#being SO much more functional than the inner circle

[flowerflamestars]

No Graves snippet

It was too easy, to sink into living the life the Archeron’s carved out.   By the time Lucien awoke the next morning, in a slightly too-short bed that was among the furniture that had come with the property, they were already gone. A note greeted him, in Nesta’s slanting hand: furniture at 11, trees at 1, stay to sign.   A fire he hadn’t lit, hungry red that spit sparks to ask him, have you lost your mind? He did not need to see Eris, much less hear him, to understand the actual sentiment, though it bled from the question the kitchen hearth threw at him by the time Lucien was done brewing tea: that city is a godsforsaken death trap. The messages the High Lord is sending do not come from a well man. Do you need help? Lucien would have very much liked to read those missives. He could imagine the demands: armies, promises, money. Based on what? The name of the most famous traitor in the land, who no one had been surprised to see commit atrocities in Hyberns name, even compelled. Not after how he’d spent the last few centuries ruling the North.  SAPLING, the fire yelled.   An extra four hundred years that touched only Lucien was near enough to level their ages, which made the tone feel very unfair. Still fond, though. He was not actually offended enough to let the fire scorch Nesta’s new kitchen.   “I’m fine,” Lucien said, aloud, his own voice proof and magic too. Eris was Vanserra enough to feel every path through a forest- to be both outraged and know that something fundamental was changed. “Stop worrying and stay alive, old man. I’ll see you on the battle field.”   He’d see him at the summit of lords, but it was a sure enough warning: Lucien, like Eris, inclined still toward a single truth.   To fight if they had to, to stop the sort of carnage Hybern was capable of unleashing on their land.

[pathologicalreid]

in an arrow heart | s.r.

in which Spencer finds himself distracted by you during an otherwise routine outing to O'Keefe's

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, public-ish intimacy, they're in a locked bathroom, in a bar but doesn't mention alcohol, praise kink, softdom!spencer, oral fixation, teasing, lowkey pwp word count: 1.7k a/n: short and simple and just what the doctor ordered. i'm prescribing a spencer reid fingering fic.

The small circles that Spencer’s thumb rubs on your thigh are making your head go fuzzy. It’s the same sensation that you think you’d have if your head was being filled with helium, your head feels light and airy. His hand is splayed out on your thigh while your body is tucked in the corner of the booth, a wall on your other side, there’s no one to see your torture.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, your boyfriend watches Morgan as he tells the story of how exactly he managed to strike out at the bar. Spencer isn’t even looking at you as his hand moves, periodically squeezing your thigh.

You shift in the booth, lifting your thighs from the leather seat, ignoring the way your bare skin sticks as you try to pull the skirt of your dress down. “Are you okay?” Emily asks from across to booth, raising a defined brow at you curiously, “You look flushed.”

“Oh,” you respond, your face warming even more, “Do I?” You hum, giving Spencer a pointed look before answering Emily’s question, “I’m fine. It’s warm in here.”

Emily frowns in response, but JJ nods in agreement next to her, so she seemingly drops the line of questioning. The silence enables Spencer to lift your dress and place his palm back on your inner thigh, the warmth of his skin searing your own. This time, he spares a look down at you, and you nod softly in response.

If you wanted him to stop, all you had to do was let him know.

Spencer doesn’t move his hand any further up than your mid-thigh, the fabric of your dress half covering his hand as he continues to tease.

It’s not until you have to cover up a whimper with a cough that you try to excuse yourself to the bathroom, having Spencer get out of the booth seat so that you can walk to the back of the bar, turning the corner into the restroom.

You’re not sure what your plan is now, shaking out your hands with nervous energy as you pace around the dark blue-tiled bathroom. You yelp when the door swings open, covering your chest with your hand as if it could slow the pounding of your heart as Spencer sneaks into the bathroom.

He locks the door behind him before cupping your chin with his hands and bringing your lips to his, the kisses are almost heart-wrenchingly soft until they ease into the world of desperation.

It appears as though a week and a half away from you was more than Spencer could handle, the way he gently pushes you toward the wall makes it that much more obvious as you sling your arms around his shoulders and kiss him back. Interrupted only by you shrieking when one of you sets off the automatic hand dryer.

Your surprise morphs into laughter when you realize what the noise is, giggling up at Spencer, you ruffle his hair affectionately, “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, dropping another kiss to your lips.

Letting your hands drop to your sides, you hum into the kiss, “What did the team think about you following me into the bathroom?”

Spencer shrugs in response, pressing soft kisses along your jawline, “Emily’s convinced you were going in here to throw up, she’s the one who insisted I go.”

You gasp slightly when his hand moves up to your breast, “Do I look like I’m going to throw up?”

“You look beautiful,” Spencer says, skimming his palms down the soft cotton of your sundress, lifting the fabric, and letting it flutter back down to your thigh. “I missed you,” he murmurs, resting his hand on the crook of your shoulder and kissing you, soft, open-mouthed kisses that function solely to leave you wanting more as his other hand ghosts over your body.

You sigh contently against his mouth, a gentle moan escaping your lips when he slips his tongue into your mouth, swiping it along your lower lip. “I missed you,” you repeat in kind, “Ten days is too long.”

It was a non-complaint, really, something you’d bemoan over while his mouth was pressed against yours, but nothing you’d ever hold against him. Besides, time apart just made the reunion that much better.

“Spence,” you whisper, knowing he’s waiting for you, waiting for you to cue him into what you want. “Will you touch me?”

He smiles against your lips, nodding softly as his hand lifts the skirt of your dress, his fingers tentatively hovering over your panties. “What made you so needy?”

You roll your eyes, peering up at him through your mascara-covered eyelashes, “Asshole,” you breathe, your chest deflating when he cups your cloth-covered core.

“Ah,” he says, “Strong words from someone who wants something from me,” he says, his eyes flashing deviously at you, gold shimmering under the warm light of the bar bathroom.

He increases the pressure of his hand and you moan in response, but you try to cover it up with speaking up, “I have fingers of my own,” you retort.

Pulling his hand back, you try not to pout at the loss while he smirks at you, “It’s not the same and you know it.”

Unfortunately, he was right, but you could use that to your advantage, raising your eyebrows, you hum curiously, “Why don’t you show me then?”

If there was one thing Spencer could never turn down, it’s a challenge, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties and swipes a finger through your folds, his other hand coming up to push your shoulder to the wall so that your legs don’t have a chance to give out from under you. “I can tell you missed me,” he whispers gently, his tone almost a coo in your ear as you nod helplessly. “All this from just one touch of the thigh,” he continues, spreading your slick over your cunt with his fingers.

A soft whimper escapes your lips when Spencer’s index finger firmly presses to your clit, the gentle pressure bringing that airy feeling back to your head. One touch might’ve been an understatement, but you’re in no position to correct him. “Spence,” you sigh his name.

“I love it when you say my name like that,” he says, rewarding your speech by slipping a finger gently into your throbbing pussy. The digit slowly swirls around your wet hole before withdrawing and moving back in with a second finger.

The stretch of your cunt makes your breath hitch, your head dropping to Spencer’s shoulder so you can use the fabric of his dress shirt to muffle your moans. The tile in the bathroom only bounces the strained noises from you and the wet squelching caused by Spencer’s fingers fucking into you.

As his middle and ring finger continue thrusting, Spencer cranes his neck so that he can press gentle kisses to the side of your neck. He nudges your head up so that he can use his spare hand to pull down the front of your dress, flipping over the cups of your bra so that he can massage your breast.

Your head spins while you feel him everywhere, “Oh, shit,” you gasp when he pushes his thumb against your clit, the bundle of nerves nearly buzzing with a pressure that you desperately needed to release.

Spencer hums, “My pretty girl,” the vibrations of his lips against your skin made your walls clench around his fingers. He was gently sucking at your chest, leaving little hickeys across the otherwise unmarred skin.

His thumb swipes over your clit, the movements perfectly timed with the thrusts of his hand.

“So good,” he praises you softly, “Letting me play with you in the bathroom, baby. You’re so fucking pretty when you need me,” he says, unrelenting in his ministrations.

A low whine comes from your throat, and you nod, “Ah, Spence,” you whimper, tilting your head back as you gasp for air, the dizzy feeling in your head coming crashing down as you cum. His free hand covers your mouth, muffling your moans so that you don’t alert any passersby to what is happening in the bathroom.

Your legs shake beneath you as Spencer holds you up, his hand slowly withdrawing from your panties, and you respond exactly how he wants you to when he holds his fingers in front of your mouth, enveloping his third and fourth finger within your lips and gently sucking your own slick from his digits. He gingerly presses a kiss to your forehead before taking his hand back.

He crouches down to the floor, gently tugging at your underwear and sliding them down your legs, you step out of them, your face hot as you watch him fold the damp fabric and slip them in his back pocket.

Softly, he cups both of your cheeks with his hands, skimming the pads of his thumbs over the high points, “Are you alright?”

Taking your lip between your teeth, you nod a little dazedly, “I’m not feeling well,” you murmur, a sly smile growing on your face, “I think it’s time for us to head home.”

He washes his hands, muttering something about the efficiency of hand dryers before he opens the door to the bathroom, gesturing for you to walk out in front of him. His hand on your back guides you to the table.

“Hey,” JJ frowns, “Are you feeling alright? You look a little green,” she observes, watching Spencer as he gathers your things.

Shaking your head, you shrug, “Might’ve been something I ate, we’re gonna call it a night,” you explain to the rest of the group, not even evoking a suspicious look from them.

Emily nods in what she probably thinks is absolute understanding, “Let us know how you’re feeling in the morning. Garcia was talking about going to a farmers market.”

You glance over at Spencer, wondering if he already has plans for you tonight, but you nod anyway. Waving goodbye to everyone before your boyfriend nearly drags you out of the bar, ready to get home.

[halsteadlover]

𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝

*Gif and pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: Lando always has a hard time trying to keep his hands off you, not even while attending an important event.

• Warnings: dirty talking, lots of swearing, oral sex (m. receiving), semi public sex.

• Word count: 2453.

• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE +18. This was supposed to be like a 700 words piece but I’m incapable to write short fics but y’all know this by now lmao. I hope you like this piece, I was inspired to write for Lando so here it is. Please comment, like and reblog, it’d be amazing ❤️ Thank you for your support xx

You were going crazy.

His hand continued to caress your exposed thighs beneath the table, his expert fingers drawing imaginary circles on your hot skin.

They went up along your inner thigh, until they almost caressed your private parts, but before touching you as you desired, his fingers descended back down, leaving you even more irritated and lustful than before.

Asshole.

“God I want you so much baby, you have no idea how much I want to tear this dress off of you,” he whispered in your ear so sensually it made your insides explode, causing a rush of shivers down your spine and made you clench your legs.

“I can’t stop thinking about how wet you must be right now, how easily you’d suck my dick in your sweet little cunt. I’m so hard just thinking about it.” He gave a cast kiss on your flushed cheek, making you choke on the champagne you were drinking and gaining weird and worried looks from the people around the table.

Holy fuck.

You were in fact at the annual FIA gala, the event swarming with famous people, all the drivers with their respective partners but even so Lando didn’t seem to care less.

He was only focused on you, forgetting his surroundings.

He needed to touch you, always, constantly. He needed to feel you, to always have a hand on your body.

And how could anyone blame him?

Lando couldn’t normally keep his hormones at bay but seeing you in that damn dress with that slit, he could barely function and take his eyes off of you. He pretended to have a conversation with Carlos, but in reality he wasn’t listening to a single word his teammate was saying, being too focused on keeping his hard dick at bay.

He tried to hold back the smirk that threatened to appear on his face when you squeezed your thighs together, trapping his hand between them and preventing him from moving it.

“Babe you okay?” He murmured in your ear at one point, turning his attention towards you. He always had that damn smile on his face, that smirk so damn sexy you wanted nothing more than to get on your knees under the table and not care about anything else.

“Lando, you’re driving me crazy. Stop it,” you retorted through gritted teeth, in a low voice so that no one at the table would hear what you were talking about with your boyfriend.

Lando chuckled and removed the hand he had on your thigh and caressed your face with it, then resting it on your partially bare back. “But I’m not doing anything princess.”

“Oh you know damn well what you’re doing and you have to stop,” you repeated, but in the meantime feeling your cheeks burning and the heat running through your body.

Had the temperatures suddenly risen?

Or were you just horny?

Probably the second option.

“I can’t help it princess, you look so fucking hot in this dress,” he whispered, making you smile and your pussy clench at the same time.

And the fact he looked so damn sexy in that suit, so good you just wanted to rip his clothes with your teeth didn’t help make things particularly easy. If Lando struggled not to constantly touch you, you weren’t so different. You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t resist him even if you tried and it certainly wasn’t your fault.

It was his fault sex oozed from every single fucking pore of his body.

“I’m already hard as rock right now, you’re not helping if you keep looking at me like that.” His voice caught your attention again, not realizing you were mesmerized by looking at him and running your hungry eyes over his body.

“I’m not looking at you in any way baby, you just look very, very handsome in this outfit.” You seductively battled your lashes. You printed a kiss on his cheek, making your lips slight caress his earlobe. “And very, very fuckable.”

“Fucking hell,” he breathed out, about to combust.

You then placed a hand on his cheek, eagerly wanting to have some physical contact with him It didn’t matter if it was an arm, a hand, or his face, you needed to touch him. His skin was particularly hot and the way his pupils were dilated told you to everything you needed to know.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he admonished you, even though he didn’t want you to stop at all, he just wanted to avoid fucking you on that table in front of everyone.

“Too bad baby, two can play this game.” The little smirk on your painted lips made his legs go numb and it was enough for you to give him a small kiss on the lips, innocent and apparently chaste, to make him completely lose his mind.

“You’re looking at me like you want me to fuck you right here and now.” He wet his lips with his tongue, alternating his gaze between your eyes and mouth.

You nonchalantly shrugged your shoulders. “Maybe I do want you to fuck me right here and now.”

This marked the breaking point for Lando, who at that point lost all judgment and didn’t care that the awards ceremony was about to begin.

“Meet me in the bathroom.” Was all he said before getting up and walking away without even giving you time to respond. You tried to suppress a giggle, every cell in your body twitching in anticipation.

“Woah where is Lando going so fast?” Carlos had asked, turning to you with a confused expression.

“In the bathroom, I think all the water he drank is having an effect,” you replied, meanwhile thinking of an excuse to get up from the table too.

“I’m going to get something to drink.” It was the first thing that crossed your mind, not caring about the confused looks of the others at the table.

“How much you wanna bet they’re gonna fuck in the bathroom?” Daniel announced, sparking laughter from everyone on the table. “God those two go on like rabbits, it’s embarrassing.”

But there was nothing closer to the truth than what Daniel said. You and Lando wanted each other a lot, it was no secret, and your sex life was more than active and intense.

That’s why, you found yourself pressed against the men’s bathroom sink, the door locked and Lando’ body pressed against yours as the two of you kissed with hunger and passion.

His hands, now resting on your cheeks, began to wander down your body, squeezing your breasts, your hips, his fingers pressed deep into your skin.

“Fuck I want you so bad baby,” you murmured as you broke away to take a breath. But he didn’t leave you any respite, his lips had started licking and nibbling your neck, in that precise point where he knew it drove you crazy.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth as you began palming the crotch of his pants, feeling him rock hard under your hand.

“Already so hard for me huh?” You whispered sensually, sighing as you unbuttoned his pants and pulled them and his boxers down enough to release his dick.

“Darling I’ve been hard for you since I saw you in this damn dress.” He cupped his hands over your breasts, squeezing and groping them over your dress, making you sigh. He slipped the straps of your dress revealing and you felt him twitch in your hand as you jerked him off, his eyes looking at you with hunger and desperation. “I’m always so hard for you. God you’re gorgeous.”

“Fuck yes…” He moaned loudly and you covered his mouth with your free hand.

“Shh you don’t want anyone to hear us, do you my love?”.

He slightly shook his head, feeling like he was already at his limit just from the way you were looking at him. You removed your hand and he placed his on your face, looking straight into your eyes as your hand continued to move up and down on his dick.

“That’s my good boy.”

He almost came from that sentence alone.

His thumb traced the outline of your lips with which you wasted no time and wrapped them around his digit, always keeping your eyes on him. His gaze was fixed on your lips, the way your cheeks hollowed out to suck on his thumb and you knew where his mind was wandering.

He almost had a heart attack when he saw you kneel in front of him, a smile printed on your lips now devoid of any trace of lipstick and lip gloss.

A loud moan escaped his lips when you stuck your tongue out and traced a long line along his shaft, starting from the base up to the tip where you paused for a few moments while you tasted the saltiness of the precum.

“Shit…” He panted like he was running a marathon, his chest rising and falling quickly. “Stop teasing me.”

“Oh you mean like you did all night?” I retorted with sassy.

“Please baby, please… I need this pretty little mouth…” He begged you, stroking your no longer styled hair with one hand. “I need to fuck this mouth so bad…”

“You look so cute when you beg so desperately for me darling.” You took his dick completely into your mouth, leaving him no room for response and completely taking the air and breath out of his lungs.

He threw his head back, trying to concentrate on not letting himself get too loud since you were still in a public bathroom. But it was hard, so damn hard when your mouth took him so perfectly, when your lips kept sliding back and forth, up and down on his hard dick.

“Shit, shit, fuck yes keep going… Oh yes just like that…” he groaned, gripping your hair in a fist and intensifying the movements of his hips. His tip kept hitting deep into your throat, making you gag and almost choke on it, your eyes watering.

“So pretty… My girl is so fucking pretty while she is on her knees taking me in her mouth so damn well…”

You continued to squeeze your legs with desire, hoping in some way to relieve the tension and desire that made you clench your pussy. Your eyes never left his face, thoroughly enjoying that feeling of being able to make him lose his mind in that way.

You felt immense enjoyment, a rush of euphoria flowed through your veins seeing his face contracted in pleasure, hearing those moans, sighs and pants that only you could give him, and even if he was fucking your mouth without mercy you could’ve even choked to death and you would’ve been the happiest woman in the world.

One of your hands was resting on his hairy bare thigh, your nails pressed into his skin while the other encircled the base of his dick, helping where your mouth couldn’t reach.

“Fuck baby your mouth feels like heaven… Oh my god…” he gasped. “You drive me crazy.”

Suddenly the sound of someone banging on the door startled both of you. You took advantage of that moment to catch your breath, but continued to slide your hand up and down his cock wet with your saliva.

“O-occupied!” Lando exclaimed, swallowing a groan and trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible while his eyes were fixed on you.

God you were so beautiful.

“Hurry up!” The voice replied from the other side of the door and you both breathed a sigh of relief when you heard footsteps walking away. You let out a laugh, but it was interrupted when you started licking his wet dick again, wrapping your lips around his particularly red and sensitive tip and focusing on it as you continued to pleasure him with your hand.

Lando swore he saw stars for a moment, letting out a particularly loud moan and feeling like he was going to explode at any moment. “Oh fuck yeah princess just like that…”

Without leaving you any escape, Lando pushed himself into your mouth again, keeping his grip on your hair, using you as if you were his own doll.

But you didn’t care, on the contrary, you loved the way he used you and always did what he wanted with you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he groaned, moving his hips and making you gag on his dick again, too carried away by the pleasure and euphoria to be able to think clearly. You levered yourself on his thigh, your nails pressed so hard into his skin you feared for a moment you’d leave any permanent mark “Ah shit… I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming… Fuuuck.”

With one final forceful thrust, his hot, salty cum filled your mouth and you wasted no time swallowing it, not particularly enjoying the taste.

“Holy shit I think I’m gonna die,” he sighed in ecstasy, his mouth half open as he tried to catch his breath.

You giggled and started to get up when you felt his hands on your hips helping you to your feet and before you could do anything he kissed you, tasting himself on your lips. You immediately deepened the kiss, circling his neck and threading your hands into his hair, not being able to resist for a minute longer.

“You’re so fucking beautiful love, what do I have to do with you? You make me lose my mind,” he whispered against your lips, then losing himself for a moment looking at you. It wasn’t an exaggeration but you were truly breathtaking. Especially in that moment with your lips swollen due to the amazing blowjob you had just given him, your cheeks red and lined with mascara running from your eyes. God, he couldn’t wait to be buried deep inside you.

“For starters you could fuck me properly Mr Norris.”

He chuckled and you let out a disappointed sigh when he slightly pulled away from you, immediately feeling an empty, cold feeling inside you. He cleaned himself before putting his pants and underwear back on.

“How are you feeling my love? Was I too rough?” He then asked, cupping his hands over your face and removing the traces of mascara with his thumbs as best he could.

You shook your head. “Oh God no baby, it was amazing. You know I love it when you’re rough.”

He gave you a kiss on the lips, so sweet and in contrast to the words he was about to say. “Good baby because now we’re going home and I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit down for the next few days.”

And man, had he kept his promise.

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[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 4

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Rhysand calls for a meeting so you and the rest of the Inner Circle can decide what to do next. Azriel stands by your side every step of the way.

Warnings: Angst (not that bad)

Word Count: 6680

Notes: This chapter was actually trying to fight me. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Hope you enjoy!

Part 3 ○ Part 5

The days were blurring together the longer you stayed in this room. You've long since memorized the golden stripes and swirls beautifully decorating the navy walls, counted the teardrop-like glittering stones hanging from the small chandelier. You've gone through every closet and box in this room as well. Unsurprisingly, the room was almost empty, but you weren't looking through it to find any information anyway, you'd really done it out of boredom, and admittedly some curiosity.

You knew you couldn't complain about your treatment in this house, you'd never heard of a prisoner being treated to home cooked meals and expensive clothes. The House had even brought you books and journals in case you wanted to read or write, and Azriel brought you little treats from the bakeries in town - things you suspect he already knew you liked. He also kept you company every chance he got, even if it meant simply sitting together in silence. You didn't go a day without seeing him. But it was hard to focus on romance novels, chocolate cupcakes or even the captivating hazel eyed male when your entire reality was shattering around you.

The day after you met the High Lord and Lady, Azriel had found you snooping through the few clothes left behind by Feyre, and that same night he dropped off what he called some of your old belongings - some clothes and jewelry so you didn't have to borrow anything else from the High Lady. Everything was neatly folded and carefully arranged, it seems Azriel was extremely meticulous about how to store his late wife's belongings. He told you he's barely allowed himself to touch them in fear of ruining anything.

The clothes had since lost your scent, even if put away in a closed box it would be impossible for it to linger after a century. Still, you knew these were your things, somehow you could feel it deep inside you. You hadn't told Azriel about this, scared of getting his hopes up.

There was nothing personal in the box, Azriel was probably reluctant in letting you see them in case it overwhelmed you and triggered any more painful reactions, but there was enough for you to get a sense of who you were before.

It was clear she lived a happier and much more fulfilled life than yours. The clothes were all beautiful, if a little outdated. They came in all sorts of colors and fabrics, but even if you still liked them now, you know you'd never buy something like this for yourself.

Working at the guild, you had to prioritize functionality. You didn't have many personal belongings, you traveled a lot for missions and had to keep hidden, never staying in the same place for longer than a couple of months at a time. Your clothes reflected this, you prefered to wear pants or even your armor since you never knew when you'd be called for a mission or attacked.

You always had to be ready to drop everything at any moment so there was no use getting attached to anything or anyone. Even your favorite dagger was simply the model you've found works best for you, and you can get it anytime from different blacksmiths. The small hoops currently in your ears are the only jewelry you actually own and it's more of a way to keep the holes open for when you have to do undercover missions in which you might need to dress up.

There was no time or place for getting pretty clothes that made you feel good or buying a nice pair of earrings for the sake of it. Even less for making friends. You were living an empty life, something you always had a hard time coming to terms with, but that seems impossible to accept now that you know what you could have had, what you used to have and was taken from you.

Not being able to even trust your own memories affected you more than you'd ever admit, knowing things you considered unquestionable facts before that night were all made up. You've had to rely on what Azriel tells you and your own intuition to try and fill in the gaps. Your body seemed to be giving you clues, nudging you in the right directions but it only left you beyond frustrated that you could feel like all the answers were on the tip of your tongue but not being able to put your finger on it.

From what you've gathered, the night you disappeared from the Night Court corresponds with the mission in which you almost died, meaning someone in the guild - your handler, if your suspicions are correct - must have found you and brought you in. It's safe to say that, aside from a few lies and omissions here and there, your memories since that night can be trusted. But everything before that was all a lie, over a century of your life was nothing more than a made up story.

A burning feeling behind your eyelids has you forcefully shaking out your thoughts. You can't let yourself get consumed before you even find out what exactly happened, before you can get your revenge. And you refuse to cry in this room where anyone, especially Azriel, could walk in at any moment and see you in such a state. If you had to pick one helpful thing the guild taught you, it was how to handle your emotions.

You knew the High Lord was making good on his promise, knew that Azriel was working to help you as well. He'd only ever left your side to look into any information you could give him about the guild, though your knowledge was limited. You weren't a high ranking member and they were more than careful. You didn't know anything about the other members, as much as they didn't know anything about you.

Still, you weren't used to waiting around while everyone else did all the work and it took them over a week to schedule a new meeting with you, where you hopefully will learn more about this whole situation and what they intend to do with you. It feels like they're keeping you in the dark, something you knew you'd also do in their place, but that has left you feeling nothing but frustrated and worthless.

That meeting was happening in less than an hour and anticipation was eating away at you. Azriel promised he was going to take you to the office, letting you use him as a safety line as you've done so often these days.

Aside from the welcome information and decisions you hope would be talked through, you were also just excited to leave this room for a few hours at least. Only being able to feel the wind through an open window was getting old, and the city below this house felt like it was almost calling to you at this point, but you were too scared of seeming too interested since you didn't know if they'd find it suspicious. Just because the High Lord left the room on a friendlier note doesn't mean he'll trust you completely after what you've done.

You were technically allowed out of the room, free to walk around the House, with Azriel's supervision of course, but after your first attempt you decided it wasn't worth the trouble.

It had been mostly a miscalculation on your part. You were so consumed with your problems and with finding some sort of distraction that you almost forgot Azriel wasn't the only one you knew before, didn't stop to think what reaction they all would have to you.

Azriel asked you to join him for breakfast downstairs as he usually did, trying to get you to move around and talk with the other residents of the House. You accepted, tired of being in the stuffy room and curious to meet the General and his mate, who you've sometimes felt around the House and heard so much about from Azriel.

The atmosphere turned painfully awkward as soon as you entered the dining room with the shadowsinger at your side, making the other residents of the house look up to meet your eyes, surprised you had left the room. It wasn't long before Cassian stormed out, barely making an excuse on his way out after getting a good look at you, his mate following right behind him.

You ended up eating breakfast alone with Azriel, the same way you would have if you'd stayed in your room like you always did instead. Except now you couldn't take the general's haunted expression out of your mind. It truly had looked like he'd seen a ghost. Maybe he did.

Azriel apologized to you on his behalf, even though it wasn't his or Cassian's fault, and you're almost positive there was some sort of fight between them, though you hope not too severe. You'd hate for Azriel to get into arguments with his family over you. He didn't invite you downstairs again after that, simply joining you in your room whenever he could. The reminder of how caring the shadowsinger has been with you almost brings a smile to your lips.

“I'll make you fall for me again.”

Those words haven't left your mind since that night. You've never had anyone look at you with so much love in their eyes, and tell you something so bold with such conviction.

You're not sure you deserve it, and you're terrified you'll never remember him because you know this version of you can't ever be compared to the one in his memories. Even if you end up regaining your memories, it's impossible for things to truly go back to how they were. It's been too long and you've changed too much. The both of you know this.

You haven't actually talked about his or your feelings since that night, but it's clear that he still loves you, well he loves the female he once knew anyway, you're not so sure you're even that similar to her aside from your appearance. It doesn't feel fair to let him dote on you, knowing he's in love with a version of you that will never come back, knowing that, even with the fluttering of your heart, your feelings for him don't come close to his.

It makes you feel like you're taking advantage of him, how he's so dedicated to taking care of you and to restoring your memories, even trying to find the people who hurt you, while to you he's a stranger. Even if an extremely handsome stranger whose company you enjoy a lot, who makes you smile and even laugh despite the precarious circumstances you've found yourself in, who makes you believe you can get through this.

You can't deny you have a reaction to him either, every soft touch feels like lightning running through your veins, and every whisper of your name has goosebumps spreading all over your skin. Your body obviously still remembers how it feels to love him and to be loved by him in return, but the butterflies in your stomach don't even come close to the depth of his feelings for you. It's glaringly obvious that Azriel would do anything for you, even going as far as letting you stab him the very first night you met and brushing it off when you tried to apologize during this week.

Truthfully, falling for Azriel sounds like the easiest thing in the world, but you don't think you'd ever feel like you deserve him.

The shadows in the room start shifting ever so slightly as if reading your thoughts - something Azriel has assured you they can't do - a sign that their singer is approaching.

You put down the book you never even started and hop down from the window sill you had been sitting on for most of the afternoon, waiting for him to knock softly at the door like he always did, letting you prepare for his arrival or deny his company if you so wished. Anticipation was buzzing at your skin the longer you waited so you opened the door for him as soon as his knuckles met the dark wood, catching him off guard with his hand raised.

You can't help but smile at his wide eyes. Surprising the feared Spymaster of the Night Court has to be a hard feat to accomplish and the fact that you just did it so effortlessly makes you revel in his expression for a moment. He offers you a small smile of his own but you can immediately tell something is holding him back.

He hasn't really given you any information about their research or the guild, simply letting you know that they were working as hard as they could on it. You knew the High Lord still had his reservations about your presence in his court so it only made sense for them to keep their cards close to their chest until they knew more about the situation. You suppose he also wanted to see if any of the leads you gave Azriel on the guild actually turned out to be helpful, a last test to see if you were being truthful.

So you wouldn't be surprised that the Inner Circle had a meeting among themselves before bringing you in, one it seems like Azriel just came from, but his expression is making your anticipation steadily turn into nerves.

“Are you ready?”

Even with the lump that has lodged itself in your throat, you nod and try to give him a pleasant smile. You've been waiting for answers and you're finally going to get them, even if it feels like your heart is threatening to give out.

You quickly turn back into the room to slip on your shoes, before looping your arm around the one he offers, ever the gentlemale. He guides you through the painting covered hallways, most of which you haven't walked through before.

As you approach the room your nerves get the best of you. There are a lot more people in the office than you thought there'd be, you can hear their mismatched heartbeats from here, feel their suffocating presences. One you can distinctively recognize is the General's, it reminds you of his reaction in the dining room, how it seemed to hurt him just looking at you.

You didn't think the entire Inner Circle would be in attendance, figured that it would only be the ancient one, the High Lord and Lady aside from you and Azriel. You'll likely have to reveal more about yourself than you'd be comfortable with in any other situation, including things you're not proud of, things you know they'll judge you for, they'll judge the female they once knew for.

Azriel noticed your body tensing, your steps getting slower and the apprehension rolling off you in waves as your thoughts soured. He stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder, meeting your unfocused eyes.

Seeing the worried look on his face makes you take a deeper breath, willing your mind to focus on what's important right now and let your fears stay locked inside you. Thinking of it as another mission the guild sent you on, you've put your life on the line numerous times, you can get through a simple meeting.

You feel a familiar mask of indifference fall onto your face, the mask of a killer the guild made sure you wore almost every day of your life, but before you can rid your mind of emotion, Azriel grabs onto your hand, intertwining your fingers together, and bringing it up to his lips. He leaves a soft kiss on your skin, one that sends chills down your spine, though it's the look in his eyes that makes you stop.

You're not alone. For the first time in your life, at least in the life you remember, you're not alone. He's going to be next to you for every step of the way. You don't need to resort to assassin tactics. The blank mask was something you didn't have a choice but to use, to protect yourself from the things you'd seen, from the things you feel. But here you're allowed to delve into your emotions, to stay true to them.

Azriel gives you a small smile and lowers your hand away from his lips, proud of whatever determination showed on your face. He lets go of you, making you feel the absence of his warmth immediately, fingers twitching as if trying to reach out to his comfort on their own.

As soon as you walk into the room all eyes turn to you. You had been right to assume everyone was here. You let your eyes wander around the room briefly, noting the familiar and new faces, before settling back on Rhysand's, the reminder of the excruciating pain you've felt the last time you saw him an obvious weight on your mind.

You'd seen them all before except for the blonde sitting on the sofa by the window, her brown eyes were wide, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. You know that was Morrigan, the High Lord's cousin, and from what Azriel has told you, one of your once closest friends. Apparently she'd tried to come talk to you but it so happened to be on the day after you went down for breakfast and you denied it without a second thought when Azriel brough the option up. You wonder if that had been too harsh but you weren't sure you could handle a repeat of the Cassian situation.

Feyre and Morrigan are the only ones who attempt to throw a greeting smile your way but you can't bring yourself to respond, acutely aware of the tension in the air, eyes never straying from the High Lord's. Choosing to focus on the elephant in the room.

“I trust your stay has been enjoyable,” Rhysand muses as he points to the chair across from his desk, urging you to sit as if this were a simple business meeting. As ridiculous as the idea sounds, it does something to loosen your muscles and the snort that escapes Cassian lifts some of the tension.

“Yes, the House has been making sure of it,” you sit on the chair across from his desk, not daring to look away from him and the High Lady. He releases a simple hum at the answer, but you're too anxious for small talk. “Have you found a way to get my memories back?”

“In a way,” he offers, leaving you with more questions.

Thankfully, Amren fills up the silence in his place. “The spell suppressing your memories is the work of witches. Daemati can enter anyone's mind and make them forget certain memories but if someone had simply rewritten your memories then Rhys would have been able to fix them.”

“Witches?” The thought was enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Witches use tools to strengthen their powers, to access magic they aren't privy to,” she continues, “It seems someone used a witch's tool to feign daemati powers and rewrite your memories, effectively warding them as well.”

“That's why you had such a strong reaction when I entered your mind.”

You were positive this had to be the work of a daemati. It had never crossed your mind that there could be something else at play.

“You can't undo the spell,” you conclude for them.

Witches have a completely different approach to magic than faeries. While your kind was gifted their magic by the Mother, witches have to resort to the kind of tools Amren mentioned. The resulting magic isn't organic and as such it comes with rules and drawbacks you don't experience as fae.

“We'll need to find the person responsible for it. They're the only one who can tell us exactly how to undo it,” Feyre says.

You bite your lip, your mind reeling with the information. You only have one suspect and the thought of not only finding him but also making him talk sounds beyond ridiculous. He also hasn't shown any hint that he could use witch magic. As far as you know he's as much high fae as you are, but you can never be too certain when it comes to one the best assassins in the world.

“Azriel says you can only identify one member of the guild,” the High Lord continues, barely giving you any time to process.

You nod. “I had direct contact with a few other assassins when I was called for backup but never knew their names or even what some of them look like without disguises.”

“Our only option is finding your handler, but Azriel hasn't been able to find any tracks even with the information you've given him,” Feyre stands closer to the desk now, her hand leaning on the dark wood.

“I'm not surprised. Norris is one of the most prominent members of the guild, I'm not sure how old he is exactly but I suspect he's been working there for close to a millenia.”

“Azriel is extremely good at his job,” Rhysand tilts his head slightly, as if offended for his Spymaster.

“I know.” From the briefings he's given you, he has spies all over the world aside from his shadows, who can listen and see things fae could never begin to imagine. Even with your hints, he's come closer to the guild in a week than entire countries have in decades, perhaps even centuries. “But we've been trained to kill and hide from people like him, like you. And Norris has been doing that successfully for a very long time.”

“We…” He taps his nails on the table, the sound echoing across the room. “So you're an assassin then,” the distaste clear on the High Lord's face.

You hadn't said the words out loud but everyone had probably guessed it the moment you walked back into their lives. The guild has made a name for themselves, and as much as some of your work consisted of spying or retrieving objects, most people came to the guild for mercenary jobs.

“Yes,” you confirm, forcing yourself to keep up the eye contact.

“An interesting career choice,” he muses, as if you had the pleasure of just choosing to become this monster.

The several pairs of eyes watching you intently were making you feel defensive, your temper rising up with it. It's easy to judge someone looking in from the outside. You'd been an assassin or training to become one ever since you could remember, which in reality wasn't your whole life like you thought before. Still, whether it was because you'd been taken in by the guild as a child or had your memories rewritten, you were thrown into it against your will and had since been stuck with no chance of an escape. Everyone has done things they're not proud of and you know fae in such important positions as these and as old as they are can definitely relate to this sentiment.

You weren't proud of it, far from it, but you didn't have a choice. And it's not your fault the female they knew before wouldn't do these things. It's not your fault that innocence and chance at being better she had were ripped away from you.

“Not everyone has the luxury of getting a court handed to them,” the venom drips out of your tongue, every word meant as a weapon.

You know this is a low blow, being aware of the circumstances in which Rhysand became High Lord, how he lost his whole family in one night. But if he wants cruelty, the assassin he keeps judging, you can certainly give it to them. Your bravado lessens when you feel the sharp intake of breaths around the room, most notably from the Illyrian by your side, where he still stands despite how tense his posture has become.

Rhysand's wings tighten against his body and his eyes narrow, finally letting go of the faux relaxed look he's presented you with. He takes a moment to answer you, likely leveling his temper or receiving soothing words from his mate.

“There was a time you wouldn't even dare to hurt an innocent.” This statement lacks the same bite as before, it gives way to disappointment, and it feels like a bucket of ice poured over molting lava. It cuts deeper than any amount of judgment he could have presented you with.

You straighten yourself in the chair, trying to not let it show how much this whole conversation is affecting you. “Well,” you lick your lip, now realizing how dry your mouth felt, “The only thing left from before is my body.”

His violet gaze finally becomes too much for you to bear, allowing yourself the respite of looking down at your hands. There are too many emotions swirling in his alluring eyes, even more felt around the room, the tension has become so thick you could barely breathe, couldn't even risk a look at Azriel in fear of what you'd find written on his face, terrified that the same disappointment lingered there as well.

“It's not,” the change in tone has you looking back up at him, meeting his gaze once more to find understanding reflected on it. And I can only imagine how you've been surviving through it all.

His echoing words make you pause, not being able to look away from him. It's only when wetness gathers in your eyes that you look back down, praying the room of perceptive fae don't notice how close you are to tears. You don't even remember the last time you cried, the last time someone extended you the kindness Rhysand just did, even after all the judgment.

Shadows start crawling up your legs, tentatively moving towards you as if asking permission to comfort you. You bite back a smile, keeping your tears at bay as you wonder if they moved of their own accord or if Azriel sent them to you. You relax your body, allowing them to twist and turn over your legs, mildly surprised that you can actually feel a ghost of a touch. You didn't think you could feel shadows.

You risk a glance at the shadowsinger in question, almost regretting it as you see the fondness reflected in his beautiful eyes as he watches his own shadows move across your skin. This must have been a regular occurrence before. You look away as soon as your gazes meet, not being able to bear the intensity in them in this room full of onlookers.

Unfortunately, your escape brings you back to facing the High Lord and Lady, who seem more than amused at your interaction with Azriel. The change in atmosphere from just a few moments ago almost gives you whiplash.

“You haven't told me what you plan on doing about the guild,” you try to keep your tone leveled, but looking at their reactions you're failing miserably.

“Finding your handler seems to be our best bet,” the smile on Feyre's face only falters a bit, the tension from before has almost dissipated. “Since he's the one who sent you here he might know who hired the guild and their motives for wanting the book.”

“You said he was the one who introduced you into the guild.” You nod at Rhysand. “It's possible he's the one responsible for your… accident.”

“I think so too,” you agreed, your hand moving up to touch the scar on your neck, “I've always been told this scar was the result of a failed mission, and that Norris had been the one to find me and take me to a healer.”

“We found the attackers not long after your death,” the general finally speaks up, cringing softly at the choice of word. His mate was quick to narrow her eyes at him, as if reprimanding him for mentioning it.

“He might not have actually cut my throat,” you shrug, trying not to linger in unpleasant thoughts. “He likely saw me after the attack and decided I'd make a good addition to the guild if I survived. I'm basically a ghost, that's perfect for an agent. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd done similar things before.”

“Either way, we need to find him.”

“Even if we do, I'm not sure he'll actually tell you anything.” Norris was one of the most respected members of the guild. His abilities far surpassed yours, he'd been the one to teach you most things after all. You've never been able to even sneak up on him so finding and capturing him alive already seemed hard enough, but making him cooperate and answer any of your questions was next to impossible. The Mother only knows how many fae have tried it and failed.

“He will,” Azriel stated. When you look into his eyes you can only see pure fury and determination written in them, leaving no space for any doubts. He stares into your eyes before adding, promising, “l'll make sure of it.”

Some of that confidence rubs off on you it seems, because your hesitation starts evaporating the longer you stare into his eyes. You've always been on your own, and as such you've only ever considered how you'd fare against your handler without backup. Between the famed Shadowsinger, the strongest High Lord in history, the Made Sisters, and everyone else in this room, your chances were exponentially higher. Escaping the guild doesn't feel like a pipe dream anymore.

“How do you want to find him?”

The High Lord rewards your determination with a smirk. “The only way to find someone like him is by making him search for us instead.”

“You want to use me as bait,”

“You can refuse,” Azriel assured. This explains his sour mood. You didn't think he'd agreed with this solution with the way he's been treating you so carefully, almost as if you're made of glass. You can't exactly fault him for it either, but the truth is you can't refuse. You don't know if you could ever find Norris with traditional tactics, or if the guild wouldn't send more assassins to the city, if they hadn't already.

“And keep living like this? Hiding without even knowing who I am?”

He searches your eyes, fear and vulnerability swimming in the hazel, but nods all the same. He told you he's dreamed of getting you back for a century, and thought it was something that would never come true, so it makes sense that he'd be hesitant on letting you put yourself in such a risky position. You know he understands why you need this though.

The meeting runs for a while longer, and by the time Rhysand was calling it a day the sun was already setting on the horizon, making way for the night to take over in all its glory, one that could only be fully appreciated in the Night Court.

As much as everyone seems to be warming up to you, letting go of the conflicted feelings towards having you back in these circumstances, you were extremely overwhelmed by the end. Talking to someone who knows you so intimately even though you don't have any recollection of it is a confusing experience. You could almost hear your mind screaming at you, begging for some peace and quiet.

The contrast between the Inner Circle and Azriel becomes clear in your mind. Your relationships were very different before but it's interesting to see that even when you don't have your memories, you feel so much calmer with him. That nagging feeling of being faced with something you've lost keeps rising up when they speak to you, but it doesn't come anywhere close to the myriad of emotions Azriel evokes simply by looking at you. And even if those emotions are more intense, you have a much bigger tolerance for them, as if your body would gladly accept any turmoil as long as you stayed in his company.

Just as you were about to leave the room, Rhysand invites you to join them for dinner. Everyone turns to you with expectant eyes before the words fully leave his mouth. They clearly planned it out together. This habit they have of speaking through each other's minds is one it might take a while getting used to.

You bite your lip, as you think of what to say. Cassian and Morrigan look particularly keen on the idea, it makes you feel a little relieved that the general isn't looking at you like a nightmare came true anymore, but you really don't think you can handle any more questions today, or to have them reminisce about your former relationships. You're not used to spending time with a lot of people in general, you'd go months without any sort of fae contact sometimes. You just want to go somewhere quiet, and you can only think of one person whose company would allow you to relax.

Making up your mind, you decline the invitation politely, trying to ignore the disappointment in their eyes as they bid you goodnight. This still feels like a huge improvement from where you stood with them just at the beginning of the meeting, that they'd want to keep you company when it felt like they were avoiding you this whole week. You might have gained some of their trust, and, to your immense shock, you trust them as well. It feels like a breath of fresh air after a century of not even trusting your shadow.

Maybe it's that feeling, or the immediate quiet that settles over you as soon as you walk into the empty hallway, maybe even the fact that you finally got some answers and even a plan, a chance at leaving the guild, something you never even dared to dream about, but it has you feeling a little indulgent. Your steps are noticeably lighter, and all the tension from before is now only a faint ache in your muscles.

“Azriel?” You look up at him with a smile, feeling it widen when he looks at you in answer. “Since I'm out of the room, can we go somewhere to watch the stars?”

The smile that takes over his face is blinding, it feels like it could rival the moon. It's fascinating how his beauty can still catch you off guard like this, even if you've been spending most of your time with him for an entire week.

“Of course,” he moves closer to you and takes your hand, pulling you into him, his eyes never straying from yours. It takes you longer than it should have to realize he was covering you both in shadows, too lost in his eyes to pay attention to your surroundings, how they've turned to black. He told you before that's how he winnows, though it can't be called that since he moves through shadows instead.

The light almost blinds you as his shadows disperse, giving way to a view you can't believe is real. The sky wasn't completely dark yet, stuck in the brief moments of twilight where you could still see the last rays of the sun illuminating the dark blue sky. And yet the stars were already twinkling in the sky, surrounding the full moon.

You can't help but gasp, forgetting about Azriel and moving to the edge of the roof, admiring the unforgettable view. Your eyes don't stray from it as you lean against the railing, long enough that the sun completely sets, and the streets become illuminated by faelights.

You had thought there was some sort of celebration when you first came here, but have since learned that every night is enjoyed to its fullest in the city of dreamers.

As some of your awe settles, you turn to look at Azriel as he too admires the city. His shadows had left him uncovered, choosing to scatter around what you now recognize as a training ground. You almost regret staring up at the sky for so long when you could have been reveling in his beauty this whole time.

His tan skin was glowing with the pale moonlight, eyes as bright as the stars when he looks down at you. You move closer to him almost unconsciously, as if you've been bewitched.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you sound breathless even to your ears. “The view is a lot more beautiful from up here.” Your bedroom window could never do this justice. If you looked up, it almost felt like you were walking on air, among the stars.

He turns to you fully, ignoring the captivating sight in favor of watching you. His face relaxes further as he takes you in, the smile on his lips growing and the air around you changing. He raises his scarred palm up to cup your face, whispering softly, “It can't ever compare to you.”

“That's cheesy,” you stutter, clearly taken aback by the sudden flirtatious tone.

He grins down at you, a mischievous look in his eyes, rubbing his thumb over the increasingly warmer skin of your cheek. “You're blushing.”

Azriel has been open with his feelings for you all week, making it clear that they haven't changed over the years, even with your absence from his life, but he has never been this brazen. None of the interactions you've had can be considered anything else than platonic, and even with sweet compliments and bashful admissions, he has never looked at you like this, like he truly believed just one second of looking at you was worth more than this unbelievable view.

“You know,” you start hesitantly, “We haven't actually tried everything.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to catch up to your train of thought. You can feel when he does because he tenses against you, and would have let go of your face if you hadn't placed your hand around his wrist, keeping him there.

“I think I've read it in a story before,” you lick your lips, feeling like lava is pumping through your veins when his eyes follow the movement, “Sometimes a kiss can be stronger than any magic spell.”

He leans closer to you slowly, looking into your eyes to search for any sign of discomfort. You can't be entirely sure what he finds in them, you can't feel much else but desire in this moment, but it has him clearing the rest of the way, both of your eyes closing as his lips finally touch yours softly.

A sigh escapes him when you press into him harder, needing to find out what he tastes like, what he feels like. His other hand comes up to cup your other cheek, holding you against him. You can feel him losing his restraint bit by bit, hands moving from your face to hold your neck, your waist, grip getting tighter with every stroke of his tongue against yours, a century of longing and raw passion melting into the kiss. Your own arms find their way around his neck, pulling him down, finally feeling the softness of his hair around your fingers. His chest is pressed against yours, close enough that you can feel his heart beating.

When you finally pull away from each other, you're both breathless. He leans his forehead against yours, eyes closed. You wonder how many times he's dreamed of this moment, of being able to taste you again after so long.

“Any memories resurfacing?” His voice is rough, deeper than you've ever heard it. It almost makes you hold back a moan.

“No,” you lick your lips, reveling in his taste, “but we can give it another try.”

His lips find yours as soon as the last words leave your mouth, more than happy to deliver. You might chastise yourself for giving in to temptation tomorrow, but in this moment nothing else matters. Not the guild, not your lost memories, not your mistakes. Right now there's only him, you and the stars as your witnesses.

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[sunarc]

Loverman

Synopsis: If this is his last goodbye to you Nanami wants to make it count

CW: A tad bit angsty, shibuya arc, oral sex ( f receiving), soft dom, L bomb, established marriage, 1.9k words

A/N: Nanami deserves the world and imma stand 10 toes on that

Nanami is so in love with you. He can’t get enough of your silly jokes or the way you come running to him to pepper him in a million kisses as if you haven’t seen him in years. Your smile always seems to brighten his day. He never feels like he’s able to show you how much he really loves you.

That's why tonight he has planned something special before his business trip to Shibuya. For the first time ever Nanami’s heart aches more than anything in the world because he isn’t sure if he’ll be back. This trip is one of the more dangerous ones that he has to go on. If he could he’d spend his time locked away from the world with you, but he knows what comes with being a sorcerer.  He doesn’t want to worry you though. He can’t bare to see the look on your face when you realize how dangerous this mission is. He refuses to have to watch you plead and beg for him not to go. Thinking of seeing your tear stained cheeks watching him leave for the last time is too much to bear. He thinks to himself, how selfish it must seem but something in him thinks it’s well deserved. If this does happen to be his last night with you he was going to indulge and be as selfish as his heart desires.

When you come home from a long day he has dinner prepared for you. You ask a million questions. 

‘What’s the occasion?’

‘Have I forgotten an anniversary?’

‘Is it my birthday?’

You’re so cute. He places long loving kisses across your skin, hands, arms, neck and his favorite place to show you he loves you, lips. He can’t help the lingering stares as he watches you enjoy the meal he cooked for you. You’ve always loved his cooking. He notices the small things now. The way you dance with each bite humming about how tasty it is. The way you chew savoring the delectable meal. He chuckles deeply, eyes overflowing with love. 

“I’m so lucky to have you” he whispers.

Nanami feels overwhelmed with the amount of love overflowing inside of him. He runs the two of you a warm bath and places you gently in between his legs. He rubs soothing circles on your shoulders and places delicate kisses along your skin. 

“You’re so soft with me tonight” you giggle.

It’s not that you hate his gentle side. It’s actually your favorite part of him.

“What? I can’t love my beautiful wife?” he chuckles as he wraps his arms around you, engulfing you in a deep hug. He holds you there for a moment placing his head in the crook of your neck to dwell in your scent.You smile gliding your fingers through his hair. 

“I love you too,” you whisper.

It’s in the bed when Nanami feels he can really show you his love. His face is pushed between your legs taking in your essence. His cock feels achingly hard pressed against the fabric of the sheets but all he can think about is your pleasure. His tongue licks long strips between your folds sending shivers through your body. He smiles at the way you tremble for him and he’s barely even done anything to you yet. His tongue feels like heaven presses against your core, licking and sucking. You’ve never felt so blissed out before. Your back arches off the bed as you take in all that he gives you. Your hands grip onto his hair pulling as you whine at the way he dips his tongue in and out of your hole. 

“Stay still for me angel, I want to enjoy my dessert” he groans before pushing his face back into your heat. He gives small pecks to your inner thighs. His arms wrap around your legs pulling you to the edge of the bed so he can really dig in. 

“Taste so fucking good baby, I can never get enough”his breath fans against your core as he breathesin your essence. 

He leaves you barely functioning every time he’s with you. 

“K-kento please I-”

“It’s okay baby let go for me” Nanami takes you in, all of you. He sounds so messy slurping your juices. His tongue laps at your clit eagerly cleaning you up. Nanami has never been such a messy eater like this. He usually would take his time indulging in all that you were but right now he can’t see past his hunger for you. His desire to taste you, to be inside of you, to have you in every way possible takes all control of him.

Your hands push his body away but Nanami is much stronger wrapping his arms around your thighs pulling you impossibly closer.

“S-shit ken I don’t think I can take it” you whimper as your body vibrates from your orgasm. 

“Oh come on I know you can give me another pretty baby” he coos into your core “Just one more and then I want to put a baby in you”

He groans as he licks hungrily at your cunt. Your mind feels like it’s running a mile per minute trying to contain yourself. Nanami’s hands know no boundaries. He rubs up and down your body while his eyes watch you fall apart for him. 

“So pretty,” he breathes.

He’s eating as if he has never had a meal before. He devours you, your essence, your mind your soul is all his for the taking tonight. 

“Ken” you pant tapping his shoulder. “Wait ken I-” You’re cut off by your own moan.

Nanami hums a reply,his mouth too busy to use words.

“Please I think I’m gonna” you can barely get the sentence out before your second orgasm of the night comes flooding in. You squeeze your legs together trapping his head. Nanami’s tongue continues it’s abuse. He has plans on ruining you for the night.

“Fuck it’s too much ken” you whine as you run up the sheets.

Nanami pulls away with a huff.

“You won’t even let me finish my meal,” he stands stroking his cock above your shaking figure. 

He grabs your thighs pulling you closer. 

“I guess I have to fuck some manners into you”

He dips the tip of his cock into your entrance while his eyes watch your reaction. 

Your mouth drops into an ‘o’ shape at the feeling of him sinking himself fully into you. 

“Mmm fuck angel, I’m gonna put a baby in you tonight.” He groans. 

His hips rock into you slowly gaining a consistent pace. Nanami loves the expressions you make during sex. He pays attention to you all the time but tonight is different. Tonight he wants to memorize every dimple, beauty mark and freckle you have. His hands roam your body, memorizing each of your curves. His thrusts are filled with lust and passion. He leans down to kiss you deeply. He sinks his cock into you as his lips dance against yours. His heart feels like it might explode. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you baby, Taking my cock so well”

He feels like he might burst. He wants to hold on, to feel the way your cunt sucks him in. You’re so intoxicating, your body always leaves him in a trance. 

He sits up gripping your legs and pushing them to your chest so that he could see how your pussy devours him. 

“Look at my good girl taking my cock so well” he bites his lip staring down at where the two of you connect. 

Your moans paired with his groans fill the room. Your body jolts back and forth from his thrust. 

“So good” You chant, too far gone to think of anything else.

“I know, I know my love” he groans as he rolls his hips into you. 

He’s never felt himself losing control like this before. His thrusts are getting sloppy. He’s panting and moaning whispering about how much he loves your pussy. 

“Such a good- fuck good girl for me” his voice is shaking. 

If this was going to be his last time making love to you he was going to make sure you knew how good you made him feel. 

“Fuck, love you’re gonna milk me dry” he groans “I promise I’m gonna give you a baby” 

He looks down, meeting your tear filled eyes. 

“Gonna put a baby right here” he growls as he presses his hand down onto your stomach where he knows his cock is. 

You let out a loud cry. Nanami is surprised he can still hear the wet sounds of your hole. 

You feel yourself growing closer to your orgasm.

“Don’t you dare cum without me,” . 

He knows your body better than you. He knows you like the back of his hand, that’s why he knows you’ll be okay without him. He would be a mess without you but you’re strong, stronger than any sorcerer he has ever known. 

“I want to cum with you, make this special” he whispers. 

His fingers grip onto your legs as he thrusts wildly into you. Your walls squeeze around him so tight he’s sure he won’t last much longer. He lets your legs go and leans down into the crook of your neck. 

“Fuck Angel you ready?” he breathes

“Yes! Yes please” you whine. 

He fucks you at an animalistic pace. He squeezes his eyes shut as a single tear falls down his cheek. 

“I love you, I love you-fuck I love you so much” he chants into your skin as he fucks the both of you through an orgasm. 

He slowly comes down, listening to the way you catch your breath. He wants to remember the patters of your heart beat calming down from an orgams. He wants to stay like this forever, stuck in time with you. He pulls out hissing at the sudden release. He lays beside you stuck in his thoughts until you place a hand on his cheek pulling him back. 

“Tonight was beautiful” you say staring into his eyes.

Nanami sits still admiring your smile. How could someone be so perfect. He places his hand above yours.

“Do you remember when I first asked you to marry me?” he chuckles “You cried so much and couldn’t stop staring at your ring” he chuckles reminiscing .

“Everywhere I went I was showing people the ring, it’s a beautiful ring” you laugh

“You kept referring to yourself as Mrs. Nanami” he smiles feeling his eyes growing teary. 

“I’ve loved every minute since you put that ring on your finger” he presses a gentle kiss to your lips “Loving you has been the most amazing part of my life”

You laugh “Why are you talking like we don’t have forever Mr.Nanami?” You pull him into you covering his face in small kisses “I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with you and make a beautiful family” you say looking at him. 

Nanami can only pray for forever with you. If tomorrow was the last time he’d get to see you he would make this moment last a lifetime. He’d find you in any universe, life or place. You were his soulmate. He’d recognize you in a world of eternal darkness. He was never really a religious man but he silently makes a prayer to whatever God that’s willing to listen to watch over you.

“Do you think we would be together in another life?” you whisper

“I think we’d be together even if we were rocks” he smiles widely “I’d find you in any life and do it all over again.” He pulls you in close so his lips can brush against yours “That’s how much I love you Mrs. Nanami”

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

who do you think is the most realistic abuser between rhysand and tamlin?

Hi anon!!!

I feel like the overblown for Tamlin has a specific function, and so I usually end-up disagreeing with anti-Tamlin (not criticisms, but this particular crowd of people - if you know, you know ) sentiments. First and foremost, Tamlin and Rhys are purposely made into foils; that is, we are supposed to look at their actions and compare – once we get to MAF. In the first book, the story isn’t necessarily trying to make a point about Tamlin, so the ‘red flags’ being pointed out aren’t moments of intentional, tactical abuse.

I don’t think there’s an actual ‘realistic’ way to experience abuse. I don’t think it’s an adequate way to talk about abuse because there isn’t a universal experience with abuse. Everyone’s experience is different! There are signs, and staples that can help people identify abusive partners and/or experiences, but those experiences in and of themselves are unique, as is the response to abuse.  I’ve always thought of Tamlin as a blank canvas that can be imposed upon. He’s abusive, in the fact he does a string of abusive things. He has all the hallmarks of an abuser…but none of the threads that make him feel…like anything more than a canvas, in my opinion. Like – I see how people see their abuser in him, but I also don’t believe he’s a very consistent character. He doesn’t do things for the same reasons, as MaF tries to argue; he also doesn’t act the same between those books. It’s subjective, but character wise he doesn’t stay the same.  I’m sorry, but I genuinely disagree with the way Feyre characterizes Tamlin. If the story argues that Tamlin developed abusive tendencies because of his trauma, great! But like,,,the story tries to argue that he was always like that, and Feyre just never noticed and I just…disagree. I have my issues with Tamlin, naturally, but I think the reason Rhys is much scarier to me, is that he consistently has the same justification, with seemingly no introspection. He gets away with the abuse because he is constantly sympathized with. The only reason I don’t dislike Tamlin is because he faces consequences. Rhys doesn’t. He also does the same abusive things to Feyre in like…every book. He doesn’t have a character arc. So, it’s not realism I’m looking at, but consistency.

The more fruitful question should be consistency. Is the dynamic between Tamlin and Feyre consistent, and my answer to that is no. I don’t believe we get a pattern of abuse that is consistent across the two books Tamlin is heavily featured. Tamlin having anger issues is a characteristic that merely exists, for one, because Tamlin is naturally an adaptation of another character and therefore embodies those characteristics. It’s not to say that Tamlin doesn’t have a particular way of handling trauma (see: violence), but that consistently, Tamlin has always known to remove himself from the general public when he does. We never see him leverage his violence against his peers or Feyre ever – even when Feyre is effectively his prisoner. So while his anger is a consistent character trait, it isn’t a consistent abusive Trait. It’s also…the norm for stress relief in this society (see: Rhys + Cass + Az’s schedule beat downs to ‘calm rhys down’). He’s also never used violence against anyone in the entirety of TaR to ‘calm down.’

This is a change for Rhys, as discussed in a previous post, who actively does consistently leverage violence against Feyre (and his Inner Circle) since his introduction in the first book. Tamlin, as initially characterized, is revulsed so heavily by having to hurt his people, that he physically cannot go through with Amarantha’s curse. He chooses his people. He is disgusted with having to whip Lucien. He physically couldn’t stand what Amarantha did to Lucien’s eye – so much so that he vomited as soon as he saw it. In MaF, this entire dynamic (not just his abuse of Feyre, but of his citizens) becomes of focal point. The story tries to argue that Tamlin would willingly harm his own soldiers, and Lucien, when in the first book he literally stood against Amarantha and refused to participate in the curse, with no power. Tamlin doesn’t allow Feyre to leave the house in MaF, yet in TAR, when Feyre is attacked by those monsters in the forest, Tamlin literally just tells Feyre to be careful when she goes out, he tells her to stay close when he’s not there, and they leave it at that. Tamlin doesn’t ask Feyre ‘what does she want from’, as we established. All I’m saying is there’s no consistency in this behaviour. The story can’t even figure out whether Tamlin has always been like this or has just become like this.

And then my next question become has Tamlin ever leveraged violence against Feyre, prior to the events of MaF – and the answer is no. So not only is it not consistent on a character level, it isn’t even consistent between the dynamic between Feyre and Tamlin. When Tamlin initially falls in love with Feyre, he falls in love with the human girl. He doesn’t want a Lady – he doesn’t even believe he’s going to make it out alive. He falls in love with her because she isn’t just that, and he literally subtly shunned the way his mother would not say anything when his father became a tyrant. He’s essentially telling Feyre he doesn’t want her to be like his mother. So like, even that angle is again, not consistent with what we’ve seen. Snd because of this, people have purposely insert and add things to make him look like a worse character because like there’s nothing in that proves Tamlin is worse than Rhys as the book kind of argues.

[deliciouskeys]

Cozy Corner Domaystic prompts #16: Going through immigration and #24: Identity theft.

Guys. Guys, I’ll be honest. I have no idea what possessed me. I think I found these two prompts as some of the most challenging to imagine as a domestic fic, and… my thinking got a little bit too outside the box.

This fic will have an intended audience of about 1 (me). But I want to give major major props to @olliveolly who introduced me to this game and was the one who came up with this That’s Not My Neighbor / Boys crossover AU (with a couple lovely art pieces on the theme). The “lore” of this horror game is very simple. Tell me you don’t see it:

Butchlander. That’s Not My Neighbor crossover/AU. Rated E (why). 3.3k words (why). 2nd person to allegedly reflect the feeling of first-person gameplay (why). Is this domestic fic? Welllllll. It takes place in an apartment complex so it counts, right? Lax interpretation of ‘going through immigration’ but honestly that’s what this game really reminds me of 😂 AO3 link

Another day, another interminable shift working as the concierge in the dreary lobby of this apartment complex. It was exciting at first, sure, what with getting to play the first and last line of defense against the doppelganger monsters that attempt to sneak in every single day. But you’ve just gotten too good at noticing discrepancies. Nothing gets past you anymore. You know every single feature- hell, every single freckle! -of every single resident in the building. By this point you’ve got all their phone numbers memorized, for no better reason than there is simply too much tedium to this job. You find yourself wishing you could actually watch the D.D.D. ‘decontaminate’ the lobby, as they so euphemistically put it, instead of just sitting there twiddling your thumbs behind a pulled down rollup metal shutter after summoning them. You could still make out screams without seeing the brutality, and you knew the D.D.D. employed flame throwers and other serious weapons to deal with these monsters. Sometimes you caught yourself feeling just a little bit of sympathy for the doppelgangers, even though their main goal in life appeared to be to imitate people to blend in and then feed upon human flesh, and your main goal in life was supposed to be to ensure none of them would ever get let in through the locked inner door.

John Gillman comes in through the first door and gives you a tired, nominal wave before fishing around in his pockets for his documents to gain entry. He might be your favorite resident— always polite, always in that clean-cut milkman uniform at least when you happen to see him, because no one really leaves the apartment building outside of work obligations. There’s no nightlife in New York anymore, not with everyone nervous of dark alleys or being alone on the street, especially after dark. When you came over here from London, you certainly didn’t expect to get stuck here during a worldwide apocalyptic event like this that has resulted in curfews and lockdowns. You certainly didn’t expect to get zero action and get a mindnumbing job just to make ends meet. It was probably still more interesting than your gig working as a bouncer back in London, but at least you got fresh air there, and sometimes a date to go home with after closing time. Maybe that’s why you’ve started hyperfixating and daydreaming about one of the residents— the involuntary celibacy is getting to you.

John just always looks uncannily attractive. Maybe it’s that silly uniform that’s easy to fetishize. Maybe it’s because his tired eyes also look like bedroom eyes, or the dark circles function the same way eyeliner would. Why is he always so tired anyway? You know he lives alone up there in F03-02. He never gets any visitors either. How much can a person masturbate, really? There’s a rumor around the building that Becca Saunders’ tyke might be his, but you don’t really see the resemblance, and have your doubts that this didn’t just start as a “sleeping with the milkman” joke that got out of hand. People just like to gossip about single mothers. Things like this shouldn’t be considered scandalous. It’s 1955 for god’s sake!

“Sorry, William,” John says, hurriedly shoving his ID and entry request form underneath the glass so you can take take a look. “Almost thought I left my ID at work.”

“Long day, huh?” you ask without expecting a reply, pretending to scrutinize the documents while making small talk. You know this is John. You’d know him from a mile away. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have a little bit of fun. “Looks okay, and you are on the list of people authorized to come and go today. But can you take off your cap?”

John grabs his milkman cap off his head, exposing a mop of blond hair, looking mussed after being under the hat all day. You really wish you could test him, see how far you’d be able to take things before he refused to cooperate. Take off your shirt, John. Gotta make sure it’s really you. You never know these days. But of course you don’t. All you’ll have is your fantasies about breaching every code of ethics and using your master key to gain entrance into his apartment, seducing him, ravishing him right in the middle of what must be a depressing bachelor pad. Give him much darker undereye circles by keeping him up all night. Give this apartment complex a more interesting rumor to spread about the milkman in their midst.

“You’re good to go,” you say and press the green unlock button to let him in. He gives you a wan smile and walks out of view, and you listen to his footsteps ascending the stairs.

The rest of the afternoon is uneventful, only a few people coming and going, and a couple of doppelgängers with laughably strange appearance or bad credentials being dispatched quickly. Or at least it’s uneventful until John walks in, just a little bit past curfew.

“Hey William,” he says, sounding distracted, rummaging in his pockets for his documents as a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead. This better be a doppelganger, you think to yourself. But he has both his ID and the entry request filled out correctly. He looks identical to the John that passed by here a couple of hours earlier. This can’t be.

You start dialing John’s number, not taking your eyes off the man in front of you.

John’s eyes widen with alarm when he sees that you get an answer from the other end of the line.

“Yes, hello? John here. I’m not expecting any visitors.”

You hang up pretty abruptly, staring at the John in front of you, searching his appearance for any subtle defect or inconsistency but finding none. Your finger is hovering over the alarm button.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, you think I’m someone else? It’s me, William! I swear to god it’s me! I don’t know who you let in earlier, and who’s answering the phone now, but it’s not me up there!”

And shit, you believe him. You must have fucked up. Gotten smug and sloppy. Maybe the doppelganger handed you a fake ID but you didn’t notice because you were too busy daydreaming about fucking him.

“William, please believe me, please!” John is pressing up against the glass at this point, clearly scared that you’re going to quarantine him in the lobby and sic the D.D.D. on him. They don’t tend to ask questions. You’ve never had it happen, but you’ve heard of innocent people getting snuffed out on the mere suspicion of being doppelgangers, the D.D.D. rarely admitting to such mistakes even after the fact.

“Alright, alright, I believe you. I just have to think…” you mumble. “I’ll let you in, but don’t go up to your flat. We have to figure this out.”

John nods frantically and slips into your office after you buzz him in.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, and if you weren’t scared shitless at the moment, you’d probably get a kick out of how vulnerable and scared his expression is compared to his usual tired, impassive one.

“I should call the D.D.D. and get them to go up there,” you think out loud.

“Won’t you get reprimanded?” John asks, and oh how sweet of him to worry about your job when you’ve fucked up so royally and almost gotten him killed with your negligence. Maybe already gotten some of his neighbors killed.

“I just don’t want you losing your job over this— you’re the best concierge we have,” he says and then looks down shyly, as if realizing how strange that concern is.

What is this? Are you dreaming? Maybe you’re just out of your mind with adrenaline, but John sounds like he’s got feelings for you.

“Let’s just go up there and see what’s going on,” he says, and damn he’s persuasive as fuck. You want to go and deal with the mess you made, and protect him.

“I’ll go up there and just check,” you say, hardly believing yourself as you grab the fire extinguisher from the wall as a makeshift weapon. Everyone who was scheduled to return to the building has, so you shouldn’t get any more legitimate people coming through, but you still tape up a note that you’ll be back at your post in a few minutes. “Right then. You just stay down here and wait. I don’t want you putting yourself at risk. If I’m not back in five, call the number on the post-it.”

John shakes his head and follows you up the stairs. “I’m not letting you go up there alone,” he says in that quiet irresistible voice and you start to wonder if there’s something strange going on. Why are you going on this potentially suicidal mission to deal with a doppelganger on your own? So what if you get fired? No job is worth your life, right? But you probably wouldn’t see John ever again if you lost this job and that’s clouding all your judgment right now.

Knocking on John’s apartment door is probably not a good idea, and will just give the monster inside time to prepare or hide. So you take out your master key and turn it in the lock as quietly and quickly as you can. The door swings opens with an ominous creak, revealing a dark living room with no sign of anyone there. Did he hear you coming up the stairs? You try to keep John behind you and shield him in case anything sudden happens from within the apartment, but then you feel a strong push from behind and both you and John are in the flat now.

You’re so stupid, so critically, fatally stupid. The John you let in earlier was the real one. You’ve let a doppelganger convince you that you made a mistake, and now you did let one in. You whirl around, try to hit him upside the head with the fire extinguisher you’re brandishing, but he blocks the move with little effort.

“I thought we agreed,” he says, and you realize he’s speaking not to you but past you to someone else in the room.

“Thursdays are my days,” an identical voice answers from behind you and you step back and try to make sense of what you’re seeing. Two John Gillmans, both in the same uniform, neither one looking the least bit spooked, both looking mildly irritated if anything.

“Since when,” the John who came up behind you asks of the other one. “I get to be here every other day, doesn’t matter what day of the week it is.”

“So now what are we going to do about him?” the John who was in the apartment asks, pointing to you. “Why didn’t you just leave once he called me? Are you stupid?”

Your heart may be racing, but your thinking feels as slow as molasses. They’re …. both doppelgangers?

“What have you done with the real John Gillman?” you whisper hoarsely. The twins turn to look at you and you’re creeped out by the very similar smirk that spreads across both of their faces. They’re really impeccable facsimiles of the real person, but this is an expression you’ve never seen on John.

“You’ve never met the ‘real John Gillman’,” one of them says.

There’s enough cold sweat that’s broken out on your back that it starts to trickle down as drops.

“We like you William. It would be such a shame for our friendship to end.”

You hold up the fire extinguisher in front of yourself defensively, but you’re not sure you can really do anything against two of them. You’ve never noticed before, and maybe the real John’s teeth didn’t look like this, but the two doppelgangers have sharp looking canines when they’re grinning. It’ll serve you right to get devoured in this dark flat for making so many mistakes and bad decisions in a row today.

“So you’re just going to kill me then?” you ask.

“We’d really rather not,” one of the twins says. “A murder would bring a lot of snooping law enforcement if not the D.D.D. Itself.”

“And it’s so hard to find good lodging to spend the night.”

They must be joking. “You really expect me to believe you’re not just here to eat people?”

One of the twins rolls his eyes. “Eat people! Yeah, that’s why we’re here, clearly.”

“Has anyone in this apartment building ever disappeared in all the months you’ve worked here?” the other one asks.

“How should I know?” You’re beginning to feel like this has to be some sick nightmare. You can’t possibly be having a civil conversation with a couple of cannibal monsters. This thought has a strange calming effect on you. “If I didn’t know you lot were masquerading as John Gillman, how am I to know how many other residents are real people?”

The twins turn to each other, still smiling and shrugging.

“We’ve been on a vegetarian diet for a while,” the other says and you can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Laugh all you want,” the other one says, spreading his hands in concession. “But milk is more than enough to sustain us. We do think people are delicious, but there’s one thing we like much more than eating them.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, emboldened by the possibility that you’re just in a ridiculous, paranoid, bad dream of a worst case scenario at your job.

“We’ve been watching you William. We think you’ve been interested in us.”

“We’ve never fucked anyone from this building, and never fucked together, but there’s a first time for everything, right?”

You just stand there, fire extinguisher still raised up defensively. No question about it, this must be a nightmare that’s slowly but surely twisting itself into a sexual fantasy.

“Come on, William. Let’s make you comfortable.”

You can hardly protest as one gently pulls your makeshift weapon out of your loose grip, and the other one sweeps you off your feet with preternatural superhuman ease and carries you over to the couch in this sparsely furnished apartment.

Gentle but insistent hands undo the buttons on your trousers and then maneuver you so they can pull them off completely and free your legs.

“Humans are such fun creatures,” one of the Johns comments when he sees that despite your fear of the situation unfolding right now, you are sporting a half-hearted hard-on. It somehow only gets harder when you hear them talk about people as another species.

Both Johns are still fully dressed, situating themselves to kneel on the floor on either side of you. It’s wild. You must be dreaming. And as you watch both Johns lean forward, extending their tongues and licking your cock up and down from opposite sides, you realize that if this is a dream, you never want to wake up.

They know what they’re doing. They bring you right up to the edge of orgasm and then pull away, leaving you feeling desperate and even annoyed. You’re not annoyed for long though as they both strip down, and you see that their human-mimicking powers are perfect, down to the most minute details that would never be seen under clothes. Granted, you don’t know what John Gillman looked like naked, so maybe they’ve taken artistic license and embellished. Whatever it is, they’ve compared notes, because they still look indistinguishable to you.

“Like what you see?” one of them asks and you realize you I’ve been staring, maybe even with your mouth hanging open. You never imagined you’d hook up with a doppelganger, let alone two of them at once. But you have imagined foisting yourself on John in this very flat, and you’re about to live that daydream.

You end up doing things with the two of them beyond what you’ve ever dreamed of. You fuck one of them, and at the same time get fucked by the other one from behind, the cheap bed’s metal joints creaking and moaning from the motion of three bodies rocking against each other. You let them suck your cock and rim you to get you back in the mood for another round, trying not to think about how unsettlingly hungry they both look, and who they really are underneath the human-looking exterior. The exterior slips periodically when they’re in the throes of pleasure. You wince when they betray just how strong they really are, whenever they flip you over or change positions, as if you weigh nothing. You try not to pay attention when their eyes start glowing red when they’re particularly turned on, but it’s impossible to ignore in the darkness of the bedroom.

“William, you are fucking delicious,” one of them declares, licking his lips obscenely after swallowing down your cum, and all you can do is emit a short nervous chuckle, and think that even if they do decide to eat you at the end of all of this— either to cover their tracks, or just because they might start feeling peckish after all this is over— it will still have been worth it.

You don’t get eaten. In fact, you’ve had the time of your life, and as you get up from the bed and mumble that you have to get back to your post before your shift is over, the two Johns lie languid, naked on the bed watching you, each enjoying a post coital glass of milk (that’s all they have in the fridge— you saw when they opened it), like perfect mirror images.

“You won’t be making any unnecessary phone calls, right William?”

“We can count on you to be discreet and keep a secret, right?”

Through the combined haze of being scared for your life and then having the time of your life, there’s still one thing that bothers you, and you ask about it, against all your best self-preservation instincts.

“So what have you done with the real John Gillman?”

They turn to look at each other, not exactly conspiratorial but it still makes you uneasy.

“Oh, John Gillman never existed. We’ve been around a lot longer than you humans think. Many of us never tried to replicate and replace real humans.”

“Yeah, and a lot of good that did when some of us started! The ones who are doing it are the reason we’re being hunted now. Unoriginal hacks. And so bad at mimicking too.”

“So many embarrassing ones out there.” They both nod at each other.

You’d like to believe them. You really would. “So why choose this persona?”

“The milkman gets free milk and gets around in your society! And humans seem to like this look,” one of them says, grinning and gesturing with his hand over their naked bodies.

“But we only ever get to enjoy bored housewives.”

“And why are there two of you?” you ask hesitantly, glancing at the clock on the wall to verify that you’re not late yet.

“Oh there’s more than two of us,” one of them says and they laugh in unison in a way that sends a chill down your spine.

~~~

You think you’ve got it all worked out. You’re letting the John Gillmans stay in the apartment undisturbed, and you let them through even when it’s obvious that there’s more than one of them coming and going. You figure it’s a win-win. They promise to protect the building from any rogue doppelgangers who infiltrate and intend to harm the residents, and in return get a place to stay the night peacefully. You get to visit apartment F03-02 after your shift ends and have mind-blowing sex. They seem to enjoy the orgies as well. They know your shift hours and try to only come and go during those times. There doesn’t seem to be a problem with this arrangement.

Or at least not a problem that you’re going to make into your problem. When one of the Johns walks in, visibly smeared in blood, you do give him a hard time.

“Come on, John. Just because I’ll let you in, doesn’t mean you can just stop trying to look decent. God forbid I call in sick and someone else is here.”

John shrugs and goes through the formality of pushing his ID and entry request under the glass window.

“And get a new ID…” you tell him when you see bloody fingerprints all over the worn paper.

John shrugs, doing his usual tired act, despite how ridiculous it looks to be so bored and nonchalant when he’s smeared in blood.

“Whose blood is that, anyway?” you ask, wondering why you’re not more disturbed.

“Someone who was of no consequence and who won’t be missed,” John replies, terse and cool as a cucumber.

“I thought you said you were vegetarian?”

“I’ll take a cheat day if I run into a wifebeater,” John says, shrugging.

You buzz him in, telling him to get washed up before someone sees him, wondering if you’re being colossally naive to believe his story, and wondering if you’ve got a death wish because you’re still looking forward to going up there once your shift ends in a few hours.

(What in the world. 💀)

ETA: now with another art piece by @olliveolly

[starfall-spirit]

My gwynriquin offering is nonexistent in no shape to post yet, but my intended Secrets offering works for today as well.

@polyacotarweek Day 1: Beginnings

I like to pretend something came out of the line, "As High Lady, you are mine." This is part one. Still SFW. Part two will be NSFW. Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

As High Lady, you are mine.

Feyre couldn’t get that damn declaration out of her head. Sure her dear friend and training partner had listed every member of the inner circle as loyal people that would come to her defense, but had the second half of his statement been plaguing her thoughts for the past two weeks? Was the second half of his statement making her fearful to drop her mental shields around her own mate?

No.

Cauldron, what she’d give to forget the words he’d so casually thrown that morning. To go back to seeing him as a big brother figure and not an attractive male fueling… curiosities.

“He was frustrated with us,” she muttered to herself. “That’s all.”

“Who?”

She jumped from her seat at her desk as Rhys strolled into the office they now shared. “Rhys. I thought you’d still be out training.” The clock behind her chimed noon. Perhaps she’d just lost track of time, as Rhys was clearly bathed and changed out of his training leathers.

“Az and I finished some time ago. And you’re dodging my question.” Gliding over to the desk, he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her into a tender kiss that only fed her guilt. “If something’s bothering you, I’m always here to lend an ear. Is it something that happened in Spring? A nightmare returning?”

“I’m fine. Nothing like that, I promise.”

He gave a soft hum, sinking into the desk chair and tugging her into his lap. “Alright then. Can I ask one more question?” She nodded, wrapping her arms behind his neck and around his waist. “Cassian says you’ve been a bit distracted lately. Distancing yourself during training. I’ve noticed as much at dinner as well. He fears he’s upset you somehow.” She grimaced, turning her head. “There it is. Care to share your troubles?”

How was she supposed to say this without doing any damage?

“If you’ve had a petty argument, the bonds in our circle run deeper than that.”

Feyre flinched. As careful as she’d been with her shielding, he’d found a crack to snake past. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered. But this secret couldn’t be kept forever. Not without weighing her down. Rhys said nothing, silent and patient, one hand stroking up and down her spine as she carefully structured her confession. “Our bond is mere months old. I want to say up front, I don’t expect anything to change or open.”

He raised a brow. “To open?”

“He said something the other day,” she began again, desperately wishing she could hide her face as she confessed her horrid desire. “It was something in his tone. His phrasing. Gods, you’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Rhys wasn’t an idiot. She knew she’d given him enough crumbs by now to pick up on what had been bothering her. Humiliated, she buried her face in her hands, trying to find the words that would inflict the least damage.

That is until she felt a silent vibration against her shoulder and all brain function came to a sudden halt. Her mate was laughing at her. Daring to raise her eyes, she found an infuriating smirk on his face. “You aren’t upset with me?”

“For finding Cassian attractive? Hardly.” His smirk shifted to a more thoughtful expression, the hand rubbing her back spider-walking up her spine to summon a soft shutter. “I’ll admit, with the bond being so new I do find myself feeling a bit possessive. Very possessive,” he amended as she gave him the look. “Glare all you like, darling. We both know you don’t mind it as much as you pretend to. As short a time as we’ve been bonded, I know what it does to you when a male calls you his.”

“How did you…”

“You’ve been exceptional, solidifying and holding your shields. But no one’s perfect, my love.” Feyre groaned, the sound soft, but expressing utter mortification. “Not to mention I got a nearly identical lecture the day Cassian was well enough to stand on his own and yell at me for not dragging you home from Spring. When there’s physical attraction and emotional connections mingling, there’s only so long you can pretend it’s something platonic.”

“There’s no way you’re just… accepting this.”

“It doesn’t thrill me, considering the fresh bond, but it doesn’t plant any doubts about the two of us or my relationship with Cassian. The question now is how interested you are in exploring this. Do you want to approach him about it?”

Feyre thought a moment, reading into the tension in the set of his shoulders, the slight change in his breathing, the set of his jaw. He’d put his feelings aside for her, as he always had, but he was not prepared to open their relationship in any way yet, and truly assessing her own feelings, with her confession behind her, neither was she. “No, Rhys. Not yet.” ~~~~~ Several weeks later, Feyre was struggling to stay true to her denial. The problem, Cassian had volunteered to substitute for Azriel in her flight training, as the spymaster was outside of the city for the next two days. To put it simply, while she had improved several required skills in flight maneuvering and wasn’t constantly plummeting into the lake, she still needed correction on multiple points in her form and technique.

While Az had taken a verbal approach to providing pointers, Cassian appeared to be a bit more hands on. He asked for her consent, of course. Illyrians were taught not to touch others’ wings without permission from an early age. But with that permission she became hyper-aware of every little adjustment and guiding touch to her wings, conscious of the heat of his body behind her.

She’d grown used to the close proximity of their daily physical training and fit into it easily enough. Her attraction to him hadn’t changed anything on that front, once her guilt had faded. But this wasn’t the short and sharp impact of a fist or a brief moment being pinned to the mat—though the latter could be hard to brush off at times. This was downright intimate.

His thumb graze the ridge of one of the more delicate bones, prominent from the back of her wings, finally fracturing her resistance. “I think…” She cleared her throat. “I think this should be the last attempt today. Like you said a minute ago, the winds are picking up and I have a lot to catch up on. The official things, I mean.”

He quirked a brow. “Official things?”

“Court things. With Rhys. In our office. You know, official things.”

His eyes narrowed for a moment, but he nodded when she held her position. “Of course. One last try, like you said. And remember what I told you about the updraft coming in.” She nodded, but was still thrown off, wings angled in a way that did the exact opposite of what she was attempting. “It’s a tough one,” Cassian told her, trying to ease her frustration. “And Az was right. He’s probably a better instructor for you with his experience.”

Feyre didn’t bother pointing out this was no longer about mental blocks. “Thanks, Cass. I’ll see you.”

The second she winnowed to the townhouse and found Rhys, she knew she had his full attention. She didn’t care for the clear suspicion on his face either. “Interesting flight lesson, Feyre darling?”

“It was somewhat successful,” she said honestly. “Until the winds picked up.”

He nodded, tugging her flush against his chest. “And was Cassian able to instruct you as well as Az?”

“His methods were different, but worked well enough.”

“Different?”

“Not as verbal,” she gritted out.

“Ah.” He smiled into her neck. “Starting to see how easily you can torture a male, touching his wings?”

She smirked, even as he grazed a nail over the sensitive joint where the membrane met her leathers, summoning a shiver. “You’ve made that no secret,” Feyre murmured, folding one side of his shirt collar down to flick her tongue over the skin she exposed.

Growling softly, Rhys drew back, raising her chin. “It’s going to take more than that if you’re trying to distract me from what I felt through the bond. The tension slipping through.” She winced. “Did he notice it? Return it?”

Feyre blinked. Despite the results of their original conversation, he almost seemed hopeful. “If he did, he hid it well.” They both knew Cassian would never be the type to get between them. Especially considering he was clueless to Rhys' stance in all of this. Hell, Feyre couldn’t quite figure it out yet either. “Rhys—”

“I don’t want to hear an apology regarding any of this, Feyre. And over the past few weeks I’ve been reconsidering the thought of sharing you.” His fingers curled around the back of her neck, his thumb stroking down the side of her throat. “Reminiscing our wild youth.” Her brows shot to her hairline and he chuckled. “In five-hundred years, you try a thing or two.”

She nodded. “So, if I wanted to try a thing or two?”

His lips curled back into that soft smirk, his mental shields parting. “Show me.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @stars-and-scripts // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone

[lets-try-some-writing]

Just wanted to let you know that your Pretender AU has given me a Smokescreen brain worm.

What is he? What is his purpose? Why is he so secretive and mysterious?

(you don't need to answer these questions)

I am going to answer them anyway because at this point, all of the AUs I am particularly fond of are going to be turned into fics eventually. No use beating around the bush here on Tumblr. Glad to see my Pretender AU has infested a mind other than my own!

Optimus, while devoted to his task, was no fool. With Megatron targeting him and his inner circle of active Pretenders, he needed a failsafe. His initial plan was to create a cache of Pretender larva which would, in time, develop on their own and either come to serve under him or one would naturally evolve to take on the role of Firstborn. Thousands of Insecticons were instructed to remain in stasis alongside the cache as a barrier. Then to be safe, he guarded them through careful artificial EM field generator which gave off the impression that his brood were one huge dweller and carefully never visited. That was Optimus Prime's failsafe.

However, without his knowledge, his creator began yet another experiment.

Optimus was the first, and his biggest folly was being put into the wrong mech. If his host had been ANYONE else, his life would have been all but safeguarded and he could have grown his brood in peace and even become an ally to Autobots and Decepticons alike given enough time. But Orion Pax was influential, and that meant that Optimus was, for all intents and purposes, a failure in Shockwave's optics. He was too well known and in such extreme circumstances that he could neither be studied or fulfill his function properly. With all that in mind, Shockwave attempted to create another Firstborn in order to have a backup.

Everything went according to plan. A new Pretender was made, and this time its biology was adjusted so that it would not require a host. Shockwave built its CNA so that it would have its monstrous form and a completely normal civilian appearance. Then, in order to keep Megatron from noticing his creation, Shockwave quietly placed his newest creation amongst the last generation of sparklings to emerge from the Well. It was then taken in and raised amongst soldiers and Shockwave returned to serving Megatron, content in the knowledge that his Pretenders, his failsafe to ensure the survival of their species, were going to fulfill their function one way or another.

But of course, biology tends to act of its own accord. Smokescreen instinctually knew from the moment he could think for himself that there was already an active Firstborn. And thus, instead of shifting and becoming one himself, he instead adjusted his very CNA over time. He served in the Elite Guard with the express purpose of getting to the only living Firstborn and was quick to take the opportunity to serve Alpha Trion if it meant access to relics that could be of use. He did not intend to be thrown into a pod and sent careening toward Earth, but it all worked out in his favor in the end.

(He did in fact try to eat the phase shifter to store it before Alpha Trion caught him.)

Smokescreen had the potential to be a Firstborn, but with Optimus very much alive and well, he changed to fulfill a less critical role. His entire functioning revolves around safeguarding the future. If he cannot create new life himself, he will protect the future of their kind, consequences be damned.

Backstory out of the way, Smokescreen is an Attendant. He is a one of a kind, but likely won't remain that way if the Pretenders are allowed to increase their ranks. His entire purpose is not necessarily to protect living Pretenders, or even attach himself to any of them. Rather, he developed to be a pragmatic and logical entity more focused on long term planning. He does not care a great deal about any other living Pretender because of the way he functions. If he knew about the cache, he would have been guarding it with his life until he sensed the death of the other Pretenders and knew it was time to wake his kin. But as he was unaware of it, he has settled for throwing his entire spark into taking care of Optimus now that he's on Earth.

Smokescreen does everything he can to keep Optimus relaxed and secure. A happy Patriarch is one who will produce more lava. More lava means more Pretenders. And of course, since Optimus is at war all the time, Smokescreen is able to satisfy his lingering desire to rear young via tending to Optimus's spawn. He is creepy even to other Pretenders. He is a little too obsessed with Optimus, or rather Optimus's spawning capability, for any Pretender to like him all that much. The only reason he is tolerated is because of how much calmer Optimus is around him. The Prime himself assumes that Smokescreen was an early hatcher from his failsafe cache, which is why he is unconcerned with Smokescreen's strange behavior and lack of true attachment to the group.

Smokescreen is well aware he is not well regarded by anyone save for Optimus, and so he has conjured up countless plans to take as many larva as possible and flee in the event things go up in flames. He's a schemer, and he is not willing to risk his life when the Pretenders are yet at risk. Their species comes before all else. Let Optimus fight, Smokescreen will secure their future.

[batsplat]

the anon who sent the biopic ask here. afsfdfhhjkk I did in fact sent it to get you to talk about the movie version of sete/vale rivalry! I am also the sete anon after all.

anyways.

the vale selling his would to curse sete stuff had me screaming bc you see…….a while ago there was this gif set going around where 2020 or 2021 valentino’s leathers are unzipped and you could see how concave his chest is. and my first thought upon seeing it was “haha it’s actually concave bc valentino made a deal w the demon and gave him his heart in order to become the god of motogp, and also to curse sete:)))”

love the casey stuff, I think if we get the minds that worked on revolutionary girl utena in on this they could make it work. mainly bc rgu had really great visuals, lots of surrealist stuff and all that while having a pretty low budget. (yes rgu is also very complex and deals with stuff like csa, escaping the cycles of abuse etc but we’re not getting into that.) so, in some far far away alternative universe that studio makes a casey stoner inspired animated film (with huge budged) and it a cult classic. alternatively, satoshi kon could have also worked some magic w that set up I know. lots of great imagery there.

dovi biopic could actually work, if we use his story to make into a movie about the man vs corporate machine, how futile that struggle is, disillusionment and ultimately choosing to walk away. so, actually it won’t be a dovi biopic in the sense most ppl think of what biopics are? it would end up more grim than general audiences realize bc the movie will show that in the end ducati succeeded and have won world titles etc and dovi was a cog in that machine, and had his imput being downplayed etc. but also like dovi has his family, his inner circle, his self of self to fall back onto and the audience is obviously ends up on his side so it’s not downright depressing. (I wrote this w a specific director in mind even afdgghjk)

w dani&jorge………ok I’m gonna sound insane for this but. we need to maybe fully fictionalize this. have original characters, who are totally not heavily inspired by jorge&dani *wink wink*. get pedro almodovar to direct or something. this movie is now about jorge-inspired-character dealing with his closeted homosexuality, his fraught relationship w his father….like I am in no way trying to suggest that real life jorge lorenzo might be gay here! but his story does land itself to these themes if you think about it. the rivalry is underlined by homoerotic tension the two characters cannot acknowledge (even to themselves) within the setting of competitive motorcycle racing. buttt after their retirement? they discover that there’s a life outside of it all and maybe mayyybe the movie implies they could get together or something.

also love the sepang 2015 movie framing but yeah it would be considered the worst racing movie of all time, like 5.4 out of 10 on imdb, tge director wouldn’t be able to make another feature film for another 10 years after that. but good news it gets some reappraisal and a small but dedicated cult following like 15 to 20 years later.

wow, did not mean to type all of this out actually! but I do want to say that your answers never disappoint and it’s always a good read. have a nice day!

(follow up to this post) omg pls I love long asks, I'm gonna not take this in order because I NEED to skip to the casey/valentino rgu vision because?? yes? casey is like... such a magical girl... (magical girl transformation into leathers, is this anything) the rose imagery!! I want to rose imagery casey!! obviously again yes the thematic overlap between these two things is only,, loose at best, we are very much ignoring many of the things utena is actually About,, but. disparity between idealised roles and how those roles actually function, having those images interrogated/torn down... growing up!! casey realising his parents' dream was imposed on him rather than chosen... even just kind of. the aesthetic make up of utena, the core components of how it actually tells its story. the focus on duels and being challenged... formalised process of DEMANDING to fight the current 'champion'... the shadow plays...

this to me is casey and valentino

anyway if u squint it is like. kind of the same energy as paddock gossip. the skits are also.... yeah hm. hm

moving away a bit from utena and its very specific themes, I think what you really can also do with this vision is like... play up the culture clash vibes for casey? I've been meaning to make the post on this forever, but there's a specific theme that comes through in a lot of the stuff casey's said and written over the years that's really concerned with... well, the trip from australia to europe, the hardship associated at various stages with that, never quite feeling at home in this new environment, zero paddock friends, never learning italian and being sick with the concept of italy by the end of his ducati tenure, saying that europeans weren't as straight talking and honest as the anglos (valentino did also help turn him off the concept of the british, mind you), saying the europeans were more partisan, bad sports fans, really kinda... wrestling with a lot of his loneliness and feelings of isolation by attributing a lot of this stuff to this different european mindset. where some of his competitors were nasty in part because that's what they're all like in big bad europe. and idk, that's something that you can really dig into with these abstractions, when you're isolating casey and then making him accept this Challenge of facing the god - through motorcycle racing but also through ritualistic sacrifice - and eventually he takes on this task that he's supposed to, that's supposed to be his duty, but for some reason everyone still hates him for it... and you play up how it's not necessarily his individual agency that even brought him there. he's there to win, and yet they hate him for winning. everyone wants competition, nobody likes the competition when it's actually there

also like. sleeping beauty him. pricked by the thorn of a rose and he's taken out of competition and has to recover and everyone criticises him for 'just' having his finger pricked with the tiniest drop of blood. idk a lot of his quite specific baggage and struggles are really made for abstraction. he's also got this... look. just a very specific vibe that I think you can magical girl-ify. vibrant red, a little bit delicate, as the shadows creep in on him

where it's kinda... he's unique, he's special, he's got All That Talent that allows him to take on a task nobody else has managed... but that's also part of what isolates him, that x factor of his raw natural ability that allows him to make it at the top of the sport In Spite Of All The Odds but also means he CAN'T get a quiet peaceful existence

and the rivalry with valentino, which, first of all they both make for great animated characters because they're incredibly distinctive (I would make utena!valentino so very very tall), but also that slight... element of menace. valentino constantly in the spotlight, and the brighter casey shines the more he's in danger - even if he rather wouldn't be the centre of attention. he still is.... even if he shies away from it, the world is still watching. valentino is still watching. and the gaze itself has consequences

literal glare of the camera lens, exposing casey in a way that makes him uncomfortable. unnerving and too bright and trapping him

casey looking at valentino and the changes in what he sees over time. the gradual adjustment of perception when he comes to learn of a different version of valentino (who is in turn still separate from Valentino The Person)

and that kind of animation style for the motorcycles and everything... thinking about specifically casey's phillip island 2009 which is his very first race win after his illness-induced absence and I've never personally been THAT big on white liveries (he still loves it though) but like. symbolism-inspired colour change for key step back into the fray, to a new moment of hope

his leathers also have like. a very specific vibe here. as do his interactions with valentino. the specific way they grasp hands idk I've got a vision

(they do also hug pretty warmly in parc fermé and there's a bit more to this race given it was a massive W for valentino as far as his title bid was concerned but he'd also been informed of a personal tragedy the day before - but we're gonna ignore all that here)

also OBVIOUSLY

the assen 2007 fight was SUPPOSED to be animated

it also lets you dig into kinda likeeee the weird elements of that rivalry where it switches from being a primarily on-track one to being a completely off-track one. like idk it feels you can play with that switch of them being real duels to just being. casey stabbing him while valentino taunts him. this disconnect where casey is now on top of the world in all the Actual Motorcycle Racing but the whole picture isn't quite as simple as that.... the ways in which casey can't entirely win....

other random fun bits of imagery/vibes:

again, you can have random animals running around in animation... tortoise turtle and the hare laguna '08 I will keep saying it

speaking of laguna '08, the most memorable move happens at the corkscrew... I think you can do something with concept of a corkscrew

laguna '08 overall is just a top ten anime battle isn't it, the fact that the whole thing depends on this. reversal. where rather than valentino always stalking his victims (inherently evocative) but is committing to obstructing casey from ahead (btw today's their anniversary!!! <3)

you have GOT to do something funky with pressers, like casey's relationship to the media is so fundamental to his entire story... essentially treat it as another form of combat imo. like give it the exact same visual lead in as the actual on-track battles, so that you have this collapse between the on-track and off-track

collapse between the identity of the rider and the bike. common thing anyway in the weird way these blokes talk about their bikes, obviously valentino is like. a number one offender for this. and obviously you can easily exploit this in animation!! and also if we're sticking with the yellow = infection stuff, then casey is constantly being at risk of overwhelmed by the yellow.... and once he's stepped away from that bike to go to honda instead, he has to see this thing that's separate from him but still somehow a part of him be infected

playing with how casey was inspired by valentino... you know the utena kinda. prologue of utena being inspired to become a prince... basically that vibe. stepping up to become a deity and being presented the blade to challenge a god. But Was That Really Such A Good Idea

you can do something with chequered flags I reckon. idk what but you do something with them

casey's obsessed with fishing. a symbol of childhood innocence and one of the things he would have loved to do when he was essentially being forced into making motorcycle racing his dream, something that caused controversy back in 2009 because he got backlash for going fishing during his injury absence (yeah I don't know what they were on back then too) and something he references when he retires on his pitboard 'going fishing'. it's innocence, it's his individual dream, it's peace away from the track... you can work with that

obviously valentino himself makes all this symbolism shit very easy given he did canonically give himself an eyeball helmet during one of his ducati races. like we get it buddy. that would SLAP in animation

okay I just need to say it. you know how in catalunya 2009 casey is just like. two seconds away from fainting on the podium and valentino/jorge are having their whole intense thing going on and are just. ignoring it. gets me every time, it's just such a bizarre discrepancy of vibes. like two different narratives are going on during that podium and they're just pretending like the other one isn't happening, except in casey's case that's extremely understandable and in the others' case?? idk I'd check on him?? power of animation I'm having casey literally faint and everyone ignoring it. maybe several times. sorry casey this is social critique on your behalf

if you have an equivalent utena walking up the stairs pre-race build up, it is so important to me to remember that casey crashed during the valencia 2009 warm up lap

something something valentino catalunya 2008 special italian football team leathers something casey's issues towards italy something them actually having a duel in that race while casey is just about trying to wrestle his italian manufacturer into making themselves useful for once... this is the first... second? turning point of the season. okay look there's several turning points. but crucially that's one of the big ones, when casey is starting to get the ducati situation sorted and they have a post-race test at catalunya and then casey goes on his little win streak that leads you to laguna. I think you can do something with the concept of italy here

something something taking on the number one plate symbolism

thinking of the utena stopwatch thing and how casey's mum was always making the notes for casey's races as a kid and they're included in his autobiography... like you've got this little kid with essentially performance reviews... idk something about constantly recording what he's doing. I can SEE that scene of animated kid!casey going around the dirt track while his mother is recording his progress with a stopwatch and notebook in my mind...

two-faced valentino... make it literal. Valentino The Racer and Valentino The Character and Valentino The Person as entities that casey meets separately

something about valentino's fucked up little fingers as his one vulnerability

valentino reeling in casey like a fish, is this anything

anyways. I love the dovi description... I still get like. nebulously sad about his 2020 where it's both kinda I get how this fell apart but it's so unsatisfying? which is the fun of it! narratively speaking. and the fact that he was such a big influence on the development of that bike, how possessive he got over that project and really saw it as his, how he ended up being unceremoniously dumped and he's seen them win again and again... again he does have the whole 'being well adjusted' thing working against him BUT idk there's a satisfying suitably cinematic story in there somewhere

and yeah I do see the jorge/dani vision!! I think that one's the one where I'm like. the least attached to the literal details and am quite happy to fictionalise it!! especially because lbr his path to his first title just Does Not Work narratively. like 2010 only works as a good conclusion of that arc if valentino is actually THERE to be defeated, or if jorge and dani actually have more of a title fight. and he does have an extremely queer-coded narrative!! you kinda have the actual family right, then the way he kinda... cycles through a few versions of what are essentially all found families, like he's got the whole manager situation which obviously in itself ends up a nightmare, then the coach turned manager he also split from then ?? it's kinda... that dimension of athletes where they're CHOOSING the people close to them (not that he's fully in a position to make a lot of these choices!!) and then has to cut ties when he becomes more aware of how those people are attempting to exploit him.... the whole number switching thing is explicitly framed as a form of liberation. his tendency to get Obsessed and a little Weird about all his major rivals (dani, valentino and dovi get the worst of this) like it's just a fun vibe to play with... the way the rivalry with dani is also a little Imposed from Above and also jorge doesn't get why dani keeps him at such a distance and is constantly trying to like. bug him into paying attention to jorge. he just makes for such a good coming of age story protagonist, like he's so vibrant and awkward and cocky and kind of ridiculous,,, prone to way too intense introspection and just overthinking EVERYTHING and he's trying to play a character while also wanting to find his authentic self or whatever... he's just such a Young Guy and his story with dani is full of that energy... yes

anyway. on to sete. you and me anon

valentino!!!! cuts!!!! his heart out!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THAT omg.... I love the idea that he'd just. be motivated to destroy sete enough that he's willing to take the final step.... the one that ensures his rule over the sport will never be challenged in any meaningful way but he also cannot return from, a line that he can't un-cross.... AND y'know I've banged on enough about this idea that valentino really DID change his approach to his rivals after that, acquired a bit of distance which would be!! fantastic, it's also that element of not just him Losing something but also him not wanting to go through those kinds of complicated emotions at the hands of someone who had been a friend again... removes his heart!! exorcises his softness!!

I kinda love the idea of making it... the natural conclusion of where that particular journey was taking him. like the idea that that's kinda always where he was headed... it's why I think the sachsenring/brno 2003 thing is so neat, like the fact brno is the site of both the big comeback win against sete but ALSO where he agreed to ride for yamaha in the middle of the night. that you're drawing the line between 'he wanted to be his own man' (seemingly a harmless motive, even admirable) with what 'being his own man' involves, aka psychologically torturing his rivals (possibly a little questionable). another thing I adore here is his phillip island 2004 celebrations when he seals the title..... what a spectacle!!!! in retrospect it's just kinda,, oh look what a fun celebration! he's having fun!! it's all a show!! because sete has been erased from that celebration. and that race is the culmination of BOTH those arcs set in motion at brno 2003, it's his great yamaha victory while also being deeply cruel... and before that the sepang celebrations... I just like the idea that what people tend to see as Good valentino traits (joyous, fun celebrations) and Bad valentino traits (working to destroy his rivals) are fundamentally impossible to detach from each other, and the only way you get rid of them both is by suppressing who he is as a person... now I'm not saying that the devil tempted him to join yamaha but I'm not not saying that? works with the ibiza trip between sachsenring and brno too, like you can parallel that to sete contemplating honda the previous year (this did Not canonically happen but narrative efficiency). it's all their choice!! but they were also Twisted By Circumstances.... valentino's corruption arc why does nobody see this is valentino's corruption arc....

[o0anapher0o]

So it makes sense that Mathew blended June and Nora together for the movie (we might not always like it, but it makes sense. June doesn't contribute much to the plot (and nora's contribution is severely diminished without the Richards plotline) and since in the movie Oscar and Ellen are still together Alex needs less extra family support.

What I'm still trying to work out is why the same doesn't apply to Pez and Bea. Because Pez seems completely superfluous in the movie. It makes sense for Bea to be there, so Henry has a supporter in the Palace (and in his family. That's not something Pez ever fully can be). Admittedly Bea coming along to Texas/nye would have made his running away more difficult but he could have gone alone or just left without her (since he didn't even pretend there was a family emergency in the movie afa we know). Pez's main purpose seems to be to show that Henry has friends at all but we don't even get a glimpse at them being actually close. That and his status as love interest for Nora which is also hardly more than hinted at and doesn't really go anywhere (the narrative function of Nora's contact in Henry’s inner circle could have easily been filled by Nora and Bea being friends). Idk I'm not saying getting rid of June and keeping Pez was the wrong choice, but I don’t fully understand it.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Hi hi!! I have a compulsive need to reread sea glass gardens at least once a week, and your writing feels like a personal attack and a bandaid at the same time lol

One thing that popped into my head, and im not sure if it been asked before, but im wondering about ijichi's role in the universe?

Like in canon he knows about itadori being alive (which may have just been circumstances) so i feel like there is a level of trust there, and ijichi was an underclassmen to the Teen Parenting Trio too right?

Just wondering how he's feeling rn, my man gets so stressed by everything

So I've definitely answered this before but tumblr's search function is shit and I can't find where the post is. So let's do it again.

Ijichi is so so stressed by everything right now. The man needs a xanax and a vacation.

So, I have this entire analysis of Yaga floating around somewhere, which includes the fact that he is not in Gojo's inner circle but Ijichi absolutely is. And a big part of that is that Ijichi knew that Itadori was alive and kept the secret for Gojo. Like, yeah, he happened to be there when he came back to life, but he never told anyone, and Gojo never seemed worried that he would. He's the assistant that Gojo most consistently assigns sensitive tasks to, like Yuuta's parentage. I think Ijichi is legitimately in the inner circle for Gojo, and I kept that consistent for sea glass gardens.

Ijichi wasn't a Teen Parent the way the rest of the Teen Parenting Trio was. He was their underclassman, but he had never been a part of the core group of Geto, Gojo, Shoko, Haibara, and Nanami because he arrived after things went to shit, and also he almost immediately changed tracks to becoming an assistant because Gojo told him he was fucking useless as a sorcerer and going to die (canonically). As a result, he didn't have the same history with Gojo as Nanami and Shoko did when he adopted the Fushiguros. He wasn't invited to the PTA nights or to fuck off with the kids that one time they all packed up and ran when Megumi and Tsumiki were still tiny.

That being said, he was very much involved with the Fushiguros from a young age. He adores them.

Initially, he was just a sort of defacto babysitter. He liked the kids a lot and wanted the best for them, even if he wasn't treated as a part of the core family. And it's actually the way that he treated megumi and tsumiki that led him to becoming part of the core group.

So, based on what's been said in sea glass, we know that the Zenin initially didn't know that Megumi was the Ten Shadows and gave him up with minimal grumbling. Then, they found out what his techinque was and lost their shit.

This isn't going to be said in sea glass, but in my mind, Gojo didn't tell the Zenin that Megumi had the Ten Shadows. He was spotted at the school by Naoya.

Megumi just didn't know that it was a big deal to have his shikigami out. He was tiny. He didn't know they were anything special. He had his puppies out with him while he was waiting for Gojo on school grounds, and Naoya saw them, and he just laughed and started dragging Megumi off to the car lot. He didn't hate Megumi back then. He didn't like him, but he didn't know him yet either. He was Toji's boy, and of course Toji's boy would have the Shadows. Of course. He was vaguely planning to bring the Shadows home and get one over on Gojo, giving him the leverage he needed to kick his eldest brother down the ladder, and he didn't really care about how megumi was thrashing and kicking and trying to get free. It barely registered.

In my mind, Ijichi's the one that interfered.

He almost got his ass beat. Like, he was very close to having that four year old boy intervene on his behalf now because Naoya had him by the shirt against a car and was about to make sure Ijichi met god, and Megumi was always this feral biting child who was more than willing to have his puppies rip someone's fucking head off. But he was the one that saw Naoya dragging Megumi off, and he was the one that got in his way in defense of Megumi. Granted, Gojo was the one who had to show up and actually stop Naoya, but Ijichi went after Naoya knowing he could never win that fight. He did it to protect Megumi.

That's the first thing that led Gojo to trust him.

The second happened when the incident that made Gojo cut off the Zenin permanently. Everyone lost their goddamn minds. The Zenin wanted Megumi back yesterday, and the higher ups wanted Gojo to back off and return him. Yaga sided with the higher ups, because he thought that this wasn't a fight they could win.

Ijichi sided with Gojo and the kids. He didn't care if it was a fight they could win. He had never cared about whether he could win a fight when it came to protecting the Fushiguro siblings. He never could win the fights he took up for them. He just did it anyway.

Those kids were his little buddies. He babysat them regularly. He loved them fiercely. And he didn't care that he was a shit sorcerer doomed to get himself killed if he ever fought. Those were his kids.

He thinks of them vaguely in this sort of younger cousin role. He's not their parent and doesn't think of himself as such, but he's watched them grow and thinks of them as his family.

Since the Zenin incident when Megumi was a little kid, Ijichi has been the only assistant trusted with having any contact whatsoever with them--until recently. Back then, they cut Megumi and Tsumiki off from almost all contact with the wider jujutsu world for their own protection. The Zenin would do anything to get close to Megumi again, so they wouldn't let anyone near him at all. Over the years, Gojo has slowly let a few very select people from the jujutsu world have contact, but no one who he hasn't personally vetted. A few of his most trusted students, so Megumi could have more sorcerer influences in his life. Kamo Noritoshi, because Gojo thought that Megumi needed friends and made the dazzlingly poor judgment call that he would like Kamo. But Ijichi was the only assistant allowed anywhere near Megumi or his sister. Gojo didn't trust that the Zenin wouldn't bribe assistants to spy on them.

About six months before the start of sea glass gardens, Gojo decided to lift the ban and allow other assistants to have contact with them. He regrets that now.

Megumi's been cut off from the wider jujutsu world for almost his entire childhood. Like, he knows plenty about jujutsu sorcery, to be clear. He goes on missions regularly and his tutors in sorcery are three of the most valuable sorcerers alive at the moment. But he wasn't exactly rubbing elbows with the masses. He stopped going to the school after the Zenin incident. He only met the very select few that Gojo personally introduced him to. He didn't go to the Zenin compound or the Gojo compound or the Kamo compound. It was all for his protection, but they knew that it wasn't something they could sustain when he hit high school.

High school meant reentering the jujutsu world. It meant the Zenin having the first glimpse of him since they lost custody of him. They knew that shit would hit the fan and that the Zenin would try to make contact again--not to mention the other parties in their world interested in the Ten Shadows.

They wanted to ease Megumi back into the jujutsu world in what they thought was a low-risk way. They started letting a few other assistants than Ijichi convey messages to the Fushiguros when they were needed. That was it. He thought it was a baby step towards testing the waters that wouldn't have blown up the way it did.

In a few months, Gojo was planning to introduce Megumi to his upperclassmen. He was going to bring a few of them by to meet Megumi on his turf first. Yuuta was his top choice for this, and maybe Inumaki. Maki was trickier because she was Zenin. He was planning to bring him by the school before he officially started, but was secretly hesitant because Megumi hadn't been to the school since the time the Zenin beat him badly enough to hospitalize him.

He was trying to reintegrate Megumi slowly, because maybe then he could spot the ways the Zenin tried to worm their way back into his life and put a stop to them. He thought they'd pay people to spy on him, maybe hang around the school trying to make contact again.

He never thought they'd use one of the assistants to cut off contact to him, kidnap Megumi when he was too busy to realize Megumi was gone, and immediately fucking kill him.

He wishes he still only allowed Ijichi near them. This wouldn't have happened then.

Gojo would never admit this out loud, but the way the Zenin treat Megumi legitimately terrifies him. He's used to his own childhood as the Gojo's beloved godling--it wasn't a healthy childhood, and it was a little dehumanizing, but they'd never dare lay a hand on him. The Zenin treat Megumi like he's a toy they're trying to break. They scream about Gojo stealing him from them like he's their cherished prince, but whenever they have him, they nearly shatter him.

He almost didn't go get Megumi. He almost didn't save him. There's a world out there where Megumi is the little godling of the Zenin clan and has no one to protect him from the people who were supposed to love him, because Gojo never took him in.

Gojo thinks about it a lot.

Right now, Ijichi's right back to being the only assistant that is allowed in spitting distance of Gojo's kids. He and Shoko were the only people Gojo told, and he's been integral to arranging everything while this is going on. They're operating on minimal manpower. Nanami refuses to leave the campus while Megumi's bedridden (though no one would ask him to) because Megumi needs someone on campus to protect him constantly. Shoko is stuck treating him. they need Gojo to look for the cure, and he's trying to spend as much time as possible with Megumi because that's his kid in the hospital bed.

Ijichi's running interference on literally everything else. He's integral to Team Save Megumi right now, even if he hasn't shown up yet in sea glass gardens. That's because he's busy doing the legwork.

He got to see Megumi briefly while Yuuta was asleep. He sat with him for a little while. He'd be with him now were he not so busy trying to help find his cure.

And he is. so stressed. He's developing a new ulcer right now. the man is not okay.

[wrenhavenriver]

Okay I’m not done talking about this actually. Re: the Dishonored series’ attempts to reconcile its critical views of imperialism with keeping the characters who sit at the very top of the Empire likable, I think DH1 is considerably less obvious/glaring about this internal conflict than DH2 because: 1) it’s, duh, the first in the series, and suspension of disbelief comes a lot more naturally the first time you’re told “things will be better now, for real” than the second; and 2) Jessamine’s rule sees so little screentime it’s much easier to portray the miseries of the game as entirely attributable to Burrows’ rule (and the actions of other assorted Bad People™) without directly confronting the imperial system that put them all in a position to seize and promptly abuse power in the first place. Under a read more because I can't shut up, sorry.

Like, say you play DH1 for the first time on low chaos: you get the happy ending epilogue speech, and even if it seems to smooth everything over a little too optimistically for a game that otherwise shows a collapsing society and the corruption that brought it to that state in grim, unflinching detail, well, that’s mostly okay—you maintained low chaos, after all, in essence proving the Outsider’s “Perhaps that’s just the nature of man” theory wrong, and the good effects just rippled outward to a much a larger scale, which was pretty much the point of the chaos system in the first place. If it all sounds a little bit like the happy ending to a parable not particularly grounded in the realities of systems of power that the rest of the game was critiquing, maybe that’s just what happens when an entity as long-lived and far-sighted as the Outsider summarizes a period that is little more than a miniscule blip in time to him. Stand far enough back from something and all the rough edges blur out to nothing.

(Plus it’s a video game after all, so maybe you can suspend your disbelief/any personal political beliefs about real world empires you may have brought with you. Maybe it's nice to imagine that things can change meaningfully for the better for Dunwall and the other Isles simply by plopping a Kaldwin back onto the throne.)

The existence of DH2 makes it clear, though, that the ending monologue to DH1 really is more fairytale than reality (or, you know, what happens when a game gets greenlit for a sequel the devs of three years ago didn't know they'd get). A Kaldwin takes the throne—under the watchful eye and protection of her witchcraft-using Serkonan father, at that, a man with viscerally personal history with the Abbey, the City Watch, and the deeply xenophobic nobility—and despite all those very real family connections and personal reasons to want to reform things for the better, we step into Emily’s rule to see the people of Serkonos being trampled on and worked to death in the silver mines, the Abbey still freely hunting down and torturing or otherwise “disappearing” people suspected of witchcraft, and the Guard casually beating and murdering citizens—in one notable case, by throwing one directly into the same brutal Wall of Light technology mobilized to great effect by Burrows’ corrupt regime and that is still in wide use around Emily’s Empire fifteen years later.

Some of this chaos was instigated by Delilah and her inner circle (especially the Duke) leading up to the coup, but much of it is preexisting corruption that can’t be blamed on her—she and the coven certainly had no reason to prop up the Abbey, for one, and she didn’t have to create the aristocratic bitterness motivating turncoats like Ramsey, only give them an outlet for what was already simmering. Meagan, Sokolov, and Lucia Pastor all make it abundantly clear that this was not a momentary slip-up—Dunwall Tower had been looking the other way while violence and unrest grew for some time, because the human cost of keeping silver flowing was out of sight and out of mind, a function basically built into the system of Imperial rule. Not a bug, but a feature. A tendency toward retaining corrupt institutions, an erosion of empathy, because that’s what keeps the wheels turning and wealth being funneled upward.

So when low chaos Emily professes in mission nine that she’s learned her lesson and that from now on she’ll Pay Attention, really! to the four nation Empire she’s the head of, and the happy epilogue plays and we get another Outsider monologue about the golden age ahead, it just seems…vaguely absurd? Like, we already saw this! Burrows, Campbell, and the Bastard Trio™ of the loyalists were deposed or otherwise gotten rid of, making room for Good People™ with Good Intentions™ to take their place in charge and fix things—you’ve got Emily on the throne with Corvo to guide her; Yul Khulan, a “kind” man and eventual close personal ally of Emily’s, becomes High Overseer; Curnow, widely reputed as a Reasonable Authority Figure and rare man of principle in the Guard, has survived (and presumably still has some years of service as a Captain before the retirement mentioned in The Corroded Man).

And then we fast forward fifteen years and all these groups...still suck? The Empress hates her job and is eating off plates made of silver mined by Karnacan laborers dying hideously of terrible respiratory ailments, the Overseers we see in Karnaca are ransacking homes and torturing Outsider worshippers (a group including such dangerous people as *checks notes* newspaper artists), half the City Guard is on the payroll of the shitty aristocrats supporting Delilah’s coup, and the Grand Guard is passing the time by throwing people into Walls of Light. Emily’s reign began with a veritable A-team of Certified Good People and fifteen years later it's barely made a dent, because the system of imperial rule is built from the ground up to shelter corruption and complacency, to resist change, no matter who’s in charge and whether that person is “paying attention” or not. It’s beyond the power of one sufficiently motivated Empress and a team of well-intentioned people in positions of authority below her.

It’s tempting to say “no, it really was just an issue of Emily not taking her duties seriously, look at Jessamine’s rule, or Euhorn’s before her!” but the thing is Obvious Disasters like Violent Coups Aside we really don’t have much evidence that their rules were all that much better, or at the very least any less prone to corruption? DH1 again has the advantage over DH2 here, mostly by way of omission. We don’t get to actually see what life in the Empire is like under Jessamine, just that tiny sliver of time in the Prologue returning as Corvo to Dunwall Tower, where despite the player being told there’s a deadly plague about to bring the city to a “breaking point,” the scenery is beautiful and calm and the staff are polite and affable. It makes for very compelling contrast when the game fast forwards six months to the dank misery of Coldridge Prison, and then later the grim state of the streets filling up with corpses and weepers.

Mission six completes the comparison with a return to Dunwall Tower, where the courtyard is now brimming with hostile guards and surveillance towers and tallboys, and one lone maid who openly laments Jessamine’s passing. Life under the authoritarian despot who purposely instigated a plague for the purpose of wiping out the lower classes is, obviously, much worse than life under the benevolent Empress who is introduced to us passionately advocating for saving the lives of all of her citizens. But, in the same way Emily and her inner circle of Well-Intentioned People weren’t enough to dislodge the entrenched corruption and brutality—or prevent a new wave of it—Jessamine’s kindness can’t paint over the miseries of the imperial system she presides over. We the players see Coldridge Prison for the first time in the six-months-later flashback of Burrows’ rule, but it existed during Jessamine’s time—guards state explicitly in the DLC that she and Corvo used to come inspect it, in fact. Jessamine wholly loves Corvo, a native of Serkonos, but anti-Serkonan prejudice runs rampant in her court and city. Corvo and Emily wholly love Jessamine too, but the people of Dunwall are somewhat divided on the matter (“Long live the Empress!” “She was a WENCH!” / “Not everyone did, but I really liked the Empress…”). Burrows deceived Jessamine and took advantage of her trusting nature, but he only had the resources to do so in the first place because of the system that promoted him to Royal Spymaster, a position of incredible power and very little accountability.

Euhorn we know the least about, but we are told he enjoyed a “prosperous age”—a sentiment that falls somewhat flat when we learn that he had an affair with a chamber maid (the power differential of which is highly questionable at best), strung along the resulting illegitimate daughter with promises of elevating her to a princess that he never intended to keep, then took his chance when said daughter was blamed for breaking a vase to throw her and her mother out onto the streets, where the mother is brutalized by a prison guard and eventually dies in agony in debtor’s prison, leaving the daughter to fend for herself alone in the world. All of which shows us that the Empire is, in this age of “prosperity,” still a place of extreme power imbalances where the Emperor takes advantage of women in his employ, debtor’s prisons exist, guards can cause fatal injuries to civilians on a whim and face no consequences, and children are thrown with disdain onto the streets to die. Which, on many levels, is not all that different from the ages of other rulers who follow.

tl;dr these games show us over and over again that the Empire is built on a fundamentally broken system that perpetuates corruption and then try to append “but it’s okay so long as the people in charge are good people who are paying attention to their jobs” to the end of them for the sake of keeping those characters likable, and while the first game can get away with this by virtue of being the first game and using Jessamine’s rule primarily as a way to showcase how bad Burrows’ rule sucks by comparison, this falls flat when the very existence of the second game provides ample evidence that the Good Intentions of Generally Good People are not enough to counteract the entrenched cruelties of the institutions that keep imperialism afloat. Okay I'm going to go get another hobby now bye.

[archoniluthradanar]

Volturi Masters imagining-Sex

Reading lots of fanfiction about the Volturi leaders and their human mates, I wondered if we assume for a moment that being vampires with still hearts and no blood, how would they keep you pleased when you needed intimacy and their male parts don't function.

*mild smut alert*

Aro loves art, and he's a very tactile person. He would choose several volumes of pornographic art from the 1700s, and meet you in his rooms, delighted to see you already waiting on his bed dressed in something lacy. He sits next to you, and while you lean against him, he will share stories about the artists, explain their inspiration, and glance at you when your tongue runs over your lips. He's told you to do what you want while he speaks, so when he sees your hand reach between your slightly parted thighs, he leans over and kisses your temple. You slide down the bed a bit, then reach over to unbutton his black shirt. Aro shrugs it off so that you can kiss his throat while he sets aside the books and presses his hand to your heated core. He feels the wetness of your panties and slips his hand inside. He smiles when you inhale sharply, his fingers sliding inside you. Aro kisses you, forcing your mouth open with his tongue, inhaling your sweet breath as you gasp from pleasure. When he feels your inner muscles tighten around his fingers, he moves down your body, and ripping the panties off you, he gently forces your legs apart to give him room to taste you. His tongue circles your clit while his fingers once again work their magic sending you into a state of pleasure he knows you enjoy. You've told him you wish you could please him as well, but its wasted. This is always for you. Just to hear you cry out his name and tell him how much you love him while you come is reward enough for him.

Marcus likes to read, so while you lie next to him on his bed, he will read passages of old world pornography, proving to you that porn has been an accepted form of literature for a very long time. His voice is deep and soothing while he reads, the images in your mind heating up your body. When Marcus sees you squirming, he sets down the book and pulls you on top of his long legs, getting you to straddle them. His hands pull you forward to kiss you, his lips moving down your jawline to your neck. He sucks the warm tender flesh, leaving a dark hickey on your skin, his mark claiming you as his own. You lean back while he kisses and sucks on your breasts. He tears your panties off you, his fingers slipping inside you, thrusting deeply, then curling his fingers against your sweet spot. Your murmuring his name over and over tells him he's pleasing you . You close your eyes and move your hips until you feel an orgasm tear through your body. You lean against Marcus, pressing your lips to his throat wishing you could mark him as he has you.

Caius is more of a right-to-the-point man. He wants to get you excited and keep you that way until you've come more than once. He sees himself as the instrument of your pleasure. His bed is the place he takes you, using his fingers to start, then forcing you to lie down where he will lick your cunt until you scream and come, but he will not stop, not yet. He will take his wet fingers and push inside your rear hole, whispering to you to relax when you protest. It does begin to feel better as he thrusts his finger slowly inside you. Caius loves to experiment as well. He found a stone dildo he'd had in his artifact collection, telling you that virgins in ancient Rome were deflowered with it before they were given to their husbands. You close your eyes, imagining it's Caius' hard cock taking you. He uses it until you've experienced several orgasms, begging him to stop before you go mad with pleasure. The wonderful thing about Caius is he will hold you in his arms afterwards, kissing your forehead, and whispering endearments, something you hadn't expected from him your first time together.

[anghraine]

I'm always torn between "am I just defensive over my fave or do they truly Not Get It" when people dismiss Mrs Reynolds's testimony.

I saw a take recently that was like, eh, so he's nice to a handful of people, that makes him marginally less of an asshole in a perfectly common way—and it's like, uh, no, the servants and tenants and family of someone with that much power = a lot of people, actually, any or all of whom could be screwed over by his whims at any moment and never have been.

And the idea that rich, powerful landowners commonly conducted themselves with generosity and concern towards their servants and tenants is absurd. Of course they didn't! Darcy is really the only one of the love interests in Austen's novels with that kind of power, and one of the only characters of that stature to be treated favorably at all, and he only gets away with it because he's Not Like The Other Ones. Even Wickham says:

"It has often led him [Darcy] to be liberal and generous, to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the poor."

Wickham is covering his ass in case Darcy's sterling reputation catches up with him, obviously, but there is a reason that Darcy's reputation is so exceptional. There's a reason Elizabeth is surprised even by something so small as him keeping on a housekeeper who is elderly and not particularly "fine" in appearance.

On top of that, the idea that being dismissive towards strangers but a loving and scrupulous guardian to his dependent sister in particular = an everyday occurrence? Yeah, no. The trope of young women who are exploited, disregarded, or otherwise screwed over by their brothers was really common and reflected an all-too-frequent reality (as discussed by Wollstonecraft!). The reason that well-off male characters' treatment of their siblings and especially their sisters could function so easily as a metric of inner character is because it was so often not the reality.

Men in that rough position were supposed to look after the welfare and interests of dependent sisters, esp orphaned ones—but few could actually make them do it and typically they gained little if anything from doing so. Mrs Reynolds's assertion that Darcy would do anything for Georgiana and his marked affection for her and willingness to defend her, even to older relatives when Georgiana isn't there, forms a contrast not just to the likes of John Dashwood but ... like, honestly, to Edward Austen-Knight as well.

It's not that nobody was ever more like Darcy in this respect, but it was frankly not all that common, and the novel emphatically treats his scrupulous, affectionate care for Georgiana as exceptional and part of his shining reputation.

With regard to his other family members—we don't meet many of them, but Colonel Fitzwilliam's surprise at and mockery of Darcy's current behavior leads Charlotte to conclude that it "proved he[Darcy] was generally different, which her own knowledge of him could not have told her."

This of course foreshadows Darcy proving to be "different" when encountered later. It's not that Darcy's behavior is radically transformed from what's normal for him, but that it's radically transformed from what's normal for him with people outside his (large) circle of family, friends, and dependents. And Austen takes pains to show that he largely reverts back to "old" Darcy when he's uncomfortable. The point of this isn't that his change isn't real, but that it's not some unrealistic total transformation.

The way he treats Elizabeth and the Gardiners isn't alien to his previous characterization. There were always people (whether Fitzwilliam, Mrs Reynolds, whomever) he treated like that. The change is extending that "generally different" conduct to people of much less consequence than himself, but not so much less that he has any particular obligation towards them. He's able to clearly and immediately recognize the Gardiners' virtues, to go investigating a random plant with Mr Gardiner, to form a rapport that will become genuine love for them over the course of his relationship and marriage to Elizabeth.

And a man like Darcy not only marrying a woman with relations in trade, but loving those relations and bringing them to his home as honored guests, is again, not common. Some historians have argued that his choices would be wildly unlikely IRL.

So yeah, no, Darcy isn't just decent towards a few people in a common way, nor nice to the people in his life that anyone in his situation would be, nor is his grand change unprecedented for him and uncomplicated by external factors or only to be expected. In the social world he was created in, he would be an extraordinary person.

[jeannereames]

Whenever we think of royal families our minds tend to go to the concept of the European noble House. The House of Habsburg, the House of Windsor, the House of Stuart etc. I understand that we should look at the Ancient Greek, Macedonian & Hellenistic royal families in a different way becuase of the different family & power dynamics - could you please help us understand the difference?

Ancient Court Societies vs. Modern

Probably the biggest difference is greater organization of hierarchy. Modern royal houses have had a lot of time to evolve.

Norbert Elias’s The Court Society has become the foundational study on court systems, although it’s western-focused by intent. Nonetheless, it’s a useful introduction to how courts function with inner courts, outer courts, etc.

The biggest things to keep in mind are:

The degree of formality between court members. How “deep” and structured is the hierarchy? (Smaller courts typically have far less formality than larger ones.)

How formalized are matters of succession and marriage ties? Particularly the presence (or absence) of royal polygamy can affect that.

Court societies inevitably progress from less formal and hierarchical to more of both. We can sometimes talk about earlier court societies as chieftain-level societies versus more organized royal, or even imperial societies.

Part of the struggle first Philip, then Alexander faced was transforming a chieftain-level court system into something that would work on a (much, for Alexander) larger scale. Unsurprisingly, there was push-back against, essentially, “bureaucracy.” Nobody likes it, but the larger an area controlled, the more necessary it becomes.

Traditional Macedonian courts were fairly informal, the king being primo inter pares (first among equals). No titles were used when addressing him—he was called by his name—and the only thing expected of the speaker was to take off his hat. “King” (basileus) was used when speaking OF him. We don’t see “King ___” employed in Macedonia (at least in inscriptions) until Kassandros, who needed it to buck up his claim.

None of that means the average person could wander into the palace and start chatting up the king. He was protected by his Bodyguards (Somatophylakes), who also apparently managed access to him. Yet he was expected to sit in judgement as an appellate court, where anybody could appeal a case before him. How often this occurred no doubt depended. Philip was gone a lot, and Alexander was permanently out of Macedonia two years into his reign. Presumably his regent fulfilled the role in his absence. (As I depicted near the beginning of book 2, Rise, when Alexandros is hearing cases.) Anyway, that’s one place the “average person” could get the ear of the king. Also, it seems that he was more approachable by soldiers in battle circumstances. We’re told Alexander got right in with his men to do work during sieges. It was to encourage them, but he was standing next to them so they could see and talk to him, if they wanted to. He seems to have known many of his veterans by name.

Another factor in Macedonia was lack of formal hierarchy among nobility. They had a nobility—the Hetairoi (King’s Companions)—but theoretically all Hetairoi were equal in status. In practice, they absolutely weren’t. The king also had an inner circle referred to as “Friends” (Philoi), who acted as chief advisors. The problem with both terms is their use as common nouns as well as special titles. When is a friend a Friend?

Also, at least some of this was hereditary. Yes, making (or removing) Hetairoi was in the power of the king. But it was much easier to do the former than the latter, and even strong kings didn’t do the former early in their careers, never mind the latter. For many, becoming Hetairos was a rubber-stamp. They were Hetairoi because their fathers had been. We’re also not sure if the title was extended only to the eldest male in a household, or more than one could hold it at once, but for most, it was a birthright.

So, when Alexander took the throne, he was stuck with his father’s Somatophylakes (Bodyguard) and inner circle of advisors. He absolutely could not toss them out on their ear to install his own men. He had to proceed sloooowly. Which is why we don’t see Hephaistion as a Somatophylax even by the Philotas Affair, five years into ATG’s reign. He was clearly an advisor (Philos), but didn’t become Bodyguard until sometime later. Same thing with Ptolemy, who apparently got Demetrios’s slot—the Bodyguard (almost surely one of Philip’s) behind the actual conspiracy of Dimnos, not the made up one of Philotas. When he was executed, Alexander promoted Ptolemy to his slot. Note that Ptolemy was made Somatophylax before Hephaistion. Politics, family status, and probably age trumped personal affection.

If Hetairoi couldn’t be kings themselves (unless they were also Argeads), they were king makers, and kings had to take their influence into account. Especially new kings.

As a chieftain level society, Macedonia operated on “rule by clan” with the king being the senior male Argead. His brothers, sons, nephews, and male cousins might all have important roles, as did the women, although theirs were primarily religious and the running of the royal household. Yet royal women could do limited politicking in the way of donations (eurgetisms) to create goodwill, promote the family, or make alliances—as well as (of course) the alliance created by their marriage itself. Most of these roles were informal and ad hoc, rather than titular, if also expected of them. For instance, the king’s wives were just that: king’s wives. The title queen (basileia) wasn’t used until the Hellenistic courts of the Diadochi.

Ancient near eastern courts were more stratified, with more distinct roles. In fact, it seems that Macedon, from Alexander I onward, borrowed offices from the Achaemenid Persian court, including the Bodyguard and the Royal Pages (King’s Boys). So as early as the late Archaic Age, Macedonia looked east for how to formalize a court. Certainly Philip did it well before Alexander. The notion that Alexander’s Persianizing was somehow new is bull malarky.

Anyway, in the ANE, kings tended to fit one of two traditions: shepherd king or heroic king. The Sumerian kings and Hammurabi (Old Babylon) were both examples of the shepherd-king model. Heroic kings began with the Akkadian, Sargon the Great, then the neo-Assyrian kings, especially the Sargonids. Cyrus cast himself as a heroic king, but we see a shift back to shepherd kings with Darius the Great. Another aspect of ANE kingship were three chief expectations: win wars, build big shit, and administer justice.

Due to a much longer tradition of kingship extending from the Early Bronze Age, as you may imagine, these court systems developed much more in the way of formalized structures and offices. If these changed from king to king, at least by Bronze-Age Babylon (Hammurabi), then Neo-Assyria, access to the king was severely curtailed. At least the Persian kings got out and moved around on a sort of “King’s Progress,” but that was to check up on satraps. The average citizen saw them only at a distance. In contrast the Sargonids of neo-Assyria emerged from their palace complexes almost exclusively when going to war.

The Medes and Persians, like the Hittites before them, fit themselves into ANE traditions after they arrived in the area. Less is known about pre-ANE Hittites, but if they kept some unique religious traditions, when it came to How to Run an Empire, they used Akkadian and Egyptian precursors. Similarly, the Medes and Persians who came from the steppes, also adopted ANE patterns while retaining some traditions—again particularly religious (Zoroastrianism). We know a wee bit more about them prior; they (like Macedon) seem to have had chieftain-level monarchy with rule by clan, plus tribal princes, before conquering the whole area.

I hope that helps in understanding ancient eastern Mediterranean and near eastern notions of a court. We know less about the Odrysian Thracian and Illyrian kings to Macedonia’s north, but I suspect they were similar to early Macedon. Just tooling around Thrace, it was very clear to me that we’re looking at a shared regional culture between that area and Macedonia. Similar vibes attended my visit to Aiani (ancient Elimeia) and Dodonna (Epiros). I didn’t get up into Illyria, but what I do know of the archaeology suggests the same. ALL these cultures, despite the ethnic and linguistic differences, influenced each other. Yes, ancient Macedonia was at least “Greek-ish,” but we can’t and shouldn’t dismiss the impact on them from their northern neighbors.

Last, let’s consider the role of royal polygamy. Well back into the Bronze Age, ANE kings might marry several wives and also kept concubines for political purposes. That’s why we call it royal polygamy, not just polygamy. Royal polygamy might exist in a society that otherwise limits the number of wives anyone not the king can have.

Macedonian kings also practiced it, and Thracian and Illyrian, but on a more limited scale. Greeks and Romans, then Christians, depicted any polygamy as a “barbaric Oriental” (= morally corrupt) practice that supported their general view of Asia as soft and indulgent. (Sex itself wasn’t a vice, but too much sex was: uncontrolled desire.)

In later Europe, kings might have mistresses, but it wasn’t “official,” and they certainly didn’t have multiple wives. Christianity frowned on that. Even before, Roman emperors didn’t employ royal polygamy, although they did use serial monogamy—a long-standing practice back into the Roman Republic. Yet that required divorce. When the Christian church made marriage both a sacrament and a vow (not a contract, as it had been pretty much everywhere else), they made divorce impossible without either a wife’s death or religious shell games like annulment. Until Henry VIII, European kings were largely stuck with just one marriage.

Ancient courts didn’t have that problem. And from a political point of view, monogamy is a problem. It reduces the number of political ties available. Having royal polygamy offers more fluidity in possible heirs, and increases, sometimes exponentially, avenues for political alliance.

That said, the downside can be messy inheritance. Two of the more infamous inheritance disputes (other than Alexander’s) involved Esarhaddon, youngest son of Sennacherib, and Cyrus the Younger vs. Artaxerxes II. The latter dispute resulted in civil war (thank you, Xenophon, for telling us about it). As for Esarhaddon, he was so in danger from his older brothers, his mother kept him out of the capital until claimants were dead. There are others, but these two leapt to mind. There are also Egyptian examples, but I’m far less knowledgeable about those dynasties. And, as we see later in Europe, disputed successions can occur without polygamy!

Anyway, when it comes to selection of the heir, two things that matter in polygamous courts: status of the mother, and (for the ANE) whether she was queen. Not all wives were also queens. In the case of Esarhaddon, his mother Naqiʾa was of lower status and not a queen, so when his father named him heir, his older brothers (and their court allies) blew a gasket. Both Assyrians and later Achaemenid Persian kings could marry as many women as they wanted, plus take concubines…but the heir was expected to be from his Chief Wife, or Queen. Of “pure” blood. Cyrus the Younger’s argument against his older brother rested on a similar status technicality: he’d been born after his father became king, while Artaxerxes II was born before. We’d say Cyrus was “born to the purple.” But it was just an excuse; he was the ambitious one, and their mother favored him. If Macedonia didn’t have queens, the status of the mother mattered to being selected as heir there as well.

So these are some of the chief differences between ancient Mediterranean and near eastern courts, compared to later European.