is associated with melancholy. we know that tigris is unhappy/heartbroken/disappointed with snow's changes, so this link makes sense. it is also a passive colour, showing us that she is passive in coryo's transformation into snow -- there's not much that she can do about it anyway, but i digress. the deepness of the blue implies something tumultous, which gives us an insight into what she's likely feeling: relief at being out of poverty, happiness for coryo's success, but a deep sense of uncertainty and unease at this new snow persona that he's adopted. finally, it can also a colour of peace, which i take to mean that she's sort of made peace with what she cannot change about him, regardless of how she may feel about it.

now we get to the standout of this outfit: the red lip!

usually we see tigris is lip colours that are complimentary to the other colours she has on from what i recall; when she wears pink, her lips are pink, when she's got on dark magentas her lip colour matches/compliments it. the red lip here is clearly an intentional choice as it is a contrasting colour that stands out brightly against the mostly subdued/cool-toned rest of the outfit.

red can be recognized as the colour of passion and anger. the fact that it is on her mouth is certainly trying to show us something. what she says to snow here is "you look just like your father, coriolanus". it is clearly a dig, clearly meant with negative intent, with anger. she is heated! this is the little boy she grew up with, that she protected, that she loved and he's morphing into something sinister before her very eyes. if it wasn't clear by what she said, the subtext behind it, and the way that she said it, the red lip indicates her anger here.

it stands out as a little piece of rebellion against just accepting snow the way he is. she is clothed in colours that show her wealth and complacency with the changes that caused them, but she isn't entirely willing to let it go all the way.

also, she wears warmer colours for a lot of the movie -- pinks and the like -- and now she's in more cool tones, which is an obvious choice being made. she loves coryo (perhaps not snow so much), and she is letting herself be swallowed up by this new life (symbolized by the royal colours and new wealth), but she has that little bit of her that is clinging to the past, that wants her coryo back.

her (minor) dissent against snow is verbal, it is subtle and not exactly obvious to anyone except her and him, in the same way that the red lip is a subtle way of emphasizing her displeasure with this new snow.

she chooses her words very carefully, tailoring them to be a direct referral to her convo with coryo after the arena ("i know you wanna be like your father, but, what i remember the most about him, was that in his eyes it was just hate. you don’t have to pay the same price just to survive. people can be good. you can be good"). snow is like his father, who tigris remembers most as having hate in his eyes. coryo didn't have to pay the same price just to survive, he could be good, but he paid that price anyway.

in the full quote from her last scene, tigris says "i think you look just like your father, coriolanus." This stuck out to me because I don't really remember her ever calling him by his full name often (maybe just at the start when we get the "future president of panem" thing). it seems like perhaps he insisted on; he's not coryo anymore, he's coriolanus snow -- no, he's snow; it could also be something tigris did intentionally. either way, it shows that he is not her precious, still-able-to-be-good coryo anymore.

another interesting thing from this scene is her positioning. she does not rise for him, instead remains sitting at her sewing machine (someone look back and see if its a new machine or if she's using the same one as before!!). she does not rise to greet him happily like the Grandma'am, she remains seated, clearly showing her displeasure at the new snow. plus, usually rising when someone enters a room shows respect; tigris does not rise, ergo she does not respect him!

this also makes me believe that she is not making his clothes anymore (she's at the sewing machine, clearly she can make the clothes, but he grabs the coat out of the closet, showing that it's not a tigris snow original creation). it's a contrast to how we first see adult tigris, rushing up to coryo with a shirt she made/modified. now she keeps her distance and doesn't give him clothes. this shows that huge huge huge pit growing between them. once again, this is not her coryo anymore.

i'd assume that she initially was offering to make/alter his clothes, but somewhere along the way he refused. it's a sign of the hard times when all he had to wear was too-small shoes and potato-starched shirts sneaked in with curtains to be bleached. buying new clothes shows power and wealth and coriolanus' 'impeccable, well-bred, respectable taste' that comes from being a snow.

regardless of the how, she's not doing his clothes anymore, she's displeased over the new snow, he's not her baby coryo anymore, and the distance between them has never been bigger, not even when he was all the way in 12.

[image-thot]

For the Cause: Soundwave/Reader/Shockwave

Summary: When Shockwave returns from Cybertron, all quickly notice his increased irritability and aggression towards the few remaining omegas. Megatron concludes the best course of action is to ask his most loyal follower to lend his to the adjusting mech.

Warnings: a/b/o, heats/ruts, dubcon, non-graphic smut, Dubious sharing of mates

Shockwave was not a mech that many would choose for company, most would rather avoid the scientist in fear they'd become his next "project". He liked it that way, the fewer distractions he had meant more energy he could use to focus his work only ever needing to stop for necessary needs such as refuelling, recharge and the once-in-a-melenia rut.

Shockwave had a gift when it came to pushing down functions and emotions he deemed "illogical" and for the majority of the war primal base coding was deemed just that. Even when he was stranded on their dead home world, he was alone the conditions poor and so it was pushed down once again. That all changed when he was rescued and brought back into the Decepticon ranks once more.

For the first time in a long while he came to crave social interaction.

He would never outwardly show it but he'd often find himself enjoying the company of the Megatron, Soundwave, Y/n, Knockout, Eradicons and even Starscream.

So the only logical conclusion as to why his primal coding was finally burning through his frame with the need to find and mate an omega, was that optimum conditions for producing sparklings have been met. 

The logic was there but it didn't stop him from trying to refute it.

Aside from self-servicing every few hours he hadn't found much relief, the Eradicons were not designed with their primal coding in mind and therefore were of no use to him. Those that could be of use such as Starscream, Y/n and Breakdown were already spoken for, their Alpha's being of high ranks would likely mean a direct confrontation. 

Even though he never acted on his impulses did not make him any less pleasant to be around, often he'd find himself in a heightened state of aggression 

To say this made everyone a little tense was an understatement.

For the first two weeks, it was simply chalked up to his lack of social interaction over the many years. After the third, many assumed he was angry over his abandonment on Cybertron but by the fourth, even Megatron had grown irritated over his new demeanour.

"Soundwave, I hope you've found the answer to our problem." Megatron speaks watching the faceless mech standing before him.

"Affirmative." One of the many voices Soundwave has collected plays, Megatron motions for him to continue.

|Conclusion: Shockwave experiencing a long overdue rut cycle and has not been able to find a suitable omega to mate resulting in aggression towards alphas and their omegas.|

Megatron hums in acknowledgment of his communication officer's response, his digits tapping along his throne in thought.

"So if Shockwave were to have an omega to help in this rut he'd return to his usual self." Megatron states as Soundwave nods in response as he watches his Lord in thought. A few minutes pass as Megatron thinks, weighing each choice carefully before he speaks.

"I assume that y/n isn't carrying from your last rut?" Megatron queries keenly aware of the tension this draws from Soundwave's frame at the mention of his own mate, he takes a moment to calculate the time since you had last took him.

"Affirmative." The thought that if you had been carrying crossed his mind, would megatron consider another to offer Shockwave.

"I assume you would be willing to share your omega with Shockwave?" Megatron's words have a hint of amusement behind them as watches Soundwave’s biolights pulse.

|Query: An order?| 

Soundwave already knows it is and as insulting as it is, he'd never ever disobey a direct order from him. Even if that meant putting the bond he had built with you in harm's way.

"Yes, we cannot afford to lose Shockwave or his important work. I expect this to be handled quickly and discreetly Soundwave." Megatron almost growled as he motioned for the slender mech to leave.

Pulling his emotions tighter in, he makes his way to your station with his new directive.

This was for the cause, shockwave and his research is important to reach their goals. It was ordered by Megatron himself, a sign that he trusted you and there was no higher honour than that.

You would understand.

When your mate paid you a visit while on duty it was a shock, a rare event indeed.

"Nothing makes me happier than seeing you my love but I know you wouldn't come by unless something was wrong." Your words are so sweet and kind, it makes his spark drop with dread.

|New orders: Presence required in Laboratory -Shockwave in need of your assistance|

His visor flashes displaying the message as he feels himself stiffen, a small glint of confusion lights your optics before it disappears.

"And that assistance would be?" Optic ridge raised as you eye him up and down. "You're never one to skip on the details, especially regarding orders."

Your gaze has him instinctively straightening, chassis puffing out at the thought of you choosing another alpha over him. No, this was a mission you weren't choosing him merely fulfilling your duties as a Decepticon.

|Shockwave experiencing difficulties adjusting to the presence of omegas :Solution: Y/n to assist in adjustment|

Soundwave doesn't miss the way your frame tenses and your EM field draws back. It's obvious you’re disgusted by the request, your dermas twitch as you try to suppress a grimace.

"In what way?" It’s not that you don't know the answer, the defeated tone that tries to break through your words is evidence of that. 

You wanted no, you needed to hear it from him. If he'd order something so intimate in your bond to be given to the cause, you know he would. When he simply stares back you turn, moving back to your console as you begin to close your work. It may hurt your spark but you can understand that all Decepticons should be willing to sacrifice anything to further the cause.

"Any and All." The recorded voice of Megatron plays through his speakers, letting out a deep ex-vent you close the last data stream before turning to him.

"Affirmative. I will make my way there at once." Your voice never faltered as you push down the building emotions that threaten to spill out, as you walked towards the door Soundwaves visor tracks your movements and he doesn't need to analyse you to know that you feel betrayed.

“It’s a necessary sacrifice.” It echos through his helm, watching from the security camera as Shockwave looms over you his large frame corralling you backwards until your back hits the med slab.

“It’s for Cybertron.” The rage bubbles as Shockwaves servo roughly turns you, his cannon pressing hard into your back to bend you over the Energon-stained slab.

“It’s for the future.” Growling at Shockwave's careless clawing at your interface panelling, his pede kicking your legs open wider as your panels retract.

“It’s for the Decepticons.” Optics focussing back on the data in front of him he continues to listen, the sound of metal harshly clashing against metal along with a chorus of growls and whines fill his audio receptors.

[isa-ghost]

Phil and bagi hcs?

YOU HAVE JUST ENABLED A MONSTER.

I AM SO ABNORMAL ABOUT THESE TWO.

Also these will apply to AMFMN!! Because SURPRISE, if no one has checked the fic tags, her name is listed as a main character. ;) She'll be arriving in Chapter 6!! :D

I cannot fucking WAIT to expand upon their dynamic, which is funny because by the time Bagi shows up, Phil is possessed so it won't be exploration through direct interactions until the recovery period waaay later in the fic. Nonetheless it'll be hype! :D

qPhil headcanons masterlist

Phil is a member of the "Bagi can do whatever she wants forever" club. He supports her rights and wrongs and fully believes she could kick his ass no matter how unbalanced of a fight it'd be in his favor (disclaimer I don't actually know Bagi's exact pvp skill level 🤔)

Bagi is a member of the "God I want Phil to take me on a flight some day, I am so sad his wings are fucked up" club. (She would probably be terrified /pos)

I don't know what it is about their friendship but I feel like Bagi is so much more attuned to the way Phil thinks than the average islander. I guess I'd say it's because of how perceptive she is in general, especially with how she's a detective? Whatever it is, Bagi just has this talent for reading Phil like a damn book. And she won't hesitate to call him on his bullshit either. She's much like Fit in that regard. Crow man can't hide SHIT

Like fr if Phil ever gave Bagi reason to be concerned the first thing she'd do is start cornering those closest to him and either ask what's up or be like "hey Phil's on some shit rn, we gotta go force him to confess whatever stupid shit he's shouldering on his own and bottling up"

Phil has definitely been whacked with the frying pan for not venting and acting like he has to brave the horrors alone btw. Bagi's the type of friend that'll kick your fucking ass if you're not self-caring or being mean to yourself. (I am projecting LMAO)

Bagi isn't as Holy Shit We Could Die Any Second about things as Phil, but they're both very protective people, which can manifest in very volatile ways when they're hurt or angered by something (ie: Feds). I would not want to experience their individual wraths simultaneously.

Bagi is one of the top people Phil shows his gift giving love language to. Be it resources she needs, pictures he's taken of her/Em/Tina or of weird island shit, the means to complete cookie tasks, etc. She's one of the first in mind.

GOD Phil wants her to teach him how to wield a frying pan so badly. He's an excellent swordsman and bowman, but PAN?? The enjoyment he'd get out of it would be infinite, he'd love to be kicking ass while getting a laugh out of it bc pan go BONG when it hits a motherfucker.

If one needs something the other says yes no hesitation. They might ask each other a couple questions, but as soon as they have 100% clarity, they trust each other with the rest and know that if something goes wrong, whoever is present at the time will unleash hell on the person or monster that caused it.

I've somewhat already hinted at it but GOD the mutual admiration they have for each other!! Their wits and way with words, their natural sense of leadership, their determination to defend what they believe in, what they think is right, and the people they love, their specific expertise, the list goes on. They just think the other is so fucking cool and brilliant.

Tbh I think in the right circumstances they'd teach each other some lowkey fucked up tricks they have up their sleeves. Like Bagi giving Phil insight on manipulating people into giving the answers you're looking for by asking the right carefully worded questions, or Phil teaching Bagi the best spots to hit/hurt a person/mob to really do some damage just purely as a "hey if you ever find yourself in a Situation, here's a tip" thing

I don't know how better to show this without explicitly saying it: These two are not the other's fucking caretaker. Phil is not Bagi's father figure and Bagi is not Phil's mother figure. Yes, they can scold each other when the other is doing something dumb (cough, 7 hcs ago, cough). Friends do that. They support each other and call each other on their bs. That is not parenting, that's being a good friend. And they are to each other.

On that note, it hasn't come up too much yet but when shit sucks (like when the eggs were lost or lost lives), they're good at distracting each other. But like without halting the process of dealing with their emotions. If they're sad, they'll be sad together, but they're good at picking the right conversation topics to lighten the mood. If they're mad, they'll be mad together, and they'll plan what to do about it with each other.

I think I've sorta demonstrated it well enough in a couple of these hcs already but AUGH, they're just. So on the same page with each other almost all the time. And when they aren't, they're so good at giving each other perspectives they didn't think of before. Which, I don't mean to compare Bagi to her brother here, but is also how Phil and Cellbit can be with each other too; though they've somewhat fallen out of that sync post-Purgatory. The way the Mystery Siblings are so on the same wavelength as Phil makes me so *slams fist on desk*

Phil is normally a very Just Vibin' kinda guy but Bagi can get him into some really deep intellectual conversations sometimes and it's so 🍿🍿🍿 to watch

[phoenixyfriend]

Okay, following up on that news I saw earlier. I first was alerted to it by the BBC Global News Podcast and Al Jazeera News Updates. For easier reference and more detail, however, I will be referring to this article from AP News for details, which itself references this article that cites the Washington Post.

Things of note:

This seems to have been caused by the recent incident where over 115 Palestinians were killed, and over 750 injured, by the IDF during a reported stampede by starving civilians trying to get to aid trucks.

The air drops will begin "in the coming days," and will start with MREs (military rations).

There will be multiple rounds, according to John Kirby.

The process will be done in conjunction with Jordan, which shares the longest of Israel's borders, the Eastern. (That part isn't in the article but I don't know how many people actually know where Jordan is.)

The US admits that it doesn't... know what it's doing? And is basically going to learn on the job. Not super promising but better than nothing. Most of the concern seems to be that the extreme crowding will increase the risk of injury; I assume dropping large pallets of supplies is easier when there's a lot of empty space, and smaller, less dangerous packages mean dropping less at a time since more space is needed in the planes for the parachutes.

Planes airdropping supplies is in itself MUCH LESS efficient than truck deliveries for this reason.

They're also hoping to set up a "maritime corridor" but there's no real word on how that's going to be achieved other than the ceasefire talks.

The U.S. has been pushing Israel to speed the flow of humanitarian assistance into Gaza and to open a third crossing into the territory, but Friday’s violence showed the challenges no matter the circumstances. “The loss of life is heartbreaking,” Biden said Friday as he announced his decision to order airdrops. “People are so desperate.”

Additionally, the second article has more details on the concerns that kept airdrops from being implemented earlier:

“Aid flowing to Gaza is nowhere nearly enough,” Biden said. “Now, it’s nowhere nearly enough. Innocent lives are on the line and children’s lives are on the line. We won’t stand by until we get more aid in there. We should be getting hundreds of trucks in, not just several.” The White House, State Department and Pentagon had been weighing the merits of U.S. military airdrops of assistance for several months, but had held off due to concerns that the method is inefficient, has no way of ensuring the aid gets to civilians in need and cannot make up for overland aid deliveries. [...] “It’s not the kind of thing you want to do in a heartbeat. you want to think it through carefully,” Kirby said. He added, “There’s few military operations that are more complicated than humanitarian assistance airdrops”

The second article also discusses how domestic conflicts, namely Speaker Johnson's refusal to address foreign crises until "taking care of America's needs" (paraphrase), have been delaying much of what could have been done before now.

[kisses-for-you]

Blood - Vlad Tepes

Dracula X Fem!Reader

Summary: You hate being a vampire and you don't believe anyone can change your mind. But can Vlad do the impossible? Or will he fail?

Word Count: 1,134

Vlad slowly opens the door to your shared bedroom in his grand castle and his eyes stop on your small, frail body laying in the bed. Vlad observes your weakened state. He can't help but notice the sickly paleness of your skin and the fatigue in your eyes. His gaze now holds concern as he decides to address what's been bothering him lately.

"Why do you persist in these inefficient methods, my dear?" Vlad questions, his voice a velvet whisper. "You must drink blood to thrive, yet you deny yourself."

You almost physically recoil from the mere suggestion, fear etched across your face. Just the thought of consuming the blood of another human being sends shivers down your spine.

In the dimly lit room, Vlad approaches you, his presence commanding yet strangely gentle. "My love, you need to embrace your true nature," he urges, a hint of desperation in his voice. As he reaches out to caress your cheek, you can feel the familiar warmth of his touch, giving you a sense of comfort.

You meet his intense gaze, torn between your human morality and the undeniable reality of your weakening state. "I cannot, Vlad. I did not choose this fate, and I shall not inflict suffering upon others due to it," you protest, your voice wavering.

As Vlad contemplates your words, a conflicted expression crosses his immortal face. The tension in the room thickens, accentuated by the flickering candlelight. "I understand your moral quandary, my dear, but you are withering away before my very eyes," Vlad murmurs, his crimson eyes reflecting both love and worry.

After a moment of pure silence, you decide to speak up, your voice slowly getting quieter as a result of your lack of energy. "Why can't you see that this is not about morals? Vlad, I truly loathe what I have become. And if I must continue to live like this... then I harbor no desire to continue living."

Vlad's eyes darken with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. "You do not mean that," he mutters, unable to comprehend that his wife, the love of his life, would feel such a thing as this. You love him, despite the fact that he is a vampire, yet you despise yourself for the very same thing.

"I love you, Vlad. However, I do not wish to continue this conversation for any longer. I am far too fatigued and simply desire some rest," you say, hoping that he will finally stop talking about this. Yes, you hate yourself for being a vampire. You didn't choose this life so why should you make others suffer for it? Animals, humans - it isn't their fault that you are the way you are so you will not inflict harm upon them simply to sustain yourself.

With a deep sigh, Vlad reluctantly nods, his expression a mix of resignation and concern. He leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, whispering, "Rest, my love. We shall revisit this discussion another day."

He gets up to leave but you reach out, grabbing his hand. "Can you stay with me?"

"Of course, my dear," he responds softly, settling beside you. You lay your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating. He wraps a protective arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his side.

As you drift into a troubled sleep, Vlad remains by your side, watching over you with a worried gaze. After some time goes by, Vlad carefully gets up, making sure not to wake you. He leaves the room and returns minutes later with a vial of blood in hand. Vlad carefully approaches your sleeping form and with a tinge of guilt, he administers you a small dose of blood, hoping it's enough to keep you alive until he can find some way for you to drink blood without harming others.

Silently, he curses you and your stupid morals; if it wasn't for them, you wouldn't be suffering like this. But he knows he can't change the way you are so all he can do is try to find a method to sustain you without resorting to the traditional vampiric ways.

He heads to a different part of a castle where he immerses himself in ancient scrolls and tomes, seeking a solution. Vlad can't bear to see you so weak for much longer. He knows that if he doesn't find a solution, the fate that awaits you is something he doesn't even want to consider a possibility. He can't fathom losing you.

The next morning, you wake up to find the room filled with an eerie silence. Vlad's absence is palpable, and a sense of foreboding settles over you. As you explore the castle in search of him, you suddenly feel very dizzy. You lean against the wall for support but it's not much help. After a couple of seconds, your vision goes black and you faint, your body falling to the floor.

Vlad hears the sound of your collapsing body and within seconds, he's by your side. He finds you unconscious on the floor, and panic grips his undead heart. His eyes are wide with worry, concern etched on his face. He gently lifts you, cradling you in his arms. The guilt gnaws at him; he wasn't able to help you in time, and now you're paying the price.

"I should have been faster," Vlad whispers to himself, regret coloring his words. He carries you back to the bedroom, placing you on the bed with utmost care. As Vlad lays you on the bed, a mixture of guilt and determination fills his crimson eyes. He gazes at your unconscious form, vowing silently to find a solution before it's too really too late.

With a heavy heart, Vlad continues his relentless search, the castle's ancient texts and hidden knowledge becoming his refuge. Days turn into nights, and Vlad's desperation intensifies.

But in the end, it just wasn't enough.

In your final moments, Vlad kneels by your lifeless body, grief-stricken. His crimson eyes, once vibrant with determination, now reflect the emptiness that consumes him. For the first time in years, he is truly alone. He clutches your lifeless hand, feeling the chill that has now replaced the warmth he once cherished.

As Vlad gazes at your lifeless form, a single tear slips from his eyes. "I'll love you forever, Y/N Tepes," he whispers, wishing you were actually here to hear his words. But you're not. And Vlad feels that it's all his fault. It's all his fault that the love of his life died. All his fault that you're no longer here. He wishes he could bring you back, but this isn't some romantic fantasy where you can just magically come back to life; this is reality.

[kaelio]

I’ve been loving your IWTV stuff but I haven’t watched the show or read the books. What is it about Anne Rice’s writing that makes it so insane?

Okay, I'm going to do a relatively long post probably.

First off, I want to make it clear that my love of her writing is completely unironic. I genuinely think that she is great. So I do want to lay that down because it's foundational to everything else I'll say.

Her writing is insane for a few reasons. The most basic of these reasons is that, I really think that she was intrinsically out of step with contemporary standards of mental wellness. On the other hand, I am not convinced she was as chemically or... neurologically?... insane as she's generally described. She had a lot of Experiences and those experiences fed into a perception of the world that is notable and characteristic, if borderline indecipherable, and it comes through in what she produced.

These books are steeped in very real trauma, and very real trauma that the world directly rewarded her for experiencing. I'm not sure if the rawness of that trauma was why she was so brazen about exposing it in IWTV, but whatever the reason, "story about how my child died and my marriage can't survive and I can't see any reason for living" made Anne Rice a bona fide recognizable author and commercial success. If "vampires are made from trauma", well consider that metaphor to have carried into the real world. Vampires did in fact give Anne Rice power and wealth (and furthermore, I'd argue, for her, they became essentially household gods).

There's that post that goes around about how Van Gogh made his best work (and really most of his work, period) when he was most stable. I'd posit that the world told Rice the opposite in explicitly material terms, and maybe there was a feedback loop there. Hard to say.

She did write shamelessly and almost aggressively. Her writing doesn't feel carefully tailored or polished for "an audience". It rejects many of the patterns you see in modern fiction (despite being wildly influential for several genres!). It highlights patterns you take for granted in other fiction because of how fundamentally it violates them. I'll splice together bits of a conversation I was having in another window:

me: And I do think that there's an interesting point to be made that the self-infatuation and the people-pleasing actually go hand-in-hand

Because there's a congratulatory aspect to having written something that you know will please other people

Like congratulating yourself ahead of time for the good person that other people are going to tell you that you are

3rd: and that also means you're afraid of writing anything that challenges or stretches the audience

which means you're writing pap

a friend and I were discussing R.F. Kuang whose book Babel was pitched as a 'response' to Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell and ... is not only not in the same league as that book but isn't even playing the same sport

This wasn't us discussing Anne Rice at all, she just feels relevant to it. We're getting increasingly streamlined stories which hit the "right" beats, but they're unsatisfying because they have no authentic skeleton. Why do people still respond to Toy Story but Inside Out is nearly forgotten? I despised Inside Out on its release because it perfunctorily landed all of its beats, but it's only pretending to have something to say. What it does pretend to say is... palatable. But it isn't interesting. It won't change you and it won't inspire a change in you, or give you the material to change yourself.

I go back to this comment over and over by @fofoqueirah because it's genuinely perfect. Peerless distillation:

But people often genuinely cannot write this way! It's overly revealing. We reflexively balk. How or why she didn't is hard to say, but it's gallingly, often horrifyingly, unapologetic. It's unapologetic for things it should probably be apologetic for.

Anyway, her writing is also maddeningly inconsistent, book-by-book, page-by-page, paragraph-by-paragraph, but it's thrilling in part due to its inconsistency. But when it's on, it's so fucking on. However, it's not didactic in any comprehensible way. There are quotes about how she trusted her meaning to come through in the end, which is hilarious because...?? I think you can derive more thematic meaning from a random pattern than you can from these books!! These books are less thematically straightforward than nonsense!

And she herself would regularly dump comments and lore and various things which made it all even weirder. God, I don't even feel like I'm scratching the surface here.

This woman had some kind of relationship with power, capitalism, BSDM, gender, family, religion, brain-eating, and dolls and God help us because she tried to tried to explain it to us and held back nothing and some times you're still. just. a wee babe in the woods.

[pleiades-cabin-talk]

Wichita cannot sleep. This isn't a rare thing for her, she spent most of her childhood evenings lying awake and praying for sanctuary from the dangers that stalked her dreams, but resting in the embrace of the Vast has been healing to her, in a way she'd admit to very few.

She wanders up onto the top deck of the ship, gazing into the endless blue. She'd never seen the ocean before she stepped foot on the Andromeda, and now, she's begun to understand why Gale loves it so. Silent and mysterious and endless. Like her, and so unlike her.

She jolts when she hears someone walk up beside her, prepared to scurry back to her cabin, only to relax when she sees who it is.

"Hello, Rose. Sorry, I don't mean to cause you any trouble by being out after hours, I just...needed some air, that's all."

@residentsofhollowville

Rose smiled fondly at Wichita, stepping Un to their side and watching the horizon with her. "You're quite alright, Wichita." he muses quietly, before shifting to hold his arms behind his back, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. "You are allowed out, no worries. There is no such thing as after hours. Sure, lsot of our guest...prefer to stay inside for the most part when the dark sets in, not to mention the activities we offer, but it is not mandatory to attend."

He's quiet for a moment, then turns to look at Wichita, letting his arms fall back to his sides. "What's keeping you up, dear?" the question sounds an echo of worry, concern for the other. "I would've thought your first day must've been exhausting, are you not tired? You look tired, darling." carefully, he takes a step towards them. Gently, he places a hand on Wichita's upper arm, giving a gentle squeeze and rubbing his thumb along the fabric covering their skin.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

i kinda wanna know what goes down when darling finds out about the database on her. like we know yves is never gonna make a mistake, he's always gonna have things at home under control, but what if darling is just THAT nosy (me tbh) HAAKKALZKAKZ ANYWAY WELCOME BACK HOMIE

Maybe, you finding out about his database is intentional. Yves knows best, after all. He knows that you're not above snooping around his office even though he expressed that it's rude and he does not appreciate you invading his privacy. He is a massive hypocrite in a sense that he finds it unnerving to have anyone else collect information on him like how he collects yours.

He collected enough information to know that you would either be flattered to know he is paying attention to you so attentively that he is willing to invest an exorbitant amount of time and resources on you, or downright disgusted at him. If Yves deems that your reaction to him figuring out his well kept secret is positive (to him), he might even leave hints and clues for you to eventually discover his vault on your own. Even then, the dossiers that you discovered may still be a decoy, to keep you complacent and feeling somewhat secure in your privacy.

It really depends on your personality and how likely you are to react, and what will be the most effective method of making you stay happy with him. He could, weep prettily and apologize sincerely if that would make you feel better about it. He also could stay silent, put on his best poker face and let your anger fizzle out on it's own. Yves has years of experience bargaining and negotiating his way out of trouble and into getting what he wants. He could double-down on his decision and make it as if he isn't in the wrong at all, making you feel embarrassed that you perhaps 'overreacted'. he is horrifyingly good at doing that. He would definitely reward you for backing down.

If you have a particularly short attention span or memory, he could use that to his advantage and distract you with something else, I'd advice you to take a good, hard look at your medication if you take any. Take a look at your prescription glasses, your eyesight isn't getting worse or better. You're not losing your hearing, pay attention to the hidden speakers all around his house, it's playing something that you cannot hear.

The lights aren't bothering you but it doesn't mean you should ignore the fact that it's not irritating. The temperature seems to be perfectly fine, "nothing" wrong. It feels so much easier to breathe here, strange. Time feels different in his home, it almost doesn't feel linear. Some days it's harder to move around on your feet, some days it feels like a breeze.

And these aren't just coincidences, if Yves can control the small, seemingly insignificant things, he can easily puppet massive ones; such as, manipulating your perception of him collecting years worth of classified information of you. His words, he is a master of words. He picks his vocabulary and sentences structuring very carefully.

Before you even realize it, you're beating yourself up for being nosy and impolite instead. Or you might find his obsession with you is something normal and nothing to be upset about, so you drop the subject and drop your concerns. You've been brainwashed and you haven't had the slightest idea.

You might think you wouldn't fall for his mind games, and that is exactly what he wants you to think. Maybe you're a bit more humble and you know you're not immune to indoctrination. He would still want you to maintain that belief in yourself. Whatever you may think, it is beneficial to him.

No one calls him the reality bender for nothing, Yves' mind spins fast and you cannot keep up with him. He is always a mile's worth of steps ahead of you. It doesn't matter if he made mistakes, he is an adult, and can always clean up after himself.

But did he really make a mistake, though?