#but if it means heels generally it's less than 5 days a week

[hms-tardimpala]

Survivor Series 2024 (before post)

People of the dash, there is a wrestling PLE this weekend, which means I'm gonna post about it and maybe even liveblog it. If you wish to block, I'll tag everything "survivor series 2024".

General thoughts: I'm very excited for this PLE because Punk is back, and I got more invested in the Bloodline story in recent weeks. But I think that the show lacks another women's match, it's very male-centric. The women's booking hasn't been great this past month. I'm also not sure it was necessary to stick to the formula of 5 against 5: they could have had a 4 vs. 4 War Games without needing to suck two outside wrestlers into the Bloodline story (at least they did it in a way that makes sense for Punk). But time will tell if that was a good decision, and if there was more to it.

Men's War Games: Roman Reigns, Jey Uso, Jimmy Uso, Sami Zayn & CM Punk vs. Solo Sikoa, Jacob Fatu, Tama Tonga, Tonga Loa & Bronson Reed

Something smells so fishy about this match, treason can come from so many sides. I want to see that mess! Can Punk and Roman's egos coexist? Is Canada big enough for the two of them? Will my darling Solo win again?

Women's War Games: Rhea Ripley, Bianca Belair, Naomi, Iyo Sky & Bayley vs. Liv Morgan, Raquel Rodriguez, Nia Jax, Tiffany Stratton & Candice LeRae

This one is a mess for the wrong reasons. These teams make no sense. So many of these women have unresolved beef with each other! Despite the babyface team being full of amazing talents, I don't think they will win: they're even less solid than the heel team. But the latest Smackdown really improved that!

World Heavyweight Championship: Gunther (c) vs. Damian Priest

The thing with this one is that whatever the outcome, I don't think it will be satisfying. If Damian wins (which will not happen) he doesn't have the momentum for a new title right now, and he won't be able to do anything new with it. I don't see him as Raw's champion on Netflix. But I don't see Gunther in that role either, and even if he wins (likely), he's been built so week since Summerslam that it won't feel right. So it has to be a screw finish of some sort, with Judgment Day overbooking. Hum.

Intercontinental Championship: Bron Breakker (c) vs. Sheamus vs. Ludwig Kaiser

I think Bron will win this, he's probably gonna have a long reign, but I wish Sheamus would get this title to be Grand Slam champion someday. In any case, with these three wrestlers it's bound to be a very good, very entertaining match.

United States Championship: LA Knight (c) vs. Shinsuke Nakamura

This feels rushed. Nakamura has a title opportunity already? He'd better win, or he's gonna lose what little credibility he has right now. But WWE seems very happy with LA Knight's reign, so why would they stop it? However, there are three championship matches tonight, and it'd feel disappointing IMO if there was no title change at all. If there's gonna be one, I'd bet on the United States title.

Less than three hours to go now!! I'm excited!

[univvrse]

we're in all the magazines (chapter 2)

chapter title- trust your mechanic to mend your car?

hawks x dabi

There were four members of the band 'Puncture'; each with deeply buried secrets. Dabi, Hawks, Shigaraki and Mr Compress.

Each about to find out things about eachother that will change their relationship as band mates forever.

previous can be found on my masterlist

on my ao3 if you'd prefer

1k words

After a more or less silent meal of egg fried rice, reheated from the night before, the 4 retired to their respective rooms. They were always halfway shattered after gigs.

Keigo woke up first. He almost always did. Despite spending most of his time with the others, he felt as though he were an imposter. He saw the way Tomura looked at him when Dabi introduced him to the band. Dabi said he generally takes a while to warm up to people, but in the 5 weeks that Keigo had spent as part of Puncture, Tomura hadn’t seemed to even make an effort in accepting Keigo as one of them.

This didn’t mean Keigo wouldn’t do everything he could to win Tomura’s acceptance. He liked waking up this early because it gave him the opportunity to make breakfast for the others. A quick look in the fridge told him the direness of Puncture’s grocery situation. Keigo flipped a piece of fan mail over to write a quick note on the back announcing that he was just off to the store and would be back shortly. He didn’t imagine anyone would be worried that he wasn’t there when they woke, but it felt like a nice gesture anyway.

There was a small convenience store about a 5-minute walk from their place. It was a lovely little shop run by a sweet old married couple. Keigo picked up most of the domestic work when he joined Puncture, so he was fairly familiar with this couple, often stopping to have a chat with them as he shopped. Today was no different. Keigo placed his basket down on the checkout counter and said hi to the old man, who began to scan his purchases. “It’s gorgeous outside today! Perfect day for a stroll through the park. The Sakura trees are finally blooming.” The old man smiled wistfully as he spoke. The skin around his eyes crinkled, a testament to the years behind him.

Keigo hummed in response, “It felt like winter would last forever.” He smiled, “We had another show last night. I think it went well! The crowd seemed to like it.” “Ah, soon you will outgrow this city. What will Mae and I do when you’re too famous to stop by for our chats!” Mae was the man’s wife. She was always dressed in floral patterns with her hair meticulously styled. The old man was called Kenji. They were the picture of love, everything any couple dreamt of becoming.

As Keigo opened his mouth to reply, the bell above the door rung. He turned to see a tall young man walk in. He looked to be maybe a few years older than Keigo, possibly in his mid to late twenties. He had cropped black hair, mussed up as though he had just rolled out of bed. His jeans were slightly wrinkled, as was his t-shirt. Keigo’s mouth fell shut, his mind blanked and he entirely forgot his response.

“Dad!” The young man strode over to Kenji, casually opening the gate to allow himself behind the counter, “I got leave from work so I could be here for your birthday.” Keigo knew it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from the handsome boy before him. “Yuto, you mustn’t take a holiday for something so trivial.” Kenji half-scolded the boy as he pulled him in for a hug, “Ah, Takami, this is my son, Yuto.” Yuto smiled and nodded to Keigo and extended a hand, “Nice to meet you, Takami. Sorry for interrupting.” Keigo shook the offered hand and smiled almost sheepishly, “It’s no problem at all.” He looked down, hiding his eyes from the attractive man’s face. Kenji cleared his throat from behind the counter, breaking the slightly awkward silence, “That’ll be 593 yen please Takami.” “Oh yeah sure,” Keigo replied, pulling out his card and swiping it.

He turned on his heel and left the shop, heading back to the apartment.

The 5-minute walk home passed quickly as he breathed in the crisp spring air. When he arrived back at their apartment Dabi was in the kitchen, sat at the counter typing away busily on his laptop. The dark-haired man looked up to the sound of the door closing, his signature

smirk painting his face.

“Hey, you got groceries?”

“Yeah picked them up for you guys, thought I could make you breakfast?” Keigo said, putting the fruit and bread he had bought down on the counter.

“That’s okay you don’t have to.”

“Yeah I know, want to though. Also figured it would help me win over Shigaraki.”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s always been a cunt,” he chuckled.

“Would be nice for him to at least be chill with me though,” Keigo replied, putting the milk he bought into the fridge and slamming the door shut on accident.

Tomura walked into the room, headphones on his head, his music was playing so loud it was audible by the other two men in the room.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Dabi muttered to himself, not expecting anyone else to hear. Keigo laughed quietly to himself, he always thought that Dabi was unintentionally funny, that was one of his favourite things about him; among his many other attributes. Tomura picked up an apple off the counter without a word, storming back to his room, not sparing a glance at the two men. Though Keigo swore he heard him mutter, “fucking gay people,” before he slammed his door closed. He brushed the comment off, picking up a few slices of bread and putting them into the clearly neglected toaster. The lighter haired man turned back to Dabi.

“Do you want any toast?” “Yeah toast’s cool,” he replied, not looking up from his laptop. “I think we should start writing our own music.” he stated cooly, like it meant absolutely nothing. “Wait really?” “Yeah, seems like a good idea- I’ve been working on a few songs.” “Oh sick, would you- um maybe wanna, you know, wanna like show me sometime?” Keigo asked, trying and failing not to let his awkwardness come across. “Sure.”

It was no mystery to the group that Keigo had a huge thing for Dabi. Hell, he’d been a huge fan of the group before he joined, and more than that; a huge fan of Dabi.

A/N- tyy for reading. i'm sorry if it seems like it's starting slow but it should speed up pretty soon <£

[what-if-nct]

I never realised how awkward it could be seeing someone the next day after you had a dream about them until today. Okay so a little background info the school I go to only has boys in the final two years of it and there’s only 2 in my year (I think it’s the equivalent of junior) and 5 in the year above me (senior) and there’s generally about 150/160 students in a year group so these guys stand out. One of the ones in the year above me, Liam, was in my dream last night and I don’t really know why. He isn’t in my mind a lot and I’ve only had like two and a half conversations with him. I was like partially aware during my dream cause I was like this is odd why is he going home with me why is he going into my house but whatever. I don’t exactly know what relation he was to me in my dream, idk if he was a brother, cousin, boyfriend or just friend or just this strange man following me. But anyways it was low-key fun cause I tend to be happy when I have a dream about guys ngl. I don’t really get to speak to any in real life. Idk why but I’ve had quite a few dreams where Lee Jongsuk is my husband and for like a month I had dreams about my ordinary school like but Jungkook would just be there everyday (everyone else in my dream saw it as completely normal and he was wearing our ugly green uniform too). But anyways I saw Liam again today and I felt quite awkward cause I had a dream about this man/guy/boy (idk what to call him) and now he was actually right in front of me. It wasn’t even a sexual dream, we just happened to live together. I do think he’s the second most attractive out of the guys. In my opinion, John’s the most attractive (he’s not exactly fit tho), he’s cute and very clever and I like his accent (voice is a really big thing for me, one time all my feelings for a guy got obliterated because his voice didn’t sound nice and it just reminded me of how mean he was). Low-key had a mini crush on John back in May/June but yeah. Do you think it’s okay to have multiple mini crushes on people? Like I don’t really have a big crush or person I genuinely like/love a lot but I often get these little things. Idk how to explain them.

Oh yeah its so awkward and with it being someone you kinda know but not really it's just like always but why? Where did they come from? I'm really fascinated by dreams and how they work and what they mean I look more into the spiritual side of it. But dreams can mean what it means at face value, usually it's more cryptic and there's a hidden message. I just use tarot cards if it's a really interesting dream. A psychic said if you remember it it's a past life which I don't really believe. There are some dreams that feel past lifey. But another portion of the time I think it's just your dream filing through thoughts, memories and things you've seen throughout the week. So that's probably where I think the dreams about random semi strangers come from. They probably just lingered on your mind longer than normal for a bit. Dreams about idols are very obviously cause they're on your mind a lot unless it's someone not at all your bias and it's weird that I'm still trying to figure that out. But I get that kind of awkwardness of it, it will go away and you won't even remember it.

Yeah that is totally normal, it's normal to just kinda like someone without being head over heels and writing their name in a journal. And especially a couple at a time. I think that's probably the most normal. I remember in high school my friends were like "oh you like everyone" and it's like you don't think at least five guys are cute and seem sweet at the same time. I actually haven't had a crush on a guy in a pretty long time there was one but he said something that just destroyed any feelings I had. But yeah, I think it's even better to just kinda like and be slightly into a bunch at a time, I think it's less all consuming.

[usfreehealthcare]

Normal blood sugar range newborn

Blood sugar, the sugar present in the bloodstream that fuels every cell in the body, is one of the most important sources of energy for babies. A baby with normal blood sugar levels is necessary for healthy growth and development. have a lot of energy. Available. However, in rare cases, blood sugar levels may drop and the child may become ill. The rest of this article explains what your baby's blood sugar should be. How can blood sugar levels in newborns be measured? What is the significance of blood sugar levels in newborns? Stay tuned to the end of this article for complete information about it. From what source does the baby's body get glucose? The fetus in the womb receives glucose through the placenta and umbilical cord. Some of this glucose is used immediately for energy, and another part is stored after birth. Stored glucose helps maintain normal glucose levels in the baby during the first few days after birth until the baby is well fed. level, after which it becomes the primary source of sugar for children. The sugar in milk is converted to glucose in the baby's body. When this happens, glucose is stored in the baby's body for use between meals. Why are some babies hypoglycemic? - In perfectly healthy babies born at 37 weeks, blood sugar levels are lowest in the first 1-2 hours of life. After this, the body begins to use up stored sugar and healthy fats, and glucose levels usually rise. may not be stored. These babies are exposed to low blood sugar levels in the first 24 hours of life. - Babies born to diabetic mothers, especially those who require insulin or who have poorly controlled diabetes, may not be able to utilize stored glucose well. In children of this category, the normal rise in blood sugar does not occur immediately after birth. - Babies who are older than gestational age, or heavier than their estimated weight for gestational age, have the same problem within the first 12 hours of life. Usually blood sugar levels are lowered only for a few hours, but in some cases he lasts from 24 hours to 72 hours. When the glucose level reaches normal levels, the problem of hypoglycemia and hypoglycemia disappears. In very rare cases hypoglycemia can be severe or prolonged. In this case, the doctor will do more tests to look for other causes. Should all newborns have their blood sugar checked? A healthy, full-term baby does not need blood sugar control. Babies in this category have sufficient energy reserves that can be used until breast milk reaches an optimal level. But babies who are generally unwell should be tested for sugar and other things for further investigation. - Premature babies born prematurely by more than 3 weeks. H. Before 36 weeks of gestation. - Small baby for gestational age means weight is less than estimated for gestational age. Especially if weight gain is slow during the last weeks of pregnancy. - Babies whose mothers had diabetes during or before pregnancy. - Babies are large for their gestational age. - Babies with rare diseases that cause hypoglycemia. How is a baby's blood sugar measured? A baby's blood sugar level is usually measured by taking a few drops of blood from the baby's heel. If your child is at risk of any of the above but is fine, check blood sugar again 2 hours after birth and before the first meal.  Blood glucose levels are usually measured 3 to 5 times a day on the first and second day after birth. Why is hypoglycemia dangerous for babies? If your baby is sick and has low blood sugar levels that last several hours, it may indicate long-term developmental and learning disabilities. How high should a child's blood sugar be? Blood sugar is measured in millimoles/L. Normal blood glucose levels in newborns should be above 3.3 mmol/l in the first 72 hours. A newborn with a blood glucose level below her 2.6 mmol/l in the first 72 hours requires treatment. What should I do if my baby has hypoglycemia? The child's symptoms should be evaluated. If your blood sugar isn't rising naturally, you'll need to feed more. More food can be given by: - breast - mother's breastfeeding - formula child with food. The glucose gel can be repeated once, but if the baby's blood sugar remains low or the baby is not eating well, it should be treated intravenously through a needle or tube inside the body. often begins at birth in premature or low birth weight infants. How long will blood sugar control or secondary therapy be needed? A baby's blood sugar levels usually return to normal within 12 to 72 hours (3 days) after birth. This is especially true if you are breastfeeding regularly. Term infants rarely regulate blood glucose levels during pregnancy. Tobacco-exposed infants do not thrive when strictly smoked. Read the full article

[tavyliasin]

Ok I did the maths and now I'm back from a nice break from writing (the Kinkmas challenge was a lot so I had a week or so off to relax and enjoy time with visiting friends) and I'll post the lines below the cut!

General warning for NSFW~

Top Result - Raphael x Archivist - 6 Lines (OK fine it's 7 if you're counting - the extra was a nice place to end the teaser)

--- It was a gamble, a calculated risk. Offering more than the devil was asking could often be enough to satisfy the sadistic streak in his nature. 

“An interesting proposal,” the cambion replied, uncrossing his legs and re-crossing them with a fresh dig of boot heels into pressure points that sparked another wave of pain and heat. Heat that had no right to be there, yet… “Are you perhaps suggesting another Pleasurable Deal?” 

The Archivist curled his tail around his own thigh, squeezing it tightly to hold back the frustration that was welling up with the rising tide of arousal. It was a very stark reminder of how he had ended up in this position – in the hells, not on his knees. ---

2nd Result - Lucretius x Ketheric - 5 Lines

--- It was generally considered bad for business for a necromancer to balk or even hesitate when faced with a subject, but similarly most necromancers didn’t expect their quarry to be quite so immune to the dying part. 

Lucretius frowned at the groaning mass before her, turning her ire from one skeletal servant to another as her hands found a place on her hips. “Well? What am I supposed to do with this?” 

The man in the wheelbarrow groaned, the sound not unlike a death rattle yet still his carcass remained stubbornly animated – it was going to be a long day. ---

3rd Result - 3 Way Tie - 3 Lines Each

--- Haarlep x Wyll --- “It’s almost a shame your changes didn’t give you your own tail,” they smirked, watching his eyes flutter shut as they pressed another inch inside. “That’s it, relax, you are such a good boy, taking everything with that delightful look on your face.” Another moan freed itself without permission, his back arching as the incubus curled the tip of their tail to find every pleasurable nerve that was quickly heating into an inferno beyond even that of Avernus’ famed lava fields. ---

--- God!Gale x Bane x Gortash --- Bane struck an imposing figure, sat upon the arm of a throne far larger than his stature might require, yet all the same not looking the slightest bit out of place. Gale kept his goal in mind as he approached, already feeling the burning gaze of near-white eyes assessing him coldly.  “A fledgling god-child,” hollow words rang with the very essence of the Tyranny that the deity embodied, the dark smoke of twisted magic playing around the tips of cruel metal gauntlets…ones that brought to mind a certain gold— “to what do I owe the displeasure of your visit? Surely your Ambition does not mean to unseat me from the Dead Three.” ---

--- Abdirak x He Who Was --- "Flowers wilt, lovers pass, every wound will close and even the scars will fade…but does it make the sting any less divine in the slice of the blade? Is the blood less red because it will dry? Is the ache of the bruise absent in its nature to heal?" ---

4th Place, 2 Way Tie - 2 Lines Each

--- Raphael x Emperor --- “So, tell me,” the nobleman smiled, an expression not unlike a cat with its claws in the tail of its prey, “how is it that an illithid is sat at the head of the table, playing at being a grand protector – a Knight, to use your own title.” 

A chill spread through his body – this was no human sat with a glass of wine in his hand, no ordinary man could see through the powerful illusion spells that concealed his identity… ---

--- Raphael x Voss --- “Perhaps I should envy that Prince of yours, for the loyalty he has wrought – tougher and more precious than diamonds,” the cambion smiled with far too much charm. “Or is there, perchance, more to your desperation than the mere trifle of centuries of war against the Lich Queen who calls herself a god?”

Last Place - Honourable Mention - 1 Line I wish it to be known - Cactus I'm looking at you - that this singular snippet of an old plan does not count as breaking the Volo cleanse, I'm just very behind on this WIP Game.

--- Volo x Abdirak --- The long and drawn out screams of the prisoner in the next room were little comfort to the caged wizard – neither was the sound of heavy boots treading far too lightly towards his own cell. ---

New Year Writing Plans!

OK that's those samples done and this very belated post out of the way! I have started writing the winning fic, and should have it done this week. Then I plan to look at how I can finish my open longfics before the middle of the year, and make my way through all the other wild ideas that have been noted in my WIP planner in the meantime~ The Zines I have contributed to will be available soon too, I believe the Halsin Zine is still in the preorder phase, Astarion one is preparing for preorders, the Valentine's Day one is looking to be on schedule, and the Gale Zine is still in the content production phases so I'll be working on that piece (in secret, I'm afraid) very soon too~ I look forward to taking on more challenges, and just generally enjoying writing and sharing the fruits of my labours with you all. Thank you for playing along and voting! I may do more of these in the future~ Feel free to tag me in any WIP games too and remind me if I've forgotten to do them!

WIP List Tag Game

I was tagged by both @redroomroaving and @ineadhyn soooo here goes and I'll tag in @morb-untamed and @sweetmage and @hydropyro

Rules: Make a 24hr poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It’s fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count). Write 1 sentence for every vote received.

I'm going to take my WIP list here *AND* the piece with the most votes will get worked on in January and/or whenever I'm caught up on other things~

[dreamcatcherrs]

dating a faceless streamer/youtuber; mcyt x reader

+ this was a request, but it got deleted in my drafts ;-; sorry!

dream:

since he is also a faceless youtuber

he’s very understanding of keeping your privacy

and whatever reason you have to not reveal your face, he respects it

he knows what it’s like to have people tell him to face reveal

sometimes his voice will just appear in the back of your streams/videos

like in sapnap’s with the question about one direction

and chat is like, how long has he been here?????

the two of you would hint at a face reveal

and then after weeks brush it off like it was nothing

because you like to torture the fans, I guess🙄

because dream never has a face cam on

he has the perfect seat for you on his lap whenever he streams/films

and the same thing goes for when you film/stream; he’ll be sitting right next to you with his hand in yours or on your thigh

you’re known as the faceless couple

georgenotfound:

it really doesn't bother him at all that you’re a faceless streamer/youtuber

I don't see him as the type to post a whole lot of pictures with his s/o anyways

or something along those lines

so it wouldn't make a big difference to him

would just think it was funny to tease chat about knowing what you look like, when they don't

and then having them just hear you voice in the background of his videos sometimes

but not actually seeing you

he kinda likes that your relationship is more concealed

and that it’s harder for people to come at you when they don't know what you look like exactly, just because he’s dating you

because that would honestly be his biggest worry when revealing your relationship

so he’s happy that’s one less worry :)

sapnap:

does everything to not get people to beg for a face reveal

he doesn't want people to put that kind of pressure on you

especially if they go after you for it just because you're dating him

like, he will make a video about it if he has to

or tweet about it

the last thing he wants is for the fake fans to try and reveal your face or other things about you

when clearly that’s what you wanna keep private

that being said, he’d do so many streams with you

wether it’s gong against each other, or being on the same team

you always have so much fun together

even if you're literally in the same room together

if his face cam is on, he’d look over at you every now and then and send you a smile or some shit like that

there’s some pretty cute moments - expect a compilation

badboyhalo:

bad would be really proud to have an s/o who did youtube/streamed

and he would for sure help you out if you ever needed him to!

like with coding

or just general growth in your channel

wouldn't really care if you showed your face or not - whatever you're happy with makes him happy

he would just make sure that you never felt pressured to show your face

he knows people out there can be meanies

and come for you just because you don't show your face

and he’d always be there to talk to about it if it ever stressed you out

he would also make sure that you didn't hide your face because you didn’t like it or something like that

and if that was the case, you bet he’d be reassuring you

calling your all kinds of sweet things and show you lots of love

he takes lots of pictures of his two favourite girls

you and rat, of course (without showing your face, obviously)

technoblade:

he actually really likes that you're a faceless streamer/youtuber

like, he doesn't notice how much he likes it

before he realises all of the times you'd sneaked some hand-holding while streaming, or shared little kisses when on mute wouldn't have been possible if you both didn't show your faces

you’d share these secret glances when streaming/filming together

and no one would even know about it

sometimes his chat hears a little talking in the background from you

but techno just brushes it off like you weren't sitting right next to him the entire time

and vice versa

he also just stays with you when you're working

sharing small touches and words

chat also notice eventually how much you gush over each other without noticing

it happens A LOT more than you realise

especially from his side🤭

wilbur soot:

okay so

I think wilbur would have a hard time not showing you off to stream every second of the day

he would just always talk about you and want you there with him in his streams

and miss your touch after 5 minutes of being apart

but would be totally respectful of you wanting to remain faceless

he would just talk to you from an angle where chat couldnt see you

but yeah, he loves that you do the same type of job as him

and most of all, you motivate each other on days where you can't be bothered to even get out of bed

you’re definitely that couple that everyone makes cute compilations of

and that everyone strives to be

chat loves you, what more can I say

corpse husband:

ANOTHER FACELESS COUPLE

the power you two hold over everyone is actually immaculate

you stream/film together all the time

just having fun and being yourselves

he would definitely ask if you could join the games he plays with others when streaming

and if that wasn't possible, he’d just get you to come into his room and be part of it that way

he teases you a lot on stream

both cutely and mischievously

and your viewers are like👀

while his chat is just going crazy

you share lots of giggles

like, seriously, the majority of the videos/streams consists of you two laughing your asses off

you two will forever be known as the faceless couple

even if you both face reveal, that’ll always be your title

skeppy:

zak will find a way to show you off no matter what

he just can't resist

the way his heart is always beating out of his chest because of you is just too much for him to not ever show you to the world

but of course with your consent only

he wouldn't ever pressure you or anything

but since you're only remaining faceless

you can expect LOTS of matching outfit pictures taken in the mirror

and just lots of pictures of you in general

with your face blocked out or not in view, of course

you'd always be helping each other with your setups or videos

and he’d want to introduce you to literally everyone he knows

especially bad

you don't necessarily stream/film a lot with each other

but you're always in each others’ company in some shape or form

he always mentions you in his streams

just small stories or conversations

chat can tell he’s head over heels for you

karl jacobs:

he's the most support person everrr

he’d always be celebrating even the tiniest achievements with you

you hit 2k subs? he’ll treat you to an expensive ass dinner

you hit 1 million subs? he’ll buy you a whole room full of filming gear to improve from your previous ones

you managed to finish that one video you've been struggling with? he takes you on a weekend trip to somewhere you’ve always wanted to go

he’ll beg you to join him in is streams

just so he can hold your hand :)

or laugh with you every once in a while

he doesn't need you to face reveal at all

your company is all that matters to him when it includes the rest of the world

I mean, he’s the one able to see your beautiful face all the time, so he can't really complain even if he felt like it

always tweets about you or tweets things at you that only you two understand

and everyone is like ?????

but you don't care :)

fundy:

fundy actually doesn't talk a lot about you in his streams or videos

mostly to avoid people leaving bad light on you in the chat

unless he’s in the same game as you, of course

which in that case, the first thing he’d want to do is find you and talk to you in the game

he’s very respectful of you keeping your face private

and tries his best to keep the pressure of a face reveal off your shoulders

especially if it’s happening in his or your comments

if it gets really bad, he’ll eventually talk about it on twitter or something like that

does tiktoks with you

only with your voice though

and posts manyyy pictures where you’re tagged, but only slightly in view

he doesn't really care about your face being a secret

as long as he gets to see it, he’s happy

quackity:

alex has so much fun making videos or going live with you

and obviously you have the best collabs

you’re the funniest couple on the platform and it shows

he would talk so much about you - like, telling embarrassing stories about you or some shit like that

or saying how clingy you are with him

and chat would be like AWW HE TALKS ABOUT THEM

and he's like “no”😤

but alex can't fool anyone

he’s in it for real with you🥴

and at times, he doesn't even try to hide it

especially when he speaks up about ho proud he is of you

and how people should respect your choice of remaining faceless to the world

but then he quickly moves on to his silly self again

with blushy cheeks ^w^

punz:

has you on his lap constantly

even when his hand-cam is on

nothing will stop him from making you sit on his lap while he’s streaming

he loves that he can rant to you about the problems he faces sometimes concerning his streams

because you get it

he’d teach you the games you didn't know of

and you'd teach him the games that he didn't know of

and then you'd stream/film together after learning the basics

he doesn't talk about you a lot on stream

but chat eventually figures out it’s because you're literally in the same room as him

and how do they find that out, you may ask?

well, your snores coming from his headphones made it very obvious to say the least

awesamdude:

sam knows what it’s like being a faceless streamer

so if you wanted, he’d give you all of the advice you needed

and if you ever considered face revealing, he'd totally help you!

you guys have matching setups 

you sometimes talk to each other across the room as you're playing the same game together

because it’s funny to tease chat that way

you’d be posting pictures on social media

that give off hints that you're with each other a lot

like, in one photo he’s wearing a hoodie

and the next day, you post a photo of you in that exact same hoodie

stuff like that

he also celebrates big and small achievements with you

wether it be you achieving them or him, you always celebrate together

eret:

matching. outfits.

STRAWBERRY DRESSES

PLATFORM HEELS

ahhhh chat would be going absolutely crazy at the fits you guys have sometimes

and you're always matching

as in always

he tells their stream that you have a matching crown like his

but that chat obviously can't see it on you because you don’t have a face-cam

she likes telling stories about you

like, memories they have of you two together

and he just always compliments you and praises you for your hard work on her streams

telling everyone how happy you make them

she also always invites you to join his streams because it means a lot to them that you're there :)

jack manifold:

jack is so excited about the fact that you're also a streamer/youtuber

it makes it easier to open up about your relationship online

because some people already knew you before you revealed you two were dating

though I feel like jack would kinda like the secrecy of your face online

just to brag to his audience about how he gets to see your face every day

but also because he likes that there’s more privacy for you

sometimes he’d pop into your room without knowing you were streaming/filming

and would just start talking to you while you giggled about how you were “kinda in the middle of something”

when jack realised what you meant, he’d hurry out of the room in an instant

you’d always be in each others chats/comments

showing what a supportive couple you were

he always raids you at the end of his streams if you’re streaming at the same time

tommyinnit:

tommy always forgets that you're a faceless streamer/youtuber

and is sometimes sooo close to blurting out something he shouldn't

because he’s so used to seeing you, he just kinda forgets that no one else can

you always have to send him a text to “sToP TalKIng AbOUt yOu” so he doesn't accidentally reveal something

that being said, he literally talks so much about you

again, I’m bringing up that time he said that tubbo is so clingy

he says the same thing about you

but he’s really the clingy one, and it’s pretty obvious

you catch him saying things like “yeah, y/n is really cool”

or “guys, please don't say stuff like that to y/n”

getting all serious and shit🥺

he asks you constantly if you can join his vc

even when you're busy, he’s like “pay. attention. to. me😤”

it’s really entertaining sometimes

especially when his streams just consist of you two bickering the whole time

calls you his favourite woman

tubbo:

ahhh tubbo is so sweet when it comes to you

like, when anyone mentions you he just starts smiling

and wants to tell everyone about you

even if they already know you from your channel

he just can't help but ramble on about you

especially to tommy

he replies to all of your tweets

and you reply to all of his

you always feature each other on your channels/streams

and share a celebratory cake when reaching subgoals

sometimes chat notices similarities in your layouts

like a colour change

or a similar pattern

posts a photo of your pinkies intertwined

wearing matching bracelets you made yourself

and everyone finds it super cute<3

ranboo:

he would encourage you so much to join his videos

and wear the same type of outfit to cover your face with

but with a sense of yourself in it so you'd look similar, but not exactly like each other

you'd be matching outfits so often

doesn't talk a lot about you on his streams

apart from mentioning how short you are

but on TWITTER

that's a whole other story

his twitter has practically just become a fan account of you

he’s always in your comments

just to leave a :)

or a supportive comment

if you ever wanted to do a face reveal

he would do it with you if it meant making you feel more comfortable about it

or less nervous

you’re just very lowkey and cute

___________________________________

tag list✰

@zayenz @terribletoothbat @0t0n1n @0125cm @yukiuheh @shinee-is-5-forever @regularnoceur @b01nk-b0w@christhebish@nutritious-emo-crackkk@bookishreid@giavanna-707 @reddiesmcdonalds@cosmins@vixxzial@autumnpleaves@paradigmax@meaganjm@shiningsunrises@moralofwalls@username1212131@gxldentaestuff@innitdream @televisionpresent38 @bubblyanis@zurami @highoffhockey @popinjaytaylor@196os@livsbaby@doubts-of-gold@bunlina@retrav @mcyt-is-my-life@aleaisntcreative @my-shitpost-of-writing @my-shitpost-of-writing @clownsdrowning @pissbabywastaken@shiningsunrises @tie-dyed-dumbass @death-by-rats@simpfordraco @bippity-boppity-boopa@neongreendaydreams  @vibin-by-myself@littlepotatos0w0@christhebish @pipp-poppz@btsiguess-kpop@prettysmallfries@hiyoko-kos@kenmxskitten@fudrudy@weepingartanimespy@rhino-zucchini@goldenstarofthunderclan@melonmarz@ubeicecreamisthebest@polaroidinurroom @ady-yoo@isimpforeveryone@edenhollandd@ineedtogetoutofhere@glitter-night @hamilsandersfam@mothheart-witch @wrong-exit@trashcanfullofdork  @hellfirepheonixx @marshmallow-babe@isimpforeveryone @ky50621 @randomcloud@wormie4k@dinonuggies50  @p4rty-t4ttoos@aspenthegremlin@book-of-anarchy @jeyacore @thetattooink@gogywasfound@millavalntyne@junob1ade@ubeicecreamisthebest@karida @i-have-paws-love@drvgonraja@eatasslikegrass@creamofweep@venusomega@lunarfedora@rowe-n @wreny24 @vincent-stargogh @floatingplanets​ @vernon-dursley​ @childhoodgrunge​ @fivxss @hexagonclash​ @crazyjuls12​ @littlebabysandboxburritos @shifted-dreams@lenamarie666 @reinyrei @sozvuchiy @weaslvy-mxlfoy​ @aiofheavenandhell​ @honeyglaazed @carisle-mikealson​ @ineedtogetoutofhere​ @twist3dtinkerbell@cracraforfandoms@angel-dazey @leia-starly @smiithys​ @squiddyyyy​ @c0wc0ww​ @animeweeb019284​ @m00-bl00m-k0le @stqrs-thoughts @jenlouvre @uhhhguiltypleasures​ @trappedchest​ @punzrights​ @trashgremlin36​ @cyberrsoot​ @elebeleb​ @k3nn3dis-crap​ @karlshoodies​ @rascal-in-banishment​

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

India Lima Yankee - Chapter 38

Pairing: Rooster x Female OC

Word Count: 2423

Warnings: Anxiety about death, some swearing

Summary: Juliette Kazansky discovers Maverick is back in town for a special training detachment, but she's more than a little blindsided when Rooster arrives too. Having not spoken to him for almost ten years after their less than amicable break-up, Juliette can only imagine how the next few weeks are going to play out when she remains head over heels in love with him while he wants nothing to do with Juliette other than to forget her.

Or so she thinks.

Notes: Chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: Natural Born For This

Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11 Chp 12 Chp 13 Chp 14 Chp 15 Chp 16 Chp 17 Chp 18 Chp 19 Chp 20 Chp 21 Chp 22 Chp 23 Chp 24 Chp 25 Chp 26 Chp 27 Chp 28 Chp 29 Chp 30 Chp 31 Chp 32 Chp 33 Chp 34 Chp 35 Chp 36 Chp 37 Chp 38

Rooster

"Your target is a clear and present threat," Warlock's powerful and steady voice said, ensuring all pilots standing before him could hear the briefing. Cyclone and Juliette stood up front with him, the latter with her head down and eyes trained on the ground beneath her feet. "A secret uranium enrichment site under rogue state control. It's an underground bunker tucked between these two mountains. Your route of ingress is heavily defended by surface-to-air missiles backed up by fifth-generation fighters. Once your F-18 strike team crosses the border, Tomahawk missiles from the USS Leyte Gulf will launch a synchronized strike on the enemy's airfield here. This will knock out their runway. But you'll have to contend with any planes already in the air. The moment those Tomahawks hit, the enemy will know you're coming. Your time to target will be two minutes and thirty seconds. Any longer than that, and you will be exposed to any aircraft the Tomahawk missiles may have missed."

"This is what you've all been training for," Cyclone finished, staring each pilot in the eye. "Come home safely."

Rooster nervously scanned the room, attempting to gauge his fellow pilots' feelings. Maverick's expression was thoughtful; Phoenix appeared determined and Bob slightly nervous. Hangman acted concerned, his face scrunched and jaw clenched. 

Then there was Juliette, who wore no expression, and that, to Rooster, was the most telling one of all. She moved alongside Cyclone and Warlock since she'd been invited to be in the command room during the mission. However, Juliette stopped in front of Rooster when their paths crossed, her entire body tensed. He wanted to kiss her one last time, to show his love to her one last time, in case he never came back because it was dawning on him now the gravity of the situation. Training had been one thing, and he'd felt confident during it that he was the right pilot for the job. However, now that it'd finally arrived, Rooster began double-guessing himself. Maybe he wasn't the right pilot. Maybe the position of Dagger 2 should've gone to someone else. Maybe he wasn't this phenomenal pilot he believed himself to be. Sure, he belonged to the best of the best, but what did that mean at the end of the day when they potentially faced going up against superior enemy aircraft if they didn't complete the canyon run in the allotted time? What would happen if he went too fast in the canyon? Would he crash into the sides of the mountains? Accidentally go above the hundred-foot threshold and get nailed by a SAM? Leaving Juliette to mourn him when he promised her he'd return? Leaving Maverick full of regret and grief? What if Maverick himself died? Leaving Rooster with a hole in his heart at having cut him out of his life over something he now realized Mav didn't do alone? If his mom had truly asked Maverick to pull his papers, then Mav hadn't done it just because he didn't think Rooster wasn't ready. He was fulfilling the favor of a sister with little life left to live.

"I'll see you soon, Lieutenant," Juliette said, stepping up to him. She smiled sympathetically. "I know that face, Bradley. Stop overthinking. You've got this."

"I know," Rooster lied, hoping if he said the words, he'd believe them. He didn't. "I'll see you soon, Juliette." 

His eyes flicked over to Maverick, who passed behind her. She followed his line of sight momentarily and, realizing who Rooster stared at, said gently, "It's not too late, you know."

"I think it might be. I said some things to him that I can't take back and-"

"It's never too late. You and I are a testament to that." She reached out and grabbed hold of his bicep, squeezing it. "No matter what you've said to him, he will forgive you. Trust me. Go see him before you take off."

Bradley nodded, but his feet wouldn't budge, not when he noticed the thinly-veiled terror in Juliette's eyes. Without a word, Rooster wrapped his arms around her, and she willingly returned the embrace, clutching to him like this would be the last time she saw him. For all either of them knew, it might be.

"Remember. Don't think. Do," Jules whispered, tightening her grip on him when he kissed the crook of her neck. "I love you."

"I love you, too. I'll be back for you, Juliette. I promise."

He could feel her reluctance as she pulled away from him. "I know, because there will be hell to pay if you don't."

Juliette kissed him on the cheek, then parted ways. Rooster's feet moved on their own accord. He kept his head bent down, mulling over her words, her advice, and his potentially short future. As he set foot on the flight deck, he found himself face to face with Hangman, who wore an unreadable expression. He studied Rooster intently, silently coming to terms that his biggest rival had taken the spot he'd so desperately wanted on the team. Before, Rooster would've gladly lorded it over him, but now that the time was finally here, no words would form. Finally, Jake shouted over the roaring of jet engines coming to life, "You give 'em hell!"

Bradley gave a slight nod, all he could muster because in the distance, he saw Maverick doing a check of his plane.

It's never too late, you know. Juliette's voice echoed in his head. Don't think. Do.

Fuck it. Rooster might be dying today, and he didn't want to die feeling guilty for cutting Maverick out of his life when he shouldn't have. He didn't want to die having made Maverick, the man who had been a father to him, feel like he didn't belong in the Bradshaw family. Pete Mitchell may not have held the Bradshaw name, but he belonged in the family as much as Bradley did. That was his dad, maybe not by blood, but by bond.

"Sir!" Rooster said, his voice weaker than intended. Maverick didn't hear him, or he was ignoring the aviator since his attention remained on his plane. Swallowing his nerves, Rooster repeated more loudly, "Sir?"

Maverick turned around, surprise and hesitation on his face. Considering what had been said the last time Rooster initiated a conversation with the decorated captain, he couldn't blame him. "I... I just wanted to say-"

Radio chatter cut him off, instructing all pilots to their aircraft. Rooster's heart dropped. He was out of time.

Bradley faced Maverick, trying to think of something, anything, to say to him in the few seconds they had left before they got in their planes, but nothing came to mind.

"We'll talk," Maverick said, breaking the silence and offering a slight smile, "when we get back."

Rooster nodded and turned away. It seemed like Maverick knew what he had wanted to say but couldn't.

"Hey, Bradley! Bradley! Hey!" Maverick called, causing the young aviator to whirl back around expectantly. The captain stared proudly at Rooster and declared confidently, "You got this."

You got this. Perhaps Maverick did believe him. Perhaps he hadn't been chosen as Dagger Two as a mere apology for what had happened almost twenty years ago. Bradley might have the ability to pull this off after all.

Climbing into his plane, Rooster prepped himself for takeoff. The canopy closed above him. He patted his chest pocket, comforted by the weight of his father's ring in it. Normally, he had his mom's ring on him too, but it resided safely with Juliette now, and Rooster wouldn't have it any other way. By the end of today, he prayed it would be slipping it onto her left ring finger.

"Dagger One, up and ready on Catapult One." Maverick's voice cut through the radio, cementing the fact they were really about to do this. Rooster's heart pounded madly.

"Dagger Spare, standing by," Hangman confirmed.

"Dagger Four, up and ready," Payback said, followed by Phoenix with, "Dagger Three, up and ready."

Rooster lowered his visor. "Dagger Two, up and ready."

"Support assets airborne," a comms officer added. "Strike package ready. Standing by for launch decision."

An eternity seemed to pass before Cyclone ordered, "Send them."

One by one, the Dagger team launched, save for Hangman, who remained at the ready on the catapult if needed. The group rose above the white clouds. Rooster savored the freedom of the open air before the mission truly began.

Maverick said, "Commanche, Dagger One. Stand by check-in."

"Commanche 11, set. Picture clean. Recommend Dagger continue."

"Copy. Daggers descending below radar." Maverick lowered his plane. Rooster, Phoenix, and Payback followed suit. They flew through the clouds, and suddenly, the brightness of the sun disappeared, replaced by a grim and ominous gray. It set Rooster's already frayed nerves on edge.

"Daggers now below radar," the comms officer declared. "Switching to E-2 picture."

"Here we go," Maverick said, "Enemy territory up ahead. "Feet dry in 60 seconds. Comanche, Dagger One. Picture."

"Comanche. Picture clean. Decision is yours."

Rooster barely heard Maverick's response, too busy looking out over the water less than eighty feet below him and growing closer. A false image, one that had formed in his head as a young child and had never left, appeared once more in his mind: his dad's lifeless body floating in the dark waves, Maverick clinging to him alongside the echoes of Carole Bradshaw's sobs. Would Rooster end up like his dad in the canyon river? Would Juliette live through what his mom did? Losing the love of her life? Would the dark waters swallow up Maverick next? Would Juliette be mourning the man who had been a second father to her? Would she be grieving for both of them?

"Dagger attack," Mav ordered, temporarily interrupting Rooster's spiraling train of thought. He looked up as the Tomahawks soared above them seconds later. "Daggers, assume attack formation."

Rooster lined his plane up behind Phoenix, Payback behind him. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but his earlier thoughts were coming back in full force as the canyon rapidly approached. Even when Maverick and the rest of the squadron marked the beginning of their run, Rooster could barely focus. Insecurities, doubts, and fears that had been nagging him in the back of his mind returned full force. The SAMs overhead, pointed at the sky and ready to attack, did nothing to help.

You're not ready for this.

You're not cut out for this.

You're going to crash and burn.

You're going to break your promise to Juliette and her heart.

You're going to die.

Rooster felt himself slowing down. If he didn't go as fast, there was less of a risk of crashing, of dying, of leaving Juliette to-

"We're a few seconds behind, Rooster. We gotta move," Payback informed, keeping close. 

"Dagger, Comanche. We're picking up two bandits. Single group, two contacts."

"Comanche, what's their heading?" Phoenix asked, worry tinging her tone.

"Bull's eye, zero-nine-zero-fifty, tacked southwest."

"They're headed away from us," Rooster said, allowing some relief to wash over him. "They don't know we're here."

"The second those Tomahawks hit the air base, those bandits are gonna move to defend the target," Maverick warned, causing Rooster's brief relief to evaporate. "We need to get to the target before they do. Increase speed."

"We got you, Mav. Don't wait for me," Phoenix responded.

More SAMs passed overhead, and despite being inanimate objects, Rooster thought they appeared all too willing and ready and excited to shoot down anyone who didn't belong in the skies. Someone like him. He needed to increase his speed. He knew he needed to. It would be the only way to get to the target before the bandits intercepted him. There was nothing he could do against fifth-generation fighters in an F-18, but going faster meant risking crashing into the mountainside or going above a hundred feet. It's not like he hadn't successfully done this course before, but he hadn't had cliffsides on either side of him during the entire trip, nor missiles ready and waiting to knock him out of the sky, nor actual enemy planes nearby flying superior aircraft. No. This was real, and the slightest mistake could cost him not only his life but, more importantly, grief to those he loved. How could he do that to them?

Suddenly, he understood why his mom wanted Maverick to pull his papers. She wanted to protect him because she knew he wasn't ready to be a pilot, that he'd never be ready, not to the caliber he wanted to be, not to Maverick's level. 

No. 

That's not why his mom had Mav pull his papers. She'd been terrified her son would meet the same fate as his father. And, even though he lived the life she dreaded him having, she would be looking out for him right now, just like his dad was... weren't they?

"Bandits are switching course to defend the target," Comanche informed, sending a new wave of panic through Bradley's blood.

"Rooster, where are you?" Maverick inquired. He didn't respond. Words weren't forming again, a side effect of his nerves. He had to get it together if he were to survive this. His hand hovered over the throttle. All it required from Bradley was a push, but those loud, nagging doubts and insecurities and fears stopped his hand from doing what it needed to do.

"Come on, Rooster!" Payback urged. "Bandits inbound! We got to make up time now. Let's turn and burn!"

"Guys, we're falling behind!" Fanboy warned, sounding more than a little stressed. "We really gotta move!"

"If we don't increase our speed right now, those bandits are gonna be waiting for us when we reach the target."

Rooster blinked his eyes, taking deep breaths. The weight of Goose's ring heavy in his chest pocket, Bradley whispered, "Talk to me, Dad."

Unless he was mistaken, he heard Maverick respond, "Come on, Kid, you can do it. Don't think. Just do."

Don't think. Just do.

Don't think. Do.

Maverick and Juliette's words overwhelmed everything else running through Rooster's mind, and letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, he hit the throttle.

He could do this. 

He would do this.

"Jesus, Rooster, not that fast!" Payback exclaimed.

Bradley ignored the protest and confidently responded, "All right. Let's go."

The cliffsides blurred past him, but he ignored them. He wouldn't think about anything other than one singular thought: I'm coming home to you, Juliette. I'm not leaving you again.

***

Tags: @lgg5989 @shanimallina87 @polikszena @summ3rlotus @souslesyeuxde @gleasonmalfoy @icemansgirl1999 @supernaturaldawning @thedarkinmansfield @lyannaforpresident @lapilark @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @simpofthecentury @shadeops21 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @double-j @picklejuicesposts @bradshawsandbridgetons @majdoline @jakexfmc @catsandgeekyandnerd @d0nt-638

[prof-peach]

Can you tell more about the Lycanroc that you just rescued please?

He came in as an aggressive patient, no one else would deal with him, I got an email from Kukui about a week ago about him, apparently so angry no one could handle him to check his health or wellbeing, and rehiring was out of the question at this point. He occasionally sends me cases like this to save them being put down, so I took the big guy without too much info.

He got sent with a file about a day later, the file had limited information. His name was once Rocco, though he has no response to it, he lived in a dog pokemons hoard, and seemed to be mixed with a lot of other, far bigger, far meaner Pokemon, so he became aggressive as a means of defence, like a lot of pup Pokemon can tend to do when pushed like this. He killed another Pokemon while in the care of this trainer, and thus got moved on, as they deemed him too much to handle. Quite frankly the trainers facilities were questionable, with further investigation Kukui had called Pokemon protection on them, and had 27 other Pokemon taken away from them, all with various different issues, luckily none as bad as this Lycanroc apparently. They got moved on to better homes, and from what I’ve heard, they’ve made good progress.

Now this Lycanroc is a midday form, a bit tatty looking and skinny at this point in time, he’s been with us a week, and has never been walked apparently, no vaccinations, no real core training other than brute force battling. First day in the facilities he bolted and went for Valka my dear vulpix, to no avail. She just picked him up and put him back in the kennel space, didn’t even flinch at him. Day two I made a critical error of trying to get a muzzle on him without Val as backup, damn thing slipped my hold and cracked me with his rocky collar, leaving me needing many stitches, and from the looks of it, probably permanently scared now. I went back after getting sewn back up the same day and confronted him, this time with a more functional team with me to handle him. Got a muzzle on him, got a good look at his body after he tired himself out thrashing around. Covered in fleas, utterly riddled with old bite scars, he was no doubt picked on by the other Pokemon he lived with. He is nervous as all hell, that’s all his behaviour is, fear.

Often aggression from Pokemon is just a way of expressing deep seated fear, nervousness is a real issue with Pokemon who aren’t socialised, who are picked on by other species, and who don’t get exposed to the world around them. After checking him over we left him to chill out, for the first time in his life as far as we know, alone from any other Pokemon, while we decided the best method for healing him, and who would suit his temperament best. I’ve personally got a midnight Lycanroc who came back with me from Galar not too long ago, so I was the one to take his case, being a bit use to the breed compared to the others, plus personal pride didn’t like that he got that hit on me so easily. Perhaps it’s wrong of me, but I don’t like to let this kind of behaviour beat me, so I dig my heels in normally when I get clipped by something.

Day 4 of his stay, he’s snapping at any Pokemon who comes close to the secure unit he’s staying in, Val is with me at all times now to make sure he’s kept in check when I’m not watching. She’s fearless, and he hates it, but now, after 4 days of her being stoic and unnerving, he’s not confronting her, and in turn looking at me with a bit more hesitation. In the Pokemons mind he’s probably looking at her like ‘oh shit you and that human are a team? Well I don’t want to mess with that right now’ and he’s skulking off to the back of his kennel space, instead of going nuts at the fence towards us. Good progress, less confrontational for now.

Day 5 we tried to get a walk in, short lead, muzzle, generally quite controlled, he didn’t like it to start with, but the island has...I don’t know, something oddly calming about it. We took a few laps, and he spent most of it fighting me for control, until we hit the lake, where he seemed to mellow out for a short while.

It’s going to be a long schedule of daily training, constant assertion of the pack and who’s boss, which is me, not him, much to his dismay. He’s got a huge prey drive, and is nervous with other Pokemon, but otherwise he’s just stressed out. I think time here will do him well. We’re working on respect and hierarchy, basic stuff like ‘sit’ and ‘hold’ for the most part. He’s snapped at me since but not as much.

I will try to update folks as he goes along his recovery, he’s not ready for other Pokemon yet, and certainly not one I’d have out and off a good strong lead, without other team mates around. Hopefully we can get him manageable and find him a good home. Building trust between him and other people is the start right now, he knocked me back but didn’t scare me off, and that rattled him, so he’s behaving a BIT better for now. Want to chase Tauros though, like, fiercely.

His fleas are being treated, he’s getting good meals he doesn’t have to fight for, and despite guarding his food (which is understandable) he’s not showing any physical illness luckily.

[vizowrites]

My BlitzStrike Twins: Headcanons and Shenanigans~ [probably with a bit of my M&M kids thrown in just for fun]

So today I got a couple of fantastic asks about Blitz and Striker as parents, and since there seemed to be a pretty positive response to them--and because @helluva-simp​ is amazing and encouraged me to be brave enough to write this up--I thought I’d go ahead and make a full post of my headcanons for these two little devils.  I really do love the hell out of them and hope you guys enjoy hearing about them too!!  <3 <3

Twist’s and Ty’s full names are Twister and Typhoon but literally nobody calls them by their full names ever so they like to make the joke of “the ‘-er’ and the ‘-phoon’ are silent”

Ty is actually the older of the two [though not by much] but everyone thinks that Twist is because his name is always called first.  It’s always “Twist and Ty” [or just collectively “Twist-Ty”] instead of “Ty and Twist”.  Ty honestly doesn’t mind that much as far as following after his brother goes, just don’t make the mistake of trying to label him as the younger of the two.  There are a lot of things Ty’s perfectly content to let Twist take the lead in, but having the title of “the older twin” is just going too far.

Twist and Ty are mirror twins, meaning that they’re mostly identical except for a few key things: 1. Twist is left handed and Ty is right handed, 2. they both have heterochromia but Twist’s eyes are Left: Red | Right: Green-Gold whereas Ty’s eyes are Left: Green-Gold | Right: Red, 3. Twist has a birthmark on his right hand and Ty has his birthmark on his left hand--and yes when you put the two marks together, they form a design not unlike the heart shaped one on Blitz’s forehead :) 

Both of the twins are incredibly agile, but Twist is faster and Ty is more flexible

Striker affectionately calls Twist “Whirlwind” because of said fastness

Blitz affectionately calls Ty “Noodle” because of said flexibility

.....Though it should be noted that it’s not all fun and games because Twist is CONSTANTLY crashing into things or tripping over his own two feet from going too fast, and Ty is so flexible that he’s able to contort himself into positions that honestly make both of his parents throw up a little in their mouths with the split-second panic of “OH GOD OUR BABY WAS BORN WITHOUT BONES!!”  DX DX  They’re both usually just fine tho!!  :D

As noted in an earlier post--but I want to say it here too--Twist’s first word was “Bang!” and Ty’s first word was “Fuck!”  Twist was the first one to talk, though, and it made Striker and Blitz second guess the context of his first word by the time Ty said his. XD

Another thing that was noted in another post but I want to put it here too is that Twist and Ty have incredibly high self esteem and both Striker and Blitz wouldn’t have it any other way

Twist is dyslexic and so gets easily frustrated when he has to read a book, but he love love LOVES the hell out of stories.....and so Ty is almost constantly making up random stories to tell him

This actually also works out well in Ty’s favor because Ty’s attention span is about as short as Blitz’s patience and he has a lot more fun telling stories than he does sitting still long enough to read the ones that other people made up unless it’s a book about something he’s reeeeeeally interested in

It’s also made Ty hella good at bullshitting on the fly, which I think most of the older/adult members of his family wish he was a lot less convincing at

Twist knows how to lie and is a natural at acting, but his flair for the over-dramatics tends to give him a way a lot easier than his twin

They both have what I’m calling a “hierarchy of obedience” within their family which really translates into a range of “eh I can think about maybe listening to this person sometimes” to “oh SHIT I need to listen to this person 5 fucking minutes ago”.  For Twist, his hierarchy of obedience is: Millie --> Blitz --> Striker --> Loona --> Moxxie.  For Ty, his hierarchy of obedience is: Loona --> Millie --> Blitz --> Striker.....and Moxxie doesn’t even make the list for him because honestly I’m pretty sure Ty just naturally tunes him out most of the time and not even fully on purpose.  As he puts it: “You just have one of those voices”. XD

Ty can sleep literally anywhere and on anything.  I’m pretty sure there have been mornings where Blitz and Striker have to play the game of 'Where the hell is my kid??' because they THOUGHT that he went to sleep in his bed like their other child did but NOPE they go into their room in the morning to get them out of bed and are just like, “.....Twist where the hell is your brother??” and Twist just gives an innocent shrug and says, “I don’t know--probably on the roof or something.” u3u and goes out into the kitchen to make himself breakfast--and then two seconds later Blitz and Striker hear him calling out “NEVER MIND!  HE’S IN THE OVEN!!” and that starts off a whole new kind of panic because they know damn well that Twist’s favorite thing to have for breakfast is cinnamon rolls XD

Twist’s laughter is infectious--this really cute witch-like cackling that just bubbles out of him in the most adorably genuine way when he’s that delighted about someting

Ty does this adorable thing where--when he sticks his tongue out at someone--he flicks it in a very snake-like fashion and even gives the tiniest of hisses in lieu of a raspberry when he does it

Ty also manages to twist himself into the most uncomfortable-looking positions when he sleeps but rest assured, he’s never been more comfy

Twist’s tail never stays still.  It is constaintly flicking to and fro, back and forth, swishing and swirling like a cat’s tail, and he loves flicking it in front of people’s faces to get their attention

Twist in general doesn’t really stay still very often but the one time he did was when Ty broke his arm--and then he spent almost every moment of the day and night plastered to his side because he knew it was driving Ty crazy not being as mobile as he usually is while having to wear a cast

The twins really don’t ever go that far apart from each other.  If you look and only see the one, you can rest assured that the other one is around somewhere nearby and it’s probably not a good sign for you if you can only see the one.

Ty is much more of a biter when it comes to self-defense and Twist always goes straight to using his claws

Twist is the outwardly more protective twin and is vicious with his words when defending his brother.  He will force every last ounce of moisture out of your body from how hard he makes you cry.

Ty, on the other hand, will fuck you up hard physically if you try to hurt his twin--and Lucifer himself would not be able to save you if you actually do hurt his twin

As they get older, and their sexualities and gender develop and grow, Twist would discover that he’s a nonbinary he/they homosexual panromantic and Ty would discover that he’s a genderfluid he/she pansexual homoromantic

The above being said, both Twist and Ty wholeheartedly say “fuck you and your gender norms” from a very young age and well into their teenage and adult years, with Twist enjoying painting his nails and Ty carrying all of his stuff around in a purse--and they both have a preference for wearing high heeled shoes [Ty because he just likes being tall in general and Twist because he likes being specifically taller than his parents because it drives them crazy XD]

Twist and Ty’s best friend is “Missi” [Moxxie and Millie’s eldest daughter, Missile] and she’s honestly an absolute hero for putting up with as many of their shenanigans as she does

Whenever they go out on family outings, Twist is that kid who just NEVER wants to leave--and so Blitz usually, after spending ten minutes of trying to get him in the damn van and Striker even using his Dad Tone (TM) and that not working, will just be like, “Alright kiddo, I tried playing nice.  You asked for this.”  And he puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles with a, “Loona Sweetie?  Fetch.” >3 And Loona gets the BIGGEST grin on her face and Twist gets the biggest “oh shit I’m so fucking screwed” look on his face and Ty--who’s honestly probably very awkwardly coiled up in Striker’s arms because after a long day of family fun he’s tired af and decided that he doesn’t want to use his limbs anymore--just kind of looks over at his twin and says, “I believe in you, but also maybe try to run faster than last time” u3u

I think that they would both love their Auntie Barbie a lot and she would have soooooooo much fun teaching them different circus tricks--especially how to yeet each other back and forth on the trapeze XD

I also think that their Auntie Barbie would really love just how close they are.....and probably inspire her to make up for lost time in her relationship with her own twin too

For some reason I can’t shake the thought of the twins being great at acapella and I have no idea why but I’m also ttly here for it XD

In school, I feel like Twist’s favorite class would be Art [he loves to paint and happily makes all kinds of messes with his “expressing creativity”] and Ty’s favorite class would be P.E./Gym [because he loves testing the limits of his physical body]

Family game nights are always fun in their household because usually what happens is Twist and Ty team up against Blitz and Striker, and while they’re in the middle of duking it out, Loona ends up getting a monopoly on every street and is just like, “Pay up fuckers.” u3u

Moxxie and Millie both love and hate babysitting for the twins because on the one hand, they love them to pieces and love seeing how well they get along with their three kids, but on the other hand.....the twins keep finding Millie’s strap on and putting it on their middle child [Mark]’s head and calling him a “cockicorn” XD

Ty’s favorite food is ramen noodles and Twist spent three weeks [and probably set their kitchen on fire at least twice] learning how to make them with JUST the right flavor profile that he knows his brother likes the best

While I think both of the twins know that they can talk to their dads about anything, I think that they still keep their most personal thoughts reserved only to themselves and each other

Twist’s favorite type of weaponry tends to be more of the flashy ‘sharp and pointy’ kind whereas Ty’s favorite type of weaponry tends to be more of the aggressive ‘point and shoot’ kind.  However I honestly kind of think that in terms of what they’d use themselves in the field, Twist’s primary weapon of choice would be a whip [though he would definitely have some throwing knives and handheld revolvers in his back pocket too] and Ty’s primary weapon of choice is honestly poisons.  Assume that everything this kid has that he throws at you--be it a knife or a bullet or even a fucking cannonball--is poisoned somehow.

They both definitely play wrestle like Blitz and Barbie did as kids.....and just like Blitz and Barbie, they also get their horns tangled together more than once and need to have someone come rescue them.  There’s almost always a photo taken that gets posted to Voxtigram first tho. XD  

There are plenty more headcanons where this came from but I feel like this is already waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too fucking long so I’m going to go ahead and stop here for tonight!!  If you guys are interested in hearing more about these two, please please please feel free to let me know and I’d be happy to write up a Part 2 to this, or just overall write up a quick little oneshot with them in it, or if you want to send me specific questions about them that I can answer, feel free to do so!!  Thanks so much again and I hope you guys have as much fun reading these as I did writing them up!! <3 <3

[hatari-translations]

can you maybe tell us a bit more about the parties in icelandic politics? that is super interesting for me after reading your last post

Well, sure! Please bear in mind that as you may have gathered I am not unbiased, and I'm by no means the most knowledgeable person about this.

Sjálfstæðisflokkurinn (The Independence Party)

Originally founded in 1929, this party's name originally referred to independence from Denmark (achieved in 1944), but today it's just Iceland's dominant right-wing party. On other countries' scales they're fairly center-right in terms of policies; they want a strong welfare system, they're pro-immigration, they're not against LGBT rights, etc. However, they are very much the party of Iceland's rich elite establishment, and in particular have close ties to Iceland's largest corporations, and every other political scandal involves them being varying degrees of terrible, from "Independence Party minister breaking COVID restrictions" to "Independence Party minister in the Panama Papers" to "Independence Party minister's father signs a letter to 'restore the honor' of a convicted pedophile" (these three were all the same minister, who by the way still leads the party and is still finance minister) to "terrible corrupt fishing company Samherji introduced the Independence Party's health minister as 'our guy in the government' at meetings with the Namibian officials they were bribing".

The Independence Party opposes the new constitution, ostensibly because blah blah stability distractions about how changes to the constitution need to be approved through the appropriate process (yes, we know, we want that process to happen), but we all know it's really because the new constitution would have the fishing companies pay a fair price for their access to Iceland's natural resources, and that would be bad for their bottom line. They are also opposed to joining the EU.

The Independence Party has been the largest party in every single Icelandic election since it was founded except the 2009 one (which was right on the heels of another scandal - believe me, I barely scratched the surface above - as well as the 2008 financial crisis), where they managed to dip below the Social-Democratic Alliance with 23.7% of the vote, their lowest parliamentary election result ever. Historically they'd get upwards of 40% or even more of the vote; these days it's more like 25%, and this election's result of 24.4% is their second lowest ever. Even in polls days right after a huge scandal, the lowest I've ever seen the Independence Party poll at was something like 19%; that's why I've said here that 20% of the country will just vote for them no matter what. This means the Independence Party is always the most powerful party, and them not being in the government coalition is very much the exception.

Framsóknarflokkurinn (The Progressive Party)

Iceland's oldest political party, founded in 1916. Originally it was the farmers' party, and they've historically been most popular in rural areas, where they have longstanding loyalty. They're more or less center to center-right. Historically, they've formed coalitions with both the right and the left, but particularly in the past few decades they have been glued to the Independence Party in particular. They have occasional particular pet issues that they latch onto, but overall it doesn't really feel like they stand for much of anything in particular, other than wanting to maintain the status quo and be in government with (preferably) the Independence Party. They are also against the new constitution and the EU.

Vinstrihreyfingin - grænt framboð (The Left-Green Movement)

Founded in a 1999 split on the left, the Left-Greens are a left-wing party with a focus on equality and the environment, but with enough of a semi-conservative bent to have some common ground with Independence and Progressives on matters like opposing EU membership and being hesitant about the Constitutional Committee's draft constitution. A lot of their voters were very unhappy with them entering into the current coalition with the Independence Party and the Progressive Party (the former in particular); two of their MPs actually left the party after that decision, reducing but not destroying the government's majority.

Samfylkingin (The Social-Democratic Alliance)

Founded in 2000 as a fusion of two parties (hence the 'alliance'), the Social-Democratic Alliance is a center-left social democratic party. They were very popular in the early 2000s, almost rivaling the Independence Party for votes, and formed a coalition government with Independence in 2007, which oversaw the 2008 financial crisis; initially people mostly blamed the Independence Party, allowing the Alliance to become the biggest party in the 2009 election with 29.8% of the vote, but as the following coalition with the Left-Greens had to deal with the fallout of the recession, a lot of anger was directed at the Alliance too, and the party has never managed to recover since, instead hovering between 5-15% of the vote (but still stands strong in some municipal elections and currently leads the Reykjavík city council). They want to join the EU and ratify the new constitution.

Píratar (The Pirate Party of Iceland)

You may have heard of Pirate Parties before, originating with the Pirate Party of Sweden. Iceland is the only country where the Pirate Party has actually managed to get elected to the national parliament, and is an entirely serious political movement. At one point after the revelation of the Panama Papers, the Pirate Party was miraculously polling at 43%; sadly, by the time there was an actual election they'd gone down to 15%. Their primary concerns are transparency, democracy, privacy, human rights and freedoms, and "no bullshit", and among other things they want to establish a universal basic income. A lot of its founders were computer scientists and geeks of various stripes.

They refuse to be classified on the left-right scale, but in practice, their policies are strongly aligned with the leftier parties (one popular website comparing the parties on concrete policy questions for this election classed them as having 90% agreement with the Social-Democratic Alliance, 87% with the Socialists, and 83% with the Left-Greens). They are strongly in favor of ratifying the new constitution.

Miðflokkurinn (The Center Party)

After the 2008 financial crisis, the Progressive Party gained a more populist bent, led by Sigmundur Davíð Gunnlaugsson, who was prime minister from 2013 until 2016 when he was implicated in the Panama Papers. He was reluctant to resign as prime minister and fully intended to stay as the leader of the party, until the party chose to boot him and replace him with current Progressive leader Sigurður Ingi Jóhannsson; Sigmundur Davíð went off to form his own party instead, the Center Party, and took the populist arm of the Progressive Party with him. They're where most of the anti-immigration and anti-LGBTQ vote goes, and along with the People's Party, some of their MPs were implicated in "Klausturgate", a scandal where a disabled woman at a bar overheard and discreetly recorded several MPs (including Sigmundur Davíð) who were drinking together while making a variety of sexist, homophobic and ableist comments about named people including members of their own parties. The Center Party was perfectly happy to keep them on board, which really says all you need to know.

I am unendingly disappointed that the Center Party managed to scrape past the 5% threshold to get parliamentary seats this election; for a glorious moment the early numbers looked like they wouldn't. Last election they managed to get seven MPs, and then the two guys from the People's Party involved in Klausturgate joined up with the Center Party too, giving them nine, so seeing them reduced to almost nothing was still deeply pleasing.

Viðreisn (The Reform Party)

A center-right party that split off from the Independence Party in 2016, largely over the latter's opposition to the EU, while the Reform Party supports EU membership, but also because of the endless scandals, cronyism, etc. The Reform Party instead claim to be proponents of "ethical capitalism" and have so far avoided the major scandals and general douchebaggery of their parent party.

Flokkur fólksins (The People's Party)

A populist party with a primary emphasis on eradicating poverty, especially for the elderly and disabled, letting the nation reap the benefits of our fish instead of the few large fishing companies, funding health care to reduce wait times, and so on. All this is lovely in theory, but unfortunately their rhetoric then goes off into pitting the poor/elderly/disabled against immigrants, Muslims, etc. Chairperson Inga Sæland seems totally well-meaning to me off what I've seen of her (disclaimer: have not actually seen that much), but it also contains less savoury people and sentiments, as seen by two of their MPs being part of the aforementioned Klausturgate. To the party's credit, they did expel those guys, but it's not the only example of the party attracting questionable people.

Sósíalistaflokkur Íslands (The Icelandic Socialist Party)

A hardline democratic socialist party founded in 2017, with this as their first parliamentary election. It looked like they would get MPs in polls, but in the end they didn't. They're led by Gunnar Smári Egilsson, one of the original founders of free newspaper Fréttablaðið, and have a much more radical left rhetoric going on than the other lefty parties, focusing on economic equality, housing, free health care, and a shorter work week. They made some pretty controversial remarks campaigning for this election, such as suggesting replacing all the judges of the Supreme Court if they won't agree to changing the fishing quota system (the argument being that the Independence Party appointed all the judges in an organized bid to maintain the current system), but who knows if that dampened their following or something else. They also want to ratify the new constitution.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann) | Chapter 5 | I bet you look so pretty when you beg.

A/N: This will update every Thursday.  There are 13 chapters.  There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships.  This is the one I choose to write this time.  

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship.  When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian.  Which is the one thing he never knew he needed.  Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship.  But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter:  Sophie and Vivian bond over shopping and Tom and Vivian finally have sex.  But not before a little denial.  

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open!  Let me know if you want to be added.  Thank you for reading!

-

Vivian tossed on a pair of jeans and a blouse for lunch at Tom’s and then shopping with Sophie. She read and reread Tom’s essay that night. She may have even teared up a bit. Not that she would admit that to Tom just yet. Vivian eschewed heels that day, opting for a driving mocassin.

She texted Tom when she was already halfway to his house, knowing he was already pacing the length of his living room. His nervous energy reminded her of an overexcited puppy. So sweet and endearing. And that smile, that damn smile, melted Vivian’s heart in a way she never felt before.

“Come in.” Tom opened the door wide with a smile.

Tom wore a pair of beat up shorts, t-shirt and trainers. Vivian could see his abs through the thin fabric. She wanted nothing more than to rip off that shirt and lick them. But there was much to discuss. She grabbed the back of his head and kissed him, tongues exploring. They parted.

“God, I love kissing you, sunshine.” she commented, licking her lips.

“I love kissing you, too, ma’am.” Tom whispered back. He hoped for more, but Vivian stepped into the kitchen and sat down, gesturing for Tom to sit next to her. He sat, hands folded in front of him.

“So…” he started.

Vivian slid a folded piece of paper over towards Tom. He unfolded it. It was his essay. Vivian had underlined and circled portions of his writing.

“My essay?”

“Did you mean it?”

“Every word, ma’am.” Tom responded. He stared at her.

“You realize what you are wanting? You realize what it would mean?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom exhaled. “I have thought about it long before I even met you. To be honest, I think I have subconsciously been seeking this out in my relationships. Seeking out strong and independent women. And it ended in disaster. I think they assumed I would take control, ‘be the man’, make the decisions. I make decisions all day at my job. I play the role of the one in control. But what I want, what I need is surrender. To be strong by giving my control away. To trust someone with my heart and my life.”

“On a daily basis? To give total control to me? It’s okay if you don’t, we can play, keep things casual. It’s not unusual for submissive men to think they want this and then get intimidated or scared.”

“I won’t know if I don’t try. But what I can say is that I have never felt as happy and comfortable than I am with you.” Tom smirked. “Tied up to your bed in my underwear. Give me the chance.”

Vivian chewed on her lip. Tom never looked more like a puppy than he did in that moment. His short golden hair rumpled as though he had run his hands through it waiting for her. His blue eyes wide, hopeful, and on the precipice of spilling tears.

“You know you won’t always get what you want?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That I will say no to you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you need to do as I say?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Vivian smiled and pulled Tom over to her lap, smoothing his hair. He nuzzled into her neck, inhaling the scent of woodsy perfume. “Then we will do this, sunshine. If at any point you want to stop, tell me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” he muttered into her neck, his breath hot on the skin.

She lifted his head and kissed him tenderly. “Good boy.” She cupped his face. “My beautiful good boy.”

Tom glowed.

They stood and Vivian pulled out an envelope and handed it to Tom. It contained a list of various kinks and sexual acts with boxes for Tom to mark “yes”, “soft no” and “hard no.” “Fill this out and give it back to me today after I return from shopping.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We will continue with the 9 p.m. phone call. I am busy this week so I won’t be able to meet until the weekend.”

Tom nodded, disappointed but understanding. He had a few meetings himself. “Yes, ma’am.” He fidgeted in his seat.

“The next time we get together, we will have sex.” She reached out to stroke Tom’s arm. He shivered. “Until then, no more masturbating.”

“Yes… what?” Tom’s brow furrowed.

She smirked. “No jerking off, no orgasms, no touching yourself, sunshine.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He shuffled his feet. That was going to be a difficult task to accomplish.

“And you are to take a photo of your cock, either in your underwear or pajamas in the morning, and send it to me.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open. His cheeks reddened. He stared at the floor. “Yes… yes ma’am.” he stuttered.

Vivian pulled him into a sweet kiss, her hand petting the back of his hand. “Don’t be embarrassed, sunshine. These photos will never see the light of day and I will delete them after I view them.”

He exhaled sharply. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Now let’s eat.”

Tom rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the salad and sandwiches he made earlier from the fridge. He set them down on the table and then returned with a glass of water for both of them. Tom sat and waited for Vivian to eat before taking a bite.

“Did you make the sandwich?” She asked.

Tom finished chewing before answering. “Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s delicious. Perfect lunch for a warm day. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Can I ask a question?”

“Of course.” Vivian smiled.

Tom chewed on his lip. “Do you think I am ‘less of a man’ for wanting this?”

“Quite the contrary, sunshine. I find it strong, not to mention sexy that you are willing to give power to me. Your masculinity is not contingent on being in charge, on being the boss of the relationship. It is about mutual trust and respect.” Tom nodded but said nothing. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You have been in several high profile relationships or rumoured relationships. And you have commented more than once that they ended in disaster. What happened?”

“That’s not just a question, but the question. I guess what happened was the same thing that happened in all failed relationships. We wanted different things.”

“What did they want?”

“They wanted the guy on the screen. The Jonathan Pine, the Loki. The man who shoves you against a wall and fucks you senseless. The man who pushes her to her knees and has her suck my cock. The one who calls the shots. The alpha male. It’s exhausting. Eventually there would be friction and then argument. I could never articulate properly what I wanted. And then they left. Sometimes loudly, sometimes with an apology. But they left.” Tom sniffled.

She caressed his cheek. “They didn’t deserve you, sunshine.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He sniffed again and then cleared the plate. He checked the time. “I am due at Benedict’s.”

“Drive me, please. I am meeting Sophie there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tom gathered his keys, wallet and phone and led Vivian to his car. He opened her door before getting in himself. She scratched the nape of his neck. “Have I told you what a perfect gentleman you are?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You are. So polite and kind and generous. I can’t wait to make you beg for me to let you come.”

Tom jerked the car forward. “Yes, ma’am.”

She twirled his hair between her fingers, she noticed Tom’s shorts tenting. Vivian waited for the stoplight before continuing. “I bet you look so pretty when you beg. My pretty little sunshine.”

Beads of sweat popped out on Tom’s temples. “Yes. ma’am.” He didn’t know how else to respond. All the blood was rushing somewhere other than his brain.

“I guess we will see.” she mused before squeezing the back of his neck and then fiddling with the radio.

It took the rest of the drive for Tom to get his body back under control. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he rounded around the car to open Vivian’s door. Vivian knocked on the door, her hand on the small of Tom’s back. Sophie answered.

“You two came together!” She pulled Vivian into a hug. “And you are at a reasonable height!”

Vivian laughed. “I wore my shopping shoes.” She wiggled her feet.

“Smart woman.” Benedict poked his head around Sophie. She turned and kissed his cheek and rubbed his shoulder. “And the two of you are actually going to tear down that shed and not sit around and drink beer?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Benedict teased. She rubbed his shoulder. Tom stiffened at Ben’s words, but Vivian rubbed his neck and he relaxed.

“Have a good time, darling.” She kissed Tom’s cheek. “Sophie, shall we?”

The two women linked arms and stepped out. Tom’s eyes lingered on Vivian as she and Sophie laughed.

“Should I be worried, mate?” He asked Benedict, who handed him a hammer.

“Two strong independent women, one of whom knows several secrets about both of us? Yes, you should.”

Tom paled.

-

“You should buy it.” Vivian urged Sophie, who was holding up a gorgeous dress.

“But where would I wear it?”

“Red carpet. A gala. Around the house. Who cares?”

“Around the house?”

Vivian smirked. “Are you saying that your husband wouldn’t want to see you in that dress?”

Sophie eyed the short hemline and low neckline. “Good point, but…”

“If you don’t buy it, I will.” Vivian grabbed for the dress, but Sophie snatched it back.

“Find your own dress!” she giggled.

“Not a problem.” Vivian held up her other arm, ladened with clothes.

Vivian laughed more in the few hours with Sophie than she had in a long time. She had few female friends outside of Ashley, who was busy in starting up her own small boutique firm. Sophie was a delight, sharing stories about Tom and Benedict.

“Did he really streak into the pool?” Vivian asked.

Sophie nodded her head. “Both of them. Although I am certain copious amounts of alcohol bolstered their boldness. You have a bit of an exhibitionist on your hands.”

Vivian blushed. “I can’t say I blame him. Which reminds me…”

She wandered over to the men’s section of the store. Vivian selected a couple of t-shirts for Tom, in shades of blue and maroon. The cotton brushed and soft against her skin and the vee of the neckline cut deep. She also picked up a few pairs of black boxer briefs with bright contrasting elastic bands on the inside. They weren’t Calvin Klein, but Vivian was certain Tom would be delicious in them.

“Already buying Tom’s clothes? The two of you are progressing quickly.”

Vivian smiled, not wanting to betray Tom’s privacy, not even to Sophie. “He mentioned needing some new things. I thought I would help him out.” She shrugged. Not a complete lie. After all, she had made Tom throw out some portion of his underwear.

“Those are cute. I’m grabbing a pair for Ben.” Sophie snagged the underwear.

After they gave the boys enough time to tear down the shed, accounting for the time they would take talking and standing about. They found the two of them sitting on the couch, looking quite pleased with themselves, drinking a beer.

Vivian settled onto Tom’s lap while Sophie sat on the arm next to Ben. She wiggled her ass against Tom’s crotch and he shifted underneath her, pulling her tight against him, nuzzling into her neck. She grabbed the beer from his hand.

“No alcohol for you.” She took a sip. “You are driving.”

“Yes, darling.”

Sophie sighed and smacked Ben’s arm. “Why can’t you be romantic like that?”

“Because I’m married.” Benedict joked.

Sophie threw daggers with her eyes. Benedict grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down. “Ah!!” she screamed as Tom and Vivian giggled.

“How is this for romantic?” Benedict kissed her dramatically.

Sophie righted herself. “Sorry you two had to see that.” She playfully elbowed Benedict. “Sometimes he needs to know who’s the boss.”

“No apologies.” Vivian continued to rub Tom’s neck. “Sometimes you just need to establish your dominance.”

“You’re not going to back me up, mate?” Ben yelled, looking to Tom for support

.

“It’s okay, sunshine.” Vivian whispered so only Tom could hear, before kissing behind his ear.

“Of course, Ben.” Tom straightened up. “I think… all relationships should be based on mutual respect and trust.” His face breaking out into a smug grin.

“Good answer.” Vivian praised, smoothing down his hair.

“I agree.” Sophie piped in.

“Boo.” Benedict pouted with a smile.

“Would you two like to stay for dinner?” Sophie offered.

Tom looked to Vivian to answer. “I have a big week at work, unfortunately, so I must be headed home.” she stated. “Another time, though?”

Sophie and Ben nodded. Vivian stood and Tom tugged at his shorts to hide any potential arousal. “I’ll drive you home, darling.”

“Thank you.”

Vivian gathered up her bags, and they said goodbyes, Sophie promising to text Vivian later in the week. Tom drove away.

“That went well.” Vivian hummed. Tom didn’t say anything. “You did so well.”

The praise softened his mood. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure how to…”

“You did beautifully, my sunshine.” She ruffled his hair. “I will never embarrass you in front of others. Unless you ask me to.” Vivian wiggled her eyebrows.

“Thank you.” He smiled at her.

Tom walked Vivian all the way to her front door. She pulled him in for a kiss, dropping her bags on the floor to grab his ass, pinching lightly. Tom jumped.

“You do have a beautiful ass.” she purred, pulling away and grabbing one of the bags. “Here. For you.” She placed it into Tom’s hands.

“You bought me something?” His eyes wide with surprise. He pulled out some shirts and underwear. “You bought me underwear?!”

She ran her hand up his thigh before swatting his ass. “I expect to see those in my photo tomorrow morning, sunshine.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

-

Tom woke up in the morning on Monday, painfully hard. He touched the tip of his cock through his underwear, wishing he could jerk off. Tom grabbed his phone and snapped a photo so he could hop into a cold shower. Once he stepped out of the shower, he found Vivian’s text.

Oh my, sunshine. That looks painful. I can’t wait to feel you inside me.

Tom groaned and dug his nails into his thigh. It was going to be a long week.

-

Vivian enjoyed herself a bit too much that week, teasing Tom. But Thursday, Tom’s cock was leaking cum, soaking through his underwear. Vivian would text Tom each time praising him for sending the photo and then letting him know how much she was looking forward to fucking him. And indeed she was. So much so that she moved it up from Saturday to Friday.

She texted him early that morning even before he woke and sent his daily picture.

6 p.m. my place. Wear one of your new shirts and boxer briefs. Bring condoms and a change of clothes. You’re spending the night.

Tom snapped his photo and sent it before seeing Vivian’s text. He fisted the sheets as he read. He rolled onto his stomach, biting his pillow. The pressure of the mattress was comforting on his erection. He rolled his hips and felt some relief. He repeated the action three more times before stopping, not trusting himself to not cum.

The day was blurry and fuzzy on the edges for Tom. He could not concentrate on much more than the TV running in the background. While Vivian plowed through her to-do list at work, reaching a settlement for one of the firm’s biggest clients. She gave herself the rest of the afternoon off. Vivian hurried home to prepare.

She chilled a bottle of white wine in the fridge and pulled two glasses onto the counter. She grabbed a few bottles of water and some chocolate bars and granola bars to place on the nightstand before pulling out just the wrist cuffs. The bed linens were crisp white, and the straps prepared. She slipped into a simple black bra and panties before slipping on a dress, no shoes. Fifteen minutes before six and five minutes before Vivian expected Tom, she poured two glasses of wine, sipping from one. As predicted, five minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Sunshine.” she sighed as she opened the door.

Tom’s pupils were already large, and he fidgeted. He carried a small leather bag containing his clothes.

She pulled him into a deep kiss. Tom moaned against her mouth as she tugged on his hair.

“Put your bag in the bedroom. Condoms on the nightstand, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He hustled off to the bedroom while she grabbed the wrist cuffs with one finger.

Tom returned and his eyes went straight to the cuffs. He held out his wrists without having to be asked. “Good boy, sunshine.” She buckled them on. “Are they too tight?”

Tom twisted his wrists to test them out. “No, ma’am.”

She kissed his lips lightly and pressed her body against his, his cock already hard. “Some ground rules. No cumming until I say so. No touching my breasts or cunt until I tell you. If you need to stop, use your safe word.”

Tom nodded, licking his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

She pulled him into the bedroom. “Strip.” Tom frantically pulled off his shirt and pants, folding them neatly. Vivian gestured to a chair, and he placed them there. “Underwear too, sunshine.”

Tom pulled them off and placed them on the chair with the rest of his clothes.

“Hands behind your head. Stand tall, my beautiful sunshine boy.” Tom complied, pulling himself to his full height, chest puffed out.

His cock bobbed as he rocked on his heels. Vivian stood behind him and ran her hands from his shoulders down his back to cup his ass and gave one cheek a playful slap. As she walked her way around him, she grabbed the back of his head and jerked him into a kiss. Tom’s hands waved in the air, not knowing what to do.

“Touch my breasts.”

Tom squeezed, moaning into Vivian’s mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

She bit down on his lower lip before kissing his neck, sucking hard, leaving a mark.

“Kneel, my sunshine.” Tom lowered to the floor. His head pressed against her legs. She petted the top of his head. “Take off my panties, please.”

Tom’s hands slipped under her dress, finding the waist, and pulled them down Vivian’s legs. She stepped out of them and walked to the end of the bed, sitting down, legs splayed wide. She hooked her finger towards Tom.

“Come here.” He started to stand. “On your knees.”

Tom groaned and walked over on his knees, settling between her legs. His hands hung at his side. Vivian balanced her heels on the frame. “I like how you look between my legs. Use your mouth. Taste me. Make me come.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His excitement was palpable. He reached for her legs. She stopped him with her foot on his forehead.

“No hands.” She pushed her legs wider. Tom hummed as devoured Vivian’s thighs, leaving sloppy open mouth kisses as he traveled up. His nose nudged along her folds. She moaned.

“That’s it, sunshine.” He moved his lips down to her other thigh. Vivian whimpered. “Tease.”

“It will be worth it, ma’am.”

“It better be.”

Tom peeked up and smiled. He licked with the flat of his tongue before swirling it around her clit. Vivian grabbed the back of his head and yanked him forward. “Yes!” she hissed.

Tom continued to suck and lick at her, his cock dripping and hard against his thigh. Vivian’s hand tight like a vise in his hair, yanking his head where she wanted. Tom’s tongue darted inside her entrance, collecting every drop of her arousal, savoring it. When Vivian came, she screamed out, her head falling back, and she pulled hard on Tom’s hair. A shot of pain ran through his scalp. He moaned into her, continuing to lick and slurp. As she came down, Vivian pulled Tom away. His eyes glassy, pupils lust blown. His lips swollen and red, her arousal glistening on him.

“It was worth it, sunshine.”

“yes, ma’am.” Tom remained on his knees, his voice low.

“On the bed on your back, arms out.” She stood and allowed him to crawl into the bed, unable to resist smacking his ass.

“Ow.” he complained as he lied down. Vivian quickly hooked him into the restraints.

“Nice and tight, sunshine? I don’t want you running away.” she play pouted. Tom made a show of flexing and tugging until Vivian ran her nail along his shaft and he let loose a ragged gasp, his hips bucking into her touch. Vivian clicked her tongue. “If you can’t be a good boy, I’ll restrain your legs.”

Tom lowered his legs. “I’ll be good, ma’am. I promise.” he pleaded. “Please, I’ll be good.”

Vivian grabbed the box of condoms and pulled one out. She unwrapped it and rolled it down Tom’s cock. He fought against the restraints at her touch. She climbed back on the bed and Tom’s posture relaxed. Vivian straddled his hips, his cock twitched underneath her. She rocked against the tip, Tom jerked against the restraints and pressed his feet into the mattress. She leaned forward to press her breasts against him. Her hazel eyes staring into Tom’s soul. He whimpered and whined.

“I am going to ride you, sunshine. You are going to tell me when you get close to cumming. You are not to cum without my permission.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom nodded. “Please ride me, please.”

She lightly slapped his cheek, Tom groaned. “That’s a good boy.”

Vivian lowered herself onto his cock. He was larger than her previous partners, stretching her walls. She moaned and hissed. Tom’s chest heaved underneath her hand, breaths short and shallow as he struggled to control his release.

“Oh, sunshine. Your cock may be my new favorite part of you.” She rocked up and down on him.

“Please, please. Please.” Tom begged. Her walls tight around him. “I need to—”

“It’s not about you.” Vivian stopped. Tom growled. “It’s about me. And I want to ride you until I come on your cock and then, if you are a good boy, I might let you come.”

“Yes, ma’am. Please ma’am.” he breathed.

Vivian resumed twisting and rocking her hips. Tom’s cock hit all the right spots inside of her and soon she was ready to orgasm. Tom’s face was twisted in pain and exertion. He wanted to please and impress you so much.

“I’m close, sunshine. Are you close?”

“Yes… ma’am….” he gasped.

Vivian thrusted hard down on Tom’s cock and she rubbed her clit and came with a guttural moan. As her walls fluttered and warmth washed over her.

“Come for me, my boy. Come.”

Tom bucked his hips twice and yelled as he came. His vision turned black and then white as he came. Vivian squeezed around him. Tom collapsed underneath her, completely spent, the denial of the week having the desired effect of intensifying his orgasm. His face plastered with a smile, sweat glistening his skin. Tom’s eyes fluttered open and closed.

“Tom?” Vivian asked, soft and sweet. She rolled off of him and undid the restraints and then the cuffs, kissing his wrists. “Sunshine?”

“Hmmm…” Tom hummed. She rubbed his neck.

“Tom… are you okay?”

“Yes, ma’am….” His voice trailed off, dreamy. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Sit up, sunshine.”

Tom sat up with a groan. Vivian handed him a water bottle and snack. “Here.”

Tom blinked and took a swig of water and a bit of chocolate. “Thank you, ma’am. That was incredible. I’ve never….”

She smoothed down his hair and kissed him soft. “You did beautifully, sunshine.”

His head snapped her. “Are you pleased, ma’am? Satisfied? I can… I can…”

“Shhh…” She kissed him again. “I am very pleased. No complaints. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Tom unrolled the condom and discarded it in the garbage can in the room. He grabbed his leather bag.

“You won’t need that. Put it down, please.”

Tom dropped the bag. “But I… ma’am?”

“Come with me.” Vivian walked to the bathroom. “Shower or bath?”

Tom’s eyes darted between the tub and the glass shower enclosure. “Shower, ma’am.”

She flicked on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. “If you are cold, you can put on your robe.” Vivian gestured at a hook. Tom’s eyes widened at the obscenely short blue satin robe.

“That’s for me, ma’am? It’s awfully short.” Tom’s hands fidgeted in front of him.

“I know the perfect way to show off that perfect ass.” Vivian grinned as she playfully smacked his ass before pulling him into the shower and a deep passionate kiss.

[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

Chinese Footbinding

Instructions Before Reading Chapter

Find a piece of cloth 10 feet long and 2 inches wide

Find a pair of children’s shoes

Bend all toes except the big one under and into the sole of the foot.

Wrap the cloth around these toes and then around the heel.

Bring the heel and toes as close together as possible.  

Wrap the full length of the cloth as tightly as possible

Squeeze foot into children’s shoes

Walk

Imagine that you are 5 years old

Imagine being like this for the rest of your life

The origins of Chinese footbinding, as of Chinese thought in general, belong to that amorphous entity called antiquity. The 10th century marks the beginning of the physical, intellectual, and spiritual dehumanization of women in China through the institution of footbinding. That institution itself, the implicit belief in its necessity and beauty, and the rigor with which it was practiced lasted another 10 centuries. There were sporadic attempts at emancipating the foot — some artists, intellectuals, and women in positions of power were the proverbial drop in the bucket. Those attempts, modest though they were, were doomed to failure: footbinding was a political institution which reflected and perpetuated the sociological and psychological inferiority of women; footbinding cemented women to a certain sphere, with a certain function — women were sexual objects and breeders. Footbinding was mass attitude,  mass culture — it was the key reality in a  way of life lived by real women— 10 centuries times that many millions of them. […] 

The physical process which created this foot is described by Howard S.Levy in Chinese Footbinding: The History of a Curious Erotic Custom:

The success or failure of footbinding depended on skillful application of a bandage around each foot. The bandage, about two inches wide and ten feet long, was wrapped in the following way. One end was placed on the inside of the instep, and from there it was carried over the small toes so as to force the toes in and towards the sole. The large toe was left unbound. The bandage was then wrapped around the heel so forcefully that heel and toes were drawn closer together. The process was then repeated from the beginning until the entire bandage had been applied. The foot of the young child was subjected to a coercive and unremitting pressure, for the object was not merely to confine the foot but to make the toes bend under and into the sole and bring the heel and sole as close together as physically possible.

A  Christian missionary observed:

The flesh often became putrescent during the binding and portions sloughed off from the sole; sometimes one or more toes dropped off.

An elderly Chinese woman, as late as 1934, remembered vividly her experience:

Born into an old-fashioned family at P’ing-hsi, I was inflicted with the pain of footbinding when I was seven years old. I was an active child who liked to jump about, but from then on my free and optimistic nature vanished. Elder Sister endured the process from six to eight years of age [this means that it took Elder Sister two years to attain the 3-inch  foot]. It was in the first lunar month of my seventh year that my ears were pierced and fitted with gold earrings. I was told that a girl had to suffer twice, through ear piercing and footbinding. Binding started in the second lunar month; mother consulted references in order to select an auspicious day for it. I wept and hid in a neighbor’s home, but Mother found me, scolded me, and dragged me home. She shut the bedroom door, boiled water, and from a box withdrew binding, shoes, knife, needle, and thread. I begged for a one-day postponement, but Mother refused:  “Today is a lucky day, ” she said. “If bound today, your feet will never hurt; if bound tomorrow they will. ” She washed and placed alum on my feet and cut the toenails. She then bent my toes toward the plantar with a binding cloth ten feet long and two inches wide,  doing the right foot first and then the left. She finished binding and ordered me to walk, but when I did the pain proved unbearable. That night, Mother wouldn’t let me remove the shoes. My feet felt on fire and I couldn’t sleep; Mother struck me for crying. On the following days, I  tried to hide but was forced to walk on my feet.  Mother hit me on my hands and feet for resisting. Beatings and curses were my lot for covertly loosening the wrappings. The feet were washed and rebound after three or four days, with alum added. After several months, all toes but the big one were pressed against the inner surface. Whenever I ate fish or freshly killed meat, my feet would swell, and the pus would drip. Mother criticized me for placing pressure on the heel in walking, saying that my feet would never assume a  pretty shape. Mother would remove the bindings and wipe the blood and pus which dripped from my feet. She told me that only with the removal of the flesh could my feet become slender. If I mistakenly punctured a sore, the blood gushed like a stream. My somewhat fleshy big toes were bound with small pieces of cloth and forced upwards,  to assume a new moon shape. Every two weeks, I changed to new shoes. Each new pair was one- to two-tenths of an inch smaller than the previous one. The shoes were unyielding, and it took pressure to get into them. Though I wanted to sit passively by the K’ang, Mother forced me to move around. After changing more than ten pairs of shoes, my feet were reduced to a little over four inches. I had been in binding for a month when my younger sister started; when no one was around,  we would weep together. In summer, my feet smelled offensively because of pus and blood; in winter, my feet felt cold because of lack of circulation and hurt if they got too near the  K'ang and were struck by warm air currents. Four of the toes were curled in like so many dead caterpillars;  no outsider would ever have believed that they belonged to a human being.  It took two years to achieve the three-inch model. My toenails pressed against the flesh like thin paper. The heavily-creased plantar couldn’t be scratched when it itched or soothed when it ached.  My shanks were thin, my feet became humped, ugly, and odiferous; how I envied the natural-footed!

Bound feet were crippled and excruciatingly painful. The woman was actually “walking” on the outside of toes which had been bent under into the sole of the foot. The heel and instep of the foot resembled the sole and heel of a high-heeled boot.  Hard callouses formed; toenails grew into the skin;  the feet were pus-filled and bloody; circulation was virtually stopped. The foot-bound woman hobbled along, leaning on a cane, against a  wall, against a servant. To keep her balance she took very short steps. She was actually falling with every step and catching herself with the next. Walking required tremendous exertion. Footbinding also distorted the natural lines of the female body. It caused the thighs and buttocks,  which were always in a state of tension,  to become somewhat swollen (which men called “voluptuous”).  A  curious belief developed among Chinese men that footbinding produced a most useful alteration of the vagina.  A Chinese diplomat explained:

The smaller the woman’s foot, the more wondrous become the folds of the vagina. (There was the saying: the smaller the feet, the more intense the sex urge.) Therefore marriages in Ta-t’ung (where binding is most effective) often take place earlier than elsewhere. Women in other districts can produce these folds artificially, but the only way is by footbinding, which concentrates development in this one place. There consequently develop layer after layer  (of folds within the vagina); those who have personally experienced this  (in sexual intercourse) feel a super-natural exaltation.  So the system of footbinding was not really oppressive.

Medical authorities confirm that physiologically footbinding had no effect whatsoever on the vagina, although it did distort the direction of the pelvis. The belief in the wondrous folds of the vagina of footbound woman was pure mass delusion, a projection of lust onto the feet, buttocks, and vagina of the crippled female. […] Bound feet, the same myth continues, “made the buttocks more sensual, [and] concentrated life-giving vapors on the upper part of the body, making the face more attractive.” If due to a breakdown in the flow of these “life-giving vapors, ” an ugly woman was foot-bound and still ugly, she need not despair, for an  A-1 Golden  Lotus could compensate for a C-3 face and figure. […] 

The upper class bound the feet of their ladies with the utmost severity.  The Lady, unable to walk, remained properly invisible in her boudoir, an ornament, weak and small,  a testimony to the wealth and privilege of the man who could afford to keep her - to keep her idle. Doing no manual labor, she did not need her feet either. Only on the rarest of occasions was she allowed outside of the incarcerating walls of her home, and then only in a sedan chair behind heavy curtains. The lower a woman ’s class,  the less could such idleness be supported:  the larger the feet. The women who had to work for the economic survival of the family still had bound feet, but the bindings were looser, the feet bigger— after all,  she had to be able to walk, even if slowly and with little balance. Footbinding was a visible brand. […] 

Women were perverse and sinful, lewd and lascivious, if left to develop naturally. The Chinese believed that being born a woman was payment for evils committed in a previous life. Footbinding was designed to spare a woman the disaster of another such incarnation. […] 

In arranging a marriage, a male’s parents inquired first about the prospective bride’s feet, then about her face. Those were her human, recognizable qualities. During the process of footbinding, mothers consoled their daughters by conjuring up the luscious marriage possibilities dependent on the beauty of the bound foot. Concubines for the Imperial harem were selected at tiny-oot festivals (forerunners of Miss America pageants). Rows upon rows of women sat on benches with their feet outstretched while audience and judges went along the aisles and commented on the size, shape, and decoration of foot and shoes. No one,  however, was ever allowed to touch the merchandise. Women looked forward to these festivals, since they were allowed out of the house.

The sexual aesthetics, literally the art of love, of the bound foot was complex. The sexual attraction of the foot was based on its concealment and the mystery surrounding its development and care. The bindings were unwrapped and the feet were washed in the woman ’s boudoir, in the strictest privacy. […] The physical process of washing helped restore circulation. […] The rest of the body was never washed at the same time as the feet,  for fear that one would become a pig in the next life. Well-bred women were supposed to die of shame if men observed them washing their feet. The foot consisted, after all, of smelly, rotted flesh. This was naturally not pleasing to the intruding male, a violation of his aesthetic sensibility. […] 

When she entered her husband’s home for the first time, her feet were immediately examined by the whole family, neither praise nor sarcasm being withheld. […] 

Certain feet were better than other feet, more beautiful. Perfect 3-inch form and utter uselessness were the distinguishing marks of the aristocratic foot. These concepts of beauty and status defined women:  as ornaments, as sexual playthings, as sexual constructs. […] The natural-footed woman generated horror and repulsion in  China. She was anathema, and all the forces of insult and contempt were used to obliterate her. Men said about bound feet and natural feet:

A tiny foot is proof of feminine goodness… Women who don’t bind their feet, look like men, for the tiny foot serves to show the differentiation… The tiny foot is soft and, when rubbed,  leads to great excitement.… The graceful walk gives the beholder mixed feelings of compassion and pity… Natural feet are heavy and ponderous as they get into bed,  but tiny feet lightly steal under the coverlets… The large-footed woman is careless about adornment, but the tiny-footed frequently wash and apply a variety of perfumed fragrances,  enchanting all who come into their presence… The natural foot looks much less aesthetic in walking… Everyone welcomes the tiny foot, regarding its smallness as precious … Men formerly so craved it that its possessor achieved harmonious matrimony … Because of its diminutiveness,  it gives rise to a variety of sensual pleasures and love feelings…

Thin, small, curved, soft, fragrant, weak, easily inflamed, passive to the point of being almost inanimate— this was footbound woman. […] 

This fetish became the primary content of sexual experience for an entire culture for 1,000 years. The manipulation of the tiny foot was an indispensable prelude to all sexual experience. Manuals were written elaborating various techniques for holding and rubbing the Golden Lotus.  Smelling the feet, chewing them, licking them, sucking them, all were sexually charged experiences. A  woman with tiny feet was supposedly more easily maneuvered around in bed and this was no small advantage. Theft of shoes was commonplace.  Women were forced to sew their shoes directly onto their bindings. Stolen shoes might be returned soaked in semen. Prostitutes would show their naked feet for a  high price  (there weren’t many streetwalkers in China). Drinking games using cups placed in the shoes of prostitutes or courtesans were favorite pastimes. […] Some men went to prostitutes to wash the tiny foot and eat its dirt, or to drink tea made from the washing water. Others wanted their penises manipulated by the feet. Superstition also had its place — there was a belief in the curative powers of the water in which tiny feet were washed. Lastly, footbinding was the soil in which sadism could grow and go unchecked —in which simple cruelty could transcend itself, without much effort, into atrocity. These are some typical horror stories of those times:

A stepmother or aunt in binding the child ’s foot was usually much harsher than the natural mother would have been.  An old man was described who delighted in seeing his daughters weep as the binding was tightly applied… In one household,  everyone had to  bind. The main wife and concubines bound to the smallest degree, once morning and evening, and once before retiring. The husband and first wife strictly carried out foot inspections and whipped those guilty of having let the binding become loose. The sleeping shoes were so painfully small that the women had to ask the master to rub them in order to bring relief. Another rich man would flog his concubines on their tiny feet, one after another, until the blood flowed… about 1931… bound-foot women unable to Bee had been taken captive. The bandits, angered because of their captives’ weak way of walking and inability to keep in file, forced the women to remove the bindings and socks and run about barefoot. They cried out in pain and were unable to move on in spite of beatings. Each of the bandits grabbed a woman and forced her to dance about on a wide field covered with sharp rocks. The harshest treatment was meted out to prostitutes.  Nails were driven through their hands and feet; they cried aloud for several days before expiring. One form of torture was to tie-up a woman so that her legs dangled in midair and place bricks around each toe, increasing the weight until the toes straightened out and eventually dropped off.

End of Footbinding

How could men idealize the bound feet of crippled women? How and why? The bound foot existed for 1,000 years. In what terms, using what measure, could one calculate the enormity of the crime, the dimensions of the transgression, the amount of cruelty and pain inherent in that 1,000-year herstory?  In what terms, using what vocabulary, could one penetrate to the meaning, to the reality, of that 1,000-year herstory? […] 

Here one sex mutilated (enslaved) the other in the interest of the art of sex, male-female harmony, role-definition, beauty. Consider the magnitude of the crime. Millions of women, over a period of  1,000 years, were brutally crippled, mutilated, in the name of erotica. Millions of human beings, over a period of 1,000 years, were brutally crippled, mutilated, in the name of beauty. Millions of men, over a period of 1,000 years, reveled in love-making devoted to the worship of the bound foot. Millions of men, over a period of 1,000 years, worshiped and adored the bound foot. […] 

But this thousand-year period is only the tip of an awesome, fearful iceberg: an extreme and visible expression of romantic attitudes, processes, and values organically rooted in all cultures, then and now. It demonstrates that man’s love for woman, his sexual adoration of her, his human definition of her, his delight and pleasure in her, require her negation: physical crippling and psychological lobotomy. That is the very nature of romantic love, which is the love based on polar role definitions, manifest in herstory as well as in fiction —he glories in her agony, he adores her deformity, he annihilates her freedom, he will have her as sex object, even if he must destroy the bones in her feet to do it. Brutality, sadism, and oppression emerge as the substantive core of the romantic ethos. That ethos is the warp and woof of culture as we know it. Women should be beautiful. All repositories of cultural wisdom from King Solomon to King Hefner agree: women should be beautiful. It is the reverence for female beauty which informs the romantic ethos, gives it its energy and justification. Beauty is transformed into that golden ideal, Beauty — rapturous and abstract. Women must be beautiful and Woman is Beauty. Notions of beauty always incorporate the whole of a given societal structure, are crystallizations of its values. […]

Standards of beauty describe in precise terms the relationship that an individual will have to her own body. They prescribe her mobility, spontaneity, posture, gait, the uses to which she can put her body. They define precisely the dimensions of her physical freedom. And, of course, the relationship between physical freedom and psychological development, intellectual possibility, and creative potential is an umbilical one. In our culture, not one part of a woman’s body is left untouched, unaltered. No feature or extremity is spared the art, or pain,  of improvement. Hair is dyed, lacquered, straightened, permanented; eyebrows are plucked, penciled, dyed; eyes are lined, mascaraed, shadowed; lashes are curled,  or false ��� from head to toe, every feature of a woman’s face, every section of her body, is subject to modification, alteration. This alteration is an ongoing,  repetitive process. It is vital to the economy, the major substance of male-female role differentiation, the most immediate physical and psychological reality of being a woman.  From the age of 11 or 12 until she dies, a woman will spend a large part of her time, money, and energy on binding, plucking, painting,  and deodorizing herself. […] 

Pain is an essential part of the grooming process, and that is not accidental. Plucking the eyebrows, shaving under the arms, wearing a  girdle, learning to walk in high-heeled shoes, having one’s nose fixed, straightening or curling one’s hair —these things hurt. The pain, of course,  teaches an important lesson: no price is too great, no process too repulsive, no operation too painful for the woman who would be beautiful. The tolerance of pain and the romanticization of that tolerance begins here, in preadolescence, in socialization, and serves to prepare women for lives of childbearing, self-abnegation, and husband-pleasing. The adolescent experience of the “pain of being a woman” casts the feminine psyche into a masochistic mold and forces the adolescent to conform to a self-image which bases itself on mutilation of the body, pain happily suffered, and restricted physical mobility. It creates the masochistic personalities generally found in adult women: subservient, materialistic (since all value is placed on the body and its ornamentation), intellectually restricted, creatively impoverished.  

- Andrea Dworkin, Woman Hating

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship: Invitation

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings: mentions of blood | depictions of firearms/firearm handling | mentions of hunting

Previous chapter | Next Chapter

AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

“Here,” Sam hands you a thick envelope. “Your pay, as usual.”

 You trust Sam not to go behind your back and the mutual agreement set between you two, but you make sure to grab and stop him from walking away with all your produce just yet. You need to count the money he's handed over and ensure every last madol is where it should be. Thankfully, it is, but there are a few extra bills you know aren’t supposed to be in there.

 You remove the extra money and hand it back to him. “You gave me too much.”

 He pushes your hand back and shakes his head. “Consider this my holiday gift for you.”

 You give him an incredulous look. “You sure? Because if you come back here next week telling me I owe you money I’m going to sick the wolves on you.”

 Your threat is met with a hearty laugh from the shopkeeper. “Have I ever done you wrong, my friend?”

 “Yes, you have actually.”

 “Haha, good times indeed!” He casually waves at you as he hauls away your vegetables on a large wooden cart. “Happy holidays!”

 You have half a mind to remind him that the holiday season is over. Instead, you decide that it’s best to just turn around and walk away. The money is in your hands and your produce is in his care and that's all there is to it. This season's harvest is now officially concluded and you can start prepping for the spring. After a long-deserved rest, of course. The few extra madols give you just a little more than what was needed to put down for a brand new generator for the dorm. You have a model already picked out ahead of time. All that's left is to order and wait for it to come in.

 "Well?" Benji floats up to you as soon as you enter the front door. "Do we have enough?"

 You proudly wave the envelope in the air. "We have enough and then some!"

 Your housemates cheer and pull you into a group hug. Frankie takes the envelope from you and heads out, most likely heading to the safe you’ve hidden from Grim so he can put all the money together and deposit it at the nearest bank. Once the ghosts come down from their brief celebratory high, you excuse yourself and head to the backyard where Malleus is waiting for you.

 "I'm back!" you happily announce your arrival.

 "Welcome back," he smiles up at you. "Did you get your payment?"

 "I did!" you nod. "Frankie's taking it to the bank, so I should be able to get that new generator before sunset."

 "That's good. It'll be one less problem for you to worry about."

 "You can say that again," you sigh. "Thanks for your help today. I'm surprised we managed to pick and clean everything up before noon!"

 You situate yourself next to Malleus, who's sitting down on the low porch. Gunter's pups have been following him since breakfast and you don't think they'll be off his heels for some time. It's been like this since they were born. One might even be able to say that they like him more than they do you. Malleus doesn't show it or verbally express it, but you can tell he enjoys their attachment to him. He allows them to jump all over him and drench him in wet kisses without much of a fuss. Who knows, when they grow older they just might start following and taking orders from him rather than you. Maybe he won't need Sebek and Silver to follow him anymore if they stick around?

 You can imagine Sebek being incredibly offended that a bunch of wild wolves took his job.

 Malleus looks at you. "Have you given them names yet?"

 "The pups?" you ask for clarification. "I've been meaning to, but my head can’t think of any. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them."

 Malleus mulls over your offer. He picks up one pup at a time, trying to think of an appropriate name to give them. After about 10 minutes his shoulders go slack and he looks back over to you with disappointment. "I'm afraid I'm drawing a blank as well."

 "Well, you gave it a shot," you clap your hand on his shoulder. "Tell you what. Once we get that new generator, we can sit down and do a bit of name-brainstorming over some tea."

 "Yes, that sounds lovely," he smiles again, and you start to realize that he has a damn good smile. "When do you want to get together?"

 "Sometime next week. With the extra money Sam gave me I can get the generator in faster!"

 Malleus seems momentarily excited, but it quickly dies as he suddenly realizes something. "Can we meet the week after next? I have something important coming up."

 "Sure," you say. "What's happening next week?"

 "It's…" he hesitates. "It's my birthday next week."

 Your eyes pop wide open. "Oh shit, for real?"

 "Indeed."

 One of the pups desperately tries to jump up onto the porch, but his stubby legs and meager strength aren't enough to push him over the edge. As you reach down and help him up, you ask, "How come I'm only hearing about your birthday now?"

 Malleus carefully lifts the other pups onto the porch as well. "You never asked me."

 "No kidding", you snort. "To be honest, I thought that maybe you didn't celebrate it anymore since you're hundreds of years old. Don't birthdays lose their novelty after a few centuries?"

 "They do,” he agrees  “I haven't had a grandiose party since I was about your age."

 "Wow," your eyebrows lift in shock. "That's just rude."

 He suddenly looks so terrified. "I didn't mean it-"

 "I'm kidding!" you quickly reassure him. "Lighten up Tsunotarou! I'm not going to shoot you for poking a bit of fun at me."

 "So you say," he grumbles.

 "I'm not!" you defensively shrill. "If you're talking about the time I shot at those sea worms, I had every right to! No way in hell was I gonna be intimidated into giving my dorm up. Not now. Not ever."

 Those "sea worms" you're referring to are Jade and Floyd Leech from Octavinelle. During exams week, Ace Deuce and Grim as well as many other students who made a deal with Azul for his infamous study guides practically kissed the very ground you walked on in order to convince you to rescue them from their dubious contracts. Initially, you refused their request no matter how much they pleaded or bothered you. It wasn't until Jade and Floyd caught onto this bit of information (it’s hard to ignore a dozen students following you around like a bunch of chicks) that they began to set their sights on you. The two tried to squeeze you into a deal that would release everyone who signed a contract with Azul for his infamous cheat sheet, so long as you could keep up your end of the bargain. 

 It was clearly too good to be true or fair. Nevertheless, you decided to at least listen and attempt to negotiate some sort of proposal that would make both sides happy, if only to have your intruded space restored to normal. Unfortunately, Azul wouldn't settle for anything less than your dorm, which you refused to hand over despite Grim's OK to put it up for grabs. Jade and Floyd insisted you agree to the terms for the sake of your friends and fellow schoolmates, but you bluntly told them something that, to this day, never fails to make Malleus giggle even when he's in a foul mood.

  "You're not getting my fucking dorm! Not now! Not ever!"

 Unfortunately, Jade and Floyd began to follow you around too and even went as far as to visit your dorm during unconventional hours, on a regular basis. Their insistent arguments began to turn into veiled threats, and you aren't the type of person to take them all too well. Malleus remembers visiting you one day only to find you out on the roof, your hunting rifle in hand, keeping a vigilant eye out towards the gates for the Leech twins to make their expected visit. Malleus knew that your weapon is a dangerous one when used correctly, but he did not expect as much power behind it as it had until you shot a couple of live rounds near the merfolk's feet.

 His ears still ring thinking about that powerful discharge.

 "Where is your rifle?" he asks. "Also, where is your falcon?"

 "Twilight? She's still upstairs in her cage." You make a vague gesture towards the second floor.

 Twilight is a falcon that you found during one of your hunting trips, having suffered a nasty injury to her wing. You have some experience with falconry so you immediately recognized her mannerism as that of a hunting falcon as well as her breed, an Aplomado. You tried to find her original handler while you nursed her back to health, but unfortunately, no one came forward to claim her and you decided to keep her. You and her bonded very easily, so rehabilitating and training her to take commands from you was a breeze. While you expected her to maybe leave your side once she was able to properly fly again, she remains determined to stick with you.

 You stand up and turn towards the back door. "I should probably wake her up before she gets mad at me.”

 "I'll watch over these while you do that," Malleus grabs one of the pups who topples over another and refuses to get off of them.

 "Thanks!" You bend down and give him a quick one-armed hug from behind. "You're the best!"

 As you're about to head back into your home, you stop at the door and turn back around. "Are you sure you want me to bring my rifle?"

 "Do you not want to bring it out?"

 "I don't mind bringing it. It's just, not everyone likes to be around guns."

 Malleus nods in understanding. "Well, I'm not like everyone," he playfully remarks.

 "No, you're not," you smile. "I'll be right back then."

 "Take your time," he assures you.

"Rise and shine pretty bird!"

 You lift the dark sheet off of her cage so she can bask in the morning light. Twilight was busy preening herself, but now that you're in her sight she begins to happily screech and shuffles closer to the door, eagerly awaiting for you to open it so she can jump on you.

 You quickly slip on your handling gloves and help her transfer from her perch to your hand. Her sharp talons tightly grip around the sides of your fingers, but the thick leather prevents them from piercing your raw flesh. You snap your fingers a couple of times to get her attention focused solely on you. When she maintains steady eye contact with you, you reach into your pocket and present your other gloved palm to her. In it are some bacon bits you managed to snag from the leftovers of this morning's breakfast. She eagerly pecks and munches down the small meal.

 "It still isn't the best time to go hunting, but how's about I let you out anyways and you can stretch your wings for a bit?"

 She expands her wings and flaps them a few times, a sign that she's eager to take you up on your offer. You haven't taken her out to hunt for about a month, mainly because you were gone half of the time. The winters here are especially harsh, even with a bunch of fire faeries keeping the campus somewhat warmer. The pickings are also dry since most of the wildlife on the island are sticking close to their burrows to stay warm and wait out the season.

 You've been itching to head out into the forest recently, but winter is usually a bad hunting season for you. Luckily, you've met and befriended a few of the locals on the island who live off the bounty of the land as you do. They tend to look out for one another and offer help during difficult times, and the barren winter is no exception. You make a mental reminder to reach out and ask where some of the best hunting spots on the island are once this generator fiasco is all taken care of.

 "Now, you wouldn't happen to know where my rifle is, do you?" you ask her. When she goes to nibble a piece of your hair, you know that she has no clue.

 As you're about to head down to the foyer (you often leave it there), a sudden squeaking noise catches both Twilight and your attention. There, at the other end of the hall, a beady-eyed Jerboa bounces up and down in a steady rhythm in an attempt to grab your attention.

 Scarabia wasn't entirely traumatizing. You met Gizmo, the Jerboa before you, during one of the exhausting desert marches, nearly dead from severe dehydration. The little guy brought you a bit of comfort throughout the entire ordeal. He also was able to bring you the enchanted envelope Malleus gave you before he went back home for the winter break. It immediately sends any letter you place inside it to him once you set it on fire. How else could you have contacted him after your phone was conveniently confiscated after your first escape attempt?

 "Good morning, little guy," you smile down at him. "You wouldn't happen to know where my gun is, do you?"

 It seems he does, as he turns and begins to race down the adjacent hall. He stops every so often to look back at you, making sure you're still keeping up with him. Eventually, he stops in front of a door to one of several lounging areas. This one, in particular, is more the ghosts' lounge than anyone else's. It's filled with all sorts of memorabilia and photos from the dorm's heyday. The ghosts have shared a few stories about the shenanigans they got in when they were both alive and students at NRC. Interestingly enough, the dorm was a sort of "halfway home" for students undergoing the difficult process that is switching to another dorm. The idea was to separate the student from those of their originally assigned dorm so they can better learn and adopt the characteristics of the dorm they wish to transfer into.

 Soon enough, the dorm began to house more and more people. A common feeling amongst the residents of the past was a feeling of displacement or disconnection towards the other formal dorms and the ideals they upheld. While not approved by the headmaster, the residents began to form a sort of pseudo dorm with its own set of principles as well as assigning a dorm leader and vice leader just as the others did. Nothing was ever written in stone, but the ghosts vouched that the main “characteristics” amongst Ramshackle’s past residents was a desire to establish camaraderie with those around them, no matter their background or origins.

 Listening and learning what the Ramshackle once meant to them and so many others hit home for you. You lived near a small rural town, surrounded by people who were willing to share their resources with their neighbors and even the occasional stranger simply because it was a kind thing to do for one another. The students of NRC are willing to put their heads together, sure, but there almost always has to be some sort of catch that benefits the individual.

 Living with students like that is stressful as hell. Somedays you just skip school entirely, having already gone through the many woes and few wonders of high school back in your world. You have zero patience to deal with people who only view each other (and subsequently you) as inferior or a mere stepping stone to trample over. Ace and Deuce are your friends and have proven that they are "exceptions" so to speak. However, they're still just a couple of kids. No matter how well you three communicate and work well with each other, there's just a natural disconnection you feel with them that not even magic can fix. 

 It makes your close connection with Malleus, someone who's centuries older than you, incredibly ironic. You've essentially had your life figured out back home, and in some strange serendipitous way, so does Malleus. He's going to become king of his home country immediately after or sometime after he graduates, while you were going to continue living that nice rural lifestyle you lived back home, alongside your 3 aunts and many cousins. At least, once Crowley finds a way to send you back.

 Maybe that's why his confession felt so much more confusing and intensely when it happened. Everything seemed so linear before he uttered those three words to you. Now, it feels like the clear and concise timeline you've had pictured in your head for months is just one big blob of scribbles and nonsense.

  "Am I doing something wrong?" you desperately ask Frankie. "Because it feels like I made some huge mistake and now it's coming back to bite me in the ass right now."

  "Of course you haven't done anything wrong," he rubs your shoulder reassuringly.

  "Then why does it feel like everything around me is slowly falling apart?" You're sobbing at this point. The cigar you took from him earlier is now abandoned, snuffed out in the ashtray. "Why does it feel like  I'm  falling apart?"

  "Nu-uh," he shakes his head and gives you a stern look. "We're not gonna do none of that. Do you hear me? None."

  "Then what the hell do I need to do?!" you shriek. "Frankie, I'm fucking losing it here. I'm one more backhanded dismissal away from kicking Crowley's teeth in. I swear, if one more overblot happens, so help me. I can't deal with someone else's problems when I can't even get a full night of rest anymore!"

  "You've done nothing wrong, you hear me?" he reaffirms. "I get it, I do. Right now, life is handing you a bad hand and you don't have the people you usually rely on for support. I've been there kiddo. We all have. We may not be like your aunts or your loud-ass cousins,"

  A smile finally cracks on your face. He's using your own words you've used to describe your younger family members. You love the little tykes, but they can be a handful sometimes. 

  Damn, you miss them, your aunts too. They're all that you have left after a messy custody battle with your parents. This garden. Your rifle. Hell, even your insistence at taking over many of the household chores have all been your desperate attempts of finding some sort of familiarity in this new and strange world. 

  "But remember, those in Ramshackle stick together and help each other out when they're in a pinch. We'll handle all the little stuff, the cooking, the cleaning, the occasional clogged pipe," he scoffs, annoyed just thinking about the pipes clogging up again. They've been doing it a lot lately and everyone in the house is incredibly over it. "Right now, your only priority is yourself. Okay?"

  It takes you a moment to really take in his words, but eventually, you nod in understanding. "Alright," you affirm out loud.

  He squeezes your shoulder. "Good."

  A sharp and muffled whistle pulls your attention away. Johnny's voice is a little hard to make out, but you're able to make out "generator working" and "warm coffee".

  "C'mon," Frankie holds open the glass door and ushers you outside. "I don't know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee."

  "I could use two," you sigh.

  He gives one last squeeze around your shoulder. For a moment, it feels like you're back home. You feel a little better too. A little bit more secure.

 As you enter the room, you see that Benji, and Johnny are gathered for the usual late morning/early afternoon poker matches. 

 "Hey, prefect," Benji, the first one to notice your entrance, greets. "Need something?"

 "Have you seen my rifle?" you look around the room for any immediate sign of it. "It's been a while since I used it and I've completely lost track of it."

 "Should be under one of the floorboards here," Johnny, who is playing busy rearranging his cards, says. "If not, try the floorboards in the living room."

 You thank him and begin carefully stepping and tapping your foot against the wooden floorboards, trying to find and search one of many secret spaces made back in Ramshackle's glory days. Nothing dangerous (you hope) was ever hidden. It was mainly used by the students who lived here during its heyday to hide bottles of alcohol and cigarettes. You know, the typical items a bunch of teenage outcasts would keep around.

 There was actually a bottle of some rare and expensive wine that was left behind as the number of residents began to dwindle. You and the ghosts are waiting for the right occasion to crack it open and enjoy the vintage-like a bunch of fiends. Grim won't be having any. Hell no.

 Twilight has temporarily detached herself from your side and perches comfortably on Benji's shoulder. Her talons dig into his white spectral body, but he doesn't wince or show any sign that he's in any pain. She nibbles on his worn scarf to pass the time until you call her. Gizmo busies himself by helping you find all the secret spaces. He finds one and begins jumping over it more enthusiastically. When you pry the wooden slat up, you perk up as the familiar scent of old gunpowder fills your nose.

 "There you are!" you practically sing when you lift the board and see your trusty gun. "And here I was thinking Benji lost you."

 "I heard that!" he shouts, deeply offended.

 "I know," you reply. "Glad to know that your hearing hasn't gone out yet. Had me worried for a while, gramps."

 Johnny erupts in a symphony of loud laughter. While community and mutual respect were a value shared between Ramshackle residents, a bit of teasing and the occasional prank is always welcomed. It's a great way to keep morale up. It's also satisfying to say a remark that makes everyone laugh or have a prank go as planned. So long as no one got hurt, it's all fair game between you all.

 You lift the heavy rifle out of the space and do a routine check. The internal magazine is empty and when you probe the back of the chamber with your pinky you don't feel a loaded round inside. You flip the safety on and off and pull the trigger a few times to make sure the mechanisms are working correctly. You also do a quick count of your ammunition. While guns do exist in this world, coming across bullets is much harder than it is in your world. This is mainly due to the reliance on magically sourced bullets that help reduce the use of resources. Their rarity makes them expensive, and the few blacksmiths who do make them usually don't sell to anyone unless they feel the buyer is a genuine enthusiast of their craft. The buyer also needs to have a license to own them, which you thankfully earned after a few safety lessons and a short exam.

 Lucky for you, the one and only smith on the island who makes bullets was more than happy to provide you with some bullets at an affordable price after you allowed him to ogle your rifle for a few hours. It's an old model, supposedly used by your great grandfather after he was enlisted into the army. When the war ended and he was sent back home, he customized it so it can be used for hunting deers instead of people. Your first aunt Gia was always handling it. Whether she was taking it apart and putting it back together or out in the backyard doing some recreational target practice. 

 She always looked strong yet elegant carrying it around, not that she isn’t without it. During your first year living with her, you tried to imitate her, slinging some large stick you found out in the woods to try to exude the same energy she did. When your second aunt Lucia moved in with your cousins after her divorce, she was quick to reprimand you and confiscate any of the newly found branches you brought back home and waved around as an imaginary rifle. Your aunt Gia eventually began to teach you how to properly and safely handle her firearm. By the time your third aunt Marisol moved in after graduating from university, you were one hell of a sharpshooter and a damn good hunter.

 With the rifle now deemed safe to take to Malleus, you sling it over your shoulder and make your way out of the room. You whistle the signal for Twilight to return to your side and she immediately heeds your command. Her obedience earns her a few more bits of bacon. Gizmo also wishes for some compensation for helping you locate your rifle. You make a quick trip to the kitchen and give him a few raisins to snack on. He's the only one who eats raisins in the dorm, so you don't skimp out on him.

 Blossom does try to snag a few for himself, but a threatening screech from Twilight scares the gluttonous fawn away. That deer sure loves to eat.

"I'm back, again!" you announce as you reclose the back door behind you.

 "Welcome back, again," Malleus regreets you. "And a good morning to you, Twilight."

 Twilight also loves Malleus. She eagerly shifts her feet, desperately wanting to fly onto his arm and properly say hello. You let her transfer onto him once he slips on the safety glove you provide. After a few minutes of giving her loving neck scratches and trying to stop her from nipping at Malleus's ears (she likes them a lot and, now that you’re thinking about it, you do too), you take her back and help send her off into the air for some much needed soaring time. 

 "I see you brought your weapon," Malleus looks at your rifle with an examining eye.

 "I did," you bring it around and into your arms. "Now, why did you want me to bring it again?"

 "No reason in particular," he admits. "I just...I'm quite used to seeing you with it. You're never without it unless you're attending classes."

 A proud smirk finds its way onto your face no matter how hard you try to hide it. "I'll take that as a compliment."

 A potentially stupid idea pops up in your head. "Do you want me to teach you how it works?"

 "Truly?" Malleus looks extremely shocked at your offer. "You dislike it greatly when another person touches it."

 "I dislike it when people who don't know the first thing about gun safety touch my gun," you correct. "But count yourself lucky, because I know everything there is to know about this one right here!"

 "Very well,” he gives a conceding nod. “Have at it."

 This is the most excited you've ever been since waking up in the floating coffin all those months ago. While you aren't the biggest gun enthusiast out there (you only ever use it for hunting), you do like it when people show interest to learn about your hobbies. Ace and Deuce are teenagers, so it's no surprise that they don't exactly find the long and grueling labor that goes into gardening all that exciting. Your firearm is nothing more than a toy in their minds, though Deuce is a bit more serious than Ace is when it comes to safety.

 Speaking of gun safety. "Now, I don't mean to nag but it's important to remember that, under no circumstances, are you to ever point a gun at anyone. Loaded or unloaded."

 Malleus makes a face of confusion. "Then how come you pointed and shot at the Leech twins?"

 "Hey," you put your hands up in defense. "I wasn't shooting at them. I shot at the ground and it just so happens that their feet were near my line of shot."

 "Ah, I see," he chuckles at your convenient excuse. "So shooting near an individual is ok, so long as the bullet doesn't hit them."

 "Exactly," you wink at him. "But seriously, don't point it at or near anyone. And don't look down the barrel. Lilia nearly gave me a heart attack when I caught him doing just that."

 He closes his eyes and gives a deep nod like you just bestowed upon him a great piece of wisdom. "Duly noted."

 "Next is the magazine," you turn and pull back the bolt handle to show him the empty magazine hidden underneath the bolt itself. "This is where you put the bullets. The magazine holds up to 4 bullets, 5 if you keep one loaded in the chamber. Since my gun is an older model, you can’t pop in an external magazine. Unless you're in a desperate situation, it's best to"

 You look up to make sure Malleus is following along with your explanation. Maybe he is, but it's hard to tell when his eyes completely ignore the rifle you have set between the two of you and instead keeps his eyes focused solely on you. Your throat immediately dries up and you feel your heart begin to beat just a bit faster after it skips a beat. The look he's giving you is the same one he gave you at Scarabia, a content, and dazed smile. There's a hint of melancholy in his expression, evident by how the inner corners of his eyebrows turn upward. 

 He looks so at peace, yet so sad.

 "What's wrong?" you ask, though you know full well what's making him feel that way he does.

 He shakes his head in denial. The visual sadness goes away once he settles. "Nevermind me. Keep talking, please."

 "R-Right," you stutter. "Where was I again?"

 "You said your gun is an older model."

 "Right," you remember. "Since the model is old, it's best not to reload too quickly, otherwise you risk jamming the gun and in some cases, you might break a mechanism."

 You feel a faint vibration underneath your leg. Thinking it's your phone (now set back to vibration mode) you start to pat down your clothes to try and find the device. Surprisingly, it actually came from Malleus's phone. It keeps pulsing in fixed intervals, likely from someone calling him. He quickly pulls it out and clicks on the red reticle, sending the caller to voicemail without batting an eyelash. You couldn't see who was calling, but you swear their name started with an 'S'. Could it be Silver or Sebek calling? You hope it's not Sebek because once Malleus starts to manually decline his calls, the next person he usually rings up is-

 You feel another vibration, this time it's coming from your phone that you apparently left in your back pocket. Lo and behold, it's Sebek that's calling you. You show your screen to Malleus, who makes a dramatically loud sigh of exhaustion. Sebek...While he's well-intentioned and has his charming points, he can be a bit of a handful...

 Ok, that's too nice a way of putting it. Really, as passionate as he is, he can be a bit annoying to deal with sometimes. You're trying to be polite as you can be with him because you've been told that Faes offended easily and you're not going to be that asshole. Though, you’ll be the first to admit that he’s such an easy and fun target to joke around with. Blame the ghosts, their behavior is gradually rubbing off on you.

 His protectiveness and the deep admiration he has towards Malleus is a little quirky, even cute at times. It reminded you of a child vehemently protecting their parent from their lover, not that you and Malleus are dating or anything. 

 Why did that last part feel weird to say in your head?

 "Go ahead and answer," Malleus concedes. "I’m not entirely in the mood to listen to his shouting in the middle of the day."

 "Oh, his heart would break if he heard you," you place a hand over your fake-pained heart. "You are such a cruel man, Great and Benevolent Malleus!"

 The two of you erupt into a brief fit of laughter. After calming yourself down, you answer the phone. "Hello, you've reached the Ramshackle dormitory." 

 You have to turn away and cup your free hand around your mouth so the phone doesn't pick up Malleus's uncontrollable giggles.

  "Human!”  he shouts into the phone and you have to pull it back to alleviate your overwhelmed eardrum. “  If you would kindly put Lord Malleus on the phone, I would greatly appreciate it."

 You look over to Malleus, but Sebek was loud enough that you don’t have to mouth anything to him. He gestures for you to hand the phone over to him, but you put your hand up to tell him to give you a moment.

 "If you want to talk to Malleus, press two,” you blankly say. “Those are the rules."

  "Human! I don’t have time for your terrible jokes!"

 Malleus then gestures for you to hand over your phone. "Do as they say, Sebek," he calmly commands.

 Your hands slap against your mouth to cover the loud and ugly screech you make when you hear the loud dial noise come right after. 

 The two talk for a while. It’s mainly Malleus listening to whatever Sebek is passionately rambling about while giving the occasional hum and idle acknowledgments. At one point during the call, he looks over to you and frowns. You mouth “what’s wrong?” but he shakes his head and looks away. Once he hangs up, he lets out a very stressful sigh and slumps a bit. He’s upset.

 “Hey,” you move your rifle and scoot closer to him, giving him a gentle shoulder bump once you’re near. “Talk to me. What did Sebek say?”

 “It’s nothing important,” he continues to dismiss. “Just a trivial matter.”

 “ Malleus,” your voice becomes stern. “C’mon, talk to me.”

 He tends to downplay his troubles since he thinks they pale in comparison to the many other aspects going on in his life (being royalty can’t be easy). When it was clear that you were more than just an acquaintance, Lilia gave you a bit of advice about Fae behavior so you can better communicate with Malleus and get him to open up to you. Faes cannot lie, but they can give half-truths, and, depending on how powerful one is, they can tell white lies. It took a bit of work, but eventually, you gained enough of Malleus' trust as well as reassured him that you won't up and abandon him for simply voicing his opinions or feelings, even if you might disagree with him.

 “You first,” he says insistently.

 Also by the advice\of Lilia, you have a bit of an ongoing exchange with Malleus. For every instance he bears his inner thoughts and feelings to you, you have to tell him something about yourself that others don’t know about. 

 Have all your facts been embarrassing admittances? Yes, they have.

  “No offense, but aren’t Fae notorious for being a bit...y’know?”

  “Mischievous?” Lilia snickers.

  “Right,” you cross your arms in an attempt to provide yourself with a bit of comfort. Lilia’s casual demeanor surely isn’t helping you. “Telling Malleus all my innermost secrets is surely going to come back and bite me in the future.”

  “Well, in most circumstances you wouldn’t be wrong.” Suddenly his playful voice becomes firm and actually assuring for once. “However, there is no need for concern. I can say with certainty that whatever you tell Malleus, no matter how embarrassing or incriminating it is, will forever remain with him and him alone.”

  The old Fae pats you on the head, despite being taller than him. “He cares deeply about, truly.”

 That fuzzy feeling in your chest returns. Your hands have an itch to fidget with something to try and distract yourself. It ends up being a strand of your hair that gets blown in your face after an especially chilly gust of wind dishevels it. That’s when a small bulb lights up in your head.

 “I hate the winter,” you admit. “The long nights throw me off and I have terrible luck running into wild game when I head out into the field. Really, it's cold weather that I hate in general.”

 “Interesting,” Malleus clearly takes in and files away this new fact he’s learned in his head. “This likely isn’t a surprise, but I enjoy this time of the year.”

 “What's winter in the Valley of Thorns like?”

 Malleus, shocked at hearing your sudden interest in his home, begins to paint as detailed a picture as he can about the kingdom during the colder seasons. Greenery is a bit sparse given the Valley’s more mountainous terrain, but he insists that the thorn bushes you can find in nearly every corner of the land are beautiful in their own right. No matter the season, there’s always some amount of fog that dilutes the rays of the sun, so a day without one is often seen as a sign of good fortune by the people. Modern machinery is all but nonexistent as well, so there are no buildings, pollution, or lights to obscure the starry sky at night.

 “Now it just sounds like I’m back home,” you let out a sad reminiscent sigh.

 “What about your home? What is it like?”

 “About the same as yours, except we got plenty of sunlight and we had lush forests instead of rocky cliffs. There was a small town about half an hour out, but most of the businesses there have been around since the ’50s.” You notice his confusion as your terminology, but a brief explanation of your world’s calendar clears it up.

 “It sounds charming,” he says. “I’d love to visit it one day, should the opportunity present itself.”

 “There’s an ice cream shop down the main avenue,” you mention, knowing how much he enjoys the cold treat. “The owners even change their selections every other day, but the rainbow sherbet is the best one they have!”

 “Is that so?” he chuckles at your enthusiasm. 

 A sharp screech cuts your conversation into an abrupt close. That was without a doubt a signal from Twilight, letting you know that someone is walking up the pathway to the dorm. You aren’t expecting anyone, and Frankie is likely just arriving in town by now. You remember how Malleus seemed dejected after his call with Sebek.

 Just as you connect the dots, Malleus stands up, brushing off any dirt and debris from his clothes. “I apologize, but I must head out now.”

 “Already?” you ask with playful sadness. The fuzz in your chest dissipates into a dull ache. Weird.

 “I need to go over my guest list for my birthday once more. Lilia insisted I send out handwritten invitations to immerse myself into the festivities.”

 “That sounds about right.” After standing up yourself and insisting you’ll walk him out, you ask, “So when can I expect my invitation to come in?”

 “You want to come? Even after,” he immediately stops himself from speaking.

 Does he really think he messed up that badly with you?

 “I do want to go,” you firmly tell him. “Even after everything that’s happened.”

 There’s a brief silence between you two before he says, “You don’t have to force yourself.”

 “I’m not,” you reassure him.

 “So you say.”

 “Malleus,” you sigh. “If there’s anyone scared about our friendship dissolving because of what happened, it’s me. I’m the one that’s keeping you in suspense, even now.”

 The truth hurts, but no amount of shared laughs and the occasional antics between the two of you is going to magically dissolve the damage present. You’ve hurt him, and in a way, it’s hurting you as well. Life isn’t as linear as it was, but sulking and bringing the people around you down is a terribly selfish thing to do, especially towards someone you care a great deal about. You weren’t raised like that. You were taught to appreciate the little things and watch out for those around you. Not for personal gain, but because it was simply a kind thing to do.

 This feeling of insecurity came before the winter break. Being around so many people whose ideals and actions clash with yours often succeeds at making you think that you’re the one in wrong, that you’re the helpless and naive one. That’s far from the truth. The community you’ve built with the ghost trio and the natives on Sage’s Island is proof that your values are shared with others. 

 It’s just like Frankie said, life is just serving you a bad hand right now. You can prevail and return to the better days. The better days when you and Malleus were the best of friends. But why does your heart hurt when you think about his confession for the umpteenth time? What’s making you so hesitant? More importantly, why couldn’t you tell him “yes”, yet you also knew you couldn’t tell him “no”?

 As you watch Malleus and Sebek depart from your front door, making their way down the steps towards the front gates, you hastily announce that you’ll be back and begin running towards them.

 You need to make things right. 

Malleus noticed the way your hands sought something out to fidget with when you were feeling...he doesn’t know what that was. You weren’t feeling uncomfortable as far as he could tell. 

 Were you perhaps...flustered? 

 No, that can’t be it. You don’t think of him that way, he’s sure of now. When he quickly reassesses his behavior, he didn’t do anything that would warrant you to become nervous, other than look at you with a far too amorous gaze while you explained the ins and outs of your firearm. He couldn't help himself. Seeing you so passionate and animated, even if it's over something he has no knowledge or a particular interest in, made his heart flutter as well as ache yet again.

 They fidget with the nearest object when they feel uncomfortable. Remember that.

 “What was that, Lord Malleus?” 

 Sebek’s booming voice catches him off guard a bit, but he quickly recovers as if nothing disturbed him at all. “It’s nothing, just thinking aloud.”

 “I see. In any case,” he quickly changes the subject. “The materials needed to write and send the invitation letters are all ready. Sir Lilia insists that you write each one on your own, but I am more than capable and willing to offer my assistance should you need it!”

 “That’s quite alright. There aren’t a great many I need to send anyways,” Malleus gracefully rejects Sebek’s eager offer. 

 There really aren’t that many people who will be attending, just the residents of Diasomnia and that’s it. He initially had plans to invite you, but he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. You’ve expressed your desire to come, but he can’t help but feel that it’s only out of pity.

 He doesn’t want that from you. At this point, he just wants things to return to how they once were before he opened his mouth and began to spew a bunch of one-sided nonsense. He just wants your friendship, pure and untainted like before.

 Perhaps he’s destined to never have a friend after all.

 “Malleus!” your distant voice calls out to him, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn around to search for you.

 He doesn’t understand how you do it, but just hearing you call his name utterly burns away all the muddled thoughts circulating within his head. He is exceptional when it comes to defensive magic, yet whatever spell you manage to cast on him that makes him so taken by you, it exceeds even his own magical prowess.

 But you don’t have any magic. Not even a speck courses through your veins. You’re just an average human. His nearly crippling infatuation is entirely his own doing.

 "Oh, thank goodness you haven't made it past the front gates yet," you heaved out. Did you run all the way here? Did he forget something? He quickly pats his front pocket and feels a hard lump, his phone. It’s the only personal item he brought.

 "Human," Sebek's voice sounds annoyed at your sudden presence. "What do you need from- AH!"

 Sebek's scream hurts Malleus's ear, but the slight and momentary ring means little when you've wrapped your arms over his shoulders and pull him into a tight embrace. He immediately melts into your arms, smothering his face against the crook of your neck and taking in your scent like a desperate man. Despite the sweat you and he worked up from hours of labor, you still smell so nice, like fresh cotton and assorted herbs. It's unique. It's comforting. 

 It's you.

 "One week," you whisper in his ear. "Give me one week. I'll have an answer for you then."

 He pulls back and looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. "Pardon?"

 "I've hurt you, badly." you look down in shame. "I still am, but I'm going to make it up to you. I promise"

 "A promise made with a Fae is a dangerous thing, especially when you don't uphold your end of the deal," he says with a warning tone. "One week. Are you sure that's enough time?"

 "It is," you say with certainty.

 You're not one to lie or bite off more than you can stomach. You know when you've been beaten, that's why you called for his help over the break. His interpretation of trust differs greatly from yours, and it's not given to many, Fae or not. 

 "Very well,” he yields. “I will trust you to keep to your oath.”

 “Thank you,” you squeeze him closer against you. “And I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just please, don't break my heart any further," he whispers pleadingly into your ear.

Apologies are dangerous words to say to a Fae, even a bit demeaning to some. The same with words of thanks, which you often say to him regularly. Malleus has developed a habit of accepting them out of courtesy. It's an aspect of his culture that you struggle to adjust to since it's interpreted differently in human society. You've also told him something he finds humorous, how your aunts constantly enforced you (in your words “beat it into you”) to say "please", "thank you", and “sorry”, as they didn't want others to think they were living in a crude household. It's incredibly ironic considering you tend to swear every other sentence.

 You explained that "Thank you"s are acknowledgments of the efforts one makes for another, no matter how small or grandiose the gesture is. Apologies are acknowledgments that one has wronged another and wishes to make amends.

 It sounds like common sense, but he understands now what you mean when you tell him "It's the little things that matter most". His heart was hurt when you couldn’t tell him “yes” or even a simple “no”. He's still suffering from the aftermath of his confession, even as he signs off on the last of the invitations for his birthday party, his mind failing to commit to the enthusiastically written words. You've acknowledged that you see his pain and that you recognize that you're its source. Despite having other troubles of your own, you've made it clear that he's now been pushed up your long to-do list and that he's now your main priority.

 It brings much-needed relief to his pained heart, though just a bit.

 He waits until Sebek is gone before he rummages around his desk for a beige-colored envelope, the one he enchanted and gave to you so you can speak to him over the break (he preferred this method over text messages). It still has your SOS letter in it, written with your now aged and darkened blood.

  Malleus. I'm sorry for the smell, but it's all I have on hand. I'm in Scarabia's dorm and they're not letting me leave. I've been here for a few days to help the vice dorm leader with some sort of internal affair, but I think he did something to me that's making it impossible to refuse him anymore. I tried to bail, but they caught me and now they're locking me up and keeping a close eye on me.

  If I may be a bit bold, I'm fucking scared out of my mind. I know it's rude of me to make demands without proper compensation, but I think I need some help. I don't want to cause a big fuss, so if you can could you come alone? If you can't that's fine. I'm sure I can pull through until the break ends.

  I hope you're doing well. Again, sorry for the smell.

 He makes a few more creases in the paper due to gripping it so harshly. He remembers opening it the first time and nearly ripping it in half because of how utterly livid he was. Your fresh blood also didn't help at the time. You didn't state what your current condition was when you drafted the letter and his mind immediately thought of you being injured and that was the reason you wrote it in your blood.

 The time between him sneaking past his castle's security once he received your letter to arriving on Sage's Island via his own magic (curse the dark mirror for being inactive during the winter) is a bit of a blur. All he can remember is that he was just so worried for you, a magicless human against an entire dorm of wizards in training. Even someone with subpar control over their magic can do you a great deal of damage.

 If sneaking out of his home without telling a soul, potentially causing one of the largest search hunts to commence had someone noticed and reported to his grandmother, doesn't prove how much you mean to him, he doesn't know what will.

 One week. If it takes you one more week for you to realize this, then he will wait.

 He trusts you, just as you trusted him when you sent him that letter.

 He grabs his quill and dips the tip into a jar of ink, writing something quick and straightforward on a spare piece of parchment.

  "Please come to my party. It would mean the world to me."

 After the ink dries, he folds it and places it in the envelope, sealing it with wax bearing the crest of his family. He needs not utter a single incantation to have it erupt in a blaze of green fire. He waits. One minute. Two. Suddenly, a spark of blue fire erupts on his desk before dissipating, leaving behind the same envelope he burned minus a wax seal.

 He opens it.

  "Of course I will!"

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Splatter of Rage

Wolmeric Week #1: Formal

A/N: So I was messaged by a couple people that today was apparently the first day of Wolmeric Week on twitter (which I do not have an account on), and at first I was all, “oh jeebus no I just did twenty-eight days of prompts, no more!” But then the first day’s prompt stewed in my brain. And then turned more into worldbuilding than shipping, whoops, but it’s not like I don’t prefer worldbuilding, some days. So. Enjoy?

Day 1 || Day 2 || Day 3 || Day 4 || Day 5 || Day 6 || Day 7 || Bonus!

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 1677 WARNINGS: Brief references to misogyny and classism

---

For all that Synnove intensely disliked (an understatement) what Ishgardian nobility considered a proper social function, she moved through the crowd of the Haillenarte parlor with an ease that certainly didn’t appear wholly feigned. Part of that, Aymeric knew, came from being forced to attend the much more cutthroat soirees of Ul’dahn business magnates by her mother and absorbing how they traded barbs disguised as compliments, whether she liked it or not. Part of it also stemmed from the years of maintaining the façade of bureaucratic benignity while serving as a cargo assessor for Mealvaan’s Gate and waiting for the right moment to bury a merchant-captain in so much red tape they couldn’t see the light of day for sennights.

“There is no Ishgardian count or lordling,” Synnove had muttered to him the first time she had accompanied him to a party as his beloved and not a Warrior of Light, “that has an ego to match that of a member of the fucking EATC board of directors. The likes of Lolorito and Lady Shushuha would flay this lot alive with just their tongues and barely consider it sport.”

Tonight was the type of gathering that was focused on gossip and hobnobbing rather than dancing—admittedly something neither of them had overly minded, too tired from overwork to gather the energy for more than idle strolling while sipping fine wines—and he had been drawn early on into a conversation with Counts de Haillenarte and Dzemael and the Speaker for the House of Commons, Lionnet Aucheforne. Artoirel and Lord Edmont had thus taken turns to keep Synnove company for most of the night; he had caught her eye more than once as she had taken leisurely turns of the room with either gentleman, delighting in the spark of predatory, possessive satisfaction in her gaze when it alighted upon himself. She was quite fond of him in the fine blue coat she had brought back from the First for him, and it was his honor to be a source of some pleasure for her this eve.

Unfortunately, it now appeared that in the lull between father and son switching off escort duty, someone had waylaid his lady. It was only years of exposure to the subtle shifts in Synnove’s carefully maintained mask of pleasant neutrality that allowed Aymeric, even at this distance clear on the other side of the large room, to pick out the sourness lurking at the slightly downturned corners of her mouth, the chill turning her lovely eyes from grass green to sharp emerald. He couldn’t see who it was that was speaking to her, however; leaning around Count Baurendouin would be far too obvious, so instead he kept half his attention on the conversation in which he was supposed to be participating as he flicked his gaze towards Synnove every few moments.

Finally, the crowd parted, just a little bit—

—oh, Seven fucking Hells.

Aymeric was quite certain he had not spoken aloud, but there was no hiding the horror contorting his face at the moment, as both Counts and his House of Commons counterpart immediately ceased speaking to stare at him in quiet bemusement for a handful of heartbeats. And then, in one synchronized movement, all three men turned to follow his gaze. Another heartbeat of silence and then while Master Aucheforne maintained his puzzlement, both Count Baurendouin and Count de Dzemael swore.

“Why would you invite her?” Count de Dzemael hissed.

“I did no such thing, and neither would my lady wife,” Count Baurendouin replied in the same tone. Both men had hunched their shoulders in unconsciousness defensiveness.

Clearing his throat, and speaking in slightly more normal tones, Count Baurendouin turned to him and said, “Ser Aymeric, I will take no offense should you decide to escort your lady home early tonight. Or if anything untoward should happen to another of my guests in ensuring your lady leaves further unmolested.”

Without any further prompting, Aymeric broke away and strode in ground-eating movements for Synnove while the two counts explained to Master Aucheforne why the sight of Lady Isabeau de Torsefers—Aymeric’s mama’s absolute least favorite cousin—struck terror into most of high society.

Lady de Torsefers occupied an unassailable position in Ishgard: widow to a noble knight of means who had died in honorable combat slaying Dravanians. That she was widowed at twenty-one, five months after her marriage and carrying her husband’s heir, had been considered a romantic tragedy among her generation. That her position mere steps away from saintliness had meant no one had been willing to rein in the worst of her snide, cruel comments for anyone who presented the slightest inconvenience to her whims and wants, that had transformed over the decades into the haughty never-wrong surety of an elderly dowager, was considered a waste of potential of a maiden who had been a shining example of proprietary and grace at the time of her betrothal.

“A feral croc in karakul’s clothing, that one,” he had overheard Mama mutter to Hersande when Lady de Torsefers had shown up unannounced for afternoon tea, once.

He wove through the crowd with ease, startling no few of the lords and ladies, leaving a wake of rustling silks behind him. And with every step closer, Synnove’s expression chilled further and further until her face was as cold and expressionless as a statue of the Fury Herself.

(That tiny, atavistic part of his mind recognized that “Fury” was too-apt a comparison.)

Aymeric finally reached his lady’s side, nearly out of breath, to hear Lady de Torsefers say, somehow managing to look down her nose despite age having shrunk her to ilms shorter than Synnove, “—though I suppose you aren’t the worst choice to final beget a passel of Borel heirs.”

Synnove’s hand tightened on her wine glass until her knuckles whitened. Aymeric internally seethed, but this, unfortunately, wasn’t the first time some too-nosy noble had thought they needed to venture their (unwanted, unasked for, absolutely inappropriate) opinion about what type of family Synnove and Aymeric should have. (Never mind they had everything they wanted just as it was.) Still, it never failed to have him see red that anyone would reduce a woman, much less a heroine of the Dragonsong War and a Warrior of Light, to breeding potential.

“Children aren’t in our future,” Synnove said in a voice so frosty it was a wonder her breath didn’t ice the air before her. Aymeric ilmed closer to her, gently setting his hand on the small of her back; she shifted imperceptibly to press back against him. “The carbuncles are rambunctious enough on their own.”

Lady de Torsefers laughed, dry and mocking, her beady eyes glinting. “Oh, children are a much larger challenge than pets, though a proper governess makes that simpler!”

Synnove growled, low and furious, with enough force that Aymeric felt it reverberate up his arm. He may have made a similar sound himself, he couldn’t say for certainty, though he did know he saw red once more. The fact there currently wasn’t blood staining the Haillenarte carpet and walls was likely a product of divine intervention: nothing enraged Synnove quite so much as any implication that her carbuncles weren’t people.

His mama’s least favorite cousin for obvious reasons gave him a dismissive glance. “Two governesses, perhaps, to counteract the late archbishop’s taint.”

Aymeric’s jaw dropped, shock knocking away his rage as he stared at Lady de Torsefers and her mean little smile, so absolutely taken aback that his mind skittered to a halt. He heard more than one outraged gasp from the nearby nobles.

There was a beat of stillness, the sounds of the rest of the party distant and dim—and then Synnove threw her wine into Lady de Torsefers’s face.

The dowager shrieked in surprise and outrage as the liquid streaked her face powder and dripped onto her widow’s weeds. She pulled out a handkerchief and started frantically dabbing at her eyes as a few startled, choked off laughs echoed around them before the culprits hurriedly turned away; Aymeric didn’t bother to do similarly, instead letting out his smirk as malicious glee unfolded in his chest. Once her eyes were sufficiently clear, the widow lowered the handkerchief to glare at Synnove, a nasty sneer curdling her mouth.

“How dare you, you ill-bred cur,” Lady de Torsefers hissed.

Synnove matched her glare, unblinking, as she set her now-empty wine glass down on the tray a server had whisked over to present, and just as quickly whisked away. “Madam,” said Synnove, voice shivering with barely-contained rage, “should you ever again insult a member of my family, whether it be in my hearing or not, I will do worse then douse you with wine.”

The malicious glee morphed into pride and deep affection; even years after she had first done so, it never failed to awe Aymeric that Synnove had chosen him, that she counted him among her loved ones and a member of her family. In as deliberate an insult as he could manage without actually wasting words on the woman, he turned his back on Lady de Torsefers, ignoring her gasp of outrage. Synnove sniffed at his nudge on her back but acquiesced, spinning on her heel, and in unison, the couple left.

They were, fortunately, not far from the large parlor’s exit, so only a few eyes followed them as they swept out with a pointed swirl of Synnove’s green skirts. Her heels clacked loudly against the marble floor of House Haillenarte’s grand entrance foyer, the sound sharp and strident as she near-vibrated with fury, as she growled, “I know we’re rather overdressed for it, but I want a drink from the Forgotten Knight.”

Aymeric used the hand still on her back to pull her closer and kiss the side of her head. “No argument from me, darling,” he said. “And then we can detour to the Congregation and blow up a few striking dummies. We can even dress them in old black rags.”

“I’m keeping you.”

“You’d better!”

[amphtaminedreams]

Sitting Front Row at...(On a Budget Obvs): Lookbook no.15

Hey to anyone reading!

And welcome to my fave lookbook I’ve done in a longggg ass time! Yes, that’s partially because it involved making collages and doing the low effort work of scouring Vogue Runway for “research purposes”, but I promise, that statement wasn’t made out of COMPLETE laziness-I am super happy with it too. It’s been a good use of pre-part-lockdown-lift time in the interim between that brief period of Christmas celebrations and eateries finally fucking opening again because let’s be honest, I always knew I was gonna get distracted by oat milk vanilla lattes and veggie all day breakfasts once I could actually sit down with them at my fave local cafe. You could say I was very much operating on a self-imposed deadline.

The “what I would wear to sit front row at...[insert designer here]” TikTok/Instagram reel trend was something I wanted to get on board with ever since I first saw one and whilst the option of doing my own live action take-I really cannot bear the thought of having to edit footage of myself awkwardly attempting to sit nonchalantly in front of a camera for hours on end-was off the cards considering my complete lack of screen presence, I decided a Tumblr text post would work just as well, and if not even better in a way. Given the absence of the time limitations you face when you’re making a reel or a TikTok I thought it’d be cool to present the looks as part of a mini moodboard for each designer which adds a bit of context to each look even if you aren’t familiar with their past collections and establishes the general vibe of the brand I’m attempting to replicate. Not to sound snotty or as if I am the font of all knowledge on anything high fashion related but even with my amateur knowledge I noticed that as the video trend took off and was adopted by big name influencers, it became less about the average person putting their own personal spin on the aesthetic of the labels we can’t ordinarily afford and more about them building outfits that only vaguely resemble the general public perception of the brand around the real corresponding (and often gifted and thus inaccessible to someone who doesn’t makes thousands for a sponsored post) pieces they own SO I thought I’d take the trend back to its roots and get a bit resourceful. All that being said, in no particular order, here are the outfits I would wear to sit front row at Gucci, Vera Wang, Miu-Miu, Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Brock Collection, Alexander McQueen, Etro, Burberry aaaand Saint Laurent based on their past collections and guess what? They didn’t cost a shit tonne of money :-)

-disclaimer: will include an asterisk before any new purchases if from a high street store though to be honest, I don’t think there are any, we shall see! I do include where I got old purchases from in case anyone wants to search anything on Depop/Ebay-

1. Saint Laurent (formerly Yves Saint Laurent)

-blazer from identityparty on Depop, pleather trousers from Zara, jewellery from Dolls Kill-

I know technically abbreviating Saint Laurent to YSL doesn’t really make much sense anymore given the brand’s name change in 2012, but I’ll always think of it as that in the same way I’ll always associate it with the slightly dishevelled yet simultaneously glitzy rock n’ roll aesthetic. The thing is, whilst YSL hasn’t done anything wildly out of the box for a long time, it’s rare they put a look on the runway that I wouldn’t wear; they never end up being a fashion week standout but the Parisienne take on grunge we’ve seen Anthony Vaccarello establish as his go-to will always have a place in my heart. 

2. Alexander McQueen

-embroidered leather jacket from Ebay (originally Topshop), harness from Amazon, dress from ASOS, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

Alexander McQueen is a brand that is pretty much universally liked, from the historically extravagant and groundbreaking shows the man himself put together to Sarah Burton’s more toned down but still beautiful collections. Obviously I didn’t attempt to do justice to the former, so I tried my hand at putting together a look inspired by Sarah’s blend of delicate femininity and nomadic edge, and it went...okay? Like it’s definitely not my favourite of all the looks because it does give off slightly cheap copycat vibes buuut outside of the context of this lookbook it’s cute.

3. Brock Collection

-boater hat from Ebay, midi skirt from morganogle on Depop, corset top from ownmode_, heels from amybeckett1, bag from Primark-

Brock isn’t as well known a brand as most of the others in this list but I adore everything Laura Vassar Brock does and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try and channel the vision of one of the OG pioneers of the cottagecore vibe through my own wardrobe. I mean fr, this woman’s work as a steady provider of meadow photoshoot worthy dresses and corsets and skirts is v slept on and I will not stand for it. I will sit in front of a camera and then write a paragraph in my blog post begging anybody who reads to give LVB (an abbreviation I acknowledge is unlikely to catch on because Lisa Vanderpump anybody?) some form of acknowledgement for her services to period romance novel inspired moodboards everywhere.

4. Marc Jacobs

-coat from House of Sunny, white shirt from Retro World Camden, co-ord from Sugar Thrillz, bag from Poppy Lissiman-

If there’s one thing Marc Jacobs always does, it’s COMMITS. TO. HIS. THEME. I just KNOW he has a secret Pinterest with separate boards for every fashion era of the 20th century and he is putting those boards to good use providing us with collections that are as immersive as they are eclectic year in year out. 

5. Miu Miu

-beret from H&M, hair clips from H&M, jewellery from Primark, coat from mollyyemmaa on Depop, shirt from YesStyle, sweater vest from YesStyle, skirt from Depop, diamanté belt from Brandy Melville, shoes from Koi Vegan Footwear-

We all like to talk about Bratz dolls and Monster High dolls and Barbies as fashion inspo but can we all focus on Cabbage Patch dolls for two secs so as to acknowledge the fact that a Miu Miu collection is basically all their fits grown up? And made boujie as fuck? If I want my fix of Wes Anderson meets Scream Queens (what a combo) inspired outfits, if I want prissy and girlish but also glam, if I want to look like a bratty rich girl whose one redeeming quality is her eye for vintage clothes, I know where to look and that is the Miu Miu section of Vogue Runway. 

6. Vera Wang

-blazer as in no.1, velvet bralet from catdegaris on Depop, harness from Amazon, skirt from Ebay, knee high socks from Ebay, lace up boots from Ebay-

Vera Wang’s RTW aesthetic, a blend of the ethereal, ultra-feminine bridal designs she’s known for and British style punk rock influences, is something I feel has only become firmly established in recent years but it is everything I ever wanted and more. I always find myself trying to balance the part of me that loves everything girly and delicate and pretty and the part of me that would love to be in a biker gang and Vera’s collections are always an inspirational reminder of just how well it can be done.

7. Burberry

-coat from charity shop, suit from emmafisher3 on Depop, top from simranindia, shirt underneath from Zara, jewellery from ASOS-

Now I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the biggest fan of Burberry but there have been a few looks over the past few years I’ve really liked and as someone who owns numerous trench coats, high necks and way too much plaid, I thought it’d be an easy one to replicate. Plus, if you can count on Riccardo Tisci for nothing else you at least can rely on him giving you some layering inspo which is very much needed in a country where it literally just snowed in April and where my plans for today have just been cancelled because the iPhone weather app did a Karen Smith and didn’t predict rain for today right up until it started raining so thanks for that one British meteorologists. Your incompetence strikes again.

8. Etro

-corset from Urban Outfitters, vinyl trench coat from Topshop, boots from Ebay, black slip dress from kaoanaoleinik on Depop, fur trim afghan coat from louisemarcella-

Like with Brock Collection, Etro isn’t a hugely well known brand, but it is always one of my favourites-to add a spanner into the works of any attempts to cultivate a firm sense of personal style, I live for the ornate Bohemian look that Etro does so well just as much as I love both grungy and girly pieces, and so I really wanted to include a brand whose collections go down that route. It was a toss-up between this and Zimmerman, the flirtier, free spirit counterpart to the dark romance of Veronica Etro’s designs; her vision really shines through the most when it comes to the brand’s winter collections, imo, and given that I live in a country where winter or some weather state resembling it does seem to take up 70% of the year, I did decide on channelling her work rather than that of the equally talented Nicky and Simone Zimmermann this time round.

9. Dolce & Gabbana

-flower crown from ASOS, tiara from Amazon, earrings from YesStyle, dress from alicealderdice1 on Depop, opera gloves from Ebay, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

D&G is a brand I felt really conflicted about doing-I don’t include their current collections in my fashion week reviews based on the actions of designers Stefano Gabbana and Domenico Dolce over the last few years because I don’t want to mitigate the collective effort of fashion critics to push them towards irrelevancy. Though people like to claim the brand has turned a corner since Lucio Di Rosa was brought on board as the manager of celebrity and VIP relations last year (they are as prolific a force on red carpet fashion as ever), we haven’t seen any real meaningful apologies or reparations made by Dolce and Gabbana themselves which once again leaves us in the all too familiar quandary of whether or not we can separate the art from the artist especially when it is far too much of a simplification to only credit the two men for their work given there’s a whole design team behind them. There are a LOT of shitty people working in fashion, the whole industry is a bit of a cesspit if we’re honest, but I don’t think that should stop us from at least being able to appreciate old collections if we make sure we aren’t engaging in any kind of promotion of current works whilst doing so. D&G are a brand of high highs and low lows, with looks that range from hideously ugly to showstoppingly beautiful in a single show-when the looks are good, they are GOOD-and their presence in the fashion world is most definitely felt whether we want it to be or not. It would just be shit to refuse to recognise the existence of some real iconic runway moments, the practical work that went into the ornate detail and opulence that helped cement D&Gs place in sartorial history, the styling that’s made goddesses and fairytale queens out of modern day women as they’ve glided down catwalks, the far more extravagant and, let’s be real, sexier version of our world D&G shows have transported us to in the past. Will I talk about D&G ever again? No, and if you Google the scandals their brand has faced over the past few years, there are more than enough reasons why, but just this once I did want to pay homage to some of the collections, the snippets of which I saw on my Tumblr dashboard back when I was about 13, that first got me into fashion.

10. Gucci

-fur coat from Topshop, clips from Zaful, glasses from Ebay, dress from gracewright246 on Depop, shirt from Boohoo, blazer from charity shop-

Now last but, if you ever read any of my fashion week reviews (the likelihood of someone actually having read one of them and reading this is incredibly, incredibly slim lol, I wouldn’t read me either) you’ll know, definitely not least, is Gucci because Alessandro Michele comes through every!! single!! time!!

The man is truly the king of quirky throwback maximalism and it hurts my heart that a lot of people seem to think of it only as a brand associated with ostentatious displays of wealth. Year after year since Michele was made creative director he has released purposeful, fully-fleshed out collections which unravel themselves to us on the runway like time capsules containing the belongings of the rich and whimsical and yes that can sometimes result in outfits which are *ahem* a bit mismatched but it doesn’t matter because through fashion he manages to take us to a vivid version of the past where people could dress as freely and lavishly as they wanted to, into the wardrobe of a person unaffected by the side-eyeing of others. You get the impression he doesn’t design so much as plays around with some kind of enchanted dress up box and takes inspiration from there and to give that impression is only a credit to his talent-to make outfits so kooky and extravagant look like they were meant to be takes a boldness and genuine love for clothes that I do tend to feel a lot of the big name designers have lost in the pursuit of profit and the necessary placating of the dying customer base that keeps that coming in. Of course I'm not for a second saying Gucci does not care about profit, but at the very least, they have on board a creative director who genuinely has fun with what they’re putting out there and wants to make a statement too and that really shows; you can rest on your laurels and sell tweed boucle jackets to rich old white women for eternity but nobody’s going to mention your brand name and the word groundbreaking in the same sentence ever again unless they’re talking about what it was a century ago, you know (mentioning no names...unless...did I hear someone say Chanel)? That feels like such a shady way to end, lol, but I’m sure said brand will survive-to be fair, they’ve been included in every other What I’d Wear to Sit Front Row At video I’ve seen so although I’m always slagging them off for doing the saaaaame thinggggg year after year, for that same reason their aesthetic is instantly recognisable and so will always be a source of imitation. There are obviously pros and cons to being a brand which constantly reinvents itself but I think it’s totally possible to do that whilst maintaining an overall mission, and Alessandro Michele’s work at Gucci demonstrates that with ease.

Anyway, if you got to here, thanks for reading! I know I’m super behind on this whole TikTok trend and I know a Tumblr post instead of a video is a bit of a cop out but all the real, physically awkward ones out there know that watching yourself back is excruciating lmao, so I hope this does the trick. After this, I’m gonna get back to the reviewing S/S21 collections post though knowing me I’ll probs take a few days to get back into that because I feel like since I left full-time education (RIP me going back in a few months) writing continuously like this for any longer than about 15 mins fries what brain cells I have left. Again, thank you for reading and if you are, sending many good vibes your way! Stay safe!

Lauren x

[collecting-stories]

Heartbeat - Rafe Cameron

Request: Hey, I was hoping if you could do reader x Rafe inspired by Heartbeat by Childish Gambino? Also I freaking love your writing!!

A/N: I’m not really a Childish Gambino fan so this was me grasping at straws to write this honestly. Pretty much angst. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

_ ⭐︎*.・✶ ☾ ◦*.⭐︎_

Post graduation you saw less of the actual island than you would’ve liked. You came around for all the expected holidays and birthdays but otherwise you stayed in Chapel Hill. It was easier that way, you could avoid all the people on the island that you didn’t want to see, make-believe that your heart was totally in this relationship but you knew you weren’t. 

You’d gotten engaged four months ago and, inviting everyone she could think of, your mom sent an invitation to the Camerons. One that Rafe intercepted. Old high school flames never die out or whatever cheesy line your mom was keen on saying when you lost your literal train of thought at the sight of him. 

“Liam’s not a bad guy,” she tried to reassure you, “I just think it’s such a shame you and Rafe broke things off. I always thought you two would end up together.” 

You almost did. 

You ended up in his bed the morning after your party. Not what your mother had in mind but it had happened all the same. And you tried so hard to regret it, he’d told you enough times that he ‘didn’t do commitment’ that you didn’t need to hear it from him again, or throw away an entire relationship because of a stupid mistake like hooking up with your ex after too much wine.  

But it wasn’t just too much wine and Rafe wasn’t just an ex. He was that ex. The one you would throw everything away for if he told you he wanted more than just sex. He was the reason you stayed away from the island, because you knew once you opened that door you would never be able to close it again.  

The first time he texted you was after the night you spent together. Something dumb that you shouldn’t have even wanted to respond to, especially when you were sitting at the island club having brunch with your mom, dad, and Liam. But the text came through and you quickly replied. A series of less that appropriate banter followed until he one upped your response.  

-you look so sexy right now-

Not the greatest love poem on earth but there was always something about Rafe. Something that had you in the bathroom stall with him while your fiancé was sitting out on the deck with your parents.  

“I can’t keep doing this.” You insisted, fixing your dress as you stood in the stall with him, still a little high from the moment even as the gravity of it settled around you.  

“So don’t.” Rafe shrugged.  

As much as you wanted to scream you couldn’t even be surprised by his comment. It was exactly what you’d come to expect out of him. You wanted so desperately for him to tell you to throw all this away. You didn’t need a wedding, you just needed Rafe. But he didn’t need you and he made that abundantly clear.  

He stayed away for a week and then it was like he had never left.  

“You look amazing.”

Your eyes shut and you bit down on your lip. If you opened your eyes you would’ve seen Rafe in the reflection of the mirror, standing behind you with the door closed. The attendant had left you in the dressing room alone to think over the white strapless gown you had on. A dream dress, really, but you weren’t entirely sure it was your dream or your dress.  

“Rafe, what are you doing here?” You asked, crossing your arms, careful of the fabric, as you turned to face him.  

“Heard you were trying on dresses, wanted to offer my opinion.” He shrugged.  

“I don’t need your opinion...the dress isn’t for you.”  

He frowned, walking over to you and turning you around again so that you could face the mirror. You looked away from him, trying not to meet his eyes in the mirror as he laid his hands on your hips and tilted his head to kiss your neck and shoulder.  

“That’s okay, I care more about what’s underneath the dress.” He said, lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. You felt your eyes begin to flutter closed before you yanked yourself out of his grasp, pushing him away.  

“God, Rafe, get off of me!” You snapped. “I already told you, I’m not doing this anymore! I’m getting married-”

“So you keep telling me.”

“I’m fucking standing here in my dress for god’s sake! I don’t want to keep having this conversation over and over again. I told you at the club that it’s over Rafe...I’m done doing this with-”

“Leave him.”

“What?” You stopped talking, eyes wide as you looked at Rafe in surprise, mind trying to grasp his offer. It was generous to call it that, as an offer usually contained an actual offer.  

“Leave him. Move back to the island. Stay with me.” He requested.  

You felt like hours passed as you stood there in the small dressing room with him, trying to read anything from his expression. Finally you shut your eyes, covering your hands with your face as you tried not to cry in front of Rafe, “you son of a bitch. You know how hard it is for me to walk away.”

“So don’t.”

“Why? So you can pick and choose when you want me around? No. Rafe, get out. I’m getting married.”  

“Okay,” he nodded, smirking as he looked you over again. You crossed your arms and glared at him as he moved toward you again. He pulled your arms away from your body, putting them up on your shoulders as he wrapped his arms around your waist.  

“Rafe-”

He hummed, lips brushing against your throat as you tilted your head back. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

“It won’t work Rafe,” you insisted, even as your shoulders relaxed.  

“I’m just stating a fact,” he replied, continuing to kiss along your shoulders and neck. “I bet your douche fiancé doesn’t even know what to do with you.” His hands grazed your sides as you gave in, kissing him.  

You knew it was a bad idea. Not just because you were in a public dressing room while your mother and future mother-in-law in the waiting room, ready to judge every dress but because you were engaged, and supposed to be happy, with an entirely different man. You needed to let go of the past and the island and Rafe but every time you tried you couldn’t bring yourself to walk away. Not now that you had been given a taste of him.  

A knock on the dressing room door had you pulling away from Rafe, wiping at your mouth as you stepped around him to answer the door. “Yeah?”

“Are you still trying things on honey? Do you need help?” Your mother’s voice carried through the small space.

“No, I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.” You promised.

You listened to her walk away, heels clicking, as you let out a breath and turned to face Rafe, “you need to go.”

“You sure?”

“Just...go.” You insisted, sitting down on the short bench that sat against the wall, just inside the door.  

Rafe nodded, walking over to the door and grabbing the handle before he looked down at you. “I meant what I said before.” He said.

“You never mean anything you say.”  

-

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