#balance via missed call

[vonsoh]

! Currently, Vonsoh, the producer behind FunkatearsMuSIC and Funkatears Electro, is actively working on crafting new tracks for the Gay Fight Club (GFC). While facing some time constraints, the dedication to producing high-quality GFC Club songs remains unwavering. Despite missing the creative input from Mc Cock, who is presently preoccupied, the team persists in delivering irresistibly delicious tunes. The challenge lies in balancing the demands of artistic expression with the practicalities of sustaining a livelihood. The current streaming frequency is insufficient for financial sustainability, but the team takes solace in the support of their fans. They recognize the value of having a dedicated fan base and acknowledge the challenges of navigating the music industry's political landscape. The essence of their message revolves around embracing a carefree, authentic, and inclusive ethos, encouraging listeners to revel in their unique expression of identity. The call to "stay gay" is a rallying cry for individuality and freedom, transcending societal norms. The mention of exploring the GFC side on Spotify You can support there work by making payments via PayPal at fairsplitter@gmx.de. Alternatively, immerse yourself in the sonic tapestry of his project by listening and streaming.

[pitchsidestories]

coming home II Guro Reiten x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1190

summary: Guro and you can't wait to be reunited again after you both were away with your Norwegian and Swedish national team.

a/n: Hi, it's inspired by this request here, we hope you have fun with this little, fluffy oneshot.

“Earth to Guro.”, Caroline Graham Hansen spoke visibly frustrated to her fellow Norwegian teammate who was typing and smiling at her phone, but not taking any notice of the rest of the group which was very unlike her.

It was a beautiful day in their home country and yet Guro wished herself back to the rainy streets of London, where you and her would lay in your shared bed, listening to the noise the raindrops made against the large windows.  

“Huh?”, she glanced puzzled at the Barcelona player.

“We’re here.”, Caroline reminded her.

“Sorry, just texted my..”, the Chelsea forward started to apologize.

Maren who was the most familiar with her and the smile she had on her lips while thinking about you interrupted her softly:” Your girlfriend? You’ll see her soon enough.”

“Ugh.”, the Barcelona footballer groaned.

“Don’t ugh me, Caro.”, Guro laughed.

“You’re so in love, it’s disgusting.”, Caroline shrugged.

“Ignore the black cat, Guro. We’re happy you found each other.”, Ada threw in smiling amused.

“We’re happy.”, the other player repeated scoffing.

“All of us except for Caro.”, Ingrid corrected the prior sentence of the Lyon footballer.

“Thanks, girls. I’m really happy with her.”, Guro beamed.

“We get it.”, Caroline muttered, eager to play.

The game went not in the favour of the Norwegians, they lost and played under their own high expectations. The Chelsea forward was relieved once she was able to get to her hotel room and video call you.

 “Can’t wait to see you again, the match was awful.”, she confessed.

“Not that long anymore, one game to go.”, you tried to cheer her up, you were away with your Swedish national team.

“I know.”, Guro admitted.

“You can do this, captain Guro.”, you assured her. Unfortunately, you weren’t alone in your room, Magdalena and Fridolina were sitting opposite of you, giggling at your motivational speech.

“What’s so funny.”, your girlfriend wanted to know.

“Magda, Frido, shut it., you scolded your teammates, before turning back to her, sorry min älskling.”

“Thanks.”, Guro replied.

“Better, right?”

“Yes, a lot.”, she confirmed. Afterwards you continued to talk about your days.

Way to soon, Magdalena reminded you:” It’s dinner time.”

“Damn it, she’s right.”, you cursed.

“Why are your teammates so horrible.”, your girlfriend questioned grinning.

“They are the worst.”, you agreed jokingly.

“Lies, you love us!”, Fridolina protested.

“Yeah, sometimes.”, you answered truthfully.

“See?”, the Bayern Munich defender gave you a winning smile.

“Bye, Guro, hope the grandmas here fall asleep early, so we can continue talking later.”, you said goodbye to her with a heavy heart.

“I hope so too.”, Guro said.

Of course it was raining when you arrived back in London.

Dragging your suitcase behind you, you opened the door to your shared apartment.

“I’m home!“, you called, knowing that Guro must be somewhere. She had let you know via text that she would arrived a few hours before you.

You kicked off your shoes and left your suitcase in the middle of the floor.

Guros face appeared in the doorway leading to your kitchen: “Finally!“

“God, I missed you.“, you smiled at the sight of your girlfriend and jogged over to her to jump into her arms.

Guro, being a similar height as you, almost lost her balance but regained it in the last moment before you both would have tumbled to the floor.

“Missed you too.“

She kissed your cheek before putting you back down.

You sat down at the kitchen table. Without a word, your girlfriend placed a cup of water and a freshly brewed coffee in front of you.

You marvelled at the thoughtfulness. It was exactly what you needed after a long flight.

As soon as she sat down with you, her own coffee in hand, you asked: “How was camp? Tell me everything.“

“Good, really.“, Guro answered plainly but you could tell from the way her face lit up that it actually had been a good camp for her.

You nodded, satisfied with her answer: “That’s great. What kind of food would you like to order? The usual? The bill is on me.“

Your girlfriend smirked at the quick change of topic: “Someone’s in a good mood.“

“Yeah, we won both of our games.“, you explained laughing.

“I saw that.“

“Did you see my goals too?“, you asked innocently while typing on your phone. The order from your favourite restaurant was quickly placed.

“Of course, I did.“

“Pretty nice, huh?“, you bragged jokingly.

Guro wrinkled her nose, rather unimpressed, and shrugged: “They were okay.“

“Only okay?!“, you repeated, feigning offense.

“Yes, only okay.“

You leaned over, poking your girlfriend in the side repeatedly. You knew how ticklish she was.

“Hey, stop that!“, she protested, trying to protect her torso from you.

“Stop what?“, you played dumb, continuing to annoy her until she burst out laughing.

“This!“

“Oh, that.“

“Stop it!“

You finally backed off, giving her time to catch her breath: “Okay, okay.“

“Thanks.“, she sighed.

The doorbell interrupted you anyway.

“Oh, our dinner is here.“, you announced excitedly and stood up.

Your stomach growled as you took the food inside. The smell of take-away immediately filled the kitchen.

“Finally.“, Guro said, impatiently opening the styrofoam boxes.

You took the first bite and hummed: “Delicious as always.“

“I missed this food so much.”, the Norwegian admitted grinning. The varieties of meals you could order in London would never fail to amaze your girlfriend and yourself.

“Same but more than me?”, you replied in a teasingly tone.

“Yes, of course.”, Guro joked before taking another bite.

“What do you want to do now?”, you changed the topic swiftly.

“Like right now?”, the brunette lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes.”, you nodded enthusiastically. Being back with the person you loved most reenergized you like nothing else did.

“Spend time with you.”, she answered genuinely.

Later you both laid together lazily on your sofa and Guro called your Chelsea captain with a smirk on her face:” Hi Millie.”

“What’s up?”, the blonde responded.

“Y/n and I are busy doing gay things and we might not be at training tomorrow.”, the Scandinavian explained.

“Too much information.”, Millie giggled.

“Just letting you know.”, Guro told her friend innocently.

“I’m not covering for you tomorrow.”, the Defender announced determined.

“Please, you owe me that.”, your girlfriend reminded her sweetly.  

“Fine, but don’t ever call me again.”, Millie groaned dramatically.

“Thanks, see you.”, Guro responded gratefully.

“Bye.”, with these words they hang up.

“Gay things?”, you snorted once she has ended the call and looked into your eyes again.

“Yes, we have all night.”, the midfielder winked at you.

“And tomorrow as well.”, you remembered.

“Yes, I’ve to make up for the time we didn’t see each other.”, Guro proclaimed.

“Come here.”, you said beaming, opening your arms for a hug which she happily accepted.

With closed eyes you whispered into her ear:” You’re home now.”

Both of you knew you felt comfortable everywhere in the world, but home to you wasn’t a place, it was each other. Coming home meant returning to one another and it was one of the best feelings in the world.

[ickie]

♡ ... THE SECRET OF US \ CHAPTER ONE ...

pairing ... lando norris x leclerc!reader summary ... fate & it's tendency to stick you & lando together warnings ... alcohol consumption, kissing notes ... it's a little early but i don't think anyone will complain ! more to be explained in the next chapter hehe... feedback is always appreciated & fill out this form to be added to my taglist ! much love <3 ... masterlist ... last chapter ... next chapter ...

your breath hung in the crisp winter air as you exhaled deeply, feeling the cold settle into your bones, taking solace as snow began to fall from the grey sky. abruptly, a hand gripped your arm, pulling you to the side, while another figure brushed past, nearly knocking you off balance.

"what the hell," the words slipped out before you could stop them, your gaze narrowing at the figure who had almost collided with you, then shifting to acknowledge the person who had pulled you out of harm's way.

"sorry!" a british voice called out, but your expression hardened into a scowl.

"are you okay?" your brother's voice cut through the chaos, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. clearly, charles found the near-miss amusing.

"i'm fine," you grumbled, pulling away and shooting a hateful look at lando once more, deciding it was time to head indoors. charles followed, and once inside the foyer, you both went your separate ways.

climbing the stairs, a wave of relief washed over you. you were on a well-deserved vacation with friends and family — and a few acquaintances, though that was beside the point. your room was cozy, reminiscent of something you might have seen on pinterest. after changing into more comfortable clothes and settling onto your bed, you lost track of time scrolling through social media, only realizing it was dinner time when you nearly missed the reminder.

as you hurried to freshen up, the anticipation of a relaxing evening with loved ones filled you with warmth, dispelling the lingering tension from the chaotic moment earlier. a knock at your door interrupted your thoughts, prompting you to peek your head from the en-suite.

"sorry about earlier," a familiar voice said as they entered your room.

"it's alright, truly... i shouldn't have been so distracted," you replied, fiddling with the clasp of a bracelet.

"do you have any idea where we're eating?" you asked, irritation evident in your voice as you struggled with the bracelet. lando approached, taking your wrist gently.

"i think charles made some reservations somewhere," he said softly, clasping the bracelet and lifting your hand to place a kiss on your palm, then winking at you.

you rolled your eyes, feigning a look of disgust before crossing your arms over your chest. without another word to lando, you left the comfort of your room to join the rest of the group. in the living room, charles, pierre, george, and alex stood with their respective partners.

"are we ready?" the question prompted everyone to move, clearly eager to eat dinner and kick off the vacation.

dinner was delightful, conversation flowed, wine flowed even more, and most importantly, you were comfortably full — a bit tipsy, but content. on the drive back with charles and alexandria, you rested your head against the window, watching the snowy landscape that would be your home for the next two weeks. arriving back at the chalet, all you really wanted was to sleep. your belly was satisfied, the wine had begun to take its effect, and your bed called your name, coaxing you to rest.

however, life had other plans, as usual. pierre had mentioned starting the vacation with a bang, which led everyone to scour the chalet for any available alcohol. charles even checked if alcohol could be ordered via doordash, to no avail. somehow, you and lando were volunteered to go to the store and procure what could’ve easily been enough to stock a bar. requests ranged from wine and various liquors to seltzers and mixers, your notes app filled with hastily written explanations of everyone's preferences.

"i'm sending requests for money from all of you," you joked, scowling playfully before breaking into a smile as you grabbed what you hoped was your jacket from the hook. lando followed as you both stepped out into the chilly night air, leaving the warmth of the chalet behind.

settling into the passenger seat of the car, you quickly plugged in your phone. "dibs on the aux," you declared, as directions to the nearest liquor store appeared on the screen.

lando rolled his eyes playfully before he began to drive. "did you notice we’re the only two single people on this trip?" he asked abruptly, causing you to nearly choke on your spit as you tried to stifle a laugh.

"i think you being single here is better than bringing, what's-her-name? she was quite the character," you chuckled, recalling the last time you had seen lando, a brief encounter in the paddock. his girlfriend, or whatever she was, hadn't seemed pleased when you greeted him in passing. carlos had filled you and charles in on all the details after lando confided in him.

lando groaned. "don’t remind me of her. i don’t even know what i saw in her..." he grimaced, his hand dragging down his face.

turning in your seat, you faced lando more directly, an eyebrow raised at his confession. "want to hear something?" you asked, knowing this confession might bring more embarrassment than it was worth.

“back in… early 2021, charles and arthur were both convinced i had the biggest crush on you," you admitted, your cheeks burning as lando burst into a surprised laugh.

"is that why you were banned from the paddock?" he teased, causing you to shake your head.

"yes," you groaned, letting your eyes roll. “i had to convince him i had a crush on danny ric, of all people! i think my options truly, were either him, or alonso… but let’s be honest… who didn’t have a crush on alonso..?” you questioned, a grin on you features.

lando parked the car shortly after, the drive having been brief. "let’s continue this conversation after we've had some alcohol," he joked, stepping out and crossing the car to open your door.

the liquor store was unremarkable, but as you checked out, you couldn't help feeling slightly anxious about what the cashier thought — not that it really mattered, but it did to you.

returning to the chalet, you were greeted with cheers as you entered, everyone eager to get the vacation started, as pierre had said. one celebratory shot of tequila turned into two, then three, and suddenly you found yourself sipping on a rum and coke that was more rum than coke. amidst the chaos, someone had started a fire in the backyard, declaring, "if we don’t use the firepit tonight, are we ever really going to use it?" it might have been george or alex; you weren't entirely sure, as they were inseparable, indulging in each other’s less-than-brilliant ideas.

now, you were wrapped in a blanket outside. with no snowfall, your jacket, sweatpants, and shoes provided enough warmth as you sat by the roaring fire. your drink had been forgotten indoors, a smile gracing your face as you looked around at this group of people who, at this moment, were your entire world.

there was a comfortable silence among the group, everyone clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol they’d been consuming. people began to slowly trickle back inside, claiming they needed to get their beauty sleep. you weren’t too sure who was the first to start the slow exodus, but eventually it was just you, charles, and lando outside. the two men had begun to discuss the previous f1 season, but you were more than zoned out, idly scrolling through your social media feeds since you didn’t necessarily feel like going inside at that moment.

“i love the two of you, truly, but can we talk about anything other than your jobs? you’re on vacation,” you deadpanned, raising an eyebrow as they quickly shut up. the silence that followed made you huff in annoyance.

“the last time you did this to me, charles, it ended in me not talking to you for three days. pick your battles.” you reminded him, hoping to jog his memory of when you were twelve and he had irritated you to the point of a silent treatment that lasted days. maman had eventually insisted you make up, teaching you a lesson about holding grudges.

“wait, you what?” lando laughed, looking between you and your brother.

“she ignored me for no reason! apparently, i was annoying her, so she decided to ignore me. she can deal with arthur, but not me. it was hurtful,” charles lamented, causing you to roll your eyes.

“going to ignore you again,” you grumbled, tightening the blanket over your shoulders. it was starting to get cold.

as he stood up, charles threw a pillow in your direction, nearly hitting you in the head. you stayed silent, shooting daggers at him as he retreated inside, claiming he was half asleep and wasn’t responsible for his actions.

lando stood up after him, reaching a hand out for you to grab onto as you stood. “it’s too cold. i think i’m frozen to the seat.” you looked up at him, a pout taking over your features.

laughing, the brit sat down next to you and wormed his way into your blanket. “let me warm you up. i don’t think sleeping out here would be a good idea.” there was a slight slur to his words, causing you to wonder if you sounded the same.

with lando this close, you unashamedly stared at him. you noted his long eyelashes, pretty eyes, smile lines, and the mole that dotted one of his cheeks. his cheeks were a rosy color, probably from the cold, but that didn’t stop you from reaching up and tousling his hair, messing up the curls that had stayed put for most of the day.

“can i help you?” he laughed, his smile forming a heart shape as his teeth showed.

“no,” you hummed, offering him a smile. “you’re just… pretty.”

your eyes met his, taking in their light color and how they seemed to shift from brown to a dazzling green. his eyes flicked down to your lips before he looked you in the eye again. one of his hands came up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

next thing you knew, you felt the warmth of his lips on yours. warmth filled your body, your belly alive with butterflies as you kissed. you could vaguely taste the remnants of the alcohol he had consumed earlier, and it was delectable. all you could do was want more, but that wasn’t feasible – this was one of your brother’s friends and, well, one of his colleagues. the thought snapped you out of it, abruptly pulling away from lando.

clearing your throat, you looked at him, biting down on your lower lip. “i’m so sorry, i—” he started before you stopped him, shaking your head.

“good night, lando,” was all you could say as you stood up, quickly making your way inside and beelining it for your room.

this couldn’t be happening, not again.

[astroboots]

PUNCH-OUT LOVE 2

Artwork by @guruan

LOST AND FOUND

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: You're sent on a wild goose chase for your missing handbag in the Lost and Found section and find something else instead: Miguel O'Hara.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

[Previous Chapter]

The stage is empty. 

The gargantuan defeated Knock Out King, all 340 pounds of him was loaded on a stretcher minutes ago. He was lying face up as if he was taking a restful nap on a hammock while he was carried out into the crowded noise of fascinated and hushed whispers. 

The ring lights are dimmed down now and most of the crowd have gotten to their feet and are pouring out of the stadium.

You're still glued to your seat, the hard plastic of the chair, bruising against your tailbone. But despite the discomfort you make no moves to get up. You're too busy staring up at the evacuated stage, reliving the scene that had unfolded before your very eyes minutes ago.

The swift motion of punches flying through the air, evaded with precise dodges. The refraction of ring light bouncing off brown glistening curls. The sheen of sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat as he closed in and landed the final blow that had his opponent reeling back and crashing to the ground.

"You alright?"

You snap out of your thoughts at the familiar voice, and find yourself blinking up at a pair of inquisitive eyes.

"You look completely zoned out, like you're on a different planet.” 

“Sorry, Jess,” you say, “I’m– I was distracted.” 

Standing on her feet, Jess gestures towards the exit in the back of the arena. "Should we start heading out? Gonna be a real pain in the ass grabbing a taxi in this crowd, we better hurry"

With a brief nod, you rise in your seat, feet wobbly and a bit out of balance as you file out of the arena in the crowd.

Maybe it's the heat in the arena, overcrowded as it had been mere minutes ago, but you feel like you're sleepwalking. Even as you're physically leaving the stadium, your mind is still left behind, sat in the front row seat, staring up at Miguel O'Hara.

The flash of knuckles as O'Hara's fist connected to his opponent's jaw. Watching the other man's bottom lip wobble as spit flew out of his mouth seconds before he landed in defeat.

Your veins still thrum with adrenaline. Your heart thumping in excitement. You can't contain the rush of emotions that swells in your chest.

That was amazing... He was amazing.

Still in a daze, you’re acting on muscle memory as you follow Jess out into the lobby, until you reach the outside and are standing in the back of a long and seemingly unending line for a cab.

"Shit, Uber prices have surged like mad," Jess is muttering next to you, frantically swiping at her phone.

She's cursing away, trying for every alternative taxi app: Lyft, Via, Gett, with little success.

You're only paying her half-attention.

Standing under a canopy of the parking zone, you're staring up at the evening above, but you’re not really seeing the light-polluted starless city sky. All you see is the sharp focus of mahogany eyes as they turned in your direction and settled on you. You can feel it still. The intensity that resided in them, burrowing into your skin and has made a home in you. An itch that you cannot scratch that is consuming you from within.

"Hey!"

The sharp sound breaks your concentration. "Did you hear me at all?" Jess asks.

There's a terse impatience in her voice that means she's probably been calling for your attention a handful of times by now while you were zoned out.

"No. I--sorry," you say sheepishly. "What were you saying?"

"Can you try getting on Uber? I have a shit rating there and no one will accept my requests."

Nodding absentmindedly, you reach for your handbag slung across your shoulder. Your shoulder feels awfully light, and you swipe at empty air before you realize, there's nothing there. You're not wearing your handbag.

Crap.

"Did you leave your handbag inside?" she asks. 

You revisit your steps. You last remember having it on when you sat down and hung it on the back of your seat. You were so out of it when you left the arena, you don't think you ever picked it up.

"I think I left it inside, I'm gonna head back in, I'll be right back."

“Alright, but hurry!” she shouts after you as you run back inside. 

Without the tight squeeze of having to manoeuvre your way through the impatient crowd, your journey back into the stadium is a much quicker one than when you entered before the game. 

Everywhere you go is empty this time around. The glitz and glamor has completely faded.

There is a strange atmosphere in the arena in the aftermath when it's devoid of people. Your footfalls echoes and bounces of the walls, and you become aware of your every movement.

You rush through the rows hurriedly, eyes scanning the plastic seats even before you have reached your own previous seat. 

When you finally do, there's nothing there.

Shit.

On stage, there is a member of the cleaning staff, mopping up the grimy sweat and grubby soap from the squeaky vinyl floor.

"Excuse me," you ask, and the man ducks up to stare at you. "You wouldn't have happened to see a handbag that was hanging here would you?"

"Check lost and found," the man says brusquely as he continues to sweep the stage unbothered by your presence.

That’s seemingly the only thing you are going to get from him. He doesn’t pay you anymore attention, even as you shift your feet to try to catch eye contact and regain his attention to ask where the lost and found section is. It doesn't work.

After two awkward shuffles, you decide to take your luck elsewhere. You make your way back down the row of seats in the hopes you might find an usher who can point you in the right direction. 

But the corridors are even emptier now. The only people wandering down the aisles are not paying you any notice and actively avoiding any eye contact you try to establish in order to initiate a conversation. In other words, they’re behaving like New Yorkers do in New York. 

You sigh, trudging along another dimly lit hall when you spot a tall lanky man munching on a half eaten donut. He’s clad in slippers and a pink bathrobe with the most angelic looking cherub baby, bouncy curls and all, strapped in a BabyBjörn to his chest. 

You’re not entirely sure that he works here, or that he would have any better idea than you at finding the Lost and Found section. 

The only reason you decide to approach him anyway is the bright security badge in big bold capital letters reading “VIP ACCESS” hung around his neck. 

Gently you tap him across the shoulder, and the man turns around.

His eyes go big and rounded, pupils dilated with shock at the sight of you as he stares down at you. “Oh holy shit!” 

The man seems high. 

Shaggy hair and unkempt scruff on his jaw, wearing sweatpants over a stained t-shirt. He certainly looks the part of a stoner, save for the part where he has a literal child strapped to his chest. 

“Sorry," you try politely. "I lost my bag and the custodian said I should go to–”

The man in front of you nods enthusiastically, but you get the sense that he’s not really taking in the words you are saying. 

“Yeah, yeah! Of course,” he interrupts. “Right down the hall. You won’t miss it, it’s the only room there” 

You peek down the hallway he’s pointing you towards. Except you can't see down the passage he’s suggesting you take because there is an obstruction. Two in fact. Two mountainous security guards standing shoulder to shoulder to block anyone from going down that route. 

That doesn’t seem right. 

Why would a Lost and Found section be so heavily guarded? 

“Are you sure that’s correct?” you eye the bodyguards cautiously, trying be polite about the obstacle the two large men blocking the said hallway presents. Especially when they are only three feet away and definitely within hearing range. 

Luckily, stoned as the overly friendly man in front of you may be, he seems to catch the drift without any further hints from you. 

“Oh right!” He grabs the security badge hanging around his neck. “Take this,” he says and drapes it over your head with dramatic flair as if he’s rewarding you with the honorary city keys. 

The two men part as you approach. You feel like you are Moses, the chosen one, and the red sea is parting before you. 

You look back one more time, and in the sliver of space between the two security guards you see your friendly stoner flash you an amicable salute in your direction as the angelic looking baby waves at you with a squeal. 

“Good luck,” he shouts over to you. 

Strange man. 

You continue down the hall, to the flickering of the glaring fluorescent light that is entirely too bright as you reach the only room at the dead end of this hall. 

It’s odd. Why would a communal space such as a lost and found section be so damn hard to find and this heavily guarded. Why on earth would anyone need a security pass just to reach it? Is this some elaborate scam run by the boxing organization? Do they make massive winnings from reselling spectators' left behind belongings on Ebay? Because otherwise this seems like exceptional poor planning on the architect’s part. Either that, or the friendly stoner pointed you in the wrong direction… which seems like the most probable option. 

For a second, you contemplate turning around to find the man again and ask him if this really is the right place. But Jess is waiting. She must be either pissed or incredibly worried at how long you’ve taken already. A twinge of guilt pass over you, you're hoping it's the former rather than the latter.

Shaking your head, you open the door and the first sight that greets you are rows after rows of oldfashioned lockers standing like sentinels. 

There are no boxes here. No junk items of lost wallets, or jackets. Instead all you see is the vision of the man standing several feet away from you. His wide impressive back filling up the space of the empty room as he looms over an open locker. 

“Parker, I told you I’m not in the mood.” 

You freeze, shoes stuck to the floor as if the soles have set in with industrial cement to the tile. 

It doesn’t matter that you can’t see his face, or that you’ve never heard him speak before. You’d recognize that perfect silhouette in a heartbeat after tonight. A man of proportions so exceptional, you’re not entirely sure he’s a real flesh and blood human. 

It's a presence so large that even in this changing room he looms so tall, you swear he must have to duck to not hit his head against the ceiling. 

He seems like he’s sprung out of the imagination of a 13 year old boy’s idea of what a Superhero from the Golden Age of comic books should be.

Miguel O’Hara. 

In front of you, he slowly rises, straightening his posture. Somehow, and you don’t understand how that’s physically even possible, he grows even taller with the movement. 

It’s like the scene out of Jurassic park when the Velociraptor is inches away and approaching. Even as you watch him slowly turn to face you, you’re too frozen to flee out of the room. The only thing you find yourself doing is breathing harder and harsher. Until it’s too late and he’s turned fully around, facing you. 

O’Hara stands unmoving, towering with the presence of a monolith. 

Even though you’re clearly not the person he was expecting. Even though you’re clearly not this Parker person he thought he was speaking to, he’s not saying anything. His face is stoic, not betraying a hint of emotion. The sole clue that he’s even registering your presence is the way his perfect arched brow arches. 

He doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, just as still as you are, eyes locked on you. 

He is assessing you, you realize. Stern, sharp and penetrating eyes, starting from the tip of your toes, up the length of your legs to your shoulders until his assessing stare lands at the crown of your head. 

It’s the same focused and unwavering attention you felt on you from across the stage not even half an hour ago when you were sat in the rickety plastic chair and he was standing in the boxing ring. 

Electricity sparks, bright and sharp, along the surface of your skin until every hair stands at alert at his attention. 

“I’m so sorry. I think there’s been a mistake”, you try to explain. “I lost my bag, and I asked where the Lost and Found section was and for some reason some random pothead told me to come down here.” 

You flash the badge at him. “They gave me this and nobody stopped me, I didn’t mean to interrupt you in your… uhm….” 

Your eyes land on the trickle of water that’s pooled on his neck. The wet sheen of his brown curls fresh out of the shower, then drift lower. 

More bare skin. Your sentence trails off mid-word. Words slurring at the tip of your tongue. It feels heavy in your mouth and syrupy, like you’ve been given the good stuff at the dentist and you lose track of what it was you were trying to say. 

His skin is tanned and marred with black-brown bruises, a testament to what his body has been put through. Somehow every inch still manages to look impossibly soft and you are itching to skim your fingertips all over him. 

Your eyes linger on his bare chest and hard stomach. He’s only clad in a towel. It modestly wraps around his narrow hips, and you catch the sparse trail of hair that graze down below his navel and every single one of your brain cells is erased of any coherent thought. 

Then he finally breaks the silence.

"What did you think of the fight?"

You blink up at him at his question. Did you miss a sentence while you blacked out? You must’ve. How did you go from walking into the wrong room-- interrupting and invading someone’s private space as he’s come right out of a shower-- to him asking you a casual question as if this is nothing out of the ordinary and you’re just sat across him at a cafe to catch up? How is he not calling security to throw you out of here? 

And what does he mean, 'what do you think?'

What are you supposed to think about it? You know nothing about boxing.

Wracking your head, you try to think of something clever to say that doesn't make you sound like a complete novice. You're replaying videotapes of boxing matches from your childhood, grasping at phrases used by announcers during the fight.

Words like footwork, technical knockout and roundhouse punch flit through your mind, but you don't know how to string them together into sentence that sounds remotely half intelligible.

In front of you, O'Hara tilts his head to the side as he observes you. Your fingers tingle from the attention of his focused gaze on you. In all of your life, you can't ever recall being this affected by a man just looking at you.

Shit, he's still waiting for an answer isn't he? He's still looking up at you with those expectant narrowed eyes, waiting for you to answer. You open your mouth, blurting out the first thing that comes to your mind.

"I liked it. It was like a dance."

The moment the words leave your mouth you regret it. Your cheeks burn with heat.

Oh god. You sound like a brainless moron.

What an incredibly ditzy thing to say. Why not just compare him to a fucking mime or a tap-dancer while you're at it?

You're better than this. But you blame your lack of cognitive functions at how the sight of this half-naked man has incinerated every last one of your brain cells.

You brace yourself for him to laugh you out of the locker room. But he doesn't. Instead that stern expression on his face breaks. His full lips curve into a small, disarmingly sweet smile.

The smile softens his features. His brown eyes go warm when he looks up at you, brows rounding and no longer tense. It's nothing at all like the angry sharp lines etched into every line of his face when he was on stage, fists braced for a fight. 

"Yeah?" he asks, so much more soft spoken than you had expected a guy of his size to be.

Still out of sorts, you nod your head dumbly at him. "Yeah."

The smile on his lips grows. You don't know if it's a trick of the light, but as dim as this gray and dingy locker room is, it seems to go a little bit brighter with it. He looks at you with a nostalgic familiarity that is reserved for a longtime friend. 

Oh god help you. He's not just scary, and alarmingly handsome in a way that makes him belong on the glossy covers of GQ. It's so much worse than that... he's cute.

You physically shake your head to snap yourself out of it.

Get a fucking grip. You’re meant to be on a seemingly futile journey to find your handbag, not a prowl to get your rock offs. 

Oh shit. 

… Except that's what this is, isn't it?

That’s why he hasn’t chased you out of his room. 

That’s why he’s trying to make small talk. 

Why he’s asking you what you thought of the match. 

He thinks you're a groupie. Some starstruck boxing fan, that's wormed their way past his manager to get a backstage pass and a chance to ride the boxing champion. You should probably say something to correct his misunderstanding...

You look back up at him. That warm and unassuming smile that's still there on his face.

Yes. You should do that. Speak up and explain the situation. But for some reason you don't. You stand there in place. Mouth parting and closing like a dumb goldfish, unable to find the words to explain the situation.

Until a terrible whisper of a thought enters your brain. What if you don't...

It lasts entirely too long. Two whole seconds before you remind yourself that it would be wrong for one. Because that would be operating under false pretenses.

...

Except would it though?

There is no membership to join the council of groupies that you need to apply for beforehand. There's no harm and no foul here.

After all, whether you're a groupie or not, if you're both willing adults, then what's the problem here?

...

The problem is that it would still be a lie, and you'd know.

Your mind is playing ping pong in the thought process.

It's like there is a tiny angel sitting on your right shoulder and a miniature devil on the left.

You look peer up at him again, biting down on your lip at the sight before you. All dark eyes and tanned skin and pouty lips. Shit.

The devil and angel may be in disagreement about the ethics of this situation, but here's the thing, they are in complete and total agreement over one thing.

Both of them want to fuck him.

To be continued.

A/N: Guys guys so sorry it took forever. Life has been wiiiiild as of late. I have quite a few WIPs going on at the moment and having a bit of a think about which ones to continue/prioritise so if you do want to see more of this one please let me know! Let me know if you enjoyed this, if you want to see more and what you would like to see.

Big thank you to my bestie Guruan who made the beautiful art banner for me. This is my treat to her because I'm unable to send her icecream in person.

And of course as always all my love and gratitude. If I could I would give her my heart on a platter: @thirstworldproblemss I got a bit stuck on how to get these two in the same room together and she helped me plot this chapter. Thank you for always letting me rubberduck things with you.

[gumbootillustrations]

day 20 - quote

"you are garroth, protector of the innocent, sworn to care and love for those in need"

my take on what should've happened at the end of s1. context and uncensored image below the cut (tw // mild gore (blood splatter))

so uh... yeah. at the end of season 1 of ashes, ashes, garroth kills zane in irene's cathedral.

the setup for this series of events goes wayyyy back, back to the first war of the magi. in ashes, ashes, xavier was a divine warrior, the justiciar - i've talked abt this in a few of my other posts (specifically in this one), but essentially he founds the jury and carves off nine pieces from his relic to form the juror relics, which give the jurors their uh, for lack of a better term, juror powers. however, during the first ru'auni-tu'lan war (about 400ish years before the main story of ashes, ashes takes place), the relics went missing - leaving the jurors as little more than figureheads for a good few centuries.

then, about 20-25 years before aph shows up on the outskirts of phoenix drop, the high priest of o'khasis at the time figures out a way to give the jurors their juror powers without the relics via a blood magick ritual. said ritual is successful, but it upsets the balance of the universe so badly that the primordial gods intervene and sick a plague on o'khasis, killing roughly a quarter of the population and almost including lord garte ro'meave in that statistic (yes, this is the "near-death experience" that is cited as turning him from a kind-of-asshole into a right cunt). during the plague, a toddler-age garroth gets really sick, and goes for a wander throughout the ro'meave residence and ends up in the attic, where he finds a strange, glowing rock that seems to be calling out to him... he remembers bugger all of this, and what he does remember he puts down to a fever dream.

later on down the line, after nicole fakes her death and disappears about three or so years before the start of ashes, ashes, zane begins to show signs of what garte believes to be dissatisfaction with his regime, and in an effort to bring zane back under his control, he forces xavier's relic into his only remaining son. if zane had the spiritual constitution to wield said relic, this would be all fine and well, but because he doesn't, he begins to suffer the effects of relic corruption, which slowly drives him insane until he's the mad, devoted-to-his-interpretation-of-irene-and-her-doctrine-above-all-else, lawful-evil, war-criminal priest that he's introduced to us as during the wedding arc of season one.

then, during the battle for phoenix drop, garroth hands himself and the amulet over to zane in an attempt to save phoenix drop from a battle that he knows they're doomed to lose. and zane turns him into a juror via the ritual - and because garroth has (unknowingly) been holding esmund's relic in him this whole time, everything turns to custard, and garroth is rendered effectively comatose for pretty much the entire confrontation between zane, lillian, and the phoenix drop gang (aph, aaron, laur, and katelyn) - until zane moves to attack and kill aphmau right after she's absorbed irene's relic.

so you know how in starlight we're told that the relics are sentient? and you know how in starlight we're told that the relics have the ability to control the bodies of their hosts?

well uh. esmund's relic reacts to the threat against its matron that it senses. and with garroth essentially catatonic and in no state to fight back against the possession, he stands up, corners zane in a barrier, and rips xavier's relic out of his brother's chest - killing him almost immediately - before collapsing again, leaving the others to drag him out of the cathedral when zoey shows up with the portal. the entire time, zane is screaming at him to snap out of it, to remember who he serves, to remember who his brother is, and all the while the others can only watch on in horror as garroth condemns the one man hes spent the entire season trying to save to death.

garroth doesn't find out that he's killed his only remaining sibling (to his knowledge) until he wakes up two days later.

so yeah. ro'bro angst.

let me know if u have any questions! :3

[chrollosbm]

Sunflower Fields: a Choso Love Story Chapter Ten

art cr: umbra3terna on x

You're broken from a past relationship, thinking you only deserve the worst. Choso comes along, making you realize you deserve the world and more. Will your ex-boyfriend let you go without a fight? (Choso x black!reader, yandere Choso)

Previous Chapters

pls support me on ao3, it would mean the world to me

Choso was bored. It was Friday night and he was currently laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how much he missed you. Granted, he had just seen you two days ago, but who’s counting? He only wanted to be around you at all times, making sure you were safe and sound, always within eyeview and in his protection.

The man began to genuinely worry when you wouldn’t message him back during a certain timeframe (after a half hour, Choso’s mind would reel,) or when you would fall asleep before his nightly ‘goodnight’ text, not responding until the next morning, with a ‘sorry, fell asleep,'' as if he didn’t stay up half the night, contemplating driving past your house to make sure everything was okay. 

You kept your promise and stayed with him until you were able to go back to work in person, with you insisting on going back to your own apartment when you had to return to the office. Something about wanting to keep your daily routine. Ugh, whatever. 

As part of the agreement though, Choso had to be the one to take you to and from work, with no exceptions. Because he had finally convinced (forced) you to let him take care of your car repairs, it was now in the shop for a couple weeks. He didn’t understand why you had gotten so worked up about him simply wanting to pay for the repairs, it really wasn’t that much of a hassle for him. In all honesty, he really wanted to buy you a new car, but seeing your reaction to him offering to get maintenance done on it, he made the right call. 

You thankfully seemed to be more receptive to him wanting to take care of you now as each day passed, with him doing little things to make your days easier. Starting off, he woke up extra early to get your signature caramel latte and chocolate croissant every morning from your favorite cafe for you to start the day, knowing you never wanted to show your face in the establishment anymore thanks to the public spat between you and that horrible ex-boyfriend of yours. The simple gesture seemed to ease your usual morning tension, bringing that bright smile to your face, so he decided to make it a habit to do for you every day.

You had also briefly mentioned wanting to get beauty maintenance done for your upcoming birthday weekend (whatever that meant,) and that it was going to be more on the expensive side, so Choso did the obvious thing and proceeded to send you a hefty balance via apple pay. He really had no idea how much all this stuff costs, but he knew it sounded pricey, so he wanted to be more on the safe side. 

You, of course, didn’t take it willingly at first, throwing a fit, causing another argument, claiming that paying for vehicle maintenance was more than enough. You really didn’t get it, he could buy you the entire world, the entire universe, and it still wouldn’t be enough for him. After a tense back and forth between the two of you (and a few aggressive taps on the ass from Choso,) you accepted it, gratefully. He knew it would be a huge help and that you would eventually give up anyways, but he really wanted to drill it in your head that you would never have to want for anything when you were his.

You already were his, he just hadn’t made it official, yet. The timing never seemed right with everything going on. From drama with your ex to your upcoming birthday celebration, he just didn’t know when to ask you. It was going to be very soon, he knew that, he was just waiting for the perfect opportunity and the best way to pop the question. He really wanted to jump several steps and make you his wife already, but that wasn’t the socially acceptable way to do it. Boring. 

He wanted to be your husband and the father of your kids already, to hell with societal norms. You were the most beautiful being in the world to him, he knew there was no other person on this planet that could turn his head or excite him in the way that you did. Your impulsive and vibrant personality always kept him on his toes and he loved it. Being with you brought him out of his shell, with him slowly becoming more expressive with his emotions and talkative because of you.

Anyway, as he lay in bed thinking of you, he couldn’t help but wish you were still home with him, where you belonged. Every day you were at his place, he had something to look forward to when he got back from work. Coming home to the smell of grilled cheese and freshly brewed coffee was something he had grown accustomed to. He would come home to see you in his clothes that were too large for you, bare faced, with that head full of curls, looking so fucking pretty. He especially loved the couple days he would come back to see you hanging out with Yuji, either watching television or listening to his youngest brother talk your gorgeous little head off about something you very clearly had no clue what he was going on about. You just listened, pitching in every now and then, asking questions to encourage the conversation. 

God, he missed you so fucking much. 

One thing he really missed though? The incredible, mind shattering, groundbreaking sex the two of you had been having. You two were at it like rabbits, going round after round, lasting until one of you passed out (it was always you falling asleep right after asking for another round.) Choso had learned you were a borderline nymphomaniac, wanting to fuck every chance the two of you were behind closed doors. He wasn’t complaining though, he was finally glad he found someone who could keep up with him, he’d just underestimated how much of a sex fiend you were, and how much stamina you really had.

“Cho’, fuck- I’m gonna cum again. Please.” You were stuttering on Choso’s rigid cock, your hands fisted in your own hair of shiny curls, head leaned back as you rocked your hips back and forth on top of him, incomplete sentences coming from your mouth.

Choso was staring at you from below in awe, lip caught in his teeth, your perfect body grinding on his impossibly hard dick, with your nipples harder than rocks. He could see the goosebumps on your body as you moaned out, trying to remain as quiet as possible in the house, even though the stereo from up above in Yuji’s bedroom had been blasting for hours now.  

“Please what, baby?” Choso’s voice was husky and deep, louder than yours, knowing his brother couldn’t hear you two going at it like animals. His arms were resting behind his head, a proud smile on his face, body sat up halfway as he watched you fuck yourself on top of him, sitting on your rightful throne like the queen you were. He was only a peasant compared to you, watching as you ruled his world. “You’re doing so good, pretty girl. Fuck-” He paused mid sentence, feeling the pulse of your wet cunt, causing an electric bolt to shoot up his body. “Keep using me. Ride this fucking dick.” He continued after a brief second, pants filling his breath.

He’d noticed your body reacted to the dirty words he oh so loved muttering as he was inside of you, so he’d made a habit of speaking filthily to you, as well as giving you the words of praise he always did. 

Your pretty eyes snapped to his, tears brimming in those brown irises as he felt your soft walls tighten around him and your movements stopped briefly as you let out a closed mouthed whimper, entire body twitching as you did so, causing Choso to let out a shiver at the sudden tight, hot hug your cunt was giving him. He felt your arousal drip out of you and down his shaft, the blend of both of your cum mixing together again, not knowing whose liquid was whose. 

“That’s a good girl…” Choso spoke, trying to compose himself, voice trailing off as he lifted his hips to meet yours, selfishly wanting to have another orgasm too. Your eyes almost bulged out your head at the sudden movement and sultry moans came out of that pretty mouth, forming an ‘o.’ “Can I cum inside you again, baby? Keep filling you up? Please?” He asked all at once, eagerly, knowing you would say yes anyway, he was just showing a little consideration. 

You simply nodded, facial expression remaining the same, seemingly unable to speak as you were still riding out your intense orgasm that was currently dripping down Choso’s left thigh. That’s all it took for Choso to use his large hands to grip your asscheeks and use its plumpness to glide you up and down his wet cock, causing you to snap out of your daze, with your pretty moans to fill the large room again. 

His hips were snapping up at the perfect speed, going deep enough to reach your g-spot, your soft cunt warming the entirety of his length with each thrust. He wasn’t going to last long, he knew that already as he had been cumming fast all night (and week.) He had already emptied his load into you twice already during the past hour, with both you and he not wanting to end this incredible session you were having. 

He wasn’t complaining though. Why would he? He had the best view right now. Your incredible body on top of his, using him for your pleasure, brown skin glistening with light sweat, dark hair sticking to your face and neck, fucking crying and panting on his soaking dick. If he could live in this moment forever he would, pleasuring you infinitely.

Your pretty face was twisted up again, eyebrows furrowing as you looked down at him with tears now running down your face, and Choso knew what that meant. His rams got progressively rougher and he knew he was close again, too. He had to get another orgasm out of you before he finished though. He needed to feel you milking his seed out of him and into you, then he would be done for the night. Maybe. 

He spit on his thumb before quickly attaching the digit to your clit, still using one arm to wrap around your waist to guide you on his cock, your clapping ass bouncing on him roughly, and began rubbing soft circles on the sensitive bud. You were panting again, more tears streaming from your eyes and onto your glistening neck. Choso was beginning to lose it just as you clenched on his length again, your tight, sopping pussy sliding up and down, up and down, and fuck. 

Right on queue, the two of you were cumming at the same time, Choso’s rough, rhythmic, movements stuttering, hot seed spilling into you, as he groaned out, head resting back onto the headboard as he released into you. You were still a mess on top of him, your orgasm running through you with your wet lips quivering, looking absolutely delectable.

Choso spoke lowly and out of breath, almost wincing from the overstimulation of your tight cunt still squeezing around him. “That’s right, baby. Cum on this dick, it’s all fucking yours.” His arm around your waist was guiding you to grind on him, riding him as his thumb still abused your swollen button. You were a sobbing, gorgeous mess on top of him, those pretty sounds coming out those precious, full lips of yours, as more of your juices soaked his sheets, creating a huge mess he loved seeing.

His swollen cock was still twitching inside you, extremely over sensitive when you asked him if he could keep going, that pretty voice filling his ears, making it impossible for him to say no.

Choso’s dick was in his hand at the memory, swollen and ready to erupt as he heard the ping of his cell phone causing him to let out a loud groan. He reached over to the bedside table and his heart skipped a couple beats as he saw your name next to the messages icon on his lock screen. A smile spread across his lips upon seeing that, forgetting all about his aching cock.

He opened the message to see that you sent multiple photos of yourself, all showing your new look. His throat dried up as he swiped through each photo, soon having to clear his throat or he would begin dry heaving.

You were sporting a new hairstyle, your natural hair flat ironed, and cascading down your back, thick and shiny. Your dark, sultry eyes had long lashes on them that flattered your eye shape, making you look impossibly more beautiful. Your hand was displayed in the photo, showing a new set of nails that were long and painted a cream color with extravagant gems on a few of your fingers. 

He quickly loved every image, and texted you back, “Are you trying to make my dick hard? If so, mission accomplished.” He wasn’t lying, he was still hard, somehow impossibly more than before as he stared at the photos. You were looking straight into the camera, giving the lens a seductive look. 

Your text back came in fairly quickly after that, a notification indicating you loved his message and a sly response of  “Don’t I always do that?” 

Choso laughed out loud at that, knowing you were right. He decided to give you an actually compliment in response, one with words consisting of “beautiful,” “sunflower,” and fucking your brains out the second the two of you were alone.” Very romantic.

He knew you were going out tonight, with your sisters visiting from out of town since the day before. Andrea had apparently made it clear that the first half of your birthday weekend was for “the girls,” a message Kento had relayed over to him during their lunch break one day at the office. 

Because your birthday fell on a Sunday, you wanted to celebrate with your sisters and best friend Thursday-Saturday night. Choso rolled his eyes at that. He was happy you were making time to spend time with your sisters and Andrea, but he fucking missed you. He was incredibly selfish and wanted you all to himself, wanting to spend the entirety of your birthday weekend together so he could spoil you all three days, not just the day as planned. 

It was okay though, considering Andrea had planned a surprise party at her and Kento’s apartment on Saturday, and Choso was invited. Tonight was apparently a “girls only clubbing night.” Choso tensed up at that thought. The last time you went out, it didn’t go too well for you. He, in fact, had no idea where you were that entire night. The worry and anxiety he felt was something he never wanted to feel again, the emotions he was currently feeling right now..

He trusted you, but he didn’t trust other people. What if someone tried to hit on you? What if they tried to hurt you? You were nothing but his weak little baby who could barely protect yourself. Yeah, you had a mouth on you for sure, but Choso had no idea if you could handle a situation where a physical altercation ensued. The thought of you needing him and him not being there was driving his mind crazy, the idea causing the clench of his jaw and heavy breathing at the moment. What if a man-

Another text ping drove Choso away from his sinister thoughts and he was grateful this time, before picking it up and seeing another message from you, letting him know you were on your way out and to “not wait up.” He rolled his eyes at your message, knowing damn well he had half a mind to show up to the club and keep an eye on you from afar.

Should he? Shouldn’t he be there, closeby, just to be sure no one would lay a finger on you? 

Those were the thoughts going through his head, as he began getting dressed, mind already made up on what he was going to do, anyway.

Chapter Eleven is Posted

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Comment by Nathan Kay in the Express: Meghan Markle's speech feels like a 'terribly disrespectful move' as Firm remembers Queen. by u/Von_und_zu_

Comment by Nathan Kay in the Express: Meghan Markle's speech feels like a 'terribly disrespectful move' as Firm remembers Queen. COMMENT: The timing of Meghan Markle's latest appearance raises eyebrows, as it occurred on the eve of the second anniversary of the late Queen Elizabeth II's passing.Disrespectful? CheckSelf-promotion? CheckAttempting to overshadow an important royal moment? CheckHanging with "non-entities"? CheckThe timing of Meghan's appearance raises eyebrows, as it occurred on the eve of the second anniversary of the late Queen Elizabeth II’s passing. It feels like a terribly disrespectful move to me, and it’s hard to believe Harry would have allowed it to happen. [Um, actually it is right on brand.] After all, he was supposed to have been the late Queen's favourite grandson, and they adored each other. [Harold said that. No one else said that.] I know I would have had far more respect for the anniversary of my late grandmother's death. [You sound decent. Harold is not.]Surely, both Meghan and Harry would have anticipated that coverage of this event would dominate the headlines the following day - precisely when the rest of the Royal Family is quietly honouring the Queen’s memory. [Of course they anticipated it. That was the point.]***The so-called 'star-studded' gathering - which didn't really have that many 'stars' - included figures such as Marco Leone, Dr. Jennifer Freed, and psychic medium Laura Lynne Jackson. [I guess he has never heard of these people either.] Spending time with these non-entities rather than with family in Blighty to commemorate such an important milestone, only goes to show where the Sussexes' hearts lie - in increasing their profiles and adding to their bank balance. [Right on brand.]**If only Harry and Meghan could boast a similar sense of achievement rather than riding on the backs of Hollywood rejects. [Like finds like. They are Hollywood rejects too.] Since stepping back from their royal duties in 2020, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex have frequently made headlines with their media ventures. From their bombshell interview with Oprah Winfrey in 2021, where they made shocking claims about their life within the Royal Family, to Prince Harry’s memoir, Spare, which pulled back the curtain on years of royal tensions, the couple has often been accused of overshadowing major royal events. [They are accused of trying to overshadow royal events because it is true.] This latest appearance only adds to the perception that their actions sometimes lack the awareness and sensitivity expected in such moments. Trying to make major royal milestones about themselves instead of about who they should be won't win back the public. [It is not merely perception. It is reality. Nothing and no one else matters in their tiny self obsessed brains.] While it’s clear the Sussexes are carving out their own path, moments like these serve as a reminder that timing, especially in matters of family and public sentiment, means everything. And Meghan's speech last night missed the mark by a good few days or more! [Dude, she did this on purpose.]https://ift.tt/tLoJv5G post link: https://ift.tt/nJYlBQP author: Von_und_zu_ submitted: September 09, 2024 at 10:51AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[leiflitter]

More

Hello from Blighty thoughts about Saltburn

As a continuation from my reply to @armands-eyefuckery because BRAIN

Aight gang let's have a lil sit down because there is a big ol angle to the film that I think is getting missed by a lot of folks who aren't from the UK because it's a very uh...

British Thing.

IT IS VERY IMPORTANT THAT OLIVER IS FROM THE NORTH.

Cut because Length.

Now look. I am not going to go into Thatcher and Her Crimes, but it's worth a google. I do bring it up in You're Almost Home because...

Lots of people are saying Oliver is upper middle class, and honestly? That doesn't track for me. At all. Yes, his parents have a detached house in a nice suburb and they went on holidays, but there's a lot of Very British Context to them that I really want to point out. Also remember, it's 2006/2007. That is also important.

First of all- Oliver's parents probably never went to University.

Really listen to them. How gullible they are- they believe that Oliver can study at Oxford, and be on the rowing team, and be in plays, and be top scholar. He's always been so clever. If Oliver was anything near upper middle class, his parents would be educated professionals. Oliver probably has dockworkers not even three generations back- his dad has management vibes, but he probably worked his way up in the 70s when all you needed was a good attitude and not to be an obvious murderer.

Secondly- let's talk about the house.

As someone from Down South who has also lived Up North, Oliver's Parent's house would not have been as expensive as people think. Let's assume they bought it in the 1980s- we ALL know that house prices are through the roof NOW, but even today there is a huge gap between house prices in the south and the north. 200k down South might get you a one bedroom flat, if you're lucky. 200k in Prescot can get you a 4-bed, semi-detached HOUSE. Check rightmove.

It is also important that the house is relatively new-looking, because over here Upper Middle Class people aren't really into new build houses- if Oliver was upper middle class, he'd be living in something Victorian or Edwardian. Probably somewhere with a good link to London, especially in 2007. It also means that Oliver's parents may not have even bought it outright- my parents got on the housing ladder via a shared ownership scheme. Oliver's parents aren't rich.

Now, the holidays. Mykonos. Another fun Brit thing is the package holiday. Here's a pretty interesting article about them;

Two adults and three kids could absolutely have gone to Mykonos every year in the late 80s/90s for far less than you'd expect, especially if they paid in installments each month.

I also mentioned about Ollie being from Merseyside specifically, but again. CONTEXT. Although Oliver isn't Liverpudlian (it's important, he's from NEAR Liverpool but not Liverpool itself) the North of England as a whole has routinely been fucked over by those in power. The government AND the royals and the very wealthy. It's still ongoing today- again, another fun source.

Remember when Mr Eats-Crunchies-Sideways called him a Bootlicker? That's fucking IMPORTANT. To many folks he IS a bootlicker. He is highly unlikely to have been raised to grovel at the feet of those with hereditary titles and wealth, and honestly he doesn't. I've written before about how Oliver Denies Felix Things and how that dynamic is important. Oliver likely hasn't been raised with any real deference to The Rich (except Princess Diana).

It also effects Oliver's response to Felix, because goddamn it THATCHER again- it is HIGHLY likely that Oliver has lived through a lot of homophobia. Internalised a lot of it. Felix's parents do not give a shit, but that was not the norm. Again, tried to hit on it in YAH, because times have changed since the 90s/2000s and people change with them, but no fuckin wonder Oliver never responded to Felix chirpsing him like a maniac. He's fucking REPRESSED when he's in Oxford, pals. It also makes sense with that weird Tumblr Dom shit he pulls; he's still fuckin weird about it, he's just being In Charge so he doesn't need to be vulnerable in any way. He is only vulnerable for Felix, and even then he can't SHOW felix that, that would be gay.

Leiflitter over'n'out

[bengiyo]

Love is Better the Second Time Around Ep 2 Stray Thoughts

Last week, we met our leads, Miyata and Iwanaga. Miyata and Iwanaga had some kind of relationship as teens in high school and seemed to part on mixed terms. Now they're both adults and have met through happenstance via work. Miyata seems to be suppressing his queerness, and Iwanaga seems determined to reconnect with Miyata. Miyata wanted to break off, saying he's committed to his girlfriend, but we left at them kissing in Iwanaga's apartment before Miyata ran away and admitted to himself that he still has feelings.

Yes, let's pick up from the kiss and get Iwanaga's perspective.

OMG he wanted to elope, and Miyata didn't show up. Incredible.

Iwanaga wasn't gonna let you go that easy, sir, especially not after that kiss.

Oh fuck yeah, Shiraishi! Drama convention says you won't succeed, but I love you for telling your rival to fuck off.

Oof, Shiraishi heard that. I hope he gets meaner.

I am howling! This botched proposal is one of the funniest things I've seen in weeks! I didn't want an adult woman who didn't deserve this, and I like her shutting this down.

Wow, he called Iwanaga and Iwanaga didn't let me down. He put that ring on Miyata.

I wonder if Miyata was referring to the office scene earlier or their time as kids with that comment about ridicule.

Iwanaga is the winner. Despite also being rejected, he ate the cake.

Wait, now I want dumplings.

Oho! Poor Shiraishi! The first time they hooked up Iwanaga was thinking about Miyata. He's been losing to this man for a decade!

Genuinely loved the desk as a barrier between Iwanaga and Shiraishi in that scene and the flashback.

"Please stop posing." I love this show.

Overlaying their conversation with this idyllic date footage is an excellent choice in a short show where the characters are stepping around their history. We don't know that history well enough to read into their facial expressions well, so balancing their voices and dialogue with the montage works really well for mood.

Deeply invested in Iwanaga admitting that he was a jerk when they were teens.

I really like Miyata's second rejection here. There's a sense that he got swept up by Iwanaga before and now that he's older he's doing what he can to avoid that swooning again.

Oh big choices next week!

I'm having so much fun with this show. This feels grown in a way a lot of the second chance stuff we've had has been missing. I've been wanting more adult-feeling BL, and the way all of the characters talk to each other in this show underlines their histories so well. I also just love how forward everyone is about intimacy. There's no shock about it.

[theglamorousferal]

So if you’re new to the Danny Phantom fandom whether that be because you have joined us via a crossover, the new graphic novel coming out or just somehow got hooked into this fandom there are a few things you should know.

90% of content you will see is purely fanon lore.

I’m gonna divide this into two different sections, going over what is canon and then the most common things from fanon.

So if you go by the show, we have at least three different kinds of ghosts. We have ones like the Fright Knight who is a spirit formed from the feelings and beliefs of people surrounding the thoughts of Halloween and we have ones who were once humans like Sidney Poindexter and Desiree. There are also some who are the product of two different ghosts like Box Lunch. We technically also have the Ancients, but we don’t know anything about them except that they existed many years ago and then they enclosed Pariah Dark in the Sarcophagus of Forever sleep.

We know that a high concentration of ectoplasm introduced very quickly can causes human to turn into a half ghost. This happened with Danny at least 3 times, and the accident Vlad had (as well as Jack in an alternate timeline). Danny was changed twice by the portal and then once by being blasted by a bunch of ectoplasm.

In canon, the Fenton parents are very loving parents with just a bit of absent mindedness to them that leads to them missing the obvious signs that something is up with Danny. Every time in the show that he is exposed to them, he is accepted by them entirely. Even when in an alternate timeline where his parents never got together, he is accepted by them.

In canon, Jazz started out not knowing how to help Danny, Tucker and Sam, but it is shown in the show that she trains to be better later on. She still calls the ghosts by things she designated them as though, not how they would like to be called.

In canon, Vlad is awful. He regularly tries to Hamlet the main character. He tried to ruin/kill Jack to get with Maddie and make their kids his kids many, many times. He cloned a child, gaslit the clones into thinking he cared for them and then planned to melt them down to have his “perfect son”. In canon of the show, Vlad is not redeemable. (This sorta changes a bit in the graphic novel, but it’s a toss up whether that is actually considered active canon or if it’s its own canon now.)

In canon, Tucker is a genius after he was forced to sit through 12 hours of study programming. In canon, he is the reincarnation of a Pharaoh. He can speak a made-up language, Esperanto, and can hack into nearly every piece of tech he comes across.

In canon, Sam is obsessed with all things goth and so has tomes about magical beings and artifacts. She is athletic and is always ready to throw down. She only has plant powers in the episode “Urban Jungle”.

Now onto the Fanon, at least the most popular headcanons that I have come across.

The most common thing among the fandom is that Danny is half-dead. Some have him a ghost possessing his own corpse. Some have him be Schrodinger’s boy. Some have him have lower vitals or just no vital signs altogether. He is said to have died and not come back all the way or right. Common things have him be cold to the touch, a lower heart rate, and him forgetting to breathe entirely.

Probably the second most common headcanon is that Danny is the Ghost King after having fought and defeated Pariah Dark in single combat. Ways he takes the throne are varied, everything from him being forcibly put onto the throne and unable to go to the human world, to having to name Jazz or Maddie as regent until he reaches either human or ghostly majority, to him taking the throne but it being more of a figurehead thing. Most stories will have him have a plethora of titles and names he goes by. Along with this he now has a lair inside the Zone, most have him taking over Pariah’s Keep and some do have him have his own new lair.

Another popular headcanon is Ancient of Space or the Balance Danny (going with AGIT, the balance actually is now canon). These lead to things like Danny having an eldritch form. Something that is obviously “other” and hurts to perceive.

Both of these result in an OP Danny and probably around half of them will have him stuck at 14 and/or functionally immortal.

Another very common DP headcanon is Bad Fenton Parents and that their research caused the GIW’s formation. Alongside that come the most common type of fic you will come across which is where Danny has been captured by either the GIW or his parents and then is vivisected. Majority of them will have him vivisected by his own parents. Many of them will have them be varying levels of neglectful, from just not noticing things about their kids to straight up forgetting they were there and Jazz having to take care of them both.

In most fanon, the GIW are actively trying to genocide an entire species. This is closest to a canon thing considering that they did try to nuke the GZ, which would have resulted in their universe also collapsing. The things that some people write/draw for the atrocities the GIW and Bad!Fentons are things that I bring up to my therapist frequently. Be prepared for descriptive gore.

There are a few characters that have spawned in fanon that are widely accepted as canon characters now. The main one is Wes Weston along with his brother Kyle. Wes Weston was a background character that we see for about 3 frames in one episode, but he looked similar to Danny and had green eyes and the fandom latched onto that. It started out with someone claiming the A-listers would think that Wes is Phantom because he’s athletic, had the same build and green eyes. From there, the fandom has decided that he also is the only person to figure out that Danny was Phantom and tries frequently to expose him. Kyle Weston is Wes’ older brother, in the same class as Jazz and he doesn’t believe that ghosts are real and is played for gags a lot.

Another major piece of fanon lore is ghost cores. This stems from a remark Frostbite said talking about Danny’s core temperature and the fans took it and ran with it. In fanon there’s all kinds of different types of ghost cores, usually an element or an aspect of existence. Many have Danny possess an ice core, in some he has a space core. Others take his “death” into consideration and believe him to have an electric core. Commonly people have Vlad have a fire core. Usually cores are an orb that a ghost can retreat into to heal. If the core is shattered, the ghost is ended and no longer exists in any capacity.

Similar to cores is obsessions. These are essentially the purpose of the ghost, their drive and purpose. Skulker’s is hunting, Ember’s is recognition etc. Most give Danny a protection obsession, but will sometimes give him a space obsession.

Something that has gained traction in the last few years (to my knowledge mostly since the pandemic) is liminality. Liminality is where people are contaminated with ectoplasm due to overexposure or ingestion of it and it gives them ghostly abilities. Different people have liminality give people different abilities. Some have glowing eyes, lengthened canines and pointed ears. Some have enhanced senses, strength and speed as well as extra durability. Some have eyes that reflect like a cats and night vision. Some even go so far as give them at least one of the major ghostly abilities.

How someone becomes liminal differ depending on if the writer wishes to have it just be main characters or if it’s the entire town. If it’s just main characters then usually their frequent exposure to ghostly things as well as close proximity to it makes them liminal. For the whole town people will usually have the portal give off essentially radiation or when the town was pulled into the GZ be the cause.

Frequently Sam, Tucker and to a lesser extent Jazz are given extra abilities. Sam usually has residual powers from her time possessed by Undergrowth, Tucker usually has some form of techno Nancy and Jazz usually has some sort of empathetic ability, if not that she get’s the basic extra strength, speed, durability and senses.

There are some lesser known ones that should at least be mentioned in case you come across them. One of those being ghost hunger. This is where ghosts or liminals thirst for ectoplasm similar to how vampires thirst for blood. Another common thing is that ghosts socialize by fighting. That most of the fights are ghosts greeting the baby ghost. The last thing is that the main characters are known as Team Phantom.

I’m probably going to think of more later and I’ll post when I do, but this is the basics that I could remember on the fly. I hope this helps people!!

[blue-florist]

ok, so i was re-watching some episodes of Teen Titans Go cuz why not, and i saw "Colors Of Raven", in which the mysterious prism appear. It appears in other episodes, here's the wiki.

So, in my very Young Just Us deprived brain, what if they went on a mission and got this prism? for whatever reason.

Problem: Tim (Red Robin era) touches it. Immediately splits and YJ calls the batfam over cuz Tim is pretty well-contained on his own.

Pls feel free to use this idea, or say what you think. I just wont write an actual fic cuz i can't write for shit.

I wonder which "traits" he would split into.

(my knowledge is mostly Fanfic-centric cuz i forgot cannon lol)

Obsessive/Detective:

Ok but tim cannonically found out batman's identity at 9 and later found out WHERE Batman was at 17. He is a genius, and i like how the fandom makes him nearly obsessive with cases he can't figure out (gifted kid much lol?)

Tired/Done with life:

Mans got that self-induced insomnia, but i also hc him as like "misses 10 hours of sleep? sleep for 10 more to balance it out." Tim is constantly tired juggling Wayne Enterprises and Vigilantism, he deserves a break.

Plus, we can see Tim sacrificing/almost sacrificing himself in some moments, so I also hc him as passively suicidal, mostly caused by the cynicism he developed with becoming a vigilante.

Serious:

Ok, but for this kid to be CEO, face down people like Ra'as and stubborn his way into everything without even being an adult? he's got some balls man. Plus, his Red Robin persona is "intimidating", much like how i imagine batman to be (that cowl is so ugly it's terrifying also)

Personas/Actor:

Tim is known as "the robin who can lie to batman", ofc he is a good actor. I think a bit of the "socialite Tim" fan hc has taken a bit of a special spot in my brain, but Caroline Hills exists also so who am I to discuss this really?

Childish/Fun:

Ok, this is a bit of a treat to me. Tim cannonically skates and has used it to fight a gang, befriended a guy who turned into a cult leader, I think Tim (in all of his LoserBoy glory) deserves to be acknowledged as a fun person. The one who jumps trains with Dick, is close friends with the YJ, befriended Steph via recieving brick to face, etc. he is a fun little guy and i want to see him act goofy and silly for once.

[catierambles]

Witch Hunt Ch. 2

Medical examiners confirmed what Cait told them; victim was dead before being burned with internal signs of electrocution. He was identified pretty quickly as the owner of the antiques shop via dental records and fingerprints and Walter reached out to the insurance company for pictures of the inventory to cross reference, having found none at the store.

Lab techs found no unknown prints at the scene, either on the door knob to the bathroom or otherwise. It was a niche store, so there wasn’t a heavy flow of daily customer traffic.

Walter was in his office when he saw Cait come in through the windows, a large flat box balanced on her hand. She looked around a bit before she saw him in his office and started over, Walter pushing up from his chair to open the door for her.

"Doughnuts?" He asked with a perked brow, stepping aside to let her in.

"Good morning to you, too." She said, "And no, actually. Breakfast tacos. I don't have much of a sweet tooth, and there's a taco place down the street. There's bacon egg and cheese, and sausage egg and cheese." He went to his desk as she set it down, lifting the cover of the box and seeing gaps in the rows of foil wrapped tacos. "I may have had a couple in the car. Help yourself, though. They're good."

Since she offered...

Taking a couple out, the foil still warm, he unwrapped one and took a bite, humming slightly in agreement.

"They are good." He said and quickly finished it, starting on another as he sat down again. "Called the insurance company first thing for pictures of the inventory. Once we get them, we'll see if there anything missing the murderer might try to fence or pawn for quick cash. You've been hunting this guy, right?"

"For the last six months." She said, taking a taco from the box as she sat down in the chair in front of his desk.

"What do you know about him?"

"Not as much as I would like." Cait admitted, "Never any witnesses who could provide a description. He's careful, methodical, but also incredibly cruel and sadistic."

"Victimology?"

"All over the place." She said, "He doesn't stick to gender or racial boundaries, or age. Like I said last night, it's less who they are, or who they represent, and more what they can give him."

"Which we don't know."

"Not a damn clue." Cait said, "Unless that thing is their death."

"Kills for the hell of it?"

"Not unheard of." She said with a shrug, "Would make sense why he doesn't have a type. He gets an itch and they scratch it. Less targeted and more opportunistic."

"If he chooses at random, we'll have a hell of a time trying to find him."

"Welcome to my life, Detective Marshall."

"Walter." He said, "You can call me Walter."

"And you can call me Cait."

“Well, Cait, I need coffee. Want me to get you some?”

“Tea would be better.”

“Need I remind you that I’m the Brit in the room?” He asked and she snorted with a smile.

“If you’re going to eschew stereotypes, so will I.” She said and he gave an answering smile, shaking his head as he left his office, Cait pulling a few files towards her across his desk.

She looked over crime scene photos but she knew she wouldn’t find anything that stood out, she never did with this guy. What should have been an easy hunt, something she’s done more than once, had quickly become a headache. Her mind wandered from the grisly images in front of her to the Detective whose office she was sitting in. Gods, he was handsome. Strong build that was in no way obscured by the knit sweater he was wearing, gorgeous dark curls that made her want to know if they were as soft as they looked, thick dark beard that screamed virility, and beautiful blue eyes. All that combined with the accent made him a romance novelists’ wet dream.

Get yourself together, girl.

She’s met many handsome men before, he was just another.

She looked over briefly as he came back into the office with a couple steaming paper cups. Their fingers brushed together slightly as she took the tea from him and she couldn’t stop the small thrill that went through her chest at the contact, giving him a small smile and looking away from him quickly.

“Anything jump out?” He asked, but she shook her head as she took a careful sip of the tea, pulling a face. “Sorry, didn’t know how you took it.”

“It’s fine, it’s just gods awful tea.”

“Coffee isn’t much better.” He admitted, taking a sip from his own cup with a grimace. “I’ve worked with feds before, surprised you don’t have a partner with you.”

“I work better alone.” She said with a shrug. “They wanted to assign someone to me, but it would have taken too long to get them up to speed.”

“How’d you know he was coming here?”

“Pardon?”

“Last night was the first body we’ve found in that state.” Walter said, “If you’re tracking him by his MO, it would have taken a couple days before the details hit the system.”

“Information I found at his last hidey-hole suggested he was heading to this area.” She said, “And before you ask; no, I didn’t find anything that might identify him there. Caught on broadcast about the explosion with no fire, made an educated guess.”

“Quite the mental leap.”

“I stick the landing more often than not.”

“And when you don’t?”

“I curse myself out, get up, and brush myself off.”

“Being gone for months at a time must be doing a number on your marriage.”

“Not married.” She said, “This line of work isn’t really conducive to domesticity.”

“Don’t I know it.” He said and she looked up at him at his tone. “Divorced.”

“Any kids?”

“A daughter.” He said, “Her mum moved them away last year.”

“Anyone in the running to become the next Mrs. Marshall?”

“Are you asking if I’m single?”

“Just making conversation.” She said and he stared at her for a beat.

“No.” He said finally, “As you said, this life isn’t fit for that.”

[morrigan-sims]

Temperance

Balance, purpose, moderation, patience.

Behold!!! The BBEG of Rook's campaign, the famous Dr. Purity. We finally learned his identity (for real this time!!!) and part of his backstory on Sunday, and so I had to make a render of him.

He's a extremist scientist who invented magical serums that give the drinker some... intense powers. Also he makes these horrible mutated monsters called nightwalkers, and is the leader of a cult-like group of similar-minded people called the Children of the Enlightened.

The mask he wears he stole from an Archfey lady who he had murdered, and he uses it to produce other masks he can use to control corpses. He's responsible for destroying four cities in the Feywild, reducing them essentially to unlivable rubble.

Oh, and he's been traveling with the party for weeks/months via a corpse he's been puppeting and speaking through for years, who happened to become very close with Rook... RIP Sigmar, you will be missed, if only by me.

Not to mention his daughter is with the party and he's basically been ignoring her. And when we had "Sigmar" cornered and were questioning him (or well, the rest of the party was, Rook was in shock), he said he "didn't have time for this".

AND he knows Rook's shitty father, who is apparently even worse than I thought, given that he was willing to help protect a war criminal responsible for hundreds or thousands of deaths.

Somehow I still love him though. Or at least, I find him fascinating and I can't wait to see what happens later in the campaign, especially given that he does genuinely, in some weird twisted way, care about Rook.

[telomeke]

WANDEE GOODDAY EPISODE 4

We're one third of the way through now, and in my opinion Wandee Goodday is continuing to stay one step ahead of fan expectations, feinting in one direction before swiftly jabbing toward another. The erstwhile romantic sex comedy has since left its PWOP (porn without plot) novel origins far, far behind and is now confidently punching above its weight class in the ring (yes, boxing metaphor to start things off in honor of the Phadetseuk gym 🤣).

So WDGD Ep.4 was brought to us via the kind sponsorship of the emotion jealousy – we had Yak getting the baby green-eyes at Dee's antics around Ter, so unsubtly that even clumsy Dee could suss it out:

(above) Wandee Goodday Ep.4 [1‌/4] 10.25 – Dee asks Yak point-blank at the breakfast table "Are you jealous?"

But WDGD then sprang nimbly in a different direction, shifting its emotional center of gravity when Dee started feeling the pangs of jealousy around Yak's pre-existing crush on Taem (after getting hit on the head with Kwan and Ter):

(above) Wandee Goodday Ep.4 [1‌/4] 15.42 – In answering Yak as to whether Taem would have liked Yak's declaration of love on the balcony, we see that Dee – perhaps surprising himself here – was personally moved by it too (and also a little bit crushed to feel Yak's affections directed away from him, ostensibly toward Taem)

I really wasn't expecting this change of tack – like a lot of people I'd thought WDGD would make Yak's pining after Dee the main emotional trackway for the series, but now it looks like we have Yak aching over Dee and Ter, balanced out by Dee aching over Yak and Taem. These two! 😍

Given the complexity of emotions expected of him, Great doing a Mary MacGregor in Ep.4 was a fair bit shakier and less grounded compared to his heartfelt and clear-cut yearning for Dee in weeks past. In my opinion, Yak came across as a little too carefree and unaffected for someone who should have been struggling in the cross-currents between Dee and Taem.

Maybe that's just me. Or maybe Yak is just playing things out with Taem when his heart's true calling is for Dee, and getting Dee's help to woo Taem is all part of a bigger plan to win him over? 🤔

Anyway – surprise, surprise! WDGD then began showing us Ter feeling the stirrings of something rather like jealousy when he realized (like everyone else, except for the oblivious pair themselves) that YakDee was a thing:

(above) Wandee Goodday Ep.4 [1‌/4] 7.38 – Dee and Yak bump into Ter and Kwan on their way back from buying a Thai-Chinese breakfast

Ter has been painted as very much a self-serving individual, the devil incarnate possibly (and yes, the vast majority of us clocked the number of the beast as his apartment unit):

(above) Wandee Goodday Ep.4 [1‌/4] 9.36 – Ter outside his apartment number 666, contemplating the breakfast sandwich Kwan had given him

But looking at things again – Ter's apartment number really is just a sign placed on the wall of his apartment, and part of me is wondering if we're meant to read it as a metaphor for how we can sometimes have a label on the outside, that has very little to do with the real person residing within.

As an aside, I dug around some Thai websites to see if the triple six is all that ominous in Thailand – and the findings are mixed. There are plenty of Thai language articles that actually have to inform readers about the negative connotations of the number (suggesting that its bad reputation isn't quite as entrenched in Thailand, and its Biblical sense of menace is perhaps diluted). And there are more than a couple of sources attesting that it can also be viewed positively depending on the cultural framing – see these links here and here. 🤷‍♂️

WDGD also took pains to humanize Ter in showing us how happy he was at discovering Dee had left him a food gift in the past (remembering that food = love in Thai BL shorthand), and how much he seemed to miss it compared to Kwan's gift of a breakfast sandwich.

In case you didn't notice (I didn't either the first time around) Dee's food gift of congee with pa thong ko (ปาท่องโก๋/Thai-style Chinese crullers/youtiao), that he hung on Ter's doorhandle at Ep.4 [1‌/4] 9.11, was actually the same breakfast food that Ter saw YY and Dee walking hand-in-hand back with to Dee's apartment.

This was a clear a signal as any, from Ter's point-of-view, that Dee's loving affections were now trained toward Yak instead – and you can knock me down with a feather if that isn't pain we're seeing on Ter's face at the realization of what he's lost.

So I'm not quite ready to paint Ter as the über-villain just yet (though we may have to do so later, depending on where the narrative takes us). We're being shown a character who – at least in the beginning – was living more for himself, who's possibly closeted (remembering his Ep.1 [3‌/4] 3.26 "I like girls" comment) but also going through some sort of personal awakening even as YY's presence in Dee's life stirs up feelings he might not have known he had for the latter.

Here's to hoping Ter gets a better story arc out of this, but we'll see if WDGD really has the time or inclination to go there, or will take the lazy route and dish up Ter as nothing more than a flatly-painted, unvarnished villain (not an alien concept among the less ambitious BLs).

‌

Now, I was originally going to post a bit more about WDGD's loftier thematic ambitions (there are some signs flashing, and they point to this BL having a social conscience) but I think I'll give the series more time to flesh things out to see what the final message is. But the following disparate elements coming together do seem to be telegraphing a message with an underlying, socially-driven impetus:

Director Golf's name doubling as the hospital's one;

The orthopedics and Dee's care for little Namphu;

The doctors and nurses;

The supporters on either side of the scholarship divide;

The found families.

I will probably write more on this later – unless WDGD decides not to follow through with it! But for now, I think at least part of what WDGD seems to be saying on a socio-political level is this – that those in positions of influence/authority also have a duty to serve the community under their charge.

This is the message (I think) behind Director Golf's cameo at the Café for All, in which they were both proprietor and/or manager as well as server to the customers, emphasizing how this duality of leadership and service can (and perhaps should) also go hand-in-hand:

(top) The Eclipse – Ep.4 [3‌/4] 4.31; (bottom) Wandee Goodday Ep.2 [3‌/4] 7.28

It's a particularly pointed comment, given how many politicians have been accused of using their time in government to further their own interests rather than those of the people who put them there. (And especially since Director Golf has also spent time in politics, and may well have come up against this firsthand.) Of course it's not just in Thailand where these accusations are flung about – they also get tossed around in the broader Southeast Asian context and indeed in the rest of the world as well. But perhaps it's not entirely without reason that WDGD is messaging this, at this time (see these posts/articles linked here, here, here and here – you may need to read between the lines a bit 😉).

So putting their money where their mouth is, Director Golf ended Wandee Goodday Ep.4 with a pretty groundbreaking act of service – that PSA on the importance of HPV vaccination. 👀

And aligned with Director Golf's clarion call on inclusivity (that was sounded especially loudly during their time as a politician in Parliament), we're also shown that the would-be vaccination recipients include people who look like (to me at least) a non-binary individual, a gay couple, a straight couple and a lesbian couple: 😊👍

(above) Various people at the HPV Vaccination Center – Wandee Goodday Ep.4 [4/4] 11.37

We've been spared the usual embarrassment of clunky product placements (much like The Eclipse was) that seems to plague many a GMMTV series, not that I'd really been bothered by it all that much (they're an intrinsic part of the BL cultural landscape at this point).

But Director Golf really seems to be saying: it's not just about the money anymore. BL does have influence in the wider sphere, and it should (and should be allowed to) wield that influence as a force for the public good as well. 🤩

I may be reading too much into things again (like I've done before) but at the very least, Wandee Goodday imbued with a social conscience makes me feel even better watching this already feel-good vehicle! 😍

‌

[gothic-grimoire]

Clear Seeing

I feel like I was really alive this year.

This summer specifically, I have had clear seeing. I use the word seeing very loosely to describe perception because it is an intuitive "seeing."

This notion of clear seeing is, in my opinion, partially connected to our intuitive senses or extrasensory-perception. Some folks call them the "clairs" because they are described by the "clair" prefix followed by the word for the specific clarified sense ability (like clairvoyance - clear seeing, clairaudience - clear hearing, and so on). 

We are meant to attribute these words to abilities beyond normal human senses, but the way I make sense of this phenomena is: when our intuition (which we are all equipped with) is ready (assisted by the surrounding environment), we can feel into an understanding greater than where we started.

These things that are clarified are larger than us alone, and we'd otherwise have no reliable insight into these things other than a safe guess. Intuition asks us to trust what we some how just know.

The other part of this is just having a growing brain and maturing sensibilities. I started my self reflection journey when I was around 16 and now I am 23. I have definitely picked some things up along the way and generally feel much more balanced in my approach albeit there are of course both good days and bad. But more often than not I am understanding things for what they are, and I find I am offering myself more of what I deserve. Then I feel this free space inside me to fill with awe and wonder and new things. 

Great Grimoire (and its sister blog where you are reading this: Gothic Grimoire) could have been a faceless thing, a nameless thing, a thing that never even happened…an echo in my mind. But because of the clear seeing, it isn’t.

Self compassion, tending to the trivial everyday things that hurt or challenge us, and creative expression are key attributes here. Great Grimoire/Gothic Grimoire is where I trace the shape of what I am feeling and learning all through time. 

You have to exist, and part of this deal means you decide how your creative extensions of you exist. In this digital grimoire I am sharing them openly. I’m not sure what I’ll reel back in but I know my intent of continued clear seeing is supporting me. 

There are years that feel lost to me, that I was underwater for, and only small pieces of me touched the surface. This short documentary I made in 2021 is one of those small pieces that I am proud of. It’s from a younger version of my self, a part that I can no longer recall so much what it’s like to experience, but in my own words from back then I describe the doc:

In this video I touch on the ups and downs of honouring your body & mental health via the receptacle of creative expression. That is there is wholeness already there, awaiting your attention and trust to take the step and create freely to heal. A home is a space to allow the most authentic of your nature to exist freely; wildly. What you create is desired and what you create/what is created through you desires you.

As a twenty year old I was learning this, and time has continued for me to attempt to put this into practice. 

Daniel Johnston is a bit of a creative emblem for me. I remember listening to his songs for years and they reached inside me somewhere other music paled if compared. I see it like this, our emblems are expressions of our love made manifest by way of our projections. As an artist, he makes me smile; he makes it so I am full of wonder. Where do those words come from? The notes on the piano that are their counterparts? I don't care about the details where his voice goes flat or his fingers miss a key. I do care about the freedom he feels while he is performing. I cherish what he has made as someone inexperienced but creatively inclined. His work is often described as unrefined and I get that, but what I understand more is just creating because you have something inside you that you love to feel—that you have to feel.

The fear of scrutiny lingers but the fact remains, the world you occupy is drenched with freedom. We can build a home inside that is free from the whirlwind of inner scrutiny. Where we have addressed the illusionary* depths that meet us when our walls around what we are willing or able to express expand.

It's not an easy task to overcome these voices but it’s doable. What gets out, and how you may be liberated by this, is well worth any discomfort faced while your inner walls are under demolition.

I generated the smaller images here with an AI art tool in Canva and arranged it myself as the cover art for a record I sang and composed based on my favourite Daniel Johnston songs. 

I called it Angels Sing For You Daniel Johnston. I can feel how he lives on in his music (he passed away a few years ago). When I sing it myself, I notice my imperfections (believe me), but I call it angels because it’s like a jumble of forces are coming together to honour a voice that sparks something in people scattered around the world. 

I feel that this ode to his work (and generally for my sung projects) is minimalistic and sleepy. Good for napping to and other kinds of relaxing. But I'm not here to make sure you engage with my work a certain way. You always may do what you wish. This is what I wish to do. Can't we just do something that we love? 

Forgive me for getting a bit out there but this is how I see things: it stings because your art feels personal, and it is, but ultimately you are not personal. You believe you are, you feel you are and that is real, but so is the field of energy we came from and the field of energy we will return to…in my opinion we are always that field of energy. This doesn’t mean you aren’t all those other things but it includes the definition of you as a one-thing, a no-thing. All of this that we feel, and believe, and cast into the world is our bread and butter for creating and tending to a well of compassion within ourselves. And the fact that we really aren’t limited to this person, in terms of what we are as a whole, is our reason to let it all flow through us.

*Note on the use of the word illusion:

Illusions are what the world is made of when we boil it down, but they feel purposeful don’t they? You may have different words to describe the tricks of the eye that make up our experience of reality, and I admit I use the word a bit poetically, but illusions make it so we perceive the things around us as distinct when they are just an arrangement of one continuous field of energy. Your illusions make such good teachers because we buy into them, and get invested, but at times we learn from remembering they are just that and nothing more.

[sabakos]

The neat thing about mathematics is that you learn how to work things out for yourself, and in some sense this is a necessary skill to develop if you really want to understand any higher math; if you work through the problem sets in most undergraduate mathematics textbooks on your own, you'll not only know but also "understand" the content, in a way you wouldn't if you only read those books but didn't do any of the problems.

And what I'm calling "understanding" in this context is a more secure and accessible form of knowledge than most other forms of knowledge. You could learn that all of the other math students you had ever met were simply copying the instructor's solutions manual for each textbook, that your professors had all done the same in their time, that even the textbook author themself relied on someone else's solutions, and that none of them really understood the material in the same way that you did, and it wouldn't threaten the security of your own knowledge that you have understood mathematics. Even if you ever had any reason to doubt your memories or your senses, you still could rederive the mathematics yourself to make sure you still understood, while all of your memories of childhood would rely on the testimony of others or sense data on the external world. You could even begin to doubt the existence of the external world before you doubted your own understanding.

But we run into a new epistemic difficulty at this point. Suppose that all of your mathematics classmates really are frauds and charlatans. How could you, as someone who has truly understood mathematics, convince all of them that they hadn't? They don't understand, so they can't understand what they're missing. Some of them might just be willing to try deriving proofs for themselves if you ask them nicely enough, but it's not clear that there's any way you could win them over with rational arguments in order to get them to do so. Instead, you'd need to appeal to their irrationality, and find a way to get them to believe that it was worth their time to try, that they would be risking very little in exchange for something they'll only appreciate the value of once they've finished. Maybe some puzzles or riddles that throw them off balance, that create a need to seek more understanding. You might be lucky enough that some of them believe you.

So if all has gone well, you now have initiates, and you've all decided that together you want to restore the field of mathematics to its former glory, and purge the corruption of rote memorization from the academy. You'll learn quickly that much like you can verify your own understanding, it's also possible for you to identify those who have really understood math - you can present them with a proof for something they've never seen before, that's related to something they have seen, and they can work it out to a state that you or any initiate who truly understands can identify. And happily, they can use these methods of proof on each other. And so you can spread your knowledge and understanding via those who have also understood.

But you haven't gotten out of the woods yet, and your difficulty is not just that you're outnumbered. Once you've made a bit of a name for yourself and attracted a following, there will be other initiates who seek fame and glory, but yet can't or won't understand anything, and are no better off than before you met them despite your best efforts- they can't prove new theorems they haven't seen, they can't confirm the validity of others proofs, and they can't devise questions that others will be able to solve. Often these others will insist that they really are taking the same steps as everyone else, from their perspective, the rest of you all must be lying, or else something about them must be broken. Neither possibility will make them happy, and for the rest of it's existence your movement's survival depends on filtering these people off. If these sorts figure out how to fool the rest of you, or they go out in your name claiming to teach "real" mathematics, all will be lost, and your rare understanding will be diluted by their more common lack of it.

Unfortunately, at some point you will die, and everything you understand for yourself will be lost to the world. Your initiates who have truly understood you will die as well, and those they have taught will, in turn, also die. There are no immortal guardians who will safeguard the true understanding of mathematics, and it cannot be written down, only experienced directly, or it would have been written down before. Those who have understood this must always continue to spread understanding to those who might understand, and each generation of them must combat the threat of those others who have not, or else all may again be lost and forgotten.

But yet, there is one last glimmer of hope; though what you have found may one day be lost again, what has been lost may yet again be found, else you would not have been able to find it. Perhaps this is enough to hold onto.